#source separation is fucking hard

[tragedy-with-a-melody]

Okay, so, fair warning. I've been trying to separate from source for almost a year now (maybe over a year even), but that shit is so hard you have no idea. In the end, I've just been sucking up other random sources while still feeling very attached to personal headcanons and certain things about lore. I hate ccWilbur so much I practically froth at the mouth. I hated that one "fanfic" he wrote so much, but somehow, that man made a character devastating and relatable enough that my brain decided to sink it's fangs into them and never let go. Now, I'm mostly stuck on content that I've made/imagined myself regarding the character, and other people's art of course.

CcWilbur really did fuck things up with cWilbur near the end of the lore in my opinion. Though I could argue that there was always fuck ups, but all's fair in love and minecraft roleplay war. CWilbur has essentially become my oc/persona at this point, but I know that's not new within the realm of the dsmp fandom.

[querida]

today my gf discovered i don't have concious control over some of my muscles and i learned that i'm supposed to have concious control over some of my muscles

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

yknow what minor transient detail abt s4 is fun to me? prior to john's reveal, noel apparently assumes the KIY to be a totally unfamiliar character to them both. he pauses his story to give background info on him ("he rules the dreamlands, he's a master manipulator, etc") in a way he doesn't with other stuff. he points out yellow like "that's the bitch btw. if you were curious." which is. like he knows they were in the dreamlands. i think he knows or at least assumes they were in the pits for a while given they ran into lorick. what does he think they were doing there. just. passing through??

[coridallasmultipass]

I hate when my phone won't let me have 2 audio sources running at the same time (depending on the app). I know what I'm doing, let me hear the discordant noises. My brain has built-in audio separation for music. It came as compensation for auditory processing issues. Don't make me pause the music.

[zillychu]

oh my GOD I've known for about a month now that Disney was getting ready to go public with the Midjourney court case and it was SO HARD. TO STAY SILENT. all I've been able to do for like 2 years is go "trust me Disney is cooking something" and now it's finally starting.

like. I cannot emphasize enough how this is seriously going to destroy unethical LLMs. this isn't just about Midjourney, it's going to affect all the shitty art theft companies. they've been working on this a long time to ensure it's airtight.

Disney is evil, but for this battle, their interests align with ours. it's gonna be a long court case but at least we're finally gonna start seeing a shift now in regards to LLMs.

1) Disney will not be able to monopolize unethical LLMs bc they'll be illegal if Disney wins. legislation will need to be written to uphold the ruling.

-----------

EDIT: adding to this bc the techbro psyops found it and are trying to convince y'all this is a bad thing.

2) this is literally just Disney saying "LLMs should be subject to copyright law like everything else". only reason it wasn't is bc we didn't have it in legal writing yet. this court case will prompt it being written.

3) this means absolutely nothing else about copyright is changing. fair use, transformative work, and IP laws stay the same. nothing will change for anyone except techbro shills. we'll finally be protected from them.

4) I can't believe I have to say this but copyright is a good thing. it can be abused (there's room to criticize about HOW it's applied), but it's the only thing protecting small artists and individuals from their labor being stolen. anyone who whines about copyright as a whole being evil is a techbro who wants to steal your money and labor.

5) please. please remember copyright is completely separate from IP law. Disney will not be able to outlaw "style theft", that's still under fair use. their argument against LLMs lies solely in the fact that LLMs use the source material directly in computing an output, and is unable to create an output without said source material. this is how it's different from human-guided machines like digital art programs--those don't require copyright work to create any output.

6) not saying there's a 0% chance of something going wrong but there's a reason artists are excited about this. we have good reason to be optimistic. the court case is airtight--it fully refutes all arguments techbros make in defence of unethical LLMs.

7) being happy about Enemy 1 killing Enemy 2 does not mean anyone suddenly loves Enemy 1. nobody is celebrating Disney. we're celebrating LLMs losing. Disney being evil doesn't mean we can't be happy about Evil 2 dying.

8) techbros keep crying it's so fucking funny

[headspace-hotel]

really disheartening to see how much eco-fascist and eugenicist bullshit has embedded itself into writings about human relationship with nature. I was looking at a copy of a book in the library a while back called Humans Vs. Nature and found this (Discussing early human migrations in the Paleolithic)

To my great dismay, I did not record the source for this claim, But I found these pictures again, and of course I think...How do we know that?

How could we know that Paleolithic hunter-gatherers deliberately controlled their populations by periods of abstaining from sex? That would be incredibly hard to support using archaeological evidence. It seems easier to support infanticide using the archaeological record, so I was not initially troubled by that.

The author is also stating that Paleolithic humans killed their disabled. I have been searching high and low for evidence to support this claim and the closest I've come to any evidence regarding disability in the Paleolithic is this book chapter discussing whether or not it makes sense to assume compassion existed in pre-history. This book chapter gives the impression that the research has been...really dismal.

The two sides of the debate are essentially, "humans probably cared for their disabled in prehistory, because pathologies and injuries are common and they would have needed some kind of care" and "well maybe those people could survive just fine on their own and that's why they lived. We can't prove they were actually disabled."

Not an anthropologist, but I think it's pretty stupid to position a compassionless society as the "null hypothesis," especially based upon chimpanzees. Why would Paleolithic humans be more behaviorally similar to a relative separated by 5 to 13 million years of evolutionary divergence, than to their own descendants a mere few thousand years later????????

But the claim in Humans Vs. Nature isn't just that disabled people weren't cared for, it's that they were deliberately "eliminated," which is a statement with a much higher burden of proof. You would have to find the remains of disabled humans from that time period with clear evidence that they were killed because they were disabled, and you would have to observe this consistently in many sites, to come to the conclusion that it was a cultural norm.

We have many examples of elaborate, seemingly honorable burials for people that were apparently disabled and would have lived a long time with their disabilities. Nothing I've read has mentioned an archaeological record of killing people for being disabled, which would be a glaring oversight, unless it didn't exist, which I'm pretty sure it doesn't.

How did we get to the point where this kind of fucking bullshit sounds so plausible and correct that it makes it into a best selling book without anyone looking it up to see if it's true.

[orangeearlgrey]

Ik in the past decade or so anime adaptations have tried to adapt mangas exactly and even gone back and done other versions of anime just to make sure to adapt the source material and that's a good thing and definitely has its place, but also I genuinely think we should let people make up 100+ filler episodes again

[simonbrain]

ghoap being selfish bastards and stringing you along with their affection. it's hard letting someone into their lives; so many risks come with the job, and to add a civvie to that mess? it's not fair to you.

but they also can't seem to leave you alone. even when they push you away after you show the slightest sign of wanting to take things further than being fuck-buddies, they still keep an eye on you. even when you tell them you don't want anything to do with them anymore, they still show up at your front door. even with teary eyes while you're spitting venom at them, rightfully hurt by their confusing actions, they still think you're beautiful.

you just want to know why they rub it in your face. why they flaunt their unbreakable bond, knowing that there's no space for you except for when they want to sink deep into your holes, leaving their marks. why they can't just decide if they want you or not. it's a risk being with them, you know this, but you just want something for yourself for once in your life. it seems like they're not even giving you a damn chance to prove yourself worthy of their love.

(it hurts so badly to push you away, but they must.)

they're causing you so much distress, not to mention the stress from your job piled on top of that. who wouldn't become resentful towards them? you open your home to them, your legs, your heart—god. what fucking assholes. what did you expect from two military men? they really are just heartless machines.

(no one else has made you feel so whole in years, for the best and for the worst.)

you stop responding to their messages and calls; you curse them both out when they show up at your door separately and again when they show up together, and now you just want to heal from something that didn't even fucking happen. it's pathetic, but you really did love like them. it's hard falling asleep without johnny's obnoxious snoring in your ear or simon's big arms wrapped securely around you, but you'll manage. it's quiet on the drive to work without johnny cranking up some random scottish rapper before simon scolds him and hands the aux to you, giving you the best start to your day, but you'll be fine. it's disheartening when you return home to nothing but a dim lamp in the corner, no greasy takeout waiting for you on the table, or two pairs of ears eager to listen to the shit that went down at work today, but you'll get over it.

then months later they see you at a bar. johnny's trying his best to not just slide up to you and purr into your ear about how gorgeous you look, how blue's his favourite colour and this shade looks so good on you, and did ye wear this tight lil thing just for me, hen? simon's not doing any better; there's a you-shaped hole in his chest, and he wants nothing more than to go home with you and johnny under each arm, but they know they lost their chance with you.

they know this because when you finally catch the source of whoever the hell is staring holes into your head, there's no falter. there's nothing in your eyes that says you want them anymore—you look at them, then look away.

(they don't know your heart still aches for them.)

[mattsstarlet]

“i fucking love candy with just matt but i would love to see her with both of them… just one time!!! walk with me”

based on this ask.

IMPORTANT NOTE: this does NOT correlate with my current au. it’s simply just for shits and giggles. maybe i’ll consider making a separate au with chris involved. i don’t know.

contains: smut (p in v), unprotected sex, degradation, praise, orgasm denial, sex tape (i only mentioned lights being put up, i forgot lol). both chris and matt individually use reader.

“i’ve waited so long to have you, sweet girl.” chris mocked, grinning from ear to ear as he fawned himself over your body between your legs, nuzzling his face into your neck and kissing the flesh just enough to make you squirm.

he pulled away, his mischievous eyes tracing your flushed features as your big, round eyes filled with desperation and humiliation locked onto matt’s shadow— who was sitting in a chair in the corner of his room, palming his straining hard cock against his jeans while his face remained stoic.

“don’t look at him, look at me… there we go.” he chuckled, bringing one hand to cup your chin, squeezing your cheeks to pucker your lips. “pretty little slut.” he mumbles, licking his lips before hungrily pressing them against yours.

your mouth greeted his tongue, both dancing in circles as his hands roamed all over your naked body, groping your tits. after a few seconds he pulled away, the both of you in a panting mess while he ripped his shirt off, his sliver chain gleaming underneath the lights matt had propped up.

chris’ hands made a beeline to his zipper, pushing the fabric down slowly, taunting you. he flashed a toothy grin, gripping his cock through his boxers after he disregarded his jeans on the floor, slightly pumping himself.

“s’all f’you, ma— shiiit.” he groaned, feeling himself twitch into his own hands. “gonna let me fuck you? yeah?”

you nodded eagerly, reaching out and tugging on his briefs, bitting down on your plumped lip. “please?” you spoke softy, your pointer finger tracing over the small wet patch of his precum— causing chris to suck in a deep breath at the sudden movement.

“matt’s cock not enough f’you? hm? cock hungry little thing.” he pulled down the remaining fabric, his shaft springing out and hitting his toned stomach, his red mushroom head leaking cum.

