#Dial Books For Young Readers

[uwmspeccoll]

A Jerry Pickney Saturday

Jerry Pinkney (1939-2021) was a multi-award-winning American illustrator and children’s book author. His numerous awards include a Caldecott Medal (2010); five Caldecott Honor Book awards; five Coretta Scott King Book Awards (the most for any illustrator); five Coretta Scott King Honor Awards; the Coretta Scott King-Virginia Hamilton Lifetime Achievement Award (2016); the 2016 Laura Ingalls Wilder Award; four Gold medals, four Silver medals, and the 2016 Original Art Lifetime Achievement Award from the Society of Illustrators; and he was nominated twice for the Hans Christian Andersen Award, considered the Nobel Prize for children's literature, among many other awards and recognitions.

The images shown here are Pickney’s pencil, color pencil, and watercolor illustrations for children’s book author Alan Schroeder’s 1996 fictional biography, Minty, A Story of Young Harriet Tubman, published in New York by Dial Books for Young Readers. This book won Pickney the 1997 Coretta Scott King Book Award for Illustrator, and the book was a Cooperative Children's Book Center Choice for 1996.

Schroeder writes that “While Minty is a fictional account of Harriet Tubman’s childhood, and some scenes have been invented for narrative purposes, the basic facts are true.” Of illustrating this book, Pinkney writes:

The challenge that Minty initially posed for me came from not having a clear picture of Harriet Tubman’s early childhood. However, I was able to imagine the spirited eight-year-old Minty, using Alan Schroeder’s strong text and Harriet Tubman’s biography, The Moses of Her People, as springboards. The National Park Service was also helpful . . . as was the Banneker-Douglas Museum in Maryland, where extensive research uncovered the style of plantations around Maryland during Minty’s childhood and authentic details regarding backgrounds, dress, food, and living conditions of the enslaved as well as the slave owners. My interest was to give some sense of Minty’s noble spirit and open a window to understanding the day-to-day, sunup to sundown life of the slave, by individualizing the hardships in overwhelming circumstances.

In 1978 I was privileged to create the first Harriet Tubman commemorative stamp for the U.S. Postal Service. This book, then, brings me full circle with Harriet’s life and courage.

View another post with illustrations by Jerry Pinkney.

View more posts from our Historical Curriculum Collection.

View more Black History Month posts.

[winningthesweepstakes]

Too Pig to Fail by Rob Harrell

Too Pig to Fail by Rob Harrell

Too Pig to Fail by Rob Harrell, Dial Books for Young Readers, 2022. 9780593354209  Rating: 1-5 (5 is an excellent or a Starred review) 4.5 Format: Hardcover graphic novel Genre: Fantasy/Humor What did you like about the book? Batpig in The Class That Wouldn’t End!  For five nights in a row Batpig (aka Gary) wakes up at exactly 3:05 a.m.!  What is going on??  At school he tells his friends…

[thegirlwiththelantern]

2023 Children's and Middle Grade Releases

This is the second 2023 Children’s and Middle Grade Releases post. In the first I tried to focus on UK authors but here I’ve cast a wider net. The release dates reflect the UK in the first section and US in the second. The Pearl Hunter by Miya T. Beck | 16 / 03 / 23 – HarperCollins Set in a world inspired by pre-Shogun era Japan, this is a stunning debut fantasy in the vein of Grace Lin about…

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.7 to lose someone you love

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 7/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 8.5k

a/n. sighhh i'm rly sorry for the wait. and thank you sooo much to the love for the last chapter omg :') this chapter is gojo pov and it's a bit different than the rest, but i still hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait. if there are typos, they're not typos they're actually 100% intentional and you are the silly one

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

When Gojo was just four years old, he called for the paramedics for the very first time. 

He had wandered around the house, wide and innocent blue eyes searching the room for the landline in the dim light of the evening, his lip quivering in a pout. His small arm reached up to pet around at the top of his parents’ dresser before his fingers wrapped around the phone. He couldn’t remember what the number was at first, the one his mother always told him to call in case of an emergency, but he remembered he scribbled it down somewhere with red crayon in one of his coloring books. By the time Gojo first realized he needed to call for help, located the landline, looked through all of his little portraits of dinosaurs and spaceships sprawled across the carpet of his room, found those three numbers, and then finally dialed them, his father had already been seizing and shaking on the bathroom floor for longer than twenty-four minutes.  

He was just a child. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know any better.

Gojo spent the remainder of that night hugging his mom in the hospital’s emergency room, his tears soaking through her shirt as she gently rocked him back and forth in her lap while whispering soothing words in his ear. His father lay motionless on the hospital bed before them, eyes shut, and Gojo will never forget the haunting sounds of the machinery that was keeping his father alive. It was a sudden onset seizure, likely stemming from the traumatic brain injury his father had suffered a few years ago, and the prolonged convulsions he experienced on the bathroom floor that night had resulted in severe brain damage. Gojo could still hear the echo of his mother’s silent cry when the doctors informed them that it’s unlikely his father would ever fully recover from this.

No reasonable adult would ever look a four-year-old in the eyes and say if you had called for help sooner or knew what to do, maybe your father would’ve still had the chance to live a long life. Yet, even at his young age, Gojo was aware of the energy in the room, and that explanation was the only truth his mind could grasp onto to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

After two weeks of clinging to life, his father miraculously woke up from his coma and persevered for the sake of his wife and son. Shortly after the incident, he began to have recurring seizures but fought through them each time. Without fail, he made Gojo breakfast in the mornings, even if it meant having to clean up the spilt orange juice on the counter every now and then because of how his hands could not stop trembling. He always walked Gojo to the bus stop, waving him goodbye, despite how troublesome and embarrassing he found it to use his cane. The love he had for his son was so palpable that it eclipsed the bitterness over how his life had ended up because of the blessing it had brought him.

In his prime, Gojo’s father was a renowned soccer player, so incredibly talented at the sport that he left a lasting mark on the way teams strategized, his presence on the field commanding respect, and he was one of the greatest talents the entire college division had ever seen.

He met Gojo’s mother at one of his freshman year games, a pretty lady in the stands that caught his eye from the sight of her laughter among her friends, her radiance drawing him to her from the field, and that’s how their love began. Exactly one year following that day, he stole one of his grandmother’s thrifted rings from her jewelry collection and that was what he used to propose. Gojo’s mother had accepted it with so many tears and so much snot running down her face, and he had never found her more beautiful. They married young and sweet, like most people back then.

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant. 

No one knew that would be the last game of soccer he would ever play.  

It was a freak accident, a distracted driver behind the wheel of a gray Chevy on a dark and rainy night, veered straight towards Gojo’s parents car to avoid a branch on the road. In a moment that could only be described as his instinct to protect, he quickly swerved his vehicle, taking the brunt of the impact on his side. His family surrounded him at his hospital bedside as they grappled with the news that he would be unable to play the sport ever again due to his traumatic brain injury that would lead to lifelong motor function loss. According to the doctors and police, had he not swerved to shield his wife and unborn child, the outcome would have been far more disastrous. After months of rehabilitation, he regained enough ability to walk and just enough function in his extremities to welcome his newborn son in his arms.

When Gojo was just six years old, two years after witnessing his father’s first seizure, he stumbled upon a dusty, forgotten soccer ball tucked away in the corner of the garage. When he eagerly presented it to his father, excitement gleaming in his eyes, he was only met with a scowl and the demand to discard it, to never bring such things like that to him ever again. His mother protested, ensuing in an argument, and as Gojo lowered his gaze to the ball in his hands, he noticed his father’s faded signature adorned with a heart and message of love for his mother. The ink, once vibrant, now faded with time.

It wasn’t until Gojo turned seven that his father finally relented to teach him more about the sport, knowing it was all his son wanted for his birthday. With determination in his heart, Gojo pleaded for his father’s guidance, eager to kick around a nearly deflated, weathered ball. His father watched his son, expression morphing from reserved and stoic, softening to surprise, then hopeful, and he found himself cheering on his son’s clumsy endeavors on the field despite how many times he tumbled and fell. Because that was his son, his pride and joy, reminiscent of him embracing the sport that he himself had cherished so many years ago. 

As Gojo grew older and excelled at the sport, securing victory after victory in every youth league, his father’s health steadily declined. The recurring seizures caused by the brain damage from his prolonged convulsions on that fateful night exacerbated over the years and started to take an increasing toll on his body. Yet still, he never missed even a single one of his son’s games. Whenever Gojo swiftly sent the ball flying through the net, the first person his eyes would search for on the field was his father, the joy in his eyes being all he cared about in the world. Gojo lived to make his father proud, because it was the only thing that made him feel like he could make up for what little he had done to protect his father that night.

You were just a child. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better.

The day following Gojo’s eleventh birthday, his father had his second major seizure, falling into another coma, but this time he never woke up. Two years later, his mother made the tough decision to end his life-support, and then he was gone from their lives. Gojo’s mother was inconsolable, and he knew that his father took a piece of her soul with him to heaven that night. The piece that allowed her to smile. 

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

But why was he remembering all of that now? 

The shrill of Gojo’s alarm clock woke him up from the intrusive memories that were washing through the fore-front of his mind, and he grumbled to himself before whacking at his nightstand haphazardly to shut the thing off. He ran a hand across his face in an attempt to wipe the sleepiness away, features instantly settling into an annoyed scowl as he blinked his eyes open and the filtering sunlight through the windows harassed his vision. 

He laid there for a few seconds, mending to the pounding headache at his temples with his fingers rubbing circles, and then he finally sat up in bed. Blinking at his sheets, the images of last night start to flash through his mind. The heavy music, the dim lighting of the bathroom, the dizzying jealousy, and the taste of you on his tongue–

The memory is supposed to arouse him, and would on any normal day, but because you had left him standing there stunned with no release of his own at all, he instead just feels a pulsing, soul-deep throbbing pain at his crotch that could really only be due to the fact he was left high and dry by you last night. He groans at the sensation, palm pushing down on his lower abdomen to try and relax the torture, which barely helped. It’s either he jerks off or takes a cold shower, and given the former was likely not possible for him right now since his god-forsaken brain decided to push the traumatizing experiences of his childhood to the forefront of his headspace first thing in the morning, meaning it’s unlikely he’ll be able to settle into the memory of you bent over that bathroom counter for him, he decides on the cold shower. And it’s safe to say that today already fucking sucked.

The moment the chill water hits the skin of his body, he recollects the look you had on your face right before you walked out on him. Soft, searching, to him almost seraphic, but you also looked wounded. And something from your anger with him since before he even had you in that bathroom, to the agonizing moment you left him in there by himself, told him he’d messed up big time with you somewhere along the lines. 

He knew he had been a jerk last night. He didn’t really have much of a right to be seethingly possessive of you, but the sight of you kissing another guy had him seeing red and his knuckles turning white. He finds himself clenching his jaw at the unwelcome memory even now. He figured he probably ruined what would’ve otherwise been an enjoyable night for you, and so you decided to get revenge by walking out on him. However, he can’t shake the feeling that things are messy and complicated now, primarily because of him, and he felt like he needed to apologize for dragging you into his weird, confusing emotions.

He gets himself dry and dressed, grateful for the barely sufficient relief he had down south, and sighs as he grabs his phone and taps on your name, thinking about what to say to you, and just settles on typing out Hey, can we talk? and then presses send. He turns the ringer of his phone off, tosses the device onto his bed and then heads out the door. 

Geto was sitting on the couch in the loft, rubbing an ice cube across his forehead as he sprawled on the cushions and let out low and consistent groans to himself. Gojo flopped down on the armchair across from him and assumed a similar position, rubbing at his temples to nurse his own headache. Geto opens an eye to look at him.

“Morning,” he grumbles. 

“I take it I’m not the only one that feels like they’ve been hit by a truck?” Gojo asks.

Geto makes a disgruntled noise and throws his head back on the cushion. “I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. God knows how much I had last night.” He reaches over to the console table in the center for the bottle of Ibuprofen and tosses it to Gojo, who catches it and stares down at the label. “I didn’t really see you drink that much though. Don’t know why you’re hungover.”

Gojo sighs. He wasn’t hungover. His headache was from the fact that had a lot on his mind. Like the feeling of your skin last night. And then the pain of being blue-balled. And also for some reason his father’s death. Very exhausting to juggle those thoughts at once. 

Gojo twists the cap off the bottle of Ibuprofen and pops two pills, drowning them in his mouth with Geto’s glass of water, then runs a frustrated hand through his hair. The man across from him raises an eyebrow.

“You good?” he asks.

“Super peachy,” Gojo replies.

He sighs. “Well, whatever it is, just make sure it doesn’t affect your play today,” Geto warns him, sinking further down into the couch. Gojo lets out an exhale through his nose. Geto usually pushed further for answers whenever he was in a mood, so the fact that he didn’t this time meant that hangover was bad.

“I’m more worried about you. You think you’ll be fine in a few hours?” Gojo asks. Geto just waves his hand in the air in response as he grabs the hand towel on his chest and drags it up over his face, shielding himself from the light of the room.

“I have no choice but to be fine. We have to win this game,” is all he says through muffling cloth.

Gojo nods, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the carpet. It was finally the game of the 28th, arguably the second-most important game of the season. If they take home the win, they’re automatically seeded into top sixteen teams, which means they’ll only have to win four more matches after today to take home the championship. But if they lose, they’re seeded to the bottom, and then four turns into a daunting eight. In the history of the league, not a single team has ever lost their pre-seed game and still continued to win the playoff championship. So Geto was right, they have no choice but to win today. Otherwise, they could kiss goodbye to a 12-year UTokyo championship streak.

“Not going for your run?” Geto asks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nah, not feeling up for it,” Gojo replies.

He clicks his tongue. “Never skip the pre-game ritual, man.”

Gojo groans, knowing that he’s right, and so he reluctantly gets up off the chair and heads back into his room. His phone lay there on the bed, facing down, and he felt so tragically taunted by it that he weighed the options of whether or not he should check if you replied back before his run or after his run. And then he’s wondering why you affect him this much in the first place.

He resolves to check after his run, and only gets one arm through his shirt before his hands betray him and he snatches his phone, eagerly tapping the screen to turn it on. 

He sees your name at the top, where you had just replied barely a minute ago. Sure, we can talk. He blinks at his phone when he sees the polite period at the end of your message, and the proper capitalization, not to mention a vocative comma? He was starting to feel really nervous.

He didn’t care that you had only replied a minute ago, he quickly typed out his response and sent it.

|| 10:35am Gojo: Do you know how to get onto the stadium field today?

He sees you typing, and he’s holding his breath.

|| 10:36am you: yes, I do. I’m going in w the newsletter journalists. Was this what you wanted to talk about?

What did he want to talk to you about exactly? Something like I’m sorry about being an ass last night, totally not cool for me to be that territorial over you, although I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again because seeing you kiss someone other than me kind of made me want to die. Also, I’m sorry for acting like you’re just someone I know, I don’t know why I did it. I guess it’s because I didn’t know if you thought of me as any more than just someone you know either, and that thought was frightening. Did I mention I hated seeing you kiss someone that wasn’t me?

He’s never really been good with words. Or feelings. 

10:37am Gojo: No, it’s not, it’s something else. I’ll come find you on the field before the game starts

He stands there, gaze fixed on his phone screen for the minute-long pause you took to respond, that for him felt like tortured eons, just for you to send-

10:39am you: k

Gojo finishes getting dressed for his run, anxiety brewing in his stomach drearily, and when he heads out the door of the house, the fresh morning air doesn’t help calm him down like it usually does. Of course, as he’s running, his thoughts wander to you. He’s thinking about the smell of your hair–or was it the perfume on your skin?–either way, it was intoxicating. The curve of your neck, that spot that made you whimper– fuck. Think of other things. Like the sound of your voice, soft and sometimes needy, but he enjoys it that way–makes his head spin. Or when you’re being sweet and thanking him for something you shouldn’t, because to him everything about you was a privilege and never a task. Even in the hot spring sun of the late morning, he finds himself missing the warmth from your body, and that look. That goddamn look in your eyes when you’re peering into his like you want him to–

“I’m sure he’s really proud of you.”

His legs stop him on their own, like they know something about the feelings in his chest that he doesn’t, and he’s standing still on the sidewalk of the neighborhood now. Short puffs of air escape his lips from his blood pumping fast through his body, and he could physically hear the sound of you in his head. Intimate enough to where he turns to the side slightly facing his surroundings, like there was no way it was just a memory and you weren’t actually near. He finds himself swallowing hard and having to consciously keep moving forward.

Gojo makes it back to the house, freshens up for the second time today, and gets dressed into his UTokyo soccer uniform with his signature #10 jersey. He leaves with Geto to campus, where all his teammates gather before eventually boarding the bus to the UTokyo stadium field ten minutes away. Coach Yaga yells their ears off in the locker rooms in an attempt to get their plays for today through their brains, and the exhilarating noises from the stands as they make their formal entrance through to the field fills Gojo’s senses, along with the obnoxiously loud music playing as pre-game rituals settle in. Gojo sets his bag down on the bench and joins the others in warm-ups for about fifteen minutes, before catching a chance to sneak away and look for you across the expansive pristine grass.

After lightly jogging around the perimeter of the field for a couple of minutes, he finally spots you, his raised eyebrows now flattening under the fringe of his hair as he relaxes. He didn’t realize he was tensing his shoulders until now. You were just beyond the sidelines near a hydration station, fidgeting with something in your camera case, lips pressed together in a frustrated expression, and he saw your body sulk with the sigh you let out as you must’ve realized you had forgotten something. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a slight smile, an unconscious reaction to seeing you look so damn cute from your troubled face decorated with a pout. And then he remembered he had been looking for you, and he had found you, and the only thing to do next was to be near you. 

He ambles up to you, and you only catch sight of him when he’s just a few feet away and finally standing in front of you. He sees your eyes widen slightly, lashes blinking once, twice, and then there’s a blush of color to your cheeks as you fidget with the stadium access badge hung around your neck. He noticed there were grass stains on your jeans over your knees when he looked down.

“Hey,” Gojo greets you over the loud music playing on the field.

“Hi,” he sees you say, and he realizes he can barely hear you.

“Let’s go over there,” Gojo yells, jerking his head over to the side.

He leads you over to an area tucked near the east side entrance, a corner slightly underneath one of the sectioned stands where the loud cheers of the stadium somehow reflected off less. It was about as private or silent of a place that the two of you could manage to have a conversation on a soccer field before a match, if you could just ignore the dressed up school mascots rehearsing their walk-ins and walk-outs through the entryway.

You take a few steps backwards until your back hits the concrete slab wall, and he’s in front of you as he watches you study him for a second, taking in the sight of his uniform, before your eyes finally meet his.

“Are you ready to take your photos today?” he asks you, poorly attempting to make small talk despite the images of you with him in that bathroom last night flashing through his memory. Now was seriously not the time to be turned on.

You nod, and respond “I am”, giving him absolutely nothing to work with.

He sighs. “Listen, about last night, I just wanted to apologize. For dragging you into that bathroom with me, although you did ask me to-” He sees you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest. “Sorry,” he sighs, “Seriously, I just…I don’t know what got over me then.”

