#H writes

[obscurecurse]

you guys i need a kimchay catfish au so bad. i don't know wtf my problem is. but for your considerationnnnnn:

Concept A - Kim gets catfished, obviously. Playing off the popular headcanon that Kim is a little out of touch and bad with technology, a catfish just starts sending Kim vague texts like, "it's been a long time. how are you?" Kim thinks it's Chay because he's in his feelings one night so he texts back like, "Chay? Is this you?" and the catfish (who can't believe that worked) replies, "yep it's me!" like Kim just walks right into it. And they talk for awhile and Kim thinks he's making amends, and he's so relieved that Chay is talking to him again, and eventually he runs into Chay and starts talking about something they'd texted about and Chay has no fucking idea what Kim is talking about. The angst. *chefs kiss* .

Concept B - "For a good time, call 000-000-0000 <3" Chay keeps writing WIꓘ's number in bathroom stalls for petty revenge. Kim can change his number easily, and he does. But Chay just asks Porsche to get his new number from Kinn (because Porsche is 100% down to help Chay make Kim squirm.) Kim has no idea who's doing it but his mafia brain gets activated so he texts one stranger back like, "Where did you get this number?" and they tell him the name of the bar. Kim starts casing the places where his number is written, intent on confronting this person. Every bar he goes to he crosses his number out with sharpie. But Chay just writes it again below. Eventually Kim writes, "WE NEED TO TALK. YOU HAVE MY NUMBER." Or maybe Kim catches Chay in the middle of rewriting it??? And now they are arguing in some gross bathroom at a bar. It's not the most romantic place to confess his love, but he's so overwhelmed that Chay is talking to him again. .

Concept C - Kim gets catfished but Chay's college roomate is the catfish, pretending to be Chay. Chay says he's over Kim but this roommate is tired of watching Chay mope around and avoid everyone who tries to flirt with him at parties. At the very least, they need to talk things out so Chay can move on... The roommate does not expect Kim to be so eager to reconcile. (The way Chay talked about him, the roommate thought he would be cold and disinterested.) Kim wants to meet so they can talk, and now this person will have to explain to an actual famous pop idol that they are not, in fact, Chay. The roommate thinks it's better to explain in person and say sorry so they agree to meet. Chay sees his roommate with Kim on campus and loses his cool. Kim is relieved Chay is there after all. Chaos ensues. Chay figures it out first he's like, "What the fuck is your problem?" And then he's mad at Kim, he's like "Why would I ever in a million years ask you to meet me at the tech center at a college library!? I thought you were a criminal mastermind! Do you even have a gun on you? What if it was someone trying to take you as a hostage?" (The roommate is quickly learning A LOT of new information about Chay's relationship with Kim.)

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

I want to request an eddie fic where Jason finds out eddie has a crush on reader and maybe she's semi popular or a cheerleader. And jason calls reader over to where he's picking on eddie and says sonething like "hey. Have you heard the news? The freak has a crush on you" and she kisses eddie in front of everyone and confesses that she likes him too and jason is just stunned

Requests have resumed. You can submit yours here!

Currently writing for Eddie Munson. I write for a variety of reader inserts (male, female, gender neutral, readers of color too).

The more details you had to your request, the better it is for me. EX: “What about some fluff for Eddie after he’s had a long day?”

Feel free to look through my masterlist here!

Eddie Munson x Female Reader. 

CW: Some name calling/bullying. 

_____________________________

Eddie know he's being obvious. He should truly tattoo the truth on his forehead. But he tries to give the passing decency that he’s not this deep into the hook and line. Eddie tries to pretend he is not sinking. Whenever you pass him in the hallways, he tries hard not to follow you the entire length of it. 

This all started a year ago, when you moved into town moving in from the city. He’s not sure what caused the move though the town rumors are your mother begged for the change of scenery to stop a wandering eye of your father. But Eddie doesn’t buy into small town gossip. 

He doesn’t have to imagine the bullshit they say about him. He hears it every day and the last thing he wants is to stoop as long as them. So he didn’t think about what the reason what. He only thanked the gods that you did land here in Hawkins. You sat next to him on the first day of school, even asked him if he had a pencil you could borrow. 

Eddie cursed himself when he had to tell you no, but he waltzed over to Mrs. Bakers desk, batted his lashes and got one for you. You laughed at the way Eddie leaned into the edge of the desk, fingers twirling a pencil in the mug she had on her desk. When Eddie returned to you, pencil in hand, he gave you a small smile. “Secured just for you.”

And from the second he heard your laugh, Eddie was a goner. 

He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere--Eddie was supposed to graduate that year. You were supposed to just be the girl that Eddie had a crush on and that maybe flirted with if the heavens would be that gracious. But it’s just supposed to be a fleeting things. 

Now he’s year, repeating his senior year and the fleeting crush burns brighter in his gut every second he sees you. At lunch, if Eddie is behind you in the line, he leans in closer, asking what you think is best off the menu for today. You always laugh. “Let’s add a fruit to that skinny pale you call a lunch,” you tease back. 

It’s entirely obvious. 

So Jason Carver really doesn’t need to slide up behind him now on a Friday, which had been rather mundane, and start a scene. 

“Oh, please, not the freak flirting with you. You can tell him no, you know? If he doesn’t take a hint, let me show you how a real man should treat you and intervene,” Jason spits. 

You scoff and move your tray down the line. “So, Eddie, why don’t I ever see you at the games?” 

Jason had been trying to get with you every since you showed up, but he wasn’t your type. Or he was the type you’d go for at your old school, but Jason always felt like he was a predator, stalking you to seize a praise where Eddie also seemed to keep a distance. Sure you could tell he liked you but he never imposed. He inched in momentarily to make a joke and then just as quickly as you could blink your eyes, he was gone again in the distance. You couldn’t tell if it was just shyness or if Eddie was just like that as a person. But you enjoyed having a slower pace, you got to spend more time feeling Eddie out rather than jumping in immediately to things. 

Eddie turns the heated glare from Jason towards you. His heart nearly skips a beat when he remembers you’re in the cheerleading outfit, the skirt barely brushing the first half of your thighs and the tank exposing your midriff. He’ve forgone your sweater--one that Eddie had seen you wearing earlier. “Sports, well, sports aren’t really my thing. I’m much more into intellectual games.”

You giggle for just a moment and then Jason shoves into Eddie’s back. Eddie mindful of you in front, takes the loss of the milk carton to the floor between your feet and slips an arm around your waist to keep you from hitting the metal railing. Eddie does manage to break your sure fire hip bruise and even keeps your tray up on the railing in the process too. 

“Watch it freak!” Jason hisses. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks you. 

You nod, one hand subconsciously reaching for the chain on his jeans. You reach for it to keep you steady and also because it’s pressing into your thigh and the chill of the building has settled into the metal as well. It almost stings against your skin. “Yeah, you?”

“Peachy,” Eddie smiles down at you. 

“News flash, freak, you really need to watch where you’re going. You’re pathetic with your gawking,” Jason presses on. 

Eddie realizes now Jason is just trying to pick a fight. As the new school year crept on, it felt more obvious to Eddie too that maybe you liked him back. But he still never pushed it. He’d be out of here soon enough. It would never work with him. It would always be fleeting. But now, as Jason seethes down Eddie’s back, Eddie wonders if Jason’s mood is less at the fact that you don’t like Jason and more ten times more pissy because it’s Eddie who you actually like back. 

Eddie’s learned in his years that sometimes not giving in is much more effective. So once Eddie is sure you’re stable, he nods on. “Why don’t you pick a fruit I’ll add to the skinny pale I call a lunch box?”

Your smile dances over your lips. “I’d say sun, because you’re so pale but why don’t we get some potassium in you today.”

“Potassium sounds good to me.”

“And,” you add on, the hand on his chain, trailing up to his neck. Eddie eyes widen and he nearly rears back out of your grasp, but you push up and capture his lips just fast enough to keep him from totally pull away from him. Eddie whimpers into your mouth--as embarrassing as it is, but it is his first kiss that is not game induced or alcohol riddled. It’s a real kiss.

So real it’s got his toes curling in his Reeboks. He feels like a child. The way he wants to whimper again because you’re still kissing him. The point would’ve been made with even just a simple peck. But you’re still holding onto the back of his head, you’re still pulling him even further into you. Eddie’s hands which had been hovering over your skin, dig in just a little on your waist and he tugs you into his body too. 

Your lips finally part, a little wet from the kiss. “And some vitamin kisses too,” you whisper. 

“Oh my god,” Eddie whispers. It is not the thing to say after a kiss. It’s not. And neither is, “I think I died.”

You snort at Eddie’s confession and the cross of his eyes as he buckles just a little in your hold. He catches his own weight but you get arms under his pits, laughing as you. “Eddie, get serious,” you laugh. 

He stands erect again. “Seriously--what was that?”

“I like you too, Eddie.”

It’s five words but Eddie swears they light his skin on fire. “Would-do-a date?” he stumbles out. 

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“Yes--if you want,” he adds on quickly. “Movies? Do you want to go to the movies?” He realizes now he didn’t properly get the question out as his brain is still lagging behind after the kiss. 

“I’d love to go to the movies. Tomorrow?”

Eddie nods. “Yes, sure. Uh, can I call you later after looking in the paper about the releases?”

“I would be disappointed otherwise. I’ll look too, yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

You reach for the fruit, which you know you’ve been standing in front of for far too long by the pursed lips of the lunch lady and hand Eddie the banana you’d teased about earlier. He laughs but takes it with a wink. When you look at Jason, he’s pushing out of the lunch line and heading for the side doors to th cafeteria. You’re not sure how much he saw, but you hope it was everything so he’ll finally get the hint. 

Eddie walks you to your table. He hovers for a moment unsure if it’s too much but the end he goes for a peck on your cheek and then flies over to the table he normally sits. You catch the wind of his run pushing his hair up and laugh as his friends greet him with enthusiasm, hands slapping on his back. 

Saturday can’t come quick enough. 

[harringtons-cupid]

Joe Quinn x Best friend Fem!Reader

The Field With You -Based off this

☆彡 - Word count: 2.8K - Not proof read!

☆彡 -Warnings: 18+

Public//outdoor sex, fluff !!, unprotected sex, creampie, biting, grasping, female oral sex. Squirting, nickname use throughout !!

☆彡 - So if people enjoy this, I will be making it into a fanfic called Peaches....

☆彡 -Tagged: @choke-me-eddie @thefreakofhawkins86 @frickinmunson @dylanmunson @heroeddiemunson @eddiemunsonswitch @oo0lady-mad0oo @vecnuthy

DO NOT TAKE THIS TEXT MESSAGE IMAGE - If you would like one, please send me a request !!

[Feedback/reblogs are extremely meaningful. Please support your content creators]

|

| Masterlist | Peaches - 1 |

He had recently become popular in America and Mexico after the release of Stranger Things, he was travelling frequently which meant that you only saw him in videos and shows. Everything he was in, you watched. He always joked that you would be his N.O. 1 fan but you never realised he was right until now.

He had recently become popular in America and Mexico after the release of Stranger Things, he was travelling frequently which meant that you only saw him in videos and shows. Everything he was in, you watched. He always joked that you would be his N.O. 1 fan but you never realised he was right until now.

He had recently become popular in America and Mexico after the release of Stranger Things, he was travelling frequently which meant that you only saw him in videos and shows. Everything he was in, you watched. He always joked that you would be his N.O. 1 fan but you never realised he was right until now.

You missed him, your text messages were brief and cold as he rarely checked his phone. You reread old messages and smiled sadly at photos in hope that he would come home too you.

Before he gained intense fame, you never discussed the extent of your relationship but you definitely had feelings for him. After seeing every part of him whilst growing up, there was no doubt about it.

Your fingers hovered over the message box as you entered yours and Joes chat, you began typing. Rewriting your message three times before reading the final draft.

Hi Joe,

I saw that you were in the Americas! You looked fab, I hope you're having a fantastic time.

I miss you

Sighing to yourself as you bit your lip, pressing send. You stared at the blue message appearing in the chat, placing your phone down you decided to busy yourself.

It grew later and later, still no text from Joe. Deciding to give up, you got yourself cosy in bed and stuck on a film. As you drunk your hot chocolate, laughing along with the film your phone pinged. Excitedly you turned your eyes to the screen, feeling hesitant to answer the message. Waiting for a few moments, watching as the screen flashed more than once.