“m’gonna give it to you, don’t worry.” he spit on his hand, lathering his saliva all over his cock before giving himself a few pumps. the sudden movement happened so quickly, plunging his cock into your pussy— slipping right in with how wet you were.

he groaned, his mouth hanging open as your tight walls swallowed his cock. “fuuuckkk, no wonder why my brother keeps you around. good fuckin’ pussy.”

matt had already stripped off his clothes, jerking himself off at the way your eyes rolled back, using the desperate sounds of your moans as another source to help him get off.

his hips were nearly slipping off the chair with how fast his high was chasing him. matt’s hooded eyes found yours, bubbly with tears of pleasure. he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, working his hand faster. he cursed beneath his breath, sweat dripping down his forehead as ropes of white cum spurted all over his chest, painting his tummy as well.

the sight of him brought you over the edge, your gummy walls clenching around chris’ cock, sending a shiver down his spine each time. “gonna cum— please.”

“yeah?” chris breathed out, pulling out just a little, leaving his tip in before abruptly thrusting in. “hold on just a bit more, baby.”

you whined at the rejection, sobbing as his tip grazed your cervix. chris rambled, going on and on about how much he loved your pussy— wanting nothing more to fill your womb up with his cum.

“m’gonna cum, pretty. oh yeah i’m— fuck.” he grunted, your spongy walls practically squeezing his load out, milking your insides.

he chuckled deeply, watching as your cunt oozed out his cum after he pulled out, using his finger to push his load back in. “m’sorry, baby. i don’t make the rules here.” he smirked, watching you whine and squirm as your orgasm faded away.

he traded spots with matt, plopping himself on the chair and catching his breath. matt stood by the edge of the bed, grabbing your legs and bending your thighs into your chest, coating his hardening cock with your arousal mixed with chris’ cum.

“my sweet, sweet, girl.” he cooed, teasing your entrance with his tip. “y’need me to get off, don’t you?”

“please.” you begged, your tears staining your cheeks. you choked on a gasp, feeling the slight burning sensation of his cock stretching your puffy cunt out.

“there we go— fuck, i can just cum from being inside.” he threw his head back, bucking his hips forward at a steady pace.

you rolled your eyes back once again, your brain going straight to mush. the sounds of your loud moans mixed with the wet squelching coming out of your pussy filled the entire room.

“you like being used? like being fucked by two guys?”

his words went straight to your core, feeling the familiar sensation of a knot forming deep in your belly. you babbled, saliva drooling out of your mouth as you spoke incoherently.

matt couldn’t refrain himself from cumming inside you at sight of you looking brainless and blissed out. he would never admit it, but he loved the thought of sharing you with his brother, filling you up over and over again without letting you cum.

which is how you spent the entire evening.

“gonna suck me off while you let chris fuck you again? yeah?— good girl.”

© 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗌𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖾𝗍

[vegan-peppermint]

Older!Konig is a creep.

Cw: slut shaming, toxic ex, masturbation

Older!Konig who has just moved on your floor. You don’t see much of him, leaving his apartment early in the morning and returning long after sunset,

Older!Konig who sees you struggling climbing up the stairs with your bags one random tuesday, elevator out of order for weeks now. You don’t hear him coming, just feel a wall of presence behind you as his much larger hands reach out and take the bags from your grip.

“Let me help you,” he says softly, his voice calm but firm. You’re caught off guard by the gesture, but before you can protest, he’s already several steps ahead, heading toward your door. You hasten to catch up, your mind fleeting with words you meant to say but quickly forget as he stops in front of your apartment.

He turns sharply to face you. It’s the first time you really get a good look at him — those few times you peeked through the blinds don’t count. You linger, fumbling with your keys. He’s in his mid-forties, with gentle lines framing his face, and his icy blue eyes are sharp, alert, guarded beneath tired eyelids.

“You’re Konig,” it’s the first thing you said to him, before introducing yourself as well.

He humms solemnly interested only in getting your groceries inside.

Older!Konig who notices your clothes getting slutier every time he sees you. Over time, you notice his eyes lingering a little longer each time on your short skirts and tight tops.

Older!Konig who made it his main activity chaperoning you from your door to the exit of the building and vice versa. Always claiming “Ladies first,” letting you walk in front of him up the stairs. He’s just a polite man, schatz. Getting a look at your panties was just the reward for his courtesy.

Older!Konig who hears some loud noises coming from your apartment. He wasn’t eavsdropping, of course- but the loud voices and raised tones make it impossible not to listen in.

“Oh, that’s rich,” your voice was muffled by the not so thick wall. “I think it’s fucking rich you could even think about screwing other chicks given the fact you didn’t make me cum once. Not even one time, you fucking prick.”

Konig who can’t help but chuckle at your frustrated complaints. How poorly had this man fucked you when faced with proof of infidelity it’s second on your list of complaints.

Your shouting matches with your boyfriend are the main source of entertainment for König. He’s come home after a tough workout, collapsing onto his couch with a cold beer, the TV on mute as he leans in to listen.

Today your boyfriend started the argument, and Konig though his opening was weak.

“Can you stop dressing like a hooker for once?” Kyle sneered.

Konig’s lips twitch in a chuckle.

Poor Kyle.

Having an eye-candy such as yourself as a girlfriend sure sounded like a problem Konig also wished he had.

“I don’t know what has gotten into you,” Kyle continued.

“It’s just a cute outfit,” you snap back, voice trembling with anger.

“Those pieces of clothes barely cover your tits, be for real,” his voice grew louder. “You didn’t act like this before, when we first got together. Who are you tryin to impress?”

“Are you dense?” your screamed back. “Has it ever crossed you mind that I might do this for your attention? So maybe you would get hard and fuck me?”

“Don’t play all innocent,” he sneered, stomping so heavy the floor threatened to collapse. “I saw the way your eyes flickering after that old fuck across the hall.”

“Kyle,” you said in a calmer voice.

“Thats what I thought,” he continued, lowering his voice.

Konig’s ears pricked, eyes narrowing as if it would help him hear anything. Muffled voices came from behind the wall separating your apartments but the man could not untangle the words spoken.

Then came a sharper noise, like something solid hitting the floor, followed by the unmistakable tinkle of shattering glass. Konig's breath hitched when he heard your voice:

A sudden thud made Konig tense up.

His gaze flicked from the wall to his own silent front door and back again.

If he knew anything it was what a fight sounded like- Yet, the idea of such a disturbance involving someone as seemingly delicate as his doll of a neighbor felt jarring, almost unbelievable. This put him in a precarious position. What was the right thing to do, Schatz? Would you welcome his intervention, a knight in shining armor barging through the door? Or would his interference be met with your proud defiance? You were strong, independent; he knew you would likely bristle at the notion of being "saved."

“Get out! Get the fuck out!” you choked out just loud enough for Konig to promptly jump from his seat and walk straight through the door.

Older!Konig who is not surprised your shouts and swears were audible from the hallways, cut abruptly by the buzzing sound of your ring bell.

Silence.

Followed by muted movements and Kyle’s harsh voice urging you to be quiet.

Older!Konig who would cover the peephole just as your boyfriend tried to look through- element of surprise and what not.

Older!Konig, who really tried to not escalate the situation, just firmly told Kyle to step out of the apartment and leave, given he became a nauseous to you and implicitly to him.

But that smug boyfriend of yours just had to show he had balls. So full of himself and aggressive for no particular reason- Konig was the same at his age. He, however, had older men teach him -the hard and painful way-it’s no way a true man acts. Showed him a thing or two about authority when he needed to, and fixed his testosterone induced behaviour issues.

It’s really in Kyle’s best luck Konig will do the same for him.

Older!Konig who dodged your stupid boyfriend’s punch effortlessly, eyes looking for you inside the apartment. This boy was not his priority nor the reason he came down here, were you okay?

He’d try to hide his smirk when he caught a glimpse of your doe eyes peeping from the living room door.

Konig does not condone violence. He has lived a long life at both ends of aggression, death and gore interlinked with the fiber of his very being. It’s a hard burden- the one of war. It stains the most precious things one could get in life long before he gets a chance to even touch them.

But he'd be lying if he said the way your eyes flickered when he knocked Kyle to the ground didn't entertain his darkest, most brutal tendencies.

You were not overly excited or thankful, not that he expected you to. Kyle left screaming and threatening, nothing to be worried about, Konig assures you.

“Sorry we bothered you,” you said distantly.

He hesitated, uncertain how to respond. Maybe you felt he’d crossed a line. He studied your features carefully, searching for a sign, a hint—how do you want to be treated, Schatz?

Older!Konig settlig on a quiet hum of agreement before turning away, retreating silently back to his apartment without another word.

Older!Konig who quickly noticed you realised he could hear you in your own home.

No more loud phone calls or fights, no more late movie nights with your friends or other activities he was used to. He was conflicted- what else could he have done? Not protecting you when that happened wasn’t a choice, but he regretted the outcome. Why did you cut his access to you? Those thoughts were overwhelming, and he grew more and more desperate. Mind racing with plans on how he would knock on your door to apologize, bring you thousand of flowers - anything so you would allow him to be a witness to your life again.

Until one uneventful night, half past eleven- the dead of night interupted by your sweet voice.

Older!Konig who came to a sudden halt, brian short circuited. It couldn’t be…

“You will be the death of me,” he whispered. He walked with heavy steps towards your common wall, almost throwing himself at the sound of your moans. Ear pressed on the cold surface he closed his eyes, letting you flod every bit of him.

You’re too kind to him.

His jeans get tighter as he grabs his cock. This is wrong, he knows. You’re half his age at best, young and pure- way too pretty for someone like him. The fact he even allows himself to get hard to you should come as an insult, angel. His forehead is stuck to the wall as he fights with himself.

But your moans are calling to him.

He know better than to do this, yet he quickly unbuckles his belt.

This is for the best, if he allows himself this- this time only- he won’t want more. You wouldn’t mind, would you? If he lets his mind wonder to your ass, and your tits,- to your dumb, whore face.

Gosh, his mother taught him better than to disgrace such a young thing with his seed but you are. So. Fucking. Wet.

Even through the wall, he can hear it when you slap your pussy. It’s as if you were spread in front of him, legs open wide just for him. You fucking tease.

His calloused hand brushes against his cock. He strugled to imagine your hand instead of his, disappointment and frustration building up. But the noises you were shamelessly making were meant for him to dry his balls to.

He always had his certain curiosities about your body, about you. He's glad to find out you're a whiny mess. Loves the fact you're loud.

What would you like? Could you fulfill all his wants and demands? Would you cry when he fucks you, balls deep in that needy hole of yours?

You’d scream.

Hand moving up and down his length to the rhythm of your pathetic whimpers. He curses under his breath as he imagined you on the other side. Were you wearing a cute matching set or were you completely undressed in the cold air?