“You don’t know? Or you just don’t want to tell me?” you prod at him. He briefly considers pretending he doesn’t hear your question over the sound of the stadium, but he knows he wouldn't get away with that, not with the way you’re looking at him like he’s just one more fuck-up away from making you storm off.

He looks at your lips. “I guess the only thing I know is that I didn’t like seeing you kiss someone else.”

You shake your head and close your eyes. “I know you didn’t, Satoru. Otherwise last night wouldn’t have happened. What I’m asking is why.”

He’s struggling now, searching his head for answers, like he’s fighting for his life on a test that he didn’t study for. When he looks down, he notices your foot has been tapping impatiently. And when he looks back up, there’s that wounded expression from last night again. “I don’t know,” is all he can offer.

You uncross your arms from your chest, lips parting slightly as your eyebrows pinch upwards with a disheartened look. He sees your gaze shift slowly across the features of his face, searching, and he wonders if you can see something within him that he can’t. The thought terrifies him. “Fine. It’s my turn to speak.”

He nods slowly. He wasn’t sure what you wanted to say to him. He imagined you would just cuss him out with a few choice words for being a raging asshole last night and then you’d be on your merry way. But he senses sincerity in your voice. Not that he was phenomenal at reading people, though.

He watches as you clench and unclench your fists at your sides nervously, then twiddle with the strap of your camera, then tuck your hair behind your ears, then blink rapidly as you look up at him, then worry your bottom lip between your teeth, then open your mouth to speak just to close it again.

“Do you need me here for any of this?” he says in an attempt at a joke to ease you, but when all you give him is a glare, he’s fearful enough to be serious again.

“I like you.”

He blinks. “Thanks? I like you, too.”

“No, no. I like you as in I have feelings for you,” you clarify. Gojo’s eyes widen at the confession, and he stands up straighter. 

“Oh,” he finally replies when he realizes he hasn’t said anything yet, “I…I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Holy shit, if that was how you felt, then he really has been a raging asshole this entire time. 

You roll your eyes. “I know. You’re a hopelessly dense, menacingly flirty, sleazy frat dude college athlete,” you sigh, “But I still like you. Unfortunately, tragically, annoyingly, much to my dismay, against my better judgment,”

“Okay, I get it-”

“I think it started that night you stayed with me when I was stranded with my flat,” you confess suddenly, your chest rising a little bit faster, and his expression softened. “I just really appreciated you being there for me.”

His voice is gentle when he speaks next. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I would’ve been there if it happened ten times over,” he pauses, “although I’d seriously question your ability to drive if it happened that many times.”

“And I think it started when you walked me out to the practice field for the first time, and you told me you cared about my dreams,” you say with a slight step forwards to him, unable to acknowledge his words at all, as if there was a script you needed to stick to that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart in front of him. 

He finds himself instinctively leaning towards you, close enough to where he notices you’re wearing a different perfume today. “But that was before the night of your car incident,” he reminds you.

“I know,” you nod, and there’s that look in your eyes that he loves, “and I also think it started that first night we met and you looked sad when I said we weren’t friends.”

Gojo’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he finds himself breathing shallowly as he listens to your words. “y/n…I think you’re working backwards here.”

“I’m trying to say I’ve had feelings for you this whole time,” you say to him, “they were tiny at first, I didn’t really see them, but now they’re too big for me to hold all by myself.”

Gojo nods slowly, and he already knows what you’re going to ask of him next.

“I like you in a way that makes me want more from you,” you admit, eyes steadily on his with resolve, “I don’t want to be just someone you know, or someone only for sex-”

“y/n-” he tries to interrupt you.

“And I certainly won’t be someone that sits around to wait for a guy if he doesn’t want me back,” you say, but there’s an apprehensive look in your eyes when you speak next, “so, I need you to answer to my feelings.”

Gojo blinks at you, his heart beating fast in his chest from your confession, and he feels like with every testing second that he fails to answer you back, you slip further and further away from him.

He knew he had affection for you. He always wanted to be close to you, even when he already was, as if he couldn’t get close enough. He wanted to take care of you, and see that softness in your expression when he knew you felt safe and happy. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, and it took him this damn long to realize as he stood in front of you that he had no interest in being with anyone else either. So then why did his chest feel so tight? And why was he struggling so much to give you an answer?

one day, you’ll lose someone you love. and everything following will fail to have meaning. 

Gojo’s eyes widened as the memories of his life flashed through his mind, a chill running down his spine as they knock the wind from his lungs and he feels that same sense of dread that has been following him like a ghost since that day when he was just four years old, standing in the hallway, wondering why his father was having a nightmare on the bathroom floor when he should’ve known it was something far worse than that.

Gojo blames himself for so much that had gone wrong in his life. And he should know that it’s not his fault, but all of his grief was greedy to breathe and live, desperate to find a reason for why he had to lose someone he loved, and his grief found a home in all of his guilt.

And he was terrified to lose someone close to him again. Even if he decided to see what could become with you, even if he thought for a moment that he was allowed to feel any sort of happiness with you, the thought of falling short and failing frightened him. He was so tired of adding to a long list of regrets in his life. And he knew he wasn’t what you needed— what you deserved.

“I…” he starts, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way about you.” He knows he sounds convincing enough from the way the light in your eyes dimmed, anticipation faltering and replaced with a sad expression over your features. He needs to take a shaky breath to continue speaking. “It seems I’ve led you on in a lot of ways, and I apologize for that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen anymore.”

You’re silent for a long moment, twiddling with your fingers as you look up at him. “I see…” you say, and when he sees your lower lip quiver slightly, he feels sick. His instinct is to reach out for you, pull you closer to him, but he knows that’s not a luxury you would allow for him, and he knew it wasn’t one he deserved either. 

Your voice is trembling when you speak next. “I appreciate you letting me know. And you don’t have to worry about not leading me on anymore, because this will be the last time you see me.”

His entire body runs rigid. 

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, but he asks it anyway.

“So I can get over you.”

All he can do is stand with the feeling of a chill in his bones.

“And I ask that you’ll respect my space while I do,” you add on at the end.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out the breath he was holding in. “I will,” he says, the promise leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s a moment where you both just look at each other, as though the two of you were trying to hold onto the moment, but you’re the one to break out of it first, and he’s the one to wish it would’ve lasted a little longer.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” The words already sounded like goodbye. “I’ll make sure you look nice in your photos,” you say with a small smile, holding your camera up slightly, “and good luck today.” 

He wonders if he’ll regret this moment.

“Thanks.”

He steps aside so that you can walk past him and back out to the field. Gojo takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and relaxes his shoulders. Well, that was intense. Definitely not the direction he thought that conversation was going to go in at all, but that’s fine. He handled it fine. Totally fine. Things were going to be totally fine. He just has to play the match now.

The first step he takes back towards the field, he feels his uneasiness return, with the second step the feeling of his heart beating becomes violent in his head, with the third step he swears he can’t feel the tips of his fingers, with the fourth he feels severely nauseous, and with his fifth- was he seriously about to throw up?

He barely makes it back onto the grassy field cutting across the obstacles of people at the sidelines, using all his strength to not double over before he reaches a table and grabs one of the water bottles. He sees a group of men, all dressed in suits and loitering near the team manager’s station, perk their heads up at the sight of him and he’s groaning internally. The last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to any damn recruiters, but he sees one of them bold enough to approach him in his periphery. He sighs, taking one last gulp of water, and tries to stand up straight and look like he wasn’t going insane.

“Hi, I’m Jousuke Tsuda, recruiter for Tokyo Metropolitan’s national league team,” he says and stretches his hand out for Gojo to shake. The man looked aged, with thick creases to his forehead that could only mean he’s witnessed a hell of a lot of life and he has the soul to prove it.

Gojo’s eyes widen at the mention of Tokyo-Met’s team, and he grabs onto the man’s hand in as firm of a handshake he could manage. “Gojo Satoru.”

The man laughs. It’s deep with a slight crackle. “I know your name, son. Every recruiter in the country does. You’ve got a lot of eyes on you right now.”

“I’m flattered.”

The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Surely you feel pressured.”

Gojo only hums to himself.

The man glances at his watch. “I know the match starts in a few, but if I could have a moment of your time. Take a walk with me?”

“Sure.”

The two trail down the line of the field. “I’ll get straight to the point, kid. Tokyo-Met’s really keen on scouting you for the national league following your graduation,” he says.

Gojo feels like he should be excited about that news, actually, he should be ecstatic and groveling at this man’s feet, but instead he just feels empty and hollow inside. 

“Forget the fact that you’ll be playing in the nation’s most revered team,” the man continues, “but compensation is high, too.” He pulls his phone out from his front suit pocket, tapping away at his calculator app, then turns the screen towards Gojo. Holy shit. “I’m talking about a 350 million yen per year contract here. I could advocate for higher based on how well you perform the rest of the season.”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Gojo responds.

The man is silent for a second then sighs. When the two of them reach a somewhat secluded bench near the corner of the field, he sits down on it and expects Gojo to do the same, to which he complies.

“You know, I’m used to much more enthusiastic reactions from players that hear this kind of news, although they’re usually ecstatic for barely a hundred million a year compared to what I’ve just offered you,” the man says.

“I guess it’s the pressure,” Gojo says to him, “it’s got my emotional response circuit all fried up, y’know?” He was pulling excuses out of his ass. 

A small hmph noise is heard beside him before he sees the man pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his slacks. “I know your father has left big shoes to fill, kid. I can’t imagine the fear of feeling like you’ll fail, or the anxiety of an injury taking you out any time you’re on the field, not wanting history to repeat itself.”

Gojo’s eye twitches and he narrows his eyes at the man seated beside him. “My dad got injured in a car accident, not while playing the sport.”

“I know,” he responds, finally pulling a cigarette out of the pack, holding it between his two fingers as he rests his wrist on his knee. “The story touched the hearts of everyone in Tokyo, and the entire soccer community in general. I remember reading about it in the school newspaper. Back in the day when they still printed those things out.” Gojo’s surprised, and he’s only given a sideways smile before the man continues. “I knew your father, went to the same college as him.”

“I don’t think he ever mentioned you,” Gojo says.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “He despised me. I was a money-hungry finance major that saw a huge opportunity in mediator sports recruitment agencies. Figured if I could sign a player like your father to my start-up, I’d be set for life. He was a smart man not to sign, regardless of how things turned out.” He shakes his head musingly. “I gave up after that and got a real job. You’ll find a lot of your hopes and dreams die in college.”

“I see,” Gojo says.

The man leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looks over with a serious expression on his face. “Tell me, son, what does this sport mean to you? Why have you dedicated your entire life to playing it?”

Gojo only gives him a cursory glance.

“Is it the fame and attention? The pride? The thrill? The prospect of earning millions and then retiring at thirty, and you get to watch your wife and kids playing in your grand estate’s pool on a sunny summer Sunday while you’re swirling around a glass of ‘90s scotch in your hand?” he asks, tone derisive but luring. “Or does it mean something more to you?”

Gojo looks down at his hands that were clenched tightly into fists. He relaxes them so that his fingers fall open weakly and his palms face the sky. He remembers the feeling of being a kid, the smell of freshly cut grass consuming his senses, the sight of bruises on his knees from how many times he fell on the field chasing after the ball, and the admiration in his father’s eyes every single time he stood back up. “It’s a chance to prove myself,” he finally says.

“Prove yourself of what?” the man pushes.

“That I’m capable of greatness,” Gojo admits, “like my father.”

The man nods slowly in acknowledgment. “Yes, your father was a great man. But not because of how he played the game. He was a great man because he knew which sacrifices were truly important.”

Gojo looks at him wearily. “Are you trying to tell a player you’re attempting to recruit that the sport isn’t important?”

He shakes his head, looking straight ahead. “No, it’s important. But it’s the meaning you give to your life outside of it that gives it importance.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, not really sure what to make of the cryptic sentiment.

The man claps his hands together and stands up. “Alright, I’m sure that’s all the time you’ve got for me. Think about my offer, and if any other recruiters approach you with better ones, just know I’ll push for higher.” He hands Gojo his business card and brings his cigarette to mouth, balancing it between his lips. “Reach out if you have any questions.”

Gojo looks down at the card, his finger tracing the edge of it as he studies the shimmering gold lettering. “Why not just hit me with your best offer and leave? Why bother having this kind of conversation with me?”

The man pulls his cigarette from his mouth, pinching it between his two fingers once again. “We’ve all got regrets we want to make right, kid,” he says. And with his hands in his pockets, he walks away. 

Gojo watches the man as he makes his way down the sidelines back to the cluster of men in suits. When he hears the referee whistle, he shoves the business card in the pocket of his uniform shorts, and makes his way towards the center of the sidelines.

His teammates instantly come up to him with optimistic smiles and encouraging pats on his chest and back, trying to keep the energy high to manifest a win for today, but Gojo just feels exhausted and like he’s drowning. He has so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he can’t even begin to explain, and he just wants someone to see through him at this moment. 

The teams stand on the field for the national anthem, and then Osaka Uni’s team disperses while UTokyo’s alma mater plays. Coach Yaga yells for all the players to huddle before the coin toss and reminds them of their plays for the afternoon.

Nanami pulls his sweatbands onto his wrists, Geto pulls his hair back up into a bun, Chosou pulls tightly on the straps of his goalie gloves, and Gojo pushes his hair up off his forehead to snap his headband onto his face. He looks around to his other teammates and that sense of pride he feels to be a part of this team swells dully despite his emotions.

UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kick, and Gojo finds his place in the center of the field. The crowd is already cheering preemptively, their pride in their home team evident in the passion of the filled stands, and Gojo peers across the large expanse of the field as he rests his foot on top of the soccer ball. It’s a scene he’s seen a hundred times in his life, but the sight is daunting today. He takes his foot off the ball when he hears the referee signal the start of the match with a short piercing shrill of his whistle, and the second Gojo draws his leg back and his foot makes contact with the ball, sending it flying forward, he can already feel that something feels very off.

Every single time he had the ball in his possession, his footwork felt heavy and delayed. His teammates had set up more than three chances for him to score, and he shot wide every single time. The crowd’s cheers started to diminish, and he could feel the growing discontent and exasperation from all eyes on the field. Ten minutes before halftime, they were down 1-0, and stakes were starting to feel high. 

One of his teammates passes a ball right to Gojo’s favored foot, the crowd instantly erupting with noise and stands to their feet as Gojo shuffles the ball past the penalty line, through Osaka’s defenders, eyes locked with the perfect opportunity to strike. This was good, he had his rhythm back, even if just for a moment, and he can see it, clear as day–the trajectory to the goal. With the feeling of slick sweat on his face and determination in his veins, he withdraws his leg back to kick the ball. The world went silent in his head, the only sound being the beating of his heart, and-

“this will be the last time you see me.”

When he recalls your voice, everything moves in slow-motion as his ankle slips slightly on the grass from his moment of hesitation, and then the ball is swiftly stolen by an opposing team player and maneuvered past him. 

“Fuck!” he hisses, immediately turning his head around as he helplessly watches the opponents players move with fervor in pursuit of another goal. The crowd hushed in horror as Osaka passed the ball through UTokyo’s defense, swiftly steadying down the side and sending the ball flying through Chosou’s outstretched arms. 2-0, and the lead ref calls for halftime. 

“Dude,” one of his teammates comes up to him as they walk back towards the benches and throws his arms up in the air, “what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Seriously, man, not a single goal in the first half? You know how many times I’ve set up a shot for you?" another one of his teammates chimes in, nudging Gojo’s shoulder way harder than he’d usually warrant, and shortly after, a blaming fest begins among the players.

“Enough!” Coach Yaga yells out. All of the players quiet down and look at him, some grudgingly gulping down water while others just try to regain their breath. Gojo’s arms just hang at his sides in defeat. “We’re pushing everything on offense now, we can’t afford to miss any more shots,” Coach Yaga says, his fear of losing the match evident too despite his rough tone, “Satoru, I’m switching you out. Dai, take his place.”

“What?” Gojo asks incredulously, charging forward so he’s in front of the older man. “I’m not getting benched.”

“You will, because I say so,” Coach Yaga says sternly, “you’re distracted, boy. I can see it all over your face.”

“I’m n-”

“Just sit down,” Coach Yaga lets out a disgruntled noise. “When players are distracted, they get injured. Have faith in your teammates.”

“Coach,” Gojo asks again, this time almost pleading. He hardly ever questioned Coach Yaga’s calls, he had a great deal of respect for the man. But something within him just absolutely refused to get benched today.

Coach Yaga stares at him for a long moment, and it’s only when one of the refs chirps their whistle that he finally exhales and gives him a reluctant jerk of his head towards the field.

Geto sets up the perfect shot for Nanami to sweep for a kick that barely lands through the goalie’s lunge for the ball, and then on the next play, secures another goal himself. The score is tied, 2-2, with eight minutes left on the clock. Gojo manages to steal the ball on a defensive play, and it’s only really a stroke of luck that he manages in one solid pass the entire game, straight to Geto’s foot, crowd roaring, and he watches his best friend shoot and sink within the last minute and a half of the game. 

3-2. UTokyo’s win. 

Gojo sighs, exhausted as he makes his way to the bench, crouching down and zipping open his duffle bag. Spirits are low among the team despite the excitement from the crowd over their win because of how hauntingly close the loss felt during the last moments of the match, disinterested in celebrating at all as they meekly dispersed across the field. Gojo knew he was going to get a massive yelling-to from Coach Yaga and he could feel the searing disappointment from his teammates for not carrying the game more. This was just a bare win, could’ve gone either way, and his performance today wasn’t a good look for any recruiters either. He felt so emotionally and physically drained from this entire day, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he could feel any better.

Shuffling through his bag for a water bottle, his knuckles hit something cold and metallic-sounding tucked away inside. He hums to himself curiously before grabbing it and pulling it out.

strawberry vanilla soda.

Hm. This wasn’t the one you gave him a couple of days ago. He already drank that one. Did you sneak this into his bag? His brow furrows, and he stares at the sparkling smiling sloth on the label. When he turns the can in his hand, he sees a little note messily scribbled in black ink. 

good luck today! u got this :) ur a star

His eyes widened.

And putting his heart through a shredder would’ve hurt less than when he realizes what an idiot he’s been this entire time.

He’s instantly searching the field, peering through crowds of people, mascots, banners, flags, for any sight of you. He’s not sure how or why he goes in the direction that he does, but deep down it’s because he knows you like taking millions of pictures of flowers, and the west side exit has endless blooms of them. And so when he runs out that way, cleats tapping against the concrete pavement that leads out into the courtyard in the front of the stadium, and spots you standing there, he finally lets out the breath of air he feels like he’s been holding in his chest all day.

You’re aiming your camera at teal and orange petals scattered across the decorative florals lining the raised concrete planters, then pull it down from your face and twiddle with the settings, tilting your head to the side. You then pluck at one of the blooms that was spilling over the edges, bringing it to the tip of your nose curiously. And he just watches, chest heaving from the urgency that he rushed to get to you, heart aching from the desperation of wanting to be near you. He wanted to ask you how you were feeling, he wanted to know how your pictures came along, he wanted to know what you were doing after this, and he wanted you to be with him. But most importantly, he wanted to make sure that this wasn’t the last time he ever saw you again. 