Your hands shaking as you checked your notifications, they were all from Joe. Squealing to yourself as you opened the messages.

Hey you!

Long time no speak! Ahaha

Yeah I’ve been across the pond for some time now, missing home though!

Missing you.

We should catch up when I’m back

His first message was a long one, a few others were scattered in reply to a photo he sent. You instantly began typing, waiting a few seconds before sending as to not to sound too eager.

Yes please! I would love to see you and hear of your travels, home isn’t much to be missed but I guess compared to the Americas it is.

You put your phone down and continued to watch the film until you fell asleep. The next morning, you awoke to 2 unread messages from Joe. Smiling giddily at your phone, you opened them.

Hey you,

So I’m heading back sooner than I thought!

I’m leaving in a few hours, I have a few interviews in Spain and the UK for the next month or so.

Rereading them with excitement, you typed your sleepy reply.

Oh wow! I can’t wait to see you!

If you fancied I could always meet you at the airport?

You fell back into the bed, smiling up at your ceiling as the light streamed through the curtain. Your phone hitting your collarbones roughly, causing you to wince in pain as it vibrated heavily.

Sounds good Peaches

Boarding plane now! See you soon

Peaches had been your childhood nickname, he met you when you were going through your latest obsession of eating peaches. You’d eat them from a can, fresh, cooked. If it was a peach you were going to eat it and many of them.

He had teased you consistently after the period faded into nothingness, at Christmas and birthdays you would receive a tin of peaches in your gift basket. It was your personal joke between the two of you, he hadn’t called it you in a long time.

Seeing it pop up on your screen made your heart flutter, Joes flight wouldn’t get in for another 11 hours. As you thought about him sitting alone on the transatlantic flight, your phone close to you as you felt yourself drift back to sleep.

When you awoke hours later startled until you finally got changed, it was late afternoon. As you stared out your bedroom window, the peach tree blowing against the wind. You smiled at the sight of it, thinking of Joe once more.

You sat at your desk all day, completing work as you counted down the hours until you would be in the presence of Joe. As the time grew closer and closer, you began to feel sick and giddy. Your mind imagined what he’d look like, it had been a few years since you had seen him in person. Every viewing of his videos led up to this moment.

As the clock on your desk hit 10:30 PM, you downed the rest of your coffee and began to get ready to drive. You changed your outfit a few times, not wanting to make it seem like you were dressing up for him but you were.

Your phone vibrated as you stood awkwardly in your kitchen as the remainder of your coffee stained your teeth.

Hey Peaches,

I've just reached London, now it's time to spend hours being frisked ahaha. See you so soon

Smiling at the message, your face hit the cool nights air. Joe's parents lived nearby to you, assuming that he would be staying with them you had no issue with picking him up from the airport.

Arriving at the airport, you parked your car. The time turned 11PM when you reached the NOTHING TO DECLARE area, anxiously waiting for Joe. A group of people rushed quickly towards their loved ones, you watched them as more people emptied out until your eyes met his.

Grinning giddily as you felt your legs picking up, your arms flung around his neck. Taking in his scent, he smelt of sweat and faded Cologne. His eyes were carried by dark bags, slightly blood shots as he smiled back at you.

''Hey Peaches'' his voice was croaky and soft as he held your arms gently between his fingers. Your nickname sounded better than you could remember.

"Hey Joe" you grinned, yawning slightly as the lights blared into your eyes. He giggled slightly, as you turned to walk side by side out into the cool night.

Joe fell asleep in the passenger seat as you drove back from the airport, nudging him slightly as you stopped the car outside his parents house.

''Where do you want to stay Joe?'' you asked quietly, he opened his eyes but you could see he was barely awake. Deciding not to push him, you drove back to yours.

Carrying him inside, his weight resting on your shoulder as he sleepily stumbled upstairs. He flopped onto the bed, his feet hanging off the bed in your spare room. You partially undressed him and struggled to cover him with the bed cover.

After collecting his luggage you went to bed. Waking up in the morning to the smell of fresh cooked food, your stomach rumbling as the smell filled your nostrils.

Following the smell with sleepy eyes, you entered the kitchen to see Joe dressed in a different style of clothing than last night. His tired eyes lit up at the sight of you, smiling as he plated up your food.

You spent the rest of the morning catching up with him, listening to his adventures across the globe. Admiring him from across the counter as he poured more coffee into his mug.

''You've become Americanised Joe?'' you laughed, your eyebrows raising at the coffee cup in his hand.

''Quite possibly, you'll have to revert me back'' he winked at you, your cheeks flushed red as he maintained eye contact with you.

''I think I'll have too'' All flustered you laughed heartly.

After discussing the further changes in both of your lives, you arranged to spend the day together. Joe informed you that he would plan the day, he always surprised you with the most interesting dates.

You continued to work whilst he dashed in and out of your house, after a while you grew more curious. He had been making a significant amount of noise in your kitchen, as you entered he jumped in shock. His hands grasping something behind him as he laughed sheepishly.

''Peaches, you scared me. So are you ready?'' he looked at you softly, the creaking of the basket diverted your eyes. Making you smirk at him.

You nodded throwing on your coat, he suggested you wait in the car as he rushed around in the kitchen for a few seconds longer. He directed you to the middle of nowhere, puzzling you even more.

The field was quiet, the London traffic was non-existent as you breathed in the fresh air. Joe was walking up the hill in front of you until you reached a gate, walking through it together. He placed it down on top of the hill, as he placed down the blanket you stared the view. You could see the whole of London.

''Wow Joe, how did you find this?'' as you turned to face Joe, he was lying on the blanket with an assortment of food neatly arranged next to him.

You gasped raising your hand to your face, kneeling down to join him on the blanket. You were in shock, he always managed to make things romantic and platonic without even trying.

Relaxing next to him, taking in the view around you. The sound of a bottle being open turned your attention towards Joe again. He had filled two glasses full, raising a glass in your direction with a smile.

Emptying the bottle between the two of you, you greedily ate the food he had prepared. Thanking him constantly with your mouth full of food, he laughed at you softly.

He leant closer to you, his breath was hitting neck. You felt yourself grow warmer, unsure if it was the alcohol or the fact that his hands were touching yours. Turning your head to face him, your cheeks touching as he closed the gap between you both.

It happened so quickly, his body was on yours. His arms resting either side of you as he kissed you, his lips were soft and wet. You had dreamed about this moment.

His hands were all over your body, pinching every bit of skin he could find. Moaning into your mouth as his crotch grinded against yours, your hands tangled in his hair. Pulling slightly on a few strands, you could feel his bulge growing bigger and bigger. Your hands slid down his body, gripping onto his ass cheeks as you moved his hips into yours.

“Oh Peaches. I have dreamt about this moment” your heart fluttered as his words groaned into your mouth.

His hands tugged on your jeans, ripping them off you and gasping as he stared at your thrilly pink underwear. He didn’t wait long before he ripped them off you, his head buried between them.

Your legs twitched as his tongue licked your clit, your head falling back into the blanket as your nails dig into his back. His hands gripped onto your thighs as he moaned into your clit, sucking it between his lips. His eyes met yours, your hips bucked against his face. Moaning loudly into the air, your eyes closed tightly as his tongue moved to your opening and slid inside you.

Gasping in both shock and excitement as his tongue moved in and out of you, your clit flicking between his fingers making your eyes roll back as your legs shook.

“Fuck Joe, you could make cum” you gasped loudly, your legs still shaking against the blanket as he lifted his head up.

“Not yet Peaches” he brought his face closer to yours, kissing you passionately as your hands unbuckled his jeans.

They fell to his ankles, your hand palmed the bulge that was throbbing in his boxers. He moaned into your mouth, feeling it twitch against your hand. Tugging on the elastic around his waist, letting them fall with his jeans.

His dick rubbed against your thigh, pre cum leaked out as he groaned loudly. Leaning his head back as he aligned himself up to your opening, maintaining eye contact with you as you felt him stretch you out.

Yelping at the feeling of his dick filling inside you, it had been a while since you slept with anyone. His fingers played with clit as he slowly slid in and out of you, kissing your lips softly you felt yourself loosen up. Moaning into his mouth as he began to thrust quicker, feeling you wetter around his dick.

“God, you feel so good” he mumbled against your lips, your clit slipping against his fingers. He sucked on his fingers, tasting you as he bent back to admire you.

Birds were twittering around you as he thrusted hard, gasping as his tip hit your sweet spot. Your hips bucking against his as you felt yourself getting closer to your orgasm.

“Joe, fuck. Joe. I’m cumming” your high pitched moans echoed across the field as you came, squirting hard over his dick. Coating the blanket and both your legs.

He giggled with you as you lied there together, his dick still twitching inside you. Slowly beginning to move again, his head tipping back in ecstasy, the noises of you as he moved made him moan.

His rings were gripping against your skin, causing goosebumps to appear. Staring into his beautiful brown eyes as he held your sides, feeling your skin as he thrusted harder and harder. His teeth were gritted together as your hips moved along with him, his eyes were filled with lush and desire.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum” he groaned through his teeth, your legs were tightly wrapped around his waist as he thrusted hard inside you.

You felt him cum himself inside you, your legs shaking from the grip you held around him. He kept moving even after he came, growling into your ear as his ringed hand touched your clit.

Twitching at the sensation, you gasped as he hit your soft spot again. Your eyes rolling back as he hit the same spots over and over until you felt yourself cum hard on his dick.

“Oh you’re so pretty Peaches” growling once more into the crook of your neck. It tickled slightly, you melted into his touch as you moaned into his ear.

You felt him cum hard inside you, the feeling of his dick twitching inside made you buck your hips encouraging him to continue. He stopped to look at you, clasping your face between his fingers and leant down to kiss you as he stayed inside you.

Feeling him go limp inside you made you giggle against his lips, his mouth moved down to your neck and collarbones rather than moaning you giggled as it tickled. He inhaled heavily and blew raspberries on your skin making you squeal.

"Joe!" squealing his name loudly into the empty field, your legs and arms trying to kick him off your body in delight.

He finally moved away from you, gazing down at you with a big grin on his face. Raising your eyebrows in curiosity as you pulled your clothes back on, you felt giddy from his infectious smile.

You lied on the blanket next to each other until it began to get dark, as you hurried back to the car. Rain droplets hit your hair, gasping in shock as it suddenly grew heavier and heavier.

His hand found his way to yours, squeezing it tightly as he leant closer to your ear.

"Hold on" he sounded giggly, his hand pulled you along with him as his legs picked up the pace.

Running through the wet field, mud was spraying up your jeans as you laughed loudly against the wind. The rain was coating your face, your hair was dripping as you turned to look at him. He was grinning alongside you, finally reaching the car he placed the drenched basket on the floor in the mud.

His wet and cold hands cupped your face, bringing your body closer to him as you felt his wet but warm lips meet yours. Kissing you softly as the rain didn't stop, it dripped between your faces making you laugh against his lips. Vibrating against his skin to keep warm, his body heat was attracting yours.

"Who'd have thought this would happen?" he smiled against your lips, his teeth hitting yours gently as he spoke.

"Maybe me" your cheeks flushed red from both the rain and the idea of admitting you had Joe on your mind.

"Oh yeah?'' he rested his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes with a big smile on his face.

"Yeah" feeling almost as giddy as him, you laughed against his face as you gazed into his eyes. His face was barely visible as the it had got pitch black in the middle of the nowhere but you felt happy.

[black-quadrant]

Silence the Noise — joshneku [AO3]

Just like footsteps in sand or snow, the tracks of the Soul leave impressions of its existence where it goes. If it’s merely passing through, its indent is ephemeral, worn away by the tread of other Souls. But the more frequent the visits, the longer the stay, the deeper the impression. 

Neku’s impression on the Underground is indelible. The influence of his Imagination has reshaped an entire dimension. You’d never know it in the Realground. Shibuya continues to hum; Neku’s the only one who recognizes the song.

But where his Soul’s journey should have ended, it instead extended. Beyond Shibuya, for three years, in a city that fell to the fate of what his city could have. He’ll never forget walking the desiccated ground and breathing what felt like fumes only to realize that the smothering haze was the eternally floating ashes of remnant Souls. Alone with only his thoughts and the ripples of displaced voices echoing the memories of Shinjuku’s last hours. Days dragged on into months. By the second month he’d memorized the entire layout of Shinjuku. By the sixth he’d memorized every crack in the streets. By year one, he could understand every note in the haunted elegiac symphony.

