#Sorry for the rambling in tags. Don't know what got over me

[brainfilehasstoppedworking]

I just wanna talk to the people that make Takaaki a bad father. I just wanna talk.

[disorganised-bagel]

Bagel, please, I must see more sillies. Would you ever possibly draw more perfectdolls? (Totally hope I do not sound insane or rude, I just love the cute little drawings you've shared so far!)

hbskjbn?? this is so incredibly nice what???? vjhkskh?????

i am definitely not an artist, but i am so beyond flattered??? huh?????

throws perfectdolls at you

the sillies :D

also here's some ocean/jane too :)

this one is technically fanart for the fic no one deserves to be alone by beepsinquestion (please go read that entire series, it's so good)

i don't really know how to draw jane, but an attempt was made :'D

thank you so much for the ask??? i'm gonna go cry now maybe???? /pos /hj

have a wonderful day :D

[averlym]

whshdfhfjf.,,,

[doodlboy]

wanted to make sure i told you again! it is literally basic fandom etiquette not to use the main tags for vent/anti/hate about a character! people use those tags because they LIKE solomon, not because they want to see some idiot calling him "basically a rapist" for something >>NOT EVEN ASMODEUS<< interpreted that way. fix your fucking tags! go fuck yourself!

Hi there, If your initial reaction to seeing someone talk about negative [yet still canon] things related to your favorite character is to come into that person's ask box and tell them to go fuck themselves, you need to get up, turn of your computer, and go outside for a while.

Whatever post you're mad about was made months ago, using tags that are meant to be used when discussing a character regardless of how much the op likes said character.

Solomon is fine, I don't really care for him, but what I'm most likely referring to in the post you're talking about is the hypocrisy of the obey me fandom when it comes to Solomon's behavior.

When Solomon attempted to give Lucifer a drink that was enchanted to make him want a pact with Solomon, it was fairly well agreed across the fandom that what Solomon did was pretty fucked up and not okay. However, when talking about how Solomon got his pact with Asmodeus by taking advantage of the fact he was heartbroken and drunk to tie him into a forever binding pact against his will, somehow people are making excuses as to why it was necessary and why what Solomon did is fine actually and not a problem at all. This is where my issue with Solomon and his fans lies, with the hypocrisy. I couldn't give 2 shits whether he's your favorite character or not, good for you if he is! But what we're NOT going to do is scream bloody murder when Solomon attempts to do shady shit to Lucifer, but overly demonize Asmodeus, say he deserved it, say his charming power is non consensual regardless of the fact nowhere in canon says he has ever used it to have non consensual sex and has only used it to get himself and his family out of danger, or say that he is a beast that needs to be controlled when we don't talk that way about the other 6 brothers, when Solomon succeeds in taking advantage of his inebriated state to tie them together so he can use Asmodeus' power for his own gain.

And one more thing we aren't going to do; call me an idiot and accuse me of calling your blorbo a rapist when *you* cannot tell the difference between someone saying "a character was taken advantage of while under the influence" and "this character is a rapist." Solomon did not sexually assault anyone, however the framing of that scene is open to interpretation and to my interpretation, it was heavy handed in showing Solomon doing something that is extremely not okay and laughing it off like it was completely fine. Because to him, it IS fine to treat demons like that. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my interpretation of the scene, and I will continue to use characters' main tags when talking about them because the tags are used for discussion.

[snazum]

me trying to stroll thru the ted nivison tag on tumblr for some sick art X READER, IMAGINE, OTHER THINGS I CAN'T REMEMBER THE NAME OF EVEN THO IT'S QUITE LITERATLY RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME XDD

[totally-italy]

do you write?

To be honest, I really would like to be an author, but I haven't had much time to write recently due to excessive amounts of homework, exams and just generally a dooming sense of perfectionism that means that I literally cannot do anything. Unfortunately, this lack of writing happens to extend to some dark poetry that I profoundly enjoyed writing and which was probably also a great form of self-administered talking therapy. I also started writing a musical a bit more than a year ago, but I have not worked on it since last September, at the very latest.

[sureuncertainty]

at least now i've gone through an important tumblr rite of passage, watching a longtime mutual become a radfem :/

[applestorms]

been reading through some of the author commentary from the patreon post archive for HS^2 stuff & writing notes on certain quotes from it and i think i've come up with (slightly) more distinct reasons for why the epilogues/homestuck^2 feel so off and/or frustrating to me. not gonna post the full thing + i'm only about halfway through reading it all, but here's a few points (warning this one gets kinda political):

It’s possible “Ultimate” Dirk’s presence was suppressing other splinters of himself from manifesting.

Wait, so... Ult. Dirk is just suppressing the other splinters? But I thought the entire point was that he subsumed all the other splinters to become one Ultimate Self? Weird, but I guess that plays more into the narrative powers side of things that they put a lot of emphasis on. That, or the creators don't have a very clear idea of what actually makes an Ultimate Self, which would. also work lmfao

Unlike the other victors of the game, Jane threw herself into the world the kids made together. She grew up preparing to take over a major company, and has the confidence to show for it.

Gonna get more into two ideas here in a bit related to this quote, the first being HS^2's Trump Era politics & the second being Jane more specifically. Here's the first connection:

I don’t know if you noticed, but everything is terrible right now. And I don’t mean just in Homestuck’s dumb fake earth. I mean in our dumb real earth. Our planet is burning and folks go to bed hungry just so twelve guys can have more money than Croesus could have ever dreamed of. The concept of “truth” is at its most tenuous – political divisions involve contradictory interpretations of basic facts. I’ve been playing a lot of Death Stranding recently. Basically any media that you’re making in 2019 has to either address what’s going on around us or come off sanitized, sterilized, with its head in the sand. Kojima offers a simple power fantasy: Through Norman Reedus’s sweaty, urine-filled labor, the things that divide us can be banished. America can be unified again.

HS^2 is kind of agonizingly pessimistic when it comes to its (not at all subtle) political messaging, which I suppose you can in part attribute to a Trump-era leftist/liberal culture, but I personally also attribute to a specific flavor of white person existential pessimism. What frustrates me about HS^2's politics in particular though is just how much it talks down to the reader, acting like their (frankly, imo, pretty fuckin basic) reflections on the flaws of capitalism, gender constructs, and contemporary American politics are these revolutionary ideas that nobody other than them truly understands. It's really aggravating to read, honestly, and reminds me a lot of the perspective reflected on in this video by F.D Signifier about Bo Burnham's Inside & white performative liberalism, though in this context the creators are much more insufferable about it than Burnham ever was. (This is NOT to say every creator working on HS^2 was white or even ascribes/d to these kinds of politics, but that's one of the voices that I feel comes through the strongest.)

Edit: Re-watched that whole video and he really does get at the exact idea I'm thinking of. However, I would add that the thing that makes HS^2 feel especially insufferable to me is the fact that it doesn't feel like the authors are engaging in their politics as genuinely or personally as Burnham does. Where Burnham's look into these issues is self-reflective, the existential dread coming from the ways in which he himself plays a part in perpetuation of systems of oppression, I feel like HS^2's creators were unwilling to look at the ways in which they themselves might've benefited from the same kinds of privileges. It's just- it's egotistical, honestly! And it's a vibe that I get from a lot of heavily queer, young, white fandom spaces, which presume that because of their own experiences with queer and trans-based bigotry they understand everything and don't have to examine their own biases or any other nuances to their social position/the privileges they might personally have & continue to benefit from. I don't know- Homestuck was never going to be a good medium for examining the nuances of race and privilege, that was determined by the very first page or whenever Hussie decided non-canon races were a thing, but that doesn't make it any less agonizing to watch such a ham-fisted, pompous attempt at "social commentary." Ugh.

I guess I can understand the desire to get HS^2's politics to be more up to date and with it, again considering what the Trump-era American political landscape looked like (and what HS proper looked like, let's be real), but the way they approach this just makes the authors seem that much more immature to me. I hesitate to even call this political commentary, it's just pointing out that things are bad and then complaining about it. There's no hope here and it shows, and I personally have very little patience when it comes to that kind of perspective. I don't want to be too harsh to the creators or completely undermine the ways they might've faced structural social challenges (yes, trans people have it fucking bad right now! And there was absolutely some bigoted shit directed at the creators that was more reprehensible than anything here, I was there when this shit was coming out, I saw it all too (alongside the genuinely good criticism that they wrote off just as easily, but I digress)), but this shit is just bad, I'm sorry.

Privilege, safety, and inherited wealth do funny things to the brain. People justify to themselves why they have what they have. If you have enough for long enough, you start to convince yourself you deserve it. Jane won the game, lost very little, and as god of a new world decided to dominate its markets as a corporate mogul. Her conception of what was possible with her capability and god-like reason was shaded, limited by the world she grew up in. She is not a goddess of fantasy, a semi-mythical trickster creature like Jasprose, or a meta-aware marionette master like Dirk. She saw a new world and chose, simply, to replicate the power structures of the 21st-century America she was raised in. Boardrooms, power pantsuits, formality and professionalism.

(Longer quote here justifying the horror they did to Jane's character but let's add one more before I elaborate further)

But in the end, isn’t that what every story is? Trying to untie knots that you put in the rope yourself?

This quote is very telling and gets at my issue with the Jane quote from above, really one of my main issues with the all post-canon shit just in general: when the authors were creating a bunch of problems and inserting them into the story, something that is (typically) necessary for any kind of meaningful storytelling, they went about the process of introducing that conflict totally wrong.

In the original story of HS, problems for the characters primarily originated from Sburb, which acts as both the game they're playing and, as is demonstrated throughout Act 1, the world itself. Problems in the story thus often feel at least kind of true to life because they either originate directly from the game & its constructs (which the characters have no control over, parallel to how you can't usually control the world irl) or individuals responding to those circumstances w/ their own set of unique characteristics (Vriska being an active character and creating villains to become a hero but also Rose deciding she has to go through with a suicide mission in response to the game/Doc Scratch and Dave in turn responding to her actions, etc. etc.).

This is not necessarily true for all of the story or every single plot point/character arc, but I think it generally follows, and so for as meta as HS gets, it never really felt to me like you could see the hand of the author when it comes to how major plot elements are introduced, outside of a few very overt examples. Problems are able to crop up fairly naturally through characters responding in what they think to be natural/rational ways to their circumstances, but may or may not be due to the limitations on their understanding. The situation and environment of Sburb and the world of HS itself may be absurd and stupid and crazy and very obviously created by an author, but the characters typically feel consistent and true to themselves as people in how they respond to the absurdity and confusion of their world. It's one of the reasons why I think HS is so appealing as a coming of age story actually, since stepping into adulthood (or even just your teenage years) does often feel like entering a world that is crazy and cruel and unknowable with all of these malicious, far-away forces that know way more than you could ever possibly understand controlling every detail of the world around you and deciding your fate before you even get the chance to know it's coming. These are kids, they really don't have a lot of power even once they ascend to godhood in comparison to the forces they're dealing with, and the story & world reflects that.

The problem w/ HS^2 & the Epilogues is that the authors don't have the same game construct to work with, barely have a world at all to begin with actually, and so they instead twist pretty much every single character into the worst possible versions of themselves in order to try and recreate the same HS absurdity. But it just doesn't work, because there is no real explanation for why every character is suddenly at their lowest point and acting like a fucking idiot all the time other than "ooo adulthood makes everyone worse!" and vague gestures to capitalism and privilege (or what I would call structural ignorance, though I don't think they ever call it that), so the story just comes across as incredibly cruel and uncaring and unabashedly pessimistic in a way that's just miserable to read.

Yes, Jane grew up privileged, it makes sense that she would be sympathetic to capitalism and try to recreate the same social structures that fucked people up on the original Earth- but that is not nearly enough justification for why she has suddenly gone full fascist dictator endorsing troll eugenics and trying to murder people, and it doesn't even work well as social commentary cause it's so extreme right from the start that it couldn't possibly reflect real life issues or the development of actual fascist/bigoted ideas. Yes, Trump's ties to the alt-right are fucking terrifying and conservative politics in general in the U.S. nowadays are incredibly fucked, but there's still logical people and seemingly rational explanations being utilized to justify the bullshit that many people genuinely believe in and HS^2 fails to meaningfully reflect or comment on any of those, at least from what I can tell. Everyone is consistent with how they are terrible, I'll give them that, for Dirk and Jane and everyone else the flaws that are being emphasized are ones that are generally kind of consistent with canon, but I simply cannot get behind why they suddenly decided to be the worst possible versions of themselves other than that the authors realize they needed plot and decided that the best way to make Candy and Meat the Bad Timelines:tm: was to spontaneously make everyone as insufferable as possible.

I think a part of the problem is the time skip, honestly. And the fact that Earth C as a location itself is surprisingly underutilized when it comes to creating problems for the characters. The characters are gods ruling over a world where they can be dictator of the globe at the end of a single election. Without the game and the lack of distinct outside villains, there is nothing stopping them from having full agency over everything other than each other, so in order to create plot, instead of going through the effort to create a world or social structure they just made everyone worse and called it a day. It's like the epitome of white liberalism's inability to understand bad systems vs. bad individuals- there are no real systems here, nothing that actually functions past a name, so everyone is just fucking terrible.

(Honestly, I think the fact that there are no overt outside villains could've been a good way of transitioning to the fact that these characters aren't kids anymore- if Dirk and Jane didn't have to be transformed into fucking caricatures of themselves in order to do it. Really the problem is that so many of the characters that used to add interesting nuance to the social conflict are fucking dead now. RIP trolls.)

Since this is turning out to be the political astronaut ramble I guess I'll just keep going for a bit: one of the most meaningful insights a professor has ever given to me came is the idea that we "haven't earned our pessimism yet," as the younger generations, or haven't faced The Shit directly or long enough to justify having as little hope as we do. Many of us have looked at the problem and given up before even trying to solve it, and are, in fact, not really justified in making such a decision.

For me, there's an additional layer to that idea as well: one of the ideas that Beauvoir talks about in her feminist philosophy is that of agency, wherein social privilege allows for certain groups to decide which meaning-creating projects they want to or to not take on where others are not allowed to make the same choice. If you sit in any kind of position of social privilege, that historical role has continually been the one to not only benefit from the rules, but make them in the first place. This kind of pessimism is thus not just unearned, not just frustrating to listen to, but actively harmful to the creation of meaningful change. Who really benefits from inaction? From a lack of change to the status quo? And who are the privileged to make decisions about whether or not we're allowed to fight for this shit in the first place?

[emile-hides]

If you could make only ONE fairy tail ship of yours canon with the magic of your brain which ship would it be? Please ramble. 💚

Laxus/Freed no question about it. It's not even a contest.

Would I like the Levy/Lily/Gajeel polycule to be real? Yes, yes of course I would, but Gajeel/Levy is canon and that's enough for me.

Honestly out of all my Fairy Tail ships (which you can see a full list of Here on my Ship Blog) Laxus/Freed is the closest to canon, and the only one I'd think "Big Win" if it did go canon.

I've never cared much about a ship I like going canon anyway. It doesn't effect much other than the amount of people talking about it.

Honestly what I'd rather do is uncanon some ships.

Number 1 being Erza/Jellal. I have such a thing against Jellal and I apologize he deserved his redemption I'm glad he didn't just like. Die or vanish into obscurity but like! I hate the idea of him and Erza being a canon couple with children some day!! Hate it!! It puts a bad taste in my mouth. I hate being negative tho so I'm not gonna ramble about it too much...

You know what else I want to uncanon?? The ship that floats the whole damn story; Zeref/Mavis

I hate it I hate it I hate it so much I hate how fanon treats it all cute and shit when it's probably the canon most Dead Dove do Not Eat kind of content canon has given us. I don't hate it because it's Dead Dove, that's actually what's holding it together for me, what I hate about it is how integral to the plot it is, how True Love it's treated, how sweet and tragic and twisted by fate it's treated.

It's not! Any of those!! It's a 400 year old man falling in love with a 13 year old girl and yes she's 20 Years Old when he actually realizes what he feels is love but she's still!! Physically!!! Thirteen!!! That's the Point Of The Curse!!! And then!!!!! He impregnates her!!!! AFTER HE THINKS SHE DIES!!!! HELL-FUCKIN-O????

I LOVE Zeref, and I really like Mavis too, I love The Curse Of Contradiction inflicting them both, I love the twisted "love" Zeref feels for Mavis, I love his desperation to find something to love to cling to project on to to save him to fix him to make him feel human again, I love Mavis' bleeding heart, I love Mavis' desire to save Zeref to fix Zeref to make him whole because she's so ful lof love for the world around her and she can see he's suffering and need someone anyone to help him

I think they're story is wonderfully dark. I think Zeref's obsession with her is something I'd very normally adore reading about, but the way it's treated in canon and fanon as a wholesome romance lovers torn apart by fate Romeo and Juilet Bella and Edward bullshit really ruins the whole thing.

Zeref/Mavis is really fucked up and I think we should treat it as such. Not in a boo hate the artist hate the shippers way but in a fun acknowledgment of Dead Dove content way.

[oculusxcaro]

👫- twcfaces? bc i like that our interactions revolve around two bagels.

Send a 👫 and I’ll write four headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship

When it's late at night and Harvey needs somewhere quiet (or a bite to eat), Pauli's Diner is the place to go. Not only is there food, coffee and a private booth whenever he wants it, he can also find impartial advice from the waitress who served him two bagels during his first visit. A box of dessert and the honest truth that Harvey had simply lost track of time recently went over well in smoothing any tensions back home with Gilda, making Harvey a repeat customer during those trials that run long into the night.

Khare didn't actually learn he was the Harvey Dent, Gotham's most celebrated Defense Attorney until his third or forth visit, always treating him just like she would any other customer. Other prestigious lawyers in his position might have been offended by such behaviour but having somebody treat him so... normally is as amusing as it is a relief.

I like to think it was Harvey that helped Khare realize she was being grossly taken advantage of by the landlord she was renting from? Not only is it highly illegal to spike rent so suddenly without advance warning, there's a dozen other rules and regulations he overhears being broken such as failure to uphold maintenance, unsanitary living conditions and many more, causing his lawyer senses to come to life.

When Harvey was disfigured by Vincent Maroni, Khare was genuinely upset to hear the news and sent flowers to his ward. They were a little sad and limp since it was all she could afford and as a result, she never signed the get well soon card that accompanied them. The only indication it came from her was because it was food-themed saying "You're one tough cookie!" Harvey never said a word to anyone but he had a hunch as to who sent them.

[churipu]

( OO2 ) ★ dude (romantically) , gojo satoru

featuring. gojo satoru x reader

warnings. cursing, 2006 highschool era, one sided enemies to lovers (alias u hate him bcs of "reasons", and u think he hates him too), gojo being such a fucking tease i love hate him so much, a lot of cringe and weird pet names from gojo bcs he's kind of a little shit, you being mean to him and you make him sad (but you'll make up dwdw, i don't need angst rn), um...kissing (yhyh u guys kissed, so what >:() // wc: 4.0k

ENTRY ( OO2 ) OF THE "INTO THE IPINVERSE" MILESTONE

"i hate you." "say that again?"

tags: @sad-darksoul, @sweeneyblue1, @idkuluka, @colorful-happy-shit

there are a lot of moments that you hate in life, but with all due respect, meeting gojo satoru has got to be at the top of your fucking list.

white hair, blue eyes deeper than the ocean. god, why does he have to be so pretty? why couldn't he be born with no hair and no eyes at all? because that, that would make it easier to hate him completely — yes, you're implying that he's physically attractive.

"hey, apple pie," gojo sings out, slinging an arm over your shoulder, "i missed you."

you pushed him away harshly, "don't call me that, gojo. and i don't fucking miss you," a strained whine escaped his throat as he feel the distance in between you both widen at your push.

"come on, sugar bear."

"jesus christ, stop calling me those fucking nicknames." you seethe out at him, standing up to walk away — escaping this hell, escaping gojo satoru and whatever tricks he had up in his sleeve.

"i know you like them," gojo sings out, skipping to catch up with you. shoving both of his hands inside his pockets, "come on, annoyed acrylic nail."

you stopped for a bit, amazed at the nickname. so amazed that you almost actually pulled out a laugh card at him — god, he's insufferable, "what the fuck was that nickname?"

"you kiss your mother with that mouth?" gojo asks, leaning down a bit to put his ugly face up close to yours. frankly, it's frustrating because he's an absolute beauty, what a prick.

"my mother's dead."

gojo widened his eyes a tad bit, "my god — pumpkin, it was just a saying." he sighs, scratching his nape awkwardly, "sorry for your loss."

you rolled your eyes, continuing your aimless walk. the sole point of this walk was to avoid the male, yet here he was, walking alongside you. silently. as you turned corners after corners, he trailed behind you, turning the same corners after corners.

"can you," i look at him, "leave me alone? why the hell are you following me?"

gojo shrugs, "no reason. can't i do that now?" you shook your head, "and why not?"

"this is — stalking. an act of following me around, i feel intimidated. do you want me to file a report, huh? huh?" gojo chuckles at your ramble, finding you quite adorable; in his eyes, you were like this small creature, trying to be intimidating.

"definitely not." he chuckled, "come on, chatterbox. you should let me take you out sometimes, what d'ya' think? sounds good?"

"no. just — don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't even breathe the same air as i am," you muttered out, flipping your middle finger at the male out of annoyance making him guffaw.

his slender fingers grabbed your hand, pushing it down gently, "are you implying that i should die?" his voice came out cheeky and teasing.

"yes."

he rolled his eyes, "you're gonna miss me when i do actually die, bet you'll cry and say y'miss me." the male laid his hand on top of your head — patting it lightly, "come on, bonbon. let me take you out, for food, for smoothies, for desserts. anything you want, i'll give it to you."

you heaved out a sigh, "gojo, no — just, no. and leave me alone."

the male eyes you, "you hang out just fine with suguru. all sunshine and rainbows, why d' you not give me the same treatment, huh?" he questions, almost offended at the thought of both you and suguru laughing and joking in front of him.

"'cause you're not him, obviously."

gojo furrowed his brows, expression filled with frustration, "what does that even mean? what's so different about suguru and i? he's a good guy, but 'm a good guy too. right?" he asks, voice low and meek.

"just — shut up, alright? leave me alone."

this time, the male complied; refusing to trail your figure as you disappeared around the corner. his eyes following you until you were gone, chewing on his lip in annoyance.

he didn't understand you, in his eyes you were like a lost cause. and it perturbed him, his peace, his life. the male is dying to know whatever the hell he'd done wrong to make you hate him so much, whether it being his constant nickname for you or was it because of the fact that he's always there to make fun of you?

gojo wouldn't be this bothered if you were like this to everyone. however — the fact is that you're only like this to him. and why? he didn't know.

and he hates it.

very helpful google.

the teen boy threw his head back, sighing out loudly — a few hours since that conversation with you and he still hasn't been able to get you out of his mind.

"what'cha doing?" a shadow peered over him, the white haired male fluttered his eyes open slowly; the afternoon sun gracing his face as he tries to make out who the person above him was.

"nothing," he muffled out, looking to the side — geto chuckled, jumping over the male's head before taking a seat next to him, "did you just jump over my head?"

"mhm," geto hums, "so? is it about y/n?"

gojo looks at his friend, "was it that obvious?" geto chuckled, nodding his head mutely, "try to think about it — as far as we've known each other, what the hell have i ever done wrong to them? i'm so lost."

"who knows? maybe they like you."

gojo rolled his eyes, "who in their right mind, would act like that to the person they like? that's just stupid." geto chuckled.

"people like y/n obviously."

the white haired male huffs out in defeat, "is it because of the weird nicknames? in my opinion, they're really cute. i mean — pumpkin, sugar bear, apple pie? you'd like to call your partner that too, right?" he babbles out, still in trance, wondering what he ever did wrong to you.

geto spared a glance at his friend, "no, that's stupid. it's pretty cringe," he honestly informed.

gojo's jaw tightened in response as he stared at his friend in betrayal, his lips parted as he wanted to deliver something — but the blue eyed male slowly shuts his mouth, pondering for a bit before delivering his comment, "okay, you're partly right. but i enjoy calling them that. they're cute, and my nicknames are cute." he pouted, his glasses slipping down a bit.

"annoyed acrylic nail? really? you can do better than that, satoru."

gojo's head snapped towards geto, "how'd you know about that one?" he narrowed his eyes.

"y/n, who else?"

"traitor. and mind you, i got that from a quiz i was playing on the internet."

geto tittered out in pure amusement, "they were just telling me about what happened," he explained, "and boy, was it interesting to say the least."

"what'd they say about me?" gojo asks, his voice soft. almost scared to question his friend, scared to hear about how you'd describe him — despite being this, "calm", "coolheaded" man he portrays, when it comes to you, it felt like judgement day.

"oh, nothing much," geto uttered out calmly, "how they can't stand you sometimes and how you maunder out the oddest nicknames on earth — oh, and how they find you physically attractive." geto finds himself whispering the last part.

geto was one to say the truth about these kind of things. except, he's now being a little cupid, alias . . . you never told geto that gojo is physically attractive. but the first two comments were the absolute truth.

"they did?" how cute.

geto nods his head mutely, "maybe you should go meet them, they were pretty intent on describing you as quote unquote, the most attractive boy they have ever met," the lie rolled over his tongue smoothly that gojo couldn't help but to grin widely.

"tell me about it, suguru. please, please?"

geto was most delighted to do so. the male enjoying this banter more than anything — if he wanted one result, it was to get you and gojo together. frankly, he finds it quite the mediocrity that you and gojo aren't in an established relationship as of now.

"they were saying how you have these pretty blue eyes that they'd love to look at every hour," geto started, "and how they actually don't mind some of your nicknames — like, sugar bear. they find it endearing."

little bastard. gojo was smiling like a fool right now, his long legs crossed happily as he sighed out in content, "i fucking knew it."

"well, what're you waiting for?"

gojo hops up, peering down at geto who was still seated, "i owe you one, suguru," geto chuckled, shaking his head.

oh, he owed me more than one. geto thinks to himself, waving his friend goodbye.

"hey, sugar bear." gojo confidently approached you, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk on his face, "i missed you."

groaning out in response, you covered your ears with the palm of your hands; not wanting to engage in the conversation right as it started. gojo chuckles softly, circling his fingers around your wrists, pulling them away from your ears, "come on, why're you always so mean to me?"

"you get on my fucking nerves. asswipe." you muttered out, pulling your wrists away, "and don't touch me."

gojo winced, "ouch. so, heard from someone that you called me attractive, huh?" his eyebrows danced up and down in delight, as if he was mocking you.

you arched your brow in confusion, because for all you know. one, you never said that to anyone. two, even if you did find him attractive, you didn't remember ever telling that to just anyone — hell, you don't remember telling anyone about it either.

"excuse you?" gojo gave you a lop-sided grin.

"so? why're you keeping up with the attitude?" he whispers out, shaking his head.

"gojo, what the fuck? who did you hear that from?" you interrogated the male, one of your hand resting on your hips, "whoever the fuck gave you that information is making shit up — no, i don't find you attractive."

the male rolled his eyes at your stubborn demeanor. well, you weren't particularly stubborn; you were partly framed at this point since you don't remember ever saying that to anyone.

"come on, why'd you have to lie to me? it's not like 'm gonna be angry or anything," you sent a sharp glare at him, because he is wrong for saying that — you made it clear you never expressed that forbidden thought to anyone. so why was he saying this to you?

"gojo—"

"why do you call suguru by his first name but me by my surname?" gojo cuts you off.

"gojo, listen—"

before you could say anything else, the male confidently hushes you down, yet again cutting your words off. and if there's anything else you hated more than gojo satoru, it's being interrupted while you were talking.

"gojo, respectfully, shut the fuck up." you scowled at him, and that indeed managed to shut him up almost immediately — the glare you had in your eyes signifying that you were actually serious. gojo can't help but to swallow the non-existent lump in his throat at the sight.

"i never said anything about you being attractive, and whoever the fuck said that to you is a pathological liar. this is getting tiring," you slowly, and calmly tell him. way too calmly for his liking, "you're bothering me. so with all due respect, can you like . . . maybe, leave me the fuck alone and never talk to me unless it's mission related. it's fucking annoying."

gojo was silent. he was clueless of how to react, a part of him wanted to get angry, he has so much questions to ask you. but another part of him just wanted to lay down low and walk away. and gojo went after the latter.

his stomach churned as he processed your words silently, his smile dropping, and his gaze softened. the male inhaled sharply before nodding his head, "okay, sorry."

and he turned his heels, slowly walking away out of your sight — you stared at his back, watching him walk further and further.

letting a string of curses escape your lips, you felt the urge to reach out to the male. call out to his name. say you were sorry and how you didn't mean that — god, sometimes you think it was you that should respectfully shut the fuck up.

" . . . goj—" you shook your head, deciding to just stay silent for now. for now.

this wasn't the first time you've told him off; and he always comes back the next day, so gojo would probably be the same old him tomorrow, right?

wrong.

gojo was dead set on what he was doing, avoiding you. and damn, he was pretty good at it — that it pisses you off. because why isn't he calling you those weird nicknames? why isn't he trailing after you anymore? why isn't he talking to you? why isn't he batting an eyelash at you? one week and still going strong.

"heartbreak problems?" geto appears beside you, taking a seat next to you, whistling out loudly, "over satoru? that's a first."

you wanted to retort back to the male, but honestly, there isn't any point to it. so you actually bobbed your head, "guess so," you muttered out lowly, balling your fists.

"what happened?"

his question made you side eye him, you were pretty sure gojo would've told him by now — after all, they're quite the pair at school. so this was an honest surprise, "shit happened. i said things that i obviously didn't mean, and now i'm suffering the consequences of my own actions, fairly enough, it fucking sucks."

"so, you're openly admitting to me that you do like him?" geto questioned softly, his eyes traveling to the ceiling of the classroom, "satoru? the one you shit-talk about every single day?"

you grunted, "jus' because i shit-talk him. doesn't mean i hate him," geto blinked feverishly before laughing out, "the hell are you laughing at, asswipe?"

"i told him you found him attractive. but i guess things didn't go as i expected," geto spouts out the truth, his laugh dying down slowly into a small smile, "what did'ya say to him?"

"thought you'd know by now, and that was you? fuck." you murmur out, "i told him to leave me alone and never talk to me unless it's mission related. i said it was annoying— that he was annoying."

geto hums out, "why're you always so angry towards him anyways?"

good question. why?

"that's . . . none of your concern, suguru." you ended up shutting down his question, chewing your lips in pure annoyance.

the male raises his hands up, "right. it's not mine — but it is satoru's, you should talk to him," he advices, "he's been miserable, trust me."

"he looks like he's doing fine, and doesn't he like . . . hate me?" geto raises a brow in disbelief, wondering if you were just plain dumb or too oblivious — or both. the male shakes his head, "oh. i thought he would by now."

"y'think he would do all that thing to you when he hates you?"

"well, it's him so it wouldn't be surprising. really." you chuckled out hoarsely, "and are you really giving me advice right now? because i can't fucking believe i'm actually getting an advice from you out of all people."

"that offended me." he smiled.

"well, sorry. i've never taken you for the advice giver type of person, so? is it really my fault?" you questioned, making the male roll his eyes in response.

"you have a man to chase, why are you still talking to me?"

right. you did, "bye suguru, i owe you one."

geto sighs out, remembering the same words that gojo had said to him a week before — and how the tables have turned. he was thoroughly enjoying this all.

"gojo."

the male stopped when heard your voice. your sweet, loving voice. oh how he missed it — your voice, your glare, you. finally sparing his first glance at you after a week.

it was hard. he's miserable. he wanted to approach you, he wanted to call you the nicknames he'd searched on google before morning comes, he wanted to talk to you even if it ended up on you scolding him with very nice words, he wanted to see you. gojo just wanted to see you.

the white haired male has never felt so miserable in his life. this was the farthest he has ever been from you, and it was honestly killing him inside.

"what?" he asks, wondering if he had done yet again, something to make you approach him first like such. because one thing he was confident in is that, you, y/n l/n, would never approach him for anything besides missions or . . . anger, "what did i do wrong this time? i didn't talk to you like you told me to. so?"

"you're fucking unbearable." you muttered out, fists balling tightly — very much angry at him, and at yourself.

gojo raises a brow, "i'm unbearable? what makes you think you can come up to me and tell me that?" he asks you, his voice soft, and a ghast of his blue eyes reflecting behind the dark lenses of his glasses.

"god, i hate you so much."

no, no, no. it wasn't supposed to go this way, you weren't supposed to say that you hated him — and the way gojo furrowed his brows at your statement made your heart drop. why couldn't you just mutter out the word "sorry" and everything would be back to normal.

when people tell you that, "sorry", "thank you", and "please" are the hardest words to say. you didn't take it literally — but now that you were in a position to say one of them, you could finally agree on it. why was it so hard to mutter out a five letter word?

"okay, you made it clear last week. what else do y'want me to say?" he muffled out lightly.

"i hate you." you repeated, "so fucking much."

gojo shakes his head, prompting to ignore you. he turned his heels and began to step away from you. he didn't need anymore hurtful words from you; from someone he deeply has feelings for, "don't fucking walk away," he heard you speak.

"don't . . . walk away." your voice dropped down a tone, "please."

the male hesitated, but he stopped walking in the end. gojo had only stepped away a few times and he couldn't fucking stand it, the way you called out to him — lord, if this hasn't been so serious. he swore he would be running to you right now, how he wanted to have you in his arms right now, even if it ended up with you pushing him away. he would take the chance.

it was better than having to ignore you like this.

"what?" he breathes out again, this time a little curious to what you had to say.

you blinked, parting your lips to say something, but nothing would come out. a few seconds passed, and your lips are still parted. and you were starting to grow desperate, desperate to say something — anything at this point. anything to make the male stay, to stop him from walking away.

"y/n . . . i don't have time for this." he mutters out, trying to keep his act up, even if he was fighting back the urge to just drop everything and run to you.

"no, wait. gojo— satoru." it took one specific word to roll over your tongue, and his heart was racing rapidly. his cerulean eyes intently looking at you from behind the dark lenses, "please, i . . . i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, so please don't walk away from me. don't do that again."

gojo felt his heart began to pound. the male stood there, his breathing growing rapid, "i didn't mean what i said to you — it was my fault. i'm fucking miserable, satoru. i don't know what to do," you tell him, voice lacing in desperateness, "i fucking hate you for this. i swear to god, it's disgusting . . . the feelings. i've never felt like this before and i hate it. i think about you all damn time, i hate you because why the fuck am i feeling like this? i can't stop, satoru."

the male parted his lips to respond, but you cut him off, continuing your words. groggily fiddling with your uniform, brows furrowed, eyes glassy, you continued, "so don't fucking walk away from me. don't fucking ignore me, please."

it took gojo no time to stride over to you, "fuck. do you know how fucking miserable i was for one. whole. week? do you think i wanted to ignore you? to not look at you?" his large hands cupped both side of your face, "i was fucking miserable, y/n. i just wanted you to know how much i fucking missed you. one day," he raises up a finger, "one day felt like a whole year, i can't stand it much longer. so, please — don't push me away anymore."

you look up at him, lips slightly parted, "i hate you."

gojo tilted your face up to him, "say that again?"

his fingers traveled down, brushing the skin of your neck vividly. even with his glasses on, you could see his eyes perfectly — and how they gleamed brightly. gojo smiles lightly, using his other hand to grab your right hand, placing your palm on top of his chest. where his heart was. the constant rapid thuds that you could feel against his chest made your heart flutter.

"god, i fucking love you," he breathes out, drawing your face towards his, his lips inclining towards yours — and your mouths fell together, a few seconds passed and gojo pulled back slightly, his lips parted, "i fucking love you, y/n," he whispers softly, capturing your lips into another kiss.

the hand you had on his chest lightly crumpled against his uniform, holding the male in place as you yearned more of the taste of his lips. it was vague, but you could taste strawberries — and . . . cream cheese. pulling away, you stared at him, "dude."

gojo arches a brow, etching your fingers off of his uniform. lacing them together with his — like a perfect puzzle piece, it was like his hand was meant for yours, and yours for his, "what did you say?"

clearing your throat, you said, "dude, but romantically."

the male chuckles, "you ruined our kiss and our moment, for that?" he pressed a kiss onto the tip of your nose, maintaining eye contact, "d'you know how long i've been wanting to do that? to kiss you?"

you shook your head, "no, but did you eat something with strawberries? and cream cheese? i could taste it."

gojo blinks, "oh, yeah. i had some daifuku," he replies, scratching his nape sheepishly, "why did you have to bring that up now, couldn't it wait until later?"

"dude." he looks at you in disbelief.

"but romantically, again." you added, and gojo smiles, "i can't help it — i don't know what to say."

"i do," he pressed a kiss into the hollow of your forehead, "date me. i promise i'll treat you well. i won't call you those nicknames anymore, just — i just need you to be close to me."

"what if i said no?"

"after that kiss?" he pulls away from you.

"kidding, dude."

the male whines, "stop calling me dude," he said, "can't you call me something else? baby? honey? darling? cutie? handsome? none of that?" he asks out.

"dude is pretty romantic." you rolled your eyes, "do you ever hear me calling anyone else with dude?"

he shook his head, "you never call anyone with a nickname anyways." gojo grumbled under his breath, looking away, "fine, what do you prefer? i don't do well with — nicknames."

"i like the sound of baby, or handsome. i am handsome, right? right?" you rolled your eyes, but gave out a subtle nod, "i knew it, you did find me attractive after all."

"shut up or i'm sticking with dude."

"no," he brushes his lips against your cheek, "i'm baby now. and you — you're sugar bear, pumpkin, apple pie, annoyed acrylic nail, and more to come."

"didn't you say you won't call me those nicknames anymore?" you questioned him with a light smile.

"uh . . . no, you heard wrong."

"okay, dude." you chuckled.

"y/n!" he whines.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[steddieas-shegoes]

hate to remember you like this

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'angst with a happy ending' rated m wc: 1000 cw: mention of car accident, medical emergency, temporary amnesia tags: post-break up, assumed unrequited feelings, getting back together

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

"Eddie, it's Steve."

Robin's words echoed in his head as he boarded the plane.

He left Steve three years ago because Steve told him to go, told him that if his dreams were so big that he couldn't stay then he had to leave and not come back.

Steve refused to talk to him since, refused to visit when all the kids came to his shows, refused to show up to Christmas at Wayne's.

So he shouldn't be on this flight to see Steve.

But Robin had insisted that Steve asked for him, and Eddie couldn't ignore the immediate need to be there for him.

Despite time, distance, and the constant feelings of regret mixed with heartbreak and anger, he still only wanted Steve.

He didn't know what happened, just that Steve had been in a medically induced coma for over 24 hours and the moment he woke up, he was begging for someone to get Eddie.

Robin had mentioned that he didn't seem to have all of his memories, but didn't tell him any details on which memories he may be missing.

He sat in his seat and hoped that whatever he was walking into would be closure for his heart.

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

The kids were all sitting in the waiting room when he arrived at the hospital.

The moment Will saw him, hell broke loose.

"Who called you?" he asked.

"Robin. Are they letting people back?" Eddie asked.

"You shouldn't be here," Will said.

Eddie looked at his stance and couldn't help but smile. Will had grown incredibly protective of Steve after Eddie left, much to everyone's surprise.

"He asked for me. I promised I'd come if he ever needed me."

Everyone was quiet for a moment.

"Room 186. He was awake a little while ago, but they're only letting two people in at a time and Robin and Joyce have been with him for the last hour."

"Thanks."

Room 186 wasn't far down the hall. He could hear Joyce's motherly tone fussing while Robin sounded like she was rambling to herself.

When he walked into the room, his breath caught in his throat.

Steve was bruised, and half of his head was wrapped in bandages that looked like they needed to be changed.

But he gave Eddie a soft smile.

A smile he didn't deserve.

"Baby, tell Joyce to stop worrying herself to death over me. I'm fine."

Baby.

Robin and Joyce glanced over at Eddie, waiting for his reaction.

"I got it from here, Joyce," Eddie smiled at her and Robin, understanding coming over him swiftly.

"Alright, Eddie's got ya for a bit, but I'll be in the waiting room if you need me," Robin said, patting Steve's hand.

She gave Eddie a death glare on her way out of the room, silently suggesting that he would need a room at the hospital if he dared to hurt Steve in any way.

He sat down next to Steve, taking in his injuries.

"What took you so long?" Steve asked him, pouting slightly.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Got caught up with the band."

"But it's Wednesday. You don't have practice on Wednesdays."

Eddie sighed.

"Stevie, what year is it?" Had no one checked him for a concussion at any point in the last 12 hours?

"1988."

"It's 1991. You remember my band made it?" Eddie was going to get murdered by Robin for ruining whatever fantasy Steve's mind had settled on.

"What? But-" Steve's brows drew together as he tried to work through his own thoughts and memories. "You guys made it?"

"Yeah, we did."

They sat in silence while Steve processed.

Eddie felt the moment his memory started to come back, the room suddenly going cold.

"You left."

"Steve-"

"You left me," his voice broke, much like it had the night he screamed at Eddie as he walked out the door.

"I did."

"Why'd you come?"

"You asked me to. I'll always come when you ask."

Steve looked at him, his eyes heavy from whatever cocktail of drugs were flowing through his system, glassy with unshed tears.

"Then why did you leave?"

"You asked me to."

"I wanted you to stay. I always wanted you to stay."

"I wanted you to come with me."

They were both tense, Eddie's hands curled into fists against his thighs and Steve's body curling in on itself, preparing for a fight Eddie wasn't going to give him.

"I couldn't."

"I know."

"So, you'll leave again and I'll stay?" Steve asked, choking back a wet sound that Eddie recognized as a sob.

"I'll be here as long as you need me."

Steve searched his face.

"Why now?"

"Because you asked. Because I know what it's like to leave you and I know it's not worth missing you." Eddie gulped. "Because I love you too much to walk away from you again. Not unless it's what you want."

"I never want that."

"Then I'll be right here," Eddie reached for his hand, holding it gently in his own.

"You can't, though. You made it, Eds."

"I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out. Okay?"

Steve stayed silent for a while, but didn't pull his hand away.

"You'll stay while we figure it out?" he finally asked.

"Yeah. As long as it takes."

"Seal it with a kiss?" Steve asked, the way he did when he asked for Eddie to promise that he'd take out the trash, or stop at the store, or love him always.

Eddie leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve's.

Steve smiled as he pulled away.

"First thing to figure out: a new car."

"You totaled it?"

"She was good to me for so long. Unfortunately, she took things worse than I did."

Hard to believe looking at how swollen and bruised most of Steve was.

But they sat and talked through his plans for another car, something he could take on longer road trips to visit all the kids at school, see a few of Eddie's shows.

They'd figure it out.

[denim-mixtapes]

Showstopper

And I know it's just a phase, you're not in love with me, but if you wanna piss off your parents, baby, that's alright with me.

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader Word Count: Just over 15k Summary: Dreading going home to strict parents over Thanksgiving break, your good friend Eddie Munson offers to tag along and pretend to be your boyfriend to get under their skin and take their focus off of you. Over tense dinners and pointed conversation, you seek comfort in his closeness, blurring the lines between fact and fiction. (Based on the song 18 by Anarbor) Warnings: NSFW 18+ SMUT, Minors DNI or I'll stub all your toes. Tense family dynamics, strict/overbearing parents, idiot friends to fuck buddies, teasing, fingering, oral (both f & m receiving), squirting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm if you blink, unprotected sex (DON'T DO THAT, STUPID), an stupid amount of pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, sweet thing) instead of Y/N. I think that's it but lemme know if I missed anything!

[Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] <- Coming Soon! [AO3]

a/n: I meant to post this on Thanksgiving, but it...got away from me as you can tell from the word count. Sorry for the delay and for the long lead up before the actual smut but I hope yall enjoy!!

The first time you met Eddie Munson, you threatened him with pepper spray. 

Okay so maybe it was actually hair spray, but the threat was there. 

He had walked into your dorm room unannounced, and in a moment of panic you completely forgot you had a roommate that could potentially have visitors. All you knew was that you were alone in your dorm, and then without any preamble or warning, there was a mysterious man with long hair, dark features, and wrapped in leather letting himself in. 

And he believed you at first, he really did, held his hands up in defense and stepped back out into the threshold with wide eyes and an apologetic ramble. Until he noticed that your trembling hand was not clutching a can of mace, but a travel sized bottle of Aqua Net, shaking just as much as you were. 

He couldn’t help but laugh. 

He still stayed back, knowing that you were not his intended target and surely you must be nerrvous, but dropped his hands to lean on the door frame, his whole body shaking with laughter. Despite your initial fear, his humor was contagious. The once intimidating man who stood tall and broad was hunched with laughter, his eyes wrinkling around the edges when his smile widened. You couldn’t help but soften and lower your arm, chuckling a little (albeit nervously) along with him. 

“Yeah, killer,” he laughed, voice low and smooth, “put that thing down before you hurt someone. Or worse, make ‘em crispy.” 

“I– panicked,” you admitted, defeated. Then, standing taller again, trying to keep your defenses strong, “but what are you doing walking into random girls' dorms?” 

“Uh, Buckley,” the stranger pointed to your roommate’s side of the room. “Robin Buckley? She lives here, right?” You nodded. “We’re friends, I’m meeting her for dinner and she told me to come on up when I got here. She said you’d be in class.” 

Huh. You’d have to talk to her about warning you before she let just anyone walk on in unannounced. 

“Canceled,” you mumbled in explanation, then gestured to Robin’s bed. “Uh I guess I won’t make you sit out in the hall. You can wait for her here.” 

A wide, toothy grin spread over his features and he approached you with big, thankful eyes shining under the fluorescent overhead lighting. A hand outstretched, he replied, “appreciated. ‘M Eddie.” 

And so began a blossoming friendship. Over the rest of your freshman year, Robin introduced you to more of her friends. You didn’t have trouble making your own friends, per se, you had a few classmates who you would grab lunch with between classes and a couple study groups, but the people your roommate introduced you to just clicked with you. You heard all about her girlfriend Nancy, though she was off in Boston at Emerson, so you only ever spoke to her when Robin had her on speaker phone. Everyone else just kind of came along naturally. You were attending school far from home, but within reasonable distance from Robin’s hometown of Hawkins, so even though Eddie and her best friend Steve weren’t attending college anywhere, they often found themselves on your campus to bug your roommate (and by proxy, you). 

By the end of your first year at school, you were confident you were part of their crew, and you were happily signing up to room with Robin once again the following year. 

Which is what brought you here. 

You’re laying in bed, feet thrown up against the cinder block walls and your head hanging over the edge, Robin mirroring you on her own bed. Steve has long since gotten dizzy and sat upright next to Robin, and Eddie called you all ridiculous from the get go and chose to lay on your bean bag chair between the three of you. 

“What the fuck am I gonna do,” you moan, scrubbing your hands down your face in defeat. 

“I’m sure it’ll be okay, babe,” Robin assures, though you know she is just blindly trying to comfort you. 

“Okay,” Steve leans forward, elbows on his knees and squints at you. The effects of Eddie’s special cookies are hitting all four of you hard, all of you lazy and sluggish and a little less cohesive than your usual state. “Explain to me again what the problem is? It sounds like your mom just wants you home for Thanksgiving.” 

Sitting up slowly and trying to ignore the head rush you get from being upright once again, you gripe, “that is the problem. I went to school across the country from home for a reason. I’m already going back next month for winter break and I want to be there…as little as possible. So I was hoping I could work through Thanksgiving break like last year.” 

“No dice?” Eddie asks from his spot on the floor, even though you swear you’ve gone over this with all of them three times by now. 

“No,��� you grumble, “last year I worked in the caf, so it was no problem, they were open all break for students staying on campus This year–” 

“The library closes over break.” Robin cut you off to supply. 

You only nod pitifully, slumping back into your stack of pillows with a hmph. You’re aware that you’re being dramatic, but you’ve grown accustomed to your life away from home. Away from watchful eyes and curfews at 19 years old and sharp comments about your wardrobe that honestly, could be much, much worse. The last thing you want to do is return home and be treated like a child again. 

Eddie’s fingers wrap around your ankle comfortingly, but he hits a ticklish spot and you kick at his hand lightly, laughing all the while. 

“Home is really that miserable, huh?” He asks quietly. Not prying, not judging, just pondering. 

“I have a dad who still treats me like I’m seven and a mom who keeps trying to set me up with members of her church in hopes that they’ll ‘lead me back down the right path’…what do you think?” 

Your three friends mumble a series of one word replies all at once. “Yikes.” “Barf.” “Christ.”

The conversation moves on after that. Robin and Steve arguing about Back to the Future, something they always seem to go back to when they’re high. She told you once that they saw it in theaters the first time they smoked together, but the way that neither of them could keep a straight face told you there was more to the story. You half listen, grumbling to yourself and counting the browning ceiling tiles above you. 

Your mattress dips and you look up to see Eddie grinning at you behind a curtain of hair, sitting cross legged on the spot next to you. 

“What?” You ask through a laugh, eyeing him briefly before going back to the task at hand, the ceiling tiles. 

He nudges you with his knee, trying to get your attention. “You know what you should do?” Your response is no more than a hum adorned with a question mark, but it prompts him to continue. There’s a gleam in his eye when he goes on, “somethin’ wild. Show up at home with a tattoo or bright purple hair. Or a tongue ring! Something to push their buttons and shock ‘em a little.” 

Eddie Munson always has a way of turning your mood around. His joy is infectious. If he’s laughing, you’re not too far behind him, and it’s always been that way. Likewise, he’s quick to follow when you dissolve into giggle fits, his demeanor and pose always mimics yours, just like now when he ends up on his back beside you, legs dangling sideways off the edge. 

You end up passing ideas back and forth for a few minutes. 

“Teardrop tattoo,” he says, snorting. 

“A pentagram.” 

“You could shave one side of your head.” 

“Or my eyebrows.” 

“Get tattoos where your eyebrows used to be. Something classy like…hail Satan.” 

“Or Daddy’s girl,” you sputter, unable to hold back the raucous laughter any longer. 

Eddie joins you, practically cackling with how sudden it is. “I think that’s it. That’s the one.” 

And then it hits you. Something still just as shocking as showing up with a tattoo, but much less permanent. It’s right in front of you, it has been the whole time. You sit up suddenly enough to get Steve and Robin’s attention and grin wildly down at Eddie. 

It’s his turn to mumble out a soft, “what?” enraptured by your sudden intensity.

“I think I’ve got something better. Something that won’t cost me hundreds of dollars or my future chances at employment.” 

“Go on,” he urges. 

“You come home with me.” 

From the other half of your room, Robin and Steve shout their confusion in unison, but Eddie just sits up to mirror you, mischief etched in his smile. “How bold of you, sweetheart. You know, I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” 

“No- shut up,” you laugh, shoving at his shoulder lightly. “I’m serious. You just told us earlier your uncle has to work on Thanksgiving. Come back to my parents with me. You’ll get a home cooked meal, all the fixings, really, my mom goes crazy. I mean this with all the love in my heart but if I bring home a guy like you?” You giggle, “my dad’ll lose his shit.” 

“You flatter me,” he chuckles. Then, smirking, “you askin’ me to be your fake boyfriend, sweetheart?” 

“I– yeah.” 

“Hell yeah,” he nods, “I’m in. When are we leaving?” 

Robin throws a pillow at you, missing terribly but still getting your attention. “What the fuck just happened?” 

—

As promised, as soon as your last class on Tuesday let out, you loaded up your car and headed to Hawkins to pick up your boyfriend-for-the-week. He’s waiting for you outside his trailer, leaning heavily against the stairway railing, ankles crossed, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t have much by way of luggage, just a tattered olive green backpack hanging off of one shoulder that he throws in the back seat alongside your prim camel colored leather duffel bag. 

When he slides into the passenger seat he leans into your personal space, drawing out his greeting with a smug smile. “Hi, darling.” 

“Hey,” you greet, palming his face and lightly shoving it away. “You ready?” 

Eddie Munson practically pouts at you. “What, no hello kiss?” 

“Can it, Munson,” you chide before shifting your car in gear. “You’re not on the clock yet. We still have a four hour drive before you’re officially the boyfriend.” 

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, “it’ll be a hell of a lot more believable if we have a little practice beforehand. I mean- we’re going to have to put on a show, right? A good actor doesn’t go in blind. They run lines. Rehearse. Don’t want you freezing up in shock when I plant one on you in front of dear ol’ Dad for the first time, do we?” 

He’s leaning into you again, speaking with a kind of intensity only Eddie can, and it makes you shake your head. 

“Okay, well, I’m kinda busy driving at the moment. I’ll get back to you at the next rest stop.” 

The first stretch on the open road is spent concocting a story. How you met, how long you’ve been together, things that might come up in conversation. Something not far from the truth, so that you could keep your stories straight, but embellished a little where you needed to. He supplies the story for your first date, dinner at a diner and live music somewhere on campus. You raise him dinner at a dive bar and listening to cassettes in the back of his van. He calls you diabolical. 

At your first stop, about an hour in for gas and snacks, he offers to drive until the next stop and you pass him the keys with a soft smile and a hurried kiss to the corner of his mouth. It’s fleeting, over before it’s even started because it stuns him, and you skip away to the passenger side feeling way more smug than you have any right being. 

“Who were we worried about freezing up, again?” You asked over the roof of the car, ducking at the last second when he throws a balled up napkin at you. 

For this portion of the drive, you take the opportunity to get to know one another. Favorites and firsts, pet peeves and guilty pleasures. Some things you knew already after a year of friendship, the little things like favorite bands and movies, but you knew you needed more than that to be a believable couple. You learn that he loves the smell after it rains and that even though he hates raisins, he loves cinnamon raisin bagels because they remind him of his Uncle Wayne. He learns that your favorite color changes with your mood, about your irrational fear of revolving doors, and the exact number of blankets you absolutely need in order to fall asleep (though he had his suspicions, he’s seen you make your bed before). 

Over your game of twenty questions, his hand wanders from the wheel to the gear shift, the movement subtle because he’s always talking with his hands, and eventually it lands hesitantly on your thigh. You pretend not to notice, but bite back a smile and catch yourself flushing in the reflection of the window nonetheless. 

After another hour or so of driving you make him pull over for a bathroom break and offer to take the wheel again when you’re done. You make to take the keys from him, but he’s quick to hold them over his head, just out of reach. 

“Hey!” You complain, now your turn to invade his personal space to try and steal the keys back. “It’s my car. Let me take over!” 

You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close your faces are when a slow smirk spreads over his lips. “Now, baby, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I made you drive when I’m right here, fully capable?” 

“Damn, Munson.” You snark, “we’ve been together all of two hours and you’re already trying to turn me into a passenger princess?” 

“Maybe I am.” His free hand wraps around your waist, landing at the small of your back to pull you just a little bit closer, closing the gap between you. You let out a small yelp of surprise that Eddie quickly swallows, his lips landing on yours harder and more insistent than the last kiss you shared. Your shock wears off quickly, leaving you leaning into his embrace with a happy hum in the back of your throat. Just as he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip, you’re made aware of your surroundings when a passerby clears their throat. When you pull away and catch a glimpse of his face, you’re certain you’re going to have to get used to that damn smirk. It seems to be his natural resting face since you asked him to do this, and god if it doesn’t suit him. “I kinda like that term,” he mumbles, emphasizing the new pet name as he ushers you around to the passenger seat, repeating it back into your ear with a hushed breath, “princess.”

You’ll have to get used to all the blushing too. 

With a lead foot and a hand absent-mindedly tapping along to the radio on your thigh, Eddie manages to shave a half an hour off the rest of the drive, and before you know it and without another rest stop, you’re directing him off the highway and through the cozy streets of your small hometown. You managed to give him a run down on all of the relatives he could possibly meet this weekend. Who to watch out for and who to actually play nice with (really, it’s just your parents to look out for), names and how they’re related to you as if there would be a quiz at the end of Thanksgiving dinner. Hell, knowing how overprotective your parents are there very well could be. 

It’s silent when he pulls into your parents driveway and cuts the engine, so quiet you fear he might hear your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. Staring down the house, the walkway seems to stretch out longer than you remember. Your heart leaps into your throat. 

“Hey.” Squeezing at your knee where his hand is still resting, Eddie’s voice is sincere. When you turn to look at him, his eyes are soft, encouraging. He lets his head rest back against the seat with a thump and smiles. “I know I’m here to piss off your parents, but I’m still your friend, too. I’ll be right by your side all weekend, if it ever gets too much, just say the word and I’ve got you, okay?” 

You’re not sure where this burst of sentiment came from, but you’re grateful for it. His words wrap around your heart and squeeze, and you blink back the tears they bring. Though you’ve had fun planning to torment your family, there was still a weight on your chest every time you thought about going home and Eddie, ever observant, could tell. 

“Kay,” you say softly, mouthing an even quieter thank you. Then, leaning across the center console, you brighten up. “Run lines one more time before the big scene?” 

It’s a bold request, a little selfish, partly because you want to stall a little longer but frankly, you just want to kiss him again in the safety and comfort of your car. Where it can be just that, a kiss. You want another moment all to yourself without the watchful eye of your family, and without the obligation of having to prove something.

He kisses you lazy this time, hands framing your face, lips dragging slowly against yours like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s stretching out this moment so you don’t have to face the next one. Your eyes flutter shut and you reach for him clumsily over the console, clutching onto the lapel of his leather jacket like he was going to float away if you didn’t. 

You don’t want to admit it, but you could get used to kissing Eddie Munson, charade or not.

When you part ways and reluctantly make your way inside, Eddie insists on carrying both your bag and his own. You try to argue but he has none of it. You let yourself in the front door and call out a greeting. 

Christmas music filters in from the back of the house alongside the smell of your mom’s famous baked spaghetti. “In the den!” Her voice calls out from the same direction as the music. Toeing off your shoes, you gesture for Eddie to follow you through the halls and into the den. It’s the picture of your childhood, exactly as you remember. Your dad is hidden behind the newspaper, houseshoes propped up on the coffee table. In her armchair facing away from the door, your mom is curled up with a book, reading glasses perched on the end of her slender nose. She feels your presence and greets you without looking up. “Hi honey! Give me just a second to finish this paragraph and I’ll get up, give you a big hug.” 

Eddie’s presence is solid against you, warm, and his firm hand at the small of your back is a constant reminder that he’s there within reach. You try to speak up, to introduce him, but your throat goes dry, and soon enough your mother is tossing her book on the coffee table and standing to greet you. 

“Sorry honey, I – oh, hello!” She’s shocked, clearly, but still keeps a polite, tight smile. “Who’s this?” 

Prompted by her comment, your dad folds down one corner of the newspaper to glance up at you. His poker face isn’t as great. You can see the glare flash across his features before he folds the paper and stands. When he says hello to you, it's with a bright smile and a tight hug, but the second he addresses Eddie, his demeanor chills again. 

“Guys this is Eddie,” you introduce, reaching behind you to take his hand. The words feel clumsy on your tongue, but you manage to play off the stutter as nerves. “My boy– my boyfriend.” 

You could hear a pin drop. 

In the silence that follows, you begin to rethink this entire plan. You suddenly feel so small, back in your childhood home and under the intense stare of your parents (though your dad’s eyes are definitely more trained on Eddie’s every move than your own). But you didn’t come all this way and drag your friend all this way to back down now, so you take their stunned silence as an opportunity to turn in Eddie’s hold and grin at him eagerly, mouthing the word showtime. 

He takes his cue, cupping your cheek in a warm palm and dragging you toward him to close the little distance between you. It feels different this time, like he has something to prove. He’s insistent, leaning into you hungrily and nipping at your lips with a wicked chuckle under his breath as he retreats. He stands at full height again to finally address your parents. 

“Thanks for having me, sir,” he quips, and he salutes, actually fucking salutes, much to your father’s outrage. Then he turns a charming smile on your mother, “ma’am.” 

His kill-them-with-kindness attitude and sickeningly sweet fake politeness has you biting back a laugh, but nobody in this room is paying an ounce of attention to you. 

Thank God.

The rage in your father’s voice is unmistakable, the heat of it pours from him in waves when he responds. “I would say it’s my pleasure but I don’t remember inviting you, son.” You’re afraid to look too closely, but you’re almost certain the vein on his forehead is fit to burst already and you’ve only just arrived. 

“Honey,” your mother pipes up, putting a calming hand on her husband’s arm, though you can hear the strain in her voice as well. “When you called and said you were bringing a friend who had nowhere to go for the holiday I…well I thought it was going to be Robin.” 

“Oh, no,” your lips press into a line, and without thinking, you reach out for Eddie’s hand for support, breath hitching at the bite of cold metal from the various rings he’s always sporting. “Her family is big on holidays. Never miss one. But…” Giving Eddie’s hand a tug to pull him closer to you, your other hand comes up to rest on his shoulder, giving it a gentle pat for good measure. You ham it up, laying your head on his shoulder with a dreamy smile as you continue. “Eddie’s only family is his Uncle Wayne, and he’s going to be workin’ a double on Thursday. I couldn’t just leave him behind with a frozen TV dinner for Thanksgiving of all days.” 

Though strict, you know your mom isn’t made of stone. She can’t resist a sob story and she’s a sucker for any holiday, so despite the concern in her eyes and a husband fit to start screaming any moment, she smiles and nods. 

“Of course, honey,” Her voice softens, though her guard is still up. She turns her pointed smile on Eddie and gestures to the door, “the guest room is already made up for you, and it would be a shame to spend the holiday alone, so we’re happy to have you, Eddie.” 

The sound you make is somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Mom! That’s hardly necessary. I’m an adult, I’m perfectly capable of sharing a bed with my boyfriend.” 

Eddie quirks an interested brow at you but you roll your eyes in dismissal. 

It’s not that you want to share a room with Eddie. If you’re being honest, you haven’t really put much thought to the sleeping situation. It only makes sense that he would take the guest room…but you also know that if the goal is to get under your parents’ skin, this is the way to do it, so you give a petulant whine and a huff for good measure. 

It’s your father who speaks up this time, pushing forward and deliberately between you and Eddie to break your embrace as he makes his way toward the stairs. “Absolutely not,” he doesn’t look at you as he speaks, only stops near the door to pick up both of your bags and continue up the stairs. “You are nineteen, just barely. That may make you an adult on paper but you are still my child and a guest in this house so you’ll do as I say.” Passing your childhood bedroom, he drops your duffel at the door with a scowl and moves two doors down to the guest room where he throws Eddie’s knapsack even harder onto the bed. “And we don’t know this punk from Adam. You’re lucky we’re letting him stay at all, so be grateful for what you have, which is only two doors separating you.” 

Ever the peacemaker, your mom steps in and clears her throat. “What your father means is that we would just both be more…comfortable if – for this trip – Eddie stayed in here. Right, Dear?” 

Your father sighs, “yes, yes, that’s exactly it.” 

“Anyway,” she tries to move past it, like she always has, sweeping his anger under the rug and trying to move on before there can be any more unpleasantries. It’s one of the things you hated most about being home, the fact that she so clearly agreed with most of his conservative and overprotective views but tried so hard to make it seem like she was on your side. She moves in to give you another tight hug. “We’re so happy you’re here, honey. Dinner will be ready soon, why don’t you two get settled in and then meet us in the dining room?” 

You thank her softly and a little insincerely, and the pair of them retreat back down the stairs, allowing you to let out the breath you’ve been holding. 

“Jesus Christ, I get what you mean.” Eddie Mumbles, and you only groan in agreement, falling gracelessly onto the edge of the bed with your head in your hands. The bed dips as he joins you, and soon enough you’re both laughing softly at the absurdity of the situation. “Hey,” he nudges your shoulder with his own, “you’re killing it.” 

“Hardly,” you snort, “I feel like I’m a kid again. It just…this all sounded fun in theory but I forgot how small they make me feel.” 

“All the more reason to keep on keepin’ on. C’mon, I want to see how many more times we can make that vein in his forehead pop.” A reassuring arm wraps around your shoulder and shakes you lightly until you let out a soft laugh. “There she is! Nice touch demanding that I stay in your room, by the way. Really! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually wanted me to.” 

“You’re an idiot,” you giggle, standing up and stretching out your tired limbs. “Come on, let’s go eat.” 

The rest of the night goes rather uneventfully. It’s tense, for sure, but the initial shock has worn off and by the way your parents are acting, you’re certain they managed to sneak in a drink each while you were upstairs. The conversation over dinner is mostly focused on you, how your semester is going and how much you like your job. You ask them about their careers, about family members you haven’t seen in a while. Eventually your mother’s need to be seen as polite prompts her to include Eddie in her questioning, but she keeps it mild for now, asking how he liked the drive to your hometown and if the food was to his taste. 

After dinner your mom offers coffee and a movie, but the long drive and your early alarm for school this morning are an easy enough excuse to retire early and get a good long night’s sleep before the rest of your family arrives tomorrow. 

When you part ways in the hall at the top of the stairs, he stops you with a hand on your wrist and a mischievous grin. 

“What?” You laugh, looking down the stairs, “You want a goodnight kiss now, too? They’re not watching.” 

“Here,” he replies, reaching for the back collar of his tattered Black Sabbath t-shirt and pulling it over his head effortlessly. He hands the shirt over to you and gives it a little shake, “wear it down to breakfast in the morning, yeah? It’ll drive them crazy.” 

You thank him as you take the shirt from his hand and smile, trying your best not to let your eyes linger on his exposed skin, pale and littered with tattoos, some you’re just now seeing for the first time. With a blush and a shake of your head, you bid him goodnight and retreat to your bedroom. 

—

The morning of Thanksgiving brings another early wake up call, but it’s hardly a surprise. Holidays have always been this way, up at the crack of dawn and helping in the kitchen all day since you were old enough to snap green beans. It’s not all bad, some of your best memories are with your mother and aunt in the kitchen. Cooking together almost made you forget how unbearable it was to be home. 

It goes as it always does, the two of you still in your pajamas, getting the more annoying and time consuming prep out of the way before anyone else wakes up. When your dad joins you in the kitchen, already fully dressed and sporting a tired scowl, you make the coffee while your mom pauses to throw the breakfast casserole she’d prepared the night before into the oven. You’re like a well oiled machine, and you work together so well that she almost doesn’t notice your choice in sleepwear. 

Almost. 

“Honey, why don’t you go upstairs and change into something a little more appropriate?” She suggests coolly. “I can hold down the fort until Aunt Ellen gets here.” 

“Aw,” you pout softly, pouring your own cup of coffee. You know why she’s urging you to change, and it makes you want to push the issue even further. “But we always stay in our pajamas until Grandma’s on her way! Even Aunt Ellen brings her comfies to cook in and a change of clothes for dinner.” 

“You and I both know that is hardly your typical sleepwear, dear.” Your father grunts from behind the morning paper. 

Although she bristles at his blunt choice of words, your mom looks at you with concern, clearly agreeing with him. 

You only huff, watching the creamer swirl as you pour it into the darkness of the mug. You’re about to respond when a pair of warm hands wrap around your waist from behind, making you jump. 

“I think you look killer,” Eddie chuckles at your surprise, his head nestling into the crook of your neck to press a kiss just behind your ear. “Y’wear that thing better than I do, Sweetheart.” 

Head bowed, you roll your eyes at his theatrics but hug his arms closer around your stomach, turning in place to wrinkle your nose at him, a hint of jest in your tone when you greet him. “Good morning, baby.” 

His eyes flick past your shoulder to your parents to be confident they’re looking (of course they are), then with another dark laugh drops his head to greet you with a feverish kiss. It’s too much for a simple good morning, utterly indecent the way his tongue slips past your lips without permission, and his hands drop to your hips to turn you further into his embrace, until one of your parents – you couldn’t care less which one – clears their throat and startles you apart. 

Your face is hot when Eddie smiles brightly, hitting you with a wink and a cheerful, “mornin’.” He mumbles a soft, “gonna go for a smoke, be right back,” into your ear, and then louder, calling over his shoulder as he walks toward the front door, cigarette dangling from his lips, “smells delicious already, ladies, I can’t wait!” 

You’re feeling quite smug at their stunned silence, until the door slams behind him and takes the breath from your lungs with it. You grip the mug so tightly your knuckles turn white, and the quiet from behind you turns deafening. 

It’s your mom that breaks it first, talking in a hushed tone that she must think you can’t hear, despite only being a few feet away. 

“He smokes?” 

“Are you surprised?” Your dad quips, “look at the kid. I’m surprised you can’t smell it on him.” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t be cruel. I’m just as unhappy about this as you are but there’s no reason to be rude.” 

That’s when you jump in, the scoff on your lips is almost as natural as your breath. “You guys know I’m right here, right? You are being rude, both of you.” 

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry.” Her voice is more patronizing than remorseful. “But truly, what is it that you see in that boy? He seems nice enough I suppose, but he’s not what I would have hoped for you at all…and he’s so crude.” 

That’s exactly what I see in him, you think, the ability to get under your skin. 

“And what would you have hoped for me? Hm?” You press, arms crossed over your chest and hip cocked against the counter. “Some ivy league robot who only cares about your approval? Who I have nothing in common with? Why does it matter?” 

“Oh, well, I–” 

The phone on the wall wails, cutting her off, and a glance at the clock tells you that it must be your aunt calling to say she’s on her way. 

“Saved by the bell,” you mumble as she goes to answer the phone, then spit, “I’ll go change so I don’t embarrass you.”

Back in your room, you decide there’s no point in changing twice, so you pull out the outfit you’d packed for dinner. It’s rather mundane, just a corduroy skirt and an oversized sweater, something you’d normally wear to a family gathering, but the skirt is quite a bit shorter than you’re used to wearing, and instead of the modest tights you would usually pair with this kind of outfit, you opted for some plush over the knee knit socks. 

You take your time getting ready, feeling slightly guilty for leaving Eddie to his own devices downstairs, but he’s a big boy, he can handle himself. You need a few extra moments to cool down and collect yourself before more family shows up. 

There’s a soft rap at your door as you’re finishing up your makeup with a thin layer of lip gloss and you sigh. 

“I’ll be down to help in a minute!” 

Except it isn’t your mom on the other side as you’d expected. Eddie’s voice is gentle when he calls, “It’s me.” 

You let him in with a soft, apologetic smile. “Hi.” 

“Hey,” he smiles, looking appreciatively up and down your form. “I take back what I said earlier. This look is killer, you look great.” 

You brighten, flushing at his praise and taking in his own change of outfit. Nothing fancy by any means, just like you suggested when he asked about dinner attire. The same torn black jeans he wears often, a threadbare and bleach stained Metallica baseball tee, and his signature battle vest overtop. Hair clearly adp purposefully untamed, he’s decked out in his usual accessories. Thick, heavy rings on his fingers and a black bandana stuffed in his pocket, he’s even gone the extra mile and smudged a little eyeliner on his water line. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t pull it off. 

“Thanks,” you breathe, playing with the cuffs of your sweater absent-mindedly. “You look…disheveled.” 

He laughs at your choice of words, but takes it in stride, doing a quick spin and taking a dramatic bow as you laugh along with him. “Thank you, thank you, I’m only following your expert direction.” 

The neck of your sweater scoops low when you sit on your vanity stool to zip up your boots, slipping off of one shoulder delicately, and Eddie’s gaze burns as it follows the movement. He doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s staring as he perches himself on the edge of your bed, his lopsided smile only growing when you giggle out a soft, “what?” 

“I have an idea,” he beckons you toward him with a jut of his chin, “come here.” Though you furrow your brow in confusion, you cross the room to stand in front of him. Instantly, his hands reach out to take yours and hold your arms out wide so that he can take another good look at you. You pretend not to notice that his gaze lingers at the bare skin of your thighs on display, then pauses again at your exposed shoulder. He tugs on your hands until you’re even closer, standing between his legs with a curious look in your eye. Hands dropping to your hips, he noses at your neck, breath tickling your delicate skin as he continues,  “you know what might make this outfit even better?” 

“Better?” You question, reaching to tangle your hands in his hair, knowing exactly what he had in mind. “Or just more scandalous?” 

Eddie’s lips ghost against your skin as he says, “darling, who said it can’t be both?” 

It's cruel, you think, as latches onto the soft skin just over your pulse, nipping lightly and then soothing the sting immediately with his tongue. Cruel that this is all an act, that your friend Eddie Munson wouldn’t be adorning you with love bites if it weren’t for this stupid plan to piss off your parents. Cruel that you can’t separate fact from fiction as he sucks a deep bruise into the flesh just above your collarbone and your grip on his hair tightens, an involuntary whimper caught in your throat. 

He pulls back to admire his work, pursing his plush lips with an appreciative hum. One hand leaves your hip to rest on your neck, thumb pressing into one of the fresh bruises there, pride shining on his face when the action makes you shudder. 

There’s no way he doesn’t notice how red you’ve gone but he doesn’t mention it, only smiles brightly and ushers you toward the door with an encouraging, “break a leg down there, kid.” 

Only then do you realize the commotion downstairs. The boisterous voice of your Aunt Ellen as she helps your mom in the kitchen, the sound of thundering footsteps as her kids play tag in the halls they definitely shouldn’t be running in. 

Eddie keeps a tight hold on your hand behind you as he follows you down the stairs, but you’re squeezing his right back, suddenly even more nervous now that some of your extended family has arrived. 

Your heart pounds through greetings, through quick hugs and happy hellos and nervous introductions. It hammers in your chest even harder when Eddie’s hand slips down to rest on your ass as he politely chit-chats with your uncle. This is the plan. This is what you wanted. So why are you so nervous? It doesn’t calm down until some time later, when your cousins convince Eddie to join them outside for a makeshift game of hockey in the iced over driveway. Your dad and uncle sit in the dining room chatting over scotch, while the rest of you return to cooking. 

“So Eddie seems nice,” Aunt Ellen says with a smile while you peel potatoes with her at the kitchen island. There’s no sarcasm in her tone, no ulterior motives. It seems as though she means what she says, and it's a comforting contrast to the harsh words and sideways glances you’ve been getting from your parents. “You two kids meet at school?” 

Outside the window, the hockey game has dissolved into a snowball fight, your younger cousins ganging up on a solo Eddie. You realize you’re staring, zoned out as he easily picks up the youngest to use him as a human shield, unable to stop yourself from smiling as your cousin giggles and brings Eddie down with a smashed snowball right to the face. You can practically hear his dramatics through the window as he mimes a wounded heart and dramatic battlefield death. 

“Kinda,” you hum, shaking yourself from your daydream and smiling back at her softly. “He went to highschool with my roommate, Robin. Their hometown is a lot closer to school than here, so I got to know a lot of her friends pretty early on.” 

You try not to elaborate too much, but your blush betrays you.

“You had it bad, huh?” She teases. 

“I…might have developed a big dumb crush pretty quickly.” Not entirely a lie.

“Well it must have worked out well for you, huh? Seeing as he’s here and all.” 

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “Mom and Dad aren’t too thrilled about it.” 

She shrugs, wrinkling her nose at you and leaning in to whisper, “to be honest, this could be good for them. They need to loosen up a little, maybe this’ll push ‘em in the right direction.” 

You snort, “you’re telling me.” 

“You could make it a little easier on them though,” she chuckles, gesturing to her own neck not-so-subtly, “maybe show them his good side before you try to intentionally rile them up.” 

Rolling your eyes, you throw a potato peel at her and shake your head. You had the feeling going into this that if anyone was going to find you out, it would be your aunt. Though much to your relief, she seems to still believe you’re actually together, so maybe you can keep the act going through the rest of the weekend. 

She gets pulled away when her cell phone rings, most likely your Grandma calling to ask your parents address despite the fact that they’ve been hosting thanksgiving here since you were born, and in the blink of an eye her seat is taken by your mom. Her arms are folded on the table in front of her, ignoring the pile of potatoes that still need to be done and eyeballing your own paring knife pointedly until you slow to a hesitant, confused stop. 

“Honestly, young woman, I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” She scolds, voice hushed but harsh as ever. 

With a roll of your eyes, you answer, “if I didn’t think you’d kill me I would say you know exactly what’s gotten into me.” 

“Enough!” She looks over her shoulder to ensure that her outburst wasn’t heard and that your aunt is still occupied. God forbid anyone realize she’s experiencing any emotion that’s less than pleasant. “I don’t care how much you care for that boy or how you act at school but right now you are back under our roof and you’ll carry yourself with grace.” 

“But-” 

“No buts.” She hushes to a whisper as your aunt approaches again, “now go put on some makeup or a turtleneck before Grandma gets here or your father notices, because I assure you he would not be nearly as kind as I.” 

“Yeah,” your chair makes an awful screeching sound as it scrapes against the floor as you stand. “Because you’ve been so peachy keen.” 

—

Halfway through Thanksgiving dinner, things are going swimmingly. Eddie seems to get on great with the rest of your family, which somehow only seems to upset your parents even more. He talks music with your uncle when he comments on his tee shirt, and compliments you and your mom on the cooking no less than five times, thanking her profusely for the meal, and chats excitedly with your cousins about DnD when they ask about the tattoo of a D20 on his forearm. They’re all eating up his attention, but your parents only sit in silence, observing. 

It isn’t until your grandma asks him about school that you finally get a reaction out of them. She had unknowingly uncovered the ace up your sleeve without either you or Eddie having to bring it up and you’re downright thrilled to see where this goes. 

You’ll have to thank her later. 

“Oh, uh, no ma’am.” Eddie chuckles. Confidence puffs his chest as he grins knowingly, stealing a peek at your mirrored expression from the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t you believe it, I’m shit at school?” He pauses for everyone to balk at his bold wording. “Who would’a known, right? I’m the picture of a 4.0. Anyway, to answer your question, I just graduated in June, so I’m taking some time to focus on my band.”

His age had already come up in conversation, so it was only right for your uncle to assume, “oh, well, well school isn’t for everyone. What’s important is that you made it through. What was your degree in?” 

You clear your throat uncomfortably, ducking your head to hide the smile threatening to break out. 

“High school, actually,” Eddie snickers, “took me three senior years, but I did it!” 

Silence takes over the room once again, even shocking your extended family. You could hear a pin drop, and you do hear your dad choke on his turkey. 

Acting oblivious to their shock, you prompt, “tell them about your band, baby.” Giddy smile plastered on your face, you reach out for his hand and address your family again, “they just booked a consistent gig! How exciting is that?” 

“I’d hardly call Tuesday nights at the Hideout exciting, but you gotta start somewhere, right? Plus,” he drops your hand in lieu of resting his on your thigh, his grip warm and familiar. Turning another wily smirk on you he adds, “we’ve got at least one fan who won’t miss a Corroded Coffin show. That’s what counts, right?” 

Leaning across the table to pester you more quietly, your mother hisses, “I thought you had study group on Tuesdays.” 

“I do!” You defend, “we just…meet at the Hideout.” 

In reality you’ve only been to one of Eddie’s shows, the first one at the Hideout that they played as a tryout, and you had a damn good time. But you do have a study group that meets on Tuesdays, regrettably not at the Hideout but in the common area of your dorm building and even more unfortunately, right when Corroded Coffin is about to go on.

 You can’t stop yourself from smiling at their shock. Every little thing he or you say to surprise them makes it a little more amusing. 

Last night their anger felt overbearing, casting a shadow over you, made you feel small. But the more you catch them off guard, the less they say, and the more you want to laugh at the surprise and disgust in their eyes.

Dessert brings pumpkin pie, coffee cake, another round of drinks, and more inquiry from your aunt. She even managed to slip Eddie one of her husband’s beers, much to the disapproving glare of your father.

“Eddie,” she hums, grinning at him over the rim of her wine glass. “Were your ears ringing earlier? We were gossiping about you.” 

“Oh yeah?” He asks, a sly smirk and a raised brow pointed your way.  He leans back in his chair, right hand reaching out to rest once more on your thigh under the table. He tilts his head even further toward you, “all bad things, I hope?” 

“Aunt Ellen was asking how we met,” you smile sweetly, licking away the remnants of cool whip on your dessert fork. 

His eyes darken as they follow the motion and his hand creeps higher, pinky finger stroking at the hem of your skirt absent-mindedly as he speaks. You fight to keep your breath from getting caught in your throat at the cold bite of his rings against your flushed skin. “Oh I see,” he hums, then, his attention snapping back across the table, cutting through the tension you both just created, “did she tell you how she tried to hairspray me to death?” 

“She didn’t,” your grandma exclaims, “please do tell!”

“So I’m planning on meeting my good friend Robin for a nice meal, right? Sounds like a nice evening! Except…”

You try to stay engaged in the conversation, to tell your side of the story, you really do– but the weight of his hand high up on your thigh is distracting. It’s hard to focus on much else, especially when he kneads gently in time with his elaborate storytelling, his thumb caressing the rolled hem of your thigh-high socks and stroking the skin just above it. 

Why, you can’t help but think. You’re the only ones seated on this side of the table, and sheltered from view by the tablecloth. There should be no reason for him to be touching you like this when there’s nobody to see it happening. You wonder if he knows there’s no point, but then his hand creeps even higher and his fingertips slip under the edge of your skirt and into the crease where your thighs press together. This time you can’t stop the stutter in your breath and he notices, smiling at you wickedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He knows it’s affecting you, and even worse he’s trying to get a reaction out of you. 

But he just keeps on talking, stealing the show.  

The story of how you met melts easily into the previously fabricated story of your first date, and so on. The stories just keep flowing. That’s the thing about Eddie, he could be reading you the instruction manual for a toaster, but the way that he tells stories is captivating. The way he speaks of your first date, and then of your first anniversary (something you hadn’t discussed on the drive, but damn it if he wasn’t quick on the draw with it) has your family on the edge of their seats. Your aunt listens with glee, but your parents are horrified at the thought of him taking you to a dive bar for dinner or staying overnight in your dorm. Whether they like it or not, he knows how to command a room. 

When things start winding down, after goodbyes are said to your Grandma, you’re rescued from having to do the dishes when your cousins talk you into a game of Monopoly. Eddie picks your favorite piece, but relents quickly when you send him a pout and opts for the thimble instead. 

“So what are you, a $100 on Free Parking family, all taxes on Free Parking family, or a boring family?” Eddie asks, digging out the loose bills in disarray at the bottom of the box.

“Better,” you hum, “you boys know where the stash is, d’you mind?” 

Your cousins laugh, the eldest pulling a bag of halloween candy out from under the coffee table you sit around. “Already on it, cuz.” 

Watching as he dumps a few pieces into the middle of the board, you grin. “Perfect.” 

—

After a rousing game (where Eddie absolutely made fun of your candy pot right up until he landed on Free Parking and won it), your extended family starts to pack up to make the hour’s drive home. You say your goodbyes, Aunt Ellen whispering a reminder to go easy on your parents into your ear when she hugs you tightly. Eddie high fives your cousins as they pass, and shoots them a devil horn gesture as they make their way to the car. You swear you hear your dad mumble under his breath about him corrupting them, but bite your tongue. 

You barely made it back to the den to start cleaning up the board game when the knock comes at the door – their car won’t start. It’s cold and it’s dark and without hesitation your mom offers them shelter for the night. 

“The boys will have to sleep on the pull out in the den,” she muses quietly, thinking out loud. “It’s not much but they’ll be comfy there. Ellen, you guys can take the guest room.” You crack a smile as she keeps talking, mentions that your dad and uncle can take a look at the car when they’ve had a good night’s sleep and the sun is up, and Eddie catches your eye with a mirroring grin. 

“I’d be happy to look,” he offers, drawing both your parents’ attention. They’d forgotten about him in their plan. “I’m no professional, but my uncle and I have lifted parts from enough junkers to know my way around an engine.” 

Your mom looks between you and the boy next to you, brow drawn together in concern. “Oh, I’m not sure that’s the best–” 

Cutting her off, you rest your hand on Eddie’s elbow and smile saccharine, “that’s so kind of you, Eds, thank you.” 

He knocks your hand from his arm in favor of wrapping it around your shoulders, curling your body into his side and kissing your temple with a loud smack! His grin is downright smug when he says, “looks like I’ll be bunking with you after all, huh, Princess?” 

“Lucky me,” you mumble, turning away quickly to hide the rapidly forming flush in your cheeks. “Um, hey, can you help my dad with the pullout? It sticks. I’ll go change the sheets in the guest room.” 

“You got it, baby,” he smiles good-naturedly. “Where can I help, Dad?” 

As you walk away, you can hear the exasperation in your father’s voice as he informs the boy that it would be in his best interest to call him Mr. or Sir, and you can’t help but giggle at the stuttering response Eddie gives. 

You’ve tossed Eddie’s bags into your own room and stripped the sheets from the guest bed by the time your mom meets you in the guest room with fresh sheets. You quietly make the bed together until she speaks up. 

“I’m sure you find yourself so lucky to have gotten what you want,” she muses, tucking in the top sheet on her side of the bed a little more harshly than necessary. “But under no circumstances does this mean you can take advantage of my kindness. I was not about to let our family go without a place to stay for the night so you may have found yourself sharing a room but I expect no funny business.” So casual in her cruelty, she emphasizes where she needs to but otherwise her voice is calm. 

“Right,” you snort, “because the mood is so perfect with my parents down the hall and aunt and uncle in the next room.” 

“I’m only saying, that boy is changing you. You’re acting so differently since you brought him ‘round and I-” 

You cut her off, throwing the pillow you just put a new sham on back onto the bed violently. “I care about that boy,” throwing air quotes when you repeat her words, “and if I’ve changed, it’s only because he showed me what it’s like to be cared for in return!” The words flow from you freely, without much thought. You’re reacting with what you know will hurt right back, but you’re also speaking from the heart. Even just being friends with not only Eddie, but Robin and Steve as well, has built your confidence and taught you plenty about love and support, even if it was just platonic. 

Her voice drips with condescension when she replies, “Honey. Do you truly think a boy like that has good intentions with a girl like you? He drinks, he smokes, he’s skipping college and doesn’t have a job because he’s in a rock band for Pete’s sake. I’m just worried about you. Guys like that only want one thing.” 

With your back to the door you don’t notice Eddie approaching, and he hovers just outside the door and out of your mom’s view. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but he could hear your shouting match from downstairs, and he wanted to be close by if you needed a comforting word or pep talk.  

“What’s that, Mom?” You argue, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Sex? Who’s to say we haven’t gone there already? And what could you do to stop us from fucking all night tonight? We’re both adults. We could go at it for hours, under your roof, right down the hall from you and technically all you can do about it is kick us out. Oh well!! We’ve got a car and a couple hundred bucks between the two of us, we could swing a motel for the night. The point is, it could happen anywhere, so wouldn’t you rather know that I’m safe at home and not sharing a wall with drug addicts and prostitutes down at the Motel 6?”

She’s silent for a long moment, both of you unmoving and staring angrily at each other. 

“...You’re not actually going to have–”

“OF COURSE I’M NOT, Mother,” you groan, “and do you think I would tell you if I was!? God, I knew bringing him here was a mistake. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning. I’m not going to bother staying the rest of the weekend in a house that makes me and my boyfriend feel unwelcome.” 

Suddenly very reminiscent of your high school days, you stomp away with an exasperated groan, brushing past Eddie in a fury and you couldn’t even begin to care in the moment to ask how much he’d overheard. You were hot in more than one sense of the word, livid at your mother’s attack, blood boiling at the fact that even she – who has always been more lenient and quick to defend against your father – could think so lowly of Eddie without even giving him a chance. You know that’s the point. You know you brought him here specifically to get a rise out of them, but God, this was so much worse than the stunned silence and speechless stuttering you were expecting. 

With every step closer to your room, the need to get out of this damn outfit gets stronger. Despite your aggravation, every brush of your skirt against your thighs brings your mind back to dinner and Eddie’s curious touch, the gentle squeeze as his fingertips brushed at the crease of your crossed legs, the casual nonchalance as he kept talking even though he knew exactly what he was doing. 

It's annoying, really, how easily he infiltrates your thoughts and without even trying distracts you from your rage. Only, now he’s all you can think of as you slam the bedroom door and rifle through your suitcase. By the time you start the shower, you’ve moved past wondering why he was touching you like that when it didn’t benefit the plan, and when you strip down and step under the steaming spray you’re more than curious how far he’s willing to take this. You have to admit after shouting about how much sex you were going to have with him tonight, you’re starting to wonder how much of a possibility it could be.

Would he actually touch you? Let you touch him? He was eager to paint your skin with possessive marks earlier. Was he just that committed to the bit, or did he really just want to? 

Would it be so bad if he did? 

As much as you want to draw this shower out, slow, careful caresses of your skin as you touch yourself the way you imagine a certain guitarist might, you decide it’s not the best idea with a houseful of family. Soon enough you’re toweling off and feeling less angry than before, though no less frustrated. 

When you make it back to your room, there’s an open copy of Advanced Dungeons and Dragons and a weathered journal laid out on your bed, suggesting that Eddie had been hiding out there, however he’s nowhere to be found. You manage to get your hair most of the way dried by the time he comes back in, the faint scent of smoke and fresh snow billowing behind in his wake. The stick of a lollipop he won in your game of Monopoly earlier juts out from between his lips. 

Smiling softly in greeting, you expect him to beeline back to his notes, but to your surprise he turns your way and leans one hand on your vanity. The other comes to rest under your chin, urging you to look up at him. He smiles back, bigger, encouraging. His lips are tinted pink from the candy and he even nods a little when your own smile grows, as if he could tell that your first wasn’t that genuine. 

“Y’okay?” He murmurs, thumb stroking absently at the sharp of your jawline. “It’s been fun messing with them, but that screaming match must’ve been a lot.” 

“Yeah,” you mumble, “I’ll get over it, but are you okay? You were the one she was insulting.” 

He waves off your comment casually, a wrinkle in his nose and the hint of a laugh in his voice. “I’ve been called worse, and in her defense, we are trying to make me look bad.”

“I guess, but I still didn’t like hearing her speak about you like that,” you chuckle and stand, scooting the stool back in order to wrap him in a hug. After a brief pause, you mumble into his neck, “... and thank you. For checking in.” 

Eddie’s hands squeeze where he holds your hips fondly, and he pulls away from your embrace just enough to get a good look at your face. His eyes shine beneath his furrowed brow, impossibly deep brown in the low light of your room, they search your face for any hint of distress, and when he’s confident you’re telling the truth, only then does his gaze land on your lips. You swallow thickly, blink slowly, try to convince yourself you’re making this up. He pulls the lollipop from his mouth, slurping obscenely as he does.  There’s nobody around! He has nothing to prove! So then why is he leaning in? Why do you let him, and lean up onto your toes to close the gap? 

Quiet takes over the room as Eddie’s eyes fall shut, followed quickly by your own. You gasp gently, but lean into his kiss eagerly, the hand around his shoulder reaching up to tangle in the mess of curls at the base of his neck. His lips meld with yours, working you over in a deep and tender kiss that makes your stomach flip. It’s soft. Familiar in a way you wouldn’t expect. 

It might be your favorite one yet. 

He tastes distinctly of cherry and leftover tobacco, lips sticky with sugar and oh, so delicious. 

When he breaks the kiss he doesn’t go far, lips traveling to press sweetly at your temple for a fleeting moment. 

“What was that for?” You ask, breathless. “There’s nobody else around?” 

Eddie hums, “maybe I just felt like it.” Taking in your choice of pajamas, he grins even wider, “kinda like you just felt like wearing my Sabbath shirt again, I’m sure. Did you mean what you said back there?” 

Stalling, you pluck the candy from between his fingers and take a moment to savor it. Sure, it’s a little bit of a tease, the way your tongue darts out to lick it salaciously before taking the whole thing in your mouth with a soft hum, but it’s payback for both times he’d gotten you worked up earlier today. By the look on his face, payback is a bitch. 

“How much did you overhear?” 

“Oh, you know…” his hand trails up the length of your forearm, enveloping your own, only to take the sucker back from you and toss it into the bin, forgotten already. “Just the part about us going at it for hours.” Hands on either side of your face, he crouches until he’s fully in your space, lips just a hair away from your own. “How it was going to happen no matter what.” You feel his smirk more than you actually see it, and your breath gets caught in your throat. His hair curtains around you, tickling at your neck and shoulders.This can’t actually be happening – right? His thumb drags lightly at your bottom lip, “that we were gonna fuck all night?” 

“I– I didn’t know you were there.” You stutter out, afraid to admit anything more than that. 

“...Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” 

You don’t. Instead, you find yourself falling forward, colliding once more in a clumsy kiss. You stand slowly so that he doesn’t have to crouch, never once letting your lips leave his. It’s an intoxicating contrast to the last kiss, all bruising pressure and teeth and tongue and desperation. He licks into your mouth without asking permission, though you would have given it freely anyway, and his hands creep downward on your body, caressing your waist and falling to rest on the swell of your hips, squeezing gently. When you surge up onto your tiptoes to kiss him deeper, he notices the wobble in your legs and shifts, hooking his hands on the backs of your thighs and lifting you to rest on the edge of your vanity. You gasp in surprise at his boldness, at the strength you didn’t know he possessed, and break the kiss in the process. 

“You know, I was hoping you weren’t all talk,” he beams with pride, taking in the sight of your bite swollen lips and chest heaving with ragged breath. Placing a hand on either side of your hips, his head drops to mouth hungrily at your neck, giving the same attention to the opposite side he had earlier, pulling at the neck of your stolen tee-shirt to suck another bruise into your collarbone. In between passes of his tongue and nips at your sensitive skin, he keeps talking. Eddie Munson does not know when to shut up, not even now. “Been wanting to get my hands on you since we met,” he mumbles into the hollow of your throat, you can feel another smile pressed to the skin there, “somethin’ about being threatened by a sweet little thing like you…” working his way back up to find your lips, he basks in the small noises coming from the back of your throat. “...really does it for a guy.” 

“Oh yeah?” You tease, hooking a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugging, but before you can continue the thought, the vanity beneath you gives an awful creaking sound under your combined weight. Giggling, near mortified, you bite your lip and shift your eyes toward the bed, “you wanna…?” 

“Thought you’d never ask,” he jokes in return, helping you down from your perch and crossing the room. He shuffles up toward the headboard, pulling an old teddy bear from under him when he leans up against it and raises his brow at you. 

Taking the stuffie from his hands to throw it across the room with a soft glare, you settle into his lap comfortably, one knee on either side of his hips. His hands land on your own hips and pull you closer to him roughly with a soft, amused huff. He kisses you like it's his last chance, hands firm on your hips holding you in place where you can feel his cock, half hard with interest pressing against you. 

You kiss him for what seems like hours. For all you’re concerned it could have been. Eddie consumes you, the scent of smoke and leather engulfing you and invading your senses. It’s a scent so perfectly Eddie, with a little sweetness and a little bit of something dark, just like how he kisses. Sweet pecks and soft caresses of his lips against your jawline immediately followed by lewd, wet passes of his tongue and sharp, stinging bites. He kisses hard and messy, unabashed, fingers squeezing at the meat of your ass and pulling your hips harder into his.

This time when he kisses down your neck, he doesn’t stop at your neckline. He pulls at the shirt collar, carelessly stretching it past the point of no return in favor of uncovering more and more of your unexplored skin. Cold fingers prod at the skin of your lower back, making you squeal and grind harder against him, heat pooling in your center. 

Your position is making you hyper aware of just how wet you are, your panties sticking to your lower lips with it as you rut against his clothed length. Your hand stays firm on the back of his neck, nervous and unsure how far to take this, but Eddie clearly knows what he wants, his own hands exploring. Not an inch of your body goes unnoticed as he caresses you, light fleeting touches here and there followed by rough, possessive hands, kneading at your curves hungrily. He’s taking his time learning what makes you tick. Thumbs brush featherlight over pebbled nipples through the worn material of your shirt, drawing another breathy moan from your lips. Though he grins in satisfaction, looking up at you with a mix of admiration and provocation. 

“Careful,” he murmurs, gaze falling on your chest as he seeks out the hardened buds again and pinching, cocky smile only growing at the responding whine you let out. “Don’t want anyone to hear you, pretty thing. Or did you forget where we were?” 

Not one to go without a fight, you grip his jaw and turn his face back up toward yours, “shut up and put your mouth to good use, baby.” 

He smirks at the pet name, capturing your lips once more and turning you both until you’re laying back against the mattress. Eddie hovers over you, staring, eyes raking over you briefly before he makes his way down your body, stopping at the waist of your sleep pants with a happy hum. He traces the elastic teasingly before hooking in and pulling them down, tossing them out of the way carelessly. You press your thighs together when he does, and he tuts disapprovingly, thumb caressing the crease between your thigh and hip. 

“Aw, sweetheart, you’re not gettin’ shy on me now, are you?” He teases, gently coaxing your legs back open, chilled air hitting the damp cotton and making you shudder. Lowering himself so that he’s eye level with your clothed cunt, he smirks, “that’s what I thought.” 

You expect him to rid you of that layer as well, but he doesn’t, not yet. Instead, he noses at the growing wet spot, inhaling deeply and giving a dramatic, gleeful sigh. He’s not so cruel to keep teasing you though, quickly mouthing at your pussy through the thin material of your panties. The added friction is unbearable, pleasure settling low in your belly as he licks broadly at the wet spot with a low groan, pointed tongue finding your clit surprisingly quickly. Pulling back briefly, he admires the way that the material clings to you, now wet with your slick and his saliva, the soaked cotton hides nothing. He murmurs something about “isn’t this a pretty picture?” and reaches out to touch you, fingers stroking over your clothed cunt in a rough drag, but the way your blood is rushing in your ears you barely hear him. 

When he finally peels the ruined panties off of you, you prop yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at him between your legs. His hair’s a mess, disheveled by your hands running through it, bangs pushed back from his forehead from his efforts. His lips are kiss swollen and red from the cherry candy, pulled back tight over an eager grin. He licks his lips, eyes glittering as he stares down at you, utterly enraptured. He looks at you as though you were his last meal, like you were the most delectable treat, and it makes your stomach flip.

He dives back in, tongue gliding between your lips easily and circling your clit once, teasingly, before retreating back down to your entrance. With a huff and a repressed squeal, you drop back onto the bed, hand flying to tangle in his hair as he tongues at your hole eagerly. Nose bumping your clit with his efforts, he laps at your juices until you’re whining for it, a weak little “please,” falling from your lips. Any other day he would tease you. A quipped please what, what do you need? But he senses your desperation and relents. 

“So wet, sweet thing,” he chides, reaching out to drag two fingers through your dripping folds and pushing them into you without warning, forcing the air from your lungs. You bite your lip in an effort to keep quiet, only letting out the softest whimper when his thumb joins in, rubbing at your clit lazily. “Tell me, are you always this eager?” 

“When some asshole’s been teasing me since dinner, yeah,” you quip, throwing an arm over your eyes to hide your embarrassment. 

“Oh, I’m an asshole?” Eddie asks, scissoring his fingers and leaning down to lap at your nub, suckling lightly until your thighs tremble and your pussy clenches down on his fingers. “Do you even know what you were doing to me at dinner?” His pace quickens, fingers drawing obscene, wet sounds from your cunt as he pumps them faster. Resting his head on your thigh to watch as his fingers disappear in and out of your dripping entrance, he continues, “The way you were lickin’ that fork clean after dessert should be illegal. Had me wonderin’ what else you could do with that tongue, I just had to level the playing field.” 

He strokes at that spot deep inside you right as his lips wrap around your clit once more and you swallow a groan. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” you whimper, hips moving on their own accord, canting down to meet his eager ministrations. “Right there.”

He almost sounds pitiful as he coos, “I know, baby, I know.” 

He continues to work at your g-spot, languid, repetitive strokes that bring you closer and closer to the edge each time. Pressure builds in your pelvis, an unmistakable ache in your limbs as you tense up. He can tell you’re close, the fluttering of your walls around him and thighs caging his head in firmly. If he minds, he doesn’t let on, only doubling his efforts and adding a third finger as he thrusts back in. You’re getting close, but words are hard to find when he’s smiling so pretty at you and those long, thick fingers stroking deep within you with a come-hither motion. 

“Eddie, I’m– fuck, you gotta–” 

“That's it, Princess,” he encourages, leaning back on his heels to get a good look at you. Your whole body flushed, his tee shirt rucked up on your chest, your fingers curled in the bedspread beneath you. With his fingers still buried inside you, he reaches out with the other hand to abuse your clit, quick, messy back and forth motions that are absolutely maddening, just on the edge of too much. “C’mon, sweet thing, come for me.” 

There’s nothing you can do to stop your body from obliging, bearing down as your orgasm rips through you, your release coming from you in waves, splashing over his hands and the bedsheets between you. Your fingers go numb as you white-knuckle the bedspread, toes curling and mouth hanging open in a silent scream as he works you through your orgasm. 

Though he gives your oversensitive clit a much needed break, to your dismay, he doesn’t let up on fucking his fingers into you, gazing down at the mess you made in awe, a lopsided grin on his face. “You didn’t tell me you're a super soaker, sweetheart. What a pleasant surprise.” 

“I–” you try to interject but gasp at his unrelenting fingers. “I’m not usually.” 

“Oh?” 

You’re too embarrassed to admit it again, so you only shake your head, flushing even deeper under his scrutinizing stare. It’s all too much, you’re oversensitive and spent already but god that doesn’t mean you don’t want more. 

“Please,” you start, reaching for his wrist to still his motions. You aren’t above pouting when you say, “let me return the favor.” 

“Uh-uh, sweetheart,” his grin is downright evil, “not yet…I wanna see you do that again.” 

You weren’t sure that was possible. Hell, until a few moments ago you didn’t even know you could squirt at all, let alone twice in a row. But he’s determined, and he’s already kept you teetering on the edge since your first orgasm, so it doesn’t take much. He speeds up again, hand curling to cup your cunt with his efforts, and the slick slip-slide of your previous release gives him the perfect traction to continue the onslaught of attention to your overstimulated clit. Your hips can't decide whether they want to twitch away from the attention or grind down into it, ultimately going with the latter, much to Eddie’s satisfaction.

Ducking his head, he sinks his teeth into the swell of your inner thigh, relishing in the way the pain makes you clench around him yet again. 

“You got another one in you,” he encourages, “I know it.”  

And he’s right.

The coil in your belly has been threatening to snap as soon as the last orgasm dissipated, his constant attention on your g-spot enough to send you over the edge again, but it’s not until his lips latch onto your clit one more time, the delicious drag of stubble against your inner thighs a whole new sensation, that you let loose. Gripping onto fistfuls of his curls again, you take note of the wild growl the action draws from him as you spill onto his tongue, your release puddling under you and soaking into the sheets. 

“Shit, Eddie, stop, I–” You pull at his hair lightly to get his attention, “s’too sensitive.” 

Despite your complaint, he grins happily and crawls back up your body, taking the hem of your shirt with him and pulling your last bit of clothing off of your body before capturing your lips in a deep, languid kiss. The distinct taste of Eddie, of tobacco and sugar and your own release is intoxicating, and you sloppily make out with him until you can no longer taste yourself on his tongue. You can’t help but giggle as you pull away. 

“You still with me?” He asks gently, damp fingers brushing through your hair, though you have no energy to care about the mess. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, “just needed a second.” Reaching down to palm at the achingly hard bulge in his pants, savoring the moan he swallows, you tease, “I feel a little underdressed, here.” 

“By all means,” he hums, turning to fall on his back beside you, a cocky smile dancing on his features, “be my guest.” 

You follow suit, sitting up to straddle his lap again, lifting the hem of his shirt up and over his head. Peppering his skin with the same attention he showed you, you take your time nipping and sucking and adoring his newly exposed skin, appreciating your favorite mark (an angry looking, deep purple bruise forming just above his demon head tattoo) with a bitten lip and smug smile. He looks ruined and you haven’t even touched him yet, not really, and you take pride in the way his head lolls against the headboard, eyes heavy-lidded and crinkled from his smile,  pupils blown as he watches your every move. As you rake your nails down his chest (an act that pulls yet another deep growl from within his chest), you cant your hips down against his. The drag of denim against your bare pussy is almost too much, on the brink of both pleasure and pain in your overstimulation, and the way that it makes you shudder has his cock twitching with interest. 

Scooting down his legs, you lay between them lazily, twirling your finger around the button of his pants and savoring the impatient noises he’s clearly trying to hold back. You decide he’s been too kind to you already to deserve anymore teasing, so you make quick work of unzipping his jeans and freeing his aching member. He helps you shuffle them, along with his underwear, down his legs and as soon as you get a good look, your mouth starts to water. Flushed at the tip and weeping, it’s the most enticing thing you’ve ever seen. 

Leaning in to catch the bead of precum on your tongue, you moan at the earthy taste and let your eyes fall shut. Eddie swears above you and that only eggs you on, reaching out to take his length in one hand, you give it a long, broad lick from base to tip and around the head before taking it into your mouth, reminiscent of the way you’d enjoyed his lollipop earlier. (If you’re being honest, you much prefer this to candy). 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he groans, leaning up on one elbow to get a good look at you and burying his free hand in your hair. “Just like that–look so perfect like this.” 

He babbles as you suck him off, an incoherent string of desperate phrases that all circle back to one common theme – how good you look with his dick in your mouth. His praise goes straight to your throbbing core, more slick dribbling from you with every word. You find yourself clenching down on nothing, feeling suddenly empty without Eddie’s thick fingers there.

You pull off of him with a satisfying pop, beaming with pride as your hand works him over in your absence. 

“Do you ever shut up?” You tease, cupping his balls lightly with your free hand before ducking to take one into your mouth. 

He chokes out his response, “not often,” sighing as you take him back into your mouth, your tongue running over the thick vein that runs up the underside of his shaft. “But you’re gettin’ close… Get up here.” 

Pulling you off of him by the hair, he urges you back up the length of the bed. Propped up against your mess of pillows at your headboard, he pulls you back to hover over his lap and drags the head of his cock through your wet folds teasingly. Capturing your lips again, he licks hot into your mouth, positioning your hips square over his waiting member, but leaving it up to you to seal the deal. 

You sink down onto him slowly, inch by thick, delicious inch, savoring the stretch and the slight burn that comes with it. Even with proper preparation, he’s big, and fills you to the brim when you finally settle into his lap, his cock fully sheathed inside you. 

Drawing a shaky breath, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your forehead to his, all sweaty bangs and shared breaths. He gives you a moment, pressing a gentle kiss high on your cheekbone and lingering there until you thread your fingers into his hair again and give an experimental roll of your hips. Both of you share a groan, breathing each other in as you slowly start to move. 

It's like a dance; you push, he pulls, moving together like you’ve rehearsed this a million times. You feel impossibly full as you bounce on his cock, lewd, wet sounds coming from where you’re joined, and the pressure builds in your stomach once again. 

Eddie’s hands fly to your hips, guiding your movements and holding you in place to fuck up into you without restriction. Unable to hold back, an involuntary moan tumbles from your lips and you fall forward, biting into the crook of his neck to stop yourself from making any more noise. He hisses at the sting and his hips stutter, but if he’s more affected than that he doesn’t show it. His hips continue to piston up into you, his cock forcing tiny little hiccuping noises from your throat as you clamp your eyes shut. 

“Yeah baby,” he encourages, pulling your hips down for a particularly harsh drag, the wiry hair at the base of his cock tickling at your clit from the force of it. “Y’can’t stay quiet, can you? Even now?” Reaching between you, he circles your still sensitive nub with his middle finger, kissing you to swallow the sounds you make as he spreads two fingers over your puffy lips, prodding at the taut, stretched hole where he thrusts up into you.  “Christ, if you sound this fuckin’ pretty when you’re trying to keep quiet I can’t wait to hear you when you aren’t holding back.” He speaks low in your ear, his voice impossibly deep and his words go straight to your core, zapping like static over your skin. “You’d like that, huh?” He prompts, tugging at your earlobe with his teeth, “wanna make you scream my name.” 

You lift your head to kiss him, if only to shut him up, and whimper into his mouth, eyes screwed shut, but give him what he wants with a soft whine of “Eddie,” against his full lips. 

“I guess whining will do for now. Look at you, messy thing,” he’s unrelenting on your clit now, swift, circular motions made jagged by his stuttering thrusts. He’s just as close as you are, if his jerking motions and labored breathing tell you anything. “You gonna come on my cock? C’mon sweet thing, I wanna feel you.” 

“I don’t– I can’t, ‘s too much,” you babble, lost in the way his cock drags over your inner walls and the insistent swiping of his fingers at your clit. It’s so good but it’s all too much, and you’re certain if you have another orgasm, it’ll be the end of you. 

The hand that isn’t buried in your cunt comes up to hold your chin, forcing you to look at him as he says, “sure you can, baby, c’mon,” then after a surprisingly tender kiss pressed into your lips, he demands through lidded eyes, “come for me, princess.” 

Even if you didn’t want to, your body obeys, the pleasure licking up from your core and spreading through your limbs like fire. Your skin burns, your cunt spasming with the force of it, and when you force your eyes shut, forehead pressed against Eddie’s in exhaustion, you swear a tear leaks out. 

He groans, the fluttering of your walls triggering his own release, pulling you into a hard, toothy kiss to dampen the sound he makes. He pulls out just in time, splattering your stomach with his seed and already you’re mourning the loss, feeling impossibly empty but sated nonetheless. 

Your mouths hang open against one another, sharing damp, hot breaths for a few moments as you come down from your high. 

“Fuck,” you sigh, rolling off of his lap to lay beside him, a delighted little chuckle falling from your lips. 

“My sentiments exactly,” he muses, turning on his side to brush the mess of your hair behind your ear. With a kiss to your temple and a soft, “wait here,” he rolls away, pulling on the first pair of pants he can find (which just so happens to be your pink snowflake pajama pants) and looks both ways before stepping out of your room and toward the bathroom. 

As you wait for him to return, you can’t help but return to your thoughts from earlier. 

Would he touch you? 

Yes. 

Would you really mind if he wanted to?

Fuck no. 

What does this mean for your friendship? 

Fuck off, don’t worry about that right now. Enjoy the moment. 

Soon he’s back with a warm washcloth that he uses to gently clean you up, taking care around your sore, red center, and then mops up his spend with a surprisingly delicate touch. In the other hand he has another fresh set of sheets, which he holds up with a snarky smile. 

“When your legs work again we can change these out,” he teases, “seeing as you ruined the ones on there now.”

Running a hand down your face, you blush. Even after everything, you blush at his remarks. “Shut up.” Giggling, you hop down from the bed and pull on his discarded boxers and the now stretched out Black Sabbath shirt before helping him change the sheets. 

In the end, you decide that it’s not worth it to finish out the weekend at home and set an alarm to get up before any of your family. It’s far too early for either of your liking, but it’s a necessary evil. 

When the car is loaded up and you drop into the passenger seat, it feels natural when Eddie’s large hand lands on your thigh. The sun is just starting to rise in the rear view mirror, and you’re eager to get a move on, but not before properly thanking him. 

Leaning over the center console, you press a kiss to his cheek, then again to his lips when he turns to meet your affection. You sigh, a dumb smile plastered on your face as you breathe your first full breath all weekend. “Thank you, Eds.” 

“Hey,” he chuckles, squeezing your thigh happily, “I’ll help you piss off your parents any day.” One more longing kiss, his lips sliding against yours without urgency, without anything to prove, just an exchange of affection between two maybe-more-than-friends who don’t have any roles to play anymore. He bites your lip as he pulls away, winking, and throwing the car into drive. As he drives away he laughs again, fixing you with an adoring stare. “My little showstopper.”

[writingforstraykids]

Omg what about super rough Seungmin and super sweet Felix taking care of their leader Channie 🥺 Kind of like a good cop bad cop situation? Mixed with praise and degradation all at once 🤭

Needy little pup

Pairing: Chan x Felix x Seungmin

Word Count: 5354

Warnings/Tags: sub!chan, soft!dom!lix, dom!seungmin, edging, oral/anal (chan receiving), chan gets called dumb boy/puppy/slut/baby boy (...), aftercare

A/N: Seungmin isn't super rough, since that isn't really what I write but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless🖤

Part of the 💌 event. More here

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Felix made his way inside the apartment calling out for his hyung loudly. Seungmin followed closely and frowned as they got no answer. “I thought he'd be home by now?”

“Maybe he's taking a shower,” Seungmin shrugged, and they made their way into the living room area. “Fucks sake, Channie,” he cursed, spotting him. Chan was sitting at the kitchen table, laptop in front of him and headphones on his head. He was asleep on the keyboard, headphones only partly in place. The way he was lying there, bent over and all cramped up, told them he once more fell asleep absolutely exhausted. 

Felix sighed softly and grabbed the blanket from the sofa, gently covering Chan with it. He took his headphones off for him and gently ran his hand through his hair. “Channie, baby?” he asked, and Chan stirred in his sleep. “Channie, come on, you need to go to bed.”

Chan whined softly and pushed himself up, moaning out in pain as his body protested against the movement. “Ow,” he whimpered, and Felix immediately pulled him into a hug, soothingly kissing his head. 

“Shh, it's okay, Channie love, take your time, okay?” he told him, and Chan nodded drowsily.

“Where's Minnie?” he asked softly, knowing they'd return back home together today. 

“I'm here,” Seungmin said and stepped closer, watching Chan firmly. “I told you to take a break.”

“I'm sorry,” Chan whispered, not expecting such a welcome. 

“No, you're not,” Seungmin shook his head. “You always say you're sorry, and then you keep on doing the same shit. You can't be,” he said, and Felix felt Chan growing small in his hold. 

“But-,” he tried, quickly shutting his mouth as Seungmin's gaze hardened. 

“You're starting to piss me off, neglecting yourself like that,” he said, and Felix tightened his hold on him, knowing how self-conscious Chan could get. “I told you to take a break and take a nap. And still, here you were, working once again. One day you'll pass out from exhaustion, and it'll be your own goddamn fault.”

“I wanted to nap but I felt lonely without you and-,” he tried weakly. 

“I don't care; if I tell you to sleep, you do as I say. You don't need me for that as well, do you?” he asked. 

That seemed to be the breaking point for Chan, whose eyes filled with tears rapidly. Felix felt him sink back against his chest, and his heart dropped as Chan tried to explain himself. “Yes, I do need you. I want to be held when I sleep. I want to cuddle and feel safe. I can't do that without you,” he rambled, big tears dropping down his cheeks. “I'm sorry I'm being a baby, but I need you for that.”

Seungmin's expression faltered, and he took a few steps forward, cupping his face. “Channie, baby, don't cry,” he said soothingly and leaned down, kissing his forehead. 

“No, you're being mean,” he protested and leaned closer to Felix. 

“He's worried, we both are,” Felix chimed in softly and kissed his head, rubbing his chest soothingly. “Minnie gets really worried about you, you know?”

“Mhm,” he sniffled tiredly. 

“I don't want my baby to work so hard all the time,” he explained. “It's not good for your health.” 

“Okay,” he nodded bravely. 

“Want my baby boy to be happy and healthy, yeah?” he asked, and Chan nodded quickly. “But it seems you’re such a little dummy you can't manage on your own.”

Chan shook his head and gazed up at him through his lashes. “I can't. Too hard.”

Seungmin ran his hand through his hair and tightened his grip on it, making him gasp. “Such a dumb little boy,” he whispered, leaning down and boring his eyes into Chan's blown chocolate orbs. 

“I'm your dumb boy,” he breathed out, leaning into the firm grip. 

“Chan,” Felix spoke up gently, sensing where this was going. “Let's go to bed, hm? Take a nice nap and cuddle.”

“No,” he pouted, still staring deep into Seungmin's eyes, squirming a little beneath his gaze. 

“No?” Felix asked, stunned. 

“I can't, not anymore,” he said and bit his lower lip. “I need you.”

“Need us?” Seungmin smirked and leaned in closer. “Is my boy so needy for love it's enough when I call you a dummy?”

“Mhm,” Chan hummed and pressed his legs together, hands planted in his lap, trying to conceal how hard he had gotten. “‘M so needy.”

Felix wrecked his plan by replacing his hands with his own, gasping softly as he felt it. Chan whimpered at the bare touch, trying to get more and lifting his hips a little. “Aw, such a needy pretty baby,” he whispered adoringly and kissed his cheek, making Chan hum sweetly. “Want us to take care of our hardworking baby boy?”

“Please,” he nodded eagerly, and Felix smirked. Chