#and getting a second run in theaters and going

[formosusiniquis]

public broadcast morticia, platinum record gomez

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson wc: 3.9k | T | @stevieweek day 3: horror/princess; transfem!stevie; post-canon; getting back together AO3

Stevie shuts the prop book in her lap slowly, allowing the scene to transition out of the story animation and back to real life. For the seconds it is in frame, the red cloth-bound cover of the prop stands out in stark contrast against the gold and black of her skirt. The camera pans slowly back up to her face.

“That would be scary, wouldn’t it?” she asks her future viewing audience. “To wake up one morning and not recognize who you are.”

Wings beat, and a grey tentacle wraps around her shoulder. Robin clicks and coos, moving the demobat puppet in time with the noises. She's probably asking a real question, but Sevie hasn’t picked up much of the language she’s invented for her puppet.

It’s all scripted anyway.

“I agree, Demi. Not having an adult to go to makes it scarier. But wasn’t it brave to keep going even though he was scared?”

Robin chirps and squeaks again. Flapping the puppet’s wings with the special pull cord, she maneuvers the bat around the stage to make it look like Demi is flying.

“Of course, Demi, I’ll always be someone safe for you to go to. I love you.”

Her eyes sting as she says it. God, she cries so much more easily these days. Fucking hormones.

The puppet shivers and shakes in a full-bodied chirp. I love you too.

A howl sounds from just outside the room. Signaling the end of this segment and the start of the next one. 

“Dart must hear someone at the door! Let’s see who’s come to visit.”

The pace is her favorite part of the show. Slow, easy. All done as much as possible in one smooth take. Stevie pushes herself up from the dark-patterned wingback chair, smoothing down her skirt, she walks from one room of the set to the other. The camera trails her, giving Robin a chance to move throughout the specially designed paths that keep her out of frame while she’s holding the Demi puppet.

Unlike Demi, Dart doesn’t that closely resemble his namesake. That was for the feds more than the children. Demi had some aesthetic changes to make her look more friendly, rounded body and visible eyes. Dart was changed fundamentally. Instead of the puckered fleshy face, Stevie can run a hand through sparse fur between two pointed ears. The animatronics Dustin helped their puppet master build let them move, giving the whole face more subtle movement than the other puppet is capable of. Good for the larger, German Shepherd-sized build. Even if the focus of the camera is usually on the face, the top jaw dog, wire-haired and angular, and beneath its pink nose, a split bottom jaw that opens in two wide, distinct joints. More cute than dangerous when a long forked tongue lolls out from it.

As Stevie’s thick rubber heels thunk against the floor of the set, Dart’s pit bull stump tail wags in its excitement at her approach. Back from college, Dustin is operating it today. He maneuvers the body so it faces her now that she’s come to get the door. The charmingly dumb look on its face gets her every time — a grin she has to school back to a more appropriately sized smirk. 

From off stage, someone cues Dart’s reminding bark.

“Has our guest arrived, Dart?”

Dart can nod when Dustin operates it. Always more sure than the rest of them about the intelligence that lurked beneath those demo creatures. Still, someone once again makes the appropriate answering cue.

Robin is standing outside the set, positioning Demi in a window. She chirps and flaps, Stevie’s cue to begin introducing who is behind the door.

“Today’s scary job will have us confronting our glossophobia, that’s our fear of public performance. If your palms get sweaty when you answer a question at school or you think about throwing up when you have a piano recital, we picked this job to give you a special scare.”

Never a theater kid, Robin teases her at how quickly she’s picked this up. Her cues, like this one to open the door, are always hit. She knows exactly what her face is doing, the way her dark lips hint at a smile, and the way the dark of her makeup makes something dangerous and anticipatory flash in her eyes. She’s yet to have a guest not spook just a little when the door swings open. The danger that she used to be humming under her skin was obvious to them when the sound and light cues hit, making the stage flash and sound with lightning and thunder.

It’s one of the joys of the job.

The outside of the “house” is dark, a dual-purpose choice to hide the sound lot that pairs with how nice it looks in post to have the first glimpse of their guest be in that horror movie strobe.

“Welcome home,” she says as always to the blackness outside her door. Thunder booms first, then lightning streaks, and she’s looking at someone who shouldn’t be here. “Eddie Munson, front man of the band Corroded Coffin.”

She steps numbly out of the way, letting Eddie through her door. 

Six years.

Dart rubs its head against her skirt, a move that would be accompanied by a whimper if it were able to make its own sound effects. As it is, she takes the comfort she can get from Dustin. Robin makes a trill; she's not a good enough actor to disguise the nerves in it.

It’s too much to deal with, so as with all things, she decides it’s better not to. There’s a procedure here, a routine. Stevie turns on her heel and starts walking to the set they’re supposed to be on. Eddie can fall into step behind her or, hell, maybe she’ll get lucky and he’ll run away. He’s always been good at that.

Stalking is what she’s doing; it might be what Eddie did too, to find his way over here. Hers means she’s moving too fast through the set for the pace they’re setting, the emotions she’s feeling moving her body like a rocket through the familiar frame of her pretend house. Eddie’s means he’s ruined her fragile peace.

It’s a real multifaceted word. Maybe they should use it for a show. Maybe they could get a zookeeper to bring a big cat on, too.

Eddie finds the guest’s seat at the table, sitting down across from her at the kitchen island, ruining the slight lift of her mood at the plans for a new episode with his continued presence.

He’s already got his hands in the spread on the table. Fingers smudged with the dyed red frosting, pinching a brownie carved into a coffin shape. It looks garish in the bright light of this set. The kitchen, the only set she refused to bow to the other aesthetics of the house. It unnerves instead in its rich, pastel, Stepford glory. Eddie looks just as out of place here -- even with the spiderweb detailing on the cabinets -- as he did in her kitchen in Hawkins.

“Good evening, Eddie,” she says what she’s supposed to say.

His mouth is full, his answer muffled in rich chocolate she baked herself before shooting.

“Why don’t you tell us about your band? I’m a big fan of your guitarist, Jeff Best.”

Jeff, the person who was supposed to be on the sound stage when she opened the door. The band member she had approved of, after being told by producers how enthusiastically the band had been supporting the show. How they wanted on, desperately.

She asks, “What’s the scariest part of your job?”

And asks, “Isn’t it frightening performing in front of thousands and thousands of people?”

And asks, “Are you ever afraid the stage will collapse?”

And asks, “Pyrotechnics are fires and fireworks that can be done inside, but aren’t you worried that something might go wrong?”

This segment has always been less of an interview and more of an exploration of worst-case scenarios. The things that frighten, the accidents that end up on the news, but rarely ever happen. A way to show the kids who tune in that the world can be scary, but it’s usually not. That fear of the coulds shouldn’t be the thing that keeps them from trying.

But she flings these worst cases at Eddie like knives, like saying they might manifest into coming true.

But each interview always ends the same way.

“What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever overcome?”

Eddie spins a chocolate eyeball around on the white china plate. It blurs with the movement until it’s just a white sphere moving around and around the border of fine, red blood splatter. Is he trying to figure out how to skirt his NDA? Is he inventing some stage diving accident or bar fight? Some story that will make him sound like the worldly rockstar the world knows him as?

Sure, he’s softened his aesthetic for this appearance. The only leather is his jacket. His wide-legged black pants, with the red and black brocade vest, straddle the line between professional and showman.

But he’s still Eddie, dungeon master drama queen to the last.

“The scariest thing I’ve ever done?” he repeats. Incorrectly to that point, done implies it’s scary because of his fuck up, overcome implies it’s the world. They’d workshopped the wording of that final question for days before her first interview.

Eddie continues, because if there’s one thing he’s going to do it’s continue whether she wants it or not. “The scariest thing I’ve ever done is go attempt to make amends with someone that I hurt very badly and hope that she’s good enough to forgive me.”

She’s supposed to ask a follow-up here, but she really doesn’t want to.

“Some of those were in the present tense, Mr. Munson.” She’s borrowing words from Robin now, stealing them from somewhere in her soulmate's brain because all Stevie knows is a blank rage that she hopes isn’t in her eyes.

That’s bad television.

“You’re right. The going has happened, the attempt is ongoing, and the fear is in both.”

A clock’s chime fills the room. Loud, sourceless, she’s taken to thinking of it like a school bell, and that’s better than remembering a grandfather clock and Max’s broken legs. Eddie flinches back, not that big a fan of the show apparently. Midnight ends every episode.

“Time sure flies, doesn’t it, Eddie?” A thump comes from behind them, a spot on the third wall out of the sight of the framing of their primary camera. Robin in position for her favorite job.

Stevie gives her her cue, “Gordon?” Robin, on her mark and her applebox, brings down the thick, fleshy, grey hand with the too-long fingers and the blackened nails onto Eddie’s shoulder. It’s weighted at the front, dislodges Eddie from his seat, and jostles him backward. “Introduce Eddie to the others? I know he’s just dying to stay for a while.”

Hand in place on Eddie’s shoulder, all Robin has to do is pull and he’s stumbling off stage like he’s on a vaudeville hook.

She blinks slowly, wills her blood pressure down. Her heart has been thumping in her ears since she laid eyes on Eddie, and even now that he’s technically off camera, she still can’t let go of her rage.

But there’s a show to finish, and she’s going to do her job. She can ignore Eddie’s big, brown eyes that somehow manage to haunt her even in the dark beyond the camera. She can turn down the camera, face it head-on.

She can. She does. “And don't forget: you're smarter than you think, braver than you feel, and you always have a friend right here. Until next time.”

She’s moving even before she can hear the director call, “Cut.”

“Whose fucking idea was this?”

“Not me,” Robin answers, gleeful at Stevie’s rage. She’s got Eddie still pinned in place with her long arm.

“Listen, Stevie, baby.”

“Nope,” Robin says, popping that P and giving Eddie a shake.

Not that anyone but Stevie would have heard that over the way she yells, “You don’t get to call me that.”

“Eddie, dude, not that it’s not good to see you, but I talked to Jeff,” Dustin comes out from the set with his hands already raised.

“And I saw that, Henderson, but don't fret, I wasn't offended. I figured you wouldn't mind if I remedied the situation myself.”

“Never let it be said you've ever learned a single lesson the easy way, Munson,” Robin says.

“Yes, and I'll be glad to catch up with you about that, Buckley. And with you, Henderson. But right now, I would love a moment with the talent. Stevie?”

It's on her tongue to say no again. To send him packing, the quest failed. Let him turn it into some ballad of spurned love and wretched harpies; she doesn't care.

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t. She says, “Five minutes.” And stalks off toward her dressing room.

He doesn't jingle anymore. That strikes her somewhere in the chest. The sound of his trailing behind her, the same melody as hers, told in a round: thick rubber heels on a concrete floor.

She sits down at her vanity and starts stripping off the thick paint of her on-camera makeup. As she slathers on cold cream, she can see Eddie find a seat on the coffee table. It throws her back to that last summer together, getting caught in her mother’s bathroom by a boy she liked in ways she didn’t know how to say yet.

The more things change.

“Listen, Stevie.” It’s funny how she can still tell when he’s started a sentence, not knowing how he plans to end it.

“You came all this way and you didn’t think about how you wanted to actually apologize? Did you get so lost in the drama of crashing my set that you didn’t think of what would happen when it was over?” She keeps her eyes on him in the mirror as she says it, moving through her routine like usual. With each condemnation, she takes her hand towel and wipes a little bit more of Stevie, Princess of the Dark, away until she’s bare-faced, annoyed, and just Stevie Henderson again.

“No,” he lies. “I mean, maybe. Look, Steph, for what it’s worth.”

She grabs her normal makeup, the lightweight stuff that doesn’t have to look good to the limited eye of the camera or sell a character that she’s only sometimes.

“It’s not worth a lot, Eddie. Let me try to save you some time. We finally gave in and gave the band the time of day, you leapt in ass first without a plan, because I’m Princess of the Dark, Princess Stevie, Lady Stevie of the Night, whatever the fucking branding has decided this week so I’ve got the image now. I’m not some baby freak borrowing wardrobe pieces from her socialite mom and her dyke best friend, I’m the right kind of metal that perpetual bachelor, frontman Eddie Munson can be seen with now. Does that about cover it?”

“No, no, Stevie, I swear.”

She can’t even slam down what’s in her hands. The stupid spongy applicator from her eyeshadow would get lost, and if she breaks another one of the eyeshadow colors, she’ll lose her mind. Setting it down gently does nothing to temper the absolute, white out emotion she’s feeling.

“You swear? You swear. The way you swore nothing would change. The way you swore you’d leave on tour and come back with nothing but stories and homesickness. That was the tour that you called me from Wichita to tell me you weren’t coming home, and you didn’t think it would work out if we tried to stay together. In case you forgot.”

“It’s not-”

“This was after you told me you didn’t want me to come when I offered. That it would be stupid of me to leave my -- easily abandoned -- job at the record store. But why would you want the idiot you’re about to leave playing merch girl as you wandered through the Midwest.”

“Are you finished?”

She’s got brown eyeshadow on one eye, her cheeks are pinked, and it’s not from blush. She’s pretty far from done. “That foot-in-mouth condition ended up being terminal, I guess.”

“Stevie.”

She can’t storm out if her eyes aren’t done. A half-done face is one thing, but it’s at least got to be even.

“Stevie, you’re getting mentioned in the same sentences as Elvira, R.L. Stine. You’re Sesame Street if the face was the Count and not Elmo. That’s you, that’s all you. It’s something you created from the ground up with nothing but your charm and vision, and yeah, stunning good looks and a little bit of black mailing the United States government.

“If you had come with us back then, you know what you’d be? My muse, sure. You’d be the merch girl that people whisper about, and wonder how many of the band members she’s sleeping with to get to play groupie. They’d find out things about you, and if you were lucky, they’d just make your life miserable.”

She can’t believe this. “Are you really trying to pull some ‘I left you to keep you safe,’ that is the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Her face is done, she could leave. She’s given him more than the five minutes she promised. 

But then Eddie’s standing. No, he’s collapsing, off the table to her feet. Hands clutched in her skirt, looking up at her from the floor. “You’re right, it wasn’t about you. It was about me being the same coward I‘ve always been. You know what I’m most afraid of, Steph? That one day you would wake up in our rank ass tour bus and you would resent me for trapping you and all of your potential.”

The vanity counter bites into the meat of her hands. “It took you six years to come here and say that.” 

“Yeah, yeah, it did. And it was too long and it wasn't long enough. I would wait forever, Steph. It’s about who you are, not what you’ve become.”

“You’re contradicting yourself, Teddy.” He’s trapped her here, kneeling on her skirt the way he is. “Either you left so I could fill my full potential, which is pretty fucking bold to assume that everyone had that itch to leave Hawkins the way you did and that I wouldn’t have been just fine waiting tables or rewinding video tapes for the rest of my life. But it’s that or you love me no matter what, and it wouldn’t matter if I hung up the witch's broom.”

She’s feeling generous, and she likes how big and wide his cow eyes get when he’s desperate. It reminds her of different times. Eddie’s hand pulls hers off the vanity, and she lets him keep it. Let him pull it close to his chest. He’s probably imagining he’s some knight pledging some oath, and fuck even imaginging what he’s thinking endears her just a little bit more to him.

Letting him in was always going to be a mistake.

She’s never held a grudge as well as Robin.

“There isn’t anything you could do that would make me want you less.”

Still, in the last six years, she’s learned that even though she loves too hard and too long, sometimes it’s more important that she protect her heart. Like her head, it can’t take too many more beatings.

“You want a burger. You want a new record. You want a quick fuck with someone who knows what they’re doing. Wants are quick and fleeting, and sometimes they aren’t even that good. I can’t be a want, Eddie.”

He clutches her hand tighter. He drops his hold on her skirt so his other hand can grab her at the elbow instead. “Stevie, I need you. And if you send me packing, I’m still gonna need you. You’re it. You’re just- you’re it.”

“And if I didn’t follow you on tour, like some love-sick groupie? If I stayed here with the show, you couldn’t see me for weeks and months. You’d still need me?”

“Like air. I’ll call, I’ll write, I’ll come in and compose. I can be your first recurring guest or handle a puppet. Anything at your order.”

She can feel herself caving. Like a sink hole in her chest, the ground giving way to nothing but a yawning starvation. It’s been years, and she’s sunk all of her love and her care and the desperate need she has always had to be seen into this show. It was good, but there has always been so much of her to give.

So she spits back the worst thing he ever said to her.

“And I’m not just some stand-in for Chrissy Cunningham.”

She expects him to drop her arm. To scurry away like some frightened mouse now that the claws of the cat have dropped in front of it. To remember that before the tits and the smirky face she patterned off of Elvira, she was still always a mean girl.

The quiet collapse of Eddie’s face is less satisfying than the rage, the sadness in his eyes more like a kicked dog than an international rockstar.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He says.

She could echo it, but hers needed to be said.

“If I thought you hated me, it was easier to leave. I could make you just one more thing I fucked up. I don’t see her when I look at you.”

She scoffs, and he pulls her closer.

“I don’t, Steph, I don’t. You’re not some damsel I couldn’t save. You’re the knight who rescued me. Let me make my oath, let me prove myself.”

“I want a new theme song. Something catchy, not metal. And you’re going to come on and do a special segment on the show about dealing with scary things, in terrible corpse makeup. Stop smiling, it’s not going to be fun.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it wretched.”

“I’m going to make you confront all the stupid shit you’re scared of and if you don’t act scared enough I’m going to bring in the rest of the band and tell them you’re the reason this is happening to them.”

“Gareth hates spiders, and Freak is scared of clowns.”

“And I want Jeff on the show. I had to cut out half of our interview questions about the things he’s had to face being black in the scene because you think you’re charming.”

He has the nerve to stand up, stepping on her skirt before he’s shoving his way into her space on the bench seat of her vanity. His hands are warm, fingers long and familiar as they curl around the curves she’s developed since they last saw each other.

“Whatever you want forever, Steph.” He whispers it into the side of her neck like he thinks he’s Gomez Addams, and she’s too weak to not be delighted.

“In that case, you can also explain all of this to Robin.”

“And when she kills me for wronging you?”

She grabs his chin between her fingers, lets her coffin-shaped nails dig into the stubbly skin until she can see the bite of pink crescent moons. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back. Everyone knows Miss Stevie is a witch.”

[polygarnstars]

dreamworks pulling a the boy and the heron second theatrical release with the wild robot months before we even find out if it wins best animated lowkey funny af imo

[connormoving]

i do feel bad for this girl tho . like this is a nightmare to me

[kingkaisen]

𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒!

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: JJK men & their nasty, perverted habits . . . ft. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, & choso.

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: MINORS DNI — fem! reader, reader wears a dress, drinking, smut, grinding, whining, riding, masturbation, panty stealing, touching, creampie, penetration, unprotected, etc.

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐘! - NANAMI

Kento Nanami is a gentleman.

He always opens doors for you, never shows up late for dates, and is truly an old-fashioned romantic.

However, he just can’t keep his hands to himself.

The two of you are attending an important gathering related to his corporate job. There’s expensive drinks, classical music, and soft chatter.

You and Nanami make your way around, engaging in small talk while sipping on champagne, and Nanami’s large hand is pressed against your back.

You’re having a conversation with the wife of his boss, and Nanami’s hand starts to go lower and lower, and he grabs your ass rather quickly. You keep your composure, but Nanami’s breath hitches a bit as he clears his throat.

Feeling your ass, even just for a second, was starting to make him lose control.

“Sorry, if you’ll excuse us for a moment,” Nanami suddenly says before dragging you away.

He takes you into one of the bathrooms and shoves you up against the sink.

“Kento,” you whine. “We’re at a gathering.”

“I know,” he whispers into your ear. “I just can’t keep my hands off of you.”

Nanami starts to grind his hard, clothed dick against your ass, moaning softly.

You simply looked too phenomenal in that dress. As his hard cock strains painfully against the fabric of his pants, the only form of relief came when your ass rubbed against it.

“We need to leave,” he grips your hips, pressing himself against you even more as you gripped the edges of the bathroom counter. “If I don’t take you home now, I’ll cum right in my pants.”

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐑! - GOJO

Satoru Gojo was ready to stuff you with his seed as soon as you both made it home after your wedding.

He had often dreamed about having children with you, but in particular, he wanted to fill you up until he couldn’t physically cum anymore.

Gojo thrusted in and out of you at a quick pace. His hand was pressed underneath your knee as he held your leg back, as close to your chest as he could. You could feel him inside of you even more that way. The thick veins running along his cock rubbed your walls deliciously, and the way your body jerked from his thrusts were starting to make you dizzy.

And he couldn’t get enough. By now, he had finished inside of you already, but he had to do it a second time. Perhaps, a third time as well.

His balls tightened as another orgasm started to overwhelm him, and he groaned.

“I’m gonna cum again, baby,” he warned. “I’m gonna cum deep inside of you. You’re gonna take it all for me, right?”

You nodded eagerly.

“I gotta fill you up — I have to.” As another load of his cum shot out of his aching dick and inside of you, he pressed a hand down against your stomach.

“You feel it?” He continued to thrust and moan. He needed to stuff you as much as he could. “You feel my cum, don’t you?”

“There’s so much of it,” you said with a soft moan.

He was still cumming and cumming, and it didn’t seem like he would ever stop. And, god, he hoped he wouldn’t somehow.

𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇! - GETO

Suguru Geto was a man who always knew what to say. His words were always powerful and wise.

They were also downright filthy, too.

No matter where you both were — at dinner in a nice restaurant, in the movie theater, at the airport — Geto couldn’t help but press his lips against your ear, and whisper something he knew would get your panties wet.

Today in particular, you were both at the grocery store, waiting in line patiently with a cart full of food.

Suddenly, Geto pressed himself against your backside. To nearby shoppers, he simply seemed like an affectionate partner, but you knew what was coming.

Geto leaned down a bit, his warm breath patting against your ear.

“Let’s head home after this. I really wanna eat your pussy before dinner. Let’s see how much of your cum I can swallow.”

“Suguru,” you whispered softly. “We’re in public.”

“No one can hear me, sweet girl. I bet I could reach my hand into your pants and rub your clit, and no one would notice. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I-”

“Shhh,” he smiled a bit, although you couldn’t see it. “Don’t worry. I’ll wait until we get home, but once we do, we’re gonna fuck and fuck all night long.”

He gave your ear a slow, little lick, and stepped away from you, grinning as he started to put the groceries on the conveyor belt.

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐘! - CHOSO

“Please,” a soft, desperate whine fell from Choso’s lips. “Make me cum again, please.”

The gorgeous guy started to squirm around beneath you, attempting to raise his hips, chasing the feeling of your tight cunt around him.

“Ride me again,” Choso gripped your hips. “Please ride me again.”

He couldn’t wait any longer. Slowly, he started to glide you up and down along his cock, moaning softly.

“You’re so impatient,” you teased. Despite your words, you helped him out by pressing your hands against his chest, and riding him once again.

“Oh my god,” Choso whispered. “Feels so good. Don’t stop, okay? I need to cum again.”

Your pussy milked his cock until he could no longer form any coherent sentences.

“Baby, please . . . shit, baby. I can’t hold it, I can’t- please, oh fuck.”

Moan after moan fell from between his pretty lips, and without warning — he couldn’t speak well enough to say anything — Choso shot another load of cum right inside of you.

You both paused to catch your breath, but not for long, as Choso started to squirm around once again.