It isn’t until a minute after that you seem keen on his presence too, and you swiftly turn your head in his direction, surprised. “Satoru?” you say. He wonders if he’ll melt. He wonders if those ice-cold barriers he’s built over the years could thaw just from the way you say his name.

But when he takes a step forward, you take a step back. And he halts. The expression on your face was unfamiliar to him. Once soft, curious, trusting. Now you looked at him like you were guarding something, keeping it safe from him, and he no longer had the right to intrude. And then he realizes the hell he’s put you through all this time.

He regrets pushing you away.

“I know I said I’d respect the fact that you want space,” he says through bated breath, “but I…I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing you again.”

You’re solemn when you look at him, reading the plea in his eyes, and then slowly shake your head. He feels like he can’t breathe. 

“I’m sorry. Goodbye.”

And then you walk out of his life.

a/n. thank you for reading! i have a few more author notes that explain a few things that i couldn't really find a way to fit into the chapter organically, but wanted to address before moving on, if you're curious you can find them here. hope to see you in the next one! pls lemme know if i missed any tags i'm sorry if i did :')

➸ take me to chapter eight!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @lost-resonance @foulprincesscycle @purplehallow11 @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @erencvlt @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @hojoslutoru @drthymby @ninitoru @btszn @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @fvsm4x @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @cierocanteat (thank you to everyone <3)

[sadesluvr]

Freak - Mike Schmidt x Reader (Songfic)

Mike dials a 1-800 number and gets more than what he asked for.

A/N: Reader is a secret sex guru, and an unlicensed therapist, 18+ only. I'm going to abuse the FUCK out of this GIF. Based on the song 'Freak' by Doja Cat!

Word count: 2.2K

Tags: SMUT / Sub! Mike, Dom! Reader / Fem!Reader / Handjobs / Edging / Unprotected sex / Creampies / Marijuana usage / Brief mention of contraceptives (the pill)

‘Call 1-800-2323 for the answer to your troubles. Enlightenment is just a phone call away!’

Mike looked down at the card in his hands, given to him by Abby’s wellbeing officer out of concern for his personal troubles. He’d never read too much into spirituality, but considering psychoanalysis hadn’t gotten him much further than his usual dream it couldn’t hurt to try, right?

The dial rang, and he expected to hear a raspy elderly woman with a smoker's cough. What he didn’t expect was a lively, young voice at the other end of the line.

“…How may I be of assistance?”

“Uh — There’s something in my past — It’s been bothering me for practically my whole life…I need help finding the answers…”

“Hm,” the voice hummed. “Vague, but I sense you’re holding back…I like ‘em that way…Name?”

Freak like me You want a good girl that does bad things to you You never been with no one as nasty as me Spice up your life, come get a freak Freak like me

“Mike Schmidt,”

You'd heard of him from your mom’s friend.

“I’ll book you in for Friday at 8PM,”

“Okay…How much will I owe you? Money’s a little tight right now…”

“Don’t worry. It’s all free of charge,”

Tied him down to my queen bed Tease him just enough to hate me  Tied it tight enough, he can't break free  Keep him waiting 'til he try This can go one of two ways We could flip the coin, I'll be your slave  Call you daddy, give me a nickname I ain't afraid of a little pain (No, I ain't 'fraid of a little pain)

He showed up at the address listed on the card a little after 8PM and rang the doorbell, his hands in his pockets as he scanned his surroundings. You, the mysterious voice, answered the door, and you briefly took his breath away, dressed in a nude, flesh coloured spaghetti strap dress that stopped halfway on your thighs, paired with a sultry smile.

“You must be Mike,” you grin. “Come in,”

The interaction is brief, and he follows you to the couch, an armchair sat traditionally opposite like it would in a therapist office. You gesture for him to take a seat and he does, already feeling like he was under a spell. His eyes glance down briefly at your bare legs as you cross one over the other, letting out a soft moan as you got comfortable. Blood was slowly and suddenly draining from his face to his cock, and he moved his hands to cover the issue, which didn’t go unnoticed to you.

“So, Mike…What is it that’s haunting you?”

He wanted some'n else and he wanna be selfish He wanted them three rounds, DC had to come help him Look, I know your position Try to squeeze in the full nelson though Beat on it, beat, beat on it, mercy like a black belt give Daddy the grand master, daddy, I want it faster Them bitches you fuckin' with, I know they gon' need some practice So bring 'em along wit' ya, I'll teach 'em how to smash ya When I made a little mess on it, he told me to clean my act up

He told you everything; from his brother’s abduction to the breakdown of his family and his living situation with his sister. He was a tortured soul, and he just needed a bit of release. You were so, so glad he’d been referred to you.

“I empathise with you, Mike,” you sigh, leaning in. “It must be hard,”

Hard. Painfully hard.

“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” you say coyly, and he shakes his head. You notice he licks his lips as you get up, recognising how the dress is clinging to your body and beginning to bunch up your thighs. For a split second he gets a glimpse of your black lace panties, and his now fully hard cock twitches in his jeans. 

He wants you, and he’s almost certain you want him too, but a deeper part of him wants to let it play out. For once, he’s not in control of all of the decisions and he wants to keep it that way.

“What I’m hearing is that the route of your issue is frustration,” you say, eyes locked on his as you reach out to run your fingers through his messy locks. “When was the last time you ever thought about yourself?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t - I can’t — How is this going to help me find who took Garrett?”

“Because you’re thinking too hard, and it complicates things. It’s time to redirect your attention,” you purr, dragging your vowels so that it produces a tone that sends shivers down his spine. 

“…How?” he chokes, eyes wide and pupils dilated. You’re so fucking close to him now, and he thinks he might burst. You smell like weed and sex, and he can’t stop staring at the way your strap is sliding down your arms.

You slide off your dress in a quick motion, revealing your bare body. Mike is rabid now, unable to stop staring at your hardened nipples and the barely there material of your panties.

Freak like me (Tryna freak you down) You want a good girl that does bad things to you You never been with no one as nasty as me Spice up your life, come get a freak

“I’m gonna touch you, Mike,” you say simply, and it holds a thousand words. “And then you’re gonna fuck me,”

Hey, I could take a big bat, bet that he thinkin' this a game Hey, batter, batter swing, you could put it on a swing Freak like a triple XXX flick, put her on a chain This pussy off the chain, this kitty insane I could fuck him in the rain, I could fuck him in the Range (Uh) I could fuck him every day (Uh), I'ma fuck him 'til he sang (Uh) Milkshake bring the boys to the yard, I'ma need the whipped cream Ain't ever been vanilla, honey, just wait until you get a taste

He knows he can say no, but relaxes into your touch. One hand rubs his upper torso, massaging his tight muscles as the other is wrapped around his neck as you plant gentle kisses along his cheek and neck before you move to his lips. His kiss is eager, and he wastes no time in finding your tongue with his own. 

He needs this so fucking badly, and he doesn’t want to let go.

The kiss continues as you begin to claw at his body, and he briefly pulls away to tug off his jacket and shirt before resuming the make out session. His body tenses as your hands make their way down his chest, down towards the beginning of his happy trail. He desperately wants you to continue the skin-to-skin contact, but you slide your hands over his jeans instead, squeezing him through the material. 

He furrowed his eyebrows and let out a small whimper, earning a gasp from you. He was so pretty.

“That’s it, baby. Don’t hold back…”

Skirt off, fuck in the backseat Take that shirt off, baby, put it on me Got me like, "Yeehaw," ride it like a horsey Kinda like see-saw, up and down on the D, give it to him

You relieve his frustration by hastily pulling at his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, leaving him in his briefs. They were black and you could see a clear wad of precum that had been built up over the past hour. Wasting no time, Mike lets out a louder moan as you slide the material down, his cock springing up onto his pelvis. It’s average sized, but with a slightly thicker girth, and is bright pink with want.

“Kiss me,” you instruct, and he nods. His lips find the crevice of your neck and collarbone as you begin to grip his shaft, his tip between your thumb and index finger as you squeeze out some remaining precum, the liquid pooling around your fingers.

It’s pure pleasure for him as you take the entirety of his cock in your hands, slowly beginning to jerk him off, not forgetting to cup his balls as you do. He throws his head back as his hands clench, physical pressure dissipating as you take his hands in your own, guiding it to your breast.

“Fuck…” Mike groans, beginning to massage the skin as you coo in his ear, your grip tightening and fastening on his cock. Four of his senses are overstimulated, and the icing on the cake is your unrelenting sultry stare, making sure you were attending to his every need.

You were the goddess he never knew he could have.

Freak like me (Need a freak like me) You want a good girl that does bad things to you (You want a good girl) You never been with no one as nasty as me Spice up your life, come get a freak Do, do-do, do-do, do-do (Now you need a freak)

You could feel him shudder underneath you and knew he was loosening up, edging closer to orgasm. His whimpers and groans were now louder, and he’d found the confidence to latch onto your nipples, pawing at the skin with his hand whilst his tongue swirled along the hardened bud.

Spreading your legs over his, you angled his face towards you as, taking in his hazel eyes. 

“Touch me, Mike,” you said, gaze flickering down to your pussy. “Touch me like I’m touching you…”

He moves away from your breasts to make his way between your legs, his fingers sliding into your wet cunt. He lets out a deep sigh at the sensation, feeling rather proud of himself as you begin to writhe against him.

“Is this good?” he asks, sliding a second finger into you. 

“So good,” you moan. “You’re so good for me, Mike,”

His heart and his cock swells, and your bodies begin to move in sync. He quickly finds your clit as your pace quickens on his cock, and you both begin to reach a point of ecstasy.

“Y/N…” he whimpers, lips wet and eyes glassy. “I’m gonna—“

“I know, baby,” you whisper on his lips. “But not yet,” you say abruptly, and draw away. He’s shocked, and stares at you open mouthed.

You respond with nothing but a smile.

“I’m only here to guide you to enlightenment, not give. You have to do the rest,”

He’s totally blank.

“Let go, Mike. I’m here,” you say sweetly, and it feels strangely romantic. “Take me…Do you want me on top, or bottom?”

“Top,” he responds without hesitation. “You’re beautiful,”

Mike can barely contain his euphoria. You, a literal sex goddess, are sat on his lap, body on full display as he fucks up into your tight, wet pussy. The pleasure is almost painful, and he’s almost worried that he’s hurting you by the way his hands are gripped on your hips and his thrusts are desperate and sloppy. All the anger and frustration from his past was slowly unravelling, and judging by the knot in his stomach, so was he.

Freak like me Freak like me (You never, you never, you never been) You want a good girl that does bad things to you You never been with no one as nasty as me Spice up your life, come get a freak (You need a freak) Do, do-do, do-do, do-do (You need a freak) Freak like me (Like me, papa)

“Oh fuck,” you whine. “You’re perfect, Mike. So perfect,”

You weren’t lying, he looked gorgeous; pussy drunk and sweating, his frayed bangs clinging to his forehead in an odd pattern. Your lips met once again as he pulled you into him by your waist, the kiss sloppy as he drew his cock deeper into your cunt, hitting all of the right areas. 

“I’m so close Mike,” you whined. “Cum for me…”

“Where…?” he whispered. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to see you covered in his cum, or see it seep out of you and down your thighs. 

“Wherever you feel best,” you said devilishly, before placing your lips to his ear. “I’m on the pill,”

The words sent him over the edge as he came, hot and heavy spurts of cum filling into your warmth as you finished along with him. Mike bit his lip as he held you close, almost on the verge of tears as you soothed him through the last of his orgasm. A weight had suddenly been lifted away, and he could feel his eyes grow heavy with tiredness.

After a few moments you pulled away from each other, your nude bodies dropping to either side of the couch. Still high from orgasm, you pulled your dress back on and leant over the armrest to open a drawer, not oblivious to the way Mike was staring at you fondly.

Babe, you never been with no one nastier than me Oh, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby Put your head on my shoulder Hold me in your arms, baby Squeeze me oh so tight Show me that you love me too

“Wanna blaze?” You asked, holding a joint to your lips. He paused in thought, not wanting to let go of the moment before answering.

“Can I use your phone?”

You nodded and gestured to the phone, watching as Mike dialled a number. 

“Hey, Max - Can you put Abby on the phone? Something’s come up and I can’t make it home tonight…”

[theemporium]

[REQUEST OPEN]

[9.6k] local murders, amateur sleuthing and unconventional phone calls catch the attention of wednesday!reader. little does she realise the mastermind behind it all is none other than hawkins’ golden boy. (smut)

. 

“LOCAL TEEN FOUND MURDERED IN HIS CAR EARLIER THIS MORNING AFTER WHAT LOOKS LIKE TO BE BRUTAL STRUGGLE. THIS IS THE THIRD MURDER AFTER THE DEATH OF—” 

The volume dial on the radio was instantly turned down, the drawling voice of the presenter quickly dying down to a whisper after blaring through the store like it had been doing for the last hour. 

But no matter what channel or radio show they turned to, each and every one was covering the latest discovery in the Hawkins’ murders. 

Murders that started during the annual 4th of July celebrations where a local jock had been found stabbed and murdered just after the firework display, his body slumped into one of the ferris wheel carriages before anyone could notice the killer. 

The screams of the young carnival worker who found the body was one no one in Hawkins would forget for a while. 

The second murder followed less that two weeks later, when a cheerleader was found brutally stabbed and stashed in the back of her car at Lover’s Lake. 

And now, the whole of Hawkins had been sent into a frenzy as the police department worked aimlessly to find the culprit behind the recent murders. Only to come up short when they couldn’t find a single clue against the murderer. Not a single fucking idea. 

The whole town was left waiting for the next attack, set on edge and second guessing everyone around them as they waited for the killer to attack again. 

The killer was playing with their prey, setting everyone on edge and making them go crazy as they waited for a single clue that this wasn’t over. The killer gave them hope that the worst was over, that they moved on or skipped town. The killer made them think they could be safe again.

And then they struck—just yesterday, after a whole month of silence. 

“God, don’t they have anything better to talk about,” Eddie grumbled under his breath, nose scrunching up as he focused on the pile of tapes in front of him that he had been sorting out for the last twenty minutes. 

You shifted your eyes from the book you were reading, raising a single brow. “And here I thought you’d love something like this.” 

“Not all of us are as morbid as you,” Eddie retorted with a lazy grin sent your way. “It’s all anyone’s been talking about the last two months. There’s only so much small talk I can handle over the counter about my ‘crazy theories on Hawkins’ biggest criminal since Johnny the bike thief’.” 

You let out a hum of acknowledgment. 

“I swear some of them think it’s me,” Eddie muttered with a light scoff. He paused for a moment before his eyes narrowed on you. “They probably think it’s both of us. Probably doesn’t help that you’re always lingering here.” 

“You invite me, Edward,” you stated simply as you flicked to the next page of your book. 

“And you come every time,” Eddie retorted with a grin on his face, like he was proud of the fact he somehow managed to have you coming back. 

“I didn’t have anything on today,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. 

“Geez, way to make a man feel special.” 

Your friendship—if you could even call it that—with the local metalhead wasn’t something you ever planned or considered. As it turns out, wandering around the woods beside the trailer park will leave you with a curly-haired, restless twenty-something who attaches himself to you and continues to call you his friend regardless of whatever you tell him. 

Eddie Munson just seemed to work like that. 

Not that you minded him all that much, most of the time at least. You could tolerate him and sometimes coming to the music store he worked at provided amusement in the form of watching the general public. If you had to deal with Eddie calling you a friend during that time, then so be it. 

“Got any wild theories in that morbid head of yours?” Eddie asked casually like you weren’t discussing murders in the middle of a very public store, the boy more concerned about the price tags he was currently trying to stick on the tapes laid across the counter with a contraption he wasn’t totally sure how to use. 

“What makes you think I have been theorising about it at all?” you asked, eyes focused on the words on the page. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie said with a shrug. “Because you’re you? And you like all those weird horror books and movies and shit.” 

“They are comforting,” you stated simply.

“That…is terrifying, actually,” Eddie mumbled under his breath, shooting you a wary look though it really shouldn’t have surprised him. He still had flashbacks to the biology classes he shared with you in school where everyone had taken three steps back from the lab counters whilst you had cut open the poor frog they had been assigned to dissect with familiar ease. The scalpel in your hand almost looked as belonging as a pen. 

“You let yourself get too easily scared, Edward,” you told him, and if Eddie didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought you were scolding him. 

The boy paused, raising his brows. “You’re telling me you’re not the least bit scared that we have a homicidal maniac on the loose right now?” 

“Everybody dies anyways,” you replied. 

Eddie blinked. “Yeah because nothing says circle of life like being brutally stabbed twenty times in the gut.” 

“Twenty-four,” you corrected. 

Eddie furrowed his brows. “What?” 

“Each victim had been stabbed at least twenty-four times,” you said as you lifted your gaze to meet his own. “If you’re going to be scared, at least be scared by the right facts.” 

“Maybe you are the murderer,” Eddie grumbled with a huff, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the tapes. 

“Would you like me to fast-track you to the top of my list?” you deadpanned, though there was something quite like amusement glimmering in your eyes. 

“Aw, you’d change up your master plan for lil’ ol’ me? I knew you liked me, sweetheart,” Eddie said with a grin. “Make sure they write that on my tombstone, yeah? ‘Eddie the Freak: changer of small, emo serial killers’.” 

You let out a huff but Eddie swore it was a laugh. 

“Why the hell are you guys hanging out without me?!” 

Both heads turned towards the entrance of the store where a very angry, curly-haired nuisance was making his way towards the cashier counter, the redhead behind him simply shrugging and giving the two adults a ‘what can you do?’ look. 

“I’m working, Henderson,” Eddie retorted, gesturing to the store around him. “I hardly consider that hanging out.” 

“She’s here!” Dustin said, exasperated as he pointed a finger at you before quickly dropping it when he noted the look you gave him. 

“She was invited,” you said to him as you said to Eddie earlier.

“So it is a hangout!” Dustin exclaimed. “Did you invite Max too?” 

Eddie remained silent.

“Oh my god.” 

“I give her a ride back home after my shift,” Eddie said with a heavy sigh, knowing the boy wouldn’t shut up about this for a while. “I hardly count that as hanging out. Plus, her mum doesn’t want her skating back alone with all the…murdering going around.”

“Who cares about murders when your own friends stab you in the back,” Dustin muttered with narrowing eyes glancing between the three of you.

“Listen, you’re here now, can’t you just…get over it?” Max grumbled, making her way towards the counter where she pushed a handful of tapes to the side before jumping up to take a seat. She pointedly ignored the glare Eddie was sending her way. “I’d rather hear you talk about conspiracy theories for another hour.” 

“Conspiracy theories?” Eddie questioned. 

“Dustin here thinks he knows who the killer is,” Max snorted. 

Eddie narrowed his eyes, glancing between you and Max. “Neither of you sound as worried about a killer on the loose as you should be.” 