He hopes you’re playing with your tits, pinching those needy nipples he saw so often peak through your shirts. Make him proud and slap them for him.

He grunts thinking about choking you. Slapping your ass and spitting on you- he knows you’d like to be owned like that. He’d fuck away any memory of any other man you’ve been with and mold you to his cock. He’d be too rough, but you wouldn’t complain. He’d stuff you full without any warming up and pretend not to get off to your cries and discomfort.

“Mmph~ Fuck me,” you moan louder this time. “Konig, please!”

You needy slut, of course you’d beg for it.

He laughs, hand stroking his dick faster.

He knows you’ll suck him off tomorrow.

Hell, you’d be on all fours for him right now. Bet you left your door unlocked for him to come, barging in on you in such an intimate. You’d like that, no? Why else would you try to get his attention like this? You want him to be the big, bad wolf. It would be too much for you to admit the want to be fucked dumb on his fat cock. No, you’re all innocent and kind- this is beneath you.

Don’t worry, Angel. He’ll take the blame for ruining such a pretty thing like yourself.

He will ignore your protests as he breeds you like a bitch tomorrow.

For now, he curses you for making him cum in his hand.

[dreamsteddie]

Can't Take My Eyes Off You

Written for the @stmarchmm day one prompt “courting rituals” | Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Courting Rituals, Alpha Eddie Munson, Omega Steve Harrington - Also on Ao3

Bat divider -@popmilky | Diamond divider - @inklore

Eddie knows he doesn’t have much going for him in terms of mating material.

Despite presenting as an Alpha early at age twelve, something that should have given him some kind of status in a town like Hawkins, there’s always been something about him that makes people turn their noses up at him, close doors in his face. He’s kind of wishy-washy when it comes to the things he’s not passionate about, he smells like wet pavement and cigarette smoke, and can’t for the life of him seem to graduate high school.

He also can’t grow a beard, can’t remember to separate the darks from the lights, can’t tie his shoes without using the bunny ears method, can’t hop in place and rub his tummy, can’t- 

Well the point is, there are a lot of “can’t”s in his life and never a whole lot of “can”s

The one thing Eddie can do without a shadow of a doubt is pursue delusions of grandeur with a single-minded determination. No matter how hard this shit-hole town and all its designation-obsessed inhabitants have tried to beat him into the dirt over the years, he’s never let go of his dreams. Some day, he’s going to play songs for the entire goddamn planet, making millions of dollars off lyrics inspired by all the games and books that have gotten his head shoved in the Hawkin’s High toilets over the years, and Mayor Kline will have to give him a key to the city while Eddie Munson, town freak, gives him the middle finger.

And, if all the stars align and the Big Guy upstairs he doesn’t believe in does him several solids, he’ll be doing it with Steve Harrington standing by his side.

The guys think he’s crazy—Eddie thinks he’s crazy—but Eddie is determined to give his all into courting Steve Harrington before their shared senior year ends. He’s, by and large, the most eligible Omega in all of Hawkins, even with his recent breakup with Nancy Wheeler under his belt. No amount of ditching the popular crowd, adopting a bunch of children, and becoming best friends with band geek Robin Buckley has been enough to deter the Alphas of Hawkins High, even if some of them won’t admit it.

Eddie takes great pleasure in watching every failed courting offer. Steve has always been picky about who he lets take him out, but he hasn’t taken up a single Alpha’s offer since Nancy and the rejections are getting more brutal by the day. Eddie suspects it’s Robin’s influence and if that is the case he needs to thank her profusely because Eddie goes a little weak in the knees every time he sees Steve literally turn up his perfect nose at an offer.

So, the odds aren’t looking good. Steve is picky and Eddie is famously a poor, nobody freak, not the kind of guy with the resources to properly woo a guy like Steve, but what Eddie does have is a lot of passion and a strong desire to prove himself. 

So Eddie has a capital P Plan.

“Hey Buckley,” Eddie says sliding up to the girl where she’s packing up at the bleachers after practice. She gives him a scrutinizing look and clearly finds him lacking, squinting her eyes at him like he’s a little bug landed on her shoulder. Irritating and suspicious. Which, rude. “I was wondering if a fine lady like yourself would happen to know what one Steve Harrington might be hoping for in a courting” Robin clearly wasn’t expecting him to come right out and ask, her blue eyes going wide.

“What the fuck, Munson!” She crows, clearly embarrassed by his lack of tact.

“What!?” He fires back, not understanding what the big deal is. He wants to court Steve and Robin is the best source of information on how to go about it.

“You can’t just ask that, you doofus,” she hisses, lavender scent going smokey like brush fire.

“Why not? I want to court him, like, publicly. Everyone’s gonna know in a couple weeks anyway. Shouldn’t you be glad you’re the first to know?” He huffs. He knows it’s not exactly the done thing to go around telling people you’re going to court someone. You’re supposed to be delicate. Hint at it and build up little courting gifts and don’t look anyone in the eye. It’s dumb as hell and Eddie wants no part of it. Besides, so far as Eddie has seen, that method hasn’t worked on Steve anyway. Eddie may as well go about this in his own way, which includes getting insider information.

Still clearly not impressed, Robin says “You? You want to court Steve? Resident anti-conformist, jock-hating, Eddie Munson wants to court Steve Harrington. Why?” Her tone is clearly disbelieving, which, again, rude.

“Uh, I mean, have you seen him with those kids? He’s wicked hot with that whole mom thing he’s got going on.” At that, Robin gags. “And, I mean, I know he’s a jock but he’s also an Omega and he pretty much said fuck it to Hawkin’s High when he presented and refused to give up his position as captain. That was super fucking metal,” he says all earnest.

“And I like the way he smells, like a fresh cinnamon roll. And we shared an English class once and he asked me about the doodle of a Beholder I worked on instead of taking notes. And I know I’m not exactly a prime Alpha but I don’t think that really matters. At least not to me. I want to kiss him and make sweet love to him and have babies with him and -” Robin cuts him off with a hand over his mouth.

“Ok, I get it. You like him.” She says that, but she’s still looking at him like she can’t figure him out. “Alright…I don’t know if I like you Eddie but I’ll throw you a bone. Just one, got it? And if you fuck it up, I’m not helping you again.” She says, waiting for him to nod before removing her hand from his mouth.

Eddie takes a deep, overdramatic breath in like he’s just breached water. “Got it.”

Robin takes a deep breath of her own. “Steve’s been propositioned for courting 19 times since he presented and he’s only said yes to one. One-off dates not included.” She hasn’t stopped looking him straight in the eye, making sure he pays attention. “Nancy gave him a set of handwritten notes for history because she noticed he was struggling. All the other Alphas got him fancy jewelry, useless house stuff, and generic valentine's day crap.” With that, she gives him one last, long look before grabbing her trumpet and leaving, the sound of metal clanging under her feet following in her wake.

“Thanks, Buckey!” He calls out, waving his hand wildly at her retreating back. She ignores him.

Well, no matter. He’s got a courting to plan.

The thing about courting when you have $3.45 to your name after rent and gas is that you have to get creative. Which isn’t a problem, Eddie breathes creativity. If he wasn't already “The Freak” he’s sure he would be Eddie “The Creative” Munson. Really, it has a nice ring to it.

The problem comes with making something with $3.45 that is also a worthy courting gift for Steve Harrington. Which, given Robin’s tip, might not be as big a concern as he would have thought. But even if Steve would be happy with a heartfelt love letter and those peanut butter brownies Eddie knows he likes, there’s a part of him that wants to blow every other Alpha and Beta that came before him completely out of the water. Maybe especially Nancy Wheeler.

Sue him, he wants to be the best.

Which leaves him with the option of a gesture. Eddie loves a gesture, but this one is going to require some help. Luckily, Eddie knows where every gang of geeks in Hawkin’s makes their dens, even if they’re not his gang of geeks. It comes with being Head Freak. It’s his responsibility, really.

Which is how he finds himself in the Hawkins Middle AV club room being stared down by a bunch of beady-eyed thirteen year olds on the verge of presenting. Jesus, these kids are intense.

“So yeah, that’s what I’m planning,” he finishes explaining. Would it kill them to look a little impressed? He’s pretty proud of it himself. Instead of sharing looks of awe, the six of them share looks of judgement between them, obviously having a silent conversation between them like some kind of hive mind. Eddie will never admit it makes him sweat a little bit.

“You want to ask to court Steve. Steve Harrington?” the tall, skinny one asks like he can’t believe it. Eddie doesn’t know if the disgust is for him or for the Omega. Either way, ouch.

“Yes,” he replies, sweating a little more. They all share more looks, the redhead in particular is looking at him like he’s gum stuck on the bottom of her shoes. 

“Why?” The curly one asks, firm and more seriously than any kid that dorky looking should have any right to speak. Seriously, he looks like a poodle in a Star Wars shirt and a trucker hat. But, Eddie knows enough about Steve to know that these are his kids, his pups, and despite how much it chafes him to have people continually asking why he wants to court Steve, like it isn’t obvious, he knows these pups are just looking out for their pack Omega.

With a deep sigh, Eddie explains for the second time in less than a week, everything he loves about Steve Harrington. At the end of his speech, the pups stare at him for a long moment before simultaneously turning their back on him to form an honest to God huddle. Seriously, the hive mind thing is looking more and more likely. Maybe he should use this for a campaign. Very Children of the Corn.

While Eddie is lost in his musing, they seem to come to some kind of conclusion, breaking up and returning to one solid, unbreakable line. It’s the other girl, hair short and at that awkward growing out length that Eddie knows all too well that steps forward. All these kids are intense, but there’s something especially severe about her, something Eddie only half recognizes.

“We will help you,” she says, quiet and solemn. 

This is going to fucking fantastic, Eddie thinks, wild grin splitting across his face.

It’s embarrassingly easy to sneak a band of six middle schoolers and one elementary schooler into the school after hours. The kids met him outside the building just at exactly 4:00 PM the Friday after their meeting in the AV room just as they planned. The addition of the feisty ten year old was unexpected, but she proved herself invaluable in charming the one teacher that stopped them on their way to the radio room, spinning some tale about being so excited for higher learning that they wanted to explore the high school. Eddie thinks Erica Sinclair should run the world.

The kids are a well oiled, if slightly annoying, machine. As soon as Eddie pops the door open they’re getting to work figuring out how the PA system works and how long the range is. Dustin and Lucas insist that they move the entire unit closer to the field, and Max and Will are quick to source a cart for the whole thing. In record time they’re all piling into the coaches office, the one with a clear view of the basketball court where the team is running their Friday drills. Honestly, it feels a little like they’re highjacking Eddie’s plan, but the smiles on their face and their puppy sweet excitement softens the blow a little.

“You ready?” The curly haired one, Dustin, asks while offering him the mic.

“I was born for this, Dusty,” he says, snatching the mic out of his hand and taking his place outside the main gym doors.