“Another,” he whined softly. “Don’t stop, please. Do it again . . . I wanna cum again.”

𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐑! - TOJI

When Toji Fushiguro asked to come to your house, you thought nothing of it.

It wasn’t unusual for him to come over, but little did you know, he had a habit of snooping around.

He liked to see what kind of things you had in your home, and eventually, he knew by heart what brand of toothpaste you preferred and whether you kept certain condiments in the fridge or in the cabinet.

But, his favorite place to snoop was in your bedroom.

Often, he’d say, “I’m gonna go piss,” while getting up from the couch and making his way down the hall. But he never went into the bathroom.

He’d go into your bedroom instead and open your drawer, growing hard at the sight of your undergarments.

He’d typically just steal one pair of panties and shove them into his pocket.

But it wasn’t good enough.

After all, your underwear smelled like detergent. It didn’t smell like you — or, more specifically, your sweet pussy.

That was when he snuck into your laundry room and went into your dirty clothes hamper, digging until he found the perfect pair of used panties.

He shoved them into his pocket, and returned to the living room.

Later on, when he got home, he put those panties right into his mouth, jerking off as he daydreamed about eating your pussy. It was magical, especially now that he knew how it would taste.

Then, he laced those panties around his hard cock, fucking his fist as he shot load after load into the soft material, moaning your name as he did so.

🏷: @sad-darksoul

[tanadrin]

@grimogretricks

For people saying that airport security is wholly theatre and that it doesn't do any good- certainly it seems they've gone overboard on certain things, but what is your explanation as to why hijackings and terrorist attacks involving planes are MUCH less common than they used to be?

Sorry that this is mostly off the dome, and has less references than I would like. We argued this stuff to death in the aughts, though ultimately the political incentives in favor of security theater were just too great. Everyone is terrified of the potential backlash of not being seen to do enough in advance of the next big terrorist attack, I guess. And to be clear, we are talking mostly about post-9/11 airport security measures as being security theater. Some degree of airport security has been necessary since people started getting on airplanes with guns and informing the pilot that, hey, guess what, we're going to Cuba instead of Miami today.

But the big reduction in airplane hijackings came with the institution of metal detectors to keep guns off airplanes after a couple high-profile hijackings in the 1970s. But remember that these incidents were of a very different character than what we now think of as the risk to airplanes: they were certainly a problem, but the modus operandi of hijackers in this era was to force the plane to fly to a non-extradition country and land safely. 9/11-style hijackings, that used the plane as a bomb and killed everyone aboard, were on nobody's radar--when the goal was blowing up the plane and killing passengers, bombers generally used bombs planted in checked baggage, which requires different security measures from passenger screening.

Two security changes occurred after 9/11 that made future such hijackings basically impossible: one, probably most importantly, was that passengers understood they no longer could count on hijackers having an interest in surviving the hijacking. This change in passenger behavior was immediate: later that same year when a guy tried to bomb an airplane (using a really ineffective device hidden in his shoe) passengers immediately acted to restrain him. The second important change was reinforcing cockpit doors and keeping them locked: this makes hijacking airplanes with knives (the only major modality left to most would-be hijackers) functionally impossible.

All the other intense passenger screening and security measures implemented after 9/11 has been repeatedly shown by security researchers to be pretty ineffective, not even very reliable at stuff like keeping knives off airplanes. For years after 9/11 there were endless news stories about law enforcement running drills at airports and weapons making their way through security. A lot of later security measures, like liquid limits in carry-on baggage, came from terrorist plots that didn't even make it off the drawing board (and are unlikely to have ever worked anyway), and seem mostly to be overzealous ass-covering by transportation security officials.

And, finally, we should note that the real security threats to airplanes in the post-9/11 era seem to have come come from two sources that are basically impossible to protect against using traditional security methods, and for which passenger-based security screening is useless: anti-aircraft missiles and suicidal pilots (plus an honorable mention to aircraft companies trying to skirt certain regulatory requirements).

Despite what decades of American media would have you believe, elaborate plots targeting transportation infrastructure and involving like a dozen people are actually not at the top of the list of terrorist methodologies--why time and money training members of your organization to fly planes into buildings, when you can just use social media to convince a guy to drive a car into a crowd of bystanders, or stab somebody on the street? It's much cheaper, and much, much harder to guard against. Random lone-wolf terrorism is, unlike the kind of elaborate plots portrayed on TV, and one-off real-life examples like 9/11, basically impossible for security services to guard against in advance. But in order to justify the war on terror, and large budgets for security services on anti-terrorism grounds, it was necessary to play up the threat of such plots, even if by its very nature 9/11 was impossible to repeat. For similar reasons, the post-9/11 era also played up the threat of Islamic extremism and large overseas terrorist networks, even though far-right extremists acting in small groups also have managed to kill huge numbers of people in spectacular ways.

So for all these reasons, and those noted at the top, the political incentives around transportation security means that passenger screening measures in airports are almost guaranteed to be a one-way ratchet, even if they don't work. It's a bit like the fabled anti-tiger amulet--it's easy to say the lack of tigers is proof it's working! Even if the real reason there are no tigers about is that you live in Ohio. The media environment post-War on Terror helped create a public appetite for and approval of such anti-tiger amulets, too, of course. This was not by any means a purely top-down phenomenon.

[lazysoulwriter]

just breathe. - pedro pascal.

requested! hope you like it, hun! - requested are open.

season 2 premiere of the last of us.

---

The car pulls up to the venue, the crowd already screaming. You can hear the muffled echoes even through the closed windows. Pedro shifts beside you, adjusting his jacket, then running his hand through his hair for what must be the fifth time in two minutes.

“You okay?” you ask gently, resting your hand on his knee.

He nods, a little too fast. “Yeah. I mean… yeah. Just—haven’t done something this big in a while.”

You offer him a small smile. “It’s just people who love your work. You’re safe.”

He leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes for a second. “I know. I just—I get this thing, like my chest’s too tight and I can’t find the right version of myself to be. You know what I mean?”

You nod, squeezing his knee. “Then just be the one who texts me five times in a row asking if I want McDonald’s or ramen.”

He laughs at that, the sound loosening something in your chest too. “You love both equally, that’s not fair.”

“Exactly. So tonight, do what you can. Be as much of Pedro as you feel like being. And when you get tired, I’ll be right here.”

The car door opens, and the flashes begin. Pedro steps out first, then turns and reaches for your hand like muscle memory. You lace your fingers with his and step out into the noise, the lights, the chaos.

He smiles. Waves. Does the whole press dance. But you feel it before you see it—his fingers start to tremble. His breathing turns shallow.

So you do what you always do.

You lean in, lips brushing just below his ear, and whisper, “Breathe with me.”

He doesn’t answer, but you feel his hand grip yours tighter. You give a subtle nod, stepping slightly in front of him to deflect attention for a second. He breathes in, then out. Again. And again. And then—he’s back. Standing tall, his fingers still laced with yours.

You both move down the carpet, pausing for photos. He glances at you once, and you mouth you’re okay. He mouths back thank you, and for the first time that evening, his smile feels real.

Later, inside the theater, while waiting for the screening to begin, he rests his head on your shoulder and murmurs, “I would’ve bolted without you.”

“You didn’t,” you reply, threading your fingers through his curls. “You were incredible. You always are.”

“Seriously, how do you always know?”

“Because I love you. Because I see you.”

When you check your phone later, after the show’s ended and you're both in the backseat of the car again—Pedro’s head against your thigh this time, completely worn out—you notice Twitter has exploded.

“His hand was shaking and she just knew. The way she leaned in?? Ugh, I’m crying.” “The way she grounded him and never let go… she’s his safe place, I’m sorry.” “You can tell she helps with his anxiety without making a big deal about it. She’s just there.” “They’re like... soft soulmates. I’m obsessed.” “She’s so good for him. And he knows it.”

You show him one of the tweets, and he lets out a soft, sleepy laugh. “They’re right, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you tease.

He closes his eyes again, still smiling. “Don’t leave.”

“Never.”

And with the chaos of the night behind you, all that’s left is the warmth of his hand over yours, the calm that always finds him when you’re near.

---

[darkbluekies]

Silas & King Edmund drabbles: stealing their darling during the intermission

Yandere!mafia oc x reader & yandere!king x fem reader

Warnings: chloroform, kidnapping, forced sumbission?

Silas:

The act is being played out right in front of him, the actor's gliding across the stage in their colorful clothes. But he's not watching them. He's watching you. Sitting in the row beneath him, chuckling for yourself every time the actors play a joke. Even in the darkness he can see your shoulders move with every laugh, and he has to restrain from reaching forward and grabbing you.

No. Not yet.

Two minutes left until the break, until everything goes dark and the curtain fall in preperations of act two. But he won't be here to see it. And neither will you.

He nudges his second in command, signaling for him to take out the prepared tools. His second in command takes out a small bottle and removes the handkerchief from his suit jacket. Silas pours the liquid onto the fabric. He waits.

The second the lights go out, he's there, leaning forward, quick as the night, and grabs you. You gasp out before you can scream. He shoves the handkerchief over your face, hoping to aim right in the darkness. Silas can feel you squirm under his hands, your body jerking,

Shh, he wants to whisper, but doesn't want anyone else in the theater hear him. Just let it happen. You're doing so good for me. Just breathe in, just let me have you.

It doesn't take long before it all dies down. Silas doesn't let go of you. One hand remains on your shoulder to make sure you don't fall forward. The other gives back the handkerchief to SIC.

No one sees him move through the darkenss to the row below and pick you up. No one sees him and his second in command leave. No one notices that when act two begins, there are three less people in the audience.

King Edmund:

He watches oh, so closely. His binoculars burned into his eye sockets. You're a delight on stage, someone that he enjoys watching more than anything. He watches everything you do, putting aside more important plans just to watch you.

He's been planning it for a while, a wishful thinking that took root and became a need, he's going to take you tonight. As the curtains fall and you retreat backstage for a little break, he's going to take you. At first he wondered if he should ask you, but what would he do if you deny him? If you rejected him?

No. Better to take you right away. That way you won't be able to hurt his pride. No one rejects him. And you are not going to be the first one.

Two minutes before the curtains fall, Edmund moves quickly from the royal balcony, two guards with him. He sneaks backstage and watch how the curtains fall from the inside, seeing you stand in front of them for a few seconds, catching your breath. That's when he does it. He runs forward, grabbing you. One hand on your waist, pressing you to him, the other over your mouth, muffling your screams.

But you can't fight him forever. You're already exhausted from the two hour performance, you barely have any energy left. He feels prideful when you no longer have the energy to fight him, becoming submissive in his suffocating hold. As you should.

"That's it", Edmund whispers in your ear as your body starts to calm down. "That's a good girl. There's no use in fighting me. You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not going to hurt you. Let's get you where you belong."

[levanterhaze]

── GAMEBOY, BANGCHAN

♡  ― 󠀬󠀬 fratboy!bangchan x f!reader praise kink, protected sex, rough sex, fluff & angst.

♡ synopsis ― Bangchan is the campus playboy—charming, cocky, and infuriatingly irresistible. One reckless, drunken night leads to a secret you swore you'd never have. Now, hating him is harder than keeping him your dirty little secret.

[12.3k words ]♡― here we are, at the last chapter of gameboy. writing this series has been so much fun and having the opportunity to tell the stories i love to write is a privilege. i hope i don't disappoint you with this ending, that you understand each choice made for the characters. i also hope you continue to support me, this has been so special and welcoming to me, i can't thank you enough for everything. thank you for embracing gameboy, for continuing to read and for all your support. from the bottom of my heart. PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTERS!!!! that said, have a good read.

♡― THE PLAYLIST.

♡ [part one] ♡[part two]♡ [part three] ♡[part four] ♡[part five] ♡[part six] ♡[part seven]

'Cause I'm right here waiting for us 때로는 두려웠어 다신 오지 않을 것 같아서 두 손 꼭 잡은 채 그 어떤 순간이 덮쳐 와도 널 놓지 않을게

After all the chaos, the only thing that made sense was leaving.

So you did.

You shot Hyunjin a text, practically begging him to take you to the bus stop. He didn’t ask questions—he was too pissed off about the whole thing, ranting the entire drive about how it was bullshit that you had to be the one to go. In his mind, Eunji and Mingyu should’ve been the ones packing their bags.

And maybe he was right. But you were exhausted. Your body ached from the tension, your head was a tangled mess of emotions, and honestly? You just didn’t have it in you to fight anymore.

By the time you got back to campus, you had a plan—or at least, a temporary bandage disguised as one. You marched straight to the admin office and spun some tragic, half-true sob story about needing to “regain focus” on your studies. A few forced tears later — maybe slightly real ones— they handed you the keys to a new dorm on the other side of campus.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. You packed what little you had and moved in before anyone even realized you were gone.

And then you disappeared.

One day after another, like clockwork. No calls, no texts, no explanations. Just silence.

Your life has shrunk down to a routine: rehearsals, studying, sleep, repeat.

Hyunjin and Seungmin still tried to pull you out of your self-imposed exile, inviting you to lunch, cracking jokes at rehearsals to get a reaction out of you—but you always politely refused. You weren’t rude, just... distant. Like a ghost of yourself.

Bangchan had tried. Over and over. Messages sent and then deleted, calls he never made, moments of hesitation that stretched into frustration. He wanted to give you space, wanted to respect whatever it was you needed, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every time he saw you, it felt like his chest was caving in.

He’d even asked Hyunjin about you, but the guy was like a vault. Hyunjin wasn’t about to betray you—not even for him. “She’s busy,” was all he ever got. “Leave her alone, man.”

But how could he, when you were right there? When you were always the last to show up at rehearsals and the first to leave, slipping away before he even had a chance to try? It was torture. Watching you go about your life like he wasn’t part of it anymore. Like he never had been.

And it was worse because he could still feel you.

In his bed, between the sheets. In his hands, aching for your touch. In his mind, where your laugh and your voice were stuck on a loop, growing more distant with every passing day—like a dream he was trapped in, running but never getting anywhere.

And you wouldn’t even look at him.

If your eyes ever landed on him in the theater, they flicked away like it physically hurt you to see him. If you spotted him on campus, walking with the boys, you immediately turned your head.

So you buried yourself in anything that wasn’t him. Anything that wasn’t Eunji. Because thinking about either of them was the only thing more unbearable than being alone.

And Eunji—who didn’t even look at you, let alone speak to you. Every time your paths crossed, she barely acknowledged your existence, like you were something rotten in her periphery. A stranger. No, worse—something beneath her.

And that hurt. Maybe even more than Bangchan.

Because you’d believed in her. In you two. In the kind of unspoken loyalty that came with late-night talks, inside jokes, and secrets exchanged under dim dorm room lights. You thought there was sisterhood in that. Something unshakable.

But in the end, it was nothing. A mirage. A mist that vanished the second you tried to hold on.

A few weeks had passed and you were enjoying your own company in the library, an iced coffee and your headphones. You were studying your lines for the next class, until someone took the seat in front of you and your eyes looked up in surprise to see Sohee sitting with her arms crossed.

“Sohee.” you murmured, almost not believing she was there.

Sohee arched her brow, unimpressed. “Oh, so you do remember me.”

You blinked, scrambling for words. “I—of course, I do. I just—”

“Disappeared?” she finished for you, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach, but you kept your expression neutral. “I’ve been busy.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Right. Busy. Too busy to text? Too busy to tell me why you packed up and moved to the other side of campus?” Her eyes narrowed. “Eunji won’t tell me what happened. Neither will Hyunjin. Which means something happened, and I need you to stop bullshitting me.”

Your mouth went dry, fingers tightening around your coffee cup. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, bitter and unspeakable. 

What if she looked at you the way Eunji did? 

Sohee exhaled, her sharpness softening just a fraction. “Look, I don’t know what went down, but I missed you, okay?”

Your heart clenched. She wasn’t angry. She was hurt. And that somehow made it worse.

You put your headphones aside and took a deep breath, gathering the courage to begin.

So you started from the very beginning. Bangchan, the secrets, then Mingyu, Eunji finding out, all your emotions, the fight between Bangchan and Mingyu, and how completely broken you’d been ever since.

Sohee listened, her expression shifting from shock to disbelief. “That’s... insane. I can’t believe Eunji would do something like that.”

“I know.” You gave a small, bitter smile. “That’s why it hurts.”

“And rightfully so. She had no right to interfere in your life or come at you like that.” Sohee leaned on the table, eyes searching yours. “But please, don’t let this kill your spark. Everyone misses you.”

And you missed them too. All of them. Without exception.

“If you must know,” Sohee drawled, cocking her head with a little smirk, “I’d already kind of guessed there was something going on with you and Bangchan.” 

You shot her a look, but she kept going, unbothered. 

“I just figured you’d spill when you were ready. No pressure. Not my circus.” She shrugged, then narrowed her eyes playfully. “But seriously… you do like him, right?”

Your chest tightened. Because the answer was obvious.

Sohee gave you a pointed look, like she could see right through you. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that I guess it doesn’t matter bullshit.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “It doesn’t.”

“It does.” She leaned in, voice low but firm. “You’re miserable. He’s miserable. And all of this is because of what? Miscommunication and some high school level drama?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it kinda is.” She shrugged. “You like him. He clearly likes you. But instead of dealing with it, you ran.”

“That’s not fair—”

Sohee held up a hand. “I’m not saying you didn’t have your reasons. I’m saying that if you keep avoiding it, you’re just gonna hurt yourself more. Let things cool down, sure. But don’t wait until it’s too late.”

You stared at her, words caught in your throat. Because the truth was, you were terrified. Terrified that if you faced him, he’d look at you differently. That the damage was already done.

But another, quieter part of you—the part that still remembered the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at you like you were it for him—wondered if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late at all.

You were alone in the theater, the crumpled sheets of your solo scattered around you like forgotten love letters. You were dead set on nailing that high note — the heartbreak one, the kind that’s supposed to rip your chest open and bleed on stage. Humming through the first verse, you air-strummed like your life depended on it, lost in the rhythm.

“Am I crashing a rockstar's private concert?” Changbin’s voice broke through your focus, making your head snap up so fast it almost hurt. He was in his basketball jacket, the team logo front and center, and that usual mischievous grin was pulling at his mouth. He stepped closer, then plopped down next to you on the edge of the stage like he belonged there. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re fine.” You flashed him a crooked little smile as you scooped up the sheets from the floor. “I’ll just pretend you weren’t suspiciously wandering the theater.”

“Busted.” He lifted both hands in mock surrender. “What can I say? If you hadn’t pulled a full-on undercover mission and vanished from campus, I wouldn’t have to play detective just to track you down.”

You shot him a look. “Busted.”

His smile softened a bit, but it didn’t reach his usual brand of easy humor. Changbin had always been the steady one — loyal to Bangchan, to the whole group really. But right now, there was something quieter in him, like he’d pocketed the jokes for later.

And even though you kept your expression cool, you felt it too — the weight of whatever he wasn’t saying yet. “The guys miss you, you know that, right?”

His voice was casual, but it landed heavier than he probably meant it to. You dragged in a breath, sharp like it might actually clear out the guilt clogging your chest. 

Spoiler: it didn’t. You’d gone ghost on them, the second life got messy, and there was no pretending otherwise.

Before you could open your mouth, probably to spit out some lame excuse, Changbin raised a hand like he could see it coming from a mile away. “And no, before you even ask, he didn’t send me,” he said, shooting you a knowing look. “Didn’t even bring you up. But it wasn’t rocket science, you know? Mingyu stormed off, then Chan showed up looking like he lost a bar or something.”

You winced. “Bin… I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” He shook his head, like that wasn’t what he came here for. “This isn’t a guilt trip, alright? Whatever Mingyu pulled, he had it coming. Trust me, no one’s crying over him.”

A pause. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

You straightened up, catching the shift in his tone. Less playful, more real. The kind of real that you couldn’t dodge even if you wanted to.

“I’m just—look, I’m just trying to knock some sense into both of you,” Changbin went on, like he’d been carrying this around too long. “I don’t know all the details, and honestly? I don’t need to. But I do know my best friend’s been walking around like the lights are on, but nobody’s home.”

Your chest tightened, the words slipping past your guard way too easily.

“And I’m not saying this to dump it on you, okay? I swear,” he added, catching your expression before you could speak. “It’s just... he’s a mess. And it’s not just the basketball thing, or the usual stress — it’s you. He misses you. Bad.”

The way he said it — simple, no drama, no exaggeration — hit you harder than any speech could’ve.

And you hated it. You hated that part of you wanted to hear it. You hated that it hurt more than you expected. Because deep down, you already knew.

“I’m only doing this because he’s my guy,” Changbin started, running a hand through his hair like this whole conversation weighed more than he let on. “Chan’s always been the one to clean up after the rest of us, you know? First to show up with advice or some half-baked plan to save the day.”

You tilted your head, a small smile sneaking onto your lips despite yourself. Classic Chan.

Changbin caught it, and his own grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, softer this time. “Yeah, exactly. And when he met you? Man, it was like someone turned the lights on in his head. Swear to God, I’ve never seen him like that. He was just... lighter.”

The way he said it twisted something in your chest, but you held his gaze, letting him finish.

“What I’m saying is,” he went on, “even if you two don’t go back to being, like, whatever you were before—” he waved a vague hand between you, “—at least talk to him. He’s stuck in that ‘she hates me, so I better give her space’ spiral, and you know how Chan is. He’ll bury it to do what’s best for you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how much that stung. “Wait... so he doesn’t hate me?”

Changbin actually laughed at that, a real, rough-around-the-edges laugh. “Hate you? Please. I don’t think that man has it in him, even if he tried.”

Your fingers tangled together, fidgeting without you meaning to. The truth slipped out before you could stop it. “I care about him. I really do.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said simply, no teasing this time, just plain fact. “I know you do. And I know you’ll figure this out.”

After a beat of quiet, Changbin pushed himself up, casually brushing nonexistent dust off his jersey like he’d just wrapped up something way more dramatic than a heart-to-heart.

“Thanks, Binnie,” you said, flashing him a crooked smile as he gave you an overly formal little bow.

He started toward the door but paused right at the exit, glancing back over his shoulder with that familiar spark in his eye. “You know I love you, right? But if you mess with my best friend’s heart, I will write the nastiest diss track you’ve ever heard. Full production. No skips.”

That earned a laugh out of you, real and warm. “Gonna throw in choreography too?”

He smirked like you’d just dared him to. “Obviously. Backup dancers and everything."

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, his voice echoing back as he called out, “You’re not getting off that easy!”

And just like that, you were alone again—surrounded by a whole storm of thoughts you weren’t quite ready to untangle.

You’d swallowed that whole conversation with Changbin like it was a bad shot of cheap tequila — still burning in your chest, still impossible to forget. And yet, life rolled on, dragging you with it while you kept trying to figure out when the hell would be the right time to talk to Bangchan.

Problem was, the whole thing still felt like an open wound — not bleeding anymore, but definitely not ready for anyone to poke at it either.

Sohee was in your new room, fussing with the straps of her dress in front of the mirror. The place wasn’t as roomy as the one you used to share with her and Eunji, but it did the job.

“I talked to Eunji," Sohee said, swiping mascara on with laser focus. "Well — argued is probably the more accurate term. She wouldn’t even let me finish when I tried to tell her she was being a bitch."

You were sprawled across your bed, cozy in your oldest, softest pajamas, like this whole conversation wasn’t tying your stomach in knots.