You didn’t bother with a reply but Max shrugged as she replied.

“She’s rubbing off on me.” 

“Are you kidding me? This is freaking awesome!” Dustin exclaimed, catching all three of you off guard as the boy began to pace around the store, arms moving around animatedly as he spoke. “We are living in a real life horror movie! The mysterious killer, local victims, town paranoia—” 

“Let me guess,” you interrupted with a raised brow. “Are you deeming yourself the protagonist?” 

“Me? Pfft, no, I’m the movie expert,” Dustin said with an oddly proud look on his face. “The protagonist is the final girl.”

Max frowned. “Final girl?” 

“Yeah,” Dustin stared at the group like it was obvious. “The girl that is always left at the end of the horror movie. The one who survived after facing off with the killer when their identity is revealed and is the one to tell the story.” 

Eddie snorted. “You, Henderson, have quite the imagination.” 

“He’s not wrong,” you stated as three pairs of eyes focused on you, all equally shocked. “It’s a common trope in the horror genre.” 

“HA!” Dustin grinned. 

“Just because you know a bunch about horror movies doesn’t mean you know who the killer is,” Max pointed out, legs swinging back and forth. “It could be anyone. Hell, it could be someone from out of town.” 

Dustin shook his head. “Unlikely, each victim seems like a personal choice. And they are linked, it can’t be random at all.”

“Oh, now he’s a professional,” Max muttered, rolling her eyes.

“So who’s your guess, detective?” Eddie asked, entertaining the boy’s delusions. 

Dustin brightened. “Well—“ 

“HENDERSON! THERE YOU ARE!” 

The bell above the door rang through the store, accompanied by the sound of quick footsteps as Steve made his way to the group, still clad in the Family Video vest—most likely having just come from his own shift at the shop down the road. 

“Way to ruin my dramatic moment, Steve,” the younger boy muttered but didn’t look shocked at his arrival. 

“Yeah, yeah, you can cry about it in the car,” Steve murmured with a sigh as he slapped the boy on the back. “Get your stuff, your mum wanted you home by six.” 

“It’s only five thirty!” 

“Yeah, and I have other shit to do other than drive you about.” 

Dustin turned to you. “Tell him to give me five more minutes.” 

You raised your brows. “And why would he listen to me?” 

“Because he’s obsessed—“ But Steve’s hand was slapped over his mouth before he could finish his sentence. 

“Car. Now.” Steve stated simply, avoiding your gaze as a light blush appeared on his cheeks. 

Dustin let out a heavy sigh before grabbing his backpack that he had dumped on the floor at some point during his rant before he waved the group goodbye. “This isn’t over. I am gonna prove I know what I’m talking about.” 

“Whatever you say,” Max called out, sarcasm dripping from her words. 

“I’ll, uh, catch you later, yeah?” Steve said as he followed Dustin to the door, though his eyes lingered on you. Maybe waiting for an answer, maybe hoping you’d say yes. 

“See ya later, Harrington!” Eddie waved him off with a shit-eating grin, waiting until both boys were gone before he turned to you. “When are you gonna put him out of his misery?” 

You frowned. “What misery?” 

“Steve has the biggest crush on you,” Max stated matter-of-factly. “Everybody knows.” 

“I didn’t know,” you retorted. 

“Yeah, because you’re just as stupid,” Max snapped back and your lips twitched a little at her words. 

“You sound just as delusional as Dustin,” you muttered before your eyes focused back on the book on your lap, the one you had been trying to read since you arrived at the store but had only managed two chapters of. 

“Say what you wanna say, but when he comes standing outside your house with a boombox and starts confessing his love to you, we will be taking full bragging rights,” Eddie said, a grin matching the redhead’s on his face as you simply rolled your eyes. 

“Like I said, delusional.” 

…

You were alone in your house on a Tuesday night when you received the first phone call. 

Unassuming and unaware, you had spent most of the day out of your house doing simple errands and runs that you had been putting off. You got back home around five and had been loitering around, enjoying the peace that came with an empty home with both parents out of town for the week. 

Dinner had been uneventful and the shower you had taken afterwards had been uninterrupted. The phone didn’t ring until around half an hour later, when your hair was still soaking the pyjama shirt you had slipped on and your mirror was still steamy from the hot water. 

“Hello?” 

“What’s your favourite scary movie?” 

You paused for a moment, listening to the voice on the other side of the phone. It didn’t take long for you to piece things together, the articles and radio warnings that had been blasted around town for the last few weeks giving you a clear idea who was on the other side of the phone. 

After all, the mysterious number on the phone bill was the one common factor linking the murders together.  

“Do you give all your victims the same icebreaker or am I just special?” you asked the killer on the other side of the phone, hand firmly gripping the handset like you were scared to miss his response. 

“Who said you were my victim?” 

You paused for a moment. “Is that statement meant to bring me a false sense of security?”

“Do you want me to make you feel safe, sweetheart?” 

“Not sure that’s a part of your job description,” you deadpanned, hearing the killer on the other side of the phone let out a huff of amusement. “I thought the point of these phone calls was to heighten your prey’s paranoia.” 

“Telling me how to do my job now, are you?”

“Just curious how you play the game,” you admitted, the prickling sensation in the back of your neck a telltale sign that you felt like you were being watched. But you found that you didn’t mind it all that much—for now, at least. “Tell me when I should start begging for my life.” 

“I would never wanna hear you beg for your life, sweetheart. I would never hurt you.” 

“Are you sure you’re the killer?” you asked bluntly, wondering if this was just some prank call of someone impersonating the Hawkins’ killer in hopes of getting a few laughs from their friends. “You don’t sound very scary to me.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to scare you.” 

“Then what do you want?” 

“Maybe I just wanna talk, sweetheart.” 

“How wholesome,” you muttered, swinging your legs over the end of your bed and letting your feet touch the cold, wood floor as you stood up from your bed and started making your way downstairs. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Why do you want to know?” 

“Just wanna know why you left your room.” 

You froze for a moment, half way down the stairs and your eyes instantly fell on your front door where you could see the lock was still secure in place. “How do you know I just left my room?” 

“I like to see the people I talk to.” 

“Not social enough for face to face conversations?”

“It’s more fun when they can’t see you.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

The irony wasn’t lost on you about how stupid you were currently being. You had watched a plethora of horror movies from a young age, a lot of them had been watched multiple times and you knew the trope of the dumb girl very well. The one who would keep talking on the phone, who would never go for the weapon that could save her life, that would fall when being chased. 

You knew the longer you stayed on the phone to the killer, the higher the chance that you could very well become that same character in Dustin’s little horror movie fantasy. That your body would be the next one found, another victim that would lead up to whatever finale this killer had. 

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to hang up the phone. 

The killer was intriguing, not at all what you expected them to be like and—though it would kill you to admit it—Eddie was right, you did have a morbid curiosity for these kinds of things. 

You entertained the conversation, picking apart the things they said and the phrases they used. They were careful, they never gave anything away that could even hint to you who they were but there was a knack at the back of your head that told you you knew this person—which was incredibly stupid knowing you couldn’t see anybody out your windows and their voice was disguised. 

“Looking for me, sweetheart?” 

“Maybe I’m just trying to help you break that social barrier you’ve built. I heard eye contact improves conversation flow.” 

“Never thought you’d be the kinda girl to help someone out.” 

Your lips twitched a little. “And I never thought you’d want to sit about for an hour talking about nonsense from a random bush across the street.” 

“Guess we surprised each other, huh, doll?”

You raised your brows. “Bored of sweetheart already?” 

“Just testing the waters.”

You weren’t sure at what point the line went dead. You couldn’t really remember if you were the one to hang up, or if maybe it was them. The memories of the night before were fuzzier than you would have liked them to be, but certain things were vivid and clear in your head. 

One of them was the fact that you knew each door and window had been locked. You knew that there wasn’t a single point of entrance in the house from outside. And yet, laying on your bedroom desk, you found a series of polaroids. 

One of you in your room, laying on your bed with a book in hand. One of you in the kitchen, hovering by the stove as you cooked. One of you in the bathroom, the silhouette of your body just noticeable in the steamy mirror.

And a note scrawled on the back of the last one: 

Thank you for the conversation, sweetheart. Until next time.

The mastermind behind the Hawkins’ murders wasn’t what you expected them to be like. But they had caught your attention now, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted to know more. 

…

“Five!”

“Yes, Henderson, we heard you the first time.” 

“Five murders!”

“And we heard the radio announce it too.” 

“He has killed five people!” 

“How do you know it’s a he?” 

This conversation had been going on for the better part of the last hour. Just that morning, the police department announced another victim in the Hawkins’ murders—one of the wannabe journalists in the school newspaper that often bothered Nancy with his deadbeat stories and flakey behaviour. 

He was found just by Lovers Lake, his camera smashed to pieces beside him and his torso torn open by multiple stab wounds, more than any other victim. And of course, Dustin hadn’t shut up about it since it had been announced. 

“It’s a feeling, ya know?” Dustin said with a pondering look on his face. “Like a gut feeling.” 

Max raised her brows. “Sure that’s not just acid reflux?”

“Shut up,” Dustin huffed out, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s escalating, he’s killed two people in the space of ten days. He’s getting more frequent.” 

“Ambitious,” you commented. 

Dustin gaped. “No, not ambitious! Dangerous!” 

“He’s gone off his victim profile though,” Eddie noted as he took a large bite out of the pretzel he was eating. “I thought he was just going for jocks and shit. But a journalist and a band geek? Rogue choices.” 

“Or they are connected in a way we don’t realise,” Dustin countered. 

“Or this is all bullshit and he’s nothing more than a murderous maniac who’s just killing anyone he can get his hands on,” Max stated bluntly, shooting her curly-haired friend a look. “Stop reading into it so much. He’s probably just going for younger victims because teenagers are dumb and would probably follow a strange man into the woods if he offered them beer.” 

“Is that what you’d do, Red?” Eddie joked as he nudged her shoulder. 

“Yeah, and Henderson would be my first victim,” Max continued, biting back the smile that was growing on her face. 

“Not funny, guys, not funny,” Dustin grumbled with a crease between his eyebrows. 

“It’s a little funny,” Eddie grinned, playfully patting the boy on the back. 

“Am I the only one taking this seriously?” Dustin exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “There’s a murderer on the loose!” 

“Really? You didn’t mention,” Max deadpanned. 

“Look, kid, let the professionals solve the case, okay?” Eddie’s voice turned a little more serious as he placed a hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “I don’t want you getting mixed up in this and end up getting hurt.” 

Dustin’s shoulders sagged. “I just feel like—“ 

“I know, I get it, you wanna work it out,” Eddie said, his features softening. “But it’s not up to you to solve.” 

“But if you help—“ 

“I’ll help you,” you spoke up and the room quickly fell silent. 

“Uh,” Eddie cleared his throat. “Are you doing alright?” 

“Yes. Why?” 

Eddie frowned. “Because you just willingly offered help to someone? To Dustin of all people?” 

“If it’s any consolation, it’s for personal gain,” you stated as the three of them continued to stare at her. 

Dustin’s eyes narrowed. “What are you gaining?” 

“Answers.”

“That’s…that’s insanely cryptic,” Eddie murmured, his frown deepening as he flashed you a concerned glance. 

Not that you owed any of them answers, but you hadn’t told them about the phone calls from the killer. You didn’t tell them about the phone calls or the photographs or the promises the killer made to not harm you. And you certainly didn’t tell them the phone calls had become an almost daily occurrence. 

You didn’t tell them because you knew they would worry. Dustin would hound you with questions, Max would question your sanity and Eddie would be throwing you into the back of his van before beeling towards the sheriff’s department. All valid reactions in the grand scheme of things but would be nothing but a nuisance to you. 

You were playing a game with this psycho killer and you couldn’t deny that you wanted to know how it ended.

“Well…beggars can’t be choosers!” Dustin smiled at you and you had the odd feeling that this boy saw this as a branch of friendship. 

As it turns out, the boy was more obsessed with the case though you had to give him credit for his passion. He had all but set up a murder board for the killings, complete with pictures of the victims, string linking in pieces of information pinned to the board and a map of Hawkins where each murder had taken place. He had even gone as far as getting transcripts of each phone call the victim received (something about his genius girlfriend being able to retrieve the information). 

And that was where your interest piqued the most, unable to deny the way your eyes read over the transcripts multiple times as you analysed the phone calls. 

Noting how different they were to your own phone calls with the killer. 

“I think the answers are in the phone calls,” Dustin confessed to you as you both stood in front of the board. His hands were on his hips and he stared at the board with such intensity like the answer would appear before him at any moment. 

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I mean, they are a part of his game, no? They gotta be the answer to why he is doing everything.”

Yet, the idea of you just being another pawn in the killer’s game settled bitterly in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t like that. You didn’t like it at all.

…

“You stalking me, sweetheart?” 

“Thought I would return the favour.” 

“I’m flattered, baby.” 

… 

“They have to be connected,” Dustin sighed heavily, staring at the pictures of the victims he had pinned on the board. 

“They are connected,” you said, sitting back on the couch with your feet planted up on the coffee table and an array of sheets of papers sprawled around you. They were a mix of missing persons flyers, police reports and articles that had been written since the very first murder on 4th July.

Dustin frowned. “They are?” 

“They are all from the same year in school,” you pointed out, using the pen in your hand to point at the first victim. “Jamie Anderson, complete narcissist with an ego the size of Indiana.” 

“Kinda comes with the jersey,” he muttered under his breath. 

You pointed to the second photo. “Samantha Ricks—spent more time swiping daddy’s card and picking on people who wouldn’t talk back.” 

“So they were every basic teen targets in a horror movie,” he pointed out with a blank face. “This isn’t really shedding light on why they were chosen.”

“Third victim: Charlie Hughes,” you continued, pointedly ignoring the boy’s pessimistic comments though they did gain a few points of respect from you. “I shared a chemistry class with him in senior year. He always held a grudge after I sabotaged his experiment.” 

Dustin raised his brows. “Decent guy?” 

“No, an absolute moron,” you stated bluntly before you pointed at the fourth victim. “Kennedy Jenson. A bitter mind in a pretty body, it’s sad to see her go.” 

“Were you friends with her?” 

You shot the boy a blank look.

“Okay, not friends, but…acquaintances?” 

“She wasn’t all that remarkable though she was quite the ass kisser,” you pondered for a moment before you pointed at the final victim. “Katie Adams: extraordinarily self-absorbed and a copycat. I can respect many crimes but lack of originality is not one of them.”

“I’ll remember that,” Dustin murmured, a wary glance sent your way before he looked back at the victims. “So what? That’s our connection? They went to school together and were all unremarkable?”

“It’s too coincidental to be random,” you commented. 

“You think he has chosen them on purpose?” 

“Yes, but his purpose is the thing I can’t quite work out.”

…

“Do you have a reason you picked your victims?”

“Interested in my job, sweetheart?” 

“Curious, really.” 

“They all deserved it, I can promise you that.”

“And why did they deserve it?” 

“Because they couldn’t appreciate perfection, sweetheart, and I can’t let that shit slide.”

…

“Maybe he has a motivator.” 

You raised your brow. “A what?” 

“A motivator,” Dustin repeated as though you’d suddenly understand him a second time round. But when your face remained blank, he let out a sigh and continued. “Like, maybe he is doing this all for someone.” 

You pondered the thought for a moment. “You think he is just some lackey?” 

“Maybe,” Dustin shrugged his shoulders. “Or maybe he is doing it for attention. Maybe he is doing this for someone so they can see it, so they can see his work. Like, a gift or something.” 

“Interesting,” you murmured, keeping your face neutral as the boy continued to ramble.

“I mean, if that is the case, he would probably want to gloat to his motivator,” Dustin commented as his eyes flickered over the papers in front of him, fingers fiddling with the ball of string in his hand. “Or at least reach out to them so they know he exists.” 

“Like a stalker?” 

“Or, in a twisted way, an admirer.” 

…

“Do you always watch me when you call?”

“I told you, I like to see who I am talking to.” 

“Is there a point of watching me if you’re not going to kill me?”

“Maybe I just like watching you, sweetheart. Is that so hard to believe?”

“It’s a bit creepy.”

“Says the girl talking to Hawkins’ most wanted.” 

“That still makes you the creepier one.” 

“Because I’m talking to Hawkins’ biggest loner?” 

“That was almost funny.” 

“Maybe next time you’ll let me hear your laugh. But the smile you are trying to hide will do for now.”

… 

“Delivery for—holy shit, it looks like a fucking murder scene in here.”

“Pass the pizza, Munson.” 

“Kid’s got claws,” Eddie muttered as he passed the pizza boxes he collected into the boy’s awaiting hands before manoeuvring over the mess that had been sprawled over the living room floor to take a seat next to you. “What’s going on here?” 

“Dustin thinks he is on the edge of a discovery,” you informed him. 

“I am!” Dustin exclaimed. “I think you were right about the school year being connected.” 

“Geez, wonder who saw that one coming,” you deadpanned.

“So I grabbed a copy of the yearbook and started making my way through it, seeing who matches the possible description the police have for the killer and—”

You started to drown the boy’s ramblings out, attention focused on the yearbook you had snatched from his hand as you began to flick through it. Dustin had crossed off people with a large, red ‘X’ on who he thought didn’t fit the killer image, along with question marks surrounding potential suspects. 

But as you flicked through the yearbook—something you hadn’t even owned yourself, simply rolling your eyes when one of the committee members tried to hand you a copy on the last day of school—you found yourself taking in the pictures that were dotted throughout the book. Pictures that were taken throughout the four years of high school, of different friend groups and clubs and squads. 

Pictures of the unsuspecting victims who didn’t know they would be dead less than two years later. 

“You really think you’ll be able to find them in that book?” 

“I’ll know a murderer when I see them, Eddie.” 

Your eyes aimlessly travelled over each photo as you flicked through the pages before you paused. It was a double page feature on some of the sports clubs in Hawkins High School. There were pictures of different teams and meets and games and matches. There were pictures of the groups mingling and mixing. But the one that caught your eye was one of a jock and cheerleader, smiling and grinning at the camera like their future was full and bright ahead of them. 

Jaime and Samantha—the first two victims.

But it wasn’t the happy faces or the arms thrown over each other’s shoulders that caught your eye, not when you knew long ago they had been friends in high school. No, the thing that caught your attention was the figure standing in the background, hidden in the shadows almost out of sight. 

The figure was glaring at the couple, a glare full of hatred and pure spite. It was a look that went beyond typical teenage jealousy or testosterone rage. This was something deeper, something more primal. This look was wild and cardinal and animalistic. 

This look was the look of a killer. 

“It could be anybody in that year, Henderson,” Eddie said with a sigh. “It could be someone you would never suspect, it could be someone you’ve already crossed off.” 

“Have faith, Eddie, the people I have crossed off are people who I definitely know could never be the killer,” Dustin assured the older man. 

And the person behind the look was none other than Steve Harrington. 

“Yeah, Edward,” you spoke up, unable to tear your eyes away from the photo. “None of these people could be killers. Never in a million years.” 

…

You didn’t tell Dustin or Eddie your revelation. 

