#GOD THEIR HAIR WAS ACTUALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO DRAW

[mspaint-flower]

the flower that tooth hurty ? Or maybe trash 1 star review denis?

I love ur blog and funky drawings of VFlower btw i wish i could smooch them, or frame it in my house :]]]]

🦷

[soobnny]

coming home — bang chan. established relationship. fluff. chan surprising you by coming home. could be a part two to ‘one more month’

The plan had been to surprise you.

It’s been months since Chan’s been home, and all the days leading up to him coming back have been spent thinking about how much he’d like to hold you and kiss you without the restrictions of his work. He hates having to leave you. Hell, it’s always been the hardest part of what he does—saying goodbye to you.

He’d been thinking of all the ways he could be a better boyfriend to you, starting with a dinner reservation at your favorite restaurant, to make up for lost time. Video calls and text messages can only go so far, but they will never be able to replace you when you’re not around. Though, what had not been part of the plan, was for his flight to be pushed back due to a sudden schedule.

Chan supposes he should be grateful, but he finds it hard when all he wants is to make it home to you. The dinner reservation is canceled, and Chan’s flight arrives in Korea at around 2am.

It takes an hour travel before he’s at your doorstep, but the boy doesn’t want to wake you. He doesn’t think he has the heart to, not when you’d admitted to him a few weeks ago how hard sleep had been coming to you. Doesn’t want to disturb you of rest that he knows you desperately need amidst the credits you’re taking for college.

He sighs, taking out his duplicate keys and inserting them in the keyhole, twisting the knob and quietly walking into your apartment. He’s extra careful with his actions, slightly cringing when the door makes a small banging sound at being closed. He hopes it didn’t startle you awake.

Chan undoes the laces of the shoes you’d gifted him on his birthday last year, setting them aside just beside your own pair. He finds himself staring for a second, unknowing smile already forming on his face at the realization that you’re actually here. And in any second, you’ll be back in his arms.

“Chan?”

Nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight he’s subjected to. He supposes the slight banging of your door had woken you up, because now you’re standing in front of him, eyes still adjusting with a small yawn threatening to escape. He doesn’t think you’re fully awake yet, and Chan would’ve lunged to embrace you had you not looked so gentle and confused.

“Hi baby.” He can’t hide his smile anymore, not that he was trying to in the first place. He’s smiling in that lovesick way, eyes crinkling like crescents and cheeks growing more and more prominent when he notices the realization slowly dripping color on your face.

“Oh my god. You’re home.” Your eyes are a little wider now, staring at his eyes, his nose, his lips. You’re trying to decipher whether you’re still dreaming, but it’s impossible to draw that conclusion when he’s inching closer and closer to where you are, slipping his black backpack on the floor in favor of wrapping his arms around you. “Channie, I’ve missed you so much.”

Chan can’t seem to respond, not when he’s finally fully engulfed in you—the scent of your shampoo, your warmth from having been under the covers not long ago, your skin. Your apartment, and everything about you. So potently you. He hugs you for as long as possible, so much so that you notice a glimpse of his dyed hair tucked under the beanie he always wears.

“Have to shower. Go get warm under the covers again, hm?”

“But—”

“I’ll be back before you know.” Chan presses a sweet kiss on your lips, and he almost crumbles. He’ll kiss you better when you’re wrapped up in his arms a few minutes from now. And true to his word, he does come back in the blink of an eye, and you watch in fondness as he positions himself beside you under the covers, arms scooping you to lay down on him.

“Love you.” He whispers, eyes drifting to your face. He always does this when he’s with you, always so captivated by you and everything about you. You’re just so familiar, and it feels good to be coming back home to you. “Missed you a lot.”

“Will you stay?” You ask. Almost hopeful.

“Mhm.” He hums. “I’m staying, baby.”

It’s so easy to sleep with Chan next to you. You feel sorry for the way you drift back to sleep, but he doesn’t mind at all. His attention is still on you, and his heart twitches at how beautiful you are, and how there is never any pressure to be anything when he’s with you.

And he stays. He stays with his palms pressed on your back, and his lips placing gentle kisses on your face for a few minutes before he falls asleep. And he continues to stay when you wake up with his mouth finding yours. Chan stays, and he doesn’t plan to leave anytime soon.

[saiidahyunie]

fake and true

minatozaki sana x f!reader || pt.2 pt.3

synopsis: you think you struck gold with an offer that's impossible to ignore, and sana thinks she's hit the jackpot in matchmaking. 

warnings: fluff ; cursing ; alcohol ; money talks ; reader is terrible at narrating ; sana is a few years older than reader ; tzuyu x shuhua pairing ; college student / tuition struggles ; jihyo mentioned but never appears ; not proofread

a/n: haven't wrote for sana in a HOT minute, also my first fic that actually uses a proper twice song?!?!

you first hear about it first from your best friend chou tzuyu.

“it’s an app,” she says while sitting on your couch, painting gloss on her nails with your little makeup box that you keep under the nightstand in your room. tzuyu then tosses the small bottle back into the box next to her with no care for it; she’s usually careless about most of the things in her life. “it’s just a way to make money.” 

make money? you think, and ask, with an eyebrow peaked up. isn’t that technically–like sex work? but minus the onlyfans biz—

“don’t be so reductive,” tzuyu corrects sharply. “it’s being called a sugar baby. and sometimes it’s not even that bad. sometimes the girls on there don’t even want sex. just company. they’ll pay you for dinner and that’s it. it doesn’t have to be so exclusive or that involved.” 

“have you ever done it for yourself?” you ask.

“me?” tzuyu snorts. “no, of course not. but it’s all online. a bunch of women have talked about it.” she looks up from her hand and gazes at you meaningfully. “i’m not saying that you should do it, but if you’re that desperate then why not? it’s really not that bad.” 

it’s really not that bad, you think, and just days later, you’re reminded with the numbers of your bank statements.

you rent was due in a week.

you just paid for the internet, drawing cash from whatever was left from your recent loan. most of the tip money you scrapped together for the necessary utilities in the house alone. there was also the debate if it was really necessary to cover the light bill when you could just go to bath and body works and use that money for strategically placed candles around the apartment instead. the water bill was necessary, obviously. and cheap, thank god—you never used it more than you needed to— but rent. rent. 

unfortunately, you can’t cut corners with that one. 

you take another bracing swig of your wine, staring hard into your computer screen. you phone rests right beside your elbow, and you glance at it, considering. mina had told you that you can always ask—

but no. your cousin never had much money to spare, and you can’t expect her to throw hundreds and hundreds of dollars your way every time you find yourself wanting, not when she needs it, herself. not when she’s the one who gave you the warning of going to grad school in the first place, having anticipated this happening. you can’t do that to her and live with yourself. 

but then again, you can’t pay your rent and live in general. you were already on your landlord’s ass for the last overdue payment as it is. 

so you let out an exasperated sigh, with your face in your hands, borderline breaking a sob, before ruthlessly scratching your hair and inhale through your teeth. you don’t know what to do.

you had a good case for compartmentalization. since you were little, you know that some parts of your life were meant to be separate and not coincide with the other. stress from school should not bleed into your work. a bad grade from an exam doesn’t mean that you can spend your day wallowing in the corner of your room and crying. your one option, the only option really, was to get better, try harder, and don’t cry. find your own solutions. it’s what mina kept preaching for you all throughout college: “find your own solutions.” 

find, you think again, distantly, and you look at the black screen of your phone. your own solutions. 

“it’s really not that bad.” 

you bite your lip hard, mind racing, pulse jumping beneath your throat. your adrenaline spikes as you reach for it, taping the screen and opening the app store. the thought in your brain rattles much like: i don’t want to, i don’t want to, but you have to, because you never have enough money, and you can’t afford to work a second job while being a full-time student, and even then it might not be enough. may never be enough. and you have to. the rent is due at the end of the day. 

a fingertip taps on the screen of the light pink app, and it’s downloading. once you open it, you refuse to give the urge to throw your phone across the room and forget that you ever thought of trying this; that you smash it into pieces and toss it into the garbage disposal. but that would be just another expense added onto the list, and you already can’t afford the one you have. 

with a deep breath and another sip of the expensive wine, you suck it up and make a profile. 

when the matches start coming in, you’re getting nervous. 

you drew the line of age range maxing it at just pushing 30 and above, you didn’t want to play with the idea of speaking to anyone older, even if it was just for dinner. most of the women you see are largely unappealing. most of their bios are either cookie cut with the similar story of their life or skevvy, worst comes to worst of the thought being that it wasn’t a viable solution for her money situation. 

the reality sinks in, and you’re nearly brought to tears. 

you’ve only ever had three semi-serious relationships. two of them were in high school, the last being with your ex-girlfriend when you were in your undergrad courses: elizabeth. she was kind to you, and sweet, and very patient. she had a predilection towards arrogance, having grown up with everything pretty much handed to her, but she was good, down to the marrow. it was because of you that the relationship broke; you had aspirations to go to school and elizabeth wanted to settle down, and you were unwilling to meet her in the middle, knowing that something was off. despite all of her vitreus and being aware, despite the fact that you loved her– truly, honestly— she wasn’t the one: she wasn’t the person that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. 

and, you think wryly, staring down at your phone screen, at the new message notification. neither is park jihyo sadly. 

but that doesn’t really matter, does it? you didn’t download the damn app to find a wife. 

you click on her name. her profile is as spares as it was an hour ago: a brief descpirtion of her job—district attorney, head prosecutor– and three photos of herself, none of them were too grand, just her in a well fit dress or blazer. the photos all lend an air of importance, however. of severity. this is a woman who clearly knows what she wants and is used to getting it. you’re simply another play-thing she gets to choose. the thought chills you. 

opening the message. it’s a matter of fact as you expected it to be: 

do you like dinner?

hi! you type back, cringing with a stank face while your thumbs twiddle with the phone screen. of course i love dinner!

great. a few seconds pass before her icon pops up again, and your heart jumps to the hollow of your throat when you read: would you like to join me for dinner this weekend? and before you can ask, yes, you will be compensated for it.

the upper row of your teeth are latched to your bottom lip, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. the edges of your phone slide agaisnt your clammy palms. you can feel the pulse booming in her ears, like a rush of a tsunami. if you wanted to, this could be the last chance to say no, to delete the app and pretend you were never in this madness to begin with. maybe you can ask mina for money. what cost is your pride, anyway, when compared to this? 

but you already had your mind set on what you were going to say before you could even type it out.

yes! i would love to. <3

it’s amazing for the bold courage you had to tell when you see her on campus, isolated in a corner of the library. tzuyu takes you completely by surprise when she shrieks in the quiet environment. 

“you managed to get a fucking sugar mommy?!” 

“shut up!” you hiss, looking around frantically. none of the other students nearby seemed to have noticed her outburst. “nothing is official. i only agreed to go out to dinner with her.” 

“still,” tzuyu adds, leaning back in her chair, eyes appearing like she’s caught in a daze. “i didn’t expect you, of all people, to actually do it. you barely just lost your virginity.’ 

“that’s not true.” 

“a vibrator doesn’t count.” 

“i was talking about elizabeth!” 

“who you broke up with two years ago. my point still stands,” tzuyu says. her bewilderment has melted from her face, leaving a begrudging amusement. “i still can’t believe you did it, though.” 

“you’re the one who recommended it to me.” 

“i know! but when the hell do you ever listen to me?” she retorts, setting her elbows on the table and cradles her chin with her palms, staring at you expectantly. “so? are you gonna show me pictures of her?” 

“i wasn’t really planning on it,” you say wryly, but pull your phone out anyway. “it’s not like she’s a girl that i’m actually talking to.” 

“oh, but she is,” tzuyu says, taking it. your attention shifts from her face to jihyo’s profile, flushing slightly when you notice the disappointed frown that tugs at her friends lips. “she’s cute, but i don’t know…” 

“what makes you say that?” 

“well….you know…” 

you bristle, shaking your head, “you said it yourself, some women will pay you for the company. she said that i’d be compensated for dinner but didn’t mention anything after.” 

“well, thank god,” tzuyu replies, scrolling through the messages now, pausing over the one selfie you sent to prove that you weren’t a catfish: her request to add by the way. “do you know what you’re gonna wear?” 

“probably some cocktail dress. she said we’d be eating at a restaurant in a hotel. so, i’m not picturing anything that fancy.” 

“i’ve looked through your closet, though. you don’t have any cocktail dresses.” 

“yes, i do. the blue one. with the long sleeves.” 

horror is drawn all over tzuyu’s face. “you mean the one you wore to your senior homecoming. when you were eighteen?” 

“yeah, it’s nice.” 

tzuyu takes your hand from across the table, giving you a look that makes your stomach clench form embarrassment; a look the precedes many of her statements about their different priorities, the vast gap between their socio-economic classes. 

“no offense, y/n. you’re drop dead gorgeous. you’d look beautiful in a black plastic trash bag, but that dress? are you kidding? at–tell me about the restaurant again?” 

“four seasons.” 

tzuyu then slams her palm down flat on the table, earning a glare from the girl sitting behind her. “at the fucking four seasons? hell no. absolutely not. you’re not wearing that, especially if it looks like you got it from fucking windsor.” 

to be fair, she was right about that one. although there’s no point in bringing it up now. “i mean, i don’t have anything else to fall back to.” 

“i’ll let you borrow something. i have, like, a million cocktail dresses.” 

“nothing you have will fit. i’m about your height but your waist is more snatched than mine.” 

“that’s very true, but i’m sure it’ll fit!” 

“should i ask shuhua for her input?” 

“you can! her and i are similar in size so we can ask for her help too and i’m sure she’ll find something for you to borrow.” 

you shift in your comfy chair, still uncomfortable. you’re not the kind of person to ask for anything. “are you sure? i think my dress would be fine.” 

“trust me, it won’t be. and shuhua loves you and loves playing these kinds of games even more. she’d definitely say yes to helping.” 

“if you say so.” you quip while leaning back, watching tzuyu pull up her other best friend’s contact, thumbs flying across the screen. a second passes before she whoops a little and shoves the phone in your face. you can see the clear—and predictable—dry text since she was at work and not with you guys: sure. i can give her the black one.

“do you know which black one she’s talking about?” tzuyu asks, brown eyes sparkling, unfairly dazzling under the muted fluorescent lights. “it’s this one i bought her. it’s a little tight and it has a sweetheart neckline. oh, t/n, you’re gonna look so hot.” 

“i don’t need to look hot,” you retort, flustered, “it’s only—” 

“dinner, i know.” she waves you off, texting again. “but trust me, you’re gonna want to make a good first impression. when is your date?” 

you nick your eyebrow and your mouth winces at the word date, it sets an uneasy feeling in your stomach, a perverse malformation of what romance is supposed to be. “this friday.” 

“perfect. i’ll come over with the dress and help you get ready. i’ll bring my makeup bag too, if you want?” 

you blink at tzuyu, a flush rising beneath your cheeks. you don’t know how to say no. how to remind your friend that this isn’t a date but a transaction, and that there really shouldn’t be any excitement about this. however, before you can try, tzuyu grabs your hand again, grinning widely. 

“this is gonna be so much fun!”

a week passes and friday rolls around frighteningly quick, giving you little to no reprieve or time to prepare, but tzuyu arrives just when she said she was going to. at 6:30 pm, right on the dot, smiling at your front door with a makeup bag in one hand and a garment bag in another. she waltzes in through the open door, gracefully, hair flaunting around, dressed like she was the one going out tonight. 

she jostles the makeup bag on her shoulder. “where are we getting ready?” 

you lead her to your room, crammed between her only bathroom and the small living room, directing her inside. tzuyu tosses the bag on your bed before walking towards the vanity and plopping down on the seat. she pulls the zipper of her pouch and starts pulling out miscellaneous products, an all-name brand: a small eyeshadow palette, a lipstick, bronzer. tom ford, chanel, MAC.

“so,” tzuyu says cherrily, hair up in a low ponytail swinging as she turns to look at you. “are you excited?” 

“no.” the answer comes easier than you expected it to, especially out loud, but it’s true. you’re not excited, rather, you’re— “i’m scared.”

“what? why?” 

“i don’t know this woman.” you walk toward your bed, slumping on the corner, shying away from the dress like it can burn you. “i’ve only talked to her a few times. she’s older and she’s important and she’s rich and—” 

“and?” tzuyu asks, swiveling towards her. “you’ve met my dad and brother. both of them are equally important and granted, one is an esteemed businessman while the other is a professional formula one driver.” 

“that’s different tzu. i’m not trying to be your dad’s sugar baby.” 

“i see your point, but—” 

“this is serious.” you snap, nerves fried, as they have been since you agreed to go on the fucking date. since you also realized that you were so dead broke that you had no other choice but that. “i’m going out with a stranger for money. i have no idea what’s going to happen and i’m scared.” 

“i’m sorry,” tzuyu says, sobered, all wry humor wiped off from her face. “i’m being an ass.” 

you look at the lingering wall, muttering your forgiveness, embarrassed at the outburst, but your friend stands up and makes her way over to you. she’s grabbing your shoulders, looking at you seriously.

“do you want to cancel?” 

“what?” 

“do you want to cancel?” she repeats. “if you’re uncomfortable then you can cancel. there’s no shame in that.” 

“i don’t…” you glance at your feet, eyeing the glossy hardwood floor below you. you’ve been needing to sweep up the place for quite some time, but since your mind has been caught up with other priorities that shifted away from simple house care—

“i can’t. i can’t afford to.” 

“there’s always other ways to make money. you can ask—” 

“i’m not asking mina,” you say firmly. “i’d rather sleep with jihyo than ask mina for anything.” 

tzuyu smirks and takes a step back with her palms up, held open in surrender. “it’s a good thing it’s just dinner than, right?” 

“yeah. just dinner,” you say. it’s as much as a reminder to yourself, and does little to calm your nerves. but it’s the truth, that’s the good thing about it. if she expected anything more, she would’ve mentioned it by now.

“okay,” tzuyu beams, hands on her hips, grinning again. “let’s help you get ready.” 

your uber—graciously paid by tzuyu—drops you off at the four seasons at exactly 8 o’clock; just when jihyo said she’d be there. 

you mumble a thank you to your driver as you step out, pulling your coat tighter around you. the dress beneath was black, the hem would just be a few inches above your knees, and tight. tiger than you thought it would be, but should’ve expected given who the owner is. you had always been slim, but your hips and breasts are—full, is a word for it. you’ve blossomed at seventeen and had a history of finding bras your size since then. 

tzuyu and shuhua, both tall and rail-thin, built like haute couture models. thus, the lent dress give to you would fit more snugly on you than you initially hoped, pulling tight across your hips, pushing your brasts up farther than you’re comfortable with. you feel like you’ve been put out on display, and the thought follows you as you steps inside the ritzy hotel, bundling up in the pit of her stomach like a coil: a woman who’s owned.

you want to vomit on the gleaming marble. 

the nice lady behind the front desk directs you to the restaurant after asking. when you walk away, you wonder if she can sens the anxiety and desperation wafting off of you, the fear. and if she did notice, what does she think? are girls in her situation common? do they all look the way that you do, with their cheap shoes and expensive dresses, hand-me-downs from nicer women? are they older? younger? you can’t fathom it. something being younger and doing this. 

when you walk into the restaurant, a sharply-dressed hostess in all black greets you with a smile. “hello, ma’am. are you meeting someone?” 

“yes, i have a reservation,” you say. it comes out in a breathless rush. “park jihyo. she said to come at 8. she might be here already?” 

“let’s see.” she walks behind the podium and picks up an ipad, tapping it. she scrolls down, brows furrowing, before looking at you. “oh okay. i do see a park jihyo here but she hasn’t checked in yet.” 

“oh,” you breathe, trying to ignore the rush of overwhelming relief. “can i…do i wait for her at the table?” 

she offers a sympathetic frown. “unfortunately, i can’t sit you until i get proof of ID from the person who made the reservation. it’s to prevent people from stealing other people’s tables.” 

“oh. um, do i leave?” 

“you can sit at the bar if you want?” she says, gesturing towards it. “i’m sure you’ll be waiting for just a few minutes anyway.” 

you nod and send a tight smile in thanks, walking towards the bar, angleed against the other side of the restaurant. like everything else in the hotel, it’s disgustingly opulent. the counters are a dark, shiny marble, as black as onyx. the tall stools have golden legs, the cushions soft and leathery when you move to sit atop it. a beautiful woman smiles at you while you settle in. to your relief, there are very few patrons around you. 

“hi. can i get you anything?” 

you consider it for a moment. drinking wasn’t the plan. and you were always a lightweight, and you don’t want anything in your system that could impede her decision making. but…

“a lemon drop, please?” 

she nods and moves towards the drinks, mixing with a quick, effortless efficiency that fascinates you, as eager for distraction as you were right now. the martini finds it’s place down in front of you, and you smile, fiddling with the straw. “i was a bartender for a little bit, you know?” 

“were you?” 

“yeah. i switched to waitressing, though.” 

“oh, really?” her eyes dart down to her fancy dress, alight with curiosity. you try not to blush. “you came here for a nice date then?” 

“um—” 

just then, an older woman sitting a few chairs down snaps at her, calling for her attention. she sends you an apologetic smile before stepping away. you sigh and take a bracing sip of your lemon drop, trying to pace yourself. 

you don’t. 

half an hour later, you’re still sitting at the bar, your second lemon drop in front of you, and more than a litte woozy. the bartender—seulgi, your new friend—stands on the other side of you, drying a crystal cup with a rag, as much of a cliche as she is. 

“do you want me to call a taxi?” she asks, concerned. 

“i think my friend irene would like you,” you say, sitting forward; her question doesn’t register. “she’s got black hair, and a bit shorter compared to you–” you’re holding your hand out and waving it around, slightly above your own head- “she’s really cute.” 

“i’m glad you think so,” she says dryly. “i don’t recall asking for a matchmaker, but—” 

“a lot of us don’t ask for a lot of things, but we get them anyway.” 

“that’s a bit of striking honesty.” 

“well.” you swivel in your chair a little bit, resentful. “my cousin always says that i’m a gloomy brat with a big mouth.” 

“and does your cousin live here? can he or she pick you up?” 

“no,” you pout. “she lives, like, two hours away. i came here for school.” 

“okay, what about your friend irene? can she pick you up?” 

“she’s probably sleeping or studying,” you say, wiving her off. a thought strikes you then, and you smile. “you wanna meet her, don’t you? i can give you her instagram.” 

she drops her elbows onto the counter and states at you. finally, seulgi shrugs. “yeah, let me see.” 

your smile widens and you reach for your coat, now rumpled from when you carelessly tossed it onto the chair next to you after getting overheated. you pull out your phone and quickly scroll through your messages. nothing from jihyo yet, but you expected that, having long since gotten the feeling that you’ve been stood up; not that you really mind. you mourn the money more than anything else. it’s why you haven’t left. 

“here,” you say, once you switched to instagram. “this is her username, renebaebae. you should message her.” 

“i might,” seulgi says, winking at you, before turning over her head. she straightens up, once again slipping into a professional veneer. “hi, welcome. can i get you anything?” 

curious, you turn over, blinking when you notice a woman sitting just a chair away from you. she’s thrown her suit jacket off and has her sleeves rolled up. her eyes follow the length of her toned forearm, lingering on her silver rolex, before moving up again, from the broad stretch of her back to the locks of brown hair. you only stop when you notice that she’s caught you, brown eyes twinkling, the flash of them almost fox-like. 

she has a whiskey in front of her. they’re alone. seulgi had journeyed down the other end of the bar. 

“do you need something?” she asks. 

“no.” you take another sip of your lemon drop, just to keep from looking at her. 

she doesn’t offer the same courtesy. “are you drunk?” 

“no,” you sputter. “obviously not.” 

she hums, disbelievingly and glances at the chair between you, as if in silent permission. you dip your chin and she moves into it, throwing her jacket onto the counter. if you inhale, you can smell her perfume: a rich, dark scent that settles into the pit of your stomach, slow-moving and warm. rich. her watch gleams beneath the golden lights, like her shiny oxford heels and the cuff-links she carelessly tossed into her pocket. she must feel at home here in the grotesque palace of wealth. you wonder if she can smell the fraud wafting off of you, thick as the victoria’s secret perfume you spritzed on just hours before. 

“are you on a date?” 

“no.” a wave of defensiveness rises up, bolstered by resentment, and the alcohol does little to dampen its sting. “and you? why are you here?” 

“i’m drinking,” she says, and takes another swig. your eyes flicker down to the line of her throat as she swallows. when you look back up, her lips quirk. “i had a meeting.” 

“a meeting? at the four seasons?” she really is rich. 

“no, a meeting at the new york-presbyterian hospital and then dinner at the four season. my co-workers are a bunch of old men who fall asleep at 9:30 so i decided to get drunk instead of joining them.” 

“you’re a doctor?” 

“trama surgeon. you?” 

“waitress,” you say dimly, ignoring the flush that warms your cheeks. you hastily add, “and i go to school here. finishing up my undergrad, actually.” 

“nice.”

you lean into your palm, staring at her. “you look very young to be a doctor.”

“so everybody keeps telling me.” 

“how old are you?” 

brown eyes cut to you, sharp like a knife and mirthful in a way you can only describe as mean. “are you sure you’re not on a date?” 

your flush spreads, hot beneath your skin, and you look away from her, taking another swig of the martini. you caught her meaning and you’re not sure if you actually like it, if she’s making fun of you. 

after a beat of tense silence, she sighs and shifts closer, pressing her wrist lightly against her own. 

“twenty-nine,” she says, “and my name is minatozaki sana.” 

roughly about seven or eight years, you think. not that old or too old for that matter. “my name is y/n.” 

“y/n.” and you never knew your name could feel like a caress in someone else’s mouth, but it does. “it’s nice to meet you.” 

“you too.” 

seulgi passes by you again, getting another whiskey for sana and a third lemon drop for you. you can sense that she’s reluctant to give it to you, and you know that you should be mindful of how expensive this tab can be, but you don’t care. after today, with the stress and fear and the adrenaline constantly pumping in your veins, you’ve lost the ability to; you’re numb. 

and so you ignore it. “wanna take shots with me?” 

“you’re really trying to get drunk, aren’t you?” 

“aren’t you?” 

“it usually takes a bit more than two whiskeys and a shot to do me in.” 

“so no?”

“how much have you racked up on this tab y/n?” sana asks, and you visibly stifle a wince. “three lemon drop martinis. that’s probably over a hundred fucking dollars, knowing this place. why the hell would you go to the four seasons to get drunk anyway?” 

the tone is definitely something you don’t like, the patronizing color to it. it makes you reckless. “i was invited.” 