"I didn’t want you two fighting because of me," you muttered, playing with the hem of your sleeve.

Sohee whipped around, one eye still missing eyeliner but her energy fully charged. “Please. I’m morally allergic to bullshit. What she did was a straight-up foul. And until she figures out how to act like a halfway decent human being, maybe it’s time we put that friendship on ice.”

You sighed, a tangled mess of guilt and low-key relief knotting in your chest. "Yeah, well... it still kinda sucks."

“Everyone’s gotta make their own choices…” Sohee went back to her makeup like it was no big deal, but then spun around again, narrowing her eyes at you. “Speaking of choices… you’re really not going to the game? It’s the final. Literally, everyone’s gonna be there.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh and flopped onto the pillows like your life depended on it.

“Yeah, hard pass. Not in the mood to humiliate myself in public, thanks.”

“Girl, come on,” Sohee groaned. “This is your perfect excuse to finally talk to Bangchan and fix things. I know he’d love to see you there, especially at his last game this semester.”

You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know… Feels like showing up would just make it worse.”

Sohee snapped the mascara shut like it personally offended her. “Stubborn as hell, I swear. Fine. Just—promise me you won’t do something you’re gonna regret later, alright?”

“I know, I know,” you waved her off, a little smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll figure it out when the time’s right. Go have fun, kiss your boyfriend, and drink an unreasonable amount of beer in my honor.”

She grabbed her bag off the bed, but before heading out, she paused at the door and shot you a final look over her shoulder. “Last chance. Are you sure you’re staying?”

“Yeah. Have fun at the game,” you said, forcing a half-smile.

Sohee shrugged like she’d expected that answer. “Alright… I tried. Don’t say I didn’t.” She shot you a quick grin over her shoulder as she headed out. “Catch you later!”

As the minutes dragged on, boredom hit you like a brick. Your brain was way too wired to even think about running lines for the play. You tried putting on a movie, but you zoned out every five minutes and had to keep rewinding just to figure out what the hell was going on.

That’s when you decided: screw it. Time to hit the campus café and drown your existential crisis in hot chocolate and maybe the most sugar-loaded cupcake you could get your hands on. Comfort food therapy, top tier.

You threw on some cute but cozy clothes, something to shake off the emotional slump clinging to you like a bad ex. Skirt, sweater, your trusty boots — the holy trinity.

The second you stepped outside, it felt like the whole weather system had joined your pity party. What started as a light breeze had upgraded to full-blown dramatic gusts, and the sky was throwing major moody vibes with all those gloomy gray clouds.

The cafeteria was basically a ghost town. No surprise there — most people were off hyping up the basketball final, the very game everyone had been pushing you to go to. But showing up last-minute just to cause a scene was so not your style. If you were going to fix things, you’d do it on your own terms, not crash the party like some soap opera twist.

Inside, the café was warm but dead quiet. The staff looked just as miserable as you felt, probably counting down the seconds till they could ditch work and catch the game too. You kind of felt bad for bothering them. Kind of. But hey, desperate times. Your soul needed sugar before life threw another plot twist your way.

You went for the hot chocolate — obvious choice — and threw in a slice of strawberry sponge cake for good measure. Not exactly a gourmet pairing, but at this point, flavor combos were the least of your problems.

You slid into the table by the window, pulling out your phone like it could somehow save you from your own restless brain. 

Sohee had just posted a story: her, Minho, and Felix, all grins and mid-cheers. Typical. You kept scrolling, letting the endless stream of everyone else’s highlight reel wash over you. Felix, Jisung, and Hyunjin had apparently hit up a barbecue place recently, and yeah — that one stung. Hard. Like a punch right in the ribs, just above where you’d been keeping all your unresolved guilt.

Brilliant. Love that for me.

“Hey.”

The voice snapped you out of your spiral so fast you damn near fumbled your phone like it was evidence in a crime. Guiltily, you locked the screen and glanced up.

Mingyu stood there, iced coffee in hand, wearing that soft, easy smile.

“Hi…” you answered, a little awkward. He hadn’t exactly been on your recent contact list either.

"Can I sit?" He gestured at the chair across from you. "I won’t take up too much of your time, scout’s honor."

You nodded, curiosity getting the better of you. Might as well — it’s not like you were killing it at the whole “alone with your thoughts” thing anyway.

“You kinda vanished,” Mingyu said as he set his coffee down and folded his arms casually over the table. “Haven’t seen you around at all.”

You let out a humorless little laugh, more of a scoff really. “Didn’t exactly feel like I had a choice.”

“I see,” Mingyu exhaled, slow and steady, like he was gearing up to unload something heavy. “Look, I’m really sorry about everything. Honestly. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, coming out swinging at Bangchan like that.” He shook his head, as if still baffled by his own actions. “That’s not me. At all. And I’m sorry for dragging you into the mess.”

Well. That was... unexpectedly nice of him.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected — maybe some half-baked excuse or him brushing it off — but an actual, straight-up apology? Kind of refreshing.

“I should’ve seen it, you know?” He gave a small, hollow laugh. “The way he looked at you... yeah, it was pretty obvious. Can’t really blame the guy.”

There was a flicker of something in his smile, something resigned and maybe a little bit sad.

 “I’m sorry for hurting you,” you added, softer this time.

He shrugged, a wry twist to his lips. “No need. Things happen the way they’re supposed to, right? We had a good run. And well... I guess that’s it.”

“No hard feelings?” he asked, reaching his hand across the table like he was closing a deal.

You didn’t even hesitate — you took it, gave it a firm squeeze. “No hard feelings.”

“Right.” He nodded, like it was the final period of a sentence. Then he got up, grabbed his coffee, and shot you a parting smile. “I—I just hope you’re happy.”

And just like that, Mingyu walked out through the glass doors, disappearing across campus like he was just another passerby in your life. It wasn’t until the door swung shut behind him that his words really hit you, settling deep in your stomach like a lead weight.

I hope you’re happy.

And you weren’t happy. Not even close.

The brutal truth? You had no one to blame but yourself. Every twist, every wrong turn, it all traced back to your own fear, your own hesitation. If you’d been just a little braver — if you’d let people in instead of keeping them at arm’s length — maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe you’d be happy.

The cruel part? It took hearing it from Mingyu to finally see it for what it was. It was always you.

Your half-eaten cake sat abandoned on the table, the hot chocolate cooling into something sad and forgotten. Without thinking twice, you pushed back your chair and stormed out of the café, straight into the chaos waiting outside.

The wind hit you like a wall, and then, as if the universe was feeling especially theatrical today, fat, icy drops of rain began to fall — fast and merciless.

Karma? Maybe. Challenge accepted.

You didn’t slow down. You ran.

Your biker boots pounded against the slick grass, water splashing up your legs as the rain came down harder, so heavy it blurred the world into a messy watercolor. But you didn’t care. You weren’t stopping now — not when your heart was finally awake after pretending to sleep for so long.

The gym was all the way across campus, of course it was. Far enough that you were completely drenched by the time the courtyard came into view. Your chest heaved with every breath, burning like you’d sprinted through fire instead of rain. Your clothes clung to your skin, soaked to the bone, and your hair stuck to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck — like the rain wanted to wear you down.

But you kept going. You had to get there. No matter how soaked, no matter how late.

You had to.

You squared your shoulders, puffed out your chest like you had a whole army at your back, and stomped straight toward the gym doors. No hesitation. Okay — a little hesitation. Your heart was doing somersaults in your chest, adrenaline crashing into nerves like they were fighting for control.

But you pushed the doors open anyway.

Only to be greeted by... absolutely no one.

Just the janitor, casually mopping the far end of the court like this was any other boring Saturday.

Your pulse stumbled, like it tripped over itself. No way.

You yanked out your soaked phone, fingers slipping against the drenched screen, and checked the time. Way too late. The game had ended — you’d missed it. They were probably already at some bar downing cheap drinks and yelling over greasy plates of fries, and here you were, a walking raincloud with nothing to show for it.

Your thumb hovered over Sohee’s number, ready to call, beg, something — but before you could hit the dial, a voice cut through the empty court.

“Your plan is to flood the gym or what?”

Your heart flat-out stopped.

Slowly, you turned, every inch of you shivering from the rain and a healthy dose of panic.

Bangchan.

He was right there, leaning against the entrance like he hadn’t just flipped your entire internal system upside down. His hair was a mess of wet strands, some falling over his forehead in a way that should’ve been illegal.

Your mouth went dry, brain buffering like a bad connection.

"I'm... um... a little soaked," you managed, glancing down at yourself and the puddle spreading beneath your feet. A tremor ran through you, part chill, part nerves, leaving your words thin and shaky.

Bangchan gave a quiet, amused breath — almost a laugh, but softer — before he started walking toward you.

It was only then, as he drew closer, that you really saw him. His hair had grown longer, the damp curls now brushing the nape of his neck, framing his face in a way that felt painfully unfair. Draped over his shoulders was a black jacket, the kind that made him look like he’d stepped right off a movie scene.

"What are you doing here?" Bangchan’s voice cut through the hollow echo of the gym, roughened by surprise but threaded with something deeper.

With one simple movement, he removed the jacket from his shoulders and placed it over yours. You gulped, the words knotting in your throat. "I—I'm leaving," you managed, barely above a whisper.

"You're leaving?" His brows pulled together, like the thought alone caused him genuine pain.

Instinctively, you took a step back, clutching his jacket tighter around your soaked frame. Coward. Even now, even with him standing right in front of you, you were slipping into old habits, retreating when you should be reaching out.

Bangchan tilted his head, eyes flicking over your rain-soaked figure. "You really think I’m gonna buy that? After you ran through a damn storm to get here?" His voice was low, rough around the edges, but his gaze was soft.

Your throat felt like it was closing in on itself, your breath turning shallow and uneven. "I thought the game was still on," you confessed, your voice small, almost childlike.

"It ended early," he said, his tone softening. "Thunderstorm warning." He gestured toward the windows, where the rain continued to batter the glass in relentless sheets. "Most people cleared out fast. But I stayed behind."

Why? you wanted to ask. But maybe you didn’t need to — his eyes already told you everything you needed to know.

"You stayed," you echoed, almost in disbelief, as if saying it aloud would make it real.

He stepped closer, his gaze dipping to your hands, which clung to his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you afloat. When his eyes met yours again, something flickered in them — something deep and quiet, something that felt dangerously close to hope.

Bangchan’s gaze didn’t waver. "You came here for a reason," he said, his voice rough at the edges. "So stop pretending you didn’t."

Your heart twisted painfully, tangled in the unsaid. The truth clawed at your chest, desperate to surface. I wanted to see you. I wanted to stop running.

"I..." But your voice trembled, fragile as glass stretched too thin.

Bangchan’s expression softened, like he could see straight through the façade, like he saw every crack you were trying to hide. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached up and brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek. His fingers were warm against your chilled skin, and despite yourself, you leaned into his touch.

"You’re freezing," he murmured.

"I'm fine," you lied, even as your body betrayed you with a violent shiver.

A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Liar."

"I need to ask you something," you said, your voice tighter than you wanted. "That night on the beach… were you serious? About everything you said?"

His expression twisted, disbelief written all over him. “Really? Really? Don’t waste my time pretending you don’t know.”

You let out a breath, sharp through your nose. Fair enough. But you had to say it, get it off your chest before it ate you alive.

"I messed it all up," you admitted, the words tumbling out. "I kept telling myself I didn’t care what people thought, like I was above all that crap. But it turns out I care. Way more than I should. And that fear? It had me choking on my own feelings."

You risked a glance at him. He was watching you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at. No interruptions, no sarcastic quips — just quiet focus.

"I mean, you were— God, you were so good to me," you kept going, voice thick with regret. "And I think I freaked out because I’d already fallen for you way before I let myself admit it. Like, properly fallen. And that scared the hell out of me because I never thought I’d actually… like you. Not like this."

Your throat tightened, a painful lump that wouldn’t go away. "I liked everything. Being around you. Talking to you. Even the way you annoyed me." you smiled softly.

Your eyes stung, tears slipping free, but you kept going like you couldn’t stop. "I hate what I did to you. I hate that I messed this up beyond fixing it. And I know it’s too late... yeah. I get it. I understand."

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, words tumbling out too fast. "I just needed you to know, before I go — I’m sorry. For everything. You didn’t deserve any of it."

Your breath hitched, but you met his eyes anyway — full on, no flinching. "I’m so sorry."

Tears blurred your vision as you crossed the court toward the exit, not even bothering to shield yourself from the rain. What was the point? You were already soaked, inside and out.

You let out a choked sob, hating yourself for being such a coward — for always running when it mattered most.

“Wait—” Bangchan’s voice cut through the downpour, rough and almost swallowed by the storm.

You froze, eyes narrowing against the sheets of rain, blinking fast to see through the water streaming down your face.

“Wait," he called out again, sharper now, like the rain itself had finally lit a fuse. "What gives you the right to drop that on me and just walk away?” His anger was written all over him, carved deep into the lines of his face.

"What?" you shot back, breath catching, but the storm swallowed your voice, forcing you to yell just to be heard.

Bangchan raked a hand through his soaked hair, slicking it back as he stepped closer, chest rising fast, like he couldn’t breathe right with you this far away. "You’re running," he said, rough and tight. "Running from me. From us. Again."

And hell, he wasn’t wrong.

"Everything I’ve done," he said, the words rough-edged and raw, "since the second I met you — it’s been about you. Always you." He caught his breath, like saying it out loud made it real. "Because I wanted you. More than anything."

The confession hit like a punch to the ribs, sharp and breath-stealing.

"Since Hyunjin introduced us and you barely noticed I existed," he kept going, like he couldn’t stop now. "Since you breezed right past me without a second thought. Since you crashed into my life and wrecked every single thing I thought I had figured out."

Your heart was beating out of rhythm, too fast for your own body to keep up, like it was trying to outrun the storm — or maybe run straight to him.

"You don’t get to stand there and tell me it’s too late," Bangchan shouted over the rain, his voice tearing through the downpour like it had something to prove. His eyes burned so bright, it almost hurt to look at him. "Not when I’ve been standing here this whole time, heart wide open, just waiting for you to see me."

His chest heaved, rain sliding off him like he didn’t even notice, like all he could see was you. "I’ve been waiting for you," he said, softer this time, but it was the kind of softness that carried weight. Heavy. Unshakable. "So if you want me — really want me — you’ve got to say it. I need to hear you say it."

The storm raged around you, but it felt like the eye of it had landed right here, right between the two of you. Your pulse throbbed in your ears, every muscle strung so tight you could barely breathe.

This was terrifying. This was exhilarating. This was everything you had been too scared to want.

Your lips parted, but for a heartbeat, all you could do was try to swallow the lump in your throat. Then, steadying your breath, you let a small, shaky smile tug at the corner of your mouth. A flicker of defiance, maybe even a little hope.

"Bangchan," you said, your voice rough but sure, "there’s never been anyone else. It’s only ever been you."

There wasn’t a second of hesitation when your lips found his — only the wild, breathless certainty of two people who had run out of ways to pretend they didn’t need this.

The desperation between you felt electric, almost feverish, like your skin couldn’t decide if it was burning or freezing in the rain. You’d never felt anything like it — like the whole world had finally spun off its axis and was crashing headfirst into this moment. Into him.

When his hands, just as cold and trembling as yours, cupped your face like he was terrified you might slip away, you gasped, a sharp breath of shock and longing tangled together. Bangchan made you feel reckless. Young. Like you were caught in the middle of one of those ridiculous romance high-school movies you always scoffed at, the kind where the girl lifts her leg during the kiss — and for once, you understood why.

This kiss, soaked to the bone and laced with every scrap of resentment and longing, felt like proof. Proof that what you had wasn’t just real, but unstoppable.

You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth, fingers fisting in his drenched shirt as the rain poured over you both, careless and wild. And still, beneath the chaos, something pure unfurled in your chest — something terrifyingly beautiful, raw and undeniable.

Bangchan kissed you like he was starving, like he had been starving for you. He deepened the kiss, tasting every inch of you like it had haunted him in dreams and in every quiet, aching moment you’d spent apart.

It wasn’t new, this hunger — you’d felt it before. But tonight, in this storm, in his arms, it felt entirely different. Like you’d finally let yourself give in to the fire you’d been dancing around for far too long.

How you ended up sprinting down the hallway with soaked shoes that squeaked like a bad joke didn’t even matter at this point. Thunder growled overhead like it was personally offended by your existence, and Bangchan was fumbling with the dorm keys like his life depended on it.

“Could you not kill the key while you’re at it?” you shot at him, half breathless, half laughing despite the anxiety twisting in your stomach.

“I'm trying, damn it,” he muttered, jamming the key into the lock with a speed that was both impressive and completely ridiculous.

The door finally gave in, and the two of you stumbled inside, drenched to the bone. The room was dim, only lit by the bruised grey daylight leaking through the window, and for a second, the world just... stopped spinning so fast.

You didn’t even think about it. Your hand found his face like it belonged there — like you were tracing something ancient and sacred, a statue carved by the gods, Apollo himself if Apollo wore wet hair and a breathless grin. Your thumb brushed his cheekbone, and you caught yourself smiling, then sinking your teeth into your lip to hold it back.

Bangchan swore under his breath, like your touch was enough to short-circuit his whole system. He closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, then caught your hand in his, holding it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“I missed you…” you admitted, your voice low and honest, like the words had been burning a hole in your lungs.

Bangchan’s breath hitched. He caught your hand gently, his fingers wrapping around yours like he was scared you might vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. His eyes — god, his eyes — they searched your face like you were something holy, like every answer he’d ever wanted was written in the curve of your smile.

He kissed your knuckles, slow and passionate, and that tiny gesture nearly undid you. The way he was looking at you sent a shiver down your spine. Tears pricked behind your eyes, not from sadness, but from the insane, overwhelming relief of finally feeling. Like your chest had cracked open and light was pouring in, fierce and free.

And damn, it felt so, so good to finally breathe again.

The best part, freedom didn’t need an invitation — it just showed up, slipped right between you two like it belonged there all along.

And then, his lips found yours. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just there — warm and certain and carrying every shred of doubt far, far away. If those questions still existed, you sure as hell weren’t looking for them.

Bangchan kissed you like he knew. Like he knew exactly how long you’d been waiting for this, and he wasn’t about to ruin it with panic or rush. He was careful, but not shy — calculated without making it feel forced, a perfect balance of hunger and restraint that made your heart stutter in your chest.

This wasn’t reckless. No, this was something else entirely. This felt like he was handling something precious, like you were made of glass and he wasn’t sure if you’d shatter or melt in his hands. Maybe a bit of both.

Your arms looped around his neck, a familiar move, but now it felt charged. You’d always been secretly obsessed with how he towered over you, how his presence alone seemed to wrap around you like a second skin. Like gravity had picked favorites and he was yours.

Without even breaking the kiss, you found the hem of his drenched T-shirt, fingers brushing over cool skin as you tugged it upward. He caught the hint, helping you pull it over his head in one smooth motion before tossing it somewhere behind him like it didn’t matter — because it didn’t.

The jacket he’d draped over your shoulders slipped to the floor with a quiet thud. Your lips were still tangled in his, tasting rain and fire and something dangerously close to forever. Every brush of your mouth against his felt like a spark in a storm, friction building and building until you were certain you’d catch flame.

You didn’t know how long you’d been kissing him, and honestly? You didn’t care. All you knew was this moment — soaked skin, racing pulse, and the wild, breathless certainty that whatever this was between you, it was finally, finally real.

Before he even thought about sitting down, Bangchan stripped off every soaked, useless layer like it personally offended him. His shirt hit the floor with a wet splat, followed by the rest, and then he dropped onto the edge of the bed like he owned the damn place — which, technically, he did, but still.

You stood between his knees, and for a second, it felt like the air got thinner.

Slowly — painfully slowly, because he had to know exactly what he was doing to you — he tugged your skirt lower, knuckles grazing your skin like it was an accident. His fingers made quick work of your boots, then your sweater, all without breaking eye contact. His gaze had this impossible mix: soft but hungry, steady but burning with something you couldn’t quite name. Like you were some kind of inevitable he’d been waiting for without even realizing it.

Without a word, he curled his hand around the back of your thigh and coaxed you onto his lap, like you were gravity and he didn’t stand a chance. You went willingly — of course you did — knees bracketing his hips, your palms finding his shoulders, solid and warm beneath your hands.

He hovered at your mouth, maddeningly close but not quite there. A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his lips, easily teasing you.

His breath skimmed yours, electric and careful, until finally his lips brushed over yours, so light you almost convinced yourself you imagined it. His hands tightened at your waist, fingers sinking into your skin like he needed you closer. Like breathing wasn’t enough anymore.

The room fell into this heady, perfect silence, just the sound of your breathing, uneven and shallow, and the rain tapping against the window like it was keeping rhythm.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried all the weight in the world. “Can we just freeze this?” you asked, your eyes tracing every line of his face like you were afraid it might vanish. “Right here, right now. Forever.”

You felt him shiver beneath your fingertips — or maybe it was you. Hard to tell anymore. His answer was the way he kissed you like yes. Like hell yes.

Bangchan let out a low, rough sound, like you’d just stolen the last ounce of self-control he had left. His mouth trailed along your jawline, barely-there kisses that felt like they were searing into your skin.

Normally, he was the one filling the space with words — teasing, coaxing, making you dizzy with how easily he could wreck you. But tonight, you wanted him to feel it. To really feel it. Not just in his head, but in his bones.

You cupped his face between your palms, your thumbs brushing the damp heat of his cheeks. God, he looked at you like you were the whole damn galaxy — like he’d waited light-years for this exact moment. And you traced your fingertip along his parted lips. He didn’t even hesitate; he kissed your fingerprint like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice barely louder than the rain tapping at the window — but it hit him like thunder all the same.

He froze, like your words had short-circuited every nerve in his body. His chest rose on a sharp inhale, his eyes drinking you in like you were the only thing keeping him alive. “I’ll always be,” you whispered, like a vow only he was meant to hear. 

His eyes softened, something raw flickering in them, right before you kissed him — full of every unspoken promise, fearless and certain, like you were stitching your heart straight into his mouth.

His hands found your waist, grounding you, as he shifted you effortlessly to the center of the bed. His lips brushed your neck, making you shiver all over again.

“My heart is yours,” he said softly, his lips brushing your skin like he was confessing a secret. “I’m all yours.” His words melted into kisses — first at your lips, then your cheek, and finally at that place beneath your ear that made your breath hitch.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, breathless and a little reckless. He grinned against your throat, like he liked you like this — alive, teasing him back.

For a heartbeat, you just looked at him. At this man who somehow made the world quiet and loud all at once. Like maybe, just maybe, life could actually be this simple.

“God, you’re so beautiful…” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, his fingers cradling your chin. His gaze dipped to your lips, dark with hunger. “Wanna touch you everywhere…”

His hand slid to the curve of your neck, making your eyes flick up in challenge.

“Make you feel so good,” he added, voice rough with intent.

You bit your lip, settled deeper into his lap, and gave him your signature smirk. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t need an invitation twice.

The kiss deepened, turned heady and hungry, but never rushed. Bangchan’s fingers toyed with the side of your panties, lazy and teasing, like he had all the time in the world to drive you insane. He hooked his finger under the edge, barely grazing your skin — just enough to send a sharp, electric pulse through your entire body.