And when he tuned it out (which he’d learned to) the absence of sound rang relentlessly through his ears like a permanent case of tinnitus. Suffice it to say, there's no such thing as empty silence when the dead can talk.

Although things have been restored, Shinjuku never forgot Neku’s Soul, and a part of his Soul still exists there, skipping like a scratched CD, reliving the anguish. It projects into his nightmares, fresh as if he was there again, running circles around the border of Shinjuku, pawing frantically at the invisible walls and clamping his hands over his ears, knowing it’s futile because the noise is everywhere, and it’s pulling his psyche apart at the seams. His strangled moans unable to really scream from the paralyzed vocal chords in this throat, carry over into the throes of a night terror. The sound is almost worse than a scream, and certainly more frightening.

Joshua’s voice is the only thing that brings him back time and again, whispering reassurance. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re mine.

It wasn't Joshua's characteristic possessiveness. Neku knows what that really meant: Nothing can touch you because I have you. He’s under the Composer’s protection, and he trusts that unequivocally.

Joshua holds him until Neku’s completely back in his body again. Neku never talks about it the next day. He wouldn’t know how to approach it and he doesn’t want to give it voice anyway. At least it stays in his dreams where he can cordon off his toxic subconscious from his everyday life.

Until the shock wears off and similar to the Inversion, the two collide and collapse.

It happens as breakdowns do: sudden and violent. Sometimes for no reason at all, just the leftover hypervigilance that carried over from the need to survive. And sometimes it’s triggered. Certain sounds snap mental cords. 

Neku flees into the bathroom driven by panic, the one place in the apartment where he could isolate himself without suspicion. The last thing he’s conscious of doing is peeling off his clothes and running the shower. From there experience is felt more than seen. His stomach churned with dizzying nausea. If only he holds perfectly still, he might resist the urge to retch. His chest clenches as his heartbeat slowly rose and the lump in his throat threatens to send him into hysterical sobbing finally wins over. He hopes the hand clamped over his mouth and the sound of the water does enough of a job to muffle it. He knows this feeling. Knows that the tears will be the last thing he’ll feel before he starts slipping away from himself. That’s almost worse than the buildup. It’s so hard to break out of this level of despair once he falls down the hole. It feels isolating, and hopeless. He’s alone. 

He’s alone. He’s alone again.

In his fading peripheral, something shifts. The curtain’s pulled, and someone enters and in the back of his mind he knows it can only be Joshua. His panic rises briefly again at being caught in the most vulnerable and raw state he could possibly be seen in, but within seconds he’s numb again, too numb to care.

There was no hesitation. No questions. Joshua simply climbs in, fully clothed, and scoops Neku into his arms. Again, he holds him, but this time they’re wide awake. There’s no cover of darkness to store excuses. He’d stopped crying but the lump strangled him again and he burst into another fit of sobbing. And as horrible as it feels, it’s a relief because he feels again. Joshua’s grip on him yanks him back up from the well he’d slipped into. It snaps him back and he’s so grateful because if it weren’t for Joshua, he would have stayed there. Alone and numb to the world around him. Just like when he was back in Shinjuku.

You’re here. You’re here.

Joshua sees him. All the way back to the very beginning, when he first identified him. Neku was seen even when he wanted to be avoided; he was seen when he thought no one was looking. Even after the games he’d been comfortable being alone. But those three years changed that.

Joshua reawakens the rest of his senses one by one, starting with touch by caressing his face and stroking his back and Neku can smell the cologne he got him on his last birthday. Joshua takes his chin in his hand and elevates it to meet his gaze.

“There you are,” he murmurs cheekily, leans in, and kisses him. Neku finally grabs the lifeline that is Joshua, pulls him tight to him and intensifies the kiss, occasionally broken by crying jags. The passion that grows hotter and heavier finally roots him in place and the rush of arousal solidifies his return.

Neku’s hands twist into Joshua’s shirt, realizing it’s waterlogged from his urgency to get to Neku, and that’s… profound. 

He peels back the damp blonde locks plastered to Joshua’s face and falls into laughter that’s still riding the waves of an epic breakdown. Joshua let him dissolve into the near hysterics of giggles with an amused expression on his face.

“A drowned rat of a guardian angel,” he finally manages to sputter as if it’s the most hilarious thing he’d ever said.

“I am no angel.” His wicked giggle and devil’s smile confirm it. “You’re my partner.” His voice quivers on that word, hefting its weight. “I accept every part of you.”

Joshua’s sincerity strikes lightning to his heart, and threatens the return of his tears.

“Josh?”

“Yes?”

“I’d choose you again, every time.”

It’s Joshua’s turn to be utterly thunderstruck, but they crash together in another half tender half wanton exchange of kisses that Joshua is grateful for, as they wash away his own tears before Neku can feel them.

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

[mournfulroses]

D. H. Lawrence, from a letter featured in The Selected Letters of D. H. Lawrence

[finelinefae]

the game [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: y/n's desperate to play tennis and who better to coach her than her rival

word count: 6.7k

contains: enemies to lovers, set at a boarding school, jealous h, slow burn, angst, tennis rivals

a/n: this is the very first part of a new series that i am soooooo beyond excited to be writing !! it will most likely have 4/5 parts <333 enjoy !!!

. . .

Crestwood Academy was a prestigious boarding school with a mission to cultivate excellence in its students, many of whom went on to achieve great success in their respective fields. Nestled amidst rolling hills and lush greenery, it welcomed only the most accomplished families into its esteemed halls.

Y/N had attended Crestwood Academy since she was five, thanks to her father, who owned a country club and could afford the tuition. Her parents, strict and focused on success, were determined to give her the best education possible so that she could be the very best. Her face was always buried in a book or spending her days in the library, right up until the very last minute of its opening hours. 

It was her final year at Crestwood Academy before graduation. Y/N had been set on passing all of her exams at the top of her class so had been working extra hard. She studied English, maths, all three sciences, Latin, French and History as well as tennis. 

Y/N's parents had always urged her to pursue a career in the top industries. Despite her efforts to feign interest in that direction, her heart had always belonged to tennis ever since she first took up the sport at Crestwood.

She had competed plenty, winning all the academy trophies and medals. Her parents would visit whenever she competed in finals and congratulated her on winning but saw it as nothing but a hobby to participate in when she wasn’t studying. 

However, Y/N couldn’t deny herself the rush of playing knowing she’d have to part with the sport once she graduated. The career path of becoming a doctor was already laid out for her by her parents but she felt destined to follow a different path. 

Despite the fact she had applied to dozens of schools to study medicine, she still had one more option that had nothing to do with science at all. 

Every year, the academies hosted their own version of a grand slam in which the winning player received a scholarship and three years' worth of training from one of the top tennis academies in the world. Y/N longed to be at the top with the greats and she knew that this competition was the only way she could get there. 

For the most part, Y/N had been self-taught. She watched videos online and took notes from the Wimbledon matches she’d see on the television. Crestwood only had one sports coach who focused most of their time on the football team so if she was going to win the scholarship, she needed the very best. 

She sat on the bleachers, her book open in front of her, but her attention was drawn to the man on the court. The player’s movements were fluid and powerful, each action deliberate and precise. Yet, it was another man who held her gaze—a figure with an impassive expression, focused solely on his player.

When the match was over, Y/N slammed her book shut and walked towards the court after the players shook hands. Her eyes looked down at the limp in his step as he walked towards the cooler to grab a water bottle. 

It had been a while since she had last seen him. She remembered the proud look on his parent’s faces when he was pulled out of Crestwood eighteen months ago and went on to win a grand slam in Australia. She could still feel the intense jealousy that filled her as she watched the match on television whilst studying for her chemistry test that he was also supposed to sit had he stayed. 

Now he was here, back to his roots and maybe it had been fate because what she was about to ask him would determine her own path in the tennis career she longed for. 

His hair was slightly longer now, his brunette, touseled curls were swept to the side in a loose, dishevelled manner. He wore sunglasses to cover his eyes from the sunlight and a navy tracksuit paired with white vans. 

Seeing him brought back the once competitive emotions she had whenever she’d see him strut about the courts every lunchtime but she’d have to suppress those emotions, especially for what she was about to ask him. 

“Excuse me, Harry?” Y/N called out. 

He took a water bottle from the cooler and flicked off the cap before holding it to his lips and gulping it down. Y/N waited, crossing her arms as she did. “I’ve been waiting for you to show up.” Was the first thing he said. 

Y/N didn’t know what to say. It was unexpected to know that he had been waiting to see her, “I didn’t know you were part of the furniture on these courts,” He smirks and Y/N’s jaw ticks. “And you still sit in the exact same spot on those bleachers, to what? Admire me?”

Y/N bristled at Harry's cocky remark, her irritation bubbling to the surface. "Hardly," she retorted, her tone sharp. "I have better things to do than waste my time watching you play."

Harry chuckled, his smirk widening as he leaned against the cooler. "Is that so? Then what brings you here?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity. “Come to get an autograph?”

Y/N squared her shoulders, determined not to let his arrogance get under her skin. "I was actually hoping to talk to you about something," she replied, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Oh? And what might that be?" he inquired, his gaze piercing as he studied her intently.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N gathered her courage and suppressed her pride, "I want you to coach me," she blurted out, her words hanging in the air between them. 

Harry made no effort to hide the surprise on his face but it quickly melted into a cocky smirk, “You want me to coach you? I thought you hated me?” 

“I do,” She replies quickly. She’d hated him ever since he had humiliated her in a battle of the sexes tennis tournament when they were young despite the fact she had little chance of winning against him anyway. “But I don’t have to like you to recognise your talent and right now you're the best and only coach I can get if I’m going to win that scholarship,”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, “Your parents still want you to study medicine?” Something flickered in his eyes that Y/N couldn’t put her finger on. 

Y/N wasn’t going to give him an answer even though it was obvious, “This is the only chance I get to escape it,” She mutters, “I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

He glanced around before taking a step forward. She was tempted to step back at the same time but she didn’t want to seem intimidated by him so stood her ground. From this proximity, she noticed how much taller he was compared to her - almost an entire foot. 

“What’s in it for me?” He asked.

Y/N knew he’d ask which was why she spent so much time figuring out what she could tell him to make it worthwhile. “I know about your injury,” She says and he stills.

“Everyone knows about my injury.” He grumbles. 

It had been a spectacle in the world of tennis. The new grand slam winner loses out on his second after a fatal injury at the French Open. Y/N remembered seeing him rolling on the ground, holding onto his leg as paramedics ran onto the court to aid him. 

“People think you’re a one-hit wonder since you’re out for the season,” His jaw clenched as she spoke, “But if you coach me and get me to win, I guarantee you’ll be out on the court again - back where you belong,”

“You think an academy league game can get my back onto the court?”

“No, but it's a start and maybe I’ll be competing alongside you the next time you’re playing.” 

There was a moment of silence as Harry absorbed her words, his gaze searching hers for any hint of insincerity. Finding none, he let out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Fine," he relented, his voice tinged with resignation. "You want me to coach you? Prove you’re worth coaching.” 

He walked over to the barrel of tennis rackets and picked one up. Y/N narrowed her eyes, remembering the last time they had played against each other and how embarrassed she was afterwards. 

“But you’re-”

“One game won’t hurt,” He said before she could finish. 

She followed, her steps purposeful as she reached for a racket, flipping it over in her hands as she strode to the other end of the court. Despite being clad in her school uniform—a pleated skirt, white shirt with the school crest, and loafers that threatened to slide off her feet—she was determined to prove herself. She'd show him she was worth his time, that she was a far better tennis player than he gave her credit for.

As they took their positions on opposite ends of the court, the tension between them crackled in the air. Y/N gripped her racket tightly, her focus sharp as she prepared to face off against Harry once again.

The first serve sliced through the air, the sound echoing as the ball hurtled towards Y/N. She moved with fluidly, her muscles tensing as she returned the serve.

Harry's response was swift, his movements confident as he returned the ball with a well-placed shot that left Y/N scrambling to keep up. Even with his injury, he still held the precision of a professional. But she refused to back down, her determination driving her to match him shot for shot, rally after rally.