Despite what he said, Eddie is nervous. He shakes his hands and bounces in place, trying to shake it off. Before he’s ready, he hears the slightly crackly jazzy intro pouring through the speakers. He counts his beats, waiting for his que. He spent hours planning this, recording the background music with the band, turning the lyrics over and over in his head, even practicing his grand entrance. He’s as ready as he can be.

God, he hopes this works.

And there’s his que, that little pause in the music just enough time for him to push open the doors to the main gym with all his strength, relishing in the dramatic banging sound.

All eyes are on him. Steve’s eyes are on him.

You're just too good to be true,

Can't take my eyes off of you,

He sings as he walks. All the activity in the gym has come to a halt, everyone too confused and curious to stop it. He’s looking right at Steve, who turns his head like he’s expecting to see someone else behind him. He’s so cute, Eddie wants to eat him alive.

At long last love has arrived,

And I thank God I'm alive,

You're just too good to be true

Eddie knows he doesn’t have a lot of time, any moment now principle Higgins and his one security lackey are going to bust through the doors to find out who stole the announcement equipment. This is the moment, the one that needs to count. Eddie saunters right up to Steve like his heart isn’t trying to beat out of his chest and kneels down like a knight to their king. He takes his hand, and Steve lets him as he sings the next line looking right up into those beautiful hazel eyes.

Can't take my eyes off of you.

He turns the hand in his own over to expose the Omega’s wrist just as the music pauses and presses a soft, lingering kiss to the gland there. A courting kiss.

Almost like he planned it, the doors burst open a second time revealing the fuming face of Principle Higgins and his goon. He turns a manic grin Steve’s way just as the music picks back up, cutting straight to the chorus. He presses one last kiss to Steve’s wrist and takes in the way his pretty, pink lips are parted in disbelief, eyes wide and then he’s running.

I love you baby,

And if it's quite alright,

I need you baby,

To warm the lonely nights

Let it never be said that Eddie Munson, for all the ways he fails to be the ideal Alpha, doesn’t have a hell of a lot of stamina. He’s been a proud runner all his life, and he’s using it to his advantage today to put on a show. He’s singing and he’s running as Higgins and Officer Jerry chase his tail like they have any hope of catching him when he doesn’t want to be caught, when he can see the most beautiful boy in the world laughing at him in disbelief as he ducks and dodges around the court.

But even Eddie has his limits and, like he said, he planned this to a T. He can feel himself running out of breath but he refuses to call it before the climax. He’s stomping his way up the bleachers, making a show of going between the rows dancing like he’s in an old hollywood musical. Higgin’s is closing in, but there’s now way he’s getting caught. Not today. He puts in a burst of speed, leaving them in the dust and putting himself right at the top of the wooden stands, singing directly to Steve who is absolutely glowing on the court.

And let me love you,

Baby let me love you…

The music gives one last swell, the Corroded Coffin of two days ago pouring their heart out for the Eddie of today. The music comes to an abrupt halt, the gym very quickly filling with laughter and applause. The kids are screaming their heads off in the office, loud enough to draw Steve’s attention to where they can be seen through the large window. The joy and disbelief on Steve’s face makes all of this worth it, no matter what happens next.

Eddie wishes he could relish in it longer, but the goon squad is gaining ground fast and he has one last message to give before he hauls ass into the next phase of his plan. He starts inching his way toward the exit, not taking his eyes off Steve as he goes. He needs him to hear this.

“Steve Harrington, it would be the honor of my life to court you with the intention of mating. Meet me at the lake at seven if you’ll hear me out.” And with that, he’s gone. He wishes he could stay to see his reaction, but he’s out of time.

He pushes through the emergency exit to the sound of hollering and clapping, all he can do now is commence with phase two.

Phase two mainly consists of picking everything up from the trailer, changing into his nice clothes, and heading toward Lover’s Lake to set everything up.

Eddie thinks this is the most nerve wracking part of the whole plan. In many ways, the whole big performance was the easy part. Eddie loves to perform, eats up the attention like a cat laps up milk. This, the full bearing of his heart to the Omega he wants to spend his life with, is far scarier than anything else. Here in the back of his van, the paper hearts and pillar candles, hand-picked daisies and hand-made peanut butter brownies, leave him completely exposed.

He wonders if Steve will show up.

He wishes he didn’t set up so god damn early. The waiting is excruciating.

The Alpha paces around, adjusts the blankets on the bottom of the van and then decides they were better before, and checks his watch every half minute like it will make time move faster. He sits and watches the hands turn from 6:59 to 7:00. Maybe Steve won’t come. Maybe this was all for nothing and he’ll have to go back to school on Monday and pretend like he isn’t heartbroken.

His watch continues to tick. 7:03, 7:07, 7:10. He’s getting ready to pick it all back up when he hears the muffled sound of tires on soft dirt. Suddenly, his heart is in his throat as he watches the distinct headlights of his favorite Beamer turn into the clearing.

Eddie scrambles to his feet, he has a plan to carry out.

He watches, heart in his throat as Steve parks. Watches as the door opens and Steve emerges, a sweet, sheepish smile on his face.

“Sorry I’m late.” Steve looks like a dream. He clearly went home and had a shower and a change of clothes. He’s wearing light wash jeans that hug his thighs and a soft looking, deep red sweater, the collar of a white dress shirt peeking out from underneath. He’s dressed up for Eddie.

There’s a long pause where Eddie forgets how to speak and Steve just stands there, clearly waiting for Eddie to make a move. Eddie comes back to himself all at one, shaking his head hard like a dog, making Steve let out a startled laugh. “What the hell?” He asks, not mean, but bemused. 

“My deepest apologies my liege, I was simply stunned by your beauty,” he says with a half bow, extending his arm for Steve to take. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to Cafe Munson, the finest pop up restaurant this side of Indiana.” It’s goofy and a little ridiculous but Steve takes the offered arm with a little smile, sending a pleasant jolt through his body. 

Eddie leads Steve toward the open back of the van, watching him intently as he takes it in. He gets to see as the Omega’s eyes go wide, mouth parting in a little gasp. When he turns to look at Eddie, he’s already looking back. “You did this for me?” He asks, wonder coloring his voice. All of a sudden Eddie feels a little shy, a little sheepish.

“I know it’s not much, I’m not exactly liquid at the moment, but I wanted to do something nice for you,” he says, unoccupied arm reaching up to tug a piece of hair over his mouth. Steve looks at him for a long moment before turning back to the van. There are blankets everywhere, pretty much every one from the house plus a couple he nicked from Gareth’s house after practice. The emergency pillar lights from the pantry give the space a soft glow, paper hearts hang from string from the metal roof, and a repurposed laundry basket full of tupperwares and miller lites sits in the center.

“It’s perfect” Steve says, and Eddie can’t help but believe him. Not when his scent is blooming, cinnamon roll sweet, right under Eddie’s nose.

Eddie leads him to the van, gives him his hand to help him into the back. He takes a moment to take it all in, Steve Harrington settling into a date with Eddie Munson. It’s his biggest dream come true. 

He climbs in after the other boy and starts pulling out tupperwares. Steve has settled in to lean on the wall of pillows Eddie constructed for just this reason, pulling a blanket over the both of them when Eddie settles in next to him. Steve laughs with every overly dramatic introduction he makes for the food, and Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been this warm. Neither of them brings up why they’re here, the underlying meaning behind it all. They dance around it, laughing about the kids, Steve’s sports and Eddie’s games, the look on Principle Higgin’s face when he burst into the gym earlier that day. The whole place smells like cinnamon and smoke, Eddie doesn’t think there’s a better smell in the whole world.

They don’t say a thing about courting or mating or scents until they polish off their cold pasta, courtesy of Wayne, and Eddie pulls out the last tupperware from the bottom of the laundry basket. “And for dessert, may I have a drumroll please….” Steve rolls his eyes but smiles as he complies, drumming a little beat with fingers on the side of the van. Eddie pulls out the container with a flourish, “The finest peanut butter brownies $3.15 worth of ingredients from Melvald’s can get you.” He expects laughter, maybe some light teasing as Steve has been shown to enjoy throughout the night, but all he gets is silence. 

He worries, for a moment, that he got it wrong. Maybe Steve doesn’t like peanut butter brownies. Jesus H Christ, maybe he’s allergic to peanuts and Eddie has just massively fucked this up. He’s getting ready to spiral and try to fix it when Steve speaks, voice soft in a way Eddie can’t place.

“Those are my favorites,” he says. When Eddie is brave enough to look at his face again, he’s met with wet, adoring eyes. Eddie doesn't know if anyone has ever looked at him like that before. Like he was something magical. Something special just for them.

Eddie clears his throat when Steve doesn’t say anything else. Just keeps staring at him like he’s waiting for something big. “Yeah, yeah I know,” he says, bracing himself for what comes next. “I uh, I saw you buy some at the club fair last year. You bought three of them and then came back for one more before they closed the booth.” It shouldn’t be such a big admission, but it feels like he’s just handed Steve his heart on a silver platter.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, turning toward him fully.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, sitting up so they’re eye to eye.

“What you said, on the basketball court, will you ask me again?” He’s looking at him with so much hope in his eyes, Eddie almost feels like he could choke on it. Instead, he focuses in on the perfect scent of the man next to him, breathes steadily in and out.

“It would be the honor of my life to court you with the intention of mating, Steve Harrington.” As he says it, he reaches into his pocket for his last offering, his hail mary pass, his death saving throw. It’s a silly thing, cost his last 30 cents at the stationary store, but he was listening to Robin on those bleachers that day. Knows that the gesture and the picnic are all well and good, but what Steve has been missing with all those other Alphas is someone who notices the small details and holds them close. Someone who cares about his C+ in History, someone who knows his favorite brownies are swirled with peanut butter.

Someone who notices that he lost his eraser last week and has been meaning to pick up a new one.

Eddie holds out his heart one last time, it’s shaped like a 30 cent eraser. White and covered with a paper band. The best one on the market.

Steve stares at the little eraser like it contains the answers to the universe, and then he’s plucking it, oh so gently, out of his hands and cradling it in his own. Eddie waits, the ball is completely in Steve’s court now, Eddie has played all his cards.

Suddenly, Steve scent starts to bloom, even more than it did when he first saw the van. The smell of sugar, cinnamon, and yeast so strong it makes Eddie feel light headed. Eddie gets a glimpse of the most beautiful smile in the world just before Steve is throwing his arm around his neck, nudging his way into his lap to notch his head right at Eddie’s scent gland. Eddie’s arms instinctually wrap around his back, keeping him close.

“Yes,” Steve says, the sound of it muffled by the soft skin of Eddie’s neck. Eddie squeezes him tight, knows he needs to ask, just to make sure but worried he’s hallucinating. Scared to believe he’s getting everything he’s ever wanted.