There was heat, sure. A wildfire between you, no doubt. But underneath it, something steadier, something that felt terrifyingly like eternity. He wasn’t rushing it. He wasn’t just touching you to have you — he was memorizing you. Worshipping, almost.

“I want you,” you breathed in his mouth, voice rough around the edges, like it had been sanded down to the truth.

He didn’t waste a second. Quick, practiced, a little frantic but still smiling that lazy half-smile of his as he reached for protection, slipping it on in record time, like every second apart was unbearable.

You shifted your knees, adjusting for him — for both of you — and his eyes darkened like you’d just flipped a switch. He tugged the last stubborn scrap of fabric away, his hands lingering like he couldn’t quite let it go.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you sank down onto him, the movement natural, inevitable, like your bodies already knew this rhythm by heart. A gasp escaped you both, caught somewhere between surprise and relief.

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, not for balance, but because you needed to hold on to something real — and he was the only thing that felt like solid ground.

Bangchan buried his face in the crook of your neck, lips warm and wet against your skin, like he couldn’t get close enough. Like he wanted to taste every inch of you, commit you to memory, down to the last shiver.

You moved against him slowly at first, like you wanted to feel every single second of it — to let it burn through your nerves until it became too much to hold back. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him as if he couldn’t stand even a breath of distance.

Every shift of your hips dragged a sound from him, rough and raw, like he was barely holding on. His head fell back for a moment, jaw clenched tight, but then his gaze was back on you — dark, devouring, full of need that felt like it could swallow you whole.

You tried to swallow the sounds tearing out of you, sinking your teeth into your lip, into his shoulder, into whatever you could reach — but it was useless. Every slow thrust made you unravel a little more, made you feel like you were coming apart right around him. He filled you so deep, so perfectly, it felt obscene, like your body was made just to take him.

And he knew it too — the way he moved inside you was relentless, unhurried but devastating, like he wanted to make sure you felt every inch of him, every inch of what he was doing to you.

And he wasn’t any steadier.

He fought to hold himself together, but the moans kept breaking free, rough and desperate. He was lost in the delirium of being buried deep inside you, of feeling you stretch and clench around him like you were made to take him. The way you took him, so eager and tight, had his control fraying fast.

He was pulsing with need, every second of restraint twisting into something almost unbearable — too good, too much, almost painful in its pleasure.

His hand slid up to your hair, fingers threading through before he tugged it aside to expose your neck. His mouth found your skin without hesitation — warm, open kisses trailing along your pulse, his tongue tasting the sweat-slick heat of you. 

He worked his way down your neck, lips brushing teasingly over every inch of your sensitive skin. At your chest, he paused, let his tongue explore the soft skin there, coaxing a sharp gasp from you as your body reacted without thinking. He wanted to ruin you with his mouth, to taste every inch until you were dripping for him, until the only thing you could think about was how good he felt owning you like this.

You found your rhythm together, perfectly in sync, like you’d been built for this. Built for him. Each roll of your hips sent a fresh wave of need spiraling through your veins, building, tightening, pulling you both closer to the edge. His hands held you like he couldn’t bear to let go, his touch rough but reverent, worshipping every inch of you.

The room felt molten, the air thick with heat and desire. Moans tangled between you, breathless and desperate, until all you could hear was the storm outside and the sound of your bodies moving together.

"Can’t get enough of you—fuck—" Bangchan’s voice tore out of him, rough and wrecked, words slipping into broken sounds as his hips snapped into yours, chasing the high with a desperation that felt like it might kill him.

Sweat and rainwater dripped down his skin, slick between your bodies, his hair clinging damp to his forehead. He looked like sin, like every fantasy you’d ever had but filthier, messier, better.

You crashed your mouth to his, swallowing the ragged moan that escaped him, tasting the heat of it on his tongue.

“Please,” you begged, breath trembling as your lips brushed his. “God, please, just—”

"You feel—fuck," he choked, breath catching hard as you rolled your hips, grinding right where he needed you. His eyes fluttered shut, helpless to the way you squeezed around him.

"Say it," you demanded, your voice all heat and sin, lips brushing his ear like a spark to gasoline.

He groaned, wrecked. "So good, so fucking good, baby, you drive me insane."

Your lips parted on a shaky exhale, your entire body tightening around him. The knot low in your belly twisted, pulling you closer to that breaking point with every relentless thrust. The storm outside thrashed against the windows, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside you.

Your forehead pressed against his, breaths tangling, sweat-slicked skin sliding together as you moved in sync. His gaze burned into you, wild and wrecked, like he couldn’t get enough.

"That's it," he rasped, rough and hungry. His thumb worked your clit in tight, relentless circles, dragging you closer to the edge. "Cum for me, baby. Be my good girl and soak my cock. Let me feel you lose it all over me."

“Fuck, you were made for me,” he rasped, voice thick and raw, every word dripping hunger. His hips snapped into you, fast and relentless, hitting so deep it made your mind spin, had you gasping his name over and over like it was the only thing you knew how to say.

You felt impossibly full, stretched around him to the point of unbearable pleasure, and you craved it — you wanted more, wanted him to take you apart until you were nothing but his.

Bangchan’s hand slid up to your throat, not choking, just holding you there, steady and close, like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you. His other hand gripped your waist tight, dragging you harder onto his cock, like he was chasing something dangerous and beautiful all at once — like he needed to claim every part of you.

“Take every inch of me,” he growled against your skin, his lips hot at your neck as his teeth sank in, just sharp enough to make you shiver. “Fuck—yes, just like that, my perfect fucking girl.”

Your body clamped down on him, another violent wave of pleasure wracking through you as you moved together, desperate and wild. His breath stuttered, sharp and wrecked, his hips jolting hard when you clenched around him again, milking him, pulling a raw, broken moan from deep in his throat.

“Fuck, angel,—” His voice cracked, strangled on a gasp, and then he lost it completely. His hips slammed up into you, rough and frantic, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you with a helpless, guttural sound, like he was unraveling from the inside out.

The second you felt him pulse, you shattered, pleasure crashing through you in devastating waves. Your whole body jerked, trembling in his hold, your mouth falling open on a cry of his name that sounded like both worship and ruin. He groaned through his release, grinding up into you as he emptied himself fully, like he couldn’t stop, like he never wanted to stop.

Even when the aftershocks tore through you both, he kept you tight against him, breathing hard, lips brushing your skin in shaky, reverent kisses. He kissed you like he was trying to swallow your moans, like he was desperate to keep every last sound of you for himself.

Your breath was wrecked, your chest heaving against his as you clung to him, still pulsing around him like you never wanted to let him go.

“Such a perfect little thing for me,” he rasped, dark and tender all at once, “my pretty girl.”

And in his eyes, you swore you saw it — the words he didn’t say yet, thick and heavy and dangerous on the tip of his tongue.

After basically spending the entire weekend barricaded in Bangchan’s apartment — more specifically, in his bed — where you’d thoroughly explored every possible way to kill the mutual longing, you figured it was time to rejoin society. Preferably not looking like you’d just crawled out of a two-day sex coma, but well, damage done.

The perfect excuse arrived in the form of Changbin and the rest of the soccer guys throwing a victory party after their game. They won, obviously — and Bangchan had not let you forget it for even a second. He’d been strutting around the dorm like some smug MVP, dropping lines like, “You’re literally sleeping with the best basketball player, babe. Iconic behavior.”

You were so gone for him it was almost embarrassing. Almost.

It was Sunday night, and looming over you like an anxious little storm cloud was the fact that this was your last week. Final week. Curtain call was Friday, and you were already spiraling.

The panic over your performance felt like it had its own pulse — quick, sharp, and completely unnecessary, considering Hyunjin and Seungmin had basically held your hand and all but screamed, “You’re going to kill it. Stop overthinking.”

Still. Easier said than done.

Although, to be fair, the crippling anxiety had taken a temporary vacation over the last 48 hours — because Bangchan, bless him, had thoroughly, repeatedly, and almost heroically, fucked it right out of you.

Like a true gentleman.

He kept your hand in his the entire walk, fingers tangled like it was the most natural thing in the world. And you couldn't help but smile at the way he casually included you in every plan for the mid-year break. Like he couldn’t imagine doing any of it without you. You didn't even realize how much you needed that feeling until you had it.

When you got to the frat house, the party was already in full swing—music thumping, laughter spilling out into the yard. The moment you two stepped through the door, a few of the basketball guys waved, greeting Bangchan with their usual teasing banter. And, surprisingly, they were actually kind of polite to you. No eye rolls, no snickers. Just the usual ‘Hey, Bangchan’s girl’ vibes. But that was enough.

You’d chosen a dress that was a little daring—tight, short, and definitely not the kind of thing you’d wear to a casual party. But you didn’t mind it. Especially when Bangchan’s leather jacket was draped over your shoulders. It was a nice change, wearing something of his, and you kind of liked how it made you feel like you had a little piece of him with you.

And, of course, he didn’t complain about it. In fact, he was practically glowing, the way he looked at you, like he couldn’t wait to show you off. You could tell he was enjoying the attention, and somehow, that made you want to pull him in closer, just to remind him that yeah, you were his too.

The party was already in full swing when you and Bangchan walked in, fingers laced. When he squeezed your hand like a silent promise, you didn’t think twice about holding tighter.

The music was loud, people were already half-drunk on cheap beer and good vibes, but it was the way your friends froze mid-conversation that really caught your attention.

Changbin’s eyes went wide first, like he’d just seen his parents kissing. “Hold on. Hold on,” he said, pointing between you and Bangchan like he was trying to solve a crime scene. “My two pretty best friends are... doing this now?” He made a vague swirling motion with his finger that you hoped was meant to represent holding hands and not something filthier.

Hyunjin didn’t miss a beat. He scoffed and threw his arm over your shoulder, grinning like the devil himself. “Back off,” he shot back. “She’s my best friend.”

You raised a brow, looking between the two of them. “Okay, can we not make this weird?” you deadpanned, shrugging Hyunjin’s arm off with a smirk. 

Your friends were loving every second. You could see it on their faces — the shared glances, the knowing smirks, like they’d been waiting for this moment longer than you had.

"Honestly," Jisung chimed in from the couch, raising his drink dramatically, "about damn time."

Seungmin just gave you a slow, nodding approval, the corners of his lips barely twitching into a smile. “We had a pool going,” he said, as if that explained everything.

You shot him a playful, but suspicious look. "A pool? Seriously?"

"You're a very predictable couple," Seungmin replied with zero shame.

Bangchan chuckled under his breath, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in that way that made your knees go a little traitorous. "Told you they’d figure it out."

You nudged him with your shoulder, smiling but with a touch of sass. “I was kind of hoping for more mystery. You know, make them work for it.”

"Yeah, well," he said, leaning closer so only you could hear, his voice low and warm in your ear, "I’m not that good at pretending I don’t want you."

And just like that, you were the one who had to fight back the stupid, giddy grin threatening to take over your face.

The night rolled on with teasing jokes and too many toasts in the team’s honor, but somewhere between the crowded kitchen and the messy dance floor, you caught Bangchan watching you — like you were the only person in the room worth looking at.

And you looked at him the same way.

You were still breathless from Bangchan’s kiss, your smile stretching so wide it almost hurt. You two were dancing and kissing almost the whole night. When you felt someone step into your line of sight.

You turned, and there she was — Eunji.

Her gaze flicked between you and Bangchan, catching the way he still had his arm slung lazily around your waist like he belonged there (because he did). For a split second, something unreadable passed over her face, but then she forced a smile.

“Hey.” Eunji’s voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant, as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Congrats on the game. You played really well.”

Bangchan blinked, caught off guard by how soft her tone was. “Uh… thanks,” he said, a little wary.

She shifted her weight, eyes flicking to you for a beat before landing back on him. “Do you think we could talk for a second?” she asked, nodding toward the hallway. “Just us?” Her gaze lingered on you, like she was asking permission. Or daring you to say no.

You shot Bangchan a quick glance. He met your eyes with quiet understanding and gave you a little nod, squeezing your hand before letting go.

Curiosity pulled you to follow her.

In the quieter corner of the frat, Eunji took a breath like she was gearing up for something heavy. 

“Look, I probably don’t have the right to even ask you to listen,” she began, voice tight. “But I need to say this.”

You didn’t move. Arms crossed, not hostile — just careful. “Okay. Say it.”

She nodded, like that tiny bit of permission gave her permission to fall apart.

"I was jealous," she admitted, the words tumbling out too fast, like they’d been bottled up for too long. "It’s stupid, I know. But it felt like you had everything — both of the hot guys," she gave a bitter, awkward laugh, "while I had no one. And it got in my head. Made me ugly inside. I hated how small I felt next to you."

Her honesty was disarming. You hadn’t expected her to just lay it out like that.

"I guess I thought," she went on, voice wobbling, "if I could tear you down, maybe I’d feel less... invisible. But it didn’t work. It only made me feel worse. And I am sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you."

You searched her expression, looking for cracks, for any sign of performance — but what you saw was genuine. Flawed, but real.

You studied her face. No defenses. Just raw regret and maybe a little shame. For the first time, she looked like someone trying to unlearn the worst parts of herself.

You tilted your head. “Is this because of Sohee?”

Her head jerked up. “No,” she said quickly, eyes wide. “This isn’t damage control. This is me... finally being honest.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. Finally, you let out a breath.

"I can’t speak for everyone," you said honestly, thinking of your friends who had long since cut ties with her. "But for me... I need more time. You hurt me, Eunji. Really hurt me. And that’s not something I can forget overnight."

Eunji’s eyes shimmered, but she didn’t argue. She nodded slowly, lips pressed together like she was holding back a hundred other apologies. “That’s fair,” she whispered. “And... I’m happy for you. And Bangchan. You look really happy.”

You didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t walk away, either.

And maybe that was enough — for now.

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her figure disappearing back into the noise of the party. You stayed there for a beat, letting the moment settle in your chest, then spun on your heel and made a beeline for Bangchan.

He caught sight of you immediately, his whole face lighting up like you were the only thing that mattered in the room. "Hey," he said, pulling you back into his arms like you were gravity itself. "Everything okay?"

You slipped your arms around his neck, your heart finally settling. "Yeah."

His grin went lazy and warm, and he kissed you again, slow and certain, like you were home.

You were pretty sure your organs were about to revolt — heart somewhere in your throat, stomach twisted in knots, lungs forgetting how to breathe. Your hands trembled as you peeked through the velvet curtain, catching a glimpse of the packed house. First row, all family. Behind them, a blur of students, teachers, and more faces than you wanted to count.

Seungmin was adding the final touches to his makeup with clinical calm, while Hyunjin stretched dramatically in the corner like he was about to run a marathon instead of hitting the stage.

You were ready — or as ready as someone could be when standing on the edge of a dream. The makeup they had given you was soft, radiant. Perfect for Seulgi — the wild, bright, untamable girl you’d spent months breathing life into. A character made of longing and light, all wild heart and messy hope. You’d love her instantly.

And tonight, you were going to give her everything.

Then, right on cue, you felt him — warm arms sliding around your waist, steady and grounding, a kiss pressed to the top of your head like a silent anchor in the storm.

You leaned into him without thinking, soaking in the calm he carried like it was oxygen.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and full of awe. “My girl’s a star.”

And for a moment, everything stilled — nerves, noise, the chaos behind the curtain — like the whole world was holding its breath just for you.

You felt your face flush, your cheeks burning in that dizzying, weightless way that only came when someone made you feel so properly, soul-deep loved that it scrambled your entire system.

“I’m so nervous, I think I might faint,” you whispered, pressing a trembling hand to your stomach. The silky fabric of your dress did nothing to calm the storm underneath.

You peeked through the curtain again, heart stuttering at the packed audience. It looked endless. A sea of eyes. A million possible failures.

Bangchan gently cupped your chin, coaxing your gaze away from the chaos and back to him — steady, warm, certain.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and fierce in that quiet way of his. “You’re gonna walk out there and blow their minds. There’s not a single universe where this doesn’t go amazing — because it’s you. And you’re the best.”

It was stupid, how quickly your throat tightened. How fast your chest got all shaky, like his words had knocked the air clean out of your lungs. You blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall and mess up the makeup Nahee had so carefully painted on you.

“Stop,” you whispered, biting back a wobbly smile. “You’re gonna make me cry and then everyone’s gonna think my character dies in act one.”

He laughed, quiet and warm, and you took a shaky breath. Because suddenly, you wanted to say something that had been burning at the edges of your mind for days.

You wanted to leap, to risk it all.

“Bangchan, I—”

“Guys! It’s time!” Miss Baek’s voice cut through the moment like a bell, bright and urgent as she clapped her hands, motioning everyone to gather backstage.

You stepped back, breath caught, the confession stuck in your throat. But you weren’t ready to let go of him just yet, so instead of finishing your sentence, you reached for his hand and pulled him into the small circle forming around the cast and crew.

Miss Baek stood in the center, her eyes gleaming with pride. “All right, everyone,” she said, voice a little breathless with excitement. “This is it. You’ve worked hard for this show. Now go out there and own it. I trust you — every single one of you. So... break a leg.”

You felt Bangchan’s thumb brush over your knuckles again, grounding you.

And even with your nerves still coiled tight in your chest, a flicker of something brighter pushed through — like maybe you could do this. Maybe you were ready.

Especially with him right there, holding your hand like he never planned to let go.

The curtain rose slowly and steady, gliding open with a faint hum that made your pulse spike. Lights warmed the stage with a golden hue, soft and rich, like the first rays of sun spilling through a window on a quiet morning. The theater was silent — not the heavy, awkward kind of quiet, but the kind that buzzed with anticipation. Like everyone was holding their breath at the same time.

And then Seungmin stepped into the light.

Dressed in his costume — something timeless and simple — he looked completely at ease, the softest confidence in his posture as he took his place center stage. No theatrics. No build-up. Just him. And then he opened his mouth to sing.

It was like the world paused.

His voice slipped into the room like silk — clear, effortless, pure in that heart-wrenching kind of way that doesn’t just touch you, but clutches at something deep inside your chest. Notes floated from his mouth like a secret he trusted the whole room to keep. 

Someone in the third row audibly gasped. Someone else sniffled. And no one even cared about hiding it.

You could feel it ripple across the room — the moment where everyone realized this wasn’t just a student play. This was something real. Something alive.

And a huge part of that was Bangchan. He made a real effort to help.

You could see him in the sound booth, lit only by the glow of his equipment. His headset was on, hands gliding over the controls like he was conducting his own invisible symphony. Every rise and fall in Seungmin’s voice was perfectly balanced, wrapped in a sound that felt warm and cinematic.

The reverb was subtle, giving Seungmin's voice the echo of a cathedral without drowning him in it. The background instrumental, faded in at just the right moment, swelled like a heartbeat — quiet and steady — then soared.

The lighting shifted with the rhythm, delicate hues melting from gold to soft blue, and you knew that was Bangchan too. Timing everything. Perfecting everything. Making the show feel bigger than the stage it stood on.

The audience didn’t move. No one dared. It was like they were afraid that even a single breath might break the spell.

And when Seungmin hit the last note — long and gentle, the kind of note that settled into your bones — the silence lingered for one suspended second before the applause burst like a wave, loud and relentless, crashing against the walls of the theater.

You clapped with everyone else, heart pounding, chest full, eyes shining.

And somewhere backstage, you caught Bangchan glancing up from his booth just long enough to shoot you a grin.

As if to say, Yeah. We did that.

It was Act Three.

Your act.

The final, sweeping moment you’d been rehearsing in front of mirrors, empty classes, and late-night voice notes. And now, standing just behind the curtain with the theater buzzing like a live wire around you, it hits you all at once — the weight of it. The lights dimmed, the overture swelled, and your pulse was racing so hard it felt like it might echo through your mic.

You smoothed your dress with slightly trembling hands, eyes darting through the curtain gap to catch a glimpse of the full house. Your chest rose with a shaky inhale. 

“Hey—hey, wait,” a voice said, breathless.

You turned, confused — and there he was.

Wild-eyed, flushed, a little out of breath like he’d just run across the building — and completely not where he was supposed to be. “What are you—? You need to go,” you whispered, eyes wide. “You’re supposed to be in the booth! I’m literally about to go on—”

He didn’t answer. He just grabbed your face and kissed you.

No warning. No hesitation. Just lips on yours like it was the most natural, necessary thing in the world. And everything else — the voices, the music, the sheer panic clawing at your ribcage — melted into static. It was just him. Warm and real and grounding you in a moment that didn’t feel like it could possibly exist in real life.

When he pulled away, he didn’t go far — his forehead pressed to yours, and his hands lingered like he didn’t want to let go just yet.

“Break a leg,” he whispered. Voice low. Serious.

You were about to respond, maybe something witty to cover how stunned you were “Thank—” but then he said it.

“I love you.” He mumbled.

Just like that. No build-up, no performance. Just soft and real and tossed at your feet like a match he was willing to watch burn.

Your breath caught.

You looked up at him, eyes gleaming, lips parted — something in your chest cracked wide open, but the words stayed stuck behind your teeth. Not because you didn’t feel the same. God, you did love him back. But the moment had too much weight, too much emotion, and not enough time.

Someone offstage hissed a frantic “Places!” but neither of you moved.

Instead, you smiled. A little too wide. A little breathless. Tears covering your eyes.

And he got it. He didn’t ask for anything else. 

His entwined fingers slid unhurriedly, inch by inch, until the last touch. Then he backed away like it hurt to leave and vanished into the shadows like he’d never been there at all. 

You wanted to cry — not from sadness, but from the overwhelming weight of it all. Being loved like this, so completely, felt like being wrapped in sunlight after a lifetime of gray. It was terrifying and beautiful and everything in between.

You never expected to fall for Bangchan. Not like this. Not so fully.

But somewhere between the late-night conversations, the lingering looks, and the quiet ways he held space for you, your heart cracked open — and he simply walked in.

And that was it. You were his. And he was already yours.

And then the curtain rose. The light hit your face. And you stepped into it like you were made for it.

And as the first line left your lips, steady and clear, you weren't just playing a part anymore.

You were living it — heart full, eyes bright, and finally, finally, not acting at all.

♡ taglist ― @kenia4 @chrizrizz @meerabmalik @gnabnahcsworld @gncbnahc @jinniejjam @skzworldx @itsacatastrophe-xo @soonie1010 @4ng3l-ch1ld @justwonder113 @tsunderelino @eastjonowhere @lyracarvahall @akindaflora @victoriaaf @ebnabi @wickedbutlovely @bitchysunflower11 @ravengxbss @letrascafeymar @letrascafeymar @twentytwofour @pacha02 @skzaddictsincedebut @strayk1ds143 @micr0c0soms @vixy-vix

[dance-is-life27]

Stress Relief

Sam Wilson x Reader x Joaquin Torres

Summary: After a mission you and Sam decide to de-stress together, only to be interrupted by Joaquin.

Warnings: 18+, gender neutral reader, smut, penetration, accidental voyeurism, getting caught, implied threesome, no plot just porn, no descriptive body parts or image of reader

A/n: let's hope and pray I don't soak the theater seats when I finally watch Brave New World.

No spoilers!!

Reblogs are more appreciated than likes!

“Shh,” Sam whispers in your ear, his thrusts slowing in order to prevent more moans from leaving your mouth, “Can’t have Torres knowing what we’re getting up to, now can we?”

You shake your head as it falls back to lean against Sam’s shoulder, you clench around Sam as his grip on you tightens around your waist. With your back to his chest you find yourself squirming in his grasp, the tension building up in your body as you try to nonverbally ask for more.