The game intensified as they traded blows, each point reflecting their skills and determination. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she fought to keep pace with Harry, her mind focused solely on the ball. Both Y/N and Harry vocally exerted their energy through grunts and cries as they hit the ball with all their energy. 

Despite her efforts, Harry seemed to anticipate her every move. But Y/N refused to be outdone, drawing on every ounce of strength and skill as she fought to gain the upper hand.

As the game progressed, Harry's skill and experience began to overthrow her. His shots were close to perfect and strategic, leaving Y/N struggling to keep up. Despite her determination, she found herself falling behind as Harry continued to dominate the match.

In the end, it was Harry who emerged victorious, his final shot landing just beyond Y/N's reach with a satisfying thud. As the ball bounced out of the court, Y/N knew that she had been outplayed.

She rested her hands on her knees, hunched over as she tried to regain her breath. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d lost despite the fact she was at a disadvantage anyway. 

Harry’s shadow fell over her but she refused to look up just yet. He spoke anyway, “You’ve gotten better since the last time I saw you,” He spoke, holding a cold water bottle in front of her face. 

She took it, the plastic crackling under her fingers, “You can just say you’re not going to do it,” She mumbled, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig of water. 

“I’ll coach you,” He says, “Meet me here at 6 pm tomorrow.” 

Y/N finally looked up, her mouth parted, only to find his back facing her as he walked away from the courts. 

. . . 

Harry had no idea what he had agreed to in coaching Y/N at tennis. 

He sat in his luxurious apartment ten minutes away from Crestwood Academy, surrounded by furniture wrapped in plastic or still in cardboard boxes. 

He sat on the couch with his feet resting on the coffee table in front of him and a glass of whiskey in his hand. The TV was playing quietly in front of him but his mind was on the girl he had spent the majority of his life competing with. 

She had grown since the last time he had seen her before he graduated and left the country to compete in the Australian Open. Her long, tanned legs were on show beneath the grey school skirt she had been wearing. He couldn’t seem to get the image of the visible muscles in her calves out of his mind as she moved across the court to hit the ball during their impromptu tennis match. 

Despite their personal differences, Harry couldn't resist her. There was an undeniable thrill in riling her up, in watching her reactions to the smallest digs. They had once been friends, back when Y/N would trail after him on the playground, eager to understand how to hit a ball with a tennis racket. But as she began competing in school competitions, she quickly learned that beating him was an impossible feat. 

He wasn’t surprised to see her watching him on the court today, in fact, it amused him. Whether she liked it or not, he would always look out in the bleachers for her whenever he’d play during his time at the academy. Her reactions were what kept him going, some might even say made him better. 

But, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was surprised to see her so brazenly asking him to coach her. He could tell by her reaction that it was killing her inside, to be coached by him when all she’d done was pick apart his technique, but it was clear she was desperate and Harry knew it was because of her parents. 

Harry had had his fair dose of strict parentage. When he was told he could no longer play tennis for the season, his parents shipped him straight back to Crestwood to finish his final year since he never actually graduated. 

He loathed them for it, barely saying a word to them as they paid the rent in cash for his apartment and left him with boxes to unpack on his own. He knew they were disappointed in him despite the fact the injury was no fault of his own, they could barely look at him as they left, closing the door behind them. 

It was embarrassing. How could he have gone from being at the top of his game to the very bottom? Now he was back in the place he had turned his back on, feeling like he was back to square one all over again. 

Harry’s thoughts were broken by the sound of his phone ringing. The name of his best friend since he was born lit up the screen.

“What?” Harry answered the call, his train of thought forming a particular level of intolerance in him.

“Hey, is that any way to talk to your best friend?” Mitch replied along with the sound of loud chattering in the background because he always had to be somewhere with someone. 

“Sorry,” Harry huffed, “Long day.”

“Already? You’ve not even started classes yet,” Mitch chuckled.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry hadn’t even begun thinking about being back in classrooms and having to put up with kids his age berating him with questions he didn’t want to answer. Tomorrow would be his first day back and he was dreading it.

“C’mon now, don’t be too glum about it, haven’t you missed me?” 

“No,” Harry lied. 

“I know you well enough now to know when you’re lying.” Mitch laughed down the phone. 

A hint of a smile grazed Harry’s lips, "Whatever," he replied, his tone gruff but lacking conviction. Despite his attempt to feign disinterest, a part of him couldn't deny the truth in Mitch's words. There had been many moments he had experienced after leaving school when he missed the company of people his own age. Everyone around him was older than he was and spoke to him as though he was some prized trophy that needed to be handled with caution. He’d spend evenings by the pool by himself, watching the sunset and wishing his friends were there to celebrate his win with him. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Mitch teased, “I know the boys will be happy to have y’ back and I can introduce you to Sarah. I think Molly Brown still has a thing for you as well by the way, talks about you all the fuckin’ time.” Harry listened to his friend ramble about all the things he had missed in the last year or so but his mind seemed to travel elsewhere. 

His eyes wandered around the room, his ear still pressed to his phone, until they landed on an open box with a picture frame resting on top. He recognized the photo immediately, even without picking it up, because he had kept it hidden in his old dorm desk. In the picture, a group of eight students—four boys and four girls—smiled at the camera, with Harry standing at the back and Y/N right beside him.

. . . 

Y/N slammed the door of her locker shut after pulling out her workbooks for her next class. Students bustled down the hallways of Crestwood Academy, wearing their navy blazers and uniform for another week of school. 

“Have you seen him yet?” Sarah, Y/N’s best friend, came out of nowhere and stood in front of her. 

“Seen who?” Y/N remained indifferent even though she knew who Sarah was referring to. 

Everyone had been talking about Harry since she had walked into school from her dorm room this morning. It was the main topic of conversation, everyone’s eyes darting around the hallways to try and find him. 

“You know,” Sarah nudged her, “The boy you’ve spent most of your life in a one-sided rivalry with?” 

“One-sided? It’s a mutual hatred,” Y/N argued.

Sarah gave her a look before continuing, “I texted Mitch twenty minutes ago but he hasn’t replied. I know I’ve met Harry before but this is the first time I’ll be meeting him as Mitch’s girlfriend and I don’t want it to change anything.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, “Sarah, just because he’s the winner of a grand slam doesn’t make his opinion of you any more important. Whether Harry likes you or not, everyone knows you and Mitch are perfect for each other.”

Y/N remembered the first time her friend had told her she was seeing Mitch. He had taken her out to dinner a few times and Sarah had come back to their shared dorm swooning and unable to stop herself from rambling the rest of the night about how romantic and funny he was. 

Y/N had never experienced anything like that in her life, too busy focusing on tennis and academia to find herself in relationships, but she was happy her best friend was happy and that was all that mattered to her. 

“I know but he’s important to Mitch. They’ve been best friends since infants and… that’s not all I’m worried about,” Sarah looked at Y/N pointedly. 

“What?” 

“Now that Mitch and I are together, that means we’ll be spending more time around each other which also means…” Sarah didn’t have to finish her sentence for Y/N to understand what she was trying to get at. 

“Oh n-no! No way! Sarah, are you being serious right now?” Y/N whined, “You want me to get along with Harry just because you’re dating his best friend?”

“You don’t have to but it would be nice if you did,” Her voice trailed off at the end, her eyes looking at her pleadingly, “I’m not asking you to be best friends, I’m just asking you not to chew his head off when we’re all in the same room together.”

Y/N wanted to argue and tell her she wouldn’t be able to chew his head off anyway because she needed him to coach her for the scholarship but an arm slid around Sarah’s waist and interrupted their conversation. 

Sarah grinned, turning to look up at her boyfriend who was now standing beside her, “Hey babe,” Mitch smiled.

“You’re here,” Sarah craned her neck to kiss his lips, “I texted you forever ago and you never replied.

Mitch scoffed, “It was twenty minutes ago and I didn’t have time to check my phone, too busy dragging this one through the front gates.”

Out of the corner of Y/N's eye, another figure appeared. She didn’t have to look to see who it was, the sudden surge of annoyance within her already gave them away. Her head tilted to the left to look up and see Harry. 

He was wearing his school uniform, the same way he always did before he left for Australia. His shirt was untucked, and the top button was undone revealing a gold chain and a white vest underneath, his grey trousers were ironed with not a crinkle in sight and his navy blazer hung casually behind him, hooked by his middle finger.

Y/N’s eyes shifted behind him to find people whispering to each other and groups of girls giggling as they walked past. It was nothing new to see girls getting riled up over him but it had become more intensified now that he had gone abroad and made a name for himself. Despite his injury preventing him from playing, Y/N was certain that even if Harry had lost every game and embarrassed himself on live television, people would still adore him.

“Hey Harry,” Sarah offered a kind smile.

“Hi Sarah, nice to see you again. Glad to know Mitch was in good hands whilst I was away,” Harry clapped his friend on the shoulder before turning to Y/N.

“Only the very best,” Mitch pulled Sarah into his side before motioning to Y/N, “You remember Sarah’s best friend Y/N right?”

“Hmmm, aren’t you the one who lost the Junior tennis competition to me a few years ago?” Harry smirked.

Y/N's jaw clenched, but she managed to force a smile. "I could be, but aren’t you the one who they recorded rolling around on the floor like a big baby at the French Open last year?" Her retort was sharp, aimed directly at Harry.

Harry's eyes narrowed in response, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. Y/N felt a sense of satisfaction at having gotten such a reaction from him. "Welcome back to Crestwood," she added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Mitch and Sarah exchanged weary glances, sensing the tension between Y/N and Harry.

"Quite a welcome. I’ve already been asked to coach someone and I’ve only been back a week," Harry remarked, his gaze still fixed on Y/N, who met his stare with a glare of her own.

"You have?" Mitch frowned, his confusion evident.

"Who?" Sarah asked, equally perplexed.

Harry's eyes remained locked on Y/N, giving them their answer. "You asked him to coach you?" Sarah questioned her confusion mirroring Mitch's.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, "Yeah, I did," she admitted reluctantly, her gaze flickering briefly to Harry before returning to Mitch and Sarah.

"Why would you ask him to coach you?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowing in confusion, “You argue all the time,” 

Y/N hesitated, “I need to win the scholarship to the tennis academy in London and Harry’s the only person here who knows how to play the game.” 

“Glad to know I was the pick of the bunch,” Harry’s voice dripped with sarcasm. 

“I thought you were applying to go to UCL?” Sarah frowned. 

“I was but you know how much the game means to me and my parents refuse to believe it’s more than just a hobby. This is the only chance I’ll get to prove them wrong and the only option to get me out of studying medicine.” Y/N explained. 

Sarah’s eyes softened, she too was no stranger to how strict Y/N’s parents could be. “Which is why she needs me,” Y/N felt the weight of his arm rest across her shoulders, “Right, love?” 

Y/N spun around to face Harry, eyes sharp, “Don’t call me that,” She hissed, seeing the satisfied grin on his face. 

He shrugged, “But I always call you that,” 

Ever since they were teenagers, when the rivalry first began, Harry had opted to calling Y/N ‘love’ knowing how much it riled her up. To some, it was a term of endearment but in the world of tennis the word ‘love’ meant one thing. 

‘Nil, ‘Zero’, ‘Loser’. 

Y/N hated the way he spoke it too - accentuating each letter of the word to drag it out for as long as he could just to annoy her further. 

She stepped forward, “Call me that one more time,” She threatened.

“Or what?” He tilted his head to the side. 

“Guys seriously, break it up,” Sarah intervened, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting along if you’re going to be spending more time together.”

Y/N hated the thought of it but knew she was right. If she wanted Harry to coach her, she couldn’t go around screwing things up by arguing with him. If he was going to coach her at the sport, she’d have to coach herself in controlling her attitude around him. 

“C’mon Sarah, let’s go to class,” Y/N hooked arms with her best friend, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. 

“Oh okay, bye Mitch.” Sarah kissed her boyfriend before she was dragged down the hallway in a hurry.

Harry watched as Y/N practically sprinted down the hallway with Sarah in tow. He felt the need to call out of her for one last dig just so she would turn around and he’d see her face before she rounded the corner, “See you on the courts, love.” He called down to her. 

As he had hoped, Y/N’s head whipped around to glare at him along with her middle finger, “Asshole!” She called back.

Harry chuckled to himself, “That face,” he murmured. 

Mitch placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You’ve got it in for yourself with that one, lad.” Mitch said.

“Tell me about it,” Harry replied, his eyes still on the place he’d last seen Y/N. 