You didn’t tell anybody and, to be completely honest, you had no reason to keep his secret. You didn’t have any evidence against the boy to actually take to the police, but you were sure with a little digging you probably would have been able to find what you needed—the confirmation any sane person would need to make sure they were 100% sure. 

But you weren’t sane and you didn’t need evidence—you knew. 

You knew the killer was Steve. You knew the voice behind the phone calls was Steve. You knew without a fucking shadow of a doubt that it was Steve fucking Harrington.

But the truth was that you liked that you were the only one that knew. Something quite like pride prickled inside you in knowing that the whole town was going crazy but you knew the man beneath the mask—and you liked that he had no idea either. 

There was a dark sense of satisfaction in knowing that Steve Harrington had this whole other side to him. The boy next door, the heartthrob and the fucking king of high school—but you knew another side of him, the real side of him. 

It was a heavy secret but the weight laid comfortably on your shoulders as the hours passed, Dustin and Eddie throwing theories around that you knew were nothing more than trash until you eventually packed up for the night and left. 

You knew the second Eddie dropped you off and you stepped into your house that he was watching you, just like every other night. And something sick and twisted in you hummed in delight as you went about your routine, as you made dinner and walked around your house with those eyes glued to you. 

And you waited and bided your time until the phone rang just like it always did, just like you knew it would because Steve himself was a sucker for routine and this was his favourite one. 

“Let’s play a game.” 

You raised your brows, the greeting a small change from his usual ones and yet the change was welcomed as you felt a thrill wrack through your body. 

“What kind of game?” 

“Hide and seek.” 

“I thought your brain was a little more developed than that,” you said, wondering just which window he was watching you from. “Or you were at least a bit more imaginative.” 

“There’s a catch.” 

“Of course there is,” you hummed and leaned your head back against the wall, closing your eyes as his gaze washed over you like a welcoming wave.

“Aren’t you going to ask what it is?” 

“Why should I when I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” 

“You never fail to make me smile, sweetheart.” 

“It’s my life’s mission,” you deadpanned before biting what he was baiting. “What’s the catch?” 

“If you can hide from me, I’ll tell you a secret.” 

“And if you find me?” 

“Then you tell me a secret. Do we have a deal?” 

You paused for a moment, the weight of his offer laying on you as you contemplated the game. A million different ways this game could go, and for all you know, maybe this was the night he decided he wanted to kill you. Maybe you were no longer a motivator to him or he knew that you were aware of his secret. 

Or maybe Steve was just sick and tired watching you from the window and now he wanted the real thing. 

“How long is my headstart?” You asked, only to hear his laugh crackling on the other end of the phone. 

“Oh sweetheart, I’m already in your house.” 

The line had barely been cut off before your feet were moving, your head pounding with a million different thoughts as you wondered just where in the house he currently was—if he was anywhere close to you now. 

You knew it was planned. Steve was probably aware your parents were out of town again. And he knew you were home alone. Hell, Steve knew everything about you because despite what he said, he was a little stalker to you. 

A little stalker who had five murders under his belt and was now currently chasing you through your own house. 

If you were sane, that thought would terrify you. If you were sane, you would be dialling nine-one-one and screaming everything you could to the dispatcher before your life ended. If you were sane, you wouldn’t be running through your house, high on the thrill of a serial killer chasing you. 

But you weren’t sane, not in the slightest. 

Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest, your body buzzing with an adrenaline rush you had never felt before and, in some crazy way, you had never felt more alive as you did right now. With floorboards around your house creaking and doors slamming, this was the biggest high you could ever imagine.

The only advantage you had was that this was your house, and yet even that fell short when you knew Steve knew this house as well as you did. He had spent days watching you in this house. He had spent nights sneaking in to leave you gifts. He probably knew this house like the back of his hand. 

Another fact that should have terrified you but once again, you weren’t sane. 

The irony wasn’t lost on you that he managed to find you just as you made it to your bedroom, his hand grasping your arm before you could escape and your body pressed against the edge of the vanity table. Your chest was heaving with light pants but it was nothing to do with the chase and everything to do with the boy in front of you. 

He was towering over you, the mask covering his face and the black robe hiding his body, but the lack of distance between your bodies let you feel his broad shoulders and built torso well enough. 

Your eyes took in the sight, taking in the small details of the mask and the ghost figurine it depicted. Maybe to others it would be a terrifying sight, not even his eyes visible through the fabric but you could only let your curiosity grow. 

He raised a gloved hand, the fabric rubbing against your skin as he ran a finger down the side of your face before tilting his head to the side, and you knew exactly what he wanted. 

“A deal is a deal, right?” you said through soft pants, the blood rushing through your ears almost distracting if it weren’t for the fact the boy in front of you had your full attention. “I guess you want my secret now.” 

He nodded slowly. 

Your eyes never left his masked face as you spoke. “My secret is that I know it’s you under the mask, Steve.” 

The silence settled between you, neither one of you looking away or even reacting, and for a small moment you wondered if the reveal shocked him that much. You wondered if he was trying to work out how you knew, or how to keep you silent. You wondered if you had rendered him speechless. 

Then, he slowly raised his hand that had previously been tracing your jaw and pulled at the back of his mask, the fabric bunching up in his fist as he pulled the mask over his face. And what you weren’t expecting to see was his grinning face staring right back at you. 

“I knew my girl would figure it out,” he spoke, voice low and huskier than the times you had heard him speak before. “You were always the smartest one in the room, sweetheart.”

And his amusement only seemed to grow tenfold when he noticed the shifted look of confusion grow on your face. 

“Aw, baby, I’m sorry, did I ruin your surprise?” he murmured, his hands dropping to your waist as the weight of his body trapped you against the vanity. “I didn’t mean to, sweetheart. Just couldn't help myself, gets me all excited when you get that look on your face.” 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to reply. Not quite yet, not when you hadn’t stopped staring at his face and the way his eyes shone with an emotion you couldn’t quite read yet. Not when Steve Harrington had just revealed himself as the Hawkins’ murderer before you and all you could think about was the way his smile made your insides twist in a way you had never really experienced before. 

“Why?” 

Steve’s eyebrows shot up, almost as surprised as you were by the single word that left your lips. “Why?” 

You nodded and repeated, “Why?” 

“Why, sweetheart?” Steve repeated, almost mockingly as he let out a laugh—a twisted, bitter laugh and it wasn’t directed at you. No, you knew it wasn’t when the lightness in his eyes disappeared, replaced with the same dark look you saw on his face in the yearbook photo. “I did this for you, baby. All for you.” 

A crease formed between your brows and the boy softly cooed as he ran his gloved thumb over your skin. 

“You didn’t hear them, baby, you don’t get it,” the boy murmured in a soft voice despite the acidic tone lacing his words. “I…I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t just hear them talk…fucking nonsense. Not about you. Not when you’re so…” 

His eyes fell back to meet yours and they instantly softened as he pulled his gloves off, his fingers hesitantly reaching to trace your cheek. “Not when you’re so perfect. My sweetheart, so fucking perfect for this world.” 

“Perfect?” you repeated, almost offended by the word.

But Steve only flashed you a goofy grin. “You don’t get it, baby. You don’t see what I see.” 

You barely choked out a gasp as his hands spun you around, the warmth of his chest pressed closely against your back as you found yourself staring at your own complexion in the vanity mirror. Your eyes shifted to Steve as he stood behind you, towering over you, only to find his attention was already on you.

“Everything about you…it’s fucking perfect,” he murmured, eyes darkening as he tucked his body further against yours, his head dropping so his lips were brushing against your ear. “They called you names. They called you a freak…a loner…a fucking psycho, but they don’t get it. They never could understand utter fucking perfection.” 

“That’s noble of you,” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed when you felt his warm breath fan across your skin as he chuckled.

“They needed to know, sweetheart,” he whispered to you, the hands that had dropped to your waist tightening their grip. “They needed to know who the real psycho was.” 

“So you killed them?” 

“I gave them what they deserved,” Steve gritted out through clenched teeth. “The bastards had it coming.” 

“You know, you’ve just given me a full confession,” you told him, watching the way his eyes fell shut as he lightly nudged your ear with his nose, the hint of a smile on his lips. “I could run along to the police and there’s nothing you could do to stop me.” There was a small pause. “Nothing except kill me.” 

His grip tightened and his head fell to your shoulder. “How many times do I have to tell you that I would never hurt you, sweetheart?” 

“You don’t seem scared about the threat to throw you in prison,” you noted, fighting to keep your eyes on him and not the way his hands were sliding up and down your sides, the action almost comforting.

He huffed out a laugh against your shoulder. “You wouldn’t give me in to the police.” 

“You sound so sure about that.” 

“If you wanted to, you would’ve done it already,” he stated simply as he lifted his head enough for your eyes to catch his, noting the way his lips twitched upwards in a smirk that was all too smug for your liking. “But we both know why you haven’t told them shit.” 

You cocked an eyebrow at the boy. “Oh?”

“The same reason you haven’t told Dustin or Eddie or anyone about my secret,” Steve continued, his voice was soft and calming like he had no care or worries in the world. “You like it, sweetheart. You like it just as much as I do.”

“Presumptuous,” you snided. 

“Is it?” Steve tilted his head, eyes watching your expression closely as his hands slid past the black skirt you had been wearing, his hands a heavy warmth on your tight-clad thighs. “I know you, sweetheart. I know you liked knowing my little secret. I know you liked everything I did…reading those reports…imagining what it felt like when I stabbed those assholes again and again and again…” 

His words trailed off, his words like a soft lullaby as you fought to keep your eyes open. 

“You like that I killed people for you, baby. It fucking excites you to think about the way they bled and begged for their lives,” he whispered in your ear. “Because you’re sick and fucking twisted…just like me, just like those movies you always rent out. And I fucking love it, baby. I know you do too.” 

“Because I’m morbid?” you murmured, breath caught in your throat when you felt his hands squeezing your thighs and his nails digging into the fabric of your tights.

“Because you’re perfect, sweetheart,” he said in such a final tone, his chest pressed against your back to the point you swore you could feel his racing heart. But it was hard to tell over the sound of your own pounding heart and his hands ripping through your tights. 

“Steve,” you breathed his name out, unsure what you wanted to say but the boy just grinned at you.

“The way you say my name sounds like fucking heaven,” he murmured as his palms were pressed against your inner thighs, slowly moving upwards. “You gonna let me return the favour, sweetheart?”

Your chest was heaving with soft pants, his darkened gaze hard to look away from.

“I just wanna make you feel good, sweetheart, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. All of this is for you, I just wanna please you,” he murmured, analysing every inch of your face as he waited, as he bided his time. 

The small nod of your head was a soft, almost invisible action but Steve didn’t miss it. He never missed anything when it came to you.

“Thank you, baby, gonna make you feel like the queen of the fucking world,” he murmured in between the soft kisses he placed along your shoulder, his hands moving to the apex of your thighs as he cupped your clothed cunt and let out a soft chuckle. “I fucking knew it.” 

Your body slumped back against Steve. 

“I knew this fucking excited you,” Steve grinned boyishly, his fingers running along the wet fabric as he basked in the way you sighed in pleasure. “My perfect girl.”

“Do something,” you breathed out, your fingers wrapping around his wrist as you urged them to move, to keep touching you.

“Anything you want,” Steve murmured against your neck, sliding his hand past the waistband of your panties as his fingers ran along your slit. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re so wet f’me.” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to care about your ripped tights or the panties tucked to the side, not when you had the perfect view of Steve holding you against his chest as he circled your clit. It was soft, slow circles at first like he was testing the waters. But one moan from you and the boy was insatiable. He wanted to hear more, he wanted to be the cause of those moans. 

He wanted to be the only one that could make you feel that good. 

His eyes were locked on your face as he slid a finger inside you, whispered curses muttered under his breath as he felt your walls clench around him. Because you felt perfect, you were fucking perfect and you were all his. Just as he was all yours. You belonged to each other and nobody else and Steve would make sure of that. 

“Do you like this?” he murmured, unable to stop the way his chest heaved with heavy breaths as he watched you squirm around his fingers as they slowly pumped in and out of you. The same hands that murdered five people, that killed just for you. “Do I make you feel good, baby?” 

“Yes,” you breathed out, soft moans leaving your lips and despite the fact he was the one holding you against his body, fucking you with his fingers and whispering in your ear, you knew that you were in control. You knew that if you told him to stop then he would stop. If you told him to go faster then he would go faster. 

And fuck, if that didn’t make the coil in your stomach tighten more than his thumb circling your clit. 

“Just like that, Steve,” you moaned, eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder, as you let him nuzzle his face against your neck. “Don’t stop.”

“Never, sweetheart,” he murmured as he pressed kisses along your heated skin. “Wanna see you come all over me.” 

Your nails dug into his forearm but Steve relished in the pain as he held your body tighter, as he watched your face scrunch up in pleasure through the mirror. He couldn’t even bring himself to blink as your lips parted, his name leaving your lips in a breathless moan as he felt your walls clench around his fingers. 

And he didn’t stop. 

Not until you let out a small whine, muttering his name as you tried to pull his hands away from between your legs—your shaking legs, Steve noted. 

But he never stopped touching you and kissing you. His hands running up and down your sides, his lips pressing soft kisses onto any inch of skin he could. Steve had spent so many nights watching you from a distance, he needed to make up for lost time now that he had you in his arms.

“I knew you would understand,” he murmured, his nose pressed against your pulse point as he listened to your thundering heart. “I knew you were perfect for me.” 

“Yeah, I can feel just how happy you are,” you commented, feeling his hard bulge press against your lower back and yet, it was almost endearing the way his puppy dog eyes found yours in the mirror. 

This was the boy who had brutally murdered five teenagers, who knew you’d look at the reports and revel in his work. This was the boy who teased and taunted and played with his prey like a true, bloodthirsty killer. This was the boy who watched and waited and bided his time with you until he knew you knew. 

And, now looking at the mirror, this was the same boy who was begging to make you feel good despite his raging hard-on pressing against the confinements on whatever he was wearing beneath the black robe he currently wore. This was the same boy who looked at you like you hung the moon, who would probably kill for you if you asked him. 

This boy was Steve Harrington and you, without a fucking shadow of a doubt, owned him. 

“Take your clothes off,” you told him, borderline ordered him as you kept your eyes on his lust-blown gaze. 

He blinked. “Huh?” 

“Take off your clothes, Steve,” you repeated, voice remaining steady despite the orgasm that had rocked your body minutes ago. “Or have you changed your mind?” 

“I—no!” He said quickly as he shook his head, taking a step back so he had enough space to pull the robe over his head, leaving him in black jeans and a tight-fitting white shirt. You were almost disappointed it was clean, that it wasn’t covered in the blood of the victims he had brutally stabbed. 

You watched as he pulled the shirt over his head, eyes darting over his broad shoulders and toned chest, lingering for a few seconds before his hands moved down to his belt buckle. You didn’t say a word as he continued to strip down, his clothes abandoned on your bedroom floor until he was left in his boxers. 

And Steve stood there, clad in his underwear, watching as you stepped away from the vanity table. He watched as you reached for your shirt, pulling it over your head and he watched as you unzipped the little black skirt you were wearing. He watched as you ditched the ripped tights and ruined panties, watched as you unclipped your bra before you settled yourself on your bed. 

“You look…” he trailed off, hooded eyes taking in every inch of you now that he had you up close. He would never get enough of you. “Fuck.”

“That’s reassuring,” you said, the hint of a smirk on your lips as Steve slowly walked to the edge of the bed, his hands clenched in tight fists at his side and he looked torn. “You okay there, Steve?” 

“Mhmm,” he hummed, a little higher pitched than normal.

“Say it, Steve,” you said to him, leaning back on your elbows as you basked in the boy’s attention. 

“Can I…” Steve cleared his throat, a blush covering his cheeks. “Fuck, can I fuck you? Make you feel good?”

“You wanna make me feel good, Steve?” 

“Please, baby,” his voice slightly whiny as he crawled over your body, kissing from your ankle to your knee. He continued to kiss up your thighs and stomach, up the valley between your tits and just every single fucking inch of you because he needed to. He needed to feel all of you. “Just wanna show my girl how fucking good I can be.” 

“Are you going to be a good boy for me, Steve?”

“So good.” 

Your lips were ghosting his as you pulled him towards you, a soft noise escaping the back of his throat as he tried to lean down to kiss you but you pulled him back as your fingers threaded through his hair with a gentle tug. 

“Then fuck me, Steve. Fuck me like you mean it.”

The boy let out a groan before his lips finally met yours, his body almost sagging in relief like that single point of contact was what he needed. His hands squeezed your sides, his body fitting between your legs as his teeth nipped at your bottom lip until it was red and begging for him to kiss. 

Your fingers tugged his head closer, moans muffled amongst the sound of your lips smacking and his soft whines as he reached down to push his boxers down, kicking them off the rest of the way when they reached his knees. 

He pulled away for a few short seconds, panting heavily as he reached down to stroke himself, letting out a small wince as he teased the head of his cock before sliding it up and down your soaked cunt. 

“Shit,” he hissed as he tapped his tip against your swollen clit, almost grinning at the way your nails digged into his skin in response. “You’re so wet, sweetheart. You look so fucking pretty.” 

“Do you always talk this much?” you commented, a little breathless as you watched him slowly slide the tip of his cock in.

“Can’t help it, baby,” he sighed as he reached for you, one of his hands intertwining with yours and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from the touch. “I can’t control myself when I’m around you.” 

“You should work on that,” you muttered, only to be cut off by your own gasp as he pushed himself inside you completely. “Shit.”

“Fucking made f’me,” Steve groaned, forehead pressed against yours as he felt your walls squeeze around him. “Perfect fit.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in fate,” you spoke, a little choked up when he started to slowly pull out before thrusting back in.

“I believe in a lot of things when it comes to you,” Steve confessed, eyes glued on the sight of his cock disappearing inside you. 

Steve revelled in the way you clung onto him, the way it was his name leaving your lips like a fucking mantra as he thrusted in and out of you. Steve revelled in the way your nails dug into his skin, the way they raked down his back leaving scratches he hoped lasted for days after. Steve revelled in the way your lips met his in a messy, sloppy kiss so unlike you and yet, he fucking thrived in knowing he brought you to this point. 

Steve revelled in knowing that he fucked you up just as much as you fucked with him.

“Shit,” he groaned, head resting on your chest as he tried to catch his breath, but it was impossible. It was always impossible when he was this close to you, when he was still inside you. “Did I make you feel good, sweetheart?” 

You let out a small huff that almost sounded like a laugh, but Steve grinned regardless. 

“Maybe you’re not totally hopeless, Steve,” you murmured softly, and against your better judgement you ran your fingers through his hair, pushing the strands back so you could see his wide eyes looking up at you from where he laid on your chest. 

“Is that just about the sex or everything?” he asked, unable to keep his hands to himself as he gripped your sides.

“The sex,” you said, so blunt and deadpanned and you that Steve couldn’t help but love the way you said it. “Your knife skills were admirable, but clearly the work of an amateur.”

His grin widened. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say that sounded like an offer to learn from someone more well-versed with knives.”