“Sam, can’t-” You gasp, your mind in a haze as you try to speak, “-need more. Need to cum, please.”

Sam coos at your pleading, before giving you a gentle kiss to your jawline, “Yeah? You gonna cum for me baby?”

You whine against him as you try to buck you hips up to entice Sam to fuck you faster. Unfortunately his hold on your waist prevents you from being very effective, and in your struggle you also fail to notice the sound of footsteps getting closer towards the bedroom.

“Hey guys, I found some-” Joaquin’s sentence trails off as he looks up from the tablet in his hands and spots the two of you. Both you and Sam freeze under his shocked gaze. Your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest as the seconds stretch on in uncomfortable silence. “I didn’t-, I didn’t see anything. I’m sorry, I’ll go, uh yeah.” Joaquin stammers, already halfway out the door and into the hallway when you call out his name.

“Joaquin!” Sam tenses beneath you, and you turn your head towards him, “Can he stay?” You ask. You’ve always had a bit of a crush on the other man, I mean, how could you not? Joaquin is kind and funny, and so sweet in a way that your teeth start to hurt everytime he smiles. It’s so easy to just be a little bit in love with the new superhero, but the issue here isn’t Joaquin, its the man that’s currently underneath you. Because while you and Sam have talked about potentially trying something new with someone else, you’ve never settled on who just that person was.

“Are you sure?” Sam asks as he looks at you, his eyes scanning your face for any doubts that you may have. You have none.

You nod, “I’m sure.” The kiss that Sam gives you leaves you dizzy as his hips begin to slowly roll into yours once again, a quiet ‘okay, baby’ falls onto your lips and a whine escapes your mouth when Sam uses his other hand to grip at your thigh and spread your legs apart.

When you and Sam finally separate at the mouth, you turn your head back to look at Joaquin who’s still frozen in the door, but you’re quick to spot the notable tent in his pants. Your tongue runs over your lips subconsciously as Joaquin flushes under your gaze, his cheeks turning redder and redder by the second. You hum as Sam starts to leave a trail of kisses down the side of your neck.

“You joining us?” You sigh and even with the distance you can swear that you hear Joaquin audibly whine before he nods his head, his eyes never leaving your body as he joins you both into the room and shuts the door behind him.

[followingthebutterflies7]

Better Chug That Mountain Dew

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Spencer flies to New York to see your Broadway debut as Veronica in Heathers. He thinks he’s prepared, but he couldn’t be more wrong.

Warnings: Jealousy, suggestive content, strong language.

--------------------------------------------------------

Spencer had always supported you. He had been with you long before your name started showing up on cast lists with lead roles beside it.

He was with you when you were still doing side characters and bit parts, juggling Smosh shoots and auditions and late-night table reads. He’d been there when you flubbed your lines during a cold read, when your callback got canceled last minute, when you cried on his couch because you thought maybe you just weren’t cut out for this.

And he had celebrated with you when you landed your first commercial gig, sat with you when you nervously paced the green room waiting for an off-Broadway callback. Always in your corner. Always proud.

And now here you were.

Veronica Sawyer. In a full Broadway production of Heathers. A proper stage. A real audience. You had made it.

He was the first person you called when you landed the role. And the first to scream. He had gotten you flowers, a handwritten card full of awful inside jokes, two Mountain Dew Kickstarts to celebrate together, and one line at the end that said: “You’re gonna blow the roof off, V.”

You told him about everything. About moving to New York, the panic of signing a lease, the chaos of rehearsals. Every phone call was a play-by-play: the set design, the costumes, how your choreographer nearly cried during the first full run-through.

You sent him shaky videos from tech rehearsal, FaceTimed him in full costume, left voice memos rambling about how terrifying and beautiful it all was.

He listened to every one. Saved most of them.

And when you finally said, “Opening night’s in two weeks. Come if you can,” he didn’t hesitate.

He bought the ticket the same day.

Now he was here to see opening night.

He’d been proud. So proud.

But he’d also been warned.

By you. By Courtney. By Angela. Even by Shayne, who read the libretto once and handed Spencer a sticky note with the words: “Don’t get weird during Dead Girl Walking.”

Spencer, at the time, had scoffed.

“Please. I’ve seen them flirt with demons in Smosh sketches. I can handle Heathers.”

He thought he was prepared.

Thought knowing the lyrics, the plot, and the choreography would be enough. You’d told him everything; you’d called him after every rehearsal, shared backstage gossip, sent him snippets of songs, and described scenes in painful detail, all in an effort to prepare your man.

And he said he could handle it.

He really thought he could.

Right up until opening night.You’d met him for a quick dinner and a drink before the show. You only had water, to stay hydrated, and he had a much needed Kickstart after a bumpy flight. You’d teased him about it for years. His one true vice, second only to you.

You looked radiant in that chaos of the evening; focused, lit up from the inside. The kind of glow that didn’t come from makeup or lighting. The kind of glow that only came from doing what you loved and knowing you were meant to do it.

You kissed him quickly outside the theater, laughing as you turned to leave, promising to see him after curtain.

Spencer watched you go, heart full.

And then the show started.

He slid into his seat, front row, aisle, black button-up, trying to play it cool. The Playbill in one hand. A bouquet of your favorite flowers in the other.

From the first number, he was done for.

You weren’t just performing, you were transforming. Veronica’s words, her emotions, her anger, her heartbreak, every part of her lived in you. You disappeared into the character.

He had the biggest smile on his face, until it started slipping.

He watched those two dumb jocks hit on you, watched them hover, flirt, touch. Watched you laugh. In character, yes, but Spencer’s hand gripped the edge of his seat all the same.

His smile twitched slightly in Fight For Me.

You were singing to JD, eyes soft, vulnerable. Reaching out.

Hey

Could you hold my hand?

And could you carry me through no man's land?

You grabbed JD’s hand.

Spencer flexed his hands. Smile gone.

Then came Freeze Your Brain.

JD sang to you like you were the only person in the world. Got in your space. Pressed a Slurpee to your lips. You sipped.

Spencer’s jaw tensed. Hard.

Go on and freeze your brain

Try it

He was seething. In the prettiest, most tightly wound way imaginable.

The moment the blue lighting spilled across the stage, he felt it, this low, humming sense of doom building in his chest. He knew what was coming, you had told him about this song so many times before.

The one scene Spencer had tried so hard to mentally prepare for.

But nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

It started quiet. Innocent.

You were alone on stage.

You could feel the energy in the room change. The audience buzzed with anticipation. Spencer sat up straight, every nerve ending on fire.

You started the number with fire in your eyes. He’d never seen you so alive. So in control.

The demon queen of high school has decreed it

She says Monday, 8 a.m., I will be deleted

They'll hunt me down in study hall

Stuff and mount me on the wall

30 hours to live, how shall I spend them?

You prowled across the stage like it belonged to you. Because it did. And Spencer’s pulse kicked up in response.

I don't have to stay and die like cattle

I could change my name and ride up to Seattle

But I don't own a motorbike

Wait.

Here's an option that I like

Spend these 30 hours gettin' freaky, yeah

The lights shifted again.

There was a bed.

JD on the bed.

Spencer leaned forward in his seat without realizing.

I need it hard

I'm a dead girl walking

I'm in your yard

I'm a dead girl walking

Before they punch my clock

I'm snappin' off your window lock

Got no time to knock, I'm a dead girl walking

You crossed the stage slowly, deliberately. The choreography was sensual, full of bravado and desperation. Your voice wrapped around the lyrics with dangerous intent.

You stalked JD, your hands sliding up his arms slowly. Deliberately. Spencer’s eyes widened.

Sorry, but I really had to wake you

See, I decided I must ride you 'til I break you

'Cause Heather says I got to go

You're my last meal on death row

Shut your mouth and lose them tighty-whities

You shoved JD back onto the mattress. Climbed into his lap. JD’s hand slid to your waist.

Spencer’s blood boiled.

Then JD ripped open your blouse. You tossed it dramatically to the side, matching the beat. The crowd gasped. Spencer stopped breathing.

He knew it was acting. He knew the show. Knew this scene.

But knowing and watching were two very different things.

You looked so real. Your hands, your breath, your grin, it wasn’t timid. It wasn’t “sorry, this is for the part.” It was bold.

And then you kissed JD. Hard. Deep. Hands in his hair. Spencer’s eye twitched.

His nails dug into the Playbill in his lap.

He could feel his knee bouncing, jaw locked so tight it ached.

The lighting turned red. Hellfire.

Then, the line.

You turned slightly toward the audience. The spotlight caught your face just right.

Your voice is crystal clear, every lyric dropping like a challenge.

And in the middle of it, in that exact moment, your gaze snapped to the front row.

Right to him.

You held his eyes.

A single second. Maybe two.

And you sang it.

“Better chug that Mountain Dew.”

He stared, slack-jawed.

And when your lips curled into the faintest smirk, he nearly blacked out.

Because that line? That line was a direct hit.

That line was sacred.

He had once said in passing that the only thing he’d marry before you was a cold Kickstart at 9 a.m., and now here you were; mocking, seducing, owning him with five words.

He hadn’t even realized how tense he was until then. Not until those five words punched him in the chest.

Everyone knew he loved that stupid drink. You especially.

You turned back to JD like it was nothing.

He didn’t hear the rest of the song. He saw movement, saw you ducking down to your scene partner for another kiss, but all he could focus on was the electric buzz under his skin, and the fire in your eyes when you looked at him like that.

Someone seated next to him noticed how agitated he was and leaned over. “Are you good?”

“No,” he said, eyes still locked on you. “Not even a little.”

Because it wasn’t just the acting. It wasn’t the choreography. It was you. Performing like your life depended on it. You were electric. Unapologetic. On fire.

And the way you looked at him?

Like you knew exactly what you were doing.

Like you were daring him to do something about it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the way your hips moved, how your voice hit every note like a weapon, how JD’s hands had lingered for far too long.

He wanted the show to end.

He wanted the curtain to fall.

He wanted you.

--------------------------------------------------------

Backstage after curtain call, you barely made it to the dressing room before your phone buzzed.

SPENCER:

Hope you’re ready to wrap this show with an encore.

At home.

No lights, no audience.

Just you and me.

You laughed, a little breathless. Warm. Buzzing from adrenaline and applause and him.

A knock.

You opened the door.

Spencer stood there, arms crossed. Eyes burning.

“Hi,” you said sweetly. “Did you enjoy the show?”

His eyes dragged down, slow. Then back up.

“Don’t ‘hi’ me.”

You blinked, still smiling. “What?”

“You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Did I?” you asked, batting your lashes. “I was just playing the role.”

Three steps. That’s all it took.

He closed the distance, voice low and sharp.

“I don’t know if I want to marry you or strangle you.”

You blinked. “That good, huh?”

“You made eye contact with me. During that line.”

“Yep.”

“That wasn’t in the choreography.”

“I improvised.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear.

“Tonight, you’re my dead girl walking.”

You shivered.

“I meant it, by the way,” you said softly, stepping closer. “I knew exactly where you were sitting.”

He looked at you like he wanted to tear the world apart just to get you closer.

“You’re evil.”

You tilted your head, all fake innocence. “And you love it.”

His hands slid to your waist. His breath hit your jaw.

“I’m driving us home,” he murmured. “And when we get there, you’re gonna repeat every word you sang tonight.”

“Oh?”

“But this time,” he growled, “you won’t be pretending who it’s for.”

You smiled.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

He didn’t wait another second.

[thewinter-eden]

That Your Man?

images are mine (except middle LK pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. Apparently all the ATE pcs are my inspo this time.

part 2 of my skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Lee Minho x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: mugger!Minho holds you and your bf up in an empty parking lot one night, ready to give you the old ‘your money or your life’ routine, but when your bf pushes you into the line of fire so he can run away, Minho has second thoughts.

warnings: Fear, Minho has a gun, attempted mugging (obv), asshole bf, rude Minho, scared but defeated reader, Minho's kinda soft but he ain't gonna admit it, language, satire, unrealistic robbery, unrealistic Minho, food-related insecurity, nerve/muscle/twitch-related insecurity, hurt/comfort, Minho’s a softie but also a criminal coffee.

Comment and reblogs appreciated!

word count: 4k

series info PART 2 INFO

Part 2 >

“Shit, babe, don’t cry.” Your boyfriend pulls you off to the side, a playful laugh on his lips as he uses your scarf to wipe your face. It’s a brand new scarf—he just gave it to you for your birthday, and some of the fibers stick to your face. “It’s just a movie.” He crouches low to your face, diminishing his own height more than necessary in a way that makes you feel so small.

Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, and you do your best to pull yourself together. This is not at all how you thought this would go. Crying in front of him is one of the less enjoyable ways to spend an evening, particularly when he’s in a diminutive mood, as he is right now. You’re both standing outside the theater, huddled together in the glow of the neon sign, while people pass you by with the scent of popcorn and chocolate on their clothes.

“Sorry,” You laugh at yourself. It’s easier to deal with him laughing at you when you’re already laughing at yourself. The movie was a biopic on a musician you’ve always loved, and the final scenes had been comprised of the last footage taken of them before their death. You didn’t mean to cry through the credits, but here you are, sniffling into your new scarf.

“Aww, that’s okay, babe.” Your boyfriend coos, and gives your arm a squeeze. He’d thought the movie was ‘sensationalist crap.’ “You wanna grab food? We can get whatever takeout you want.”

That’s how you found yourself crossing the dark parking lot towards McDonalds, Jake’s debit card in hand for his half of the bill. You hadn’t really wanted crappy fast food for your birthday dinner, but while you had been considering your options, Jake had caught sight of the famous golden arches gleaming across the lot.

He couldn’t go with you to collect the food, of course. He had a work call to make and would rather sit in the heat of his car than walk through the cold as he did.

This behavior isn’t new.

You’re used to it.

You’re independent, you can handle being left to your own devices.

And his work calls are boring as hell to listen to, anyway, so why not make the most of the situation and take a walk?

It’s even starting to snow.

It’s a beautiful night for a walk.

As you turn your face to the sky to catch fresh snowflakes on the tip of your nose, you hear running footsteps behind you. “Babe!” Jake’s voice pants.

You turn to find him fighting the slick of the icy parking lot to catch up with you. He’s laughing, rolling his eyes at himself, waving his wallet at you. “I totally forgot.”

You open your arms to catch him as he comes skittering into reach, shiny black shoes nearly slipping out from under him. His long limbs flail briefly before settling against you, his weight thrown against your hip to keep himself upright.

He’s got his earpiece in, his phone clutched in one hand, the word ‘conference’ rolling across the info line. His side of the call is muted so he can speak to you.

You thread your fingers through his jacket, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, but he’s too busy digging through his wallet to receive it. Your lips glance off his chin and are left cold and unsatisfied.

This is also normal. You’ve stopped letting it sting.

“Here.” He plucks his debit card from your hand and replaces it with another. “Use my work card for my half. I can technically write this off as an expense since I’m working.” He gestures to his phone significantly and then pinches your cheek fondly. “Thanks babe. Love you.”

Derision swirls in your gut, but you fight it down. “Love you too.”

But he’s already checked out of the conversation. His eyes float somewhere above your head, listening to whomever is speaking on his call. A twinge of annoyance twists his lips.

Deciding to leave him to his work, you turn on your heel and continue your jilted jaunt to McDonalds, only to run smack into someone in the otherwise empty parking lot.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You pull yourself away from the man you’ve just plowed into, looking for his face past the blackness of his hood and face mask to gauge how much you might have just pissed him off.

Because that’s just what you need—getting chewed out by a stranger in the cold.

“Babe?” Jake’s voice wonders behind you. “You okay?”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because you’ve just seen it.

Poking through the folds of the stranger’s dark jacket, the muzzle gleaming in the light of the street lamps, and pointing straight at you, is the barrel of a handgun.

You’re frozen.

The man steps closer and you see his eyes then, narrow and focused. They meet your gaze for an instant, flickering with some unreadable thought, and then settle just over your shoulder. He’s sizing up your boyfriend, still silent as the night.

“Babe, answer me, are you—holy shit.” Jake is standing next to you then, his searching gaze landing on the gun, and his hand grips your arm.

You’re mentally going through your options, working your way through potential scenarios.

Most likely, it’s your average mugging.

Probably nothing like the time you and your nephew gathered up all of his tiny plastic play kitchen mugs and pelted them at your brother, all while shouting “You’re being mugged!” Great fun for a six-year-old, probably not so much for this man.

He’ll take your phones and your wallets, maybe even your car keys, but he probably won’t shoot anybody. He just wants quick cash, maybe for drugs or rent, and he’s probably not interested in being a wanted murderer.

He looks too old to be a teenager, and he’s rock solid, calm and collected, which comforts you. He’s not a stupid kid, and he’s not totally strung out. You might just be lucky enough to rely on some rational decision making.

While you’re thinking your way through your chances of surviving, Jake is erupting into panic next to you.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. This isn’t happening. Oh my god.” His hold on your arm is like a vice, clenching around your muscle with more than enough strength to bruise. Half of you wants to pry his fingers off before they splinter the bone, the other half wants to hide behind him and pretend this isn’t happening.

“Calm down.” The stranger scolds your boyfriend coolly, but he’s cut off.

“Oh my god, please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. I have an electric car, just take it.” And then Jake’s scrambling through his pockets, while the stranger’s eyes further narrow into slits.

His gaze darts to you, where you’re still frozen.

“Take it easy, Romeo,” The stranger takes a step closer, an action that completely spooks Jake.

Your boyfriend lets out a wail of terror and promptly dives behind you, his hands hurling you forward. You scream, your body colliding with solid warmth. In the next second he’s gone, bolting back across the parking lot towards his car.

You hardly notice the flash of headlights or the screech of tires as he squeals out onto the street, because your boyfriend’s actions have just launched you directly into the arms of the man who’s trying to mug you.

The stranger had caught you by reflex, his gun now jammed forcefully into your ribs, and you definitely hadn’t accounted for this scenario.

There’s a rush of grunts and tangled limbs and skidding shoes as you shove yourself away from him, your eyes wide, lungs gasping, but the stranger is staring in the direction that Jake just drove off in.

“Shit,” He mutters in disbelief, and finally turns back to you.

You’re still petrified, terrified, abandoned.

Where are you gonna go now? Hoof it to McDonalds and hope the bigger, stronger man doesn’t catch you before you get there?

Well.

Then again.

Might be your best option.

But then the stranger reaches behind himself and tucks the gun into his waistband, bringing his now empty hands back into view. In a second, he’s knocked his hood back and tugged his mask down, revealing shocks of fluffy brown hair and the highest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. He hooks a thumb back towards the street. “That your man?”

It’s enough to open the floodgates.

You burst into tears, so relieved that you’re no longer at gunpoint, terrified because you’re alone with the man who tried to mug you (did he even get the chance?), pissed and hurt because your boyfriend shoved you into the arms of a gunman, confused because the gunman is now speaking casually to you.

It’s a lot.

At your sudden explosion of emotion, the man leans back on his heels, sighing at you. This isn’t how he expected the altercation to go, but now that he’s left in the whirlwind aftermath of your nightmare boyfriend saving his own ass, all he can do is stare as you dissolve into a puddle of tears.

Through sobs, which you barely manage to hide in your scarf, you squint up at him past the falling snow. “What do you want? Are you robbing me?” You might as well ask—what is he gonna do, shoot you?

After a few seconds of pensive silence, the man steps forward with a nod. You flinch backwards, but he just lifts his empty hand, palm up. “Yeah, I am. Give me the card he just gave you.”

You blink, tears momentarily paused. “The card?”

He nods towards where your hand is still clenched around the company credit card. “Yeah I heard all that ‘pay for my half with the work card’ bullshit. I saw that lame-o pathetic kiss, too. He’s a real winner. Gimme.”

His fingers crook at you expectantly, and you’re so tense that you jump and immediately pass the card over. He tucks it into his pocket, and then cocks his head oddly at your scarf. “What is that fucking monstrosity and why are you wearing it with the tag still on it?”

He doesn’t know what to do, either. None of his victims have ever sacrificed their girlfriends to him before; admittedly at a loss, he decides to play it by ear. You haven’t called the cops yet, so he still has some time to see where this goes.

More confused than ever, your eyes fall to the bright orange and blue felt scarf, and realize that there is in fact a tag sticking out of one of the folds. Before you can take a closer look at it, the stranger’s hand snaps out and plucks the scarf off your neck. A rush of cold air chills your skin where the fabric once was.

He’s…stealing your scarf?

“Hey, wait—” You argue, and then freeze when his challenging eyes snap back up to you. “That was a birthday present, please don’t take it.”

He holds up the tag, a neon green discount marker from a local thrift store. “Who gave it to you? Because—”

You snatch the scarf back, humiliated. “My boyfriend gave it to me.” You can’t believe you just yanked something out of the hands of the man with the gun.

He gazes at you for a long moment, hands jammed in his pockets. He doesn’t know much about you, except for the fact that you handle duress better than your boyfriend does, but he did overhear the company card conversation which suggested you were expected to pay for your own dinner while your boyfriend wasn’t even willing to pay for his own, and that you were sent to collect dinner by yourself, and, now, that your birthday gift had been a horrendous piece of second hand garbage that—by the looks of your clothes—isn’t your style at all.

“Your boyfriend got you a thrifted scarf for your birthday.” He repeats blandly.

You sniffle, putting a few more feet of distance between you. “He knows I like cozy things.” There’s not much you can say to defend Jake at this point, but you can’t take any more degradation right now.

“Tell me he got you something better last year.” The stranger scoffs.

You scowl at him. “Aren’t you robbing me?”

His teeth flash in the lamplight, and he waggles Jake’s company card at you. “I already did. Shall we go get him fired?”

Voracious, incredibly stressed laughter bursts out of you. “What?”

This guy holds you up in a dark parking lot at nearly midnight, witnesses the most embarrassing display of emotional betrayal you can imagine, and is now offering to get your boyfriend fired as payback for abandoning you?

He tucks the card back in his pocket with a shrug. “Just seems to me like it’s more worth my time to give that asshole what’s coming to him than to steal the money you probably don’t have, considering he makes you pay for shit.”

There’s nothing in the world that could have prepared you for that.

Your mouth falls open. “I have money!”

“Are you offering?” His hand goes back towards the gun in his waistband, his smirk teasing, and your heart leaps into your throat. His joke falls flat when your gaze drops to the ground, chin tucking against your chest, your entire personality seeming to instantly deflate.

His heart sinks at the sight, which is not something he wants to decipher right now.

“Alright, wait.” He drops the edge of his jacket back down over the gun. “I was kidding, please don’t cry again. I’m Minho, what’s your name?”

“Why the hell would I tell you my name?” You snap. Then you shoot him a look. “Why the hell would you tell me your name?”

He shrugs again—an action he seems very fond of—and nods to the scarf still in your hands. “Throw that piece of shit away and come with me. There’s a coffee shop right over there that’s still open. You can warm up while you order another ride.”

You balk, moving backwards once again. At this point, you could fit an entire shopping cart train between you, and Minho is smiling.

“I’m not going with you!” You exclaim, clutching the scarf like a shield.

He points to the other side of the parking lot, where a coffee shop pours warm light out onto the pavement. “We would be walking. Just come with me for a cup of coffee. Alright? You said you like cozy things.”