“Yes?” He asks, lips trembling where they’ve found their own place at Steve’s neck, wanting to be as close as possible, just in case.

“Yes.” And Steve is pulling back, which Eddie hates, and cupping his face in is hands. “It would be the honor of my life to accept your courting offer, Eddie Munson,” he says, sure and steady and full to the brim of hope.

“Holy shit.” Eddie can’t believe this is happening. Despite all the planing and the performing and the putting his heart on the line he never actually let himself think that this would happen. Never let himself think about how it would end.

Without much though Eddie barrels forward to bury his head back into the Omega’s neck, his Omega’s neck, peppering him with fervent little kisses until Steve is giggling so hard he tips them over into the pile of pillows behind him. Eddie is full to the brim with joy, happier than he’s ever been and all of a sudden he needs to move. Needs to let the whole world know what he’s got in the palm of his hands.

He jolts up with one last kiss to Steve’s cheek, managing a quick “be right back!” before he launching himself out of the van. He hears Steve calling out in confusion, but it quickly turns into more joyous laughter as Eddie steps out of the van and starts jumping in place, punching the air and whooping into the night sky.

“Fuck you Hawkins! I’m courting Steve Harrington! I’m on top of the God Damn world!” He gets in one last double bird in the general direction of Main Street before Steve is calling him back in.

“Ok, you’ve had your moment. Now get your ass back in here and kiss me for real, you dumb Alpha,” he says, laughter still caught in his throat. And really? Who is Eddie do deny a request like that?

So excited for MMM, guys! I won't be doing every day, but I will be doing at lest a couple of full one shots and some of my normal ramblings. (Also, this is the longest thing I've ever written that wasn't an academic paper and I am low key very proud of myself)

[starvulture]

Hiya! I'll pop a few requests in for you. Hope you have fun warming up your writing! I'm assuming you want the requests in different asks for ease of replying. :} Apologizing with a Kiss for Matt Murdock

jsyk im kind of obsessed with him so this got a little out of hand. im trying to just let the words come and not worry about editing too hard, so i hope u enjoy!!

Salty Sweet

Matt Murdock/Reader

Matt Murdock misses an important date, and it's your last straw. But he's determined to keep you around. | ao3 | divider source | request guidelines

You carefully scrape the untouched food into separate tupperwares, hot with embarrassment, frustration, and disappointment. Even your own plate only has one or two bites taken, your stomach too twisted with ugly rejection to handle anything. You slide the rest off of the first plate into the tupperware and—

The sauce fucking splashes on your shirt.

Fuck.

It’s such a small thing, but it’s such a nice shirt that you never wear. Sure, he can’t see it, but it makes you feel good and you know it’s a fabric he likes to touch. So after hours of cooking, and then more of waiting, the small splash of sauce on your front is the last straw.

The disappointed heat in your body, your face, concentrates into your eyes with laser focus.

No, no, goddamnit, you think to yourself as the tears well up. I just want to clean and… fuck!

You dump the dishes in the sink, rinsing them off haphazardly before shoving them in the dishwasher and shoving the tupperware in the fridge, slamming doors as you go. Letting it out physically keeps the tears from spilling over, but you still sniffle the whole while as you leave the kitchen and collect your things to go home.

There’s a small part of you that hopes, wishes, that he’d come in through the roof access to find you leaving. Two parallel fantasies play in your head: in one, he grovels and apologizes, breathless and desperate and you tell him to can it. In the other, he arrives bloody and beaten, apologetic, tells you how hard he tried to make it and fought to get back to you…

You pause at the door, but he still doesn’t appear. You lock it behind you when you leave, and take the subway home and try not to cry the whole way.

The floodgates do finally open when you get into your building, like your body can sense shelter in reach and has had enough of holding back. Unlocking the door through blurred vision turns out to be somewhat of a small challenge, but you get in and finally cry openly, tossing your things on the small table all the way to your room. The tears just keep coming as you discard your clothes on the floor and change into your most comfortable pajamas.

You sit and cry on the edge of bed for a while, bent over and hugging yourself. You try not to beat yourself up, but you can’t help but feel like you’re overreacting—no, you argue with yourself. This sucked. Anybody else would be upset too. This week sucked. Of course I’m as upset as I am.

And then; Well, what did you expect? Of course he didn’t show. You were dumb to think it would be different just because he promised.

Your head is aching when the tears finally start to cease and you drag yourself to the bathroom to wash your face, bracing yourself in preparation for the mirror—which shows exactly what you expected when you turn the light on. Red, swollen eyes, puffy lips, and a demeanor sadder than a cat caught in the rain.

Still, you wash your face, only half-assing half the steps. And it helps. You feel somewhat better when you tuck yourself into bed.

There is no heartbeat in his apartment. He’s late, far, far too late, and you’re long gone by now.

Matt trudges down the stairs, the pit in his stomach growing heavier with each descending step. You cooked, just like you had said you would. The meal smells delicious—his stomach growls meekly, but the sensation is soured by guilt. Fuck.

He stops at the base of the stairs, head turning to follow the smells you’ve left. The apartment, though warmer than the night he’d just come in from, is still cold. You’d left the lights off, judging by the lack of extra electrical hum, and as he approaches the kitchen he puts together that you’d cleaned after yourself. There’s a bit of sauce in the sink—ah, the dishes are in the washer—and tupperware in the fridge. Two.

You never ate.

Damn it.

He stands on the sidewalk outside your building at midnight listening to your heartbeat and debating whether or not to come up. You’re asleep, but it doesn’t sound restful. It just sounds tired.

Would you be glad to see him? Would you be angry? He’s almost certain you’ll be very, very upset with him. But… he can’t pull himself away. Waiting until morning to apologize almost seems worse than what he’s already done—what he’s already failed to do.

His mind is both trapped still in quicksand and running a thousand miles a minute, formulating an apology as he clenches his cane’s handle in both hands, his bruised knuckles stretching pale and vivid purple.

Then, he hears you shift in your bed and your breath change—you’re waking up. Rising, walking to the kitchen to get water.

His tongue flicks across the split in his lip, and the decision is made for him. He enters the building, taking stairs two at a time to get to your third floor apartment before you settle back into bed. By the time he gets there, you’re back in your bedroom but you haven’t reached your bed. So, panting and breathless and stomach about to fall out of his ass, he knocks gently.

Your steps stop. He waits, knocks again.

His heart skips a beat when you come to the door. He hears the way your heart speeds up, nervous, and the way you suck in a sharp breath.

The smell of wet salt is heavy even through the door, and when he opens his mouth to speak he can taste it.

“Sweetheart,” he says quietly through the door, breathless. “I’m– I’m so, so sorry. Please. I’m so—” he clenches his jaw, hanging his head. “I’m so sorry.”

He hears you swallow on the other side of the door.

“Please,” he begs again, his throat tight with guilt.

“You don’t look very hurt,” you whisper. Anybody else wouldn’t have been able to hear you through the door, but he knows that you know he heard you perfectly fine.

His stomach lurches. Had you been worried about him?

“There was… Sweetheart, please let me in to explain.”

You don’t respond, but you don’t tell him to fuck off either.

Stalemate.

Matt rests his forehead on the door by your peephole. “I swear, I’m so sorry sweetheart. I didn’t… I made the wrong decision tonight.”

Your jaw clenches at that. Anger.

Surprising both of you, you open the door.

“Explain,” you say.

The taste of salt hits him hard, and he can hear the way you’re trying to keep your angry breaths in check as you stand in the doorway.

“There was a bait, a decoy, they set up a fake–”

You scoff. “And you fell for it?”

“The people who told me didn’t know it was a decoy.”

You take a deep, frustrated, steadying breath. Your heart steadies and Matt knows he has his foot in the door.

“They caught me out. I couldn’t go home, they were trying to track me, and I couldn’t—”

Oh, oh no. More salt.

You wipe at your face, voice trembling, as you turn away and walk into your apartment, letting him follow after you. “I’m tired, Matt.”

He quickly steps in after you before you change your mind, closing and locking the door behind him. He discards his folded cane by the door with your shoes and coats, following after you, hands outstretched with irrepressible desire to soothe. “I know, I’m so sorry–”

“You couldn’t call? Not once? Matt, I was worried!” You turn around to face him.

He approaches you like a skittish animal, and you push his hands away halfheartedly. “I would have called if I could,” he says earnestly. “Please believe me, this isn’t what I wanted for tonight.” His hands still hover in the air in supplication.

And then the tears spill over, and he can’t stop himself from reaching out to hold you and wipe them away. He thanks God when you lean into him this time, instead of pushing him away again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, forehead to yours. “I’m sorry.”

“Something has to change, Matt,” you get out between tearful breaths. “I know this is who you are. But… but relationships—” you have to swallow, “you can’t neglect them. It’s been forever since we’ve had real time together. I don’t know if—”

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Please. I’m taking tomorrow off. Of everything. It’s just going to be about us. Okay?”

“I mean,” you hiccup. “Unless you hear something really fucked up. I don’t want you to not save people.”

He smiles, chuckles lightly. You’re joking, that’s good, but he can also tell you mean it. You want him to be who he is, just… he knows he’s been neglecting you. His priorities have been all wrong.

“Alright,” he says, thumbs smoothing across your cheeks as you look up at him. “I’m taking tomorrow off of everything, unless I hear a real, actual emergency.”

“Good,” you whisper, hands on his wrists as he cradles your face.

“I promise,” he says, face inching closer. “I’m going to make the last two months up to you.”

“You better,” you whisper, and he kisses you. His lips are soft, despite the healing split, and he kisses you so sweetly you feel as though you’ve floated off back into your dreams.

“Come on,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead after pulling back and wrapping his arms around you. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

[17020]

HI, I'M YN AND THIS IS MY FIRST DRINK . . .

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ the Bofurin boys (suo, tsubaki, umemiya, and sakura) taking care of you when you're drunk. based on things i have done/said when drunk, and my fugly ex having to panic while taking care of me. warnings for drinking, DRUNK YN, suggestive (tsubaki's), lots of pet names, parties yay, self indulgent. fem reader!

HAYATO SUO — THE EFFECTIVE BABYSITTER.

suo knew something was wrong the minute he left you alone at a house party to go say hi to his friends, finding you stumbling over your own feet trying to down a whole bottle of rum. the excuse? 'there were no clean cups, so i had to drink it from the source.'

he shook his head and sighed, walking towards you and carefully sliding his arm around your waist, suggesting you go and sit down somewhere as he went to go get some water from the kitchen.

much to his surprise, you were gone from where he left you, back at the bar and opening another bottle. suo pursed his lips as he got ahold of your hand and dragged you to a nearby chair.

"why don't you sit on my lap, princess? there's no room for us both in this chair" he smiled. his intention for you to stay still and sober up was subtle, and he almost let out a laugh when he heard your reply.