“Maybe I will.” 

“Interested in joining the business, sweetheart?”

And Steve fucking Harrington revelled in the way a smile broke out on your face.

“I can show you how it’s really done, Steve.”

.

[shinestarhwaa]

LADY OF THE NIGHT || PARK SEONGHWA

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Virgin!Seonghwa X Escort!reader

Word Count: 3K

Tags/warnings: Non idol!AU, reader is older, graphic design student!Seonghwa, Dirty language, virginity loss, sub!hwa, dom!reader, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, masturbation, mommy!reader/mommy kink, unprotected sex

Taglist:

@anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @star1117-archives @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @lemonhongjoong

ENJOY!

Seonghwa's fingers trembled as they dialed your phone number. His breath was shaky when he brought his phone to his ear. His heart was beating loudly in his chest, so loud he thought you might hear it through the phone.

"Hi, this is Chanel Jordan from Lady Of The Night escort services, how may I help you?"

Seonghwa felt like his throat was closing up, choking on his words. "H-hi, this is...uhm... Seonghwa, I'm calling to...uhm... make an appointment." His voice came out much more shy than he wanted to. He sighd and mentally slapped himself for coming off as so insecure. The woman on the other side of the line let out a little grinning noise.

"That's definitely possible, young man. Have you looked at our website? You can check out the services and experiences we provide."

She called him young man. Oof. And yes, he surely had checked out the website. He had looked at the profiles of all the workers. There was a nice variety even though the business wasn't a big one. There were 5 women available this Saturday night, and he decided to shoot his shot now.

"Yes, I have, I have seen the site and your...uhm... escorts." "You have seen our ladies? Okay, did you have a preference?"

He looked at his laptop screen once more, seeing the women's profiles. There was a gorgeous 22 year old Japanese woman; Yui, looking like a model. Then a Thai and Korean woman; Zora and Eunbin, both 23. One Afro-American woman of 23; Alexis, which he had considered, but when he saw your profile he had to pick you, the only one older than him. He wanted that. He wanted someone who was older, sexy and experienced.

Your hair was beautiful, shining and your eyes spoke to him when he saw your pictures. He nearly immediately got a hard-on in his pants. Your legs looked long on the picture, the heels on your feet making you look dominant. Seonghwa shifted as he felt himself getting excited.

"Yes I'd like to choose Y/N."

"Very well then, when would you like to book your appointment?"

"U-uhm, Friday or Saturday night?" He stuttered as the looked through his agenda. "Saturday night can be arranged. Are you free at 9?"

Seonghwa looked around his apartment as if someone would come in and say 'Aha! I know what you're doing there' and laugh at him. "Yes 9PM is great, thank you."

"Alright then, I have to register who she's meeting so it's... Park Seonghwa, right? What's your age, dear?"

"I'm 25, ma'am," Seonghwa said, but almost whispered. He could practically feel this woman laughing at him for his awkwardness. "Alright... 25... and the address?"

Seonghwa told the woman his address and floor number as he fidgeted with the bracelet on his wrist. "Noted, thankyou, now do you want a special service? The girlfriend-experience, the extra long appointment..."

He took a look at the special services written on the website. Some of them scared him, but he tried to put on a brave tone. "Virginity, ma'am." "For you or for her? Although, I think I can tell."

Seonghwa felt mortified. Did he sound like a virgin? "Yes, me, ma'am," he confirmed. "Alright, that is not a problem at all. Further questions or things you want to do in your session can be discussed with Y/N. You can contact her via the E-Mail address on the website, or wait for your session."

"Thank you so much, have a good day," Seonghwa said before quickly hanging up the phone. He sighed deeply as he rubbed his temples. Was this a bad idea? He'd have to find out.

-

It was finally Saturday night and Seonghwa had showered twice in a time-span of an hour and touched up his hair about a million times. He had never been this nervous before in his life, and he really wanted to look good for his 'date'.

He sat on the darkgrey couch, legs trembling with anxiety. He stupidly undoes his pants and checks if his genital area looks okay enough. He sighed as he buttoned his pants up again, taking a deep breath. You must've seen worse than this, Seonghwa was very hygienic.

The doorbell suddenly rang, startling him and making him jump up. He took a deep breath before walking into the hall, opening the door. There you were, looking like a modern day Goddess. Your black satin dress hugged your figure, black fuzzy coat making you seem somewhat rich, fancy.

A smile played on your glossy lips as you greeted him. "Hi, Seonghwa is it? I'm Y/N, nice to meet you." "H-Hi," Seonghwa stuttered as his eyes lingered on your exposed collarbones. "Come in."

You stepped into his apartment, taking off your coat and hanging it on the coatrack in the corner. "Do you want a drink or anything, Ma'am?" His stance was cute, hands intertwined behind is back, bouncing on his legs anxiously.

"Some water would be great babyboy, let's sit down and discuss before we get started," you said, walking into his living room. You sat down on his sofa, dragging your hand over the soft cushions. Seonghwa was quick to put some water on the table before sitting down at the other side of the couch.

He fidgeted with his fingers, obviously nervous, making you smirk a little. "So baby, you're a virgin. And you do not wanna lose your virginity to a sweet little girlfriend?" His head shook. "I don't have one and... I am in my senior year, I don't... wanna graduate and still be a virgin, I wanna... I want to have sex and be good at it. I wanna learn."

Your smile softened, feeling for the boy. "Well, it's not something to be ashamed of, but if this is what you want then I am happy to help. So you have no experience?" "I have only kissed before and... touched myself." You couldn't help but smirk at the thought of the shy boy playing with his cock.

"Alright, is there anything you wish to do? Kinks, fetishes, positions?" You said as you drank your water. "Uhm, I just... hope to... get the whole... thing yk, learn how to... do the foreplay stuff and... have sex and yk... make you feel good."

"Sweetheart, it's not about you making me feel good. It's about you feeling good." "Yes but, I also wanna learn... how to please a woman, so I know how to do it next time," he said quietly, sipping on his water. "Hm, okay, you basically want a bit of a sex masterclass," you smirked, "alright sweetie. Tell me about the stuff you're into... What gets you hot and bothered?"

You leaned back into the couch, crossing your legs. Seonghwa's eyes slid from the heel of your shiny black boots all the way to your thighs. "I... I want to hear you moan my name... and I... I want to cum inside you."

"Mhm, you enjoy affirmation and breeding, okay, well that's good to know. I think you're unsure of your likes and dislikes, obviously, so I'll help you figure that out. Do you want to start?"

Seonghwa nodded, standing up and guiding you to his bedroom. It was lit romantically, making you smile softly at his attempt of pretending he didn't hire a hooker to get his dick wet. He's a cutie.

You sat him down on the edge of his bed, standing in front of him. "You got any sexy music on your phone sweetie?" He nodded and put on a sexy playlist, placing his phone on the nightstand before getting back to his original position.

You twirled around, feeling the music as you sexily unzipped your boots, giving the boy a little stripshow. He visibly gulped, his cock hardening in his pants as you slid your dress off, letting it fall onto the floor. You were left in just a black thong as you walked over to him, sitting on his right thigh. You ran your hands over his chest before placing your lips on his, deciding to ease the guy in.

His plush lips were so smooth against yours, it made your body flutter. It had been a while since you had a client this beautiful, especially with such beautiful velvety lips. You kissed for a minute or two before you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He let you take the lead completely as your tongues discover each other.

You broke off the kiss and unbuttoned the buttons of his black blouse, revealing his toned upper body with lightly carved abs, leaving you pleasantly surprised. "You look good baby boy, you work out?" Seonghwa nodded shyly. "Sometimes."

You got off his lap, getting on your knees as you took off his pants and boxer in one go, revealing his semi-hard cock. "Don't overthink it, okay?" You said as he noticed he was really nervous about showing you his naked body.

You figured he didn't want your sexy 'pornstar' type of vibe most guys enjoyed. This boy really cared about your pleasure and your softness. He smiled softly as you peppered kisses down his abs to his pelvis. He felt safer now with you, as you slowly dropped your act.

His cock twitched as your longue lapped on the tip, wet with pre-cum. You licked a stripe from the base of his length all the way back to the tip before taking him into your mouth. Your head bobbed up and down on him, making him moan out and throw his head back.

"Holy fuck, h-holy fuck," he whined out as you took his balls into your hands, working on them too. You stroke the base of his cock slowly as you focussed on his sensitive tip. ''O-oh, mommy,'' he moaned out. You pulled yourself off his cock, letting it go with a pop as you smirked at him. ''Mommy?''

''I-I'm sorry, it just slipped,'' he quickly apologized. ''No, no, no, don't apologize, I'll be mommy tonight baby boy, don't you worry,'' you said, stroking his cock slowly. ''Were you embarrassed to tell mommy what you like?'' you cooed, placing a kiss on the tip of his cock. He nodded, biting his lip as he felt his dick twitch once more for you.

''M-mommy... take me in your mouth again.'' You nodded and lowered your mouth on him, taking his entire length into your hot mouth. You deepthroated him, sucking his cock as if your life depended on it. You were determined to make this an experience he'd never forget.

''Oh my God, so close, I'm so close! I'm gonna fucking cum!'' he moaned out loudly it startled himself. You looked up at him as you worked his cock, admiring his beauty. His chest was flushed red, sweaty, rising up and down rapidly as his breathing picked up. Normally you would've stopped and dragged his orgasm out, but you found it quite cute he felt so good he was cumming just a few minutes in.

His eyes rolled backwards and his brows furrowed slightly. Seconds later, he came hard, spilling his seeds into your mouth as he let out the most beautiful loud, long moan you've ever heard from a man. He panted as you swallowed his load, hissing when you licked his cock a final time.

''Wow,'' Seonghwa breathed out as he ran his delicate hands through his dark soft hair, ''God, you're so amazing.'' You smirked as you got up, sliding off your panties. ''Oh sweetie, I know, it's my job. Now it's also my job to make you a god-sent lover for your future girls, isn't it?''

You laid down, legs spread for him, displaying your wet pussy. ''Come on here, lover boy, I'm gonna show you how to use your pretty mouth,'' you said as you gestured him to come closer. Seonghwa positioned himself in front of your pussy. ''No, no, no, my babyboy, we don't immediately dive down there the first time. We work from the top down, start at my neck,'' you suggested. Seonghwa nodded and moved his lips to the sensitive skin on your neck.

His kisses were gentle and soft and it made you smile. What an innocent boy. ''Come on baby, be a little more... sensual, intense, use your tongue, bite me softly, switch it up.'' Seonghwa's a fast learner, immediately following up your advice. He used his velvety tongue to run from your neck to the valley of your breasts, gently biting your soft skin. ''Don't mark me up baby, cannot go too far.''

Seonghwa took his hands and cupped your tits, squishing them closer and dragging his tongue over your nipples. You moaned at the feeling of his hot, wet muscle crossing over your sensitive nubs. ''Very good... that's a good boy... now kiss down my stomach, lick my pussy,'' you smirked, spreading your legs further apart.

The male moved his face down your body, leaving kisses on your torso, down to your hips and thighs before lapping at your wet pussy, tasting your juices for the first time. It was like he felt enlightenment when he kissed and licked your pussy, receiving soft moans from you as he licked at your sensitive clit. He felt his cock harden again, noticing he got horny from this. This encouraged him, made him more confident as he explored your cunt with his tongue.

''Yes, good boy, lick mommy's pussy, put it in baby, put that tongue in there, fuck me with it,'' you panted out as Seonghwa pushed his tongue into your hole, slurping up your wetness. ''Yeah, fuck, rub my clit too baby, rub my clit as you fuck me with your tongue!''

Your moans got louder the more he stimulated your pussy, feeding his building confidence. He was a natural, following every comment you made, eager to pleasure you. He rutted against the sheets, needing to release himself. Seonghwa felt his cock ache for you as he listened to your melodious moans. You noticed he got sloppier, distracted when you heard his muffled moans.

''Are you touching yourself babyboy? Are you getting off on eating mommy's pussy?'' you smirked. Seonghwa whined and nodded as he licked your clit. ''Yes mommy, fucking love it, love it so much!'' ''Come on, show mommy how hard my pussy makes you, show mommy your beautiful cock.''

Seonghwa got on his knees, showing you his hard pre-cum coated cock. ''Jerk off. Jerk yourself off for me, and moan for me,'' you said smirking as you pinched your own nipple, letting out a high-pitched moan. Seonghwa groaned as he started to fuck his own fist, looking at your sensual body.

''Yeah baby, you like that? Watching my naked body as you touch yourself? Do you wanna cum on my body?'' you smirked. ''Yes, fuck mommy, wanna cum, wanna cum so fucking bad,'' he grunted as he jerked himself off quickly. ''Wanna cum on my pussy, Hwa? Cum on mommy's pussy, come on, give it to me!''

Seonghwa's lewd moans filled the room as he pumped himself through his orgasm, emptying his cock just above your pussy, coating it in his white slick. ''Your sounds are so fucking beautiful angel, you're such a good boy... Wanna put your cock in mommy's pussy now, angel? Wanna fuck mommy's delicious pussy?''

''Please, please let me in your pussy, let me fuck you full with my cum,'' he begged. His beautiful big brown eyes could not be resisted, so you pulled him closer. ''Alright baby, slide it in then, make sure you're comfortable.'' He nodded as he positioned himself between your legs. He took the base of his dick in his hands before slowly sliding it into your cunt.

Seonghwa slowly moved his dick into you, thrusting deep. ''Try to create a rhythm, baby, make it consistent, not sloppy,'' you guided him, placing your hands on his hips. When you noticed he found a steadier rhythm you let go of him, letting him rut into you. His brows furrowed again and you were worried he was already cumming for a second.

But Seonghwa just let out beautiful moans as he thrusted his hips into yours, hitting sensitive spots deep in your wet pussy. He whined as he felt your tight walls clenching around him. You smirked as you played with his nipples as he kept fucking into you. Suddenly he thrusted against your g-spot, seemingly awakening every nerve in your body.

''O-Oh, Seonghwa, that's it baby, fuck me right there, just like that, fuck me, harder, fuck me, fuck me, yeah baby!''

Your sounds were hotter than any moans Seonghwa had ever heard in the porn he's seen, and it brought him closer to the edge. ''Mommy, I'm so close, I'm gonna fucking cum, gonna cum in your pussy, gonna fuck you full of my cum,'' he moaned loudly.

''That's it baby, talk dirty to mommy, fuck me full of your cum sweetie, fill me up, breed me, breed mommy's pussy! F-Fuck you're gonna make mommy cum, make mommy cum with you baby, give it to me!''

With a few more thrusts you felt a wave of pleasure washing over your body. You clenched around Seonghwa's cock as you orgasmed, pushing him over the edge. His thrusts got sloppier as he spilled his seeds inside you, filling you up entirely. He cried out as he emptied his load fully, milking himself dry in your tight cunt.

You panted as he pulled out, laying next to you. You smiled as you placed a kiss on his lips. ''You did amazing babyboy, you're gonna be an incredible lover.'' Seonghwa smiled but was too shy to bring out a word. He was happy with his choice after all. You were worth his first time.

''Do you have to go now?'' Seonghwa asked a few minutes later. ''Why? Do you not want me to?'' ''I know I had you for just an hour and you probably have other clients... But I want you to stay... I wanna... feel good, together, with you, I want more, please stay, give me more of you,'' he begged.

You grinned and nodded, cause how could you resist this sweet boy?

[akutasoda]

Can I request the obey me brothers with a rebellious teenager mc platonic ofc

try me

synopsis - first impressions in the devildom did solely delend on your current rebellious stage

includes - lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, belphegor - all platonic

warnings - gn!teen!reader, fluff, slight crack, slight spoilers for lesson 16, wc - 1.3k

a/n: you don't know how tempted i was to name this 'its not a phase'

lucifer ★↷

↪when you had first arrived in the devildom he had two first impressions: number one was a slight bit of concern that you were quite young and the second being atinge of annoyance on your first signs of defiance. he kind of expected it, he has younger brothers and you can't tell me he didn't have to put up with their rebellious teen stages.

↪he never would say he enjoyed your acts of defiance and just oberall signs of rebellion. but as your time dragged on in devildom he definitely would adapt more of a fatherly roleans becomes slightly more tolerant of your attitude. still would scold you every now and again but it was always notably a lighter scolding.

↪sometimes he swears you're going to be the death of him but still can't help but want to look out for you. he knows it's a phase even though you insist it isn't he will still entertain it to some degree.

mammon ★↷

↪from the moment he saw you in devildom he knew you two would get along. he could tell that you wouldbe willing to help him with whatever crazy idea he had, sure it may of been because you are feeling really rebellious but hey it was something fun. so he was even more excited when you wanted to join him in his antics.

↪and whatever you got up to, it would always end up in a very lengthy lecture from lucifer. but the more time you spent in the devildom, the more mammon felt responsible to look after you. not as if he was forced to but as a genuine feeling of wanting yo help you with whatever. he started seeing you as one of his siblings therefore wanting to become the best older brother you could have.

↪and what better way to spend you're rebellious phase than with your newly appointed older brother who was probably equally as troublesome as you were. always encouraging the others behaviour but still knowing when to reel it back and offer genuine support.

leviathan ★↷

↪leviathan was indifferent to you at first. you seemed pretty cool but you were a so called normie in his eyes and pair that with his slight dislike to your rebellious, outgoing behaviour - it just didn't make him immediately click with you. but that being said you felt differently, you did quite like games yourself and leviathan seemed cool to hang around.

↪after a painfully long time, you had finally managed to get somewhat close to the third brother. mainly after learning you could dial it back and weren't as much as a normie as he thought. although your rebellious attitude was still very prominent, he didn't mind it as much. especially when you would challenge everyone and anyone that talked bad at him. demon or not you're defiance often lead to you either physically or verbally fighting with them.

↪he was very endeared by this and indeed did start classing you as what normies would call 'a best friend'. and felt somewhat as if he had to protect you aswell, seeing as sometimes he would compare your relationship woth him to those of close siblings in a video game or anime he watched.

satan ★↷

↪first impressions weren't in your favour but satan knew especially to never judge a book by it's cover. and he was very glad he didn't. your initial defiance did slightly put him off of attempting to atleast get along with the new exchange student. but then he started realising that you were infact only a teen and this was infact a rebellious stage - he remembers his very clearly but he still thinks he's in one.

↪and after giving you a chance, he very much liked being around you. you seemed to maintain a very good sense of rationality but when it came to being told what to do (by lucifer especially) you always refused and would either not do it or do it your own unique way. he very much enjoyed seeing lucfier become stumped on what to do about your behaviour.

↪but past that he felt he could somewhat relate to your behaviour, temporary or not, and thus saw himself as a close friend of yours. the feeling was mutual. he never thought he would call a human that but after meeting you he just couldn't help it, sometimes he even saw himself as your older brother.

asmodeus ★↷

↪asmodeus's first impression was a bit more negative for his liking. he didn't really like your rebellion and overall defiance in total. but then he started remembering his rebellious phases, slightly embarrassing he may add, and so maybe you weren't that bad. and maybe he would help you in your teenage stages, afterall he wishes someone did with him.