A few seconds of tense silence pass. He blows snowflakes out of his eyelashes and blinks at you expectantly. You can’t understand what the hell is happening right now.

“Why?”

Minho sighs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “You just got mugged, alright, you’re in distress. You just got stranded here with a dangerous stranger, and you look like you’re turning blue. I can’t just leave you here.”

“You had no trouble robbing me at gunpoint, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

The teasing smile falls from his face and he frowns at you. “Because I just robbed you at gunpoint and that’s not even why you’re crying. That’s a whole new level of pathetic. I can’t in good conscience leave you here.”

You burst into tears all over again.

He lifts his hands in surrender, approaching you carefully. “Alright, listen. I’d rather run up a shit ton of debt on your ex’s company credit card than keep making you cry. So can we start with a cup of coffee? Please? Once you’re in the Uber I’ll be on my way, buying TVs and chipotle gift cards until he’s out of a job. I swear.” He crosses his heart.

“He’s not my ex.” You sniffle, because he’s not. Who wouldn’t be terrified in the face of an armed robbery? You can’t totally blame Jake for his reaction, as miserable as it makes you feel. Did he even think about coming back for you? What if you had been shot after he left?

Minho shakes his head at you and watches you crumble all over again. “Come on, jagi, why are you this upset over that deadbeat nobody? You’re making me feel funny.” Pity. The nurturing monsoon swirling in his gut is pity—something he’s never felt for somebody he’s mugged before. His eyes lift to take in the movie theater behind you, and then at the scarf still clenched in your fists as you weep.

“Don’t tell me today is your birthday.”

You sob harder, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. You’re not afraid of this strange criminal anymore, rather heartbroken and disappointed that your already lame evening has taken such a miserable turn.

“Well, shit.” Minho mumbles. “Wait, shit. He was going to make you pay for your own fucking McDonalds on your birthday?”

“Why do you care so much?” You screech, reeling away when his hand touches your arm.

He throws up his hands in equal amounts of frustration, eyes widening as much as yours. “Because you look like an abandoned fucking kitten and I’d be a horrible person to just leave you here.”

“You are a horrible person.” You shout back, and then your mouth clamps shut. Your hand slaps over your lips, staring at him in utter terror as you realize that you’re firing insults at someone who could just shoot you if he decides you’re offensive enough.

But he just laughs at you. “Yeah, fair enough. So, come on—coffee?”

Without a single sane reason to support this decision, you walk across the parking lot with him and step into the comforting heat of the busy coffee shop. It’s weird, it’s definitely weird, but in the past five minutes he’s showed you more interest than Jake has in three months, and you can’t help but want to spend a few more minutes in the company of someone so attentive.

And as the light washes over his decidedly attractive face, you realize that he’s not so bad to look at, either.

After all, he robbed Jake—not you.

Minho stands at the counter, ordering your drinks, and then nudges you and points at a display case full of cake. “Eh? For your birthday?”

Your stomach rumbles with hunger, but your face flushes with heat. “Oh, no, I’m good.”

He frowns. “I’m not going to make you pay for it, not after the way that ass treated you.”

“Because it was so much worse than the way you pulled a gun on me?” You hiss, eyes flashing to the barista who miraculously doesn’t hear you.

Minho rolls his eyes. “If you were my girlfriend, I never would have pulled a gun on you, much less pushed you in front of one. It’s completely different. Get a slice of cake.”

The barista’s eyes go wide.

You wave his suggestion away. “No, really. Thanks anyway.” The cake does look incredible, though.

“I can hear your stomach growling. Would you rather go get something different? Protein?” Minho pushes, glancing around your person as though he expects you to faint right in front of him. It’s almost sweet enough to cancel out your suspicion of him as he waits for you to order a slice of birthday cake.

You step away from the register instead. “I’ll eat at home.”

Minho squints at you. “You don’t eat in public?” It’s sarcasm.

“…No.” It’s not sarcasm.

“Because…”

You’re getting antsy, the barista’s getting antsy, and the three people in line behind you are getting antsy.

Minho doesn’t care.

Why would he? He’ll just rob them all later.

“Because I have a facial spasm when I eat.” You whisper, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

The man before you looks like he’s not surprised at all by this information. “So? That’s not uncommon.”

“But it embarrassed my boyfriend—”

“Your ex.”

“It embarrassed him so we stopped doing meal dates in public.”

He stares at you. “You’re fucking with me.”

“No, my face twitches really badly and it’s embarrassing. Just the coffee please. Please. I can’t take this anymore.” You can’t stand the fact that you’re spending so long holding up the line, so you shake your head at him and move towards a table in the corner, refusing to delay the process any longer.

Your retreat forces Minho to turn around and complete his order, paying with Jake’s company card, but a few moments later he’s approaching your table with two plates of cake. He puts one in front of you with a hard set frown. “Just eat the damn cake. Your ex is shit. It’s not like your side of the booth faces the room anyway, so you won’t feel uncomfortable.”

He sits across from you, scooting his own plate closer to himself.

“He’s not my ex.” You argue quietly. “And my side of the booth still faces you.” It shouldn’t matter, to show one of your more mortifying qualities to the guy who held you up in the parking lot, but it does. You want to put your beautiful slice of cake into a to-go box and take it home to eat it curled up in your armchair where no one can see you.

Minho doesn’t look up from his cake. “He’ll be your ex boyfriend after tonight. There’s no reason for you to be holding on to the bitch ass who throws you at the barrel of a gun on his worst day and is too ashamed of you to take you to dinner—or let you fucking kiss him—on his best. Now eat your cake before he becomes your late boyfriend.”

Blood drains from your face as you reach for your fork. “Please don’t hurt us.” The words break past your lips in a whisper, but you scoop up a bite of cake. It nearly wobbles right off your fork as your hand trembles, but you manage to keep it onboard. “I really don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to chill out and have some birthday cake.” Minho glances up at you right as you take a bite and lift your hand to hide your face politely. He frowns as you chew. “Put your hand down. Did I tell you to cover your face?”

Your eyebrows lower, tears pooling in your eyes. “You’re being kinda mean to me.” It’s too weird, the juxtaposition of the man who mugged you at gunpoint outside and the man who is having cake and coffee with you in celebration of your birthday.

Though, to be fair, he didn’t really get the chance to rob you before Jake freaked out, so does it really count?

He just stares at you blankly. “Would you rather I take you out back and mug you again?” Before you can start crying again, he nudges your foot under the table with his own. “You’re safe, jagi. I’m sorry I scared you out there.”

It takes a second, but you convince yourself to relax. You’re safe.

You eat your cake, you drink your coffee, you smile every time Minho calls you jagi, exactly as he intends; you force yourself stop paying attention to the twitching in your cheeks while you chew, not even knowing that he’s watching you because it’s cute, not because it’s weird. He spends ten minutes trying to convince you to break up with Jake, and by the end of the meal—the first meal you’ve had in public since you started dating Jake a year and a half ago—you’ve decided you agree with him.

No more Jake.

Minho all but cheers. No more Jake.

At the end of the night, he watches you order an Uber, and then he borrows someone else’s phone. Actually borrows it, doesn’t steal it.

“Yes, hello, police? A woman has just been mugged. The guy had a gun, and he drove off in an electric car—” And, despite your insincere protest, he gives a description of your boyfriend as the assailant before hanging up. Minho returns the phone, waits with you for your Uber, and then sends you off with a cheeky wave of Jake’s company card.

He keeps the scarf.

Part 2 >

Let me know what you think!

PART 2 INFO

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@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa

[imsogonesposts]

Sixth Times the Charm

|| ao3 || requests are open!! ||

summary: It seems like every time Steve tries to kiss you, something or someone interrupts him. (5 times Steve tries to kiss you for the first time, and the one time he finally got to.) (wc: 2,165)

warnings: brief mentions steve's bad parents. brief mention of a toddler throwing up. I think thats it!!

1.

You and Steve had been dating for a little over a month when he decided tonight was the night he was going to kiss you. After you agree, of course. He never wanted to pressure you into doing things you weren’t ready for. He would wait a year, longer even, to kiss you if you so much as asked. But, he knew that tonight was the night.

He had taken you to the movie theaters that night to watch “Pretty in Pink,” and everything had gone perfectly. The theater was practically empty, he got to have his arm around your shoulder the entire night, and your hands brushed as you both reached for popcorn at the same time. Repeatedly. In his mind, nothing could have made the night better. That is until he drove you home later that night. 

After the movie had ended, he parked in your driveway, and the two of you got to talking. He noticed the slight nervous stutter you let out when he brushed a strand of hair out of your face and couldn’t help but smile. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered as you whispered back a “yes.” And as he held your chin and leaned forward, the porch light in front of your house turned on. He sighed, almost immediately letting go of your chin, putting some space between the two of you as you both let out a nervous laugh. 

“Guess you should head inside, huh?” He asked, nodding his head to your house. 

“Guess so,” you replied with a sheepish smile, quickly kissing his cheek before exiting the car. “Goodnight, Steve,” you whispered as you walked to your front door. Though, Steve was too giddy to notice. A stupid smile plastered on his face from the kiss on his cheek. It may not be what he was aiming for, but hey, he’ll take what he can get. 

***

2.

The following day, you had paid Steve a visit during his lunch break at his job at Family Video, as you usually did. 

“Why do you never let me pay for the rentals?” You asked with a smile as he scanned a VHS copy of "Top Gun," the first one to come in stock since it arrived at the Video Store. 

“Because you’re my girlfriend, and it’s only fair that you get to use my discount too,” he replies, smiling back at you as he snuck a few of your favorite chocolates into a bag for you. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he says with a wink. 

“Whatever can I do to make it up to you?” You ask, rolling your eyes at him with a smile. 

A kiss. If you want, he thinks. “Well, your company’s a great start,” he says while leaning over the counter, face nowcloser to yours. “I love it when you visit me, even if you end up putting me to work cause of your movie requests,” he says in faux annoyance, smiling at your laughter. 

And just as he was about to ask if he could kiss you, Robin came running out of the break room. 

“Steve, there’s a really gross bug in the break room, and I’d really appreciate it if you killed it,” she says, eyes wide with a sheepish smile. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve replies, dropping his head and walking off to the break room. But not before giving your shoulder a quick squeeze and an apologetic smile. 

“Thanks a lot, Robin,” he says after killing the bug the girl was too scared to do herself. 

“You’re gonna see her later anyways,” she replies, laughing at his huff of annoyance. 

“I was this close to kissing her,” he replies, leaning on the wall and raising his hand to show a small gap between his thumb and index finger. 

“Isn’t this the second time?” Robin asks with a laugh as Steve huffs again, already moving to leave the break room. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he replies with a small smile. "Third times the charm though, right?" 

***

3.

It was one of the few times Steve’s parents were home. And, though he wanted nothing more than to be out of the house, whether at your place, the movies, hell, he’d even go to work today if it meant he didn’t have to be here, his parents wanted him to spend the day at home. In order to “spend some time together.” Even though they've barely spoken to him the whole day. 

So, you had come over to spend some time with him, which he had greatly appreciated. Though the two of you hadn’t exactly been doing anything too exciting, you were on his bed reading a book and he was flipping through a Batman comic Dustin had forced him to read, on the other side of the bed, he was still glad to be in your company. 

“You know, I really don’t get why the kids are so obsessed with a bunch of guys in spandex,” Steve said, breaking the comfortable silence between you two as he tossed the comic to the floor. 

“I think that Spider-Man's pretty neat,” you reply, setting your book on his nightstand as he moved to lie next to you.

“I’m way better than some spider guy,” Steve said, smiling at the way your face lit up when you laughed. He couldn’thelp but brush a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. 

“Would it be alright if-“ he whispered before being interrupted by an over-exaggerated scream. 

“My eyes!” Dustin yells, covering his eyes with his hands as Steve lets out a long groan. 

“How did you get in my house, Henderson?” Steve asks, reluctantly letting go of your face, turning his attention to Dustin to fix him with an annoyed glare. 

“Your mom let me in. Is it safe to look?” Dustin asked, still covering his eyes. 

“We weren’t doing anything,” you reply at the same time Steve mumbles “kid needs his ego checked. Can't even knock on a fucking door.”

“Hey, why’s my comic on the floor?” Dustin asks, finally removing his hands from his eyes, moving to pick up the discarded comic. 

“It was boring,” Steve replies with a shrug. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted a ride to the arcade,” the younger boy simply replied.

“How’d you get here?” Steve asks with a sigh, glancing at you to see if you would be okay with the two of you making a trip to the arcade.

“I biked.”

“You couldn’t bike over there?” 

“Your house is closer.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh as you squeeze his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he whispers to you with a smile, before returning his gaze to Dustin.  “Alright, alright, I’ll take you to the stupid arcade.” Dustin was already walking out of Steve’s room before Steve could even finish his sentence.

***

4.

You had decided to join Steve and Dustin as they made their way to the arcade, as you had nothing else to do for the day. And what better way to spend it than with your boyfriend? 

“I’m sorry we had to spend our day here,” Steve told you, leaning against one of the games as you played Pac-Man.

“It’s fine,” you shrug with a smile. “I haven’t been here in forever, so I guess it’s nice to come and revisit it.”

“I’m gonna try and win you something from that claw machine,” Steve suddenly announces as you lose your last life in the game. 

“You don’t have to-“ you start before he wraps an arm around your shoulder, already pulling you to the machine. 

“Oh, but I want to, baby,” he says, nodding his head to the stuffed animals. “Which is your favorite?” He asks, smiling as you choose your pick. 

About $4 later, he had finally won you a teddy bear, squeezing your shoulder as he asked “what are you gonna name it?”

“Mr. Snuffles, obviously,” you reply in a faux serious tone, smile as bright as can be. 

“Hey, Mr. Snuffles,” he replies, putting a hand out to shake the bear’s paw. 

“You’re an idiot,” you tease with a smile. 

“I’m your idiot,” he replies, lightly poking your cheek. And just as he was about to make his move and ask if he could kiss you, a toddler a few feet away from the two of you threw up, effectively killing the mood. 

“Great,” Steve muttered under his breath, putting an arm around your waist and pulling you away from the crying toddler and his mom. “Let’s look for Dustin so we can take him home,” he says. 

Two failed kiss attempts in one day? That had to be some sort of world record. And of course, Steve had to be the one to break it. 

***

5.

Steve had decided to pay you a visit at your job at the record store during his break. He had brought you some popcorn from Family Video, which, conveniently enough, was just a block away from your job. Which meant the two of you frequently visited each other on your breaks. 

As “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper played through the speakers, Steve glanced around the empty store before an idea hit him. He quickly took your hands in his, raising them to be wrapped around his neck, then settling his own hands on your waist. 

“What are you doing?” You asked with a laugh as he began to sway the two of you.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m dancing with you.” He replied.

“Okay, well, why?” You ask, smiling at him. He just shrugs, continuing to dance with you. 

“Because I can,” he teases, smiling back at you. 

“This is nice,” you whisper after a few moments of silence as he moves one hand to cup your face. 

“Can I-“ he whispers, before being interrupted by the bell above the door ringing, indicating someone has entered the store. Reluctantly, you both let go, moving away from each other so you wouldn’t get written up for PDA on company time. 

Maybe another day, he thought. 

***

+1

Steve was starting to believe he may never get to kiss you. After so many interruptions, he was beginning to believe the world was playing some kind of cruel trick on him. One that resulted in him losing his goddamn mind because he couldn’t kiss his pretty girlfriend. 

But tonight, he had a plan. One that would ensure he wouldn’t get interrupted before he got to kiss you. No parents, no friends, no customers, and no throwing-up toddlers to interrupt. 

“Wow, you’re really taking me to your old hook-up spot?” You ask teasingly as Steve rolls his eyes. Yes, he was taking you to Lover’s Lake, but not with the intention of hooking up.

“I’m taking you to see the stars,” he replies, smiling at your brief look of shock. “I heard you telling Robin how much you love the stars, so I thought, why not take my beautiful girlfriend to go look at them?” 

“That’s really sweet,” you whisper as he puts the car in park. 

“That’s my middle name,” he replies with a wink. “Steve Sweet Harrington.” 

“I thought it was Joseph,” you reply, smiling as he rolls his eyes. He walks around the car, opening the passenger side door and putting a hand out for yours to help you out of the car. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he replies, closing the door, and retrieving blankets from the back seat to lay on the grass. “Just make yourself comfortable, babe.” 

“I read a book,” he starts, arm around your shoulder as you both sit on the grass, looking up at the starry night sky. “And that right there,” he points to a cluster of stars, “is called Orion.”

“You read a book about stars?” You ask, looking at him with a smile. 

“Wanted to seem smart in front of you,” he replied with a shrug, as if reading a book to impress you was no big deal. 

“That’s so sweet,” you quietly reply, repeating your earlier sentiment. 

“I told you it was my middle name,” he teases, lightly nudging your shoulder with his. 

“I’m starting to think it actually might be,” you reply, still smiling at him. You looked so pretty under the stars. 

“Can I kiss you?” He quietly asks, as your smile somehow grows even more.

“Yeah,” you whisper back as he cups the side of your face, before leaning in to finally kiss you. 

“I’ve been waiting forever to do that,” he half-jokes, smiling at your laughter. 

“I kind of figured,” you reply with a shrug as he rolls his eyes with a smile. 

“I’m not that obvious,” he says with a faux scowl that quickly melts away when you move to kiss him again.

Steve couldn’t help but punch a fist in the air at the fact that he finally got to kiss you. And he couldn’t wait to do it over and over again. 

[junkissed]

nightwalker

member — vampire!minghao x f reader genre — smut, a little thriller/horror/supernatural word count — 6.6k synopsis — the closing shift at the university library isn't the most exciting job in the world, but your hot colleague makes it a whole lot better. another added bonus: he's a vampire. content warnings — mentions of blood, blood drinking (from reader), biting, not really compliant with vampire lore (i made some stuff up for the sake of making it spookier so just go with it), minghao is kinda creepy but he's a nice vampire i promise smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, fingering, making out, aphrodisiac vampire venom (?), plenty of consent!! notes — inspired by the song "nightwalker" by ten! the biggest thanks ever to mars @onlymingyus for helping me brainstorm this one, from start to finish (plus @cheolism and @wonustars for fleshing out the concept with me!). i worked so so hard to get this out in time for halloween, and this is my first vampire fic so it was a challenge to get it to a place i was happy with. i hope yall enjoy, and please lmk in a reblog/comment/ask if it's something you liked or want to see more of !! :D

there are many places that are exciting at night. bars, clubs, restaurants, theaters. especially on a saturday night, the town is full of life.

the university library where you work is not one of those places.

the study rooms have long since closed; computers have been shut off and the last few students have trudged home with bags under their eyes and bags full of half-finished papers. you don't usually work this late, but you're covering the graveyard shift for jun, who has a date with his girlfriend tonight. he definitely owes you one for this, but you get overtime pay for it so does it really matter in the end?

the closing shift isn't difficult. there's a few carts of returned books that need to be shelved, but that's really all there is to it. the only downside is that there's only one person working at night, so you're alone. but then again, some people might see that as an upside. as for you, it's got both pros and cons. it's not a shift you'd go out of your way to ask for, but you don't mind it once in a while. it's usually pretty peaceful after dark, and you can put on your headphones and play your music as loud as you want.

you pick up a stack of books for the history shelf, turning one over and flipping through it mindlessly. the cover is intricately detailed with flourishing silver engraving, and you pause a second longer to stare at it before you flip it around to check the number on its side.

you start to climb up the ladder and run your finger across the spines on the shelf, stopping where there's an empty space between the books. the job isn't hard, but it is boring. counting, shelving, counting again, alphabetizing. 

there's a sharp crack against the library window and you startle, whipping your head around to check behind you. but there's nothing there. it wasn't supposed to storm today… but it's probably just the wind. or maybe a sudden thunderstorm. or, it could be the guys from theta chi again. yeah, that sounds more like it. always the college kids getting up to trouble. it is a saturday night, after all, and this close to halloween there's bound to be at least a couple people throwing ragers tonight.

whatever it is, it's probably nothing to worry about. you've already locked up the rest of the building, so it’s just you alone in here now.

you turn back to the shelf, shoving the book into place before you reach for the next. best to get this over with as quickly as possible so you can go home. 

there's another booming sound, and now you're sure it's thunder because the whole room almost seems to rumble. you startle again at the noise, but this time your foot slips off the ladder and you lose your balance. you only have a split second to brace yourself as you start to fall, but you don't hit the ground.

suddenly there's a hand on your lower back, another on your arm, and you land on somebody's chest instead. you let out a scream, your loud shriek echoing through the silence of the library, and whoever caught you sets you back down on the floor.

you look up to see who it is, and you come face to face with the most gorgeous man you've ever seen. his long blond hair falls in waves at his shoulders, and his pale skin almost seems to sparkle under the overhead lights.

“you alright?” he asks calmly, breaking your trance.

you blink quickly and smooth down your shirt, trying to collect yourself. you just screamed at the top of your lungs in this poor man's face, and he's still being as polite as ever. “yeah, i'm fine, thanks to you. i'm lucky you were there.” you clear you throat and offer him a weary smile as you tell him your name. “i'm so sorry about that, by the way. and, you are…?”

“minghao,” he finishes for you. he doesn't say anything more. his tone is gentle and friendly, but there's still a sizzle of tension in the air around him that feels out of place.

you're trying to wrack your brain for information, but nothing's coming up. “you look familiar. do you work on campus? or— you're a student here?” you add the last part quickly, afraid to assume wrong. he looks young enough to be a student, but he sure doesn't seem like one. a grad student, maybe? or a phd candidate?

he nods. “department of health sciences.” he suddenly pauses, tilting his head to chuckle as if he's just thought of the funniest thing. “i'm sorry, i should've introduced myself better. you probably meet a lot of people, in a place like this.” he holds out his hand for you to shake. “dr. xu. maybe that name is a bit more recognizable. i teach classes in the fall.”

that feels a little more reassuring. and if he only teaches during the fall semester, that explains why you didn't recognize him more quickly.

you reach out to take his hand, and a shiver runs instantly through you when you feel his freezing palm against yours. the heater is running inside the building, but he just came in so maybe it's colder outside than you realize. but still, his grip feels unnaturally cold, as if he's radiating ice from the inside out.