"why don't you sit on mine, hayato? unless you're scared."

he smiled as he made himself comfortable on your lap, thinking to himself that there was no way you would get more rum for the rest of the night. everything was calm, no stranger could ever bother you—

"yo dude, why're you sittin' on top of ya girl? isn't it supposed ta be the other way around?"

suo innocently smiled, opening his mouth in order to retaliate to the stranger. fortunately for him, though, you did it first.

"we're fucking the gender roles, asshole."

TASUKU TSUBAKINO — CAUGHT RED HANDED.

ah, the love corner.

no matter whose party it is, you and tsubaki often find yourselves in the love corner, the designated spot for couples to swallow each other whole. why wouldn't you? you're a couple, you're there, and in the words of your boyfriend…

"might as well join in on the fun, right baby?"

that was all you needed to hear as you entangled your fingers in your tsubaki's hair, his manicured hand placed on your nape as he brought you closer to him, lips slamming against yours in a heated kiss.

tsubaki's body was pressing yours against the wall while his hand was fiddling with the hem of your shirt, earning a gasp from you and allowing him to slip his tongue inside. much to his dislike, tsubaki pulled away not too long after finding that the burning taste of liquor still lingered on your lips. struggling to keep your balance, you desperately grabbed your boyfriend's arms, trying to keep yourself steady and leaning in towards his ear.

"i think the bathroom's free, if you wanna have a go at it" you teased.

your boyfriend chuckled in response, his hand cupping your cheek as he looked at you with adoration. "remember what happened last time, sweetie?"

"m'not that drunk, i won't grab it too hard this time."

tsubaki laughed as he shook his head, his hand getting ahold of yours to guide you towards the bar, asking for two cups of water. "things like that are better sober, sweetheart. i want you fully conscious."

you sighed in defeat as tsubaki handed you a cup filled with water, his eyes not leaving your figure until he was sure you had finished the whole cup.

"that's my girl."

HAJIME UMEMIYA — DO I KNOW YOU?

"hi handsome. what's a hot guy like you doing all alone in a place like this?"

classic.

it was the stunt you and umemiya always pulled whenever you attended a party. it was a pretty structured routine, even being planned days in advance. though you and your boyfriend arrived together at a party, you did not hesitate on separating once setting foot in the house and standing a few feet from one another to start some small talk.

"dunno. what's a pretty thing like you doing here?"

it was like a scene out of a corny romance movie: you batting your eyelashes and pulling down your shirt in an attempt to woo your (already wooed) boyfriend, him running his hand through his white hair as he complimented your looks and asked for a dance, and him looking at your dancing figure with the most lovesick puppy eyes.

"give me a kiss, baby."

you shook your head, "sorry, i don't kiss on the first date."

umemiya pouted as your lips curled into a smile. he frowned as his fingers intertwined themselves with yours, his thumb tracing incoherent patterns on the back of your hand.

"yn, i'm dying. pretty please?"

you pressed your index finger to your lips, seemingly deep in thought. then, you looked at him, a small smile on your face. "i don't think i can recall giving you my name, pretty boy."

your boyfriend groaned as he stressfully ran his other hand through his hair.

"babygirl, i don't wanna pretend anymore."

HARUKA SAKURA — THAT WAS NOT ORANGE JUICE.

sakura had never panicked this hard before in his life. the sight of you giggling so hard you almost fell to the floor from your lack of balance had him genuinely scared.

he knew this was your first night out in a while, but he had never thought it would get this bad.

having no experience with drinking, your boyfriend was confused as to what to actually do so you could sober up, as the last bit of water was already chugged down by you a few hours ago. turning to see a clean, completely untouched jar with some orange liquid inside, sakura did not think twice when serving a cup and handing it to you.

"here, have some orange juice."

you downed the glass with no problem, with your boyfriend handing you another one. sakura knew it was a matter of time before the alcohol wore off, and you would be back to your usual self, right?

so why had it been an hour, and you had gotten worse?

his jacket was draped over your shoulders as you sat on his lap, his arms snaked around your waist in order to keep you in one place. you were cuddled up against him, your ear pressed against his chest to hear his heartbeat. his phone buzzed. trying his best not to move, he retrieved his phone from his pocket to see who had texted, only to see it was kiryu, who sent a picture to a group chat.

it was a picture of you and him, right then and there.

KIRYU Look at those cute lovebirds! [1 attachment]

NIREI Sakura, what did Yn drink? She looks...

SUO Gone. She looks gone

SAKURA I gave her orange juice

SUO Oh dear! Those were actually screwdrivers. Nirei and I'll go fetch some water for her.

[soobnny]

cops and robbers — kim seungmin

trope: kim seungmin x reader | strangers-to-lovers ; use of profanity ; mentions of a one night stand once ; he’s a fuckboy basically summary: fuckboy kim seungmin takes interest in the quiet, photography major who lives just across his dorm. wc: 3.8k words

The first time Kim Seungmin sees you, you have a camera strapped around your neck.

You’re just across his dorm room, hands fiddling on the buttons of your DSLR and eyes shifting where you can get your eyes on, looking.

Probably for something that can be added to your portfolio, he thinks. Not that he cares.

It isn’t all that hard to spot him either. Seungmin is easy to find, with a cigarette lit between his fingers and the smell of smoke vexing your senses. His entire body is leant on the wall, eyebrow slit and all to truly sell the fuckboy character.

You lock eyes when you finally find the source of smoke, and you think for a second to tell him to stop. It’s not what you do. Instead, you shift your attention.

It’s never a good idea to be within distance of boys like him anyway. There are other things to think about, things much more important. Like what you’ll have for dinner, the old pair of shoes you need to replace, your final portfolio.

Sighing, you look down at your camera.

You hope the low ISO 200 can capture whatever the fuck you want to take a photo of tonight—long shutter speeds, white balance on auto, manual mode. You’d be fucked if you didn’t have these settings memorized.

Different for day. Different for night. It’s a hassle, but it’s a hassle you keep up with if you want to graduate.

“You know, it isn’t safe for pretty girls like you to be out this late.”

Raspy. It comes from just behind you, and you have half a mind to turn to face the threat when you’re greeted face to face with a smirking Kim Seungmin. He sounds kitschy, looks kitchsy and it seems like he knows it as well.

You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll be fine.”

He stares at you for a minute.

“Whatever you say, princess.” The bass of his voice is a little terrifying, but not enough for you to shuffle away.

He would’ve been more if you weren’t hellbent on the idea of finishing your portfolio for the semester. Nothing scares you more than a failing class.

Not even Seungmin.

He doesn’t seem to mind your lack of chalant. He doesn’t really care. The boy has never been the type to stick his nose in other people’s business, talking to others only when necessary. Being annoyingly chatty was reserved for his friends.

In hindsight, starting a conversation with you should’ve been the first outlier he noticed on his sudden shift of behavior. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and separates himself from you.

He was only out for a smoke anyway.

+

The next time he sees you is after his one-night-stand-gone-wrong.

It’s still at night, just a week later. And you look exactly like the way you were, camera in your hand and an unbothered look on your face.

Though, when you hear footsteps echoing from just a short distance and spot a speeding figure coming from his room, your face twists in disdain.

You were only out to practice a certain exposure you want to perfect. Not to bear witness to whatever the fuck happens in Seungmin’s dorms.

When he locks eyes with you for the second time that week, you pretend not to notice anything.

“You again?”

He’s shameless. A bit of his overgrown sideburns are sticking to his skin, shirt lazily thrown on, and sweat still glistening on his forehead. You don’t want to think of the connotations of what your observations could possibly mean.

You simply look at him, the way his face morphs in recognition and the way his neck cranes just a little. He looks like he’s in his element, sweat and fucked-out eyes and furrowed eyebrows.

You’re the exact opposite, picking at the buttons of your camera with sleep-riddled eyes and air struck hair.

Sighing, you push yourself off your unflattering position on the ground, brushing off the rubble that might’ve stuck on your pants from sitting there for so long.

You slip back into your dorm room without uttering a single response to the boy.

+

He sees you everywhere after that.

And truthfully, it was starting to get annoying. Especially when the boys started catching on to his staring.

While Changbin was narrating stories of nights Seungmin couldn’t care for the details of, he finds himself scanning the student hall.

He thinks he doesn’t know the reason why, or at least not until he finds you eating with some other girl.

Your eyes are intently glued to the screen of your camera. He wonders what photos could litter the memory of your SD card.

Before he can even shift his attention back to whatever the fuck was happening back with his friends, he’s caught red-handed. Shit-eating grins surround the table, a few howls here and there, and shoves that Seungmin could've gone without.

“Is she your next target, Seungmin?”

He wants to vomit at the word choice.

“Target?” He scoffs. You weren’t a target. “She isn’t even my type.”

Kim Seungmin brushes off their noise, canceling out the ill-intentions they’ve made up for him. He just sits there, unperturbed by everything until his friends finish eating.

He looks at you one last time before leaving. It’s hard not to.

It doesn’t save him from further teasing.

+

“You’re a photography major?”

You’re caught off guard by the sudden voice behind you.

It seems Seungmin has made a habit of surprising you when you least expect to see him.

“...I am.”

You finally reply after letting the question hang in the air for a few seconds longer than necessary. He doesn’t care, only cares that you responded to him.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

Is he only capable of asking you questions?

“We’re not friends.” You deadpan. His lips pull into a smile.

“I’m just curious why you have a camera with you all the time. Loosen up.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, just lets the silence hang there. He knows he can tick you off even more, but he doesn’t find himself wanting to. He simply walks back to the dorms with you.

When he walks too fast, he stalls—for just enough time for you to catch up with him.

You fail to notice the way he shifts his position, always standing by the busy side of the road.

+

“Are you smoking again?”

It’s the first time you initiate conversation, and he snaps out of the trance he’d been in. He was outside again, similar to when he’d first met you. And you were still you, with your camera, and the way you lift it to fit your eye through the viewfinder.

“Why? Are you starting to care about me, princess?” There’s that same smirk evident, and it seems he took your question as invitation to stand next to where you are.

You want to stomp on his face.

“‘M just asking. I really couldn’t care less.”

You can smell the smoke off of him, warranting you to take a full step away. You’ve always hated its scent, and the second-hand smoke exposure.

In turn, Seungmin runs a hand through his hair. It’s shorter, looks like he got it trimmed recently. When you put your camera away in favor of leaving the site of crime, the boy attempts to stop you.

“Leaving already?”

“It isn’t exactly part of my tuition fee to talk to people like you.”

You sound harsh, and it’s an odd feeling to suddenly feel offended about a simple phrase he’s heard multiple times before.

People like you.

What the hell was that even supposed to mean?

“Spare me a few more minutes, angel.”