↪so he gave you a chance and turned out to very much enjoy hanging out with you. and of course your rebellion meant you would often sneak out with him. but overall he would always help you with whatever and would never discourage you from doing much. the only thing he never really liked that much was your rebellion causing you to fight any demon that looked at you the wrong way.

↪very much would enjoy gossiping with you and often you two would spend ages gossiping before looking for something to do. asmo did see you as a little sibling, like you were apart of their family and so was very happy with looking out for you in more of a mental and emotional way to help you navigate your rebellious phase.

beelzebub ★↷

↪upon first seeing you at the devildom he felt somewhat confused about how to think about you. it didn't help that you immediately started defying not only lucifer but diavolo himself. but beel understood, he does very much remember his rebellious phase afterall he did get temporarily get banned from a few places and spent many nights being scolded by lucifer.

↪but after spending much time with you, he started feeling as if he was some sort of older brother to you. and eventually you started feeling as if you were apart of their family. so beel felt the need to protect you especially when your rebellions often lead you to picking fights with random demons. he had ready lost a sibling dear to him once, he won't let it happen again.

↪he also would often try and get you out of harsher punishments and lectures after you started bending rules even further. but he personally never would discourage you from doing anything. he knew you were doing it for a reason, natural or something more. but overall would just look out for you.

belphegor ★↷

↪when you had first met him in the devildom and showed signs of your rebellious attitude, he started thinking you would just be annoying and rather inconvenient. so for a while he started ignoring you, everyone just sort of chalked it up to the 'incident' but that wasn't really it. with your attitude you hadn't cared that much after anymore.

↪but part of your rebellious attitude included you interpreting his ignorance as a challenge. a challenge to try and get closer to him. and by some miracle your persistance had broken down that initial wall and he started not minding you as much as he thought he would. maybe part of that was due to his entertainment from watching lucifer get tired of your antics.

↪and in the end he never did mins your antics, he found them rather entertaining and often encouraged you to do some things. he does vaguely remember his rebellious stage and some may say he is still in it, but overall as long as it didn't disturb his sleep he very much didn't mind.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Trade piece for @thepastelspace 💕💕

Ily 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Shiba Chiharu x Afab reader

Fluffy content! Chiharu’s first crush!

Baki Shorts: A Piece of Me

…………………………..

Chiharu’s breath was caught in his throat the moment he laid eyes on her. The yakuza’s cheeks a bright red when her eyes met his.

“Chiharu Shiba, right? My dad is feeling a bit under the weather so I was your mechanic for the last few days.” The young woman gestures to the modifications she’s done to his motorbike. Her skill was even better than her father’s… this was a work of art! “Hope you don’t mind that I did it.”

“You look great...” Chiharu whispered before clearing his throat. “Your craftsmanship is great!”

He was a bit embarrassed to be openly complimenting a woman, but he couldn’t help himself… she was a sight for sore eyes.

“Thank you so much.” She thanked him and held out her hand to him. “The name is (your name).”

Chiharu hesitantly shook her hand, the biker marveling at how much smaller her hands were than his. She was so much smaller than him and yet she was working on cars and bikes. He admired her work ethic.

“I’m Chiharu Shiba.” He introduced himself. It took everything in him not to brag about himself but he really wanted to leave her with a good first impression. Chiharu really wanted to see her again.

(Your name) smiled warmly at him. His red cheeks and starstruck expression were an obvious giveaway of his puppy crush on her. She thought he was cute.

“You can let go of my hand now.” Chiharu quickly pulled away his hand and scratched the back of his head. How embarrassing…

(Your name) giggled at his reaction. He was a pretty funny guy to get so flustered over holding hands like that. She really wanted to tease him some more, but she must remain professional.

“I’ll go get your keys.” She smiled at him. Chiharu had already paid her father upfront so she didn’t have to worry about payment. Chiharu was an honest man and she didn’t feel scared to be around him despite his reputation.

Chiharu marveled at the work done on his bike. It looks like she even spruced it up a bit… Chiharu would definitely book her again. He loved her work.

“Here you go!” Chiharu was handed his keys, the young woman giving him a bright smile. “Thank you so much for booking with us, I love the purple jacket by the way.”

Chiharu watched her as she walked away, his words stuck in his throat. She liked him in purple? He’d be sure to wear it every time he saw her then…

Chiharu shook his head and plopped himself on his bike. The yakuza giving her one last glance.

Damn it… he had a crush. A huge one.

Chiharu started the bike and drove off, (your name) watching him drive off from the garage. What an interesting man he was…

Her eyes glanced over at the desk, a three headed dragon key chain sitting beside the stack of papers. Seems it fell off his keys…

The stars must’ve aligned to give her such an opportunity to call the blonde. She wondered how he’d react when she gave him a call?

Her fingers slowly dialed the number he gave her father. A warm feeling consuming her with each button that was pushed. This was the start of something new and sweet.

Chiharu answered after the first ring, a smile on her lips.

“Hello?”

“Hey you dropped a little key chain off your keys.”

“Keep it. Think of it as a little piece of me…” (your name) could hear Chiharu take in a breath. “May I have a piece of you as well?”

“Oh? And what kind of piece are you wanting?”

“Just your number.” A soft giggle escaped her lips.

“Well of course… a piece of me for that piece of you.”

And just as she thought… this was the start of something sweet… a first love.

[crushculture03]

Tour Baby!

Summary : You find out you’re pregnant while on tour with the band

Pairing : Matty healy x afab!reader

Warnings : Emetophobia , pregnancy, fluff, swearing, anxiety.

You had been on tour with your boyfriend’s band, the 1975, for about 5 months now, it had so far been one of the greatest experiences you’ve ever had.

Lately things haven’t been so great, for the past week you had barely been able to get out of bed, all you could do was sleep, throw up and occasionally eat a few crackers. You thought it was a stomach bug at first, probably something you caught while in the crowd at a show, but when your period didn’t show up like it usually did, you knew it could only mean one thing.

That morning you woke up at 7am, an everyday occurrence for you as that was always the time whatever was inside of you got angry and decided it was time for you to spill your guts. You quickly got out of bed and ran to the bathroom, quickly emptying your guts into the porcelain bowl. You knew you had to do something about this, waking up at 7am to puke your guts out isn’t a normal occurrence. You quickly dialed the number of the only person you knew would be up at this time, “Hey y/n!” Carlys cheery voice spoke through your phone. “Hey um are you free right now?” you whisper, trying not to wake matty, who surprisingly slept through the whole thing, “Yeah, is everything ok?” she asked, concern evident in her voice. “Kind of, I just need your help with something” you say, “Of course, I’ll meet you down in the lobby right now” Carly said, before saying goodbye and hanging up the phone.

You quickly rushed out of the bathroom, making sure to be quiet while you grabbed your coat and wallet, once you had everything, you quickly headed to the lobby. You spotted Carly instantly and ran to her, “Hey Y/n! You ok? You look pale whats wrong?” she asked, “i-i well i think i may be pregnant” you mumble out, your stomach instantly turning at the words, “Oh um wow thats crazy” she says, a smile appearing on her face. “Yeah, I just need to take a test, I was wondering if you could come with me to get one? I’m nervous to go alone” you say, as you nervously twist your hands together. “Of course! And hey it’ll be ok I promise” she says, and pulls you into a comforting hug, “thank you carly” you whisper as you squeeze her a bit tighter.

You and Carly had returned from the store after buying about 5 tests, trying to get the most accurate results possible. “Ok so basically, and i know this sounds weird but just pee in the cup and dip each one in it and then we wait” she says, as she hands you a paper cup, you take it with shaky hands and slowly close the bathroom door.

You quickly follow Carlys steps, now waiting in silence as time passes by agonizingly slow, on the other side of the door you can hear carly and adams son laughing, and realize that could be you and matty very soon. But before you could spiral into your thoughts, you hear the alarm on your phone go off signaling that the test were done.

With shaky hands you quickly flipped the first one over, your jaw dropped as you read “Positive”, then you decided to flip the next, then the next, then the next, until it was the last one, all of them displaying signs of being positive for pregnancy. Tears started to form in your eyes as you took the information in, you didn’t know what to think, on one hand you were extremely happy, but on the other hand you couldn’t help but worry that this would throw a wrench into mattys career.

You slowly walked out of the bathroom, making your way into the bedroom where Adam and carly were reading their son a book, you smiled at how cute the young family was, and thought how that could be you and matty soon. Carly spotted you from the corner of her eye, instantly looking up at you ; “Soo” she asks, “i’m pregnant” you mumble out, not wanting to look up at her. “Y/N! Thats amazing! Congratulations” carly said, popping up from the bed and engulfing you in a hug, adam got up as well to hug you. “Thank you guys. You um you don’t think matty will be upset right?” you ask the dreaded question, “Of course he won’t, one he loves you and two for the past month he hasn’t stopped talking about wanting a kid. He’s going to be absolutely thrilled Y/N trust me” Adam says, quickly reassuring you. “You’re right, It’s just crazy you know? Like we wanted kids in the future, but looks like the universe had other plans” you chuckle, as you place your hand on your stomach. “It’s funny how that happens” carly jokes, “Well I should probably go tell him, what a way to wake up someone right?” you giggle, before hugging both of the Hanns goodbye and heading back to your room.

When you walk in you see Matty propped up against the headboard mindlessly scrolling through his phone like he does every morning. His head turns towards the direction of the door as he hears it close, “Baby!” he calls out, “Hey matty” you say, quickly walking up to sit by him in bed. “Everything ok? I woke up and you weren’t here” he asks, gently grabbing your hand and rubbing soothing circles with his thumb on it. “Yeah, I’m good I promise” you say, sending him a weak smile, but its no use lying to him, he can easily read it on your face that you’re far from ok. “Baby i know somethings up, what is it” he asks, now pulling you onto his lap, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as he rubs his hands up and down your back, trying to soothe you.

“I- well, fuck it” you whisper, pulling the test from your hoodie pocket to show matty. You see his eyes go wide as he recognizes the piece of pastic in your hand, “You-you’re pregnant?” he asks, “yeah” was all you could muster up. You see a wide grin form on mattys face as he instantly tackles you in a hug, “Holy shit baby! This is amazing, oh my god we’re having a baby” he yells as he cups your face in his hands and smashes his lips to yours. You couldn’t help but cry tears of joy, seeing his reaction made all the worries and doubts go away.

“We’re having a baby” you whisper, pulling away from the kiss, “Darling I’m so fucking happy!” he says, immediately placing another kiss on your cheek. “Me too, but matty this doesn’t ruin your career right? I feel bad, you’re on this tour for atleast 3 more months and I don’t want this to ruin anything” you mumble.

He takes your face in his hands once more, “Baby listen to me, this is not going to ruin a damn thing, i would end this tour right now if I could so we could spend the next months as just the two of us preparing for our baby” he states, you nod your head in response and lean up to kiss him. One of his hands slowly make its way to your stomach, “I love you and this baby so much” he whispers, “We love you too” you say back, the dopey smiles never leaving either of your faces.

[asingleietsist]

"A Green Queen" AU

Chapter XI

TW: Verbal Abuse

"They increased security? That's not something, oh right..", the princess recalled. She'd been on the ship for a few hours mainly to rest and recollect herself on the events that happened. Bowser was really dead and despite this threat being resolved, she still felt anxious about how the army, HIS army, was running smoothly.

The yoshi, now named Daffodil, slept beside her and while she did want to bring him along, she knew it would be best to let him rest a bit longer.

"I'll be back!", she exclaimed quietly as she placed a blanket over the snoring yoshi. "And with Mario.."

She peeked out into the hall and saw four parakoopa flying around the main hallways and the ones that guarded the doors were standard foot soldiers.

"Great... I can't cause a scene. Maybe if I-"

Before she finished, she ducked back into the box from the voices she heard around the corner.

"Your highness!", the soldiers exclaimed as they bowed.

Luigi nervously scratched the back of his neck, the spikes poked as he tried to avoid them. "No need to bow every time, I'm just here to see the... To see my..."

Kamek stepped in and took a deep breath, "We're here for the boy's father. Let him through."

The soldiers nodded and slowly opened the door. As they did, Luigi felt Junior's claw tighten around his own, and gave it a gentle squeeze back.

'He is just a child...'

Daisy peeked out slightly then she watched them enter and the doors shut behind them. "Isn't that. What the fuck is going on here?!"

Junior hid behind Luigi as they stepped into a dimly lit room, wires and cord all connected to a central area behind rounded purple curtains. The machinery with dials, pulse readers, tubes, and buttons sat on each side of the bed.

It loudly hummed which left Junior with a worried look on his face. Parakoopas and goombas hurried alongside the few magikoopas that tirelessly worked and flipped through their books. They delicately lifted and examined shell pieces as they tried to congregate and put them back together.

"Junior, it wasn't...", Luigi spoke. His hand started to shake, he let go of the young prince's hand. "I explained how he ended up here, but he... He died saving me from someone awful, and all I could do was watch."

Kamek stepped over and patted his back, "Despite him being a prisoner here, he chose to stay and defend us. Junior, he-"

"Coward!", he cried.

Luigi flinched, he didn't dare turn around once he heard the boy's cry. "I'm sorry..", he whispered.

"You just WATCHED?! WHY DIDN'T YOU FIGHT BACK?! STAYING WON'T CHANGE THAT YOU GOT HIM KI-"

"I HAD NO OTHER CHOICE!"

The room got quiet as Luigi was inches away from the young prince, who hiccuped through his painful tears.

Kamek nervously looked at Junior's face then at Luigi's remorseful one.

"I'm just as lost as you are right now.", he cried. "Every minute I'm reminded that I'm not welcomed here, but I'm staying because as much as I despise it. No one deserves to be left defenseless ESPECIALLY when I can change it. I was a coward that ran, I KNOW THAT! THIS-" , he yelled as he held the spiked collar, Bowser's wristband, towards him in tears. "Reminds me every day, EVERY HOUR, of what I've done."

Junior turned away once he got closer and cried. Kamek stood in front of Luigi, "I think he gets it.. please calm down, sire.."

Luigi straightened his posture as he watched the young koopa shake.

Junior sniffled and continued to stare at the ground. Kamek walked over to him and rubbed his shell to comfort him, only for the prince to hug him as he cried.

Luigi cried silently when he turned away and focused on the curtains, Bowser's cracked yet dark silhouette shining through it. He walked up to the bedside and punched a dent into the frame, tears filled his pink stained eyes. He was exhausted.

Kamek lifted up Junior who cried himself into exhaustion and turned to the King. "Your highness.."

"......"

"I'll take the prince to his room in the castle and come back when you've calmed down.."

In a dry voice, he replied, "Thank you.". He also ordered everyone out of the room for a moment as Kamek left.

Daisy watched the room flood out with curious eyes as well as the guards leave to tell the next shift to arrive. "Yes!"

She swiftly dashed into the shadows and made her way into the room. As she looked around in awe, her attention turned to Luigi. She hid herself into a shadowy area in the entrance and watched. 'He doesn't look like much of a threat..'

Luigi groaned as he rubbed his tired eyes with his hand and sat on the floor. He rested his head on the dented frame as he looked down at his hands.

"You stupid tortuga....", he started. "You really punished me good, huh? Leaving me here to run a kingdom, watch your children you love so dearly.... Take advantage of my heart..", he sighed.

Daisy could barely hear a word and slowly inched forward.

"And my brother, Mario.. I snapped at him too. I bet you would've loved to see that... I didn't mean to, I just..."

Daisy paused when she heard his name.

'So he's alive! Damn shorty, thought I lost ya!'

"And Junior, I should probably apologize to him too. I don't blame him for thinking the way he did, but I was just scared. You literally threw my brother across the hall THEN choose to save my life?! I don't get why you didn't just TELL me.. Why are you always so quiet?"

Daisy's eyes gleamed as she heard his lament, "You think that guy is quiet?! Have you heard him belch before?"

Luigi turned quickly as he gasped, "W-Who, how'd you get in here?!"

"You shouldn't leave yourself defenseless, your highness.", she mocked. "But really, tell his guards to schedule their shifts better. They all just left you, y'know."

"That doesn't answe-"

"Oh right! The name's Daisy, a pleasure! I'm sure. Anyways, you said something about a "Mario"? Right?"

"Um...yes.. My brother, but how do you kn-"

"Glad you asked! I'm not sure if he mentioned a travel buddy or anything, but we were on our way to Sarasaland and y'know how traveling islands can be, right?! Then again, you probably aren't traveling by foot or by yoshi. Speaking of do you mind if I-"

"Wait, wait. Let's peddle back a second, y-you travelled with Mario? Wait... The friend, YOU'RE-"

"You catch on quick, boss!", she chuckled and started to walk over to him.

He tried his best to keep calm as his thoughts raced, "Are you here for my brother...? If you are, he's in no condition to be moving, and frankly, your injuries tell me you shouldn't be either."

Daisy looked at her leg then back at him, "I just wanted to make sure he's ok before I- uhm-, go to...a..party?"

Luigi blankly stared at her, "Right... You can visit, but if you both were at the palace, then where were you after the explosion?"

"You mean the one you caused to kill Bowser?"

"I didn't-"

"C'mon! You don't have to be modest, I saw you standing over the rubble looking down at his body. Congratulations on overthrowing him by the way!", she smiled.

"So you were there!", he mumbled.

"Only after I woke up again." , she shook the thought. "Regardless, you were saying something about him being quiet? That doesn't sound like the King of the Koopas. Boy, can that guy brag!"

Luigi turned back to the curtain, "Yup... And for the record, I didn't kill him... on purpose?".

"So did you or did you not?"

"I don't know! I'm tired, can you please just..."

She sat down next to him and crossed her legs and her cloak laid over them. "You know, I usually listen to stories when I feel down. I can tell you one if it helps."

Luigi glanced at her before he gave a slight shrug.

She smiled a bit before she played with her fingers, "Well, there was a little girl who had a very loving father and mother. Every day they would play games and puzzles with her, making every one of them a tiny adventure for her. But one day the father told the mother he no longer wanted to play games or make puzzles and left the mother to build puzzles and play games for her daughter to share with the world. For years, the mother looked for her husband, but with trying to keep her daughter entertained, she fell ill. Not too long after, she passed her duties onto her daughter, her last wish being "Make sure to have fun, play as many games as you like, but make sure you can solve the puzzles just as well as you play the game.". The daughter promised and in the end played for days, for years... Looking for a game she couldn't beat."

"Then? Did she ever find one?"

Daisy sighed, "She did.. it ended up costing her more than her life though...".

The two sat in silence, Luigi reached out his hand to touch hers but she immediately moved, "Anyways, if you don't mind me asking, your highness. Can I pleeeaaasseee, see your brother?"

He smiled a bit as he retracted his hand, "Of course, thank you for the story..". He said as he got up and dusted himself off.

"My pleasure! I can tell you some other ones while we walk there."

"I think I'll be fine..", he laughed nervously. "Thanks thoOOOUU- WAIT YOU SNUCK ONTO THE SHIP!!"

Daisy was already halfway to the door, "And? I see no issues here, we resolved the misunderstanding."