“sorry, i'm just a little surprised. i thought i was in here alone. i swear i locked those doors…” you trail off, subconsciously glancing at the entrance. didn't you lock them? you hum quietly, trying to clear your mind. it's late, so clearly you aren't focused as much as you thought you were. “anyway. what can i help you with?”

minghao chuckles, almost sounding shy. “oh, i'm just here to return a book.” he pulls out a small, leather bound book from the pocket of his coat and hands it to you. his fingers graze against your wrist, and you have to force yourself not to wince at how cold his touch is. “working late, you know how it is.”

you scoff softly, nodding. “i sure do.” why do you suddenly feel like your tongue is in knots? “i'll check this in for you. is there anything…”

“no, that's all.” his words are short, but his tone still has that pleasant lilt to it that puts you at ease. “you've been quite helpful, i appreciate it. i'll get out of your way now.” he bows his head politely, giving you another smile. “be careful with those stairs.”

you turn around to set his book on the table behind you, letting out a chuckle as you start to reply. “i wi—”

but when you turn back around to tell him goodbye, he's already disappeared and you're standing by yourself. the library is deadly silent, not even the sound of footsteps or a door creaking. you turn again to look around for any signs of life, but the large room is completely empty.

you exhale, rubbing a hand across your forehead. the only evidence that minghao was ever there is the book still sitting on the table, looking up at you innocently, as if mocking your confusion.

whatever. all you have to do is just finish putting everything away so you can go home. it's not much longer.

by the time you collect your things and close up the library (you're sure that you did this time, double and triple checking every lock), it's well after midnight.

at this time of night the buses aren't running anymore, so you're stuck walking home. yet another reason to yell at jun later, but you probably won't. you just hope for his sake that his date had better been worth it.

you're not afraid of the dark. it's a fairly safe town, and aside from the college kids stealing each other's bikes and throwing rocks at people's windows, there's not a whole lot of crime that happens here. but still, you don't want to be the first to change that.

you stick close to the inside edge of the sidewalk, your gaze flitting around you as you hold your bag tighter to your chest. your encounter at the library has already put you on edge, making the usually peaceful night sounds feel spookier. the chirp of crickets and the distant howling of dogs (or maybe wolves?) only makes you more nervous as you pick up your pace. you're already almost halfway home. everything is fine.

a whispering sound in the dark makes you freeze, and you catch a shadow slip past the light of a street lamp on the ground. the sound seems to bounce around, unintelligible soft breaths floating around your ears. it's hard to tell if it's only in your head or not.

“hello?” you call out loudly, trying to sound brave. you pull out your phone and turn on the flashlight, shining it around, but there's nothing there. probably just an animal, you tell yourself, but you know you're lying to yourself. no animal you've ever known sounds like that. the disjointed murmurs in your ears makes your skin prickle. maybe it's… fuck, you don't even know what it might be anymore. but you're getting closer now. everything is fine.

you start walking again and the whispering sound returns, and it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. the street is dark and empty, not a single car in sight, not a single light turned on inside the houses you walk past. it's too quiet, eerie.

you see another shadow moving. the whispering finally fades into a clear voice, calling out your name, and it sounds uncomfortably familiar. you whip around to check behind you, but the sight of minghao makes you relax. 

you exhale slowly, almost wanting to laugh with how overwhelmed with relief you are. you're not alone. there's someone here, and it's someone you know. everything is fine.

“are you following me, or something?” you scoff jokingly, but there's a little bit of truth to your words. two coincidences in one night feels like too many, but you're still glad to see him.

minghao laughs warmly, and somehow it makes the street seem smaller. “no, i live over here. i left the lab pretty late, just had some projects to finish up before tomorrow. sorry for startling you.” he pauses, looking you up and down. “i'm assuming you live down this way, too… would you like me to walk you home? it’s not very safe being out here alone at night, especially this time of year.”

his last words seem strange to you. what’s so different about this time of year? but a sharp gust of wind whips your coat around, so you don’t really have time to dwell on it for long. 

you pull your sleeves down to cover your hands, crossing your arms tightly over your chest to keep warm. it’s not usually this chilly, but maybe it’s just because you’re not usually out this late. the whistling of the wind through the trees makes you shiver, and you get the strange feeling that something’s watching you, something just out of reach. and suddenly, minghao’s offer seems like the best thing that could’ve happened to you tonight.

“please,” you tell him with a nod. “that would be great. thank you.”

he flashes another smile, and his teeth glint in the low light of the street lamp as he moves closer to you. “it’s my pleasure.”

now that minghao’s beside you, you’re able to zone out a little as you walk back to your house. the anxious, sort of uncomfortable feeling gnawing at the back of your thoughts is still there, but you push it down. it’s just the late hour. it’s just the wind. it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, and there’s really nothing to be worried about. 

you only realize that you’ve arrived once you notice minghao stop beside you. your mind is still elsewhere, so it doesn’t occur to you until later to wonder how he knew which house to stop at. the wind has completely died down, and the silence that follows is eerie, like the calm before a storm. except there is no storm. there’s only you, and minghao, and the dead of night.

you climb the steps to your front porch and pull your mail out from the metal box on the wall, tucking it under your arm as you fumble with your keys. your hand shakes from the cold as you move to unlock the door. “do you wanna stay for drinks or something?” you say, stepping inside and looking back at him.

you swear you see something flash across his eyes, but you're probably imagining things again; it's probably from the porch light flickering again. you really need to get that lightbulb changed soon. you've been putting it off for weeks, but as long as it still keeps your front door lit, then it's a project for another day.

he gives you a closed-mouth smile, nodding. “that'd be nice.” but despite his agreement he stays rooted in his spot outside, unmoving.

you hesitate in confusion. “well… come on in,” you say after a beat, gesturing inside the house with your arm. 

he finally moves, stepping tentatively through the doorway. once he's inside you flip the latch behind him, waiting for the familiar click as you hear the deadbolt slide into place. suddenly there's a tension in the room that you hadn't noticed before, and you can feel minghao's eyes following your every move.

“do you have extra locks for your door?”

he speaks up suddenly, and you jump a little in surprise. you're not usually on edge like this, but maybe it's just the season. they do say that strange things happen around halloween, after all. and on top of that, it's a full moon tonight, too.

when you don't reply right away, minghao pauses and leans against the kitchen counter, his tone casual as if he’s discussing the weather. “i just came across an article the other day about how easy it is for people to break those locks. you can never be too prepared, especially living alone…” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders.

you nod. you’d never mentioned living alone. but then again, that much is probably already obvious. no other cars parked in front of your house, no extra pairs of shoes in your front doorway, no lights on when you got home. “yeah.” you shift in place, trying to figure out how to bring the mood up.

“am i scaring you?” he asks, crossing his arms. his voice is gentle, but there's a hint of a smirk on his face that makes butterflies rise in your stomach.

“no.” you bite your lip. “should i be scared?”

“guess you’ll have to find out.”

you clear your throat and turn towards the counter, feeling your cheeks burn with heat. obviously he's just messing with you, and you have no reason to be this nervous. “i… i should probably just put my mail away, then i'll find us something to drink. you’re probably tired, i’ll just—”

in your haste to look busy, your hand slips and the stack of papers scatter across the floor. the edge of one of the thicker envelopes catches on your index finger, slicing through the skin, and immediately a pinprick of blood starts to seep from the cut. you jump backwards in surprise and let out a yelp, inhaling sharply as you bring your finger to your mouth out of instinct. 

when you realize what you've done, you pull your finger out of your mouth, squeezing your other hand around the wound to try and stop the bleeding. “sorry! oh my god, this is so embarrassing, i—”

but you stop when you look up and see minghao frozen in place, staring at your hand. his eyes have suddenly grown dark, a deep pitch black so that you can’t see his pupils, and his gaze is still fixed on the small smeared pool of crimson red on your fingertip. you’re about to ask him something, although you’re not sure what you mean to ask, but he speaks before you can get another word out.

“can i see?” 

his voice is like a lullaby, filling your ears like soft music, and before you can even think about what you’re doing you find yourself lifting your hand and holding it out towards him.

his eyelashes flutter as he takes your hand gingerly, his nostrils flared as he watches the blood still running down your finger. he finally breaks his concentration away from the cut, lifting his gaze to stare at you. the look in his eyes is so intense, and you swear you see his eye twitch but it could’ve just been a blink. he doesn’t break eye contact as he lifts your hand to his mouth, sliding his lips around your finger. you think you feel his teeth graze against your skin, but you probably imagined that. 

“band-aid?”

it’s not until he speaks a second later that you realize he’s taken your finger out of his mouth, and you look down at the cut. your hand feels cold and clammy, and you’re so dizzy that you have to lean against the counter so you don’t fall over. you blink and try to shake yourself out of your daze, but your body feels so heavy all of a sudden, too slow to move. even the soft kitchen light seems unnaturally bright to your eyes, and you feel lightheaded, as if all the blood in your body has rushed to the cut on your finger. “huh?”

minghao’s voice comes through clearer now, no longer the sweet melodic tone you’d heard earlier. now the sound is sharp, easily slicing through the warm fog in your mind. “do you have a band-aid?” he repeats.

you exhale, finally coming back to your senses, though your hand is still shaking in minghao’s grip. “y-yeah. the… drawer…” you manage to lift your other hand to point across the kitchen. you swallow thickly, trying to ground yourself and calm down. for some reason you feel positive he can hear your heart pounding in your throat. “there’s a box. by the silverware.”

he moves away, but you vaguely register that he still hasn’t let go of your hand. his hand is freezing, his touch ice cold against your skin, and you feel yourself shiver. the overwhelming urge to sleep overtakes you, and you let your eyes fall closed for a moment while you wait for him.

when you open your eyes again, you’re not in the kitchen anymore. you swear your eyes were only closed for a split second, no longer than a single blink, but now you’re sitting on your couch with your finger tightly wrapped in a bandage.

minghao stands in front of you, watching you closely.  “are you okay?” he asks. his voice is clear again, as casual as can be, and you almost thing you've dreamed this whole situation up. it's a better explanation, at least, than acknowledging you embarrassing yourself in front of your hot colleague.

your head feels so heavy, and you lean against the back of the couch to relieve the ache in your neck. there's a chill in your body that wasn't there before, a tingling feeling that almost borders on pleasurable, but you force it away. 

you forgot he'd even asked you a question until he lets out a sigh, running his fingers through his long hair to flip it out of his face. “i told you it's not safe to be around here at night alone.”

you frown in confusion, your head still feeling woozy. “it's only a papercut, minghao. and i'm fine, i'm not alone. there's a perfectly good doctor standing in my house right now.”

he clicks his teeth at your response, though you can't figure out what you'd said wrong. “you're a naive little thing, aren't you?” he exhales, tsking almost disapprovingly.

despite his tone, his words almost make you laugh, because suddenly everything makes sense. the shy meeting at the library, the encounter in the street, him offering to walk you home… this whole time, it's all been connected, and it took something as small as a papercut to figure it out. “are you hitting on me?”

he lets out a noise of surprise and starts to open his mouth, but you continue before he can say anything. “you could've just asked for my number, you know. i'm not taking classes at the university, so i don't think there's any rules against it.”

“trust me, i would really enjoy that; but no, that's not the reason i'm here.” he manages to get a word in, but you're not deterred. you can see it in the way he stands in front of you, eyeing you like the most delicious treat he's ever seen. you can't believe you didn't realize it sooner.

you hum, crossing your arms as you stare up at him from the couch. “but you do want to sleep with me.”

“i— maybe,” minghao huffs, but you swear you see a little bit of pink in his pale cheeks. he shifts on his feet, a timid expression on his face that seems unbefitting for a man who literally just stuck your bloodied finger in his mouth. “but—”

“aw, don't be shy.” you smile. “i won't bite. promise.”

that gets a laugh out of him. “but i might.”

“ooh, freaky.” you raise your eyebrows. you didn't strike him as the type to be into that, but maybe it's a doctor thing. and besides, who are you to judge? “are you, like, a vampire or something?”

you expect him to laugh again, but he seems unphased by your accusation, simply nodding like you'd just asked him his favorite food instead of whether or not he's a mythical undead creature. “yeah. does that frighten you?”

you shake your head, but you stop quickly when the motion makes you a little dizzy, though you can't comprehend why. “nah, i've seen worse. i had an ex-boyfriend that wanted to be my dog and let me walk him around my house on a leash, but…” you stop, realizing you're probably giving out too many details that minghao probably doesn't care about. “anyway, you already sucked on my finger, so it can't get any weirder than that. are you gonna bite my neck? because that's kinda hot.”

minghao's eyes widen, surprised by your offer, as if he's not the one who just claimed to be a vampire. he narrows his eyes and stays silent for a moment, listening for an inaudible sound. he must decide that you're being genuine, because he quickly relaxes, his lips turning up into a smile. “i… could. only if you want me to. if you'd let me.”

“i do want you to.”

he groans like that's the best idea he's ever heard in his life, and it makes you giggle. it's been too long since you've had somebody in your house who's this enthusiastic about roleplaying. maybe this is the change up you've needed in your life. it's perfectly fitting for the halloween season, too.

“are you sure?” he asks, and you suddenly realize his voice has dropped a few octaves lower. damn, he really is into this.

you pull yourself to your feet, still feeling a little lightheaded, but you're thinking clearly. you're sure of it. if you get in trouble with the university for fucking somebody who's technically your coworker, then so be it. 

“yeah. go on, bite me.”

in one swift motion minghao swoops in, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours. his hand wraps around your neck to keep you in place and he inhales sharply, his nails digging into your skin as he tightens his grip. any reservations you still had about him are gone the second you feel his teeth drag against your lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth easily.

you whimper into his mouth as he kisses you, but a second later he pulls away and releases his hand from around your neck, leaving you gasping for breath. he moves again, casually settling himself down on the couch in the spot where you'd just been, and you watch his movements with wide eyes.

he seems refreshed just from the kiss, his eyes sparkling with a new kind of light. he pats his thigh, spreading his legs out wider as he gets comfortable. before he even says a word you feel drawn to him, immediately moving towards him as if being beckoned by an invisible force.

“come on, darling, sit. you want me to bite you?” he finally speaks up. he flashes a grin at you as you plant yourself on his lap, your knees on either side of his hips. you're expecting his body to be warm, but like when you shook his hand in the library, all you feel is cold. a shiver runs through you at the feeling, and you briefly consider getting up to turn the heater on first, but you're already melting into minghao's lap and it feels way too good to leave now when you're just getting started.

“such a pretty thing.” he brushes your hair off your neck and back behind your ear, sending another shiver down your spine at his freezing touch and his deep voice. “will you give me a little taste?” 

his tone makes you pause. you thought he'd have let up on the joke by now, but he seems completely serious to see this through. either he just really likes to roleplay, or…

thunder cracks outside, and you startle on his lap. but he just chuckles, his hand snaking around your waist to hold you tighter against him. “don't be afraid, now. the fear makes you taste so sour, and you're much too beautiful for that, my darling.” he lets out a hum, and your gaze is drawn to his eyes like a magnet. “you're safe with me. just relax and let yourself enjoy it. i promise you'll like it.”

he pauses to wait for your nod, and once you do he moves in closer, his long eyelashes fluttering as he flicks his gaze up to look at your eyes one more time. he goes completely still, inhaling like he's searching for something. but after a moment he seems satisfied with this position, and he settles his ice cold lips against the warmth of your neck.

“ready?” he murmurs against your skin, and his breath makes your skin erupt with goosebumps. it's strangely reminiscent of a chilly gust of wind, the same cold wind blowing outside your house tonight.

you nod again, suddenly feeling shy. his name is on the tip of your tongue, but it instantly dies in your throat before any sound leaves your lips, and you feel his teeth sink into your neck. you choke out a gasp, whimpering at the split second of pain that blooms under your skin but bleeds into pleasure almost as quickly as it begins.

you let out a shaky exhale, struggling to catch your breath. every muscle in your body feels paralyzed. you squeeze your hand on minghao's shoulder, your nails digging into his back as hard as you can.

your lips are parted so beautifully in euphoria, minghao thinks, and yet you don't even realize it. of course you wouldn't. you don't understand how perfect you are, how perfect you are for him. he doesn't let up, plunging his teeth deeper into your neck as he revels at the flood of arousal in your veins that melts onto his tongue like candy.

you try to suppress a moan but it falls from your lips before you can think hard enough to stop it, your hips rolling against his lap. you've never felt a rush like this before in your life. you're addicted to it. every sensation is heightened, every nerve alight with ice cold fire.

you let out a whine and then moan again, grinding your hips down on him desperately. you can vaguely register the hard, thick bulge of his length between your legs but it's the last thing on your mind right now, so focused on chasing the high that's building inside you. you can taste colors and sounds and smells, almost overwhelmed with how sensitive everything is, yet it's the best feeling you've ever had.

he pulls back from you slowly and you whimper as you feel his fangs retract from your neck, leaving you with an even colder sensation that prickles on your skin. his tongue laps at the fresh wound, but your brain can't determine whether the dripping wetness on your skin is blood or saliva. 

“more,” you gasp out once you find your voice again, still panting in exhilaration. your head is full of pressure and you feel dizzy again, even more than earlier. you have to fight to keep your head upright instead of letting it fall against his chest, the weight almost unbearable, but nothing compared to how good your body feels right now.

“no more.” minghao shakes his head firmly. his mouth is stained with blood, the dark crimson red that's blotted over his plush lips making them seem even paler in contrast. he reaches one hand up to hold the back of your neck, and instantly you feel relief from the aching heaviness of your head. “that's enough for tonight. can't let you lose any more blood, sweetheart. but thank you for the snack.”

you exhale quietly as you try to breathe naturally again, but your hips never stop moving. minghao can hear the vibrations from your heart pounding as you grind down against his lap, and it only stirs him up further. it's been a long time since he's been this excited about something other than feeding. he almost can't remember the last time he'd felt the desire to be intimate, and that only makes you seem all the more exciting. it's not what he'd been expecting when he'd offered to follow you home tonight, but this outcome is much, much better.

you're quieter than he'd thought you would be. but then again, everyone reacts differently to him. some in horror, some in shock, some in fear, some in lust. you... well, it's clear you're enjoying it. but you're too quiet. he wants to hear your beautiful screams, the desperate way your breath catches in your throat as your lungs fill with air. he wants to hear the rush of blood in your veins, tinged sweet with your arousal like sticky melted sugar. more than anything he wants to drink you up, but he can't. even if he could, he won't. a beautiful thing like you, you're the kind of meal that someone like him waits centuries for, like a perfectly aged wine savored slowly over years instead of gulped down in one sitting. he's already had a taste of you, and he's perfectly content to wait centuries more for another bite. luckily, he's a very patient man.

but you don't have the benefit of centuries of patience like he does, and he can tell. this isn't enough for you. he can smell it, he can practically taste it in the air that you're not going to get off like this, at least not without taking more from you. and he's determined not to let his appetite get the best of him, not when you're so satisfying in so many other ways. 

“you know you can do better than that, angel,” he murmurs. the nickname burns his tongue, a sharp stinging pain as it leaves his icy lips, but he doesn't care. anything he has to go through to have any part of you, even the wrath of heaven itself, is well worth it to him. all you need is a little encouragement, and he's happy to provide.

you let out a whine, your eyes meeting his dark ones as you tentatively rest your hands on his shoulders once more. he feels firm beneath your grasp, although you don't know why you were expecting him not to be. the tingling feeling in your body is starting to wear off, and he doesn't feel real. there's a fog around everything right now, hazy like walking through a dream. or maybe a nightmare. it's too hard to tell right now. maybe you'll wake up in a few hours and look back on this and laugh. maybe you fell asleep at the library and never even made it home. the only thing you know for sure is that you're never covering another night shift for jun ever again after this. or, maybe you will. actually, maybe you'll offer to cover his shifts every night, if it gives you another chance to see minghao again.

“you're thinking too hard, darling,” minghao interrupts, though you haven't spoken out loud. “i can't do anything you won't like. can't hurt you, at least not tonight. but you're too sweet to waste, anyway. i wouldn't dare spoil you.” he hums, tilting his head downward to look at you through his lashes, his eyes boring into you so intensely that you feel it in the deepest parts of your soul. 

“then, what are you going to do?” you manage breathlessly, meeting his gaze. you're so eager for more, and you're not even trying to hide it anymore. you don't think you could hide it no matter how hard you tried.

minghao hums, brushing your hair back again with his slender fingers. “mm, how about you show me where your bedroom is first, darling? then i'll tell you.”

but before you can answer he stands up and scoops you up into his arms. it seems like only a second passes before he reaches your room, depositing you on your bed with a cold gust of air.

you can't see him in the darkness, and you almost start to call out for him nervously. you've grown used to the familiar coldness of his body, and the room feels emptier without his touch. but as soon as the thought crosses your mind, the candles on your windowsill suddenly flicker to life, crackling with a small burst of flame.

“better?” minghao murmurs, appearing beside you at the edge of the bed. his figure seems to melt into the darkness, barely visible at the edges of your vision, but you know he's there.

“would be even better if you'd touch me already,” you reply, and that earns you a smirk from him.

“forgive me for giving you a chance to change your mind.” minghao huffs and rolls his eyes a little. eager may have been an understatement. 

you whine impatiently and reach out for him, but he cuts you off before you can protest. his voice grows serious, the same sharp tone he used earlier that registers so clearly in your mind. “you're allowed to say no. i'm not using any tricks on you to make you obey me. if you want to stop, then i will.”

something about his voice feels genuine, and you know he's telling the truth. “okay,” you hum softly, trying to match his serious tone. “but i'm saying yes.”

he exhales almost in exasperation, but he's smiling as he leans down over the bed to capture your lips again. his mouth is cold, but this time you're expecting it and it doesn't catch you so off guard.

you're getting used to the feeling of kissing minghao. he tastes better than anyone you've ever kissed, and it's quite easy once your brain manages to get past the initial mental barrier of holy shit you're kissing a vampire and he's really good at it.

one of his hands finds its way down your pants, and instinctively you bite down on his lip in surprise at the sudden icy sensation rubbing between your folds. but that only makes him groan and press his fingers harder against you, moving up to trace circles around your clit.

you whimper into his mouth, your hips simultaneously bucking towards him and away from him as he sinks a finger inside. the cold feeling is such a new sensation, and you clench down automatically around him.

but despite the coldness of his touch, your cheeks are burning hot, and it's getting harder and harder to catch your breath. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down closer to you, the front of his body pressed against yours, and he slides in another finger.

he almost can't believe you're real. this close to you he can hear your heartbeat thumping and he knows you're alive, the saccharine-sweet scent of your blood coursing through your veins serving only as a reminder of his own mortality. you're everything he's not: warm and alive and full of emotion, but that only makes him want you more.

the wind has picked up again, drowning out the sounds of your moans as the trees outside thud their branches against the side of the house. it only takes another moment for you to reach your peak, falling apart around him with a choked whimper. he slips his fingers halfway out before thrusting them back in, repeating the motion as he presses the heel of his palm against your clit for more stimulation.

his nostrils flare as your scent gets even more powerful, and he has to concentrate all his energy on keeping himself in check. he's never been more tempted to drink from someone in all his life. he can still taste your blood on his tongue from earlier, his mouth beginning to water at the memory, and in the back of his mind he wonders if you can taste it, too. if you were that good before, then he can only imagine how you'd taste now, with the added syrup of your arousal. you're like an ambrosia he can never have, the sweetest nectar he's ever had the pleasure of sampling. 

his resolve is crumbling, but he promised he wouldn't drink any more. it would hurt you, and it would pain him even more than it would you. if he says anything then you'd only plead for him to do more, lost in the aphrodisiac of his venom and unable to tell your own limits, so he keeps his thoughts to himself and just kisses you harder, swallowing your moans instead of your blood. maybe if he's lucky he'll get another chance to have you another day, once you've had time to rest and recover. if you're willing, he could keep this up for a while. you could be his. forever. 

your thoughts are fuzzy when he pulls away from you, keeping his fingers buried inside for a moment longer before slipping out. the candles’ flames dance wildly, casting long shadows across your walls as minghao seems to shimmer in the air beside you.

“wait,” you call out for him weakly, still catching your breath as you come down. “please.”

minghao hums, his figure solidifying on the bed above you. he slides his fingers into his mouth, slowly licking your wetness off of them with a groan before he moves to unbutton his shirt.

“oh, i'm not going anywhere.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! i'm pretty new to writing non-human characters so feedback would be super appreciated, i hope you liked it <3 thanks for reading!!