Maybe returning to Crestwood wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

. . . 

With Harry back, Y/N had suspected the day would be a drag with everyone constantly bringing him up in every conversation, but the first half of the day had gone well. Y/N was easily used to her classes by now and was still top of the class in all of them. 

During lunch period, Y/N always sat with Sarah in the library where they’d catch up on what they missed out on each other’s lives or study during exam season. It was nice to have some reprieve during the school hours and whenever she was with Sarah, Y/N could talk for hours and hours.

Now that Sarah was dating Mitch, Y/N and Sarah would spend their lunch with his friends in the lunch hall. Y/N didn’t mind it so much having grown used to being around Mitch’s friends despite their loud and boisterous personalities. 

However, today she was dreading the fact that now her lunchtimes would also include being around the person she wanted to spend as little amount of time with as possible. 

“Can’t we just eat in the library today? Please?” Y/N pulled on the sleeve of her best friend's blazer as she begged her to turn back in the direction of the library. She could already picture Harry’s annoying smirk the closer they got to the entrance of the lunch hall.

“Y/N you’re being dramatic. It’s just an hour, I’m sure you can survive being around him that long.” Sarah continued to tug her down the hallway.

“Sarah I already have to spend enough time as it is,” Now that she asked him to be her coach. The more the day went by the more she was starting to regret her decision. 

Sarah spun on her heel, “Think of this as practice then,” Her eyes looked past Y/N’s shoulder, “Look, there they are,” She moved past her and beelined towards their table where Y/N saw Mitch, Jake and Adam already sitting along with that head of brunette curls that Y/N just wanted to tear out every time she saw him. 

Sighing, she followed Sarah and approached the table responding to everyone’s friendly greetings until she got to Harry, “You’re in my seat,” She spoke after realising all the seats were taken. 

Harry didn’t bother to look around, that stupid grin plastered to his face when he looked up at her, “Am I?” 

Y/N gritted her teeth, “Yes,”

“Hmm,” He swivelled around to look at the back of the chair, “I don’t see your name anywhere.”

A wave of chuckles rippled around the table but Y/N had yet to find the amusement in it. “She does always sit there, H.” Mitch chuckles, “Just grab another chair from a different table.”

Harry leant back against the seat and crossed one leg over his thigh, “But I quite like this seat.” 

“I’m not moving until you get out of my seat,” Y/N crossed her arms, refusing to give in to him. 

“Well you’re going to be stood up for a long time and y’ need those legs for later,” Harry smirked, “Or you could just sit here,” He unfolded his legs and motioned towards his lap, “Still your seat.” 

Y/N’s jaw clenched but before she could respond, Adam chuckled and stood up, “Here,” He picked another chair up from an empty table and set it down next to him, “Y’ can sit here Y/N.” 

She was tempted to refuse and continue to nag Harry for the rest of lunch but decided against it, not wanting to waste her energy on him. Her eyes softened at Adam’s kindness, “Thanks, Adam.” She sat beside him. 

Harry’s smirk seemed to falter when Y/N sat down, watching as Adam looked at Y/N even as she turned to face the others. 

“Is that Molly Brown looking at y’ again Harry?” Jake, who Y/N considered the loudest one of Mitch’s friends, leant over the table to speak lowly to Harry even though it was impossible for him to ever be so quiet. 

Harry forced himself to look away from Adam before he burnt holes into him. “She’s been after him since fifth year,” Mitch chuckled. 

“Y’ think you’ll let her have it this year, H?” Jake takes a spoonful of his lunch and swallows it down. 

“Have what?” Sarah frowned, confused.

“Nothing you need to know about, babe,” Mitch replies, opening her waterbottle for her after she silently handed it to him. 

“I’ve never been interested in Molly,” Harry quickly replies but his ears prick when he hears Y/N laughing quietly with Adam. 

“Mind if I take my chances then?” Jake asks, “I’ve always wanted to date a cheerleader,” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Harry shakes him off, “What about you Adam?” He gets the attention from both Y/N and Adam as they look up, “Don’t you have a thing for Molly?”

Adam furrows his brows, “Molly Brown? Maybe in like third year,” He chuckles, “I’m not interested in anyone at the moment.”

Harry wants to laugh in his face, “Y’ sure about that?”

Adam frowns but Y/N quickly interrupts them, “People are allowed to have other interests you know.”

Harry feels that rush of excitement when she speaks run through his body, “Is this a touchy subject for you?”

Y/N scowls, “No, I’m just saying Adam doesn’t need to be interested in girl’s all the time.”

“Well maybe Adam can speak for himself,” Harry quips.

“Lord save me,” Jake mumbles and Sarah laughs.

“Well what about you? Have you managed to sink your fangs into anyone?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Y/N gapes, “I’ve dated plenty of people,”

The image unsettles Harry but he takes the opportunity to tease Y/N further. "Plenty of people, huh?" he echoes.

Y/N's cheeks flush slightly,  "I mean... well, not plenty, but a few," she stammers.

But Harry doesn't let up, "Oh, really?" he presses, "Care to share? I'm sure we'd all love to hear about the few men who you’ve tempted."

Y/N shoots him a glare, knowing full well that Harry was onto her. "I... uh, well," she stumbles over her words, searching for a way to change the subject.

But before she can respond, Adam jumps in. "Come on, Harry, give her a break," he glowers. 

“Yeah, Y/N’s just waiting for the right guy and there’s nothing wrong with that,” Sarah pipes in, always one to have her best friend’s back.

Harry raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering between Y/N and Adam before settling on Y/N, who shifts uncomfortably. Sensing the tension, Mitch swiftly changes the subject to something else.

. . . 

After lunch, Y/N made her way to her next class with Adam walking alongside her. Out of all of Mitch’s friends, she got on the most with Adam to the point where Sarah was constantly pestering her over considering a date with him but Y/N didn’t see him as any more than a good friend.  He was quiet and kept to himself for the most part, excelling in the arts and playing bass guitar in a band on weekends. Y/N enjoyed the calmness he brought to the group especially with the others being so loud all the time. 

“What do you think?” Adam asked, holding the strap of his backpack in one hand as it hung over his right shoulder. 

“What do I think about what?” Y/N frowned. 

“You know, Harry being back. I know you two didn’t always get along,” He explained.

Y/N scoffed, “If it weren’t for the fact he’s coaching me for the Academy Slam, I would be praying to whatever God that’d listen to send him back to Australia,” Which was also the furthest possible country he could be away from her. 

Adam chuckled, “He told us earlier he’d be coaching you,” 

Y/N scowled, “I bet he couldn’t get enough of it,” 

“Actually he seemed pretty happy about it. We haven’t seen him that happy since he got back from Australia.”

“Really? Maybe that injury did something to his head,” 

“What makes you hate him so much anyway?” Adam asked. 

Y/N sighed. It was a question she heard often but never had a solid answer for. She couldn't quite explain why she disliked Harry so much. Maybe it was because he had things she wanted, and jealousy often turned into hatred. But there was something more, something she couldn't quite pin down.

Despite her dislike, Y/N went to all of Harry's matches, and she watched them on TV too. Even when she tried to stay in her room, her legs seemed to move on their own, taking her to the courts to watch him play. She hated that part of her rooted for him, and she couldn't figure out why. Maybe it was because Harry had been the first person to teach her how to play and she felt some sense of loyalty to that but she had no perfect answer even though she wished for one. 

“His face annoys me,” Y/N says.

“That’s it?” Adam snickers. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N shrugs, “We’ve always had this rivalry that stemmed out of nowhere but I can’t even remember how it started.”

“You don’t have feelings for him do you?” The question came out of nowhere and took Y/N completely off-guard. 

"What? No!" Y/N's response came out a little too quickly, and she hoped her cheeks hadn't betrayed her by turning red.

Adam shrugged. "Just making sure," he said casually. "You know, some people get them mixed up—love and hate."

Y/N furrowed her brow, genuinely puzzled. "How is that even possible?"

"Well, they're both intense emotions, aren't they?" He mused. "And sometimes, when you feel strongly about someone, whether it's love or hate, it can blur the lines between the two."

Y/N pondered his words, a sense of unease settling in her stomach, "No way," she replied firmly, shaking her head. "I may not like him, but there's definitely no love there."

Adam chuckled, sensing her defensiveness. "Alright, that’s good," he said with a grin.

Y/N felt a hint of a smile on her lips, “What does that mean? That’s good?”

Adam shrugged, still smiling, “Jus’ saying,” He spoke and Y/N laughed. 

Her gaze flicked from Adam's to Harry, who stood in the hallway with Molly Brown, her brunette waves tied up in the perfect, slicked back ponytail. Hoping to slip by unnoticed, she quickened her pace, but it was too late. Harry's eyes locked onto hers, then shifted to Adam. She caught the subtle twitch of his jaw before he pushed off the wall, ignoring Molly, and strode toward them.

Adam must not have noticed Harry coming towards them because he quickly bid goodbye so he could rush to his literature class. Y/N picked up her pace but Harry was already by her side, “Do you like him?” Harry asked.

“Who Adam? Well let’s see, he’s nice and smart and doesn’t feel the need to open his mouth every five seconds unlike some people I know, so yeah I do like him.” 

Harry scoffed, “He’s a little boring don’t you think?” 

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry's comment, a retort already forming on her lips. "Nice of you to say that about your own best friend," she quipped. "Makes me wonder what you say about me."

Before she could say anything more, she gasped in surprise as Harry tugged on her hand and swiftly spun her around until her back was against the row of lockers. Her heart raced as he stepped forward, blocking her in, and dipped his head closer to hers.

"I think we need some ground rules for this whole coaching thing," Harry murmured, his voice low. "If you're planning on winning, I recommend using your time more wisely instead of wasting it on nice boys."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she processed his words. "Is that a rule or are you asking me not to date anyone?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Both," Harry replied, his tone unwavering.

Her mind raced, unsure how to respond, "What about you then?" she countered.

"Is that a personal request?" Harry's smirk widened, his gaze locking onto hers. "Because I'm the coach, and I set the ground rules so anything you ask me to do is because you want me to do it."

Y/N's heart pounded louder in her ears as Harry's proximity sent heat coursing through her, "It's only fair," she replied, her voice barely audible.

Harry chuckled softly. "Fine, if it makes you happy. But I’m not interested in dating nice girls or boys anyway," he remarked with a smirk.

Y/N swallowed, her curiosity piqued. "What are you interested in?" 

He smirked, "The game," he replied cryptically.

With that, he moved away from her, his eyes lingering on her lips for a moment before he turned and walked down the hallway, “See you tonight, love.” He called back. 

As the sound of his footsteps faded, Y/N stood there, stunned and unable to move. She was grateful that no one had witnessed the exchange as she pulled out her compact, trying to compose herself and hide the flush of embarrassment that coloured her cheeks.

As she hurried to class, already five minutes late, Y/N couldn't shake the intensity of her encounter with Harry. Sitting by the window, her mind wandered as the teacher lectured the class, her gaze drifting to the courts outside where she'd soon be training with him this evening.

This coach-student dynamic had unlocked a new territory between them, something unpredictable that Y/N had no choice but to delve into for the months ahead. 

Yet, it was her only choice. Harry was the only way she could win and she’d push through whatever feelings she had to get what she wanted. 

She’d play the game, just as he wanted her to. 

[cinnnamongrl]

just had disgusting filthy thoughts about ellie showing you off to loser!abby who’s never been with a girl before (mutuals look away i’m shy)

ellie having you spread open on the bed, vibrator held against your clit as you squirm, unable to move far with your feet tied down.

“y’hear those pretty little sounds she’s making?”. abby nodded. “‘s cause she’s gettin’ close again” it was true, you were approaching your third orgasm of the night, desperate to come yet overstimulated all at the same time. abby nodded again, face red and boxers soaked through. “look at her little pussy clenching around nothing” ellie told her “desperate to be filled, poor thing.” abby cleared her throat “are you gonna…?”

ellie shook her head. “gotta make her wait for it. makes her so fucking needy” you huffed from the other end of the bed, tears filling your eyes at your desperation “‘s too much ellie. please” abby looked to ellie, slight concern on her face but ellie just turned back to the pretty display she’d created “dumb little thing’s just being pathetic. she’s gonna come again soon”. your head felt more fucked than ever before. the combination of another orgasm approaching and your girlfriend talking to abby about you like you weren’t even there was making your mind fall deeper into a submissive fuzzy mess.