Luigi sighed and rubbed his forehead as he walked over to her, "I have to file a report and tighten security.."

"Sounds like a headache, dude. Must suck.", she smirked.

"Don't....you caused this-"

"I think you mean, you're welcome stealthy stranger for making sure that my castle and ship will now have the top defenses!", she said snickering.

Luigi laughed a bit, "Sure, I wonder if my brother would think the same."

"Eh, I think he wouldn't mind! Especially if he gets to see me again!", she boasted.

"Look who's bragging now.", He laughed.

The two bantered as they made their way out the door. The koopas were in confused awe as they saw their new king escort a cloaked princess down the hall.

[aliveinacoffin]

Deja ya de llorar

Shoto x GN! Reader

You've had a very bad day, and you're very tired, and you have a very cute husband.

little angst/very comfort, mostly fluff ^*^

The front door swung open harshly before it was more gently clicked into place. The decoration hung on the outside knocking back in protest.

You violently kicked your shoes off, not bothering to put them neatly back in their place in the shoe cubby that rested against the wall. Trying to get on with the settling down process, you went through the motions of hanging up your jacket, not noticing that you missed your mark and instead, it fell miserably to the floor.

"I'm hooome." You sighed, barely loud enough to be heard from the front door to the kitchen. You then limply tripped over the side, flopping down hard on the couch, squishing your face on the plush cushions.

There was silence in the house, no sounds of music or the TV playing. Most notably, no sound of your husband. Usually, he was out in the dining room doing papers or just otherwise bumbling around the house. Sometimes he'd meal prep or work out or even just be doing some D.I.Y project. But today, there seemed to be an absence of him. Which, wasn't a big deal, both of you were heroes, having met each other in class 1-A. Ever since you two had just been inseparable, clung together like magnets. Still, he made no mention that he would be working late.

You sighed and flipped over to your back, and took your phone out of your pocket. Lazily, you dialed his work phone and waited for him to pick up.

"This is Icy-Hot. I'm not available right now, reach either my assistant, partner, or me at a later time. I apologize for the inconvenience." The familiar one-toned voice you had gotten used to bleated back to you, and the phone beeped to leave a message. You made a confused noise before moving over to his personal phone number, the one that not many people had.

Just as the call was going to send you to voice mail, he picked up. "Hello? Is everything alright?" Shoto's voice called out to you, concern lacing his voice.

"No," You sighed, exhaustion taking over you slowly, unable for you to fight it much longer, "You weren't home and I was just making sure you were alive."

He chuckled, "Well I am don't worry. I'm on my way home soon, just another big battle in Tokyo, and you know how traffic can be." He sounded happy and content, and jealousy filled you at his ease.

"I hope it went well, and I'm glad you're safe. I love you, get home soon."

"It did, I'll tell you more at home. I love you, I'll see you soon."

The call disconnected, leaving the house in silence again. Suddenly, without even prompt or major reason, tilled filled your eyes and you were left breathless.

You were so tired, your body and mind so worn down that everything was moving too fast for you to keep up. Your eyes stung all the time, and your joints ached, body screaming in protest for running on fumes for so long.

You also had so many hard cases this month, a tsunami had hit the east, and because of the shortest of pros, you had been sent down there to mitigate the damage. The things you saw only added to the pile of horrors that kept you up at night. Lost little girls, old men torn apart, and young men crying in the middle of the street would haunt you for years to come. The paperwork and reconstruction that took weeks to finish, on top of commission work and public work, you were left beaten and bruised.

You cried yourself to sleep on the couch, too tired to change out of your civilian clothes or even move yourself to a comfortable position to find even a restful sleep.

___________________________________________

When you woke up, crusty, thirsty, and hungry, you found yourself in your shared room. Pictures of you and Shoto decorated the space, along with your different families and friends. Books, papers, and other small trinkets littered the room. When you came home after being away from a work trip, it always made your heart warm and fuzzy at your cozy living space, knowing you shared it with the person you loved the most.

You heard soft music from the downstairs, and slowly you drifted out of your bedroom. (You were also pleasantly surprised to find yourself in soft pjs.) Peeking out, a smiled crawled on your face at the sight you were blessed with.

Shoto, still in his hero outfit, was swaying softly to a soft song that you recognized, Hijo del corazón. While doing so he was making your favorite comfort meal. Both of you always had each other's comfort meals prepped and ready to go in case the others needed it.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" You said sleepily, hooded bagged eyes looking at him with ease.

Shoto turned to you, jumping a little in surprise before he completely melted under your gaze.

"Yeah, you tell me every day you love me, plus, I get a daily reminder you do every time I wash my hands." He tapped to the ring on his finger, the pale moon gem that was the centerpiece. The weight of your sun ring reminded you of both your vows, in sickness and in health.

"True, but I super love you." You walked closer to him, nuzzling against him while he kept busy.

"I love you, hard day?" He asked, and even though his eyes were on the food, you knew you had his full undivided attention.

"Hard month more like it. I'm just glad we're almost done though." You sighed, dragging your feet to grab a glass of water. Your heart filled with warmth when you saw your respective bachelor party cups.

"I'm glad, I miss you at home." Shoto said almost pouting.

"Just a little bit more recon, and a smidge more paperwork and I'm back to a normal work schedule. What about you though?" You asked, eyeing him up and down with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you mean?" He turned to you, looking at you with his own raised eyebrows while he carried the food to the table.

"You're still in your hero suit, you didn't change back at the agency." You said that the answer was the simplest thing in the work. In truth, it kinda was.

"Oh," He looked down at himself, embracement suddenly flooding his cheeks. "I was just in such a rush to get home, I guess I didn't change." He started to eat with you.

"Why the rush? I'll always make it home." Or try to, at least.

"I missed you, plus, I have a surprise." Shoto suddenly got up, walking over to the kitchen to grab a fancy-looking velvet box.

"Sho' I don't mean to break your heart, but we've already gotten married." You laughed quietly at your own joke, turning in your spot to follow him.

"No not that. I know you don't really like jewelry, but I saw it and I just had to give it to you." He had you the box gently, placing it in your awaiting hands.

You looked at him before tenderly peeling open the box, and a gasp escaped your lips when you saw what was inside.

It was a beautiful golden heart-shaped locket. The design it had was stunning, on the front was an open sort of caged design, and you could see the inside of the locket through it. Around the mini heart-shaped window was a winged sort of design with small bridges on the side. On the back were two interlocked hearts surrounded by leaves and little tiny snowflakes.

When you peeled it open, it was your guy's wedding pictures. But it wasn't one where either of you were fake smiling. Instead, it was you ugly laughing with your eyes closed and leaning toward Shoto. While he had the widest grin ever looking at you so tenderly it made tears spring to your eyes.

"Oh Sho', it's beautiful. Thank you so much, I love it." You stood up to bring him into a tight hug. He hugged you twice as hard, resting his head on your shoulder.

"Of course, I hoped you'd like it." He whispered.

"I love it, thank you so much for being here for me." You sighed into his arms, the warm embrace he protected you into would always bring you inner peace.

God you loved this man, and you knew he loved you ten times as much.

[arminsumi]

Cheap Wine

Oneshot | MDNI | Armin | ♪

You've been assigned to assassinate Armin Arlert.

And coincidentally, he's been assigned to assassinate you.

⚠️Cws; sexual content, ur both assassins, mentions murder, guns, violence

Genres; comedy

Notes; gn!reader, modern au

There is a red dial-up phone next to you. It rings, and you pluck it up and put it to your ear, like you've been waiting all day for this call.

"Who?" You ask.

"Number fourteen."

You set your coffee down and pull out your special little book. Your eyes run down the numbers until they stop at;

14. Armin Arlert

You furrow your brows at the attached polaroid of the man. He seems familiar.

"Alright." You confirm, and hang up the phone.

You drain the rest of your black coffee down your throat and head out into to get some midnight necessities from the convenience store.

It's been weeks since Armin was assigned to assassinate you now; he's already tracked down your apartment and observed your day-to-day life from the comforts of his Cadillac.

When you go out into the street, Armin cranes his neck over the newspaper, and folds it away lazily.

"Alright, time to work." He thinks to himself.

He loads up his revolver – he's pretty old-fashioned, like you, you'd really get along with him actually – and stows it in the back of his jeans.

When you emerge from the convenience store, swishing around a plastic bag and gripping the neck of a cheap wine bottle, Armin follows you into the alleyway very smoothly.

He lets out a sigh, draws his gun to the back of your head.

The moment building up to him squeezing the trigger is very intense, but guess what?

His gun is jammed.

You look behind you very nonchalantly, blinking curiously at the blond behind you; he's got blue jeans and a leather jacket. He looks familiar, doesn't he?

"Sorry, I think it's jammed. One second." He sighs, struggling with his gun.

"Armin?" You squint at him in the pale light.

There is a electrical buzzing noise somewhere, and the roar of city life coming from the street not far away.

"Yep. That's me." He furrows his brows at his gun.

You don't know if you should laugh or run or draw your own gun.

"You're pretty young to be in this business." You comment, casually drawing your gun.

He nods, "Yeah, so are you." then he looks up and sees the gun pointed at him, "Ah, damn. Now why didn't I think of that? Would sure be convenient to have one of those." He clicks his tongue sarcastically.

This shouldn't be funny. Are the both of you mad?

You let out a great sigh. "I got assigned you just today. How long have you had to prepare for this?"

"A few weeks."

"And the cause of failure in your plan was... a jammed gun? I love that." You smile, lowering your gun. "I'm gonna be honest with you, Armin, I'm not really interested in killing you."

"Oh, excellent, I'm glad." He replies in his soft British accent.

A moment of tense silence passes. Armin lunges to try and restrain you and make up for his jammed gun. Your own is knocked to the ground.

You struggle against him and grunt, rolling around on the cold, cracked cement alley floor.

The both of you get a bit bloodied and bruised, I mean, it is a fistfight, that's generally what happens.

He pulls out a switchblade and you consider it game over. But he hesitates and looks at you for a long while.

He's on top of you, staring right down into your soul, blood dripping off his chin. You're both panting, your breaths visible in the night air.

There's the sounds of busses sighing as they break at stoplights, and incessant hooting like it's New York City.

"I will admit," You huff, "The idea of being murdered in a dark alleyway is a bit cheesy."

"You're right. Sorry. I should reschedule and replan this."

"I think so." You agree.

You invited him back home for some wine.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"For almost murdering you."

"It's okay, it happens."

He laughs.

A moment of silence passes. He presses his lips to the wine glass. He hesitates, eyes the rim suspiciously, then pulls the glass away, and sets it down again.

The both of you share an awfully comedic stare.

"Poison isn't really my thing." You try to reassure him, but then you realize how bizarre anything you say sounds right now.

"Yeah, I never really got into poisoning, either." He leans back on the sofa.

The two of you share another moment of silence.

"I've been wanting to retire for some time." You explain seriously.

"I can't imagine why, it's really the dream job." Armin chuckled.

He's drinking up your beauty, and you're drinking up his accent.

The two of you end up having a good conversation. You and him emptied the bottle of cheap wine together.

"I'm surprised." You say after some time.

"Hm?"

"We have a lot in common. And, sorry if this is straightforward, but we have great chemistry." You say.

Armin looks at you, his mind digesting what you said. His eyes are an entrancing blue.

You think to yourself; he's more good-looking in real life than in pictures. And he's thinking the same.

Your red bra and lacey panties were strewn across your apartment floor, along with his jeans and leather jacket.

The two of you pant after coming down from your high.

It seemed that the two of you had a little more than just great chemistry going on between each other.

"Right then," Armin breaks the silence. No lights are on. He raises himself and sits on the edge of your bed, bare body looking like a Greek sculpture in the pale moonlight. "See you next time we try kill each other again."

"Mhm." You hum. "Hope your gun doesn't jam next time."

"Thanks, I hope you choose a more expensive wine next time."

You look at him from your bed. He's already hopping into his jeans. He's facing his toned back to you. Just a few moments ago, that physique was rocking against yours, sweating and panting and moaning.

"See you, Armin."

[yourforeverokay]

"Home" (Elvis Presley x Reader)

word count: 1k

warnings: none

a/n: hey guys! I wanted to start off slow again. I will continue writing What happens in Vegas doesn't stay in Vegas soon but I wanted to give you a little something while waiting for part 3! Thank you for being patient with me and my writing schedule. Hope you enjoy this one! Love you <3

"But Mama!" You whined at your mother, her eyes still focusing on the pot on the stove. "I said no Y/N, now stop whining. You're making a fool out of yourself." You felt tiny under her demanding demeanor.

You and your mother had argued the whole day about a certain "bad boy" as your mother called him. Elvis Aaron Presley...the love of your life. Even though you were young, you weren't dumb and you knew what you wanted. Your mother on the other hand though she knew what was the best for you. Trying to keep you away from all the sins and troubles the boy might cause you to do. He wasn't like that, you knew it. Elvis was a good boy and despite his reputation as a ladies man, you knew he was what you wanted and what you needed.

"Mother, please. I'm begging you to let me go." You went down on your knees in front of your mother, your hands gripping her long skirt. Your mother tried to lift you up but you just sat down, almost feeling defeated. "I don't even know why you like this boy this much? He will only bring problems into our family. And that name Presley, what kind of a name even is that?" Your mother scoffed, turning her back towards you. You had asked your mother to let you leave for a week with Elvis for his new tour. You lived in Tennessee and the tour would include visiting 5 different states, but in your mother's opinion "just one night with that boy is too much for a girl like you". Hearing something like that coming out of your mother's mouth broke your heart into pieces.

"I will leave, now." You wiped away the single tear on your cheek and got up from the kitchen floor. You walked towards the rotary phone which was placed on a table in your long hallway. You dialed Elvis's number and waited for him to pick up.

"Hey baby. How are you?" He picked up in the matter of seconds. "Elvis, I need you now. Please pick me up soon, okay?" You said nervously. "Of course honey, I'll be there in 10." He said with his sweet, sweet voice. Oh god, he was dreamy.

You ran quickly to your bedroom and took a suitcase which you stuffed with all your clothes and books. Taking your diary and the picture of you and your father together when you were a child. You ran back downstairs and as you were changing your shoes you felt your mother grab your elbow. "Young lady, where do you think you're going?" She was eyeing your suitcase, looking furious. "To be with him." You said with confidence and faced your mother.

"Mother, you have always been against us. For ages I let you make fun of him, of me!" You lifted your arms and pointed at yourself. Raising your voice you yelled: "I LOVE HIM." Your mother looked disappointed. "You must think I'm stupid for falling this hard over a singing boy with unknown future but I believe in him. He will make it. I will not tolerate your hatred towards our relationship anymore."

You heard a car pull up in front of your parent's mansion. Your mother let go of your arm and walked towards the front door. She peeked through the curtains and saw a trashy car with Elvis inside it, chewing gum.

She turned around to face you. "If you leave now, you have no reason to come back to this house ever again." She raised her index finger at you. You took your suitcase, put your lipstick on and walked right past her closing the door with a simple: "Goodbye."

Elvis noticed you walking towards his car with tears pooling up in your eyes. He immediately stood up and went to hug you. "Oh honey, what happened?" He looked at you with soft eyes. He held you close and let you ruin his brand new shirt with your lipstick and mascara stains. He stroked your hair and you closed your eyes. "I hate her." Was all you said to him. He kept quiet for a minute.

"Let's go baby. You can explain everything to me later. I'll take you home." He took a hold of your hand as you walked towards the car. He opened the door for you and gave you a kiss on your forehead. Minutes later you were far away from the place you used to call your home. Elvis was now taking you to your real home.

"Home." You said with a quiet voice, smiling slightly to yourself.

"What was that honey?" He asked looking at you while his hands were carefully placed on the steering wheel.

"Nothing." You kissed his cheek.

You were finally going home.

[whilereadingandwalking]

The debut novel from acclaimed short story author Kelly Link, The Book of Love, is an enjoyable slow burn of a fantasy novel (even if it could have burned a little faster). Three teens—Daniel, Laura, and Mo—wake up after being dead for a year. The man they thought was a music teacher and his demonic partner Bogomil tell them that no one will remember they were dead...But the three will have to figure out how to do magic and find a magical key if they want to stay not-dead long enough to reintegrate themselves into their own lives. Only thing is, Laura's sister, Susannah, has something to do with why they're dead, but now she can't remember. Only thing is, a deadly goddess is arriving in town—and she wants to get to the key first.

The book was beautiful and rich, tactile and surreal. The town of Loveside feels real to me, like I could walk there and out to the Cliffs and see Mo's house where his grandmother wrote all those romance novels, like I could walk in her rose garden. The characters feel like real, well-developed people, from rebellious, self-destructive sister Susannah to the owner of the local coffee shop. The magic in the book is made of near-limitless potential, and their discovery of their abilities and the ethereal, web-like nature of the storytelling reminded me of Erin Morgenstern's work. I was deeply invested in finding out how the three died, who was trying to get the key before they did, and who was secretly unreal, because all of the characters felt so deeply realized.

But I do have critiques. As you all know, I strongly believe that few books need to be more than 400 pages. This book, which rings in at 625, was no exception. The beginning was very, very drawn out, and while the character and atmosphere kept me dialed in, I was being to get impatient. And I love long, atmospheric fantasies, so I'm more patient than many readers are. I genuinely believe the first half or so of this book could be cut in half and concentrated down. This pacing leaves room for a lot of eerie moments and strange happenings, but also makes the final climax feel rushed (even though it's actually quite well-placed) and starts to take some of the sting out of big twists.

This is The Book of Love, and there is a lot of love in it—and a lot of queer, kinky love, which I did appreciate. Mo and mysterious immortal Thomas were a hot couple, even if they suffered a bit from instalove. I really liked Daniel and Susannah, but I think the amount of time given to the two young troubled teen lovers and the time given to Susannah's tumultuous and difficult relationship with her more orderly sister Laura should have been switched. But then, I love a good sister story.

Overall, I really enjoyed Link's work, which had the same ethereal, satisfyingly magical feeling as her short stories do; but it could have been a lot shorter, not just for the reader but for the sake of a tightened narrative. Those with the patience will enjoy this slow-burn fantasy with a ton of atmosphere and a heart-warming emotional core.

Content warnings for homophobia and homophobic language, child abuse, grief/death, depression, body horror, miscarriage mention.

[pleuvoire]

i am reading radium girls by kate moore. it is about the famous case of the young female factory workers who suffered fatal radiation poisoning from working at glowing watch factories in the early 20th century which led to a landmark lawsuit that paved the way for a lot of new regulations. these women were literally suing their uncaring employer from their deathbeds, it was horrible. in many places the book is written in an almost narrative style that closely follows the pov of the many women involved, drawing heavily from what seem to be their personal journals, and time and time again we’re introduced to a young woman working at the dial factory who is happily living her youthful life when she starts to notice some unusual aches and pains, and then you as the reader know what’s coming, you’ve seen it so many times before over the course of this book, you know there’s no saving her and you know it’s going to be an awful death. in this way the book almost casts you in the pov of a helpless omniscient watcher. it’s really sobering