You don’t bother arguing any further. Besides, you still needed a few more practice photos of where you were looking. You lift your camera back up to peek through its viewfinder, and you can only hope the noise of your photos is enough to drown him out.

“What are you doing out here so late, anyway? Didn’t I tell you it wasn’t safe?”

“I also remember telling you I’ll be fine.” You grumble, snapping a shot. He moves closer to you when you open your mouth to continue talking. “Practicing helps ease the feeling of dread, like I’d be less likely to fail if I did.”

Seungmin notices the calluses on your hands, rough with hard work, and then his eyes trail to your side profile. The light exposure from the moon makes you look prettier than you already do.

Wait, what?

The boy has never stared at someone’s hands and drawn a conclusion before, never taken the time to admire and talk to someone he wasn’t planning on screwing over either.

There’s a first for everything.

“Smoking helps.”

You snort at his sudden comment. Too much time has passed by for him to suddenly butt back into the conversation. The timing makes you laugh a little.

His heart races at the sound.

“Are there thoughts when you feel dread?” He asks, albeit a little silent, in case you didn’t want to talk about it.

You contemplate whether you should talk about it. It’s an unlikely conversation to have with an unlikely person like Kim Seungmin.

Against your better judgement, you answer.

“I don’t know. It just feels like… it feels like my heart is palpitating. I feel scared for some reason. I guess I just really don’t want to fail. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. It does.”

“You also feel dread?” You ask.

He hums in response. “All the time. Sometimes I’m not sure if the decisions I’m making are the right ones.”

It makes him sound so human to be able to empathize. You hate to admit you’re surprised.

“Just do what feels right in your heart.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You’ll know.” You mumble.

The few minutes you’ve spared him has run out. “Goodbye now, Seungmin.”

“You know who I am?”

“Everybody knows who you are. You and your friends.” You wave him off, finally shutting off your camera and putting the lens hood back. “Bye.”

You’re dismissive, and it’s something that would usually annoy Seungmin because he’s the dismissive one in his friend group.

The sudden challenge should anger him, but it doesn’t. What is it about you, and your playing hard to get, and your dismissiveness that has his attention so much?

He’s usually the one being chased, never chasing.

He’s usually the one being told things, never initiating. Never telling.

You’ve definitely done something to him, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

He really doesn’t want to think about it.

+

It happened without warning.

You only remember how angry Seungmin was. Everything else was a little blurry.

You don’t even know who threw the first punch. Shapes and shadows just seemed to move around you until a fight broke out.

The victim was from the Engineering department, though you don’t find the word victim befitting for someone like him. You don’t even know his name, just that he has a history for picking on people.

And it seemed today, you had fallen prey. You guess it just wasn’t your lucky day.

Though, if you think of the situation in whole, he definitely had worse luck than you.

Seungmin was locked and loaded behind gritted teeth and white knuckles when he threw a punch. And he was unforgiving with his hits.

“Seungmin, stop it.” Your voice comes out in a desperate plea, and as if a switch, he pulls himself off of the nameless Engineering boy.

“Fucking asshole.” Seungmin spits at him.

He surprises you with how cold he can speak. While you’ve always known that boys like him were a little more asshole-coded, you didn’t think he had it in his moral compass to defend you after having only shared not more than four conversations.

“Why would you do that? Seungmin, what the hell?”

You’re exasperated as you peel him away from the crime scene. He’d suffered a few blows you’re sure would bruise later, and his knuckles were bloody from his displays of violence earlier.

He’s speed walking ahead of you, doesn’t think he can look at you.

“Why didn’t you stand up for yourself? He had your camera.” His voice was significantly louder than it had been during your earlier conversations. You think it might be the first time he’s raised his voice at you.

His features, however, deeply contrast with the upset dripping from his voice. His face softens ridiculously fast when he turns back to look at you. And while his intentions send a soft nudge on your heart, you’re still upset at the predicament he’d willingly and intentionally put himself into.

“I didn’t need you to start a fight.” You sigh, tugging him by his arm after he’d stopped walking to direct his line of sight at you.

You continue the fleet-footed walk back to your dorm, dragging him with you.

“A thank you would be appreciated.” He grumbles from behind you, but makes no move to free his arm from your grip. Seungmin simply lets you drag him away.

“Stay there.” You sit him down just in front of your door before slipping into your little room. It takes no longer than two minutes before you’re back outside.

He’s still right where you left him. The only difference is he’s looking at you as if he’d been waiting for you to come out.

You make a move to crouch next to him.

There’s a first aid kit sitting between the two of you, a tub of water, among other things.

“How could you be so reckless?” You offer no warning when you take his hands, soaking them under the water and carefully washing the site of injury.

When you’re sure it’s clean, you turn to look at him. “You barely even know me, and you’re getting into fights.”

You’re clearly stressed, packing ice into a thin cloth while lecturing him under one breath. He doesn’t argue with you. Instead, he hyper fixates on the way you hold his hand—resting it on your thigh, applying light pressure on his bruise.

Your hand is warm, almost too warm against his. And he notices the same callouses he did that night you caught him smoking again. Yours with hard work, his with stubborn lament.

The action makes his face flush an embarrassing color. You don’t seem to notice. You’re too preoccupied being upset to even look him in the face.

“You better not do this again.”

In truth, Seungmin had probably suffered much worse than bruised knuckles. This, in comparison to all the previous fights he’d gotten himself into, was nothing. But it feels more significant than the rest.

His heart folds at how you’re taking care of him.

It was a curiously intimate thing for you to attempt to reduce the swelling with your makeshift cold compress. There’s an unidentifiable feeling in his heart he still doesn’t want to think about, but he knows there’s a subtle change in the air that he needs to address.

“He could’ve smashed years of your hard work.” He suddenly breaks the silence.

It triggers you to glance up, and you lock eyes with Seungmin once more. It looks like he’s rethinking whether he should continue talking.

Against his better judgment, he does. “He had your camera, and all I could think about was how devastated you would feel if he’d broken it.”

You blink a couple of times at his sudden confession. Moreso because he’d been observant enough to know the significance of that single piece of item. And maybe because he was looking at you a certain way.

He does that sometimes.

You don’t really know what to say to him, so you shift your focus back on his wounds. And when you’re sure there wasn’t any more damage, you let him go. “I’m done. You can go.”

A silence falls between you both before the boy climbs back on his feet while holding the cold compress you’d handed him. He takes a few tentative steps away.

“And Seungmin?”

He suddenly turns back at the interjection of your voice, looking at you with that same look from earlier, like you should know he’d do it again for you. It’s almost fond. And Seungmin hovers there, waiting.

You take the brief moment where his attention is on you to finally say the words that’d been brewing in your throat.

“Thank you.”

You’re trying so hard to keep your voice monotone. He’s trying so hard not to smile.

+

Seungmin’s been in front of you for almost ten minutes now.

It’d been almost a week since he’d gotten into a fight, and he has the gall to suddenly appear in front of you. In the student center during dinner, of all places.

“Hi.” It’s his fourth time uttering those words now, but it seems your attention is still on whatever the fuck poison they were serving for dinner.

“Talk to me. Hi.” He persists.

(“He likes her, for sure.” Hyunjin laughs from a few tables away.

There’s amusement in Chan’s eyes.

“Yeah, he definitely does.” The eldest smiles to himself.)

His attempts are fruitless. You are still drinking your soup, and he is still vying for your attention.

“You’re ignoring me.” Seungmin pouts. He actually pouts. “Are you still upset I started a fight?”

You don’t respond. If you were honest with yourself, you don’t know why you’re ignoring him either. Was it because you’d felt the slightest nudge in your feelings the last time you saw each other?

“Pretty girl.”

You stall before asking. “How’s your knuckles?”

He smiles. “Better. Will you stop ignoring me now?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“If you want me to apologize, I won’t. I don’t feel regret for doing what I did. I’d rather his face smashed than your camera.”

There’s that nudge again. You didn’t want him to apologize either. A few days of mulling it over and the news of quiet in the Engineering department since his fight with Seungmin tells you enough that the benefits had outweighed the risks.

No more stories of students being taunted for doing absolutely nothing.

The boy in front of you clears his throat, trying to get your attention. “But, I’m willing to do anything else for you to stop ignoring me, or apologize for anything else.”

An idea flashes in your head.

“I know how you can make it up to me.” You say in lieu of a real response.

+

When you’d asked him for a favor, he’d gotten a little excited.

He’d thought it was somewhere along the lines of a date, like that crap he sees in movies. He didn’t think he’d have to model for a few shots in your portfolio.

“New piercing?” You ask, gesturing at your own lips to try and mirror the spot he’d gotten it. It’s silver and shiny, and definitely adds to the fuckboy appeal.

You shudder, you know your own parents would never agree to you doing the same.

“Like it?” Seungmin has the audacity to smirk, flaunting the silver on his lower lip. You simply roll your eyes.

(Though, the few seconds you spare to stare at it is enough judgment for him.

You lift your camera back up. “Alright. Just do whatever for now. Actually, maybe a hand in your pocket—yeah. That’s perfect.”

He does whatever the hell he can think of. And while most would’ve been embarrassed by now, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. If it meant you’d stop ignoring him, he’d do this a million times over.

“Stay in that position.”

“Hmm, I like it when you’re being bossy.”

“Shut up.” You snap a shot, looking at the screen of your camera and smiling in contentment. You don’t give him the time to rest before you’re lifting it back up to eye-level.

And it goes on like that for a while. You use him to study lighting, and angles, and shadows, and forms.

Though, it’s a little difficult when he looks so damn attractive in everything. You might have a biased model. You’re afraid if you were to shoot him in shitty lighting, it would still turn out good.

“Alright.” You switch off your camera after flicking through the numerous shots you’d taken. “I think I’m done.”

“So, you’ll stop ignoring me now?”

He looks at you with everything so potently him when he’s with you.

“Uhuh.” You hum, letting your DSLR drop around your neck. He smiles victoriously.

None of you turn to leave.

You lament in the night air just a little longer, and Seungmin spends the time staring at you.

You suddenly turn to him. His gaze is a little too invasive not to notice. “What?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You.” There’s something about the way he says it that makes you look away. You could swear you saw a tint of red on the tip of his ears.

“Among other girls, I presume.”

He exhales. “No. Just you.”

“Resident fuckboy Kim Seungmin thinking about just one girl?”

“Fuck you.” Though, there’s no spit in the way he says it. His heart warms at the thought of you feeling comfortable enough to joke around with him now, despite you still coining him a fuckboy. He supposes that one’s on him for years of tainted reputation.

Your half laugh at being cursed echoes in his mind, lingering more there than in the air.

“You’re acting strange tonight, Seungmin.”

“You make me act strange.” His voice softens even though he’s essentially putting the blame on you for the way he was acting. And he says it in a way that makes you think he’s waiting for you to say something, or to at least understand the intentions behind his words.