“you wanna touch?” ellie asked and abby’s eyes widened. “‘s ok. she’d like that. wouldn’t you, pretty girl? you nodded fervently “please. touch me abby” abby almost wanted to pinch herself, convinced she was having some kind of hyper-realistic wet dream. she reached out hesitantly. “so fucking wet isn’t she? i think she likes being spread out for us like this” abby managed to breathe out a small “yeah” and she brought a thick finger to your dripping hole. “jus fill her up, nice and slow” ellie told her and you moaned loud as abby followed her instructions.

“s-so tight” abby mumbled as you tried to relax, the stimulation on your clit making it almost impossible not to clench down. “always is,” ellie mused “no matter how many times i fuck her pretty little pussy.” abby groaned at the feeling of you stretched around her and ellie’s dirty words. “now move your fingers properly and make her cum”

[cupid-styles]

Oh fuck tattoorry piercing his girl’s nipples would be so hot specially with how much she loves humiliation that entire interaction would be so sexually charged

this took me FOREVER but I hope you enjoy!!!!

part of the tattoorry/plugrry world

word count: 3k

content warnings: piercings (mentions of needles), spicy but no smut

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Wait, you're being serious?"

Harry huffs out a laugh, sticking his chopsticks in the to-go container of veggie lo mein. "Of course I'm being serious. Why would I lie about that, dovie?"

His response, though not meant to make her feel bad, makes her shrug, a warm blush blooming over the expanse of her cheeks. She stuffs another bite of dumpling in her mouth, chewing it thoughtfully to save her from further embarrassment in front of her boyfriend. 

"Don't feel bad," he murmurs, his large palm finding the space between her shoulders, rubbing her sweatshirt-clad skin comfortingly. Her eyes stay glued to the television in front of them, where they're watching the newest episode of Ru-Paul's Drag Race per Y/N's request. (She's never watched it before and Jo, the receptionist at St. Mark's Social, told her she had to. Y/N's been steadily binging it for weeks. Harry pretends like he doesn't love it, but he's secretly just as invested.)

"Dove, look at me," he sighs, placing his food on the coffee table. She does, positioning herself to face him and flittering her eyes up to his face. He looks tired, but they both are. It's been a long week of work and school — however, Y/N was able to get an interview for the bookstore on campus, which ended up causing her a lot of stress and anxiety. It ultimately went well and they said they'd be getting back to her soon. Even if it wasn't the bookstore she wanted to work at, it was still a source of income that would hopefully replenish some of her savings and help her pay rent and bills. 

"I shouldn't have laughed, I'm sorry I did that," he says softly, "It's just a given to me, because of my work. Nipple piercings aren't otherworldly, like they probably are for you."

She shouldn't be nitpicking, but somehow that hurts just as badly. Sometimes, she feels like a child around Harry. It's as if he's lived a thousand lives in the adult world and she's just recently gotten to have a smidgen of those experiences. 

"It's not otherworldly," she says the word like it's an insult, and Harry has to press his lips into a line so he doesn't laugh, "I just didn't know people got them."

Clearing his throat, he forces himself to put on his professional piercer-and-tattooer face, "Yeah. It's something that anyone can get and I've done a fair amount of them. Semi-painful in the moment with a long healing time. They can look good on the right person, though."

That causes her eyebrows to nearly shoot up to her forehead. 

"What do you mean, the right person?"

"You're just a nosy little thing tonight, aren't you?" Harry fires back with a smirk. She goes to cower with deflated shoulders but he instantly makes a tsk-ing noise with his mouth, grabbing her hands to keep her close, "I just mean, like any piercing, it doesn't always look right on the person. Sometimes people get nose or eyebrow piercings and it's like, oh, that's fine. But sometimes it's as if their anatomy looks complete with the piercing — almost like it's meant to be there, if that makes sense."

It doesn't, but it only continues to pique her curiosity even more. 

"What about me?" 

"What about you?" Harry chuckles, using a hand to smooth her hair down. 

"What piercings would look good on me?"

He smirks at her little game. She plays this sometimes, and he assumes it only comes from a place of true wonder. When they talked about the drugs he's done before, she asked which ones he think she'd like. (None, except maybe for weed, but she has to get her anxiety under control before she tries it.) They went over different styles of tattoos when Y/N was interested in his work, especially when he explained that his are just a hodgepodge of designs, some with meaning, some without. (He said she can get whatever she wants if she decides on something one day, but he's particularly partial to a little "H" on her bum.) And now, she wants to know what piercings would fit her. 

"You can get whatever you'd like, dovie," he replies, "Just as long as I'm the one doing it."

She rolls her eyes and leans her shoulder against the plush of the couch cushion. "Yeah, but you're the professional, Harry! You know what would look best on me."

"Anything would, you're gorgeous."

"That's a cop-out answer and you know it!"

Harry laughs loudly and places his hands atop her shoulders, "Okay, okay. Let me think, dovie. I need to assess my client."

"Oh, you're being a professional now?"

"Shhhh!" he exclaims, and it only makes her laugh harder. He's already gone to that focused place, though, with wandering but fixated eyes and that small crinkle between his eyebrows. She feels bashful beneath his gaze, blinking her eyes as he analyzes her facial features. She's watched him work before, but for some reason, this in particular reminds her of the first time they met, when she sat in on him tattooing Mai. She remembers the way her stomach warmed and her core throbbed at his attuned facial expression, similar to how it is now.

"Okay," he murmurs. Slowly, he reaches up to gently tap at the side of her nose. "I think you'd look very pretty with a small nose piercing."

"Really?"

He nods. "Yes, but you're beautiful with or without, so it doesn't matter. Plus, I can't have my girlfriend looking cooler than me."

She's not surprised at the way he instantly returns to his teasing self, even if it's not exactly the answer she was fishing for. She watches as he leans forward to grab his carton of noodles. With her tongue peeking out to moisten her lips, she attempts to grab his attention again.

"What about...?" she glances down at her chest. Harry looks at her with a quirked eyebrow. Her form is currently swallowed up in a sweatshirt that's a few sizes too large, so she realizes she's not being entirely specific about what she's asking. "Like...?"

"Huh?"

She sighs frustratedly, "My boobs!"

"Oh," Harry's eyes widen, flickering down to her covered breasts, "You wanna know if you'd look good with nipple piercings?"

She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip. She watches at the cogs turn in his brain, his gaze meeting hers a moment later. 

"Need to see 'em." he says decidedly. 

She huffs out a chuckle as he helps her peel her sweatshirt off, leaving her in a comfortable bralette. It's pale pink and sheer, but with Harry's hands splayed across her ribs, he still pulls the fabric down. In an instant, her nipples are stiff and peaked from the cold air, and she's attempting not to feel sheepish underneath his intense eyes as they flicker between her breasts. 

"I don't know why I'm even contemplating it," he says, though it's mainly to himself, "Of course you'd look hot with them. You're you."

He looks up at her with a goofy grin before pressing a kiss between them. She blushes.

"You think so?" she asks as her hand finds the back of his neck. He nods, eyes flickering closed when her fingertips play with the shorter, curly tendrils. 

"Of course."

"Would you do it, then?"

Harry's eyes shoot open. "Wait, what? I thought we were just... talking, I didn't think you were being serious."

Y/N shrugs, "I dunno, I kind of like the idea of it."

"Dovie... you only have your ears pierced," he mumbles, sitting up and reaching to gently touch her ear lobes, "If this is something you'd seriously want, I'd want you to think about it for at least, maybe, a few days, not just 10 minutes."

"I've never done anything impulsive, though," Y/N says through a whine. He understands it, and his face crinkles some at her request. "You've gotten tattoos while you were drunk! O-or given stupid ones to yourself!"

"I know, baby," Harry coos, "But those were stupid decisions and I don't want you to make the same ones. You're so much better than that."

She sighs dejectedly. He presses a kiss to each of her cheeks, then to her nose. 

"I get it, dove, really. And by all means, I'd rather you get an impulsive piercing than a tattoo. But the healing time is really long, and it is painful. I just don't want you to regret it or... or get mad at me, either."

Y/N's heart softens a bit, nodding her head as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. "No, I understand." 

"If you still want them in a few weeks or months, I'm more than happy to be the one to do it," he says softly, reaching down to give her hand a small squeeze. She perks up a little at that, and he smiles. "Just give it some more thought, okay?"

. . .

Harry really, truly thought Y/N would never mention the whole nipple piercing thing again.

It turns out, his girl is way more stubborn than he could have ever anticipated, because it's been four weeks since then and she still wants them. 

In fact, she's currently sitting in his little work zone, where he tattoos and pierces other clients. Not his girlfriend.

"Are you sure?" he asks for the thousandth time. In the time since she first brought it up, she's done tons of research, including asking Harry just short of a million questions. He appreciated her enthusiasm towards education, but talking about nipple piercings as soon as he finished up work wasn't always ideal. Still, though, he made sure to entertain anything she had to ask, even catching her looking up different jewelry styles and what it looked like on different people. 

And, as soon as Jo accidentally overheard Y/N talking to him about it, of course she offered to show her own. Harry wanted to bang his head into a wall as he listened to them excitedly chatter in the corner, right after one of his employees bared her entire chest to his girlfriend. It had to be some type of workplace violation, only Harry served as the closest thing to Human Resources at the shop — and, considering they sold weed on the side, he didn't think he had much of a case against Jo.

It just so happened that Y/N got out of classes early on Wednesday and Harry hung around the shop those days, making deals and doing boring business administration things. When she asked if she could come by to get her piercings done, he reluctantly said yes. 

It wasn't that he didn't absolutely love the idea of it — he did, actually, and his mouth nearly watered at the imagery it created in his brain. What he did hate was the thought of causing his girl any kind of pain. He was still in the camp of being fearful that she'd get angry at him if she didn't end up liking it. But her excitement towards it never wavered, and he would never be one to tell her no.

"Yes, I'm sure," Y/N replies, wringing her hands together in her lap. "I'm nervous, though."

"That's normal, dovie. Just try your best to relax, it's only me."

She nods as he shuts the door to give them some privacy. He never does that with clients, but he wants to make sure he's making it as comfortable as a process as possible — and, maybe he's keen on ensuring no one else gets a peek. 

He busies himself with sanitizing his tools, washing his hands, and eventually pulling a pair of latex gloves on. He wishes he could make it a more fun experience for her, but the whole thing is quite medical.

"You already picked your jewelry out, right?" he asks lowly. She nods her head as she watches on. 

"Mhm. I sent you a picture of it last week."

"Right, these simple pink barbels, hm?" 

The piercing jewelry she'd chosen were pretty spot on to Y/N's aesthetic of being uncomplicated and feminine. When he saw what she picked, he immediately told her that it would fit her perfectly. 

"Alright, I'm gonna clean them and then we can get started. Still feeling good?"

She nods again. 

"You gonna tell me if you're gonna pass out again, baby?"

She scowls, remembering back to fainting from her first ear piercing. The sour, twisted frown on her face makes him laugh. 

"That's still so embarrassing." she mumbles. On the newly cleaned workspace, Harry shakes his head, placing the sanitized jewelry and piercing supples down on it. 

"Not embarrassing. Cute, actually," he corrects, peeling his gloves off. "Okay. I'm gonna help position you, is that okay?"

"Do you do that for every client?"

He narrows his eyes at her playfully, "No, you jealous little fiend."

She pulls her sweater off, revealing a pale blue baby tee. He swallows as she lays back on the extended table, taking a deep breath to surely calm her nerves. He gently squeezes her wrist, hovering over her form as she gets comfortable. When she shoots him a small nod, he smiles, flipping her shirt up. 

"Okay, baby," he says, smoothing his hand over her stomach, "I'm sure you read this in your... insane amount of research—"

"Not insane."

He nods curtly, "Right, not insane," he quickly corrects. "Anyway, your nipples have to be hard for this. It helps with the placement."

She issues another silent nod his way but doesn't move to do anything. With a small smile, he gently cups her breast. 

"Do you want me to?" he asks, his tone dropping lowly. She's not quite sure what he's even asking to do, but she still provides an affirmative answer. It's not a second more before he's latched his lips around her nipple, her eyes fluttering back from the sucking sensation. It's messy, the way he alternates between each one so they're swollen with his spit, and her fingers find his long curls, tugging at them gently to press him closer to her chest. 