“by who?” 

“someone that isn’t here.” 

“so you are on a date.” 

“no.” 

“then who invited you here?” 

“someone.” 

“a man? woman? probably someone your age.” 

you huff a bitter laugh and take another sip of the martini. “not my age exactly.” 

“so older.” it’s not a question but a statement, and she leans back in her stool, eyes flat. “not a date, but you—some random, pretty-grad student—were invited to the four seasons by someone older than you. i’m assuming or man or woman?” 

“mhm, a woman.”

“can i ask you a personal question?”

“you already have been.” 

“why did you agree to come?” 

why else? you’re pondering. “money.” 

she stares at you for a few seconds. you keep waiting for the disgust to bleed in, or the judgment, or—if worse really happens let alone the unthinkable—the excitement for your perceived vulnerable, but she gives you none of that. instead, she curses softly under her breath and sits up, carding a hand through her brown hair. “that sucks,” she says, looking at you. the intensity of her sympathy startles you. “i’m sorry.” 

“i-it’s okay.” 

“she’s terrible for doing that, what a piece of shit. it’s rare these days how women act like that. even crazier that some can’t find real love on their own so they look for it in people like you. the ones that can’t say no.” 

“i don’t think she wants love from me.” 

her mouth thins, fist clenching atop the counter. “you mean sex?” 

your eyes widen. “no, not sex.” 

“then what is it?” 

“company,” you say. “dinner. sometimes they’ll pay you for it. it’s all over the internet.” 

“yeah, said by fucking liars. what woman is signing up to be a sugar mommy so that she can take a girl that looks like you out for just fucking dinner? how does that make any sense?” 

you’re squirming in your seat, nearly cringing at the discomfort. sana’s saying everything that you’ve been trying to ignore for a week straight, and suddenly, you hate yourself for thinking that you could be so naive. that you have the privilege to be, like tzuyu.

“i—” 

“did you drive here?” 

“what?” 

she stands up, reaching for her suit jacket. a pang of mourning shoots through you when you realize that she’s leaving. “did you drive here?”

“no. my friend ordered an uber for me.” 

sana nods and looks over to seulgi, gesturing for her to come over. she whispers something to her, a request to her tab, probably, before looking back down on you. 

“what time was your date?” 

“eight o’clock.” 

“i think you’ve been stood up.”

“i know.” 

she shrugs the jacket on, fiddling with the cufflinks. she looks disheveled, but in a way that seems purposeful. enticing. seulgi hands her a black booklet, and sana pulls her wallet out. you glance away form her, always awkward around money. 

“you probably shouldn’t talk to this girl again.” 

“wasn’t planning on it.” 

“you should also delete the…app—? she raises an eyebrow at you. you nod—”that you met her on. shit’s already sketchy as it is.” 

“i know.” 

sana steps back, and you bite your tongue, just in case. 

"it's nice to meet you, y/n. maybe i'll see you around?"

unlikely but you’re entertaining with the idea, dipping your chin an acknowledgement because you’re still too afraid to speak. she turns on her heel, and you watch her, eyes following her back until she’s disappeared from sight. you’re hitting the one eighty to face seulgi, only to falter when you notices the black booklet in front of you. “am i cut off?” 

“yup,” seulgi says, a smile playing on her lips.

you brace yourself as you slowly open the bill, cringing away from it like it can hurt her. however, it’s not the sight of an exorbitant price that greets you, but a wad of cash; hundreds of dollars. more than that.

and a series of numbers are written on the receipt, with a note on the bottom, penned in a somewhat elegant writing that shows a sliver of sharp intelligence.

“for subjecting you to an interrogation when you were trying to get drunk. good luck with school.— sana.”

“she left me a hefty tip too. for both of you,” she says, smirking at you. “you must’ve made a very lasting impression.” 

a close of the hand slams the booklet, and your eyes were unseeing. 

five hundred dollars. 

you’re counting five hundred dollars. 

five hundred. now 480 from the twenty you forked over to your uber driver on the way home. but five hundred dollars, given to you by a veritable stranger, along with—

the receipt is in your handbag, not messing with the thought of throwing it away. if not for her company, then for her generosity. and you really should call her; to thank her, send the money back, ask why the hell would she bother throwing that much money away on a poor, drunk woman wallowing away at a bar. jesus christ almi—

the trill of your phone startles you, ducking your head while you’re scrambling to the couch to yank it from your purse. tzuyu’s smile flashes at you from the screen, and you sigh deeply before bringing the phone to your ear. “hello?” 

“hello,” she says, voice pitched in a lilting sing-song. “‘i’m with shuhua and you’re on speaker. say hi.”

“hi, shua.” 

“sup, y/n.”

tzuyu chimes again, “so, how was it?”

“uh,” you glance down at your handbag again, at the wad of cash sticking up from the top of it. your pulse jumps. “it went alright.” 

“was jihyo as scary as you thought she would be?”

she, well- uh– she never showed up.” 

“what!?” you scrunch up your shoulders at the screech. “what do you mean she never showed up?” 

“i got stood up.”

“oh, beb. i’m so sorry.” 

“it’s fine.”

“so it ended up being all for nothing?” shuhua asks, appalled. “you got all dressed up and went down to one of the most expensive hotels in the city for fucking nothing? you’re still broke?”

tzuyu shrieks again, this time shushing in scolding, but you huff a laugh instead of getting offended, still reeling in disbelief.

“not for nothing.” you mumble out. and the line stays quiet on their end. “what did you say, honey?” 

“not for nothing.” you repeat, louder. “i…i met someone, and she…” 

“and she what?” 

saying it out loud wouldn’t make it make sense, but you force the words out in vain hope. “she gave me five hundred bucks.” 

the other end went silent again, clearly digesting this, seeing what they can make from it. that is, until shuhua barks out a mean laugh and asks, “don’t tell me you got on your knees for her or something?” 

“shua!” 

“it’s an honest question! what kind of old, rich woman gives a girl money for free unless she’s actually interested in?”

“i didn’t—” the lump in your throat rises while the heat flushes your cheeks. “nothing happened between us. we just talked. and she isn’t old.” 

“...is she cute?” 

you’re thinking of sana’s strong side profile, rolled up sleeves, and the low registered tone along with the bite of her tongue. “yes.” 

“so if nothing happened, why did she give you money?” shuhua asks.

“i don’t know,” you reply softly, pulling up your knees to hug them. “i think…she just felt bad for me.” 

“felt bad for you? what makes you say that?” 

“i told her why i was there, pretty much. she seemed bothered by it.” 

“if god was a woman,” tzuyu says, a smile in her voice, and despite her generosity, you don’t even know if you’d consider sana your saving grace; there was an intensity to her, to her kindness that belied normal human decency. you can’t even tell if she’d do it for anyone else. 

but if that were the case, why you the? what did you do to earn that kind of attention?

“well, i think there’s something else happening that y/n is telling us,” shuhua says bluntly. “i don’t see why she’d be that nice otherwise.”

tzuyu hums along in agreement, considering. “what do you think, y/n?” 

“i don’t know either, if i knew exactly the i would’ve told you.” 

“maybe it’d be worth taking into account asking her then? let your curiosity get the best of you.” 

you’re reaching for your handbag, pulling the crumpled receipt from it, smoothing your thumb over the fine printed calligraphy of sana’s name. 

“maybe i will.” you whisper. 

later after the call, you text her while you’re tucking yourself into bed, hoping that it’ll be late enough that she won’t immediately respond. the nervousness and confusion rumbling in your head to even go forward into speaking to sana. you toss your phone on the nightstand and turn over, willing not-so-tired body to sleep. 

the hope diminsieses very quickly. phone vibrating for a few seconds to make you jump up, reaching over. you’re tapping at the unsaved contact and click on the text, trembling. your own message flashes at you innocently, and you just want to throw your phone into the toilet or damn fire: hi! this is y/n. the girl you met at the bar tonight. do you remember? 

sn: 

hey. and yeah i do. 

y/n:

cool! your thumbs hover over the touchscreen. unfortunately, i think you might’ve accidentally left something with me. 

sn: 

it wasn’t an accident. 

y/n: 

oh, you think, typing away. i’im so sorry, and thank you so much for your kindness, but i can’t accept that. 

sn: 

why not? 

y/n: 

it’s too much money and you’re a stranger. i can’t ask that of you.

sn: 

you don’t owe me anything. 

a second passes before she adds: can i call you? 

your heart skyrockets up to the opening in your throat while your adrenaline spikes. for a moment, you want to say no. you don’t know if you can handle it, hearing her voice after she’s done you such unnecessary kindness. but it’s the thought that loops around and convinces you: sana gave you five hundred dollars. the least that you can do is have a damn conversation about it. 

yes.

your phone rings just seconds after you’ve pressed send, and you take a deep, steadying breath, willing your heart to slow it’s pace. you pick up. “hello?” 

“hey.” 

the low timbre of her voice makes your breath hitch. she sounds like she’s been sleeping. like she woke up for you. 

“you wanted to talk?” 

“well, you did. mostly.” you can hear a slight rustling on the other line. her shuffling in bed. “you said something about owing me.” 

“i can’t,” you say firmly. “i’d have to repay you, and as you can guess, i’m not made of money right now—” 

“i didn’t give you that because i though you would owe me something. to be honest, i didn’t know if i had a chance in hell of seeing you again. i was trying to be nice.” 

“and i appreciate it, but i can’t accept it. five hundred dollars is a lot of money, and—” 

“i’m a surgeon.” 

“which is how i know you’ve worked hard for it. i’m sorry, sana, but i can’t accept it.” 

“does anyone do nice things for you?” 

you blink, “what?” 

“you just seem to have a hard time accepting kindness.” 

“i…i don’t…” 

“fine,” she huffs. “i’m not gonna force you to keep anything you can’t accept.” 

“can i give it back to you?” 

“i was thinking more along the lines of: you could toss the cash in a fire if you want it—” 

“no,” you say, horrified. “i want to give it back to you.” 

silence lingers on sana’s end. your pulse roars in your eardrums and your fingers are gripping the sheets. you have this distinct feeling that you’re dangling over the precipice, waiting for the ball to be dropped. 

“how about you meet me for lunch?” 

“huh?” 

“lunch. tomorrow afternoon at 2.” 

“i…um…”

“or i can give you my mailing address and you can ship it back to me. whatever you want.” 

“are you asking me out?” 

her voice comes in lower, barely over a rumble over the crack of the speakers. deliberate. “if you’re okay with it.” 

you remember sana at the bar, under the dim golden lights. how she leaned into you when you spoke, how she listened, the geunine sympathy in her eyes when you told her why you were there. the way you mourned the loss of her when she left, with an intensity to it that startled you. 

answering in a breathless rush. “lunch. i-i’d like to go to lunch. with you.” 

“cool.” you can hear her smile. “i’ll text you tomorrow?” 

“yes.” 

“okay. see you then.” 

“see you.” you whisper, and drop your phone once she hung up. about two seconds pass before you pick it up frantically, dialing shuhua’s number. 

she sounds annoyed, plus a giggle is heard in the background. she and tzuyu were definitely hooking up. “what?!”

“shua! i need another one of your dresses!” 

half an hour before your date, sana texts you: “there’s been an emergency at work. i got called in.” 

you, on the other hand, was in the middle of drawing a very sharp wing, not caring for the falling eyeliner when you reach for you phone, frowning. 

y/n: 

huh!? what happened? 

sn: 

one of the other surgeons had a heart attack this morning so i had to fill in for him

it’s been a shitty day. 

y/n: 

i’m sorry :( 

a fleeting attempt to stave off the wave of disappointment that threatens to consume you, feeling ridiculous for it. childish. 

but it’s not so childish however, to keep you from typing, “will you have to cancel? :(“ 

sn: 

for lunch, yeah. but i was thinking we can reschedule for dinner? 

y/n: 

will you be able to get out by then? 

sn: 

my supervisor said i can expect to be out by 6. i can pick you up at 8:30 if you want? 

you press a finger to your lips, smothering a smile. 

y/n: 

i’d love that. 

sana’s reply comes a second later. 

sn: 

i’ll see you then. 

[iwoulddieforienzo]

Something I really appreciate about TOA that I don’t see get talked about much is that I never get the sense that Apollo finds Lester ugly.

For all that he complains about the body he’s stuck in, I never got the feeling that it came from a distaste for Lester himself. When he sees Lester’s traits reflected in others, like Meg being chunky, he is completely unaffected by it. Finds it charming, even. (In fact, the only times I can remember him having Opinions about how someone looks is when they’ve chosen something about their appearance that he either approves or disapproves of, like a tacky jacket/hair cut or when he finds someone attractive. The only time I can remember him calling anybody ugly was when he pointed out that Dionysus was choosing to look as ugly as possible to piss of Zeus, which is a statement of fact and doesn’t necessarily mean he thinks that Dionysus’ form is actually ugly. He makes no mention of finding it so before or after that line. It’s a statement of fact that Dionysus is choosing a form that either he or Zeus finds ugly to piss of their dad.)

The thing about Lester is that he is so devastatingly mortal. He has flab and acne and no upper body strength and his voice squeaks when he’s nervous and he sweats a lot and he has a silly name and messy, curly hair that’s impossible to tame. He is the Most Teenager To Ever. There is no godly blood running through his veins, no powers he can call upon. If Apollo were to run into him in the street, I don’t think he’d pay him much mind. He’d probably just think, “sweet kid”, and move on. If he got to know him, I think Apollo would adore him because that’s just who rrverse!Apollo is. He loves mortals despite himself, flaws and all. He’d argue against anything bad Lester had to say about his own appearance and mean every word.

The problem is that it’s Apollo in this body. Apollo, The Golden Child, the perfect son, a God. His distaste for this body is because Lester is so devastatingly mortal and imperfect. Apollo has to be perfect, he has to be shiny and pretty and strong because he has nothing else to offer otherwise.

And.. I dunno, there’s something about Apollo hating the things that draw him to others when it’s him. The flaws that he tears apart in himself he finds endlessly charming on others, or he thinks that they have better reasons for why they have them, or he thinks they have enough positive traits to counteract them. The positive things that he hides deep enough that even the reader can’t see right away, like his kindness and genuine desire to understand and connect with everyone around him, that he’s shocked to find directed at him in turn.

That Apollo accepting himself and reclaiming his personhood leads to him being comfortable with being Lester, imperfect and mortal as he is. That he takes that imperfection back with him to Olympus… I dunno man I’m Emotional. Also it’s just plain nice that Lester is never treated as ugly for looking like a normal ass teenager, even by the guy stuck in this body. That’s neat.

Or maybe I’m just rambling and this means nothing at all and I’m reading too far into Blorbo from my books.

[divorceconnoisseur]

There's a beat of silence where they just stare at each other. Eddie's face wavers for a second before he snorts, running his hand down his face. "What are we even doing here, man?"

Steve falters, the inanity of the situation hitting him. "I, uh, I think we're about to actually fistfight over-- over who a bunch of 14-year-olds think is cooler."

Eddie considers that briefly, tapping his fingers against his mouth before nodding. "Yeah, okay, I've heard of worst causes. Dukes up, Harrington, let's go!" Eddie pushes up his sleeves and waves his fists in the air cartoonishly as he starts to circle Steve.

Steve laughs, following Eddie as he goes like a compass drawn north. "Oh yeah, man? To the death, right?"

"Of course. Is there any other kind of fight?" Eddie says, overly serious, and abruptly tackles Steve.

They wrestle for a moment, and it's playful and stupid, but it still takes Steve an embarrassingly short amount of time to get Eddie in a headlock.

"This is just sad, man," Steve teases as Eddie struggles. "Those guns just for show, then?"

"Oh shit oh shit not the hair please, please have mercy O King Steve," Eddie laughs breathlessly.

Steve considers it-- Eddie seems to take as much care in his hair as Steve does, and real respects real-- and in that moment of hesitation, Eddie hooks his leg around Steve's and pulls.

Steve yelps as Eddie cackles, dragging them both down into the grass.

He hits the ground with a choked gasp, breath knocked out of him, and he squints up at the sky, unsuccessfully trying to hold back a grin.

He turns his head to say something to Eddie but loses his breath a second time for a very different reason.

Eddie's still giggling to himself in little fits, winding down, and there's a lightness to him at this moment that Steve's never seen, only heard described by the kids pre-Vecna. Laughter suits Eddie Munson, much better than terror or guilt or seriousness, and Steve's suddenly aware that he would do anything in this moment to keep that surprised look of happiness on his face a second longer.

Eddie catches his eyes and turns his head toward him. He's got grass stuck in his hair, and Steve doesn't think before he reaches over.

It's soft. Softer than he was expecting. He's careful not to catch any of Eddie's hair as he pulls out the grass and ends up lingering longer than he means to, setting a curl back to rights before realizing that this is, like, maybe a little weird.

He jerks back, and the back of his hand brushes Eddie's cheek, which is-- which is--

Warm. Soft, too, but with the rough start to stubble, and the feeling of it lingers against his hand like a brand.

Eddie's eyes, dark and impossibly wide, watch him, quiet for once. He wets his lips before speaking, and Steve's eyes catch on that, too, before darting back up to Eddie's. Which, god, what even was that? Why-- why is he--?

"A draw, then," Eddie says, turning over onto his stomach and kicking up his feet, and the weird atmosphere vanishes like it never was. "You are a worthier opponent than I realized, Steve Harrington."

"Oh yeah?" Steve says, relieved and disappointed. "Well, you're not so bad yourself."

Eddie clicks his tongue and fans himself. "You're too kind."

Steve looks away, tracking the clouds passing overhead. "No, really. I know I haven't exactly been, y'know, the world's best welcoming committee-"

"Was pretty convinced you hated my guts, yup." Eddie agrees, nodding.

"I don't. I never did. You're just--" Steve wracks his brain, trying to fit a word to the squirming feeling in his chest that Eddie inspires. "You're really good, y'know?"

"I... don't know, actually." Eddie's voice goes flat, and when Steve turns back to look at him, he's looking at Steve like he's a live snake, or something else dangerous and close to his vulnerable bits.

"You're good with the kids. Good for the kids, too. God, Will's really opened up since he joined your dumb nerdfest. You're good with and to the girls, too, and Jonathan, and Argyle, and probably anyone else that crosses your path. You are, patently, a good dude."

Eddie's mouth opens and closes, but Steve barrels on, feeling electric and more than a little crazy. "And, and it's just-- I don't know, I just--"

"Harrington, if you're about to tell me you think I'm a better man than you, I will lose it," Eddie interrupts regardless, voice high and reedy. "I know you're being, like, genuine and honest right now, but I will laugh in your goddamn face-"

"No, it's not that."

"Okay, I know this directly contradicts what I just said, but the speed with which you said that... Ouch."

"No," Steve shakes his head, frustrated. "I didn't mean it like that. It's-- it's not a competition."

Eddie's eyebrows leap up. "It's not? I invite you to remember what we've spent the last few weeks on."

"That was just an excuse," He snaps his mouth closed the second the words leave his mouth.

"Excuse?" Eddie repeats slowly.

"I just. I don't know, man. Maybe," he swallows. "Maybe I just couldn't handle the thought of you being good to me."

"... Why not?" Eddie asks, eyes focused on him, open, not judging, and god, this is exactly what Steve was worried about.

Eddie looks at him, and Steve--

Kisses him. Can't really do anything else but kiss him.

And when Eddie, after the longest moment of Steve's life, starts kissing him back? It's like the answer to a question he hadn't realized he'd been asking.

Turns out it's not the kids' attention he'd wanted-- or not just the kids' attention, anyway.

When Eddie pulls back, lips red and wet, eyes dark and focused just on him, Steve knows he's finally won it.

[lovebugism]

i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. 

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems. 

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore. 

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you. 

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough.  You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against. 

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles). 

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into. 

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary. 

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you. 

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”  

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her. 

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips. 

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means. 

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you. 

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds. 

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about. 

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place. 

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right. 

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week. 

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now. 

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie. 

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you. 

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call. 

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.” 

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting. 

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer. 

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat. 

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way. 

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye. 

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm. 

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing. 

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college. 

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs. 

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

 Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be. 

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching. 

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully. 

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease. 

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago. 

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need. 

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret. 

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure. 

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?” 

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading —  and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly. 

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious. 

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for. 

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry. 

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you. 

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him. 

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him. 

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so. 

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes. 

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you. 

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it. 

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats. 

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling. 

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day. 

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down. 

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone. 

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him. 

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold. 

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler. 

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock. 

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.” 

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time.  “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are. 

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were. 

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?” 

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so. 

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.” 

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost. 

But it’s happened before. 

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight. 

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise. 

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak. 

You want him. 

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

[mediumgayitalian]

What are some of your Will headcanons?

Any angsty ones?

hair style:

will's hair has a Mind Of Its Own. it is impossible. brushing it? keep dreaming. styling it? dude just give up

he can, however, wrangle it into two french braid pigtails. those are fun.

in the august after the giant war, the aphrodite cabin take it upon themselves to 'style' nico, including giving him these little elastics with a skull charm (like this but with skulls), but he doesn't like tying his hair back very much (too tight) so he gives them to will as a joke.

will LOVES them.

he literally wears them almost every day. the next time they go out on a supply run, nico sees these little elastic charms and buys them for will. he can't summon the courage to give them to him face to face but he leaves them on his bed. will adores them, too, and it starts something of a tradition of people giving will charm elastics as a small thank-you.

he has a collection of them and wears them whenever he wears his hair in braids.

his favourites are the skull charms, though.

artistic ability:

will really doesn't have many musical talents. he's hard of hearing and while hephaestus-made hearing aids definitely work better than mortal ones, it's not really something that can be cured, so he has a lot of trouble staying on key/making music himself.

however! apollo is the god of poetry and art in general -- that is more than just visual!!

will is a really good writer, poetry especially. he's very articulate and verbose and writes with startling clarity. he's written a lot of songs and a lot of poems, although he hasn't shown anybody in years.

he used to share them with his older brothers and sisters and sibling, but...well. obviously that's no longer an option.

he's never stopped writing, though. he may keep it to himself, but it's kind of an open secret. he's scribbling in his notebooks all the time -- it's impossible not to notice.

his friends and siblings, however, are the only ones who know that he writes creatively. they've peeked over his shoulder here and there (and also kayla is a huge huge snoop, like, badly, and austin is easily convinced to be complacent in her crimes), and sometimes he says things that are just kind of poetic.

no one else knows, though. he's deliberately obnoxious about it -- every once in a while, at campfire open mics, he'll clear his throat loudly and grin as people groan and recite something so bad apollo might have written it. most people think will's quite bad at writing, actually.

another thing he's really good at is drama, which is a surprise to absolutely no one. although beyond his regular histrionics, chiron had shakespeare as part of his curriculum, and will could play puck like nobody's business. he recited a mercutio so good once lee actually cried with laughter (so did everyone else). on a hauntingly beautiful february in 2004, he played ophelia by the creek so beautifully that it was silent for a good four minutes after he finished.

there are very, very few people at camp who remember that. will hasn't recited anything in a while.

an unexpected bonus of his medical knowledge, actually, is a really good understanding of depth, space, and anatomy.

he's a surprisingly good artist.

it started pretty normal -- he was having trouble articulating a question to michael one time, and in a fit of frustration drew a diagram to try and explain himself. it was really good, even as rushed as it was, so michael used to give him 'homework' that was hand-drawing posters of various body systems to hang in the infirmary.

it was kind of spooky how will could do it without looking it up. just close his eyes and start sketching an accurate nervous system. cool though.

his older sister, cass, encouraged him to branch out of anatomy diagrams and create whatever he liked. she made the unfortunate mistake of giving him several cans of paint and free reigns on blank infirmary walls (they're freaky and boring) to a nerdy eight-year-old -- that's why r2d2 and c3po are chilling on the wall by the mortal medicine cabinet.

he doesn't paint a lot now, 'cause he doesn't have the damn time, but when rachel finds out who painted the infirmary walls she hounds him until he takes a morning to paint with her. they have a lot of fun. they end up with more paint on each other and their clothes than their canvases, predictably.

siblings:

when will was a kid, he had twelve older siblings.

apollo tends to have kids in brackets. he is, as everyone knows, a hoe, so he'll be busy on olympus or with artemis and go a while without having any kids, and then he'll be on earth for like three years and have a litter. so a lot of his kids end up the same age.

before the war, in the same cabin, there was: cass, the oldest, 18, somewhat year-long; diana, 18, year-long; lee, 16, somewhat year-long; michael, 16, somewhat year-long; gabriel, 15, summer-only; leanna, 15, summer-only; mercury, 15, summer-only; kate & phoebe, 14, summer-only; laurel, 13, summer-only; amir, 13, summer-only; melody, 12, summer-only; and will, 8, year-long (for now).

their abilites were pretty vast and well-rounded, and they came from all over the continent.

there was a time when the infirmary wasn't understaffed at all.

will doesn't like to think about it.

style:

on their birthdays, apollo leaves them all a gift on their bunks (or their beds at home, if their birthdays aren't in the summer).

each of them gets a piece of blessed gold jewelry when they're ten. will got a pair of threader earrings with thin blue sapphires that he loves. he can't wear them often because they're a genuine hazard in the infirmary (yes, more than flip-flops) and he doesn't want them ruined. but he wears them on the rare days he has off.

he actually has quite a lot of jewelry! because he is a sappy nerd, he has two watches: a hephaestus-made one, totally waterproof, weatherproof, and monsterproof, because it helps quell the anxiety when so many people are counting on him (he has to know when people will be better and how long he can be away from his patients, also used to tell people to fuck off when he's on break lol); and his mother's much nicer watch that she gave to him when she dropped him off at camp for the first time -- it's not changed for the time zone. he knows what time it is for her, and it makes him feel better about being so far away from her.

he wears both watches on the same wrist, ala chad danforth.

he has a third watch. it was lee's. it's got r2d2 on the face. will got it for him with his own money when he was nine years old, for his birthday. it lives in a box under his bunk. it's cracked and broken and never tells the right time except on 1:52 p.m. on june 30th, although the year gets farther and farther off every time will checks it.

contrary to popular belief, will does not actually wear the same pair of cargo shorts every day.