You don’t know how to respond though. He sounds a little too serious to just merely be fucking around with you, like you’ve heard he does.

“The boys are saying I’m getting soft.” Seungmin doesn’t sound like he’s waiting for your response, so you let him continue talking. “Ever since that first night I met you. What the fuck did you do to me?”

He meets your eyes.

“Will you say something?”

You attempt to flat out your nerves at how he’s baring himself vulnerable in front of you all of a sudden. You would be lying if you said you hadn’t grown fond of the boy after his multiple attempts at getting your attention, but you’d also be lying if you said you didn’t think it was just another one of his ploys to get into your pants.

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“I’m acting like a damn puppy following you around everywhere. And I let you boss me around for pictures when I could be drinking with my friends right now.” He’s still eye-to-eye with you, and it’s scary the way honestly spills from his.

“Then go drink with your friends then. ‘M not forcing you to be here.”

You’re so fucking stubborn, and he tries to search for your eyes but you aren’t looking at him anymore. Yours are downcast somewhere, on the ground, on anywhere but his eyes.

“Look at me.” You don’t know why, but you instantly do. Maybe it was in the way he said it, almost desperate. “I don’t want to drink with my friends. I want to be here with you. Because I like you.”

You crack a slow smile at his words, and at the way he’s stripped himself in genuine softness in front of you. It wasn’t everyday you’d see Kim Seungmin like this.

“So don’t think I’d lie to you about that.” He’s pouting again, and you tease him for it.

You get on your toes, get a good look on his face and the pout that adorns it. “Are you upset I thought you were lying?”

“Fuck off. I’m just—” He can’t help but laugh, pushing you away from him lest he wants to suffer the consequences of kissing you without your permission. He wants you to like him back, and if he has to do it slowly, so be it.

“Just give me a chance.” Almost pleading.

You press your tongue against the inside of your cheek. “Okay.”

“I understand if you—” He suddenly pauses. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

He stares at your lips, at the way it forms around the word, and he’s puzzled at how hot his face feels because he’s never been flustered like this. And he thinks his cheeks will start to burn if he doesn’t stop smiling. But he just can’t bring himself to stop, not when you’ve willingly given him a chance.

On your own autonomy.

“You won’t regret it.”

You don’t think you will.

[slutoru1207]

Catch me if you can Part 2

Reader x Variant!Invincible

Warning: Afab! Explicit sexual tension, heavy angst, and dark themes, including emotional manipulation, toxic dynamics, and power imbalances.

Your breath came fast, shallow, your pulse hammering against your ribs like a war drum. The choice was right there—so simple. Run. You should run.

And yet—

You didn’t.

Mark’s golden eyes gleamed, catching the flicker of hesitation in your gaze, and his smirk deepened, slow and smug. “That’s what I thought.”

The worst part?

You hated how much he was right.

His grip on your wrist slackened, barely holding you now, just enough to remind you that if he wanted to keep you here, he would.

But he wasn’t.

No, Mark wanted you to stay.

Wanted you to choose him.

And that was what made this so much worse.

You swallowed thickly, feeling his fingers dip lower, ghosting over your skin, deliberate and slow. He wasn’t touching you enough—not enough to satisfy, not enough to give in—but just enough to make you ache.

God, you hated him.

Hated him for knowing your body better than you did.

For knowing exactly where to hover, exactly where to drag his breath, his fingertips—exactly how to unravel you.

Your own hands were shaking when you reached for him.

Mark stilled.

Not because he was surprised—but because he had won.

You could see it in his face, the way his smirk twitched into something darker, something possessive, something so dangerous.

And yet, he let you.

Let your fingers curl into the fabric of his suit, dragging him closer.

Your lips were barely parted when he struck.

The kiss was nothing short of devastating.

Hot, desperate, consuming—like he was starving for you, like he had spent years dreaming about this exact moment, about claiming you again.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, needing, and he groaned against your lips, deep and satisfied, as if he had been waiting for you to do that.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his breath ragged against your mouth. “You taste the same.”

A shudder wracked through you.

Because you knew what he meant.

This wasn’t the first time.

You had met in the dark before—amidst wreckage, hidden places, fleeting moments stolen in the middle of war. A game of hunter and hunted. A chase. A cycle you couldn’t break.

And you both knew you would meet like this again.

You always did.

“Mark,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

He hummed, dragging his lips down your throat, sharp teeth grazing your pulse. “Say it again,” he murmured against your skin.

You swallowed hard, trying to push away the heat curling in your stomach, but it was impossible. The way he pressed against you, the heat radiating off his body, the way his hands were already pushing, already demanding more—

“You want me to stop?”

His voice was low, a challenge, but the way his hands trembled against your skin betrayed him.

He needed to hear you say it.

That was the only thing separating him from truly losing control.

And you?

You were a goddamn fool.

“No,” you whispered.

Mark inhaled sharply.

And then?

He broke.

His hands tore at your suit, impatient, rough, fingers digging into your skin as his mouth devoured yours, his breath ragged, uneven. “You drive me fucking insane,” he muttered against your lips.

Your head spun, heat coiling tighter, your body arching into him.

But then—

A voice.

Cold. Commanding.

“You’ve wasted enough time, Mark.”

Your stomach dropped.

Mark’s body tensed instantly, the heat between you vanishing in an instant as his head snapped toward the source of the voice.

Nolan.

He stood a few feet away, his arms crossed, expression unreadable—but his disappointment?

That was clear as day.

Mark exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, composing himself—like he hadn’t just had you pinned beneath him seconds ago.

“Dad,” he muttered, his voice low.

“You’ve let her slip through your fingers too many times,” Nolan said, stepping forward. “This ends now.”

Your blood ran cold.

Mark’s fingers twitched at his sides, jaw tight.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t say anything.

Because what was there to say?

You knew what was about to happen.

The game was over.

And this time, you weren’t getting away.

-

here you go babes <3 @marywitchingbel

part 3 ? 👀

[callmearcturus]

dottie lasso is the final boss of the show (and ted loses)

someone commented on my ted-is-a-feminine-junior-too post about recognizing dottie lasso and what she did, and i'm a Johnny-come-lately to this fandom so i missed all the discourse

but surely it's been discussed to death that Dottie Lasso is the Final Boss of Ted's life, right? like, she shows up on that bench and you should feel the opening of "MEGALOVANIA" in your soul because she's the villain of the story.

honestly, in Ted Lasso, the main villains are: Rupert Mannion, Twitter, Rupert Mannion again, cisnormativity/heteronormativity, and Dottie Lasso, kind of in that order IMO.

"Mom City" is kind of a genius episode with its thesis and punchline. Because Dottie shows up and derails Ted's entire life and not in a good way. She makes him palpably uncomfortable and all of his usual kindness and interest is just turned off around her.

This episode isn't shy about reminding the audience that Richmond has become Ted's home. From the most fish outta water who nearly gets killed looking the wrong way crossing the street, Ted knows his neighbors, knows the culture here, and is defensive with that knowledge because it's been hard-won over time.

No but really, look at how UNCOMFORTABLE Ted is EVERY MINUTE of this episode. It's so stark bc this charm offensive Dottie's doing on everyone at Richmond is so clearly a Lasso Thing. This is the exact tactic Ted used when he was new in town and completely at sea.

(fuck this got long, there's a lot more under the jump)

But he isn't charmed or permissive or entertained, he never once Yes, Ands what Dottie says. In fact, he corrects her all the time.

because Dottie being here is a nightmare. she's the person who knows the Ted Lasso Source Code and the way she maneuvers and nudges him, he seems helpless against it. So he continuously separates himself from her in what feels to me like a fearful reaction.

Like, when Dottie explains where she's staying, she does this trick

DOTTIE: An adorable little hostel. I've met so many Australians. They are backpacking through Europe. So much sex.

TED: Mom.

DOTTIE: Not me, the Australians.

TED: No, no, I get it, okay. How about you stay here for the rest of your trip, all right?

DOTTIE: Only if I'm not a hassle.

This is such a fucking move, you realize? She has been in London a fucking WEEK without telling him, then as soon as she tells him where she's staying, she, a midwestern mom to her open-minded but very romantically private son, invokes sex so he'll be uncomfortable with the situation and invite her to stay. This is a chess move they should call the Wichita Shuffle.

And Ted absolutely hates the way Dottie lies about him. The connection is pretty straightforward; Dottie deals with her trauma and pain by covering them up with pretty little lies and melting truths until they fit the shape she wants them to be in. Everything she says in this episode is bullshit.

(points up) THIS INCLUDED, BTW. This is the Ted that Dottie wants him to be, the guy who will fall on his sword at the first sign of someone else's discomfort.

But that isn't who Ted is anymore and Dottie saying this is vicious and cruel. It's disrespectful to Rebecca, to everyone at Richmond, and to the work Ted's done with Sharon.

which oooooooooh

hey, anyone else remember Ted's "I love meeting people's moms, it's like an instruction manual on why they're nuts" from S2? boy that's a brick joke

and this bit of dottie saying her anxiety re: ted's therapy out loud, that hissing sound is a fuse being lit in this moment

Ted calls her out directly. He knows how she operates because she raised him in her own image. As I noted in the other post, Leslie Higgins is not the only feminine junior at Richmond, so is Theodore Lasso, son of Dorothy Lasso.

THAT FUCKING DARK CHUCKLE, THE "YEAH OKAY" MOMENT this is the fuse finally reaching the dynamite

this is the moment, this moment of push-back, implicitly the first time Ted's ever pushed back in his life

this is the moment Dottie takes every single thing she knows about Ted, everything she put into him, and she destroys his fucking life with the exact four words it would take to make Ted give up everything he's worked for, all so he'll go back to being what she expects from him.

and hell if he doesn't know it.

everything he's done for himself, all the space he's finally allowed himself to fill, the progress and labor he's put into becoming a better person

mom shows up and tells him no, you're coming back.

(and the fact Dottie Lasso, a character who has not said five truthful things this entire episode, tells us how someone else feels should be questioned very fucking directly. i don't trust this woman to honestly report on Henry's opinion of peanut butter and jelly, let alone if he wants his father to give up his life and return to Kansas. i know every single fic has brought up the question of "hey why doesn't anyone ask Henry what he wants" but that's because SOMEONE needs to ask the question instead of taking Dorothy fucking Lasso's word for it, christ)

I don't know how tf you don't read this show as a tragedy. Dottie Lasso is incredible, she's so pitch-perfectly written and acted, and she's absolutely the final boss of the show. And Ted doesn't win that fight.

hell THE SHOW SAYS THE QUIET PART OUT LOUD, i would put the screencap here but I've run out of images, but THEY FUCK YOU UP, YOUR MUM AND DAD, THE SHOW SAYS IT this is a fantastic tragedy, i love it