It feels like he's gone far too quickly, plushy, wet lips pressing a quick kiss to the valley between her breasts as he examines his work. Her mouth parts as she watches him bite his lip. 

"You're good," he pants out, though he takes a moment to adjust the growing bulge in his pants, "Need to... put gloves back on."

They're both a bit lust-driven now, but Harry's quick to meld back into his professional persona after snapping a clean pair of gloves on his hands. Y/N swallows as he analyzes her, feeling squeamish beneath his eyes. Wordlessly, he grabs a marker and places two dots on either of her nipples. 

"That's just for the placement," he explains, grabbing a mirror so she can look at where the jewelry would sit, "What do you think?"

Truthfully, they could have been completely wonky and Y/N wouldn't have noticed, let alone say anything. She trusts Harry implicitly, even if she still feels a bit hazy from the welcomed assault on her stiffened breasts.

"Good." she says with a nod, glancing up at him, "Looks good."

"Alright, baby," he replies. He turns to get the clean piercing needle from his rolling tray. "I'm gonna count down from three. I want you to close your eyes and inhale on three, then exhale on one. We'll take a short break after the first one, and then I'll do the second. Does that sound okay?"

"Mhm," she mumbles, nervously biting her lip. "Just do it, please. 'm gonna lose my nerve."

He chuckles and nods, instructing her to keep her eyes closed as he situates himself over her. 

"Okay. Three— there you go, dovie, big, deep breath— two, one."

She immediately winces from the sharp bite of pain, a noisy gasp falling from her lips. Harry silently cringes to himself — not because the piercing isn't perfect, but because he absolutely hates knowing he's the reason why she's in pain right now. 

"Keep your eyes closed, baby," he murmurs as he fits the jewelry through the first piercing, "Good girl. You're doing so good for me, hm? My strong baby."

She swallows harshly, hands balled into fists at her side. It's painful, that much is true, and she's beyond grateful when he finally finishes screwing the jewelry into place. She lets out a shaky breath and Harry coos, taking one of his gloves off to thumb her tears away. 

"Was that okay, dovie?" he asks worriedly, "We can always save the second for another day."

Y/N quickly shakes her head, "No, no. Just do the other one now, otherwise I'll never have you do it."

Harry repeats the process on the other side. The pain is just as bad, tears continuing to cloud Y/N's vision and roll down her cheeks despite her keeping her eyes squeezed close. He shushes her softly throughout it, his heart tugging. Once he's finished, he's quick to wash his hands, listening to her quiet sniffles. 

"I know baby, I know," he mumbles. He crosses the room as soon as he's done, sitting down next to her and brushing her hair back, "You did so good, you know that? 's all done, dovie, you're done."

She sniffs, batting her wet eyelashes up at him. "'s done?"

"Yeah, sweetheart." he says with a small, crooked smile. "You were so good. Took it like a champ."

"I didn't, I cried the whole time."

He chuckles and leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Do you wanna see them?"

She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip as he stands to grab the handheld mirror. He helps her slowly sit up, hinging at the waist. He holds it up to her chest, both pairs of their eyes staring at her swollen breasts. His eyes flitter to her face to gauge her expression, scared that she hates them. 

"Wait," she mutters, cocking her head to the side, "Wait... they're kind of hot."

Relief floods Harry's system and he smirks. "You think so?" 

"Yeah," she nods, sitting up on her knees, "I know they're kinda puffy right now but... I think I like them. A lot."

Harry swallows harshly, dropping the mirror on his chair. Suddenly, he's surging towards her and taking her cheeks between his large palms, smushing their lips together like his life depends on it. It takes her entirely by surprise, and it's hurried and hot and desperate, so much so that she's panting into his mouth and gripping at his black tee-shirt. 

When he finally breaks their kiss, strings of spit still connecting their mouths, he keeps his forehead pressed against hers. Again, he glances down to get another look at her chest. 

"I love you so fucking much," are the only words he can utter out before he's pulling her jeans down to bury his head between her legs. 

[murdrdocs]

picturing billy teasing you a little, telling you that you’re so bad at horse riding, that maybe you should try to ride something easier first. something more familiar to work your way up.

and almost foolishly, a little naively in a way that makes billy feel a little bad, you ask if he has a pony waiting for you. but billy only laughs under his breath.

“no, honey.” he doesn’t correct you outright. he cups your chin and lifts you head to get you to look up at him. he takes a step closer and even quirks his eyebrows when you’re not getting it. and then, when your lips push out into an ‘O’ and then twist to a pout, he laughs fully. he lets you slap his arm, not even pretending to be hurt before he pulls you flush to him and presses his lips to yours.

he might’ve brought it up as a joke, but he meant it. he slides his hands down from your waist to your ass, pressing his hands against the flesh through your layers. he kisses you like he usually does, full of both desperation and appreciation. but there’s just a little more desperation this time.

it doesn’t take much coaxing you get you where billy had wanted you in the first place. you look pretty atop him, bare tits sitting perfectly against your chest, gravity encouraging them in their natural stage and not contorted to the side or in any other direction for once.

just the look of your tits alone makes billy want you on him like this more often. but he promised to teach you something. so he does.

“and move your hips like this.” he uses his big hands to push them forward and back, dragging your bare pussy over his clothed cock. he stifles his groan, but you let yours ring out. he pretends to be unaffected enough to tease you. “you paying attention, sweetheart?”

it takes you a second, one you spend with your eyes closed and your nails digging into billy’s thighs behind you, but you eventually nod.

“yeah, i’m paying attention, billy.” your eyes are open and you look determined, euebrows pushed together in the center and your lips parted.

it’s cute.

billy can’t help but kiss you before he continues his lesson.

though, it’s not much of a lesson as it is billy watching you fuck yourself on his cock. you both know this doesn’t have much to do with horseback riding, but while he watches your tits bounce, billy figures you could be getting used to the motions. they are quite similar: the bounce of your tits while you ride billy would surely be similar to the bounce of your tits while you ride his horse. the way you push and pull your hips every so often resembles the way you’ll have to move on the back of a horse.

but the pleasure you’re giving yourself stays here in this room with this moment. that’s where the similarities quickly end in a harsh cut.

billy continues to let you pleasure yourself, no longer caring about the lesson while he watches you apply the motions you’d gotten used to. his hand stay encouragingly on your hips, rough and calloused on your soft skin. the skin that had been untouched before billy came along.

he’s already taught you so much. and this is just another thing to add to the list, with actual horseback riding hopefully soon to join.

[existentialterror]

Fellas, if your story has...

Way too many narrators

Self-aware weird formatting

A metanarrative

Courier font

Meaningful colored text

The story existing as a piece of media within the story itself

A fucked up house

An unreliable narrator

Just way too much about the romantic lives of people who suck

That's not your story, that's

[obscurecurse]

Because I just looooove the "trying to protect you from something by keeping you in the dark about it only led you directly into it - I have created a monster" trope.... CONCEPT: AU where Porchay gets involved in minor organized crime elsewhere in the city as a way to get back at both Porsche (for not telling him the truth about his line of work) and also to get back at Kim (for lying to him/breaking his heart)? Chay is pretending to be all tough and bad but barely knows how to hold a gun at first. He's smarter than his brother though, so he works his way up the evil crime ladder pretty easily. Kim finds out first. He's furious, obvs. The potential for angst is crazy here - and not that far from the canon angst - because Kim only pushed Chay away to protect him, but now, if Chay is like this, maybe he doesn't need to? But Kim also fought so hard to extract himself from the family business - it took him a lot of hard work - and here Chay is doing the fucking opposite and messing everything up for himself.

Kim tries to blackmail Chay. He's like, "If you don't stop this right now, I'll tell your brother." and Chay is like, "I literally don't care what you do." Which is a total lie, but Kim believes it so he goes for plan B and just takes Chay as a hostage to get him out of there/put him in a time out. Chay is pissed, obvs. He's in the back of the van banging on the walls like, "You don't even like me, why the fuck do you care what I do?" etc. Kim does not realize how much power Chay has on the other end of the city so now Chay's gang is going after the Theerapanyakuns for taking their leader. Kinn calls Kim and is like, "For someone who claims to be uninterested in the family business you sure are making big fucking business decisions this evening. Where is Chay?" (Kinn, of course, already knew about all Chay's antics and didn't tell anyone but quietly kept an eye on things to protect Chay bc he is a good quasi-brother-in-law.) Kim is like, "What?" Kinn is like, "Bring him to me. I'll clean up your mess." Chay is still yelling at him from the back seat about how he's a shitty friend and a liar and a manipulator as Kim tries to decide what to do. He doesn't want to give Kinn the satisfaction of fixing this for him. Eventually Kim snaps he's like, "i LoVe YoU oKaY i HaVe AlWaYs LoVeD yOu pLeAsE sHuT tHe FuCk Up" and Chay is quiet for a minute and then he's like, "...Untie me right now."

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

the boy is mine (H's Version)

hi, no long no see in this fandom. but @carolmunson put out a call for writers and I wanted to dive in! see her prompt: here.

It's a romantic night in and that means that sometimes a lot of feelings come out.

Eddie Munson x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: This is a lot of fluff, but some minor heated moments. Post S4, cannon divergent.

______________

The day was boiling--no breeze to cut through the stiff air. But now, as the evening settles, the curtains from the open windows billow just a little. The air is a whisper on the back of your neck as you bring your knees up to your chest. The notebook slips down just a little on your thighs, but you push it back up to get the right angle. Eddie will undoubtedly have a snide remark about your position, but you know the moment he settles back down on the couch, he too will be curled up. Most likely around you, and you’re praying the night gets just a little bit cooler to withstand the walking furnace that is Eddie. 

“Fuck me,” Eddie groans. 

You look up from the work you’ve been doing in coloring in the drawing Eddie sketched out earlier in the day to find Eddie frantically swinging open cabinet doors. He opens another door, without closing the other. Disaster flashes before your eyes. Stitches, a bloody puddle on the floor, should Eddie not be careful and--

Thunk! “Son of a bitch!” Eddie howls, holding the back of his head. In all his hurry, he popped up from the cabinets at the bottom only to smack his head on the corner of one of the open cabinet doors. 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” you call out with a giggle. 

“Looks like 16,” Eddie calls out, eyes narrowed in a squint. There’s only four fingers up. 

“Hmm, I think you’re fine,” you laugh but push up off the couch. There’s the slight shuffle, the almost silent peel of feet off the tiled over kitchen floor. Part of it due to the whatever waxy cleaner you’ve convinced Wayne to use. “Let me see,” you command gently after your approach.

“Careful now, I’m fragile,” Eddie pouts but pulls hand away from the spot. 

“Gonna need a flashlight to get through this thicket,” you tease but gingerly touch at his scalp. There’s nothing damp so you don’t think there’s blood. Eddie tenses under your touch. “Sorry,” you whisper. It doesn’t stop the assessment, but you are more mindful of the pressure you’re using. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie returns his voice soft like yours. 

“What are you even looking for?” So far, you don’t think he broke skin. One good thing, but you are a little worried about something deeper too. 

“A cup. I could’ve sworn I did dishes,” Eddie huffs. “I’m running out of, like nice cups.” You watch Eddie point to the plastic cup on the counter--ones that you’re pretty sure were holding some sort of soda from a gas station in their first life. “Those are the only ones left.”

“Honey,” you coo, urging Eddie to turn around. He doesn't budge, but you press into his back, right above his hip and he turns then. “Those cups are fine.”

“No they’re not,” he sighs. 

“And what makes them not okay, huh?”

“You deserve your Coke in a chalice. Not the 7-11 trash.”

“Perhaps I consider 7-11 cups a chalice,” you return, pressing Eddie’s cheeks together. His lips bubble at the force and you plant a kiss on them. He tastes vaguely like vanilla. The frosting off the cupcakes you two shared earlier still paints his lips sweet even though it’s been a couple hours since they’ve been consumed. 

“You know you don’t and so do I,” Eddie whispers against your lips. His hands find your hips. 

“Hmm, I think I could be convinced.”

“You sure they’re okay?”

“Cups won’t ruin the night, I promise.” 

You don’t need anything fancy. You never have. But you get it. You know Eddie’s always going to want to give you the best. The thing you just wish you could convince himself off is that it’s his best that matters. Whatever Eddie gives you is the best because it’s him--it’s him giving it to you. But you don’t think the words will penetrate. Eddie’s hard headed in his own way, stubborn to his core when he wants to be so you hope that actions do speak louder than words. 