...because he has seven pairs of the same shorts.

he does have other shorts through. namely swim trunks and a pair of tighter shorts he wears specifically to kick ass in volleyball. he didn't try for this or anything, he got the shorts at the thrift store, but he's pretty sure they might be designer. he gets a lot of compliments from the aphrodite cabin when he wears them.

he also has a collection of nerdy t-shirts (his anakin sand-rant t-shirt is worn to threads), novelty pajama pants, hoodies, and flannel.

he has more than one tattoo. he has several, actually; constellations, lines from freckle to freckle so faint you can barely see them: the seer, the drummer, the archer, the tiny lion, the archangel, the maiden, the lyre, the twins, the boat stern, the hearth, and the singer.

just plain will:

he's slightly red-green colourblind.

when he gets mad, his cheeks puff up and he gets all red in the face before erupting. his older siblings used to call him tinkerbell.

he gets teased for being so dramatic that he was named for the most dramatic apollo kid who ever lived -- shakespeare. but his actual, legal name is just plain will solace. when pregnant, his mom used to mutter 'it's you, me, and sheer fucking force of will, baby' to herself a lot, as a kind of mantra, and then will was born and she thought it would be kind of funny to name him will (she was right). lee invented william andrew solace so he'd have something to yell when will got in trouble lol.

he has the climbing wall record. this is because he climbs a lot of trees. he has no explanation and no one is going to stop him.

when he was a kid, and the whole mythology thing was explained to him, he misnderstood michael's explanation of food sacrifice as one to be done to all theoi/mythical beings. he worked his way to praying through the entire pantheon, a horde of minor gods, hestia, chiron, argus, and half the nymphs before someone caught wind and explained to him properly. it is the main reason all the nymphs and dryads are so endeared by him. he used to go around asking their names and very seriously writing it down in his little notebook to pray to them properly.

he carries around notebooks constantly. at first, diana gave them to him because he was driving everyone bonkers with his endless questions and she needed Five Minutes, Will, Gods, Please of silence, but he really took to it and wrote everything in there. he keeps them all as a sort of diary. kayla reads them any time he has his back turned.

it is really, really hard for him to talk about his siblings. but he knows kayla and austin feel kind of left out and hurt about it, since they didn't get the chance to know them like will did (the kids never met them), so sometimes, late at night, he calls them softly over to his bunk and they curl up, one under each arm, and he tells them stories until his voice goes hoarse and they're long asleep.

[megu-nya]

★·.·´ I'VE GOT YOUR LEASH UNDER MY THUMB `·.·★

★ ¦ @jaythes1mp asked: reo & nagi x male reader. handcuff & marking kinks (e.g. bitting, hickeys, etc. anything to do with marking the person as theirs). reader has been hanging around other people at school a little too much for their liking. seems like they need to remind him who he belongs to.

★ ¦ ft: reo mikage :: seishiro nagi

★ ¦ tw: nsfw :: mlm :: m!reader :: mean dom!character :: possessive!character :: handcuffing :: marking kink :: biting kink

★·.·´ REO MIKAGE `·.·★

You were his and only his. Only he could laugh with you. Only he could see that sweet and genuine smile of yours. Only he could listen to all your troubles and sorrows and only he could comfort you. But this message didn't seem like it went through to that little brain of yours. From the field he watched you standing and chatting with one of the bench warmers. Laughing with him. Something only he was allowed to see. God, how he hated that sight.

His anger got even more fueled when you looked over to him and flashed him a smile, a smile only his eyes were allowed to see. He hated everything about that situation. For what were you getting onto his nerves? Did you want to test your boundaries? Did you want to know how far you can go until he has had enough with you? Because right now he did have enough. More than enough. Angrily he stomped over to you, his tall frame looming over you as he spoke. "We have to talk", was all he said as he grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you into the locker room.

"What's wrong Re-", you asked your purple haired boyfriend but your words got cut off by him slamming his fist right next to your head onto the wall right next to his locker, his eyes dark and hazed, staring at you and making you feel like he was looking deep into your soul. Without saying a word nor breaking eye contact he fondeled around in his sports bad, grabbing the tie of his uniform and taking it into both of his hands, stretching the material, the veins on his hands and fore arms becoming prominent.

"Seems like i have to teach you some manners", he said before grabbing both of your wrists with one of his hands and putting them above your head, tying the fabric of his tie around them with a swift movement and pinning them right were they are with such a strenght you thought your bones were about to break. One of his knees found its way between your legs, spreading them, pressing against your crotch and elicting a mewl from you which made him huff as response.

Reo was quick to latch his mouth onto your neck, harshly biting down on it, a round wound forming and his teeth drawing blood from your sensitive flesh. He pulled back and admired his doings, but he wasn't satisfied. Not yet. He needed to give you even more marks. He wanted you to walk out of the locker room with every bit of your skin either covered with marks from him biting you or hickeys from him sucking on your skin. He needed the others to know who you belonged to. And that being him, only him.

★·.·´ SEISHIRO NAGI `·.·★

"Sei- what?!", you exhaled, the air knocked out of your lungs as he basically threw you onto bed, manhandling you as if you would way nothing. He was annoyed, you could see it in his eyes and the way he looked at you. But why was he like this? Why did he behave like a feral animal caging his prey and ready to devour it? But your thoughts soon concentrated back on the feeling of cold metal against your wrists and the familiar clicking of handcuffs. You found yourself handcuffed to the bed frame, unable to move your hands, your boyfriend caging your body under his own, giving you no chance to escape.

"Does he feel good?", he asked you, blankly staring at you like he always would, demeanour suddenly having changed. "What are you talking about?!", you asked, confused, not understand what the actual hell was happening right now. Normally it would have been easy for you to read him but right now you felt like it was impossible.

When he saw you being dumbfounded by his question something in him snapped. How could you not know what he means when you've been obviously flirting with one of your class mates? Why were you playing dumb when it was so obvious what you did? And, most importantly, why did you do it? To test him? To annoy him? To make him jealous?

Many more questions raced through his head as his mouth latched onto your neck, his tongue first only slightly grazing your skin, a shiver running down your spine at the feeling of his wet muscle teasing you, then a yelp leaving your mouth when his teeth sank onto the expanse of your neck, sucking in the flesh and biting down on it, letting it roll between his tongue and teeth.

Once he was done with it he admired his masterpiece, the hickey he gave you already being a bright red mixed with blue and purple shades, being perfectly visible for the next time someone saw that spot. But it wasn't enough. He needed to mark you more. Way more. He needed to show the whole world who you belonged to. He needed to show every single human being that you were his and his only. No one else could have you. Only he could and only he will.

2023 © megu-nya — all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, translate, modify or plagiarize in any form.

[blueberryarchive]

—the sketch and the smaller eye; kth

Lonely man Kim Taehyung leads a fairly stable routine in his life away from civilization affected by an infection without a cure. Stability ends the day you arrive, no one knows how you got there, but one thing is for sure: Taehyung won't let you go.

🌿pairing; Artist!Taehyung x Fem!Reader

🌿word count; 8.1k

🌿tw; widower!tae, post-apocalitic scenario, mentions of disease, weight loss and death, very brief mention of arms, age gap (21 & 30-ish), smut (manhandling, whiNY Taehyung, edging, spanking, oral (f. receiving), creampie, dirty talk), gruesome details of the virus.

🌿themes; strangers to lovers, slow burning, cottage-core.

🌿inspired by; ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵐʸ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᶠᵃⁿᶠⁱᶜ ⁱⁿ ᵉⁿᵍˡⁱˢʰ ᵖˡˢ ᵇᵉ ᵘⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The walk all the way home was always one of his favorite things to do when it was hunting day, the way the wind danced between the dying leaves and made music inside the hollow trees, the sun setting with the most beautiful tones of pink. It always reminded him of the times he spent just drawing all alone until you came into his land.

The day was August 8th, the heat was overbearing and like all of the other days around the same time, probably four or five (he wouldn't know because his only clock died a year ago), Taehyung sat down in the shadow of an old oak tree that has been his only friend, besides his dog, since he came to this lonely and God-forgotten place, were he was blessed and cursed with solitude and the cruel nature.

He had a small tin box with all of his drawing supplies, broken pencils, a piece of eraser gum the size of a nail, and a reddish tint drying up in a baby food crystal jar. Every day he told himself that he was making more yellow with the few sunflowers in his backyard, but today of all days he actually stood up to look for the petals.

The flowers were right outside the kitchen window, the sun was going down, and they were hunched over, withered, and full of little flying butterflies. His calloused hands took a pair of petals, the most vibrant and alive.

The sudden sound of cracking leaves and the barking of his dog disturbed him.

Taehyung perfectly remembers the moment he saw your frightened eyes, the color of the sunset over your weak body clinging to a log, an improvised cane. Torn clothes, dry mouth like a corpse, wet hair for some reason. Did you cross the river?

The first reaction of both was primal, like two animals that didn't plan to meet. Taehyung only turned on the fireplace at night, only for a couple of hours, so as not to attract attention. 

So what were you doing there? Were you lost? Impossible, he was too far from civilization. Were you infected? The wolves would've eaten you by now. Either way, he didn't like the idea of someone new.

The petals sweated their amber ink on Taehyung's hand, you tried to maintain your position, your gaze... almost afraid to blink. The man was not afraid to take action, hand already inside his overall pocket. Without much, his hand raised a pistol, sleek and silver. He was pointing straight at your face, your hair in a ponytail revealing your exposed forehead, like an invitation to explode it with a bullet.

"No, please." You muttered. So soft and yet, Taehyung got scared hearing someone else's voice. It wasn't a growl, nor the crash of stones from the river, nor the rain, nor the cawing of crows, nor his own grunts when chopping wood, nor the barking from his old dog. "I'll go." You begged again, letting go of the log. Taehyung tensed, even more, hearing you again.

So soft and sad. So delicate when the world around was burning.

"Are you coming with someone else?" he growled, getting closer and looking around. The forest seemed quiet, and his dog would have warned him.

"No, just me."

"If you lie it'll be worse for you."

"I know." You lowered your head to avoid the black eye of the gun.

"Are you sick?" the question was simple. Taehyung was trying to look for signs of infection. He hadn't felt this fear since the last time he lost his wife to that fucking disease.

You denied it, slowly.

"Show me," he said with a lowered tone, calm eyes as you undressed as quickly as possible. No marks. Elbows, hands, neck, eyes. All clean. With a sigh from both, the barking stopped.

"Walk to the tree over there, and if you try to do anything funny I'm going to put every fucking bullet in your head," he said giving a simple condition. He started moving with you in front.

Without saying anything else, you both walked slowly to the trunk. The afternoon was already turning blue, cicadas were playing a tense melody. Your bare back revealed your vertebrae, hard balls under your skin looking as if it was going to break. You hugged yourself, trying to keep the heat of your body, perhaps even your modesty.

With a whistle, Frank appeared: an old dog with red eyes and floppy ears. Seeing the naked stranger, he growled loudly. Your hands began to tremble, the weapon and the animal made a cry of pain come out of you, a plea with tears falling down your ashy cheeks. But you didn't see a drop of mercy in Taehyung's eyes, you knew that having this kind of loneliness was not achieved without having to kill several from time to time.

The eyes of the man in front of you were unbending and cold, lips pressed into a thin line, thick hands gripping Frank's chain and his gun. Stains of watercolors and charcoal on his fingers.

"C'mon, buddy," he whispered and the dog came closer little by little to sniff your body. "Bend down." You obeyed.

The animal took its time sticking its wet nose into your hair and skin until it snorted as it sat down. Taehyung lowered the gun.

That was the beginning of your recovery, long days lying between rough, thick sheets. Yellowed pillows that smelled of Taehyung's hair, hand-rolled cigarettes on the nightstand. Every morning he would get up before the sun came up and carry his hunting artifacts over his shoulder. Frank stayed with you while you tried to kill time in the cabin.

You learned how to garden and cook, roll the cigars, and dry the tobacco in the sun. The books were plenty, but reading was an activity you only did if Taehyung was the one reading to you, he did it every night. Even when the fever was so high you couldn't keep up with the story.

When you were at your worst, he held your head to put you in one of his sweaters, and even left the crackling fire all night to keep you warm in the cold.

Every night he started, with a rough and tired voice, around 8 o'clock, to read you a chapter from a book of poems or letters; or the list of lost people in the old newspaper.

"I do it to keep me sane," he said. "I went a long period without saying a word, and I started to forget how to say them, my tongue used to get jammed." He explained to you while drawing an empty cup of tea next to you.

You could only tell him a couple of questions each night, he used to get tired very easily. The first two weeks you couldn't even pronounce two words before he started to lose his patience.

"You don't have to know anything about me," his eyebrows locked in a frown. "When you get better, you can go and it will be like we never met."

But now it has been three months, you think. You recovered pretty well, and you can do the chores while he's out. You try your best every day so he notices that you won't be a bother if he lets you stay.

He doesn't ask questions about how you came to be on this side of the river, and you thank him for that. The memories blurred in your mind, like a sketch that's been erased again and again. 

Taehyung get's home at sunset, you are outside breaking some newspapers into pieces. The notebooks he used to draw in were already full, so you decided to make him a new one. 

You are wearing a dress he found in an abandoned house, it was a teen size but he loves it. He doesn't know your age yet, but he knows you're probably in your early twenties. He loves when the sun is scorching hot and your only choice is to let your thighs and shoulders out while you cook and clean. The hem flows with the wind letting him see your bare ass while you put the paper to dry.

You two haven't had sex, you never gave him signs, maybe because he looked a little bit older. He never felt like he had to hide an inexistent lust, until a few weeks ago. 

Two, to be exact. 

You were in the nearest river. A flimsy white t-shirt, wine-drunk, and talking so much. You were so irksome with your questions. The cold water sticking the fabric to your body like marble while you asked about Taehyung's boring routine. Your babble was such, you started asking about him jerking off and how sex works in solitude.

The way you laughed made him blush with anger. Sketches he was trying to make from the water lilies turned into ones from your eyes. 

That day he had to take a cold shower in the river after leaving you by the fire in the house. His face was boiling red, tired of your babbling and hard as a log.

The idea of you making him horny made him mad for some reason; it made him feel like a high school boy, but it was natural. He had years without seeing a woman. And you were pretty. So pretty for no fucking reason.

He knew that being in his early thirties probably made him less attractive to you, he was a grumpy man, almost a caveman how he reacted to your ways. That's why he didn't try, not even think about it... not always.

Now you have him going to abandoned houses on the other side of the river, looking for things for you: like a small bottle of perfume, a broken mirror, and old photos of people who are probably dead by now. A way to show he cared without using words. 

When he got to the rock path, the crackle made you turn around, you were smiling like always, and his heart felt warm.

"I told you to do that earlier. The paper won't dry today," He grunted, acting more tired than he was so you leave everything behind and get near him. You get a cigar from a basket near you and light it for him. You pass it to him after taking a puff.

"But you can draw on one piece of paper."

"That's not how it works."

"It'll have to work."

Taehyung pressed his lips together, he knew you enjoyed arguing with him, but more than those few words would not come out of him. You rolled you eyes going back to hang the wet paper.

"I'm making dinner tonight," he muttered like ten minutes later and then silence again. Another cigar, the old Frank by his side while he watched the sunset disappear.

The reading hours were around six to seven, right after dinner. It was the same routine when you first stayed, and it is the same now: After dinner, he gets comfortable in bed, takes a cigarette from the nightstand, and with the gas lamp he lights the tip. Book in hand. 

The words he didn't say all day would overflow as he read chapter by chapter. In an appropriate tone, pauses at the commas, giving life to each character. A treat for the ears.

After looking for a book on the first floor, he entered the room and stood up, his eyes went to the corner where there was a broken mirror, and in its reflection, you were, combing your hair in a ponytail, so poorly done that it was better to leave it loose. But the strands that were floating in the air, in front of your eyes, made Taehyung's fingers tingle, wanting to take every strand and pull it towards him.

There was a heaviness in the air that early autumn night. The silence was thick, and the yellowish lamplight cast heavier shadows on every piece of furniture. Abrupt and defined as in a baroque painting.

The curve in which his eyes concentrated more were the ones that defined your waist and your stomach, how it bulged slightly like a hill stamped with the flowers of your skimpy dress.

"Turn around," you muttered, like you didn't care if he did it or not, as you started to remove your dress; snapping Taehyung out of the sketches he was drawing in his head. He went to open the window to let some of the heat out of the room, letting the smoke creep through the curtains.

"I think I know what I'm going to read to you today," he cleared his throat, looking down at his bare feet pacing anxiously across the room. The shadow of your silhouette moving on the floor, the bone-white nightgown falling on your curves, exposing one of Taehyung's weaknesses: the connection of your neck and your shoulders, subtle but lethal.

He wanted to press his face between and close his eyes, inhaling the scent of your skin. Rich and peachy, like when the trees have so much fruit that they start to ripen on the same tree.

"You haven't finished showing me the stamp book yet." You dropped on the bed.

"I'm already bored of it."

"Odd." you noticed, watching him bend down and open a suitcase under the bed. "And those?" As you approached you saw a collection of books.

They were small, wrinkled, and minimalist in cover. Some were yellowed papers seized by the red wax on the spine.

Taehyung snorted at the question and looked up, daring you to keep acting innocent. He knew that you knew every corner of the house.

"I want you to say it," you smiled.

"Force me."

"I want you to say that Taehyung, the hard-faced man, has a collection of erotic books under his bed."

"You already said it. I don't have the need."

"Why do you have it under the bed?"

"What are you talking about?" Taehyung moved the books until he found a small book in Spanish. The pink cover with a painting of a mischievous Renaissance woman smiling.

"Kept under the bed, in a suitcase. Like a secret."

"I'm not ashamed of reading erotica if that's what you assume." he closed the suitcase and dropped his body next to you. His head near your legs, yours lying on the opposite side.

"And why do you have it like they're illegal." you held the cigarette he offered you.

"Habits of a human who lived in a society, I suppose."

You inhale the cigarette while he searched for the short between his long fingers, the book opened softly. His thumb pressed down the middle of the pages.

The glass of wine had you sparkling, you still hadn't gotten used to the alcohol. You had not drunk in so long that you did not remember its effects. There was something on the tip of your tongue, a confession that couldn't wait, an itch that needed to be scratched.

Before you could speak, Taehyung let out a soft "Ah" as he found the story for the night.

"A man who came about five years ago translated this story by Anaïs Nin for me. When he found out that I painted, he told me that he had a story for me."

"What's it called?" Without realizing it, your hand began to caress Taehyung's leg.

"La Maja," he pronounced. "Like Goya's painting"

Your head fell back on the stacked pillows, Taehyung's lips moved as he read a homemade translation of the story.

"He pulled back the sheets that covered her and slowly lifted the silk nightgown. He was able to lift it over her breasts without her giving the slightest sign of awakening. When it was uncovered all over the woman's body, he contemplated it for as long as he wanted. Her arms were detached from her body; her breasts stretched out before his eyes like an offering. He was aroused by his desire but he did not dare to touch her. Instead, he brought paper and pencils, sat by her bedside, and took notes. As he worked, he had the sensation of caressing each of the perfect lines of the woman's body."

Taehyung's eyes would lift to yours after reading the paragraph, turning back to the page with embarrassment flushing his cheeks. The human habit of blushing when you want things so badly, he thought.

The smoke from the dying cigar between your fingers snaked through your hair and the softness of your chin. Taehyung was never more jealous of something so ephemeral.

He couldn't find where he had stayed and the silence became so loud that you could only do what was right.

"I followed you today."

"What?" Taehyung didn't understand, you had spoken so low that he almost didn't notice it.

"To the woods, when you left this morning."

When he closed the book, you knew that what little sweetness Kim showed you turned sour. 

"I have told you that you must stay here, with Frank. Safe." You both got up at the same time, you followed Taehyung looking for his gaze which he averted.

"I'm not asking you to keep me safe, Kim" you replied.

There was a pause as he pricked at his bottom lip. Was that in his pupils the sign of an offense? Taehyung clucked at you, turning around.

"Kim," you tried to fix it by brushing against his shoulder. "It's not that I'm a helpless deer, I know how to protect myself." You laughed to lighten the mood. Bad idea.

A question, like a small forgotten flame, reappeared in Taehyung's brain. Out of courtesy when you got sick in the first few weeks, he didn't ask where you came from, why you were alone, or how you came to cross the wide river that divided a civilization almost thousands of kilometers to the left. When politeness turned to infatuation, the question was no longer so important. He felt that he could trust you and that he had a new purpose besides survival: to keep you safe.

Fallacies.

"How did you come to find me?"

"What?" the smile faded from your face.

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

Your eyes moved erratically in his gesture, a frown. Just like when you came in drenched that August. No trust.

"Don't know."

He just snorted denying, he didn't believe you, and that irritated you.

"Sure, of course."

"Do you think I'm lying to you?"

"I don't believe it, I know." His body moved from side to side, arranging books and picking things up off the ground.

Your flushed face and clenched fists. Boiling alcohol in your veins.

"Well, you can go to hell with your lonely man farce."

"OK." Taehyung sighed daring you to continue insulting him.

"You do know that things aren't as horrible as at the start of the pandemic anymore, right?"

"Oh yeah?" His eyes widened in theatrical surprise.

"The infected are controlled and-," Seeing how he continued to feign interest, you pushed him aside and grabbed your dress from the floor, beginning to change. Tears accumulated without permission in your eyes. "Whatever," you mumbled.

"Then you do know something about your past."

"Fuck you, Kim."

"No, because you lied to me and now you say things like how you know how to defend yourself in a forest full of wild wolves and that you traveled several kilometers by water and land to get here. And you want me not to ask questions about it." He moved closer to you so close that he could see the torment in your eyes.

"Exactly." You muttered putting on your garden boots.

"That request is absurd and you know it." his laugh was careless. He was drunk too.

"I know."

You both stared at each other, your hair was no longer tied up and its shadow hid both of your features under its shadow. Your lips parted at the sight of his.

"I don't remember how I got to this place," you whispered, a tear fell to your cheek and you cursed how sensitive alcohol made you. You saw how Taehyung's face softened in the presence of your pain. "I swear I would have told you if I knew."

Taehyung swallowed hard and looked out the window. He hated seeing others cry, he hated when his wife did it, and he hates seeing it now in your lost gaze. There was something in the way you were, in the quality of your emotions and your hope in everything that reminded him so much of her. His wife died at the same age you were.

Taehyung and her were both idiots and thought that living far away was all it took to escape the infection.

It was stupid of him to let her go hunting alone that day, he shouldn't have let a simple fever keep him in bed when she was out there.

He spent years waiting for her to come back. Waiting for some afternoon that he will hear her quick steps coming down the gravel road. Much later, he found a piece of her shirt floating on the bank of a river.

Taehyung closed his eyes and nodded. It was dangerous to let you stay, he still didn't fully trust you. But what was the use of being alone so much when he only waited for the next day and the day after until one day he could die naturally?

Your body tensed as his hand rose to sink into your hair and kiss your forehead. So delicate, without causing any noise.

"Sleep well," he whispered leaving the book on the table. His chest hurt with the immense amount of feelings you make him feel in one day.

It's overbearing and he loved it. But his poor soul needed time.

For the first time in all that time together, he decided to sleep on the first floor.

You didn't know what to say, you were already ready for him to just ask you to leave. So you were thankful he actually just…left.

When the door creaked shut, you let loneliness engulf you. You cried, glued to the pillow like a child. Of relief, of uncertainty, for that kiss.

The days are long when there is nothing to say. When you don't look at him, when you ignore him with your unsubtle ways: you leave your clothes poorly folded, you don't finish the dishes he makes for you, your cigarettes are badly rolled, and you punish him by wearing those shirts that reveal your cleavage.

If you knew what you did to him, would you take advantage of him? Would he hate it?

Taehyung can feel your eyes on his back as he tries to light the fireplace at night, the cold is cruel in the mountains, even crueler than the tension in the small living room. You find yourself sitting watching the flame grow and grow, Taehyung trying to appear as calm as possible as if he didn't have the gears of his brain fed up trying to figure out how to talk to you.

Apart from a 'what do you want for dinner?', a 'yes' or a 'no'.

He felt he talked more with poor Frank, who slept about eighteen hours a day.

He cleared his throat at the smoke and held up his hand for more newspaper. You gave it instantly. And suddenly, a miracle: for the first time in weeks, your voice.

"Tomorrow is my birthday," you said embarrassedly, arms crossed.

With a tight-lipped smile on Kim's mouth, he nodded and looked into your tired eyes.

Your voice was still just as sweet and calm, you wanted to try to sound weary. But he noticed every afternoon when he came home from hunting, the way you moved through the little orchard and sang while you bathed Frank. Your laughter was his antidote, it healed his tiredness and the ache of his soul.

"We should celebrate it." He proposed, but you instantly denied it.

"I want you to take me."

"What do you mean?" he blushed, looking deep into your eyes.

"Take me somewhere."

Taehyung dropped the newspaper on the fire. He sighed softly, (not in relief, but disappointed) and sat in the old chair in the corner, legs apart as he rolled a cigarette.

"Where do you want to go?"

"To the house on top." you pointed east.

"How do you know there's a house on top?"

"Because I saw it in your drawings." your pupils let you see its shine for the first time in weeks. The cold made you look so beautiful. The little contact he had with you, he missed it so much.

Your cheeks took on color with the coming of winter, your lips like two slices of ripe fruit, red and full of juice. "And I found your binoculars in the warehouse."

"Mm," he couldn't even get mad at you and your insatiable curiosity. He was glad to hear you. Besides, who was he to deny you going up to that abandoned mansion, even when fear consumed him that they would attack you?

"Sure, we'll go." you let the corner of your lips rise, Taehyung feigned seriousness. "But it can't be tomorrow. We need at least two days of walking to get there, and we have to prepare."

You licked your lips and got up, letting the cloth that wrapped you from head to toe fall to your shoulders. You raised your arms, and Taehyung frowned, not understanding the gesture.

"Come here, it's almost twelve, and I'm going to be twenty-one."

Although they both knew that no clock gave them a certain time, Kim didn't care and you less. Leaving the cigarette next to him, he stood up and awkwardly let his strong arms swallow you, your head on his chest.

The hug was a thank you from you, but with just a few more seconds, you realized that Taehyung didn't want to let go. You opened your eyes, he could feel your confusion.

"Just-" he stammered, tensing his arms a little more to bring you closer to the warmth of his body. Silence.

Rich and peachy.

"What?"

"No, nevermind."

"Kim." you wanted to look at his eyes but didn't let you.

"I haven't hugged anyone in years." he murmured, a sigh of relief.

The confession made your chest sink. The breathing of the man in your arms was soft and ragged. As if he was nervous.

"Can you play with my hair?" he hummed, timid and needy, warming your shoulder with his breath; chills covering your skin.

You let your fingers explore his fluffy hair, the little ripples covering your palm and fingertips. You heard another sigh from him and felt how his arms slid to hug the sides of your waist.

"Feels good?" you dared to ask, breathing the musk on his jacket. He just nodded longingly, closed eyes and brows knitted; the crackle of the fire in the fireplace melting his heart.

Your throat was dry, and your lips parted, God knows you wanted to enjoy that hug, how Taehyung bent his body slightly to hide his head in your neck. Perhaps it was the lack of contact or the fire in the fireplace, but your body bubbled over a slow fire with each exhale that collided with your neck.

"Tae-" you swallowed and grabbed his shoulders so he could see you.

The drunkenness in the eyes of the man in front of you was so short but so sweet. Discovering his attitude, he pricked the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat.

"Sorry, don't worry about the trip. We can start packing tomorrow."

"I think I remember some of what happened to me."

"Oh." His eyes widened, gesturing as he tried to ask you to explain. You loved the gestures that came out of Taehyung when he didn't know the protocol of conversations. It wasn't 'thank you', but a tightening of the lips into a brief smile; no 'Don't move' when he painted but a little grunt and a deny.

You both took a seat on the furniture and got as close as possible, there was no one around, but this was how both of you got used to talking to each other. Whispers, watching each other's lips and laughter, when it was intended, with the hand on the mouth.

"I remember a boat, I remember several women and two men," you murmured, your eyes tilted into the fire. "A group came on another boat and threw us on the shore, they beat the men so much that they died and left the women to suffer."

Kim bit the inside of his cheek, he knew the day you would remember your past would be difficult. The beginning of the lethal virus was so surreal for him.

"I don't remember their faces much, just their hair. I remember…one feverish night, the women covered me with a blue coat that they had taken from one of the men." your hand trembled, and Taehyung took it without hesitating. "When I woke up, they were all in stage two."

Stage two of the virus was when their bodies began to slow down, sleep being the main activity, even at times when they needed to urinate. Your body didn't feel like getting up.

Taehyung remembers how one of his college classmates slept fully for two days, he opened his eyes when called but closed them instantly.

"When I saw them I thought the same thing was going to happen to me, apparently they killed an infected animal and ate it among themselves without giving me a piece. I don't blame them. I also thought the fever was going to kill me that night," you shrugged. "When I woke up I found trash, fruit, and headless bugs on the floor. The virus searched for everything it could to feed before going into coma…, and then, um-"

Your gaze drifted away, as if you saw the women sprawled on their backs with their mouths open and sunken eyes on the cabin rug.

"Their bodies started to swell, their chests and stomachs and throats. The eggs-" you denied and Taehyung felt chills. "They began to grow and incubate, I cried for hours and hours in silence, sitting on a log." your voice quivered. "I crossed the river at low tide, and stayed on the rocks to wait."

"You were sent to explore the area. You were the same as I was years ago." Taehyung bit his lip, squeezing your hand.

"I don't understand."

"I thought they didn't send scouts to this area anymore. The infection is so old I thought they wouldn't need any more information."

"What do you mean when you say you were the same?" You frowned and stared at him.

"I was a soldier, my family needed money, and the doctors found a way to make us think they could save my dad from the virus." the memories made his tense neck move involuntarily. "They sent me to this side to find information about the virus, the source."

"You and how many others?"

Taehyung shook his head with a sad smile. Maybe he was even making up the story of his father getting sick, who knows at this point?

"I still don't remember. I just know that I kept walking and walking wit this girl by my side,until we found this hill, and even she disappeared."

They both fell silent. Taehyung had already told you about the disappearance of his wife, unlike other topics, this was the one that seemed like a fable. There were no traces, like smoke that vanished on a sunset.

You can see on his eyes that ache every time he mentions her; you wish you could lick his old wounds, not to cure them, but to soothe the pain.

The way he was holding your hand and the fire trembling on his tan skin made him look like an angel. An untamed one leaves instead of feathers, strong arms to carry the world around him.

You couldn't take it anymore.

"Taehyung," you called, and he didn't have to move because your hand took him by surprise. Guiding him to your hungry lips.

He moaned lowly, making his free hand into a fist to control the euphoria that was running through his body. The wet sound of your mouths devouring each other, he didn't know how much he needed that, the warmth of your tongue licking his lips, the little pant coming out of your strawberry lips.

Oh, how much he hated the fact that he was getting hard just from a kiss, but how couldn't he, good God? You were so delicious.

He snatched his hand from yours and took both of your hands to squeeze above your head. Your back arched, and you mewled as you felt his hand squeeze your wrists.

Taehyung's eyes flickered to your face. Was he doubting what he was doing? Did you do something wrong?

"If you want to stop-"

"No," he growled desperately. With ease, his free hand grabbed the hair at the nape of your neck and kissed you again, clashing teeth.

"Slow down, Kim." you gasped as he devoured your neck, covering in saliva the fabric of the coat that covered you, almost tearing it apart.

Your hand explored his corduroy pants until it reached the tight bulge against his thigh.

"No. I don't want to," he screeched as he watched what you were doing. "Please, I'm too sensitive right now." It was a plea for you to let him enjoy touching you for a few more minutes, his glassy eyes and red lips.

You were cruel, and God, how he hated you for that. You chuckled low and spread your legs to climb into his lap. The sudden movement knocked the air out of him, hands on either side of the couch.

In one sitting, you were pressing his cock against your clothed pussy.

"Oh no, please. Let me-," his hands went to his mouth, squeezing it hard, the words coming out muffled.

With so few moans he had you addicted to his susceptibility. To his droopy eyes and his angelic whimpers over every little thing you did.

"Please," he asked again but it was in vain when you started moving back and forth and licking his neck. "Fuck me, i can't. Baby-" he mumbled rolling his eyes, reaching heaven with so little. The 'baby' scaped again and again from his lips until it died out.

It was embarrassing, but so sublime.

You loved it. No. You became obsessed.

When he finished, you could feel the wetness on his thigh. You laughed again, taking his face in your fingers; he hung from your fingertips like a puppet. His chin resting on them.

"You look so cute when you're sweaty in the middle of a blizzard," you said. He closed his eyes, enjoying the compliment.

Without saying anything else, leaving a wet spot on top of his zipper and his mouth open; you got up and went up the rustic stairs.

You were going to be the death of him.

The morning arrives quietly and with the sun coming in gently through the windows, you are grateful that the snow has stopped as you get up to put on your socks. Frank was sleeping between woolen sheets in the closet. When he heard you calling him he opened his eyes and lazily moved his thick tail.

The bed was made on Taehyung's side. Last night you hardly slept thinking about what you two had done in the living room, you waited anxiously for him to go to the room to finish what you had started, but you fell asleep waiting for him.

Maybe he was upset because you rushed him or he was embarrassed. Either way, you could still feel the moisture your pussy had let out just thinking about his face coming. Like a broken record, just as his pelvis raised to make one last contact with your clit.

You sighed and let the cool water calm your arousal. The small mirror showed your reflection, you were pale. Since the sun doesn't rise so often, you feel like you're withering. The tinting of your cheeks was already disappearing.

Your eyes were guided to the small photo pasted on the mirror, it was an ID with your face. The ink on the image was fading, with your name and date of birth right next to it.

It was the only thing you had for sure, maybe your face wasn't even that one. You returned to your reflection and began to notice every little detail: the dark circles under your eyes and the dry lips from biting them so much, the slightly yellowish teeth, and the eye that was smaller than the other. 

That's new, you thought. Only if you looked hard enough could you see how your right eye involuntarily closed a little more than the other, the more you looked at it in the mirror, the more obvious it was.

The sound of a pot falling followed by a grunt made you snap out of your morning exam. You walked quickly to the stairs going down in a hurry.

You were surprised to see Taehyung in the kitchen, his hands covered in whipped cream and the sweet smell of freshly baked bread. A small tight smile apologizing for waking you up.

"Uh," he wiped his hands clean and leaned closer to you, placing an awkward kiss on your forehead. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you." You smiled softly, his hand found yours to guide you to the rustic table that he had made years ago, it was heavy and robust. It combined with everything that was seen in that kitchen, small details you had done here and there, but the smell of oak and the thick fabric of the curtains and the tablecloth were essentially Taehyung.

"I made you breakfast. You must eat it all or I'm really going to stop talking to you for a month."

As if he could.

"Because?"

"I spent all night trying to make whipped cream, found a book in the stack and it took me almost a dozen eggs to get it right."

"That's where you were last night." You smiled and he tensed, embarrassment painting his cheeks red. "Did you need a book to know how to follow our...?" You made an obscene gesture that made Taehyung turn to finish breakfast.

"You are so intense in the mornings."

"You've stopped smoking in the morning, have you noticed?"

Taehyung frowned. "It's true."

"I annoy you so much you don't need the nicotine to wake up."

"If that achievement makes you happy, go ahead." He crossed his legs as he sat down next to you. "Bon appétit."

You looked in front of you, on your plate was a piece of freshly baked bread toasted in the color of the sun. The whipped cream was smooth and slightly eggy, with peach slices decorated on top creating an attempt at a flower. The smell was intoxicating and your mouth watered from it.

Taehyung's chest swelled with joy as you took the first bite and inhaled. You looked at him tenderly. That human habit of food being the perfect language to show love without touching.

"It's good," you agreed taking another bite. "Did you try it?"

Taehyung denied raising his hand to ask you to continue tasting.

"I have something else for you," he said before you took another bite. You could see and hear in the silence of the kitchen how his foot bounced with eagerness to show you the other things.

Taehyung took a paper bag from his jacket hanging on the door and put it on your lap. His hands didn't let you open the material, kneeling on the floor in front of you.

"Slow down, Kim. For God's sake." you laughed looking at him. He imitated you.

"Sorry, it's just that I've been saving this for a long time."

You couldn't stop seeing him, it was impossible how much you loved him in such a short time. You looked down at your lap as he lowered your chin with his hand.

Inside the paper were many trinkets, colorful and very varied. Buttons, an old lighter with a rose carved on it, a ring in the shape of a butterfly, a deep red dried ink, and underneath it all the pale lace of a lingerie set.

You smiled as you put everything else aside and looked at the pieces in detail.

"Isn't there a more subtle way of saying you want to fuck me?" you joked

Taehyung didn't laugh, again he was looking at you with nervous eyes.

"I want to give you a portrait."

You put the lingerie on the table and looked at him. You knew that his painting materials were becoming more and more scarce. You denied it instantly.

"Don't worry, I'll use some oils that I have saved, they are in perfect condition and I want to use them with you." he rose clutching your face in his hands, like something ethereal. How could he see you in the morning and make you feel so lovely?

"I want to paint your lips," he ran his thumb over your bottom lip, "And your eyes."

"Even when one is smaller?"

He chuckled slightly at your sweet question.

"Especially the smaller one."

His hand grabbed the last bite of toast and opened your mouth with his thumb, delicately inserting it. "I told you to eat it all." his face was serious.

His thumb began to smear all the cream that remained in the corners of your mouth, pressing your lips while your tongue tried to lick his fingers.

"That is my girl." he hummed cocking his head at you.

Your toes tensed when you heard him say that.

"Open up," he commanded and you obeyed, opening your mouth to remove the sticky cream from his finger. He swallowedwhen he saw you lick every drop.

Your beautiful face, your messy hair, and your mouth covered in peach juices and whipped cream. So sweet and erotic that it made his stomach clench with the urge to eat you.

"I would like you to paint me in the summer, though."

"Because?"

"Because that way I could return the color to my cheeks, to see myself more..." you didn't know what the word was.

Taehyung could have cared less.

"Fine." he sighed and tossed the plate to the side with a crash. Suddenly, you were in his arms, he laid you down gently on the wood of the table.

"Tae?" a squeal came from you when you felt the cold in your pussy, Taehyung ripped your panties and began to rub his digits on your clit with such delicacy.

"Shh," he responded, grabbing the chair to walk over to the table and sit down. With one hand he brought your body closer to his face and began to run his tongue through your folds.

This is what he wanted to do last night and you didn't let him.

Your legs began to shake and he looked up through narrowed eyes. Your surprised face was so funny, it almost made him want to let you cum as fast as you let him.

"Spread your legs, let me see you." there was something so obscene about the way his voice deepened. He embarrassed you. "Aren't you going to let me eat you?"

You didn't know what to say.

"What happened that pretty girl who wouldn't shut the fuck up, huh?" His wet lips kissed your entrance with each word. "Where are your smart answers and the fucking questions about how I jerk off?" With one hand he hit your clit and you whimpered. "There it is." he smiled.

"God," you moaned so loud trying to get your nightgown down, it hurt so good. Taehyung squeezed your wrists with one hand and started devouring you again, your juices flowing on his nose and his tongue and you knew how much he liked it by the way he growled and bit the inside of your thigh.

It hurt but you couldn't stop moaning, your hands turning into claws from the tension wanting to grab his tangled hair, to see his face covered with it in a transparent and shiny layer.

"Atta, girl," he inhaled, snapping back. "Look at you," he smiled at you as he licked the edges of his lips. "The color is returning to your cheeks."

"What?" You stuttered before you felt how his hand collided with your ass. You screamed biting your lip.

"Come here."

His hand carried you to help your weak legs. With his hands under your armpits, he led you to the nearest wall.

"Get naked, pet."

"It's cold."

"Still?" Taehyung asked confused and piled the fabric of your dress in his hand until he found your wet pussy again. Without saying much, he inserted two fingers, curling the tips.

"More," you whispered, you were short of breath and you felt like you were in another cosmic plane with the long fingers of the man behind you.

His other hand began stroking your tummy until it reached your neck, squeezing gently. Hearing your sweet request, he laughed.

"You're a mess and I haven't even fucked you. Are you sure?"

You nodded awkwardly, your head pressed against the wall. A third finger was unexpected and burned.

"You're so wet, it's not fair." Kim sighed. "I want to do everything for you but you won't let me with that little body of yours."

"Mm," was all you could answer, your tongue was heavy and the knot under your stomach had you seeing stars.

"Those short dresses and the laughter and the erotic books and your perfect tits." he moaned turning you around to remove your dress.

Seeing your face again, Taehyung made up his mind; he couldn't take it anymore. Whipped cream decorated your cheek and your open mouth.

"Are you still cold?" His eyes saw you straight into your soul. You denied hugging his neck, hitting your lips with his.

If you didn't kiss him you felt like you were going to implode. His furrowed brows and his broad shoulders, the way he'd talk dirty to you but he'd kiss your shoulder calming your nerves.

There it was again, that tickle in your throat of saying things at the wrong time.

Shut me up with kisses, you thought, shut me up by sealing your lips with mine.

"More." Now it was Taehyung's turn to ask, moaning as he felt how your naked body hung from his waist.

He quickly lowered his pants until he took it off completely. Then his coat.

"Down," he murmured kissing you one last time crashing your body into the wall.

With one hand you grabbed his cock and started to move your hand. A cry came from him and you both nearly fell to the ground in a crash. Taehyung's legs failing from the sudden touch.

You laughed at Taehyung's irate gesture.

"In four. Now," he barked, after kissing you softly. "I want to fuck you, I don't want games anymore, 'kay?"

You nodded drunkenly at the way he spoke to you.

You stopped smiling when he repositioned you like a doll on your knees and hands.

You arched your back as you felt the tip stretch your entrance, you closed your eyes in pure pleasure. The sting was unbelievable, perfect.

"Mmhm," Taehyung ran his finger down your back, "Let me listen to you, love."

How can he call you that without melting?

You pushed yourself into him until your ass touched his pelvis. You both moaned each other's name.

"Fuck," he mumbled, grabbing both sides of your waist to guide your movements. The sounds that filled the kitchen were indecent, your cream accumulated at the base of his cock and your moans drove him crazy.

Yes, he was like a schoolboy when it came to you, he couldn't see your cleavage without wanting to touch himself or look at your lips without wanting to bite them so badly that they bled. You were in addition to his antidote, his new favorite morbidity.

"Atta girl, squeeze me more," he hissed at you slowing his pace down. His moans turned to whimpers as you began to feel the cum dripping down your thighs. You were about to cum and he could feel it. "Let me feel those walls, baby. Cum for me."

You lifted your upper body so you could move against him and with two brushes of his fingers on your puffy clit you began to scream his name letting your face fall into your hands.

You both panted hard, abruptly, Taehyung pulled his cock out, revealing how his cum came out of you. God, he prays that this is the one that knocks you up.

Getting up, he grabbed your delicate body and took you to the sofa, lit the fireplace, and left you alone for a few minutes. When he returned he brought with him a blank canvas the length of his forearm and a couple of charcoal pencils.

The afterglow had your cheeks with the most beautiful tint. Flushed and plump lips from biting it so much. You let your hair do what it wants, just how he likes it and you smiled at him when he sat down in front of you. You squinted your eyes when you smiled and his shoulders relaxed.

"Stay still, please," he whispered while he took a pencil in his hands.

[sprout-fics]

NO GIRL CAUSE IVE BEEN BRAINROTTING ABOUT IT TOO

like my size kink is out of control with these two.

I have a feeling könig would try to be really slow and gentle if they actually tried to do that and it would definitely include him petting maus’ hair and just shushing her

This man would absolutely 100% be gentle but god the patience and restraint it takes to make sure you're ready for him is the stuff of legends.

Size kink, multiple orgasms, praise, PiV sex, fingering, massive dick but gentle König

“Easy, Maus.” He tells you, and his fingers are sneaking up your nape to cradle your head, pillowing it from the mattress under you. The blunt breadth of him pulls at you, forcing you open, wider despite the time he’s taken to prep you. It feels like Konig has spent hours at you already, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you’ve lost count. His fingers are huge, curling, pressing, gently at first until he was sure you could take it. The only thing you remembered before he pulled your world to pieces was his name for you, breathed with absolute adoration, wonder.

“Maus.”

And then there was just him, his fingers inside you pulsing and thrusting and searching even as you moaned and whimpered and tried to tell him it was too much. He didn’t seem to hear you, not with the way his eyes never blinked, locked onto your face, the rise and fall of your breasts, the way your lips fell open and skin shivered. With every orgasm you had softened, fallen open a little wider, growing loose and pliant under him with every thrust of his impossibly broad fingers inside you, every shuddering sigh that escaped as a keening moan from your chest. When he found the soft, spongy bundle of nerves at the apex of you, you had whined, reaching for him, clinging, arching off the bed and squirming so hard a single, massive hand had splayed across your stomach to hold you still. 

Yet that was nothing. Not compared to this. 

There’s slick everywhere. Coating the hand that grips your thigh as he wrenches you open for him. He’s shuddering with the restraint it takes him to not hilt himself in you, and that effort is tamped down only by his soft, pleading encouragements to you. 

“I know.” he breathes. “I know Maus. You can do it. We’re almost there.”

The hand in your hair vanishes, only to reappear at your clit, bearing down in soft, slick circles that have you gasp loud and relax further into him. There’s a give, and he slides further, stretching you around the hot, throbbing mass of him. A groan rumbles deep between you both, and you shiver at the vibration of it. There’s lips at your neck as he shifts, offers a single shallow thrust that knocks against something inside you and you go limp, completely, utterly, surrendering. 

“That’s it, Maus.” He murmurs darkly, and the scrape of his voice is hard in his throat as he holds back, ever gentle with you. “My Liebling.”

“I can do it.” You rasp into his lips, chest rising and falling like the ever changing tides of the ocean. “I want to.”

He groans then, low and heady and you feel him shudder atop you just as his thumb presses down on your clit and you whine at the pleasure there, lacing through your veins and building below your stomach. The pressure is a distant reminder of what's to come, of how you're not leaving this bed until he's had his fill of you.

“So strong.” He growls, and rewards you with another shallow thrust that had him inside you deeper still, farther than you ever thought possible. “Such a strong girl, Maus.”

“For you.” You gasp, back arching and he’s there, inside you in a place that makes your voice choke off into a wail.

“For me.” He repeats, and he’s drawing back now, robbing you of words as your cunt clings to him, unable to let go. “Only me, little Maus.”

And then it begins, as your voice rises skyward and he delves into the depths of you, ruining you for any other man ever again.

[lcvernat]

Doodles | Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Natasha has a habit of drawing on your hand whenever she’s bored.

Word Count: 692

Content Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, too much fluff actually

A/N: i’ve returned. probably. hopefully. maybe. thought i’d come back with a bang aka a very very short (writing over 1k words rn is frankly impossible i’m sorry) but sickeningly sweet little fic. i got this idea from a cute gif i saw and thought it was cuteee so… enjoy! also happy international lesbian day to my fellow lesbians, we rock.

Natasha Romanoff was many things. A complex woman of many layers, and very few got to uncover all of them. Even you were still constantly finding out new things about her. A recent quirk that you had discovered was her love for doodling on your hand. She’d only started doing it recently: during meetings when she was bored, on the Quinjet to get rid of the post-mission jitters, and generally anytime you were near her.

A few months ago, the team was sat in a particularly boring mission. So boring, in fact, that you would have much rather been in your room tackling the mountain of paperwork on your desk than sat listening to Steve blabber on about God knows what (you’d stopped listening about halfway through). Someone lightly taking ahold of your hand and the tickling sensation of a pen gliding across your skin was what brought you out of your daydream and into the present.

You looked at your girlfriend, Natasha, to find her occupied with drawing a little heart on your hand. “What are you doing?” You whispered, briefly glancing up at Steve then looking back at Natasha when you were satisfied that he wasn’t looking.

“Doodling,” she said simply, the tip of her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on drawing various little stars, hearts and smiley faces all over your hand. You smiled at her, even though she couldn’t see it, before entering your daydream again, more than content to let your girlfriend busy herself with turning your hand into her own personal canvas.

That was when it had started, and it kept happening more and more frequently to the point that your hand was constantly covered in various little doodles and you had started to carry a pen around with you at all times incase Nat ever needed it. The team had started to take notice of Natasha’s little habit but no one dared question her on it. Steve had tried once, to reprimand her on not listening during a meeting, and she had sent him such a withering stare that you swore you quite literally saw the 6’1 super soldier shrink into himself in fear. She returned to drawing her cute doodles as if she hadn’t nearly just sent Captain America running as Steve awkwardly regained his composure before picking up where he left off in his speech. No one ever mentioned the newly gained habit after that.

Day after day, new drawings would appear on your hand. Old ones would get washed away, only to instantly get replaced by fresh doodles. They started to get more eccentric after time: stick figures of the two of you, funny drawings of various Avengers (she’d drawn a surprisingly good drawing of Clint sleeping once with drool at the side of his mouth. You had to try your hardest to cover that up for the rest of the day), and she’d even started to leave little messages on your hand that ranged from ‘I love you’ to ‘Tony’s hair looks weird today’.

You found it completely adorable, and you cherished the various drawings she done and the little messages she left you. Even though the redhead had already enraptured you, mind body and soul, letting her draw on you was your way of telling her that you were hers and she could do whatever she wanted with you. Natasha could draw on every inch of your skin and you’d let her.

Natasha Romanoff was many things, and you had never painted her as an artist before, but you had quickly learned to never be surprised when she unveiled another part of herself to you. You love her, everything about her, all the little quirks that only you notice because you pay just that much attention to her and all of the quirks about her that you haven’t yet discovered. Everything about her is a masterpiece that you can’t tear your eyes away from, and you find you don’t want to. You want to untangle every part of her, learn everything you can possibly learn about her, because she’s yours. Forever and always.

tags: @sheneonromanoff @olicity-boo @r4nd0mgir1 @tigerlillyruiz

dm me, send me an ask or reply to be added to my taglist!

[metranart]

Mikey x Reader x Draken (Tokyo Revengers)(Part 7)

⭕️ Visit my PATREON LINK for some spicy Tokyo Rev NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction.

“’M about to find out.” 

Draken draws out, and miraculously your eyes open, just a little, just a slit, peeking out, yet the dragon tattoo owner doesn’t waste time to seize this chance.

“...Is my Babygirl ready to cum for her other boyfriend?” he coos, pampering the shell of your ear with greedy smooches.

Ken Ryuguji's paternal nature combined with his utterly masculine boyish style has your head spinning, not to mention how Mikey just wrecked your entire world just minutes ago. You can still feel his cum slipping from your ass, melting your reluctance and molding you back together in a way that you’ll regret later.

“It´s too much—” You coo, “Please, Ken—…" The mention of his name halts his movements all together, attention solely on your next words, “Please, please, please, please-”

“Please what, kitten?” he wonders, “please fuck me harder, please make me cum, please keep stuffing my pretty, little cunt till I burst?... I need more specifics, my sweet girl.”

Mikey chuckles at Draken´s antics, his playful teasing is just intoxicating for the shorter blond. For no one is he willing to get on his knees, except for Ken Ryuguji, for him does it at the snap of his fingers, and you will soon discover that you too will be tamed by this glorious man, just the same.

“P-Please stop—…. I really need-need... to be able to walk in the next-t few days.”  You mutter against his throat, sobbing a little, your body shakes like when you cry but the constant falling water prevents him from see tears. You are doing everything you can to convince him, to poke at his soft spot as his hard cock pokes at yours, right fucking now. 

God! he really looks handsome when his dark eyes soften ever so slightly when you pout, blonde hair like wet noodles cascading down his strong back, tall and impossibly thick. This toman Commander just got finished from fucking you dumb the previous night, how the fuck does he still has the stamina to keep going when you already felt so fucking drained? 

“I'm not—not sure I want to cum again.” You keep pouting, nuzzling at the crook of his neck, so needy.

“Yeah?”  He returns softly, dragging a hand up your back.  “Bet I can make you want it.”

Those predatory eyes gleamed alive with the challenge, and you hurry to weave a plan b. You know you must divert his attention in a drastic way and perhaps draw Mikey´s lewd curiosity can help you achieve just that. You are grateful to be under the hot water, since at least that will help you hide the strong blush painting your cheeks, when you say.

“A-Actually, I´m a little hungry, Ken—” you grunt, tightening your hold on him and arming yourself with courage, force yourself to finish.   “Please, I want-… I want milk in my tummy.”

You make your voice sound erotically childish, a delicious beg and so, SO spoiled, it captures both boy’s attention. Having them in trance, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, pointing a finger at it. "Please, want it in my mouth." You request, pleading so prettily, Mikey´s close to have a full boner all over again.

“FUCK! Kenchin, let her!” Mikey beams from the wet floor, slowly holding himself up on his elbows. “I bet she won't even be able to swallow half of it but I really, REALLY want to see her gag trying, man.”

Draken steals a glance at you. He knows exactly what you are doing, using Mikey’s childish, spoiled nature against him. You are so clever and sly. Draken really ADORES you.

“This isn’t over,” Draken eventually warns you, gently pulling out of your stretched pussy and immediately, you feel relieve wash over you.  He turns around and shutting off the falling water from the shower, he untangles you from his waist until the soles of your feet touch the wet floor. 

“Tears don’t work on me, kitten—but... Don’t you ever do that to me again.” Goodheartedly scolds, sweeping a thick thumb over the creases of your eyes to wipe clean the remaining drops. 

You relax, smiley and dopey-eyed at finally being able to have your way at something. You weren't a fan of having to suck Draken off, but you'd rather than have him buried inside you for the next hour. You are so fucking glad, he gave in. Soon they´ll let you out, and you will go straight to a pharmacy for a birth control pill to avoid anything that could be boiling in your womb, that sounds perfect. You want this to be over as soon as possible.

“So… —”

“On your knees, baby-” Mikey butts in, tugging you down until your knees hit the ground, you find him in the same position, a mischievous grin on his face, before announcing. 

"I'll show you how to do it first and then you´ll continue…" you openly gap at him, and the blond caresses your chin, leaning down to steal a kiss from your stunned lips at his sudden declaration. "Don't you dare look away or I'll have to punish you." Mikey warns, in a playful manner, even so, something dangerous lurks behind relaxed façade, and you reduce to nod.

“Manjiro Sano has no gag reflex,” Draken replies shortly, starting to thread his fingers among his bestie´s wet tresses, darkened gaze set on his leader.  And then he doesn’t say anything more, like that explanation is more than enough.

“Oh.” You remark after a second, thinking about how many times have these two pleased each other, and still, they are considered the toughest guys around. “I see.”

Without ever being prompted, Manjiro Sano swallows his sub-commander thick piece of meat in one go, whole cock dips down his throat till his nose hit Draken´s pubic bone and stays still there. Letting the swollen tip nip at the back of his esophagus without making a single gagging noise. 

“FUCK!” Draken groans loudly, tilting his head back. “Fucking gifted this boy is~” his lips curl into a smile letting his canines show at the same time his eyelids close tight. 

Mikey mind-blowingly slowly starts to bob his head up and down Draken´s meaty shaft, coating it in his saliva while setting a faster tempo. Lazily letting his tongue peek out to slide over the sides to then dip him inside and taste it, tracing the dull edge of his teeth from time to time and massage the head of his cock until Draken is openly groaning, all dizzy and delirious. Thighs trembling erratically at how good it feels, nearing to burst way sooner than he wants to.

“That’s enough, M-Mikey.” Draken chokes out between clenched teeth, going as far as to pull the shorter blond from his thickness, a pop sound indicating how sudden the motion is.

Mikey falls on his heels, heaving loudly, eyes narrowed, cheeks burning, saliva trickling down his chin to his neck. His tongue sticking out of his mouth, like missing the thick cock that used to reside on top. His lascivious and lazy stare turns to you, and licking his lips erotically, the boy ends up saying. 

"I left it ready for you, do the same thing I did, and you're going to have more milk than you're going to be able to swallow, kitten." The leader of the Tokyo Manji advice, scooting away, leaving you room to kneel in front of his tall lover.

What a pair these two made. Both incredibly attractive and both incredibly thirsty for YOU. It is flattering and terrifying, and so, SO exhaustive.

Slowly crawling closer, you kneel in front of Draken. You can feel Mikey's anticipation, he is on the edge of the seat to see you imitate him, his strong fingers combing away your wet hair from your face, making sure each strand is behind your ears.

“Open up, baby~” Mikey stresses, almost drooling. Pupils blown, and chest heaving. Excitement eating him away. “Don´t make us wait.”

Draken's cock looks huge up closely. Flushed pink head, and thick to the base, heavy balls warning you that you will have to swallow a heavy load. Your jaw aches just thinking about having to swallow it whole.

The warmth that settles in the pit of your tummy intensifies by the shining tip of Draken´s cock, now achingly swollen and begging for attention.  

“Have you ever sucked someone before, kitten?” Draken whispers, and quickly adds.  “You look SO sexy on your knees.” The tall commander can´t stop praising you, reaching his thumb down to trace the cupid bow of your upper lip.

“Only Mikey-y....” You stammer, shying away by looking down at your hands. An both blonds, mute at the revelation. They had almost forgotten that you were a virgin just one night ago and this morning, they had already defiled you in every possible way. Nevertheless, the excitement both feel from having you is too much and overshadows guilt, making them want more than anything for you to squeeze every drop of cum out of Draken. 

“She´s not a pro,” the shorter blond states, “but it´s a fucking natural, if I recall well.” Broadly smiles, and slowly gets behind you, crawling closer until his front is glued to your back. Both kneeling, when his mischievous hands slide at each side of your neck to bluntly massage your jaw. “Open wide, gorgeous, breakfast is ready—” 

He doesn’t give you time to react when pushes you against his bestie's crotch, your closed lips smash against the swollen head at the same time you close your eyes at the brusque act. 

“So disobedient.” Mikey shares, and Draken chuckles, before you feel his thumb and forefinger pinch at your nose. The air supply is cut out and eventually your mouth opens gasping, to what Draken pushes in, just the tip, he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. Your eyes pop open and Draken sees how glassy your gaze is turning, and sighing, advises. 

“Mikey, let her breathe.” 

“Oh, right.” Mikey seems to remember what his finger are doing and let go. You inhale sharply from your nose, “use your tongue, swipe it around the head…” the blond behind you whispers against your ear, and this time, you obey. 

“That’s it—” Mikey praises, “lick it like you would a lollipop.” You can hear his excited voice guide you. 

Draken reduces to watch from his privileged position, at how you swirl your tongue with slow and timid cat licks at first but then your tongue gains speed and ferocity. 

“Yeah, use your lips as well,” Mikey suggests, “hollow your cheeks—don’t be afraid to suck it deeper.”

You follow his instruction like a good pupil, and in matter of seconds, you hear Draken drown a deep growl. 

“Look how well you are doing,” Mikey grabs your hand in his to then reaches up Draken’s tense thighs, “you have him at the edge, kitten.” Guiding your palm up and down his smooth, wet skin helps you cup his balls. “This are heavy…” both weight them against your palms, and Mikey doesn’t waste time to use his free hand to push you farther until hears you gag violently against Draken’s cock, and he leans in, taking your body with the motion until he’s sucking his friend’s balls. 

The teamwork has Draken rolling his eyes to the back of his head, jaw drop open, eyes tightly shut and heart hammering fast inside his strong chest. 

“Make her-… make her bob her head, man—” he struggles to say, “please, I n-need… I need to fuck her pretty-… PRETTY face.” 

Mikey giggles against his balls sends a delicious tingle up Draken’s thick thighs, and headily groans when Mikey uses the hand on the back of your head to drag you up and down his length. Bobbing unrestingly fast inside your mouth, drool falls down your jaw and tears roll down your cheeks, your jaw aches at how wide it opens. 

“S’good,” Draken chokes out, unsure if it’s Mikey’s efforts on his balls, your tight cramped throat around his cock or both, that has his head spinning, “I’m, I’m close—” 

Draken’s palm suddenly lands on Mikey’s head drawing his attention from the task in hand, and without sharing a single word, he knows what his lover is asking. 

“Your show, love.”

You hear Mikey say as he leans out, his chin softly rests on the curve of your shoulder to have a good view, and nipping your strained jaw once, mutters. 

“Breathe through your nose the entire time, if not you’ll faint. Trust me.” 

Draken barks a laugh at Mikey’s advice, and takes your head between his warm palms, wiping the tears off your face, your eyes lock and you see that dangerous smirk peek out. Fuck! He looked driven. 

Draken evidently has been holding back, because he starts fucking you so hard that if your body wasn’t being hugged by Mikey from behind will be difficult for you to stay up on your knees. 

Gagging and choking noises fill the bathroom and your nails begin to rake down his strong thighs as you cower inside Mikey’s embrace, his cheek resting on your shoulder as you whimper softly, your sobs interrupted by moans whenever Draken’s tip kisses the back of your throat.

“Oooh she’s doing so well~” Mikey laughs, “Does she get to cum?”

“Let’s hear her beg,” Draken pipes up, pulling out of your mouth so suddenly you gasped.

“You heard him,” Mikey says, sensually chewing at your earlobe, “Beg.”

“Please,” You hear yourself say, “please Mikey, I want to cum—” you are not sure where those words are coming from, but it surprises you, your body is aching to feel some kind of comfort. Cumming doesn’t sound bad at all. Your back arches against Mikey’s chest, cracking your neck to face him, shame forgotten, “Please, please my love, can I cum?” the shorter blond can’t bite down the gasp, and Draken swears violently, way too pleased by your blessed words. 

“Mikey—” Draken breaths out, “I’m on it.” Mikey interrupts him, getting to work. 

Manjiro Sano snakes an arm down your body to rub maddening circles at your swollen clit and that sends you vaulting over the brink, your whole body jerking violently as your orgasm rips through you. Your mouth parts, but you don’t squeal, instead you pant, and then your eyes shut unhurriedly, rolling to the back of your head, as you feel your cunt flutter and clench desperately around nothing.

“She´s cumming harder and faster each time,” Mikey says, “Such a frail little mare.” You sniffle a little, tears of pure ecstasy rolling down your eyes. You look beautifully destroyed. 

“Are ya ready to swallow till the last drop I have for you, kitten?” Draken asks and you shake your head no, but you mouth redeems you by saying a lazy and quiet “yes”. He smirks, pleased by how good your body is responding to their conditioning and looks at Mikey. “Sano, finish me off, this kitten is way too cock drunk.” 

“Yes, Sir!” Mikey beams, and without delay swallows Draken’s cock down, “I’m so fucking close,” his friend is quick to warn, “make sure you leave the milk for her—AHHHH. Fuck. Manjiro!” 

Draken’s grip on Mikey’s hair becomes bruising as he feels himself get impossibly hard inside his wet and warm mouth, bobbing his head up and down at the right speed, knowing by heart the way he likes it. Doesn’t take much for Draken to blast a stream of violent swearing, Mikey’s sign to pull out and make you engulf that throbbing cock, your body trembles as vast ropes of musty cum paint your throat white, you gag a little. 

“Swallow down, baby, Kenchin’s loads are fucking thick.” Mikey makes sure to hold your head in place with one hand, while with the other caresses your neck, tenderly.

Draken finally relaxes, shooting a hand to firmly grab hold of the bend under your chin, taking slow, deep breaths through his mouth and tries to relax the tensing muscle of your jaw wrapping around his girth with soothing circular motions of his thumbs. 

“Did ya swallow all, kitten?” He heaves out, and you nod once you can gulp down the last drop. 

“Such a wonderful, and precious girlfriend we have, ain´t that right, Sano?” 

Mikey lets go of your head, allowing Draken’s flaccid cock to slip out of your stretched lips, and kissing the skin on your neck, replies. 

“The fucking love of our life’s, without a fucking doubt.” You feel him hug you tight, and Draken gets down over his heels to be at eye level with the two of you. 

“Now, sweetness, let’s take you out to eat something, you can’t just have milk.” Mikey chuckles at his jeer, and you feel your body relax against Mikey’s. Finally, you glimpse a way out. 

“Maybe we can finish bathing..." Mikey snickers out, “I mean, this time actually do it.” 

Your body is limp against him, and you couldn't care less what they want to do.

“Sure, all this was a happy accident.” Draken lips curl into a sassy smile.

“Sort of.” Mikey smiles wryly.

The next thing you know is that Draken smoothly interlaces his fingers among your wet tresses doing a soft massage as he washes the sweat and grim out of your hair. 

Meanwhile, Mikey passes a soft sponge through your front, lifts your arms to slide the soft material and down your collarbone, trances the shape of your breast putting special attention to the way your smooth skin shines enticingly at being soaped up, and biting down a gasp, scrubs your belly to then kneel and wash the length of your curvy legs. 

Standing up, a big smile blooms in his face seeming content with his work and sporting the child inside him, beams. 

“My turn.”

Closing his eyes waits for you to get to work since you are a little more awake, and the sound of the splashing water sounds louder in your ears when you openly ignore his request. 

Mikey is still waiting, eyelids closed, and arms spread open as if waiting for you to claim the space between. After a couple of seconds of inactivity from your part, you see how he tilts his head slightly down. His sign for you to wash his hair first, but you don’t find the strength to move. 

After a couple of tense minutes, a bottle of shampoo materializes out of thin air, or so you think, and gently pours its content over the golden haired Toman leader´s tresses. 

Tipping your eyes up, you notice how Draken steps in and without asking you guides your hands into Mikey’s hair. 

Both your fingers entangle among his golden strands while creating foam and bubbles, and untangling his strong hands from the task, the tall teen commands. 

“Do as I do with you, (y/n).”

You stare at him for a minute before obeying, a little moved at how stern he is looking down at you as if expecting for you to rebel against him, and quietly huffing, you follow his instructions.

Mikey literally melts into your touch, almost purring at every movement of your fingers among his hair. The three of you bathe each other, in tender and measured movements full of affection and devotion, nothing compared to when they fuck you. They are totally different people when are not horny.

This same routine of thirds follows when you get dressed. So utterly patient and steadfast in the way they manipulate your body taking their time to dry and brush your wet mane before wrapping it in a towel, then fold you in each piece of clothing almost like wives dressed their samurai husbands in ancient times.

A soft kiss being deposited along your washed and flushed skin each time it seems fit for them.

The bed dips beneath Sano Manjiro’s weight while he entertains himself braiding your soft hair and once the three are ready and presentable again, you shiver for you realize you no longer remembered how his voice sounded without being excited.  

“.... I know a place nearby that has the best dorayaki,” you don't answer him, yet Draken nods and soon the three of you walk towards the door and before opening it, Draken looks at you out of the corner of his eye. 

"We are stronger and faster, baby, I don't recommend you trying our patience..." you feel Mikey's hand rest on the small of your back, supporting his partner´s warning, "I really, REALLY wouldn't try it." 

A derisive snort leaves your lips and Mikey´s voice makes its appearance closer to your ear than you expected, "—Nor will I discard this helpful advice either, because as we can be devoutly good,” he nips at your earlobe, playfully but that playfulness dies fast as his teeth clench harder, to make his next words clear. “We can also be very, VERY bad."

COMING SOON PART 8....

⭕️ In my PATREON LINK you will find NSFW art of this story and lots of content from Tokyo Rev and jjk, exclusive smut fanfiction and animation like THIS ONE . Plus! voting poll privilege for the exclusive Patreon one-shot stories where you can choose the couple and kinky mood for the story and NSFW art, and of course, my eternal and vast gratitude for your support!!!

[bellarkeselection]

okay jaime request 🫶 so jaime just lost his hand and he worries that the fem!reader (jaime's wife maybe? 👀) will be disgusted by that but she actually showers him in love and affection as she's happy that he came back to her? like a lot of kisses and cuddling and fluff

i'm so in love like look at him?! he's precious <33

Slight mature content in this one 18+ 😏 I honestly really enjoyed writing this one more than I have any other request for Jaime so thank you for sending this in

You're Still a Golden Knight to Me

Staring out the windows of Casterly Rock with my arms wrapped tightly around my waist out of nervousness. I hated the feeling and time of waiting for Jaime to return home from the battle between the Lannister’s and my family the Stark’s. Jaime and I were married a few months ago before the king officially rode North to ask my father to be hand of the king. We were wed in Kings Landing by King Robert himself before he died. And somehow in those short few months we became so close it felt like we had been married for as long as my sister Catelyn and Ned had been. "Oh gods please let him come home already I cannot endure anymore time terrified he might be dead." I mumbled to myself out into the quiet sea fresh air in the room until the chamber door made a noise causing me to jump slightly.

Stumbling around the bed as quiet yet quickly as possible I reached down by as much as my growing belly would allow me to so that I could grab the sword my father gave me out from underneath my bed. Ever since Jaime left I had basically been sleeping with the weapon at my bedside even though I had a whole castle army to defend me in the walls of Casterly Rock. Moving towards the door I raised the sword over my shoulder with both hands clutching the handle of the sword seeing the chamber door creak opened very slowly. "Show yourself you twat. I'm ready and armed!" I raised my voice outward holding back tears knowing it was better to show no fear.

Yet my entire conscious state was completely rattled when I heard someone call my name that was impossible for me to not recognize in a heartbeat. "Y/n...Y/n....Jaime...please don't....it's me...it's Jaime."

"J...Jaime. Is it...is it really you?" I croaked through heavy tears struggling to keep my grip on the blade handle on the off chance it wasn't and the gods were just playing tricks on my mind. Yet sure enough the door creaked open all the way revealing a sight that nearly broke me in two and shattered my heart.

My gaze focused on his figure when he slowly stepped out of the darkness of the door and into the light being provided by burning candles. He didn’t meet my gaze while I scanned over my husband’s face. His blonde hair was covered in mud and his clothes were torn and stained too. Yet that wasn’t what nearly broke me it was the fact that his right hand was covered in some bandages but it was really just a stump of where the hand used to be. “Don’t look at me, Y/n. You should go back North.”

“I’m not going back North you idiot. Do you honestly think I would leave you while you look like this. When I have been terrified that you might not come back and now you have…come on let’s get you cleaned and changed.” Moving towards him I sniffed through tears before I turned and rummaged around in one of the crates drawing out one of his tunics and trousers.

Slowly and gently as possible I helped Jaime inside the wash room knowing that none of the servants would be up in the middle of the night so I left it to me alone to take care of my husband. Running my hands down his tunic shirt I tugged on it hearing him wince since some of it was sticking to him. Untying the strings of his trousers they fell to the floor. “You don’t have to help me I….I can’t get this cleaned on my own.” He attempted to remain the confident man I knew but he dropped his right stump hand showing me that he couldn’t.

He managed to get into the water on his own giving me the time to untie the laces on the back of my golden dress letting the fabric pool to the floor without a care. Kicking it away I put Jaime’s new clothes beside mine since I had started to wear his tunics when I went to bed. “I’m your wife, Jaime. I know you don’t want help but please let me help you now.” I mumbled quietly seeing his stump hand was still wrapped up like a rag. He didn't respond so I slowly moved the material from his arm sitting it on the side seeing that it had healed a little bit when I ran my fingers over it.

“I’m not who I used to be without my hand…I was that hand. What am I supposed to do now, Y/n?” He shutters, staring at me as I attempted to retie a cleaner cloth on his stump. “If I pass out pull me out. I don’t want to be the first Lannister to die in a bathtub.”

Lifting my gaze up from me working on his injured hand where I placed my hands on his bare chest he winced when I started running some water over the wounds on his chest. “Jaime, I know you’re avoiding ye conversation but who did this. Did my brother Robb take your hand?”

“He kept me prisoner in his camp but it wasn’t him. It was this man named Locke..who hates high born. He took it to show me I was as safe as I thought I was. And now because of him I’m not the man I was. You’ll probably leave me in the morning because of this disgusting thing.” He glared down at the stump of his right hand while I moved my fingers through his hair getting the dirt out of it where it returns to its almost normal golden lion color.

Resting my hands on his shoulders I pressed my forehead making him finally look me in the eye. His green eyes were filled with tears and I could hear the shakiness in his breath. “Jaime, don’t put those thoughts in your head. I am not going anywhere. I would never leave you ever. Because I love you…and the little one will too.” Placing his left hand on my stomach I sucked in a breath hoping he would pick it up on what I was saying.

“You’re pregnant…when did you know?” He knitted his brows together questioning me and for the first time since we had reunited I saw a tiny genuine smile on his face.

Leaning forward I kissed him on his forehead brushing away some of the fallen strands of wet blonde hair that had fallen in from of his eyes. He closed his eyes briefly when I spoke and moved his head to lay against my bare front running one hand through his hair making it a slight mess. “According to the Maester I should be about three months along. I started having morning sickness the morning after you left to go fight the war with my twin brother.”

“Do you think I’ll be a good father and husband without my sword fighting hand. I want to be the man you deserve..considering we were arranged to and all. At times I didn’t the wound be anything like your mother and father.” Jaime lifted his head up slightly where I held his face in my hands seeing slight fear and concern in his eyes that he wasn’t worthy of me now.

Without saying another word I gently crashed my lips down onto his tilting his head up slightly when I climbed up into his lap. He pressed his bare back against the tub wall wrapping his arms around my waist tugging my flesh against his own. “Jaime Lannister, you are the best husband I could ask for. I didn’t fall for you because of how good you were with a sword or how attractive you are, although you are still as handsome as the night of our wedding. But you are still that golden knight to me. I love you.”

“When I was sitting in that shit cell for months I would drift off to sleep and think of you. Think of us laying in bed together after we made love. Or when you insisted I teach you how to swing a sword. You’re smiling face…your witty remarks…your smell and when you touch me…everything about you.” He buried his face into the crook of my neck placing kisses there until he found a certain spot hearing me moan and throw my head back giving him more access.

Moving my hands to his shoulder blades I gripped them in my finger nails craving for his touch and everything in between. “Jaime I…I need you. I have been miserable for months.” I whined into his ear feeling him shift so he could start to make love to me.

“I won’t deny you, my wolf wife. But not in here. Cause once I get you in our bed we won’t be leaving for awhile.” He responds in a raspy voice shifting his green eyes onto mine intensely where I could feel his desire for me. We quickly stumbled out of the bath and into our chamber forgetting about the fresh clothes we had too focused on our need to be in the others arms.

Climbing onto the bed throwing my hair around I smiled up at him when he crawled over me crashing his lips onto mine hungrily while he put our bodies together. Gripping his golden locks in between my fingers I felt my heart beating against my chest with him moving against me like this again after so long. “Jaime….I love you.” I croaked out when he broke the kiss with his hair falling in front of his eyes and his gaze dropped to the stump once more.

“Hey, eyes on me.” Raising one of my hands I grabbed his chin forcing him to look me in the eye. Leaning upward I pressed soft kisses against his mouth moving my other hand through his hair. “You still mean everything to me. All that I care about is that you are here with me and that you’re safe.”

The eldest Lannister lion pressed his forehead against mine before he began moving our bodies against each other very slowly again as if he was afraid I might disappear from him any moment. “I just don’t want to be less of a man to you. You are my sweet wolf wife…and I’ll do my best to be a good father to our little lion or lioness.”

“I know you will, Jaime. You will always be the same man I fell in love with from this day until the end of our days.” I whispered my next words into his ear since he had his head laying on my chest. My fingers were gripping his back while I struggle to not let the entire castle know what we were doing in the middle of the night. “I am yours and you are mine.”

The bed was moving against our actions where he kept hitting the specific spot that we both moaned afterwards to. He broke the kiss where I held his face in my hands tracing his cheek with him thrusting into me slowly. “Y/n, I love you so much!” He moaned when I pulled his head downward burying my face in his neck nuzzling my nose and kissing into his skin.

Finally we both reach our high and Jaime collapsed onto his back on his side of the bed smiling longingly at me. I was laying on my back still trying to catch my breath while my hair was a tousled mess but I never dropped the huge grin on my face. “You were right about it being so much better after the first time…or it could also be the fact that I missed you like hell. Please don’t ever leave me again Jaime.” Rolling over onto my side I placed one hand on his the stump of his right hand giving him a small tearful smile.

“I don’t intend of going anywhere, little wolf. You and this baby are my home from now on.” Jaime scooted closer to me where I shifted so that his body was laying on top of mine. Running my fingers through his golden hair I planted some kisses onto his head and bare shoulder that I could reach feeling all the nervous weight fade away.

He wrapped his arms around my waist hugging me tightly against his strong form nuzzling his nose against my stomach listening for a heartbeat and he smiled when he felt something kick against his head. “I guess our little lion enjoys their daddy being home too.” I chuckled feeling the vibrating against my belly making me smile.

“If we spend our nights like this again we might end with as many children as you’re family has. If you’re up for it someday Y/n Lannister.” Jaime raises his head slightly with that cheeky smirk on his face showing me he was getting back to being his old self. He kisses my belly then he deeply kisses me on the lips laying his head back down on my stomach trying to get some much needed sleep.

Resting my head back against the pillows I intertwined one of my hands with Jaime’s left closing my eyes after watching him fall peacefully asleep on top of me. “I will never say no to you my golden lion.” I mumbled before I shut my eyes finally getting a restful night of sleep being able to hold him in my arms.

Tag list - @makeshift-prime @rosie-posie08 @lover-of-books-and-tea

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[delopsia]

Just And Just As | Nick Furcillo X Reader

Word Count: 10,000 t.t Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: Implied NSFW, brief mentions of food. Really just a lot of fluff and borderline smut. Idk man, I blacked out when I wrote this. Gender-neutral reader and mentions of a height difference because I couldn't resist.

No, no no no, this is not how your plan ends.

The voices behind you are growing louder. Closer. They'll be here any moment. Trembling hands turn the doorknob once more. It turns. Pull again. Nothing. The damned thing is jammed and won't budge.

"Y/N!"

Shit.

They're almost here. They know this is where you've gone. Any moment now and they'll be rounding that bend into camp. One more time. One more time.

Again, you turn the knob and pull.

No dice. You're accepting defeat - the ziplines would have been a better place to run. Fuck, why did you choose the fucking pool of all places?

The doorknob tears out of your hands as it flies open. Familiar hands grasp your wrists and tug you inside. There's no time to grasp what just happened, no time to avoid stumbling face-first into a broad chest.

"Whoa!" The door audibly slams shut behind you. "What's got you in such a rush, sweetheart?"

Temptation to step back is ebbed away by the arms that circle around you, gently securing you against his chest, fingertips tracing circles into your spine.

"The campers were getting close," you grumble, peering up to meet his eye, "and I couldn't get the damn door to open."

He's silent — just for a moment, brown eyes flickering to the door, then back down to you. "You do remember..." he pauses to fight the big, goofy grin that's sprawling across his face — his efforts are futile, "that the door is a push to open, right?"

Your cheeks burn.

"Oh my god," you bury your face back into his chest, concealing your shame, "what am I supposed to even say after you've just stood here and witnessed me act a fool for a full two minutes?"

"You could say, 'Nick, you're such a good boyfriend, thank you so much for saving me from those rabid counselors and their equally vicious kids'," you're vaguely aware of a nose bumping against the side of your head. It's the best he can do to bend down and rest his head next to yours without outright bending down.

Nick's fingertips ghost up your naked spine, featherlight, settling at the base of your neck. They're firmer, a singular finger tapping the skin there until you draw your face from his chest to meet his gaze. "You look beautiful in this swimsuit," it's barely a whisper, so quiet that you briefly consider whether or not you'd actually heard it. The flame in Nick's cheeks state otherwise, visible even in the darkness of the pool room.

"I wish you could have come to the island with us," your hand wanders up to brush the hair from his eyes, he leans into it, "you would have loved the view from the treehouse."

"Unfortunately, someone around here has to keep all the campers fed," Nick tilts his head to press a kiss into your palm. He misses by a bit, getting the side of it more than anything, but still, it lands. "I've got a lot better of a view right here, anyway."

Both of your cheeks go up in flames, and you have to look away for a moment to regain your composure. You're not quite sure who the comment affected more, you or him. Words are hard to come by, your fingertips idly fidgeting with a lock of his hair. All this effort and planning for some alone time together, and now you can't even find the words to respond to a witty compliment. Nick takes hold of your hand, guiding it further up until you've fully tangled your digits in his long hair. It drives you impossibly closer to him, noses bumping together in your efforts to compensate for your height difference without standing on your tiptoes.

"I hope Jacob didn't trouble you too much while you were out," he says, with a dimpled frown. Jacob's constant pestering has only ramped up now that he became witness to a poorly timed peck on the lips — so much for keeping your relationship a secret, for your sanity's sake.

You shake your head, nose rubbing against his in an unintentional nose kiss, "he's calmed down since your stint in the woods last week." The image of Nick losing his temper and slamming Jacob up against an oak tree is one that will forever be burned into your memory.

Nick's stepping away, and for a fleeting moment, you're afraid that he's suddenly decided that you're far too awkward for his tastes. There's the slightest of tugs upon your wrist and it hits you that he's just leading you behind the lockers. As soon as you've rounded the corner, Nick's crowding your space, backing you into the corner until you have no space left to give him.

His lips bump against yours, touching but not quite there, "you seem to enjoy bringing that up," he observes, and before you can defend yourself, he cuts you off, "you couldn't possibly have a thing for me being mad, hm?"

Again, words fail to find you. You're saved by the familiar pressure of lips against your own, just a peck, one, two, three, four times. He goes in for a fifth, and this time you're standing on your tiptoes and catching him off guard, kissing him properly. Nick whines oh so softly, big, clumsy hands finding their way to your waist as he leans into it. The sound travels its way straight to your core, lighting a fire that burns impossibly brighter as a palm travels down your hip, fingers seizing a plush thigh. He does this every time, yet you still squeak against his lips as your leg is guided up to his hip.

You have to break it, lungs burning as you take a deep breath in, and with Nick's shoulders as leverage, hoist yourself up. It's a far cry from your first attempt, where you had jumped too low and Nick reacted too slowly, finding yourselves in a red-cheeked heap on the kitchen floor and fumbling for an excuse when Mr. H rushed in, fearing the worst.

Nick's giggle shatters the memory, and only now do you become aware of the thin trail of saliva connecting your lips. He makes no effort to break it, squeezing your thighs as he meets your lips once more. Here, with Nick comfortably settled between your legs, it's so much easier to kiss him, no ache from craning your neck up and standing on your tiptoes, just the comfortable flutter in your chest as your lips melt against his.

Cheeky, you nip at his plush bottom lip, tugging it in the slightest of nips. He gasps, lips parting oh so beautifully. He knows your tricks, meets your tongue halfway, chuckling at your surprised retreat. He chases you, hot tongue delving into your mouth, tangling with your own in the softest of touches. He tastes like peanut butter. Your lungs burn as you chase him back, spit-slicked lips sliding against his in the messiest of kisses.

You don't have much time, you both are aware of that, and you take the chance to break away from him in exchange for further ventures, catching your breath in between pecks and licks down his neck.

"Baby," he warns, and you're becoming increasingly aware of a blooming pressure between your legs.

The warning is futile, though, because your lips land on a sensitive spot just below his jaw, sucking at it gently. Nick twitches under your touch, pressing you further into the lockers with his hips, a newly freed palm gripping the back of your head as your tongue salves across the spot. The pressure of Nick between your legs is a new one, you can't quite recall a moment where he was ever this close.

"Baby wait, oh," he's powerless at the way that you nip at his skin, it's one of your favorite things to exploit.

Light explodes above you, white LEDs burning into your poor retinas.

Nick's letting you down almost immediately, backing away as if burned. The room feels impossibly cold without him crowding your senses, drowning you in all he has to offer.

"I knew I'd find you two stooges in here somewhere," Mr. H's voice is jarring, compared to how softly you and Nick had been speaking. It's only now that you realize that you've shut your eyes. "The hell are you two doing in here?"

"Intense game of rock paper scissors," Nick supplies, "we're going to Nationals, haven't you heard?"

When Mr. H doesn't immediately buy it, you fill in with your preplanned lie. "I got a migraine from the sun and this was the only quiet, dark place we could find," you've told this lie so many times that everyone is beginning to think it's true.

"Where are the sunglasses I bought you?" Mr. H makes a motion for you and Nick to head towards the door. You follow without question.

"Emma borrowed them for a theater class and never gave them back," at least you're honest, this time, "it's all an exploit to keep me from telling you how she's sneaking out at night."

"Are you sure you don't want us to tell you how they're doing it?" Nick chuckles, bumping his shoulder against yours with a not-so-discreet wink.

Mr. H shakes his head, fumbling with his keys. Hell, he's locking the door this time. "I want to catch them organically, in the act," he says, rather jovial for a man who just walked in on two of his counselors making out in the locker room, "what use am I if I can't even catch two horny twenty-year-olds sneaking out?"

His loss, you suppose. Ever since Emma figured out that Mr. H religiously goes to bed at 10:45 PM sharp, gets up once to pee at 2 AM, and then sleeps until 6:30, they haven't been caught once.

Nick bumps you again, harder this time, forcing you to glare up at him and acknowledge his presence. There's a red spot under his jaw and a funny little glint in his eye — like he's gotten away with murder.

"Back to why I'm looking for you, Y/N, you have a patient, and Nick, you have mouths to feed." Just like that, your excitement has exited from your body and flown off to the high heavens.

Back to work.

Blaire Whitson is one of those children that is almost always in your office, nursing a new injury. Yesterday she fell off the swing and cut her hand wide open, the day before that, she burned her tongue on a freshly roasted marshmallow.

"Why did Lucas push you off the canoe?" Talking is hard when you're focusing on this stubborn splinter, but it's all you can do to keep the poor girl from crying.

She huffs, loud and dramatic, "same reason he pushed me out of the tree last week. He doesn't like that I have a crush on Antonio."

You've almost got this splinter, but she keeps moving and you keep losing the damn thing, no matter how hard you try to keep her knee still.

"I still think he's just jealous," there's only one person at this camp who bares that accent.

"Hi, Counselor Nick," Blaire giggles. In her moment of distraction, her knee finally holds still long enough for you to get that damned splinter. She doesn't even notice it.

"What are you doing all the way up here?" You sneak a glance up to Nick whilst you reach for the Neosporin.

He's settled himself in the doorway frame, idly massaging his wrist as he watches you do your thing. "Burned myself in the kitchen," he lifts his hand, showing off the angry red burn along the side of his right palm, "my hired help turned on the wrong burner."

You don't need to ask who his hired help is. It is common knowledge that Dylan is a menace in the cafeteria and should not be allowed within fifty feet of a microwave, regardless of whether he's being chaperoned or not. You suppose that's why you've been smelling something burning for the past half hour.

"Why would Lucas be jealous?" You haven't quite figured that one out, just seems like childish bullying, but you're not usually spending time with the kids.

Nick settles in an open chair next to you, still has a faint red mark along his neck. You practically have to drag your eyes away from it, and only because Nick is leaning over to whisper in your ear. "Ryan confiscated a love letter from him this morning."

Ah.

It takes less than a minute for you to finish cleaning up Blaire's injuries, and then she's rushing off to get dinner before it's too late. She's eaten late meals in your office far too many times for it to be a fun experience for her anymore, and you're thankful that she doesn't linger like a lot of kids do.

"Sit." You point a finger at the newly empty bed, getting up to fetch a cold compress and anything else you suspect you may need to treat his burn. You assume it can't be too bad — Nick has never been great at hiding his pain, and he doesn't seem all that bothered right now.

The burn isn't too bad, much to your relief. Nick whines every time you touch it, but that's the most you gather out of him.

"Love note, huh?"

"Said something about being upset that every girl likes his brother and not him," Nick grumbles as you massage aloe into the angry flesh of his hand, "couldn't imagine why the ladies aren't all over him."

"It's almost as if people avoid bullies, out of fear of being bullied themselves," you're struggling to focus on the task at hand. Nick's uninjured hand working its way up your shoulder is proving to be quite distracting.

"What? You don't consider being shoved out of a canoe a quality trait in a man?" He teases, giggling at his own dumb comment.

"Not exactly, no," you raise your head at the same time he does, brushing your noses together.

You can't quite bring yourself to pull away. You really should, considering the door is wide open, but you can't resist just one kiss. It seems Nick had the same idea, because he meets you halfway, chases you down for another as soon as the first one ends.

"I wish we got to have more alone time," he pouts, the moment your lips have left his. "There's literally nowhere to escape, and our wonderful coworkers take over the boathouse every damn night."

An idea strikes you as you reach for the gauze. "Why don't we sneak down to the ziplines? There's a dock down there, too."

"Oh thank the Lord, are you two finally gonna fuck?"

You're not sure when Dylan arrived, but there he is, smug as ever in the doorway. Before you can ask what he's doing here, he points to your medicine cabinet. "I need hard drugs and a nap."

Ah, right.

Dylan has a habit of getting migraines while in the cafeteria. Something about the various noises and smells just sets him off. He's brought his honorary bottle of water, saving you the trouble of fetching one yourself.

"Cabinets unlocked," you supply, beginning to wrap Nick's hand, "don't overdose."

You know the drill by now. Feed Dylan some painkillers and allow him a 30-minute nap on one of the beds, and he's good as new. You're thankful that he doesn't follow up on his first statement. If there's anyone at this camp who knows how to tease without being a genuine pest, it's Dylan.

Jacob should start taking lessons.

"Is this where you go every night after dinner?" Nick is so wrapped up in his new revelation that he doesn't notice when you finish wrapping his injury, leaving his hand stuck out even as you step away to put your things back.

"Congrats, you've found me out," Dylan says around two ibuprofen, "took you long enough."

You don't have to ask about what's coming next, ushering Nick out of the room to avoid any more fussy remarks from your most frequent patient. You just so happened to have picked the one room with a decent mattress, and Dylan religiously picks that room to sleep in.

"What's going on?" Nick wonders aloud, once the door has fallen shut behind the both of you.

"That room has the only decent mattress," you elaborate, yawning, "Dylan refuses to sleep anywhere else."

With Dylan curled up in your office, Nick walks you down to the cafeteria under the promise of reheating a meal for you. Dinner is already over, much to your dismay, but there seem to be some perks to dating the lead chef. The kitchen is a damn mess, but it's one that Nick seems to know like the back of his hand. He breezes through it, alternating between a variety of pots and pans seamlessly. There's only one empty space, in the corner next to the fridge. You swear Nick keeps it cleared just because you always sit there. You're just beginning to sit down on the wooden stool when he comes bounding over like a puppy.

"Chili mac 'n cheese," he announces in his best southern accent, placing a bowl in front of you, "and cornbread." The cornbread is on a napkin, he's been improvising ever since Dylan knocked over a whole rack of plates last week.

"Is this how you got rid of all those different noodles?" There are at least five different noodles in this, even alphabet pasta, strangely enough. Nick nods, long hair bouncing with the motion. He's always like this, eagerly awaiting your reaction to his cooking.

Nick can be quite the chef when he wants to be, and that proves to ring true even with this unusual-looking chili. He starts grinning when you go in for a second bite and cheers when you give him a thumbs up.

"Do you have tomorrow figured out or is that still a work in progress?" You ask, reaching up to push his hair from his eyes.

"Chili spaghetti," he chirps, around a mouth of cornbread. He's been obsessed with it ever since Mr. H lent him the Hackett family recipe, makes it two or three times a week anymore.

You're not sure if you heard him right. "Chili what now?"

"Chili spaghetti," he says, slower this time, "my dad and I tried it after we went camping midwest last year. I've been thinking about it ever since." His stomach growls as he speaks, as if to put emphasis on his statement.

If you had your phone, you would look this up, because you have no idea what the hell this entails. Alas, Mr. H is hellbent on keeping the camp as "original as possible", whatever that means. It makes sense for the counselors, but you'd really appreciate it if he would lighten up on the rules. Especially considering how often you overhear him playing Candy Crush.

Boomers.

You finish your food quickly — Nick's waiting on you before he starts cleaning, and you'd like to lend him a hand so that he doesn't get stuck in here until 11 PM again. It's happened before and you'd feel guilty if you let it happen again. You take off to hunt down stray utensils in the cafeteria, while Nick begins the long, strenuous process of washing every single dish by hand.

"I have eleven runaway spoons and a singular plate," you announce, upon your re-entry. Nick makes a noise, you can't tell if it's him acknowledging you or if he's just pissed off with the pot he's scrubbing. He's got a glove on his burnt hand, which only seems to be getting in the way more than anything.

With a clean towel, you dry the dishes and put them away, working as quickly as you can to catch up to Nick's queue. It's not hard — most of the dishes are the same and as such, go in the same places. Between that and the pots, you catch up to Nick rather quickly. You're leaning against the counter, waiting for the next dish when Dylan comes bounding in.

"We're back in business boys," he yawns, making a beeline for the spare sink, "Y/N I hope you can keep up."

Going into this, you weren't aware it was a challenge. Regardless, you're up for it. With two pairs of hands washing, your job gets a lot more hectic. Back and forth, you alternate between the two stations, drying the dishes as you walk them to their destinations.

"So are you two actually going down to the ziplines tonight?" Dylan asks as he hands you a particularly large knife, still dripping with water when you take it.

Nick's handing you a handful of spoons as you breeze past him. "Depends on whether we finish these dishes in time and if Mr. H catches us."

The knife block is just out of your reach, to your dismay. You have to clamber onto a stool to get to it, have to ignore the amused grins of your much taller peers. Sometimes you catch yourself wishing witchcraft was real, just so you could pay a witch to make them short for a day. Humble them a little. There's laughter outside, and you're pretty sure that's Kaitlyn who's raising her voice to garner everyone's attention.

Dylan huffs dramatically, sets down a bowl a tad too hard, "another campfire without us." It's an ongoing issue — the kitchen crew gets left behind to do all of the cleanups while the rest of the counselors go to the campfire to listen to Ryan's campfire tales. You used to go with them, but ever since you stumbled across Nick and Dylan washing dishes after midnight, you've felt too guilty to not help them out.

"We're almost done," Nick, ever the optimist.

You're working up a bit of a sweat, jumping between the two stations, drying dishes as fast as your hands will allow. Nick's moving as fast as he can. He really wants to make it to one of these fires — you can see it in his eyes. Eyebrows furrowed, tongue poked out of his mouth as he scrubs away, determined to get these dishes done.

"Is there a reason why the nurse is in the kitchen?" Mr. H's voice is so jarring that you nearly drop the plates you're cradling.

"I want to sleep at a decent time," Dylan's tongue is sharp as he speaks, "forgive us for accepting some much-needed help."

You choose not to speak, smiling as you breeze past to take another freshly washed dish. It would be far nicer if Mr. H would go ahead and just scold or kick you out, but he just stands there in the doorway, hands on his hips, staring. His presence makes it harder to focus on the task at hand. Your hands tremble as you take the next set of dishes, nearly drop a spoon when you're separating it from the forks. 'It's okay', Nick mouths, out of view of Mr. H's careful watch.

"Y/N, get to the campfire and help with the kids," your heart sinks, "I'll take over and help them finish up."

"We literally have ten plates left," Dylan deadpans.

Mr. H is quiet, stares until it begins to feel uncomfortable again. Frowning, you hand off your dish to Mr. H and head for the door. You feel like a stray cat being tossed out into the rain, slinking out into the rapidly darkening outdoors. The campers have already been herded down to the fire pit, leaving the main section of the camp empty and deserted. Walking alone in the woods is not your favorite cup of tea. It's not even that far, but the dark forest is ominous, trees towering overhead, bushes concealing God knows what behind them. The constant reports of kids seeing something lurking in the woods at night are certainly not helping the matter.

Alone and out of Mr. H's watchful eye, you drag your feet, walking as slowly as you can manage without outright stopping. Either time must be passing slower, or Mr. H is talking the boys' ears off because you find yourself approaching a roaring campfire and the boys are nowhere to be seen. Kaitlyn's waving you over, perched up on the 'Counselors Log' as she calls it. You're still not sure how she's managed to ward off all the kids, but she's successfully staked her claim and so far it seems to be well respected.

"How did flirting with Nick go?" She asks once you're within earshot.

"Great until Mr. H ran me off," pause for dramatic effect, "twice."

"Keep on trying my little Storm Trooper," you can smell the faintest twinge of alcohol on her breath, must've been a hard day for her to dig out the vodka she smuggled in, "once you get out of here, you'll be set for life with that man's fortune."

Here we go again. "I still don't know what makes you think he's rich," there's not much space on the log, you're surprised you have room to fit. Of course, all of the counselors could hypothetically fit, if Jacob wasn't taking up an entire quarter of it.

"Dude, he was wearing a designer jacket at orientation!" Emma chirps, kicking her feet. "He has to at least come from a little money."

Right on queue, Dylan and Nick walk around the bend. Mr. H follows closely behind, like some sort of creepy shadow. Something cold hits your legs, and you realize it's Kaitlyn handing you her canteen. "Hold this and pretend it's yours," she whispers, "I'm afraid Mr. H may be on to me and my drinking habits."

There's a big shuffle to fit the two extra counselors — Jacob doesn't want to move to the edge and close his damn legs, Ryan nearly knocks Abigail's notebook into the fire and she just about smacks him upside the head with it once it's returned. You find yourself teetering on the edge of the log, thrilled that Nick has chosen to sit next to you, but it's getting hard to stay on this damn log. 

"This log could be just a little bit bigger," Nick chuckles, watching you struggle. "Would you rather sit in my lap?" 

You're not sure if it's his words or if it's the raging fire that puts the red in your cheeks. "Are you sure?" 

"Long as you're comfortable with it," he says it so easily like it's the simplest thing in the world. 

Despite your better judgment —the kids are definitely not going to let this one go— you agree. Nick shuffles a bit, adjusting to the extra space, and reaches out for you with open arms. He curls around you, long arms securing around your waist as you settle into his lap. Vaguely, you become concerned that you may be a bit too heavy for him. You attempt to alleviate that worry by putting more of your weight onto your feet than you are in his lap, it's an awkward sensation. 

Nick's arms tighten, pulling you the rest of the way down. Plan? Foiled. "You're not too heavy for me, darling, don't even worry about that," lips ghost against the shell of your ear, presses a kiss behind it. There's a loud gasp from the kids that has you freezing, fearing the worst. Did you do something?

Then you hear Ryan's voice, and it hits you that he's just telling a story. Nick's chin hooks over your shoulder, a welcome weight that draws the stress from your tired body. He's so warm, all wrapped up around you like an oversized blanket, it's like you were made to fit right into his arms. 

You've forgotten about the canteen in your hand. At least, forgotten it until Kaitlyn reaches over and plucks it from your hand. "Don't you two just look cozy," she teases, and you feel Nick hide his face in your shoulder. 

Ryan's tale of the night comes to a close, and the kids are not happy about it. A handful of them beg for another story in their shrill little voices, someone offers their fruit snacks as bribery. You really need to pay attention to his stories more often, they're the highlight of the night, and half the time, you don't even hear them. 

"I think I've told a story for just about everything," Ryan's mostly just talking to himself, albeit loudly. 

"Have you told a story about werewolves yet?" The words tumble out of your mouth before you can do anything about it. 

Ryan's eyebrows furrow, and he's quiet for a moment. "Can't say that I have, actually." 

"Hey guys," Mr. H is lowering his voice, stepping between you and the fire, "let's just skip the werewolf topic and get everyone to bed." 

It's not like you're being scolded, you've done nothing wrong, but his tone makes you feel like you've committed the most heinous crime imaginable. Your coworkers share the same expression, confused beyond words. 

"Mr. H, we still have thirty minutes before bed," Nick's protest goes nowhere. Mr. H's words are law, and if he wants everyone in bed now, what more choice do you have?

With a bucket of water, Mr. H puts out the fire, and you're once again tasked to do a job that you don't get paid enough for. Getting out of Nick's lap is the worst part—you feel so safe there; it's like nobody could lay a single finger on you. 

Getting the kids back to their cabins is like herding cats. Someone is always doing their own thing and not listening to instructions, and it makes your job impossibly tricky. You lose sight of Nick rather quickly, too wrapped up in stopping a group of boys from marching off to 'hunt down the wendigos themselves'. In a way, their attitude reminds you of Jacob. Invincible until they're not. It's all you can do to keep the ringleader from tearing off into the night, and he's only talked out of it once you're out of the forest altogether. 

"Campers, head to your cabins!" Kaitlyn shouts, "don't make me tell you twice!"

She's gonna have to tell them twice. About half the kids, including your Wendigo Fighters, trudge to their cabins, but the remaining half cant give a damn what she just said. Who's truly in charge here? Because it seems like the campers could overrun this place if they so chose. Speaking of running camps, you can see Mr. H tying some sort of rope to the side of the pool building. He's dragging the rope across the lawn, looks like he's taking it all the way across the main exit of camp. The hell is he doing?

There's a small voice behind you that barely stands out among the chatter of campers. Blaire stands behind you, Antonio close behind, holding her tiny little hand.

"Did you say something?" You ask, kneeling to get on her level. 

"Counselor Nick asked me to ask you to come and save him," she repeats, pointing off to your right.  

Ah. There's Nick.

He's amassed himself a small crowd, and he really doesn't look like he knows how to get out of it. This happens every time he opens his mouth; the kids love asking him to say things in his accent. 

"Thanks, Blaire," you reach up to fix a stray hair, "head on to your cabin now, 'kay?" 

With Blaire and her friend running off to their cabins, you're faced with the familiar task of saving your boyfriend from certain doom. You can hear the words he's saying, "butter," "squirrel," and "juice box," being the first three you hear. 

"Okay, kids, let's not harass Counselor Nick anymore than we have to," you hate raising your voice, but it's the only thing that's ever worked in the past. The kids are disappointed, but they scamper off just as Kaitlyn whips out the megaphone. 

You get the feeling that you're no longer their favorite Counselor.

With the megaphone out, you only have a few moments before you need to disappear into your respective cabins, but Nick's wandering hands are finding your waist, bringing you in for the quickest of kisses. "You never told me your plan for tonight, love." 

You'd almost forgotten about that. Had you even planned anything? 

"The two stooges sneak out at eleven fifteen; we might be able to get out after they do," you offer. Quite frankly, you have no other ideas. 

"Works for me," another kiss, and then you're separating, jogging to your cabins before Kaitlyn can come after you. It's happened before—you still think your left ear is ringing a bit. 

Your bunk isn't much, just some tiny thing tucked into the corner. The frame is cracking, so nobody sleeps above you, and you've tucked a spare sheet around it to create some makeshift curtains. It's nice; privacy is a rarity around here. As a bonus, your bed is pushed right up against the window, granting you full, unlimited access to it. You're really glad that you left the blinds open this morning because opening those would make a lot of racket.

The kids settle in rather quickly; your cabin has learned the hard way that Kaitlyn does not mess around when it comes to bedtime. She is a woman of routine, and she has no problem reminding them who is in charge. The problem is that now, the cabin is impossibly quiet, and you have nothing to help pass the time. 

Pushing open the window helps a little bit—at least now you have some fresh air. The camp is eerily quiet, forest looming behind, a monster in plain sight. You will never understand how people go camping alone. What do you do if something gets ahold of you? If something goes horribly wrong?

It feels like an hour has passed before Jacob's cabin door opens up; your watch says it's only been twenty minutes. Emma comes out next. It's clear that she does this pretty often because she makes no effort to be quiet. How Mr. H constantly fails to catch them, you'll never know. 

Nick's door is the last to open. He's more cautious about it, minding the squeaky, loose stairs far better than Jacob and Emma did. He crouches next to his cabin, only scurries across camp when the two have their backs turned on their way out of camp. Unfortunately for him, he isn't graceful enough to avoid stepping on and snapping a rather loud twig.

"Did you hear that?" Good lord, why is Jacob observant now, of all times? He wasn't very observant last week when he drove the golf cart into a ditch. 

Emma is dismissive, you don't hear what she says, but she's tugging on his arm and urging him on his way. From behind the central tree, Nick pokes his head out, wide-eyed and pale. You feel like you're in a spy movie when you clamber out of the window as quietly as you can manage. The way that Nick scurries over reminds you of a puppy, clumsily tripping over his own feet, just barely able to catch himself.

The loudest cowbells you've ever heard ring in the distance. 

So that's what Mr. H was doing earlier. You can hear his voice in the distance, a bright white flashlight landing on the two escapees. There's no time for Nick to run back, not without getting caught himself. Nick seems to have gathered that himself because he picks up his speed and jumps, grabbing onto the railing and hoisting himself over in one fluid motion. He doesn't need to say anything, you're already climbing back through the window, and Nick is tumbling in after you. 

Limbs are everywhere, you don't know where Nick starts, and you end. This bed is barely big enough for you, never mind you and Nick. He might as well be a second blanket, with the way he's sprawled out on top of you, panting in your ear. 

"This isn't how I imagined this escapade turning out," he whispers, voice unintentionally sending a ripple down your spine. He must feel it because he finally squirms himself away from your ear. 

Mr. H is beginning his lecture outside; you can hear it in his tone. Preaching about responsibility and putting the kids first. You'd heard enough of this at orientation. 

"After all, what will the parents think?" Nick mocks with a roll of his eyes. 

"If something happens to the kids, their parents won't send them back next year," you finish, much to his delight. 

Nick shuffles around, rearranging your positions to put you closest to the window. Your pillow barely accommodates the two of you, but you hardly even notice it. It's hard to think of anything when Nick's all wrapped around you, legs tangled with your own, barely an inch of space between you. 

His hand slips under your shirt, settling flat on the small of your back. "Isn't it silly that a lecture is what brought us together?" 

It was only a month and a half ago, but it feels like it's been a millennium since that day. Framed for a mistake made by Emma, you and Nick had been subjected to an hour-long lecture and a three-day sentence to cleaning. You've been bound at the hip ever since. 

"Remember the fight in the showers?" It's growing hard to think; Nick is so warm that he's putting you to sleep. 

He hums, "I was convinced that you hated me." 

You'd coincidentally thought the same thing. Strange how all this worked out. Nick presses a kiss into your forehead, then another one, right between your eyes—you can't help but giggle at the sensation. 

"Shh," a kiss to your nose, "your giggles are going to get us caught."

"Well, nobody was bothered by the cow—," you're cut off by a pair of familiar lips, effectively shutting you up. The kiss is too short for your liking, Nick may have only intended it to be a small peck, but you didn't sneak him into your bed just for a peck.

He gasps against your mouth, effectively surprised at how you chase him down, and for an agonizing moment, he goes still. Your hand finds its way up his chest, fingers splaying out over his heart, and that's what draws him from his stupor. It's a sensation that you never want to get used to, the way you fit together, the pressure of his soft lips against yours, the strength of his arms around you. 

Teeth clack together with a soft noise; your mouth opens to him, a hot tongue delving into your mouth. His tongue is rather short, can't quite reach yours unless you meet him halfway, and the muffled whine you receive makes it all the more worth it. You don't know who's melting more, can't tell who is breaking kisses to gasp for air and who is starting them again. What you do know is that it's you who moves your leg up; it's Nick who whimpers when your thigh presses into your groin. 

Oh, what you wouldn't give to be in a place where you could adequately act upon your inner thoughts. 

"Fuck," Nick pants, breathless, although you're not much better yourself. He shifts a bit, only making your thigh press harder into him, and you suddenly become very aware of what you're doing to him. 

Drawing your lips away from his feels like the most monumental task you've ever completed; it's all you can do to stop yourself from kissing him until your lips bruise and your heads spin. You don't want to go to sleep, but you know that if you continue on, neither of you may be able to stop. 

Neither of you recalls exactly who fell asleep first or when. It just happened somewhere between Nick's thumb rubbing the side of your cheek and the novelty of sharing a bed for the first time. One moment you're gazing into sleepy brown eyes; the next, Nick's watch is vibrating and stirring you both from your slumber.

"What...?" Words are difficult. Your bones are heavy; it feels like you've slept for a century and a half. 

"Just my alarm," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. 

Despite the growing need to get up and be ready before the kids, neither of you can bring yourselves to move. Nick is so warm against you, a stark contrast to the cool breeze coming in through the open window. The moment is fleeting, though, as Nick's watch reminds you of the time. 

"Find me in the kitchen later," kiss, "I have something to show you." Before you know it, he's slipping out the door and scurrying back to his own cabin before Dylan can wake everyone with his announcements. 

You don't get a chance to visit Nick until after lunch.

Usually, you have time in the morning, not for long but enough for a kiss on the cheek and a chat about the day's plans, but your day is going wrong in every possible way. First, two of the showers broke, and your morning shower rapidly turned into a midday one, and so, so many kids fell when on their trail hike with Ryan and Jacob. You've never seen so many scraped knees and elbows in your life. 

When you do finally get to visit, Nick is... "What are you doing?" 

Nick all but jumps, startled by your sudden appearance. It's short-lived because very quickly, he's grinning and waving you over to look at what he's concocting now. 

"I don't get it," really, you don't. He's got what appears to be raspberries or strawberries in a strainer and a tin can underneath. 

"Do you remember how Mr. H bought all that lemonade, and now we don't know what to do with it?" Whatever this is, he's excited, practically vibrating with it. 

Cautious, you nod your head. You were one of the poor souls who had to carry all of it in and put it into the freezer. It's hard to forget that much lemonade. 

Nick moves the strainer, revealing a bright red liquid underneath. "I made syrups," he can barely speak with how much he's smiling, "now we can have a little variety."

Where he's found the time to figure this out, you're not sure. He's handing you a glass from the fridge, already mixed with syrup and ready to go. Nick has never given you something that didn't taste amazing, and as you take your first sip, it continues to ring true. Strawberry lemonade. 

"God, you look at Y/N like they hand-crafted the universe," Dylan must be coming up with these in advance—he's too quick with it. 

"Hey," Nick scoffs, "you're not much better than I am." 

"At least I don't give off the vibes of a golden retriever." 

Speechless. That's what Nick is. Jaw slack, eyes wide as he glances at his reflection on the fridge. Now that it's been pointed out, you can't unsee it. 

It falls quiet. Nick is still looking at himself in what you can only assume is horror; Dylan is getting into the granola stash, and you're so busy watching them that you don't even think to speak. Distantly, you think you can hear Emma and Jacob bickering, a familiar sound around these parts. 

"Romeo and Juliet got sentenced to three days of hard labor," Dylan supplies around a mouthful of granola. Nick grimaces, and you can't tell if it's in response to the punishment or the granola. 

"I can't believe Mr. H caught them with cow bells on a rope," there's a glint in Nick's eye as he speaks. "What's he got them doing?"

"Do you want to find out?" Mr. H's voice is loud, booming through the quiet little kitchen, effectively shaking you to your core. You don't realize that you've jumped and grabbed onto Nick until his arm is wrapped around you, anchoring you against him. 

Emma stumbles in through the door, her cheeks red from the sun, "Y/N, can I borrow you? For...something?" Being borrowed means, you'll be busy until sundown. But you'll take anything over Mr. H staring through your very soul as if he knows all of your wrongdoings. Slipping from Nick's protective embrace, you follow her out of the building. She's got a mini play going on, but she needs extra hands, and Jacob is being particularly...Jacob, today. 

"I just need someone to keep an eye on the extras and make sure they don't wander off," she tells you. 

At first, you don't understand it, but then it becomes very clear that her group tends to wander. You feel like a herding dog, weaving back and forth and turning the little heathens back to the task at hand. One of the kids spills your lemonade all over the ground, and nobody owns up to it. You hadn't even gotten to drink much of it, and now your glass is completely empty.

Mr. H really doesn't pay you guys enough. 

"Has Mr. H been rude to you lately, or is he just doing it to me and Jacob?" Emma asks you shortly after Ryan has come to escort the kids to dinner. 

"He definitely has been sort of..." you have to stop cleaning up just to have a coherent thought. Yeah, now that she mentions it, he definitely has been teetering between pleasant and snappy lately. "Snappy? Menacing?"

"An ass?" She drops some gnome hats into her costume box, "he got mad at me and Jacob earlier just for being in the same room." 

With all of the gnome gear packed away, the two of you are finally able to leave. The sun is already falling, bathing the forest in deep hues of red and orange—a true golden hour. It's comforting, a stark contrast to how menacing it can be once the sun goes down. A shiver ripples down your spine. 

As you grow near the main building, Mr. H's truck tears out of the driveway, sending dirt and gravel flying up into a plume of smoke. Idle, Ryan stands stiff as a board where the truck was once parked. Even from a ways away, you can see the whites of his eyes, like a deer in headlights. When he finally does come to face you, he remains the epitome of shocked, jaw-slack, eyes distant. 

"What's going on?" Emma's the first to speak. 

Ryan's quiet for a moment, and then, "he's...leaving for the night?" He says it as if he doesn't quite believe what he's saying. 

There's a cheer to your left. It sounds like Jacob and...

"Nick?" You're surprised to hear your own voice. He just grins, stepping out from beside Jacob to come to you. 

"We're finally unsupervised!" Jacob looks like a little kid as he all but stumbles over to you, taking the box of props from your hands, "I'll take this."

With Mr. H gone, Jacob and Emma are bound at the hip again, and you get the feeling you won't be seeing them until morning. In the back of your mind, a tiny voice suggests you do the same, but your grumbling stomach has its own ideas. Nick doesn't need to say a word, taking your hand in his and walking you to the cafeteria. 

Sometimes you think he'd go hungry if that meant keeping you fed. 

Chili on top of spaghetti is not what you expect him to put in front of you. To be fair, he did tell you that this is what he'd be making, but it still gets you. For once, you get to sit at the Counselor's table, a luxury you don't often have these days. Nick settles next to you, absolutely enthralled with what he's made. 

"Didn't you eat once already, Nick?" Kaitlyn remarks, biting into a slice of garlic bread. Nick's cheeks turn pink, all he can do is nod and stare at his empty plate. 

Is he...pouting?

You choose not to bring it up with the others around, Nick's never been good at explaining what he's feeling, and teasing will only ensue if you ask. He does, however, scoot closer to you. Enough so that your thighs are pressed together, and your shoulders brush with every movement. You stay like that, listening to the conversations happening around you as you finish your food. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Dylan heading for the stairs, bleary-eyed and half awake. 

Abigail leans her elbows against the table, lowering her voice as if Dylan can somehow hear her over all the chatter. "Where does Dylan always go this time of the day?" 

"Not a clue," lying straight through your teeth. He's probably curling up in your office as you speak, but that's none of your concern. 

With Mr. H gone, you and the counselors have free reign over what to do for the night, and together you all decide that the best thing to do would be letting them play at the cabins until bedtime. A far easier task than herding them to the fire and back. 

The routine begins. Nick takes your dishes, disappearing into the kitchen just before Kaitlyn and Abigail begin directing the kids. In the blink of an eye, you're carrying leftover dishes into the kitchen, and you're once again taking up a towel to begin the drying process. 

"I'm here, I'm queer," Dylan all but bursts into the kitchen, "and I don't want to be here."

"This would be so much easier if Mr. H would actually invest in this place," Nick's critique is not without reason. It feels like half of the camp is falling apart around you. From the unfinished construction and deteriorating structures to its barely functioning equipment. Hell, the golf carts are so old that parts for them are becoming rarer by the day. 

"At least he's left us for the night," you try to be positive about the situation, but there's nothing positive about a whole bunch of dirty dishes. 

It's dizzying, spinning back and forth between stations so mindlessly. With no Mr. H to worry about, it goes smoothly. Nothing gets dropped, and it's looking like none of Nick's plates have gone missing, for once. The same cannot be said for the forks, which seem to have dropped in numbers since yesterday, likely at the bottom of the trashcan. None of you get paid enough to go in after them.

It's quiet outside. Far too quiet, actually. Usually, you can at least hear the kids playing or a counselor talking a touch too loud, but all you hear tonight are crickets. Nick must be picking up on it, too because he's squeezing your hand a bit tighter than usual, and he's not torn his eyes away from the path. 

Darkness has already fallen, casting a blanket of black and blues upon the forest. A full moon hangs in the sky, acting as the only light to guide you through the poorly-lit trail. The cabins are deserted, with not a child in sight. 

"Can you believe it?" Kaitlyn's sudden appearance startles you. "We got everyone in bed without a singular thing going wrong."

"Gee, did you threaten them, or did they do that naturally?" Dylan barely dodges the swift kick that comes for his shins. You don't think he'd even have shins anymore if Kaitlyn's legs were any longer. 

"It just required a werewolf story," you hadn't even seen Ryan sitting on the cabin steps. Had he been there the whole time? "Kaitlyn called for bedtime, and they scattered like roaches."

Abigail giggles next to him. "You should have seen them, scurrying to their cabins like a werewolf was after them."

As conversation blossoms, Nick lightly tugs at your hand, eyes darting from you to the beaten path leading to the ziplines. Well, here's your chance to finally go through with that plan. You move slowly, at first, feet treading lightly as you depart from your group. If anybody notices, they don't mention it. 

Then, Nick's picking up the pace, and you're all out running, wrapped in a fit of giggles as you sprint hand in hand to the ziplines. Finally, finally, you have each other all to yourselves, with absolutely no one around to impose. The forest is dark and Lord only knows what's lurking in the shadows, but the path feels like it's lit up like a Christmas tree. Absolutely nothing can come between you, Nick, and the open trail ahead of you. 

"Do you think they know we're gone?" Nick pants, just as the ziplines appear in your line of sight.

You're already stumbling to a slow walk, lungs burning, out of breath for all the wrong reasons. Nick's long strides are hard to keep up with. "Let's just hope they don't come looking for us."

The ziplines aren't as nice as the boathouse is. It used to be illuminated by a singular fluorescent lamp post, but the bulb has since gone out, and Mr. H refuses to buy "unnecessary lights." The stairs are a different monster in of itself. Old wooden boards creak menacingly beneath your feet, seemingly growing louder with every step you take. 

"Y/N."

"Did you say something?" You turn to look up at Nick, who just cocks his head to the side like a confused puppy. 

"Nope," he blinks, "at least...I don't think I did?"

It happens again, at the bottom of the stairs. A faint whisper of your name, fleeting, dancing around your ear just long enough for you to become convinced that you didn't make it up. 

"Did you say my name?"

"Baby, I haven't said a word since the last time you thought I said something."

You're not sure if you buy it or not, but Nick is tugging you into his chest, wrapping you into the sweetest of hugs—tight, just enough to remind you that you're safe. He's got you. You're safe here. He sways you back and forth, the motion shaking all of the worries from your head and filling the space with nothing but Nick. Nick and his heart that you can feel pitter-pattering against your ear. The way his fingertips trace invisible shapes into your spine, the way his cologne meets your nose, a faint mixture of vanilla and coconut that's just barely there. 

"It's just the forest playing tricks on you," he murmurs into your ear, chin heavy on your shoulder, "I've got you."

You only unwrap from each other to go and sit at the end of the dock, feet dangling off the edge. Nick's feet just barely avoid touching the water; any wrong move and you're afraid he may end up with wet feet. 

"I think this is the first time we've ever truly been by ourselves," yawning, he leans over to rest his head against yours, "as strange as that is to say."

"Do you think we'll get more moments like this before summer ends?" You hadn't intended to ask that yet, but it tumbles out of your mouth anyway. 

Nick hums, the noise sending a quiver down your spine. "I like to think that we will," soft lips press a kiss to the skin just before your ear, "maybe after we leave, we can have a night to ourselves at that one hotel in town."

"Harvester?"

"Harabinger?"

It starts with an H; that's all you can recall. It's hard to think with Nick's nose pressed against your cheek, hot breath fanning out against your sensitive skin. An unknown voice calls your name from across the shore; you know you heard it this time. Yet you pay it no mind—distracted by the kisses trailing across your cheek and the sparkling brown eyes that could drown you if you gazed into them for too long. 

His lips meet yours, a gentle, unmistakable pressure that you've come to know so well over these past weeks. He breaks it, then comes back, once, twice, thrice. You don't have time to consider pulling him into something that isn't just a few teasing pecks; he does it all for you. It's soft at first, just a simple caress, and then he deepens it in a way that has your head spinning. 

His arm is circling you, drawing you closer until there's no space between you, and that's still not enough. Even as his tongue licks into your mouth, testing the waters, he's still not close enough, won't be until there isn't an ounce of space left between your tired bodies. It's that feeling that guides you to breaking the kiss—you can barely manage it, especially not when Nick whines and attempts to chase you down— to swing yourself over and straddle his lap. 

His surprise is heard only through a small gasp. It's short-lived, his arms circling your waist, gathering you against him. Your arms are draping around his neck, and then you're kissing him again. He's all you can think of, senses clouded with Nick, Nick, Nick. You can feel him now, pressed against you between your legs, and it's all you can do not to take advantage of that face.

"You do such crazy things to me," his accent is thick as he mumbles against your lips, breathing heavily. 

He falls backward, taking you with him as his back hits the rotting wood of the dock with a soft thump. Then he's kissing you again, insistent mouth parting your lips, hot tongue meeting yours for a fleeting second. An unfamiliar heat blossoms in your core, a dancing flame that threatens to grow into a wildfire at the drop of a hat. Nicks's hands are everywhere, tracing up your spine, cupping your cheeks. All the while, he's humming against your lips, a small noise that you've rarely heard him make. 

Your head is spinning too much for you to focus, leaves you no option but to break away and gasp for the sweet, sweet oxygen that fills your stinging lungs. Nick looks so pretty underneath of you, hair splayed out on the wood beneath him, swollen lips, and glistening eyes illuminated by the light of the moon. It's hard to stop. Even with how dizzy you've become, you can't resist leaning back in to kiss down his neck, tongue soothing over every spot you come across. 

"Shit," Nick gasps, "wait." 

Just like that, you've frozen in place. "Is something wrong?" 

He shakes his head, fingers catching your chin to guide you back up to him for a sweet peck. "Not here," his voice is trembling, unable to get above a whisper, "I want to make it perfect for you." 

You're rolling your eyes before you can stop yourself. "It's perfect right now." 

"Baby, if I have you now, I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep myself off of you for another month."

He says it so seriously that you can't help but giggle. "You have a point." 

Breathless, you settle down on top of him, your ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and his arms intertwined around you like a vice. Time has stopped; the only thing in this world moving are your two heaving chests. For just a moment, you close your eyes and just breathe. 

You awake to a strange sensation. Nick's there; you can feel him against you, but your legs are swaying in such an unnatural way, and his heartbeat is no longer as loud.

"Are you carrying me?" It's a dumb question. As soon as you open your eyes, you're met with a sleepy-eyed Nick and the dark cabins looming directly ahead of you. 

"I was trying not to wake you," he frowns, kissing your forehead. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't at least try to carry you to bed." 

You grumble, burying your nose into his shirt. There's a weight in your chest that grows heavier the closer you get to the cabins. You really should get to bed, but even as Nick stands at your door, you can't bring yourself to get down. Nick's too warm to let go of. 

"Baby?"

"Hm?"

"We're at your door."

"I know." You still make no effort to get down, only clinging tighter.

Nick chuckles, low and heavy in his chest. "Is this your way of saying you don't want me to go?" 

Nod. 

If Kaitlyn is awake, she doesn't say anything when Nick opens the door and steps inside. Only when he sits you on the bed, do you let go of him, just long enough to kick your shoes off and crawl under the covers. Nick is quick to follow after you, wrapping around you like a blanket.

 Yeah, you could get used to this. 

[chicksmoothie]

•Say it like you mean it — mingi

—you have a very hard time dealing with your nightmares, so your studiocolleague and hard crush mingi helps you out sleeping better

Pairing dom!Mingi x sub!fem!reader/Chick

Genre Smut & Romance, Music Studio AU. Includes fluff & kinks

WordCount 4K

Warnings +18 content, minors DNI, nightmares, sleep paralysis, dirty talk, really dirty sex (urophilia and anal as the kinkiest), cursing, a bit of a size kink, smile kink (??), and I think that’s it, please tell me if I am forgetting something!

This in no way aims to be a real depiction of Mingi, just a character based on him!!! Same goes for Wooyoung, who appears for a sec.

AN: HIIII!!

Firs of all, I would like to thank you for reading :) this is actually my first fic since I was a teenager so I am a little shy about sharing it, but a friend asked me to do it so here it is!

I must say three things that you might want to know:

I use Chick instead of y/n cos it helps me write

English is not my first language and although I am confident in my english skills there might be some typos, weird use of english or gramatical errors, so sorry in advance

This story will continue as independent chapters of the same AU, but it won’t follow any schedule

Say it like you mean it

You are trying to stop moving throughtout your nightmare but it is kinda impossible, as always.

The night is getting longer and longer and this shitty dream doesn’t seem to end. You have always had this problem: you know you are sleeping, that it is a dream and you kinda control it till a certain point where it turns into a nightmare, and then you are unable to wake up. You try screaming, moving or opening your eyes but nothing works. You are trapped until your body is too tired to keep fighting against your wish to snap out of it, or someone wakes you up. The latter is what happens this time.

You blink a few times, trying to swipe the blur in your still sleepy eyes, just to guess a massive dark silhouette bending over you. “Hey, you alright Chick?” The silhouette asks “You were making a funny face” Your eyes finally focus. “Mingi” you manage to answer with a raspy voice, just awaken. “Yeah, thanks… I just need to get some water”. The guy immediatly hands you a bottle of cold water, which you thank and firstly put on your forehead to get rid of even the last bit of nightmare that might remain.

“Were you dreaming?” You open the bottle and drink a tiny zip. “Yes, nightmares, I get them quite a lot” You don’t know why you are telling this to Mingi. The guy could just be a random studiopartner who you sometimes help with lyrics and beats, but well, apart from that, he is the guy you secretly have a huge crush on and the same guy you draw every session day cos you can’t get over his profile, lips, adams apple or shiny eyes. His short pink hair has been printed in your brain along with his smile since the moment you first landed your eyes on him. You are totally delusional for him. And eventhough his mates are obssessed with shipping you together, you don’t get any sexy vibe from him towards you, so you just enjoy his company and, why not saying it, his sight too. You get along really well, and you don’t even think about fucking that up.

“Are they really bad? I mean, you seemed just upset while sleeping, but not enough for it to be a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from”. The next explanaition you give him surprises you even more, cos you spend the next good 10 minutes telling him about your whole problem with sleep paralysis, and this is something you normally avoid at all cost. And, oh my god, not him paying attention without saying a word until you finish, making you blush, cheeks beet red. “And that’s it I guess, not too deep”.

You don’t normally get knocked out like this at the studio, so it isn’t going to happen again anyway. You could just keep helping each other with your songs as you’ve been doing till now before this tiny shitty incident, end this conversation right here and keep going with your lifes, “Do you need someone to wake you up like I did just now?” until he asks this “I might be able to do that” and states this other thing.

“Sorry, I think I don’t get you” you are trying your best to brush off the thought of Mingi being next to you while sleeping before burning with the need of having that scene in real life, “As I said, I offer myself to stay next to you while you sleep just in case you need a hand to wake up” until he offers himself to…fuck, to actually do so.

“Yooooooooo…” you both jump in surprise, your conversation being interrupted by Wooyoung, one of Mingis teamates. “Flirting again I see” Mingi slightly blushing and flicking his tounge. “Fuck off Woyo” he turns to your direction and says “Give it some thought, I might be of help”. He tries hard to hide his nervous smile, dimple showing and eyes shining. And then he fucking leaves.

Woyo laughs while waving goodbye “Well, princess, it is getting late, you should go home”

What the fuck was that just now, you ask yourself.

****************************************************

Your dreams are getting not only worse, but also more frequent. The last nightmare with sleep paralysis was the fifth out of seven nights a week has. That is double as much as they were before, and this situation has been going on for another two weeks.

Your lack of quality sleep has you dozzing off during lesson and keeps your brain bottled up, unable to concentrate nor being creative on your music. It has reached to a point where you would get paranoid and afraid of the night itself, which implies being unable to sleep at all. You are tired both physically and mentally, and Mingi and the guys from the studio can tell.

This is why Mingi takes you to the studios kitchen, sits you on a chair and goes “You’re not sleeping shit”. You can only nod. “Why won’t you ask for help? I offered, but it doesn’t have to be me if you are not comfortable with that” you look up at him, doubting if you should tell him that no one knows about your nightmares. You bite your lip until you throw it: “I can’t tell just anyone cos it embarrasses me,” deep breath “so you are the only one who knows” Mingi is so shocked you can tell miles away, given the face he is making. After the shock comes the seriousness. “Okay, you are sleeping beside me tonight”. And all you can do is nod again, tired and surrendered.

****************************************************

You throw the key away in the desk by the door, hang your coat and make a gesture for Mingi to do the same. “I am sorry it isn’t tidy”. He wanders around with his eyes just to catch how full of paintings and drawings, sculptures and some other things he can not really classify this house of yours is.

“Your place is actually amazing. How come you have so much arty stuff?” You can tell he is genuinely interested “Oh, I majored in Fine Arts, currently writing my thesis, so this is research material you could say” He widen his eyes “Wait, I thought you were a singer, like, I’ve seen you live” Trying to supress your smile you say “Well, I do that too. I do a bit of everything, never good enough at anything to live on it” He automatically shakes his head in disapproval, “The fuck you saying, that doesn’t show on your songs or in all this, baby” You look at him, not sure about what you should be more shocked about: the fact that he was giving you credit on all of your work so fervently or the fact that he just casually called you baby.

Shit, you could get used to that. “I am going to order the pizza,” you shake it off quickly, “you can choose a movie or something. The TV is over there.” Is this a fucking date? Really? Pizza is okay but, girl, a movie? Bloody hell you are hooked.

After a while watching Inuyasha, chosen by you and accepted by him since not surprisingly he loves anime, you start to feel that new but already familiar feeling of not being able to keep your eyes open due to tiredness. Also not surprisingly, you don’t lose to paranoia and fear tonight, since Mingi is close enough to you to be able to feel his body heat. It makes you nervous in a totally different way, and also calm enough to finally fall asleep on his shoulder.

It is all pitch black, you can’t see a thing and you try to reach something around you but your hands keep slipping through cold air and emptyness. You feel you are too alone for it to even be possible, you feel such loneliness, such fear of what you can’t see. Everything around you is still cold and still empty and your hands are still slipping through the air and you can’t find anything or anyone to wake you up.

Thats it, you are dreaming. Another shitty fucking nightmare. Please someone wake me, please. You try to say it, your mouth opens up and maybe emits the sound but you can’t hear it. You also try to pull your own arm in a desperate attempt of inflicting yourself some pain that shakes you out of this dream, but fail. Your body blocks any kind of action you try to start. Cold drops of sweat rolling through your body outside the dream, you can feel it, you are right in between, why can’t you reach the surface?

It suddenly happens. A hand would gently caress your sweat away outside the dream, first thing you feel in what seemed ages. And that’s what it takes. You slowly open your eyes, also slowly focusing on a worried Mingi. “You alright?” You are suddenly so calm, everything just sets right.

You close your eyes again and rest for the first time in a long time.

When you wake up you are in your bed, fully covered with your 3k blankets (you are really not a cold person) and a fucking big and heavy arm. Mingi is right behind you, breathing soundly on your nape. Shut up. Shut the fuck up because this is not fucking happening. I am still dreaming. You tell yourself all that, but reality says otherwise, since Mingi wakes up to your tiniest move in order to wake you if needed, and he had just noticed how your body suddenly tensed.

“Chick? You awake?” Shit is his morning voice sexy “Good morning Mingi” you can’t even turn around from embarrassment “Good morning baby” BABY, againnnn?jeheodjeifhehehdjhd “Did you sleep any better?” You just manage to nod, unable to emit any sound or word since apparently you have forgotten your own language. “Why won’t you talk? Are you alright?”

His fingers start to have a stroll through your hair, drawing circles on your scalp. What is he up to? You wonder, cos this situation would normally lead to something you know far too well. But, as always, you’d rather die than admit that these things happen to you, that someone might be interested in you. You need more, a bit of a bigger proof. “Hey, Chick, please talk to me, do you need water or something?… Did you fall asleep again?” This last bit is nearly a whisper. Did he actually lower his voice just now just in case you had fallen asleep? You can’t take it. That is too fucking endearing. You break in laughter and turn around, smiling at him. “Thanks Mingi, I slept amazing”.