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[backinmyphase]

Being in the same Theater club as Gojo Satoru had its up and downs.

On the one hand you could see him every day - he was tall, had these beautiful eyes and his white hair was always in the right places. He was unbelievable dreamy, or maybe you were just a bit dramatic. But you were in the Drama Club, so who cares?

Yeah, it was obvious. You had a high school crush.

Normally you would celebrate because of the slight chance to even glance at him. But not here, not in the Drama Club. You had always dreamed of playing in the theater, had always wanted to be part of a play. An important part. Like Juliet.

Because on the other hand with Satoru here there was a problem. He had raised his hand to be Romeo.

And you knew you would screw up. Playing as Juliet with Satoru as your Romeo? God, as if that could work. You were a stuttering mess as you auditioned, wanting to die inside because of the way he looked at you. So intense. And then he was so close, whispering into your ear.

"It's alright. You're doing great."

Which only made you mess up more.

It was humiliating. Being told to get off the stage and that even in front of Satoru Gojo. Yeah, your Theater Club dream was going down the drain. Because of course you would be only Extra #3 in the play.

You knew with Satoru here you just couldn't act like you wanted. And that was really bad for this club. Naturally Satoru would be every main character in the future, he was Satoru. You had to work with what was given you.

Even if it was Extra #3.

So after the auditions were finished and the real Juliet was found, you just packed your things. Today wasn't your practice, since... Well, they were just getting into their roles.

Standing up and going to the door, you really didn't expect someone to call after you. Especially not him.

"Hey! Wait for a second!"

Satoru Gojo was running up to you as you held the door in your hand. Satoru. Gojo.

"What is it?" you were a bit too quiet as you liked, but at least you weren't stuttering anymore. Satoru stopped in front of you, breathing a bit heavier but still composed. He smiled and god it was so pretty. It was just so gorgeous how his eyes sparkled and... Thank god you didn't have to be Juliet!

"Where are you going? We are starting to practice our lines!" he tilted his head and a small - nervous? - laugh escaped him.

"Oh, I..." you cleared your throat. Wait, didn't you do that already? Or not?

"I have no lines, Gojo."

He looked at you so confused it was somehow endearing. He blinked a couple of times, his smile becoming a bit more smaller. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just an Extra."

He blinked again, now a big frown overtaking his features. And as he spoke again his voice was even a bit upset. "Really? But you were so good! No, that can't be right, should I talk to the teacher?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his words. "You don't need to lie and do that I was really not that good. You know, stuttering and stuff."

He didn't laugh with you, but his mood seemed to light up a bit. His smile returning a bit smaller. "Doesn't everyone stutter from time to time?"

"Maybe. But someone shouldn't stutter while performing." you shook your head. "And you don't stutter."

He stays silent for a while and somehow it comes to a seemingly infinite minute where the two of you just look at each other. Into his blue eyes. His beautiful eyes.

"You know, I was wondering..." he was whispering again and suddenly he was just a breath away from you, just like back on the stage. "If you could maybe help me practice from time to time?"

You blinked at him. He looked down. "Because with you it seemed easier to be Romeo-"

"SATORU GOJO!!!"

You looked behind him, to see the annoyed face of your teacher. "Come to the practice. Immediately!"

He groaned, a small pout on his face. He put his hands into his pockets, while a sigh escaped him. You couldn't help but chuckle, he looked adorable.

"Well, I gotta go." he mumbled, but didn't make a move to turn around. Just a slight step to the side, a half hearted turn.

"Okay, good luck." you opened the door, a cheeky smile making it's way onto your face. "And of course I'll help you, Romeo."

Part 1

WIP Announcement

[calebpups]

If you’re taking requests, it’s always been a fantasy of mine, but can I request something where reader and caleb do it or reader gives him a bj or he eats her out in a movie theatre screening? Where I live, they’re typically mostly empty with 2 to 5 other people/families in there, so it’s do able without getting caught

PAIRINGS. . . caleb x fem!reader

CW. . . smut, oral public sex m! receiving

the movie was fine. really. decent plot, some solid acting, a few funny lines here and there. but you were bored out of your mind. maybe it was the slow pacing or the fact that the room was barely a third full—just a few scattered couples and two families seated way too far to matter—but mostly, it was because caleb was laser-focused on the screen, and not on you.

you shift in your seat, your thigh brushing against his. he doesn’t notice. his arm is draped over the back of your seat, one ankle crossed over his knee, eyes fixed straight ahead like he’s actually invested in this bland-ass thriller.

you try again—leaning your head against his shoulder, lips brushing the edge of his jaw. nothing. no glance, no grin, no hand creeping over your thigh. you swear he even tilts his chin away slightly. the audacity.

so, you go quieter. sneakier.

your hand slides down between you, fingers brushing along his inner thigh. still no reaction—until you press your palm a little more firmly over his crotch. that gets him.

he shifts, a quick inhale through his nose, and finally glances at you, brows furrowed. “don’t.” he whispers, voice low but firm.

you blink up at him, feigning wide-eyed innocence, but your hand doesn’t move.

“seriously,” he mutters, grabbing your wrist gently. “there are kids in here.”

“not near us,” you whisper back, your voice teasing, warm. “and it’s dark. no one’s looking.”

he looks at you again, a mix of exasperation and arousal clouding those usually cool eyes. but you know him. know how easily he gets pulled in once you push past that first wall. and when he hesitates just a second too long, you smile.

you slip off your seat and sink to your knees between his legs, smooth and silent, hidden by the dim glow of the screen. his breath stutters, one hand instinctively twitching toward your shoulder.

“wait—fuck, wait,” he hisses under his breath, glancing around nervously. you can see the panic flicker in his face even as his cock is already straining against his zipper. “this is so not a good idea.”

you undo his fly anyway, slow and deliberate, brushing your cheek against his thigh as you nuzzle closer. and when you free him from his boxers and run your tongue flat along the underside of his cock, that panic melts into a choked, involuntary moan.

“goddamn it,” he whispers, head falling back.

he’s already hard—probably from the minute you touched him—and you wrap your lips around the tip, slow and careful, swirling your tongue just to make him twitch. his hand immediately finds your hair, not pushing, just holding. anchoring.

“you’re insane,” he whispers, breath catching. “you’re actually fucking insane.”

but he’s not stopping you. not anymore.

you take him deeper, letting your mouth stretch around him, your hands resting lightly on his thighs. he’s warm and heavy on your tongue, and the way he breathes—short, sharp exhales through his nose—is addictive. his thumb strokes over your temple, then your cheekbone, soft and slow like he’s trying to ground himself—like he’s sorry you’re doing this on a movie theater floor, but can’t bring himself to stop you either.

"you’re too good to me," he murmurs, half-dazed. “spoiling me like this.”

you hum around him in response, and he chokes out a breath, hips jerking slightly. his other hand grips the armrest hard, knuckles white, and you can feel how badly he’s trying to stay still, to not make a sound.

“baby—fuck, you need to stop,” he rasps, but it’s so weak. there’s no fight behind it, just guilt tangled with pleasure.

you glance up at him, lips still wrapped around him, and that does it.

his eyes roll back, jaw clenched, one hand gripping the seat while the other cups your cheek like you're something fragile. he comes with a quiet, desperate groan that barely makes it past his throat, his whole body tense, trembling, cursing under his breath.

when you finally pull back, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb and a smirk, caleb exhales hard, chest heaving.

“you’re evil,” he mutters, shoving himself back into his jeans with shaking hands.

you climb back into your seat like nothing happened, nuzzling into his side.

he wraps his arm around you this time. “remind me to pick better movies.”

you grin. “that was a great movie.”

masterlist ⋆˚꩜ send me a kofi !

[brookediamonds]

piece by piece, he collected me up | Axel Kovačević x fem! reader

based off this request

summary: as sam's little sister you were always stuck in the shadow of her when it came to academics, karate, and love. when you were offered a scholarship to train in Hong Kong, you took the chance to venture out and create you're own legacy.

Wc: 2.8k warnings: daddy issues (kind of), none, fluff

not my gif

It started when your sister showed interest in practicing karate again. You never gave up on the sport, karate was your outlet to the life around you.

Growing up, your older sister was always the one with the better grades, better friends, better relationship with your parents. She even had the better love life.

You loved your sister, but when she expressed wanting to join you in karate, you couldn't help but fake a smile and hold back your tears, ignoring the tightening in your chest. Now she would have the only little attention your dad paid to you.

At the last All Valley tournament when you and Miguel Diaz won in your divisions, there was a surprise second prize that came along with your 1st place trophy.

It was a scholarship to train in Hong Kong with the number one dojo in the entire world. Your parents were hesitant to let you go, but you had convinced them this was a once in a lifetime chance and it's all you could ever hope for.

So you went. You've spent the last two years learning and achieving a whole new level of fighting that you would never have imagined. The Iron Dragons had taught you endurance, discipline, and combat.

Sensei Wolf took a special liking towards you, you had come from a defense only mindset and with your years of experience, you gave his two star pupils, Zara and Axel, a run for their money.

The first few months were extremely hard and difficult to adjust to Sensei Wolf's lessons, but once Zara and Axel got to know you, they finally understood your intentions and no longer saw you as a threat.

Zara showed you mercy after overhearing a call between you and Sam. Your sister was ecstatic her and Miguel had reconnected and that they had kept The All Valley up and going.

Your teammate knew what it was like to live in the shadows of others, it was why she always wanted to be the best. She took you under her wing and broke down the soft side in you, using your defensive moves mix in with your new offense.

And when she caught you checking out the tall blue eyed boy a few times after practice, she made it her life's mission to make sure you and Axel ended up together.

Which you did.

Fast forward to the present, you and Axel had just finished watching a movie at a local theater, and sat together at an ice cream shop enjoying a mint chocolate chip cone.

"You're hogging it," you pout at your boyfriend who held the frozen treat up to his lips.

"It is your fault you make me like this," Axel grins taking another lick of the green substance. You rolled your eyes with a small smile knowing you had indeed introduced him to sweets.

He handed you the cone using his now free hand to wrap an arm around the back of your seat and leaned back, softly running his fingers through your loose hair.

As you and Axel began talking about the movie you saw, your phone suddenly lit up with Sam's face indicating she was FaceTiming you.

With the time zone differences, it was hard to call your family so anytime they reached out, you took the call.

"I'll be right back," you say handing your ice cream cone to the boy next to you. "Don't finish it!"

"I can not promise that," he says making you shove him playfully. Grabbing your phone, you walk over to a secluded corner in the shop and answer the call.

"Hey Sammy," you smile at your sister. She has her phone propped up on her vanity as she did her make up, her pink romper letting you know she was getting ready to go out for the night.

"(Y/n)!" She squeals setting her palette down. "Did you like the movie?"

"Yeah it was actually-"

"I have some exciting news!" Your hyperactive sibling cuts you off. "Miyagi-Do qualified for the Sekai Taikai!"

Your smile fell instantly at her announcement. They were going to Barcelona?

"Oh, that's great!" You put on an enthusiastic attitude. "Dad must be so excited."

"He is! In fact," Sam picked her phone up. "We were brainstorming and thinking we should save you a spot on our team-"

"What?" You cut her off flabbergasted at what she was implying. "You're not saying you want me to join Miyagi-Do for the tournament right?"

She goes quiet, her eyes searching the screen to see you looking back at her annoyed.

"Well, yeah, with you we'd be an unbeatable team," she says. She's looking at you with anticipation, hoping you'll drop the dojo you've grown at.

"No," you respond flatly.

"No?" Sam repeats furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. You licked your lips stating your ground.

"Don't hold a spot for me," you discourage their idea. "Congratulations on making it to the tournament, but you guys did it without me, you can do it again."

Sam is quick to rebuttal and beg you to reconsider but you didn't even entertain the idea of joining them.

"I have to go, but we'll talk later, I love you," you hang up hastily, and hold your phone to your chest.

You couldn't believe the proposition you just heard. You worked your ass to get to where you were, and once again it's being taken from you.

Sauntering back to your table, Axel sat in the same seat waiting for you with a new cone.

"I ate your ice cream so I got new one," he says cutely cracking a smile on your face.

"Thank you," you exhale plopping down next to him. Axel is quick to notice your change in mood, the way you sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder let him know something is wrong.

"How is your sister?" He asks rubbing the side of your arm soothingly.

You pondered if you should tell him about your family's idea, not wanting to give him to think you'd consider switching sides.

"She's good..." you trail off nibbling at your dessert. You feel Axel staring at the side of your face, he brings his hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear making you look over at him.

"What is bothering you, my love?" He asks sweetly his low voice making your stomach turn. He knew you all too well.

"Their dojo is going to the Sekai Taikai," you say bummed out. "I love my family, but I wanted just this one thing to myself."

Axel nods, placing his hand over your free one sitting on the table.

"Selfish, I know," you acknowledge avoiding his gaze, finishing off your cone.

"You are anything but selfish," Axel corrects you. "Do not make self small because family over looks you."

"Oh they see me alright," you snort placing your elbow on the table, leaning your head in your hand. "They want me to join them for the tournament."

"Are you going to?" He quizzes you.

"Absolutely not," you shook your head. "You're stuck with me, Kovačević."

The Croatian boy chuckled, relieved you would stay with the team that's taken you in. Axel knew how you had to fight for you father's attention and how much you so badly wanted his approval in life.

Especially in karate.

---------------------------------------------------------

The next few months had flown by, you had trained everyday for hours on end working with Axel and Zara to sharpen your instincts, and skills.

Sensei Wolf had also selected you to be his captain for the girls division to which Zara had praised you on. You'll never forget what she told you that day:

"It's not about where you started, it's about where you finish. This isn't about proving them wrong about your abilities. This is about proving to yourself that you belong here."

It was finally time for the Sekai Taikai, you walked proudly with your green uniform, and white captain's head band tied around your head.

When you came face to face with the people you hadn't seen in over two years, it felt like no time had passed. You resisted the urge to drop your cold demeanor and run across the matt to embrace your dad and sister.

Regardless of your history, you still missed them.

It was when all teams were required to attend the aquarium, you were able to talk to Sam.

"Hey little sis," Sam greets you when your team enters the aquatic building. She's quick to envelope you in a hug, almost knocking you back.

"Hey," you smile softly accepting her affection.

"You look amazing!" she pulls back from you, examining you head to toe. One thing you always loved about Sam; she never had a bad thing to say about you.

"So do you," you return the compliment.

"(Y/n)!" Miguel and Robby approach you both.

The last time you had seen the two boys, Miguel had just won the All Valley and Robby began training again with your dad.

"Hey, big brothers," you teased them, greeting both with a hug. When Sam had told you their parents were expecting together, you laughed at the irony of the whole situation.

"You look good," Robby commented his green eyes scanning over you.

"I said that!" Sam agreed giddly, elbowing him.

"What kind of workouts do they have you doing over there?" Miguel asked faking suspicion.

Rolling your eyes at their remarks, you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Where's your boyfriend? I wanna meet him!" Sam inquires exciting at meeting your first ever love interest.

"You have a boyfriend?" Robby reiterates.

"Don't sound so surprised," you respond sarcastically.

"No- I just mean you never showed interest in anyone back home, I thought you were a lone wolf kind of girl," he attempts to lighten the situation.

"Right," you said narrowing your eyes. Looking around for an auburn haired boy, you spot Axel standing along with Zara on the side.

He catches your eyes on him, making you wave him down. Zara follows along with him, wanting to meet your old team as well.

"Guys, this is my boyfriend Axel," you gesture to the tall Croatian boy next to you, "and this is my friend, well teammate, Zara."

"Hey," Miguel and Robby nod at your two teammates giving them a closed mouth smile.

"This is Sam, Miguel, and Robby," you introduce your home people to your new people.

"Hi," Zara says with a small grin, eyes never leaving Robby's making you chuckle.

"(Y/n)'s talked so much about you," Sam says to Axel. "I'm glad we could all finally meet."

"Yes, and especially before competition," Axel says smoothly making you shake your head.

"So who are your captains?" Zara spoke up wanting to get on the topic of the tournament.

"Robby and I are the captains," Sam smiles. You couldn't control the way your eyebrows lifted up in surprise, you really thought Miguel would be wearing the white headband.

"Don't look so surprised," Robby throws back at you playfully.

"What about you guys?" Miguels questions.

"Me and her," Axel smirks pulling you into him by your hip.

"Wow," your sister blinks, her voice slightly nervous. "That's great!"

"She earned it," Zara says a hint of smugness behind her voice. She wanted to make sure your old team knew they were in for a challenge.

Before anyone could say anything else, the teams are called forward so pictures can be taken.

—————————————————————————

The first day of the tournament was a breeze. For your team of course. This wasn't your first Sekai Taikai, you had gone with the Iron Dragons last year and won first place.

Miyagi-Do however, struggled.

You’d never forget the look of shock on their faces when it came down to The Iron Dragons and Cobra Kai during the 'Captain's War' event.

You and Axel made Kwon and Tory look defenseless by how fast you took them down together. From the way Sam had described you, Tory was expecting a petite off balance fighter when in reality you moved with grace and packed a punch with every hit.

When your eyes met your dad's you saw a look of fright. It almost made you upset, because if you won would he have the same look instead of being happy for you?

Looking down at an awe-struck Tory, you introduce yourself.

"Nice to officially meet you," you smirk down at her. "Welcome to Barcelona."

From the corner of your eye, you see Sam and Miguel share a look of concern with each other. They had no idea what they were in for.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Your team was dominating the tournament, The Iron Dragons had remained in 1st place through out the next few days. Luckily, you didn't match up with Miyagi-Do.

Until now.

It was the tag-team event, if they lost they would go against Cobra Kai who lost their 1st round.

"How are you feeling?" Axel questions you as the two of you warmed up together.

"Like I'm ready to kick ass," you respond confidently.

"That's my girl," he grins walking up to you. As the two of you share a sweet kiss, you suddenly hear someone coughing behind you.

Your dad stood behind you, a stern look on his face.

"Is this the Axel, you've been talking about?" Your dad approaches you slowly.

"In the flesh," you grin looking up at your tall beau. Axel stood wearily, unsure how to feel about meeting your dad.

He knew the issues you had developed from lack of attention from your dad, it made him just a little bitter inside because you were sweet like candy and tough as nails when it came to fighting, you should be the center of his universe.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Daniel LaRusso," your dad extends his hand for Axel. Your boyfriend takes his hand, shaking it firmly.

"Axel," he says shortly nodding his head. "Good to meet you."

"Thank you for taking care of my girl here," your dad runs a hand over the back of your head, smiling down at you.

"It is an honor," Axel states making you blush. "But if I am being honest, she takes care of me."

Before you, Axel didn't see a day of relaxation or know what the taste of your favorite ice cream was. He trained, went to school, slept, repeat.

You taught him the balance of life and karate. He had never known what it was to have fun and enjoy the small things in life before you came along.

He was forever grateful you were sent to him.

"Well, I just thought I'd come over here to meet your guy, and to wish you luck," your dad said turning to you.

"And to you," you wish him as well.

"Don't hold back on us out there," your dad jokes.

"We won't," you promise, a smile decorated on your face.

Your dad sends you the bow of respect to which you and Axel both reciprocate.

"Still feeling good?" Axel turns to you as you watch your dad walk over to your sister. They both glance your way making you grumble.

"Oh yeah," you nod feeling that fire light beneath your feet. "I'm ready."

Both teams lined up in the taped circle, the ref standing outside of it to watch for points.

Axel was first to stand in the ring, Hawk going up against him first. Hawk attacked first, Axel easily blocking his kicks and landing a point when he struck him behind his head.

"Shit," you hear Johnny mutter.

As you discussed, Axel tagged Zara in, leaving you last as the element of surprise.

Demetri was tagged next, making you scoff. Zara ate kids like him for lunch. She does it swiftly, and quickly, Demetri is taken by surprise by her aggressive approach, unable to block her punch to his chest.

As the skinny lanky boy tagged your sister in, Zara walked over to you slapping your hand.

"It's your time now," she says looking directly at you before stepping in your place next to Axel.

You're nervous, swallowing the lump in the back of your throat. You hadn't sparred with Sam in over seven years, much less fought.

"Aggressive, LaRusso!" Johnny yells, making your eyes narrow.

You could be aggressive too.

Sam comes at you, thinking you'd defend the way you were taught, but you block her kick with both arms and push back, making her stumble on to the ground.

She stares up at you wide eyed, and stands up before you can move towards her. This time you came at her. She blocked off your two kicks, but while her arms were up you took the opportunity to fall on one knee and kick her side earning your team the last and final point.

"Point! The Iron Dragons win 3 to 0!"

Your dojo surrounds you patting your back and chanting excitedly, Axel lifting you off the ground to twirl you around in his arms. Laughing, he sets you back down, a giant smile on your face at your victory.

"Congratulations," your dad's voice pops up from behind you.

You turn to face him, Sam standing by his side a look of uneasiness on her.

"Thanks," you respond unsure if you were allowed to spread your happiness about the face that you had won.

"You did great out there," Sam acknowledges, genuinely speaking. "You're gonna win this tournament."

"Think so?" You ask hope lingering in your voice.

"I know so," she confirms giving you a small smile. The both of you fall into step, wrapping each other up in a hug.

Regardless of how this ended, you knew Sam would always be in your corner.

Your sister walks away, leaving you and your dad alone.

"You've grown into such an amazing fighter, (Y/n)," your dad breathes out. "I can't even comprehend what I've seen from you these last few days. Mr. Miyagi would be proud."

Your mouth fell open at his words. To bring up his mentor and say that even his idol would approve of you? It hit home.

"Thank you, dad," you whimper, tears gathering in your eyes. "That means a lot."

"I was worried about you moving away from us, but I see how happy you are here, with them," your dad motions to the people behind you. "They really look out for you."

Twisting your head, you see Axel and Zara looking over at you making your smile fondly at your friend and boyfriend.

"Just don't forget about your other family, me, mom, Sam, and Anthony," your old sensei reminds you. "We'll be there when you're ready to come back to us."

You nod understanding that even though you may have felt left out for so long, you were still his daughter. He still worried about his 2nd born, that went across the world from him and thinks about you and your well being everyday.

You had the text and voicemails to prove it.

"I know, dad," you respond softly. He pulls you in his arms, hugging you tightly like the night before you left on the airplane that took you to Hong Kong.

"And this Axel kid better treat you right, or else," your dad warns you.

You laugh pulling away from him.

"He's a perfect gentlemen," you attempt to comfort your parent. "He also knows I can kick his ass if he isn't."

"That's definetly true," your dad chuckles.

After you and your dad say your goodbyes for the day, you head over to your boyfriend.

"Everything go okay?" Axel asks concerned they may have been upset of their loss.

"Better than okay," you assure your co-captain. He lets out a sigh of relief at your relaxed demeanor, letting him know you were fine.

You reached for his hands, intertwining your fingers together.

"Thank you for looking out for me," you say staring up at the blue eye boy adoringly. Axel can't help but step forward coming chest to chest with you.

"I will always do my best to look out for you," he states before leaning down to capture your lips with his.

Your heart melts in you chest at his words, the love continuing to grown for the man that held you high on his list of priorities.

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(a/n: i hope this was okay, and that there was was enough axel x reader idk i don't feel this was my best. i have more request im working on, so more coming! i think i really wanted to dive deep into the reader!larusso part so i took my time in that department.)

(ps. sam better not get any hate on this post, she is my favorite character in the series, don't pmo.)