You seal your lips around his again and hum into the kiss when Eddie tugs you in closer. He’d promised a night in--dinner, movies, laughs, anything and everything as long as it was just the two of you. And he’d delivered thus far. Pizza had been called and delivered promptly. When you asked if he had any more Cokes from the case you brought over a week ago, he proudly declared he’d left the last two just for you. Your requests for a cup is what started this, but cups don’t mean a thing when all you’re thinking about is how the scent of Eddie presses against your nostrils and into your lungs like heaven. 

You’ve missed him--missed this. Your new job took more time than your old one. Not a bad thing considering that it was only an extra hour, but it meant having a new routine. It meant one hour less in your day for you to get through the slog of laundry, and dishes, and bills, and errands so that you could sit like a schoolgirl on the phone, twirling your fingers around the cord to talk to Eddie on the phone when you couldn’t visit him. Weekends now are more sacred than ever and you cherish the thought of being able to spend quality time with your boy. 

Eddie’s fingers press through the cotton of your shorts. He tugs you closer, and closer, and closer to his body. He’s warm--as always. But beyond that, beyond the wild curls that always call out to your fingers to be tugged on, or just caressed, Eddie is real beneath your fingers. Through the cotton of his t-shirt, you know what lies beneath. But you are grateful that the t-shirt is still warm. Arousal settles into your stomach, tightening your muscles as Eddie drags his fingers up your spine. But you pull back, the wet echoing smack of a broken kiss hanging between two of you as you both pant. 

“If you don’t stop, we’re going to have a problem,” you laugh as Eddie’s teasing touch moves further and further south on your body. 

“Maybe I’m looking for a problem,” he teases. 

“I am looking for a cup to put my Coke in to have pizza with my boyfriend while we watch movies we’ve seen a billion times. Because you are trouble.”

“You started it,” Eddie squawks indignantly. “You kissed first!”

His hand doesn’t stop traveling. He’s cupping you over the shorts and the ache hits you--bone deep but you don’t falter in your resolve. “Pizza. Movie.” It’s all you say before peeling yourself from Eddie’s hold. “Bring the chalices please,” you call out over your shoulder as you walk back to the couch. 

Eddie snorts but you hear his shuffled steps behind you and you know he is following. The lid to the pizza box is flipped back and the melted cheese greets you with a hefty waft. You grab a slice, the cheese pulling slowly away from its neighboring pieces. Eddie grabs a napkin and holds it just under the slice which you can only assume is threatening to drip grease onto the carpet or your lap. 

“Three good things,” Eddie commands as he reaches for his own slice, asking for the details of three good things that happened in your day. 

You hum around your bite, the pizza still hot just a little as you recount the day. “I’m no longer on the probationary period at work as of yesterday which is great. No one’s breathing down my back anymore. I finally got those jeans hemmed. And I get to enjoy pizza with my boyfriend. Three things--your turn.”

“I got the interview for the record shop,” Eddie starts. “I actually finished a drawing, speaking of which, I swear if you get grease on it,” he laughs pulling the notebook from your lap and tossing it floor away from the coffee table. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you rush out. “I’m still working on coloring it though. Forgot.”

“No harm, no foul. And lastly, I, too, am getting to enjoy pizza with my lovely partner, who did not do such a great job at making sure I wasn’t concussed.”

“I’m newly licensed to sell insurance. I am not licensed to make sure you’re not a walking threat to your own safety.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek--wet and greasy, but you don’t shy away from it. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Oh, I know,” you laugh, turning to look at Eddie. His gaze is soft, big eyes dripping with sincerity. You think you can feel the adoration radiating off him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I love you, you know.”

Your first inclination is to shove it off with a joke. But you can imagine how well that would go--not well at all. “You’re going to make me blush,” you huff, ducking your head. 

“Aw, no, don’t be like that. Let me see it. Let me see you blush,” Eddie laughs, reaching out to bring your head up by a gentle tug on your chin. 

Your face is hot; you can feel it warming the longer Eddie takes you in. His gaze is intense, eyes taking in everything from hairline to chin. You watch the flick of his gaze, as he stares down at your nose, back up to your eyes. His smile is soft and sweet, like the stroke of his thumb over your bottom lip. 

“I’m going to make you proud,” Eddie whispers unlike his normal bravado. Where you know Eddie carries himself with the mask, the loud and brash man unafraid, the quietest remarks are the ones that usually send you into a flatline. 

“You should make yourself proud,” you correct. You’d be a flimsy goal--something akin to trash billowing in a strong wind. It could change all in an instant.

“Making you proud makes me proud.”

“I’m already proud of you.” 

It’s Eddie’s turn to duck, hair falling into a wavy curtain around his face. You discard your crust--which you’re more than likely never going to fish--to a corner of the box and find Eddie’s face behind his hair. “No, you can’t hide either.” Your thumb strokes along his jaw and his eyes flutter close. “Tell me,” you return softly but it’s clear you want an answer, “Do you like that? Being told you’re making someone proud?”

“And you’re telling me you don’t?” Eddie scoffs. 

“Oh, no, I do. But I just want to hear you say it.”

“I like being told I’m making someone proud.” The sentence wavers at first, like Eddie might not be sure he can even get the words out. But the end is strong. Like the mere utterance is enough to solidify the truth within. 

“I’ll make sure I tell you more often then, okay?”

“Okay.”

His gaze drifts down and you know what he’s asking for, so you press in, lips sealing his again. A kiss soft enough that even you think twice if it’s real or not. Eddie hums this time, when you pull away, his head pressing into your shoulder. You can feel the smile on his face as his lips brush over your bicep. 

“Your slices are going to get cold,” you tease when Eddie stays buried in your shoulder for another minute. The third slice you’d been reaching for will go cold too, but that matters much less. 

“Let it,” he hums, burrowing now in your armpit. 

You grab the TV remote before you reach behind yourself to make sure the throw pillow is in place against the arm of the couch for an added layer of cushion. Once you’re sure that it’s in the position you want it, you recline back and open your arms for Eddie to crawl into. He wastes not a second to settle his head onto your chest. 

“Good thing we’ve got microwaves now, right?” you tease, pressing play for the VHS.

[harringtons-cupid]

Eddie Munson

This is 18+ content do not continue if you are under 18, you will be blocked.

Imagines:

➻Perv!Eddie

➻I’ll keep you warm

➻ You’re in the kitchen humming

➻Eddie x Cheer!reader

➻ Bonus night

➻Coming out to Eddie

➻ Hellfire help Eddie set up a date with you

➻You have the attention of Steve and Billy but you choose Eddie

➻Eddie rewards you

➻A good morning to you

Fanfictions

➻I might be in love (complete)

➻The Bat

➻ Just wanna be yours

➻Holding out for you (complete)

➻Mary

[black-quadrant]

🔞 / vashwood

You don’t like it when he begs; for all he’s been through he shouldn’t have to beg for anything. But he’s not begging for anyone, or anything, just for you. There’s a guilty sweetness in knowing that that particular tone is reserved solely for these moments when you’ve got him flat down on the mattress (upon his own wings no less), teasing him if only to drag out each and every breath, gasp, and moan he’s got to give.

“Wolfwood–”

“No. Call for me,” not as your friend, but as your-- “Me.”

“Nicholas.” He slurs your name on his exhale, all drunk on sensation and desire. He aches, but not in pain. He thrashes, but not to escape. You grind your hips into his, demanding friction, demanding like you have any right. But he won’t let you balk, not with his legs wrapped so snugly around you. You’ve lured him out of the cage he’s put himself in by showing him how good he can feel, and Vash is thoroughly enjoying the freedom. He’s safe with you–well–not exactly, but you are safe to him as someone who he doesn’t have to worry about. Grim, but if you die it won’t be by association with Vash the Stampede. And it’s that notion that jimmies the locks on his inhibitions, turning Vash into the sensual creature you knew was buried, smothered and suffocated, underneath all those layers meant to keep others from digging.

“I… I’m–” He’s a beauty from head to toe, obnoxiously gentle, even at the edge of his self-control, fingers twitching in your hair, thighs shaking, he’s holding back.

You drive deep with such ferocity it nearly slams his head into the headboard. But that’s just what he needs to finally let the fuck go, and he’s now tearing at your hair, squeezing around you, biting your lip as he spills over.

He’s out of breath but still the precious thing begs you, please, come in me.

And good God, how can you refuse him.

[supertrainstationh]

Later on today (11-2-22) I'll be playing the original "Mario Party" for the first time in twenty-two years, and I can't wait.

The first time I played it, it was a Friday night Blockbuster rental after my homework was done for the weekend, and my parents would take me and my brother out to rent some games and movies and get a pizza to take home.

I remember spending that Saturday enduring a 60 turn long round of Peach's Birthday Cake so I could get enough coins to unlock some of my favorite minigames for free-play, especially Bobsled Run, which I would play repeatedly, grinding for the best times.

It sounds odd in hindsight, but as I think of it as being odd, I also remember how many happy hours I had already spent improving my times on the Princess's Secret Slide in Mario 64 by the time I was renting Mario Party.

Around that time I was eating a lot of instant ramen, the "oriental" flavored ramen, which I thought seemed like an odd flavor description even at the time, was my favorite to eat while playing Mario Party.

I also used to eat instant ramen while reading gaming magazines, and I have specific memories of eating noodles while reading Mario Party coverage in Nintendo Power and XpertGamer.

I very vividly remember the XpertGamer coverage, but it wasn't until looking for archives of the Nintendo Power issue covering the launch of Mario Party that I remembered that I did in fact have that issue back in the day, though for some reason the Letters to the Editor section left more of an impression on me than the coverage of the actual games that month.

In spite of how much I enjoyed Mario Party and rented it regularly, the sequel, with all its polish and improvements, instantly replaced it, and I never looked back until years later.

The jump from Mario Party to  Mario Party 2 was one of the earlier cases of me being "aware" of game design without things being specifically pointed out to me by an outside source like a magazine or website.

For example, I noticed how Mario Party 2 didn't award players with 10 coins for completing a lap around the board, which was more necessary in Mario Party 1 due to its mechanic of players losing coins for failing to emerge victorious in minigames, and the emphasis on players being able to steal coins from each other within the minigames themselves.

In Mario Party 2, I noticed when the coin-theft minigames that returned from the first game were reworked to no longer involve pilfering from other players, and how while the winners in normal end-of-turn minigames still earned coins, the losers were no longer penalized by having coins deducted.

I also took note of the absence of the first game's single player minigames, with those being reworked into much faster paced item minigames, and generally more cut-throat and unforgiving nature of the first game, and lack of certain elements of polish in terms of the graphics and presentation.

But I didn't love Mario Party 1 less, its differences from later games in the series made me love it even more, though I never rented it again after some time around summer 2000, with the better and more polished Mario Party 2 becoming my Friday night rental mainstay.

Mario Party, was always on that "gotta buy it some day" list in my early college days when N64 games were obsolete, but not yet vintage enough to attract any widespread collector’s appeal and associated prices, which made it a period in which I went back and got many of my late 90's favorite rentals that were now affordable.

Mario Party slipped through the cracks of my campaign to purchase all my old favorites, and as much as a nostalgia trip it was to play Mario Party 2 when it re-released on Wii's Virtual Console service, I accepted it as a given that Nintendo was unlikely to ever re-release Mario Party 1, due to its infamous history of blistering the hands of children and college age gamers with its stick rotation minigames which forced Nintendo to provide fingerless gloves to players.

When a few stick rotation games from Mario Party 1 made their way into Mario Party Superstars, I was genuinely surprised that Nintendo even permitted that, although they did include an on-screen warning not to rotate the stick with your palm.

Even with the inclusion of stick rotation Mario Party 1 minigames into Superstars, I didn't dare dream that this would lead to Nintendo releasing Mario Party 1 as part of Nintendo Switch online.

So finally, the game is out on Switch Online, and after opening it briefly to do some audio checks, I'm ready to make a show of my first experience playing it since 2000, as well as reading the manual and magazines related to it for the first time since back then.

It's gonna happen around 5:00  PM on twitch.tv/SuperTrainStationH, and I look forward to seeing some of you there, if you're interested and able to.

Thanks for reading and watching.