And there you are, facing each other closer than ever. Just a few centimeters away from his lips, as you had imagined too many times to even fucking count. So what do you do now, you beg someone to tell you. The hand that was previously caressing your head had, lets say naturally, landed on your waist when you abruptly turned around, and somehow it started moving with the same motion it had on your head, but now on its new location. “Yeah? I’m glad, and you are welcome” A bright smile on his lips, still so close to yours you could breathe his words in. You just can’t stop looking at him, he is too bright himself, so pretty. His smile is too much for you, fuck, you might actually cry.

But you don’t have time to do that, cos Mingi takes the chance of you looking at his lips to put on yours his pretty smile. It lasts a second, but when he moves his face away from you, your heart tightens and your eyes shut close to try to process the warmth in your chest. Where did all these overwhelming feelings come from? You never thought it was so deep. Was it this deep? Have you been cockblocking your own feelings for this guy as you always do just to avoid facing them? Hell yeah you have girl. When you open your eyes Mingi is looking at you, clearly puzzled since he thinks he might have gone overboard with the kiss. Your hands find his cheeks, pressing against them so hard his mouth turns into a fish face.

“I am in love with you” You look at him gently for a second, just settling your words altogether with your flaming chest. His face is a poem: the fish face now has his eyes wide open in surprise, and you break in laughter again. He slowly takes your hands away while his expression changes just to grab your chin with one of his own hands “You mean it? Say it like you mean it” his eyes are a bit narrowed, his new and unknown expression tainted in something dark that you can feel right in your lower half. He wants to know, he wants to hear you say it like you mean it.

You swallow, looking at him in the eyes while trying to catch your breath “Mingi I lov-“ And thats all you manage to say, cos next Mingi is full on pressing his lips against yours, your whole body against his, so much bigger than yours. It sounds so messy in your mouths you feel shy about it, but all you can do is give in to him, finally reaching each other as you both apparently wanted to. His hands are all over your body. Fuck you are needy. Fuck he also is.

So you move your hands near the “whatever cloth’s he has got” elastic and pull it down. He growls in your mouth, anticipating what you are about to do. And, although he wants you to do it, he also wants to pleasure you first.

“Baby, wait” you look at him, quite confused again both for him stopping you and also him calling you baby for the third time as if nothing. “Let me get on top, yeah?” As if you could fucking answer anything to that. He slips on top of you making it seem like he has done it every single day of his life, with such ease. When you feel him grind against you, you melt down and pant. You want him so much it’s insane.

In a second attempt to take action you stroke yourself against him, and again he stops you “Be a good girl, huh? Let me work you just right for a bit” you automatically stop and nod biting your lips, eyes full of needy tears, making his chin clench and tighten in lust at the sight of this undone under him you. He goes back to your mouth and kisses you, and this time he does it so damn slowly, as if he loved you back? His tongue going over your lips and making its way inside your mouth, finally eating your breath up in the sweetest kiss ever.

His hands are covering your cheeks and reaching behind your ears through your neck, and this could sound all too innocent and fluffy if he wasn’t grinding against your already soaked pussy so hard but at the same slow pace as the kiss. You moan between his lips, earning another one of his smiles, this time a bit cheeky. “Needy aren’t we?” He didn’t expect it, but you grin yourself and go back to his mouth and almost whispering you say “Yeah baby, so fucking needy for you”. Mingi tenses from head to toe, grinds one time just as a reflex and slaps you slightly on your cheek, “And what exactly is it that you need, needy girl?” “Mingi, please” your grin dropping and you cry while your arms wrap around his lower back just to pull him even closer, pressing your clit against his already rock hard dick, making you both moan.

“Words baby, wanna hear you say it” he growls while grinning and you cant help but obey without even thinking, “Mingi, really give it to me,pretty please? Fuck me stupid hm?” You know your slutty begging tone is effective, but not to this extent, cos one second after your last word is Mingi dragging your pants and panties down, lining his dick and pushing it slowly inside you. Slowly, very slowly, cos you are wetter than ever, but he is so, so, so big. You both sighing deep due to the sudden hit of his cock entering you.

“You feel amazing around me. Going so slow is torture” He is looking into your eyes, so when you push yourself up in order to take him whole in one go, you have the perfect sight of his eyelids flicking and his eyes rolling up to the back of his head, enjoying the pleasure it gives him. “Fuck, baby, so good” he bites his lips while now moving in and out of you, still slowly, still so sweet.

Your pussy clenching at the sound of his praising. “Mingi come closer, I wanna kiss you” “Because you love me?” You nod “Words baby” and he demands. “I love you Mingi, please let me kiss you” He smiles brightly. “I love you too” and so he’s got you. You’re done for.

The moment he bends down to kiss you you swallow his mouth, arch your back and make his cock enter you the fucking perfect angle that you both needed to finally lose it. Mingi starts to fuck you hard, taking your legs to roll them around his waist, making you push him deeper with each time he bangs. Your eyes crying and your voice crying too, your head falling back in pleasure, him growling your name and praising how good your pussy tastes for his cock, his body pressed so tightly to yours and every inch of your body feeling so full of him.

You start to feel that burning knot in your core, this hot sensation that you have never felt with a guy fucking you before and that you could only reach with your fingers.

“Mingi I think am gonna cum” you cry “Cum baby, drench me, yeah?” As if you were following his every order, the knot pulls you to your orgasm faster than it ever has before, but he doesn’t stop “You think you can take it a bit longer?” And for some reason you do. And not only that, being so overstimulated turns you on so much that you end up begging with your eyes still rolled back from the high of your orgasm and your body still shaking “Mingi don’t fucking stop, please”.

And he doesn’t, but he does bend you over the mattress, your face sunken in the pillow. He has your ass up to the sky and he can’t help but suck his thumb and then stroke its entrance in circles while still banging your pussy. When you feel his finger entering your ass and trying to find and press his own cock through your flesh inside you, all the overstimulation that has built up finally overcomes you. “Mingi…something different is coming!” You shout ridiculously still pressed against the pillow. He doesn’t stop, he knows what is gonna happen and he wants to see it from the front row. And this is not going to take long, you just need a little push. “Come on babygirl, let me see it” he gasps while rocking his hips.

All of a sudden this heat that comes along with the orgasm mixes with a burning feeling in your clit. Mingi takes his mostly free hand to go down to it and press on really fast and really hard. You scream his name as if it was the last thing you would say. Your legs so week you can’t even keep yourself in all fours, your pussy clamping and drenching the whole bed with your squirt. “Jesus Christ baby, that is so fucking sexy. You’re such a slut huh? Wetting your bed like that. And this is all for me.”

A growl followed by a slap on your ass, this time very hard, nothing to do with the previous one on your face, announce his own orgasm. This one slap is meant to mark you as his, make himself stamp his own pleasure for you on your skin as if he could’t stay still. And then he slows down, pouring all his cum inside your pussy, while still fucking your asshole with his thumb in the same slowing pace.

He pulls out and you whine, feeling too empty all of a sudden. You think it is over and somehow you feel kinda disappointed “I thought you were gonna fuck my ass too” he can’t even finish to lean beside you because he falls apart in laughing tears “Are you for real? After this?” “I don’t know” you say, eyes looking down at Mingis body lying just by your side, you still down faced and breathing irregularly “I was ready for everything”.

Mingi takes your face and kisses you dearly while, again, smliling through your mouth and making you smile too. “I am not gonna fuck your asshole...” you pout, he smiles even wider. “…today. But I am going to clean you up”. He starts kissing you again, then going down your neck with tiny little pecks, he stops for a minute on your chest, your nipples and down to your bellybutton.

The pleasure this time is different. You know you are unable to cum anymore after squirting so hard, at least not in a couple of minutes without any stimuli. But this pleasure is just pleasure for you to enjoy without the orgasm as the reward. Just Mingi feeding you full with attention like this is just right, just enough. You anticipate his next kissing stop, you know what he is about to do and you burn inside with desire. “Mingi…” You pull his short pink hair at the time you push his face between your legs for him to eat you out only as a fucking professional rapper like him would do. The thought of him sucking you clean of his own cum is driving you nuts. “Shit Mingi, so good…” You are too sensitive right now, but somehow it still feels good to have him gently sucking you.

Once he finishes, he is now hard again, and not that you are surprised. You look up at him, asking with your gaze what you should do. He grins “Stay still babe, lay towards the headboard for me” you obey and he gets closer to you, towering you under his huge body and leaning forward, just to have your face aligned with his dick.

He starts stroking in a slow motion at first, then hurrying the pace as he watches you open your mouth while looking at him in the eyes. “I wanna cum on your face” he sighs while closing his eyes “And then I wanna piss all over your body”. At this point this does only not surprise you, but you ache for it too.

Your eyes meet, he is waiting for your approval. Your only answer being gulping, licking your lips and opening your mouth again while looking at his cock pointing at you. “Fuck” he manages to say. And then he cums hard, fast, all on your face and making it drip to your tits. “I am gonna drench you baby, say you want it. Tell me” “Mingi” keep crying, “I do want it so fucking bad…” Right this instant, after coming down from his climax, does he start showering you in his piss, moaning hard with his low voice a bit pitched this time, looking down at you getting covered. Your body suffering because of the temperature difference between the fluid and your skin, and thus making you tremble until he finally finishes his load.

He falls over you and rolls down until he can rest on your lap. “You are incredible” he says. You smile, proud of yourself and also proud of him. “So are you, baby” and hearing yourself saying “baby” reminds you something you’ve been wondering. “Yo Mingi, how come you so casually started calling me baby out of nowhere?” He looked up at you and gave you that smile of his that you’ve spent hours drawing. “I’ve dreamt of it so many times it came out naturally”.

He takes you to the bathroom to get a very needed shower. And under the warm water you think about your next dreams being as normal as his, quiter and maybe safer since from now on you would be sleeping next to Mingi.

Part 2 whenever

[azurelyy]

Hiii! I hope you're doing well ♡ congrats on 100 followers!!

For the event , can I please get #7 of the smut prompt with shikamaru and a female reader?

Ally, you deserve so much better than me! 🥺 I am so sorry this took me forever. Obviously I didn’t plan this event very well lol. I am hoping the length of this one will make up for how long this took me. 

Hopefully you like it! 🖤 I had a lot of fun writing it, and it’s actually my first NSFW for Shikamaru! I know, crazy. Oh, and as we discussed in our DMs, this has Prompt 10 since Prompt 7 was taken! 

Words: 3.5k

🍋 Prompt: “Oh, how we’re going to hurt each other.”

Warnings: NSFW, enemies to lovers, semi-public sex, closet sex, oral (f!receiving), wall sex, unprotected sex. Mentions: Sasuke, Ino, Naruto, and Sakura (NaruSaku)

Tolerate him for one night. That was all you had to do. It was a simple task, one that should have gone off without a hitch. Not even five hours and you’d be free of him, hopefully ending the night in Sasuke’s bed once the envy flooded his brain and he pulled you away from Shikamaru with an ungodly force.

That was the plan, anyway: “Date” Shikamaru for the night, get Sasuke jealous (and then never talk to Shikamaru again, if you were lucky). It was fool-proof. And yet, you had always been one for foolishness.

“Goddammit,” you grunted, wrapping your leg around Shikamaru’s slender waist as he pushed you eagerly against the closet wall, his ravenous hands hiking your dress further up your thigh. “Thought I was too troublesome for you?”

“You are troublesome,” he agreed, sighing against the crook of your neck, hot breath skating along your jaw. “And smart. And sexy. And annoying.”

A traitorous giggle escaped from your throat as Shikamaru’s tongue trailed up your neck to your earlobe, sinking his teeth into your sensitive skin with a moan. “If I’m so annoying, then get off me.”

“No,” he growled, capturing your mouth in a kiss that could ruin the gods. Sparks flew from your bodies, popping the room with warm illumination as heat rushed its way into your mouth and down your throat. 

Your hands tugged at his ponytail, releasing his soft dark hair from its confines as it fell forward and danced along the skin of your shoulder. His body was smoldering against yours, the heat uncomfortable and daunting. Your tongues worked together in an impossible battle for dominance as his nails dug into the flesh of your thigh, branding you in bruises.

“Sh-Shikamaru,” you moaned, running your fingers through his hair. It was softer than expected, silky. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Is it?” He asked with a half-smirk against your lips, his free hand gripping your ass harshly. “My mistake, I thought the two of us fucking during our friend’s wedding reception was a fantastic idea. So, should we stop?”

“No,” you murmured, pulling at his bottom lip with your teeth. Harsh hands held onto your thigh and danced around your back, drawing an indecipherable pattern. His arousal was poking against your thigh aggressively, and he was big. Really big. You gasped when hesitation hammered into you: would you be able to fit all of him inside you? Your eyes trailed down to the bulge in his pants - a terrible idea - and the feel matched the look. It was massive, extremely impressive. You were going to die.

Shikamaru rolled his hand down the front of your body, a welcome distraction, before he slowly started untucking his shirt. You quickly used your remaining strength to unbutton the top three buttons of his shirt, fighting against the warning sirens screaming in your mind, before tugging at his back collar and pulling his shirt off. Ah, yes. Your eyes widened as you took in the entirety of him and the situation. He was lean, yet the play of muscles was truly a beautiful sight. His chest and those abs and that goddamn half-smirk that could crush you with the weight of the world. He was perfect. What a dick.

“Enjoying the view?” He asked coyly, kissing down to your breasts. He licked the outline of the v-neck of your formal gown and you swore the world stopped spinning the moment he slid his body down yours, allowing your thigh to rest on his shoulder while he let your dress drape over him like a cloak. 

Normally, Shikamaru would protest against eating a new partner out without being able to see their fucked out face, but considering the circumstances - mouth fucking the woman whom he was supposed to despise while two of his closest friends had their wedding reception in the very next room - he decided to cut himself some much needed slack.

Did he despise you? No. Did he assume he was meant to? Yes. After all, you were the one who had constantly ignored him. From the moment you were assigned that stupid college final project together, you had completely shut him out. He sort of understood - he was never the “team project” kind of guy, often waiting until the last minute to complete his portion. The reminders had gotten out of hand, and after one particularly long, bad, awful day at work, he’d finally snapped.

“I’m going to do the damn project, woman,” he groaned, trying to put in his earbuds. “Would you stop nagging me? I know what I’m doing.”

“Woman?” You countered, crossing your arms over your chest. He could practically feel the anger radiating off of you like hell’s furnace. “I have a name, you know, Shikamaru.”

He winced at the venom laced within your tone. “And anyway, it’s due tomorrow and I had to do your portion for you.”

“What?” He took an earbud out and stared at you incredulously. “What the fuck do you mean? I told you a thousand times I would get to it!”

“Yeah, and it’s been finished for a whole week and yet you’ve said nothing.” You grabbed your book from the table with a huff and hissed over your shoulder, “I’ll be telling the Professor about this, too.”

And sure enough, he had received an F. AN F! Shikamaru didn’t get F’s. People called him lazy, and self-important, and arrogant, but one thing he had never been called was a failure. And you had literally made him one.

But even after that, he never felt the way he figured he was supposed to about you. Where he should have felt rage he only felt flutters every time you glanced his way. His cheeks grew hot with anticipation when you would sit near him in class, not annoyance. His hands got sweaty when he would run into you at parties, not because he was upset, but because he enjoyed the way your dress hugged each delicious curve. But you never looked at him the same after that project. Well, until tonight.

“Dammit,” your moan brought his head back to Earth and he peeked from underneath your dress, winking up at you. “What are you doing?”

He laughed huskily, his warm eyes shining like ambers. “What does it look like… woman?”

The smirk was especially filthy. There was a brief moment of stillness as you stared at each other. His face was flushed light pink, his lips swollen and puffy. Beads of sweat dripped between his furrowed eyebrows and just as you were about to pull away, Shikamaru kissed your knee, murmuring something about wanting to do this for a long time, and then nothing else mattered.

“Oh,” you groaned, throwing the hem of your dress back over his head as though, if you couldn’t see him, then maybe this wasn’t really happening, “How we’re going to hurt each other.”

“Maybe,” he agreed from somewhere beneath you. A slender finger pulled the wet cotton of your panties to the side, hot breath fanning against your slick walls. Every nerve within you ignited individually and you closed your eyes shut. “But the hurt is half the fun.”

You got no warning as he slid a finger inside of you, overwhelming your senses with extreme relief. A strong moan rippled from your chest and you had to bite your own hand to silence yourself.

“Shh,” Shikamaru whispered, kissing your moist lips. “Don’t want the whole party to hear us, do you?”

Your clit throbbed, seeking the spiral that would pull you apart. You needed it. You needed more. You needed him. His finger, teasing and prodding inside of you wasn’t enough. Greedily, you pushed his head through the fabric of your dress closer to your core, yearning for him in a desperate and needy way.

“More,” you pleaded, and was that your voice? Another finger pushed inside you, torturously prolonging the inevitable. The thickness of him sucked the life from you and you used all your strength to bring him close, closer, like if you stopped you would actually die. There was only the chase, the desperate need to make the warmth spread, to feel full and complete. And, right now, in this small and practically public closet, Shikamaru was the sole person who could give that to you.

“Alright,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the hood of your clit, “Since you asked so nicely, and that’s very unlike you, I’ll help you out.”

He licked inside your pussy, his tongue curling where you were the most wet before sliding up and flicking over your over-sensitized clit. You cried out a muffled moan, sinking your teeth deeper into the skin of your hand as your fingers clawed at the top of his scalp. He dragged the flat of his tongue against you again and again, a sweet torture. Your back arched against the wall and he felt so fucking good that all you could do was helplessly whine like a whore, rocking your hips into his generous mouth.

You babbled his name, endlessly his name, over and over, your voice as smooth as a calming cello. His need to be sucked inside of you was overwhelming, prodding into the too tight fabric of his pants as he ate you out like a man starved. You tasted so fucking good, sounded so fucking good, and he was sure you looked so fucking good too. He imagined the way you knit your brows together, forming that little line in the middle of your forehead that he often saw when you were particularly annoyed with him over something. For awhile, he had been purposefully teasing you, just so he could see that godforsaken line one more time - and now, he was intentionally missing it. What a moron.

Shikamaru’s mouth found your clit once again and sucked, transforming you into nothing but a writhing mess. The knife’s edge of pleasure that curved up your spine punctured through and suddenly you were gushing on him, keening as he slid up your slit endlessly between slurps and breathless groans. 

You couldn’t get enough air in your lungs.

Your attempt at sucking in oxygen turned into a strangled giggle, harsh and giddy. Shikamaru hummed sinisterly and maneuvered his head out from under your dress to behold one of the most glorious things he had ever seen. You, sex-hazed, hair messy and face flushed. And that damn line on your forehead was still there. Perfect.

When you came back to yourself, still out of breath but slightly more coherent, Shikamaru was already pulling your dress up and off over your head. His hands worked your bra, releasing the hook effortlessly, pinching and kneading your tits with intent. Hooded almond eyes focused onto yours as Shikamaru took one of your nipples into his mouth and sucked, hard, forcing a gasp from you once again.

“Fuck me.” It was unrestrained and unbidden, an invitation. A plea. You tugged at his belt. The leather was stubborn but Shikamaru only watched, amused and turned on, pulling off your nipple with a lewd pop.

“Need some help?” His voice was no longer playful; it was carnal. Gruff. Commanding.

It was only then, distracted as you were, that the belt somehow managed to come free.  You popped the buttons of his pants and unzipped his fly, paying no regard to how desperate for his cock you were, as you tugged his pants and boxers down and they fell to the floor.

“Ah fuck,” he sighed, “Wait, my condom is-“

“Can’t have evidence,” you replied swiftly. “I’m on birth control, so it doesn’t matter. Besides, I… I want you to.”

Shikamaru kicked his pants away with a growl - an actual growl - lifting you against the wall. And oh, the strength of him. Your legs clung around his waist and the need for him to be inside you nearly had you in tears. You were certain you had never been hornier in your entire life and, still sopping between your thighs, your clit pulsed for him.

Your lips collided with his again, and unlike the first, there was nothing tentative or careful about this kiss. This was leading, all-consuming; stealing the little breath you had within your lungs with an unrelenting fervor. His thick tip pushed between your folds and his tongue pushed past your lips when the sharp gasp fell from you like a beautiful song. He was the best of the best and the worst of the worst, the man whom you had loathed up close and admired from afar, and tonight, he held you in his arms.

“Shikamaru, please,” you begged, breathlessly. “Please just fuck me. Need you so bad.”

His heart grew wings and fluttered in his chest as he met your gaze, blown out and hazy. He wanted to shower you in affection, raining on you constantly. He didn’t want to let you go. But as he watched you; the way your body moved toward him, the way your hands pulled him closer, he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time the two of you would be this close. This was a beginning, not an end. With a new found confidence, he trailed his lips to your ear as he used his free hand to line himself up, the heat of your core seething against his sensitive skin.

“This might hurt a bit at first, but I’ll go slow, alright?”

You wanted to reply with something snide and witty, but the first press of his cockhead against your entrance was tease enough, turning your brain into a scrambled puzzle that only he could put back together. The way he slowly pressed into you, made room for himself inside, even now, he was torturing you in the best way. He stretched you with each inch, but the pleasure and the panic collided into a beautiful supernova of ecstasy and as he dove deeper, the little closet opened up to the entire solar system. You gasped, clenching yourself around him as he grunted and held his big hand tightly to the small of your back.

“Fuck, you’re really tight. Don’t clench like that.” He husked, nipping the top of your ear.

“It’s okay,” you assured, resting your forehead onto his shoulder. “I like it rough.”

Shikamaru’s willpower audibly snapped. The only sounds were his labored grunts, muffled bass from the party in the adjacent room, and the slaps of skin meeting skin. Your eyes closed and you twisted your hips, tiny rocking motions that sent sparks dancing along your veins, boiling your blood. You wanted to play, to feel every inch of him sink into your soul and fill you up. Hands braced onto his shoulders, you rocked up and down, dangerously close to the edge. His hazel eyes watched you intently, sweeping across every inch of your body as if trying to burn the image of you forever into his mind, making you shiver at the attention.

You wanted it on you always. It made you feel strong - powerful - in a way you’d never felt before. Sex in the past had always been good, always been fun. But this was something else entirely. There was a desperation deep within the pit of you that you’d never experienced before; the clench of his hands on your thighs; the way he panted against your lips. This was bliss.

He whispered your name through strings of curses, and you couldn’t help but yield to the subtle command of his tone when he asked you to look at him. You did so hesitantly as he helped you bring a leg down from around him, connecting your foot to the floor so you could spread for him more. He brought his thumb down to rub your clit as his other hand sank into the flesh of your thigh, drawing you closer to his chest. He dived into you from a new angle and you had to grip his hair for purchase as you were pushed back to the brink, your legs quivering around him.

But you were looking at him now. At the tightness of his jaw, the sweaty dark hair sticking to his forehead. At his eyes, watching you in a way they have for all these years that you just hadn’t noticed until now. And for some reason it was here - in the coital cloud - that you were finally able to understand what, exactly, you’d been feeling towards him all these years. And it wasn’t frustration, or annoyance, or anger. 

It was lust. Deep, painful, unfathomable lust.

And Shikamaru could feel it radiating off you, could feel the emotions sinking into the air around your bodies like a vortex. It was overwhelming in the best way, the only thing he wanted to feel for the rest of his life.

You came gradually, like warm water trickling over you, rather than the explosion like earlier. You cried his name in the dark as it dragged its way through your limbs and into your muscles. You chanted his name and he, in turn, repeated yours, toppling over the edge with you, his breathing as stuttered as his shallow thrusts, liquid warmth spreading deep inside of you. And when all is still, when he pulled out of you and pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder and you settled your back against the wall for support, the two of you found solace.

A terrible knock flung you from your sex stupid fog and you both frantically scrambled to find the clothes that were strewn about the floor in the dark.

“Why is this locked?” It was Ino’s voice, and you almost had a heart attack.

“Finally!” Shikamaru shouted, clasping his belt and readjusting his shirt. “We’ve been yelling in here forever. I think the door locked on us automatically.”

You tied his hair back up sloppily and gave him a quick peck to the cheek as you whispered thank you, grateful his brain was still on and functioning, unlike your own. He gave you a warm smile and squeezed your hand as he unlocked the door, and you felt relief wash over you when you realized Ino was too drunk to comprehend the door does not, in fact, lock from the side she was on. The door swung open and the two of you were on opposite sides of the closet, Shikamaru moving away from you with a godlike speed.

Unphased, Ino glanced to you and slurred, “Finally! Sasuke is looking for you.”

With a shot to the heart, the air in your lungs evaporated. The room was suddenly way too hot. Shikamaru slipped past you briskly and walked from the room, leaving you in the dim light.

“Oh, is he?” You asked, fixing your hair. “Why?”

Ino’s ice blue eyes watched you intently, widening ever so slightly. You could see the realization wash over her like a cold waterfall as she cackled madly.

“Don’t tell me you two were seriously fucking in here?” She was flabbergasted, her slurred speech momentarily cured from the complete scandal she had walked in on.

You rolled your eyes and shoved her aside playfully, only responding with a smirk. “I’ll tell you about it later. I have to get back before the bride and groom notice I’ve been missing for the past thirty minutes.”

You walked back to the reception area with your head held high and glanced to the head table. Luckily, Sakura and Naruto seemed too distracted by giving each other googly eyes and they didn’t even seem to notice your rendezvous with Shikamaru, who had returned to his seat at the end of the table.

You allowed your eyes to wander around the room and noticed Sasuke standing at the bar, watching you with a soft expression. He smiled at you, something you hadn’t seen in awhile, and gave you a quick nod before he looked back towards the dance floor. Instinctively, you took a step towards him, but something tugged at your heart and made you stop.

Your eyes followed the direction of the pull and landed on Shikamaru, who had moved over and was now whispering something into Naruto’s ear. He patted him on the back and glanced over at you briefly, a flicker of sadness in his eyes, before he winked and bobbed his head in Sasuke’s direction. When he turned away, a strong current pulled your legs forward and you followed him back to his chair. He glanced up at you, confusion written all over his face.

“Uh,” he drawled, circling his finger over the rim of his drink. “You went the wrong way.”

“No, I didn’t.” You winked at him and extended out your hand. “Wanna dance?”

Shikamaru’s cheeks flushed pink and he clicked his teeth in response as he took your hand, groaning about what a drag dancing was. You laughed and guided him towards the dance floor, resting your head onto his chest as the song transitioned into something more mellow. He wrapped you in his arms and the two of you swayed together as the crowd dissipated. 

“I’d like to take you on a real date sometime,” Shikamaru murmured into your ear. “If that’s alright with you?”

You lifted your head back to look at him, and when your eyes met, the world sang. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I would like nothing more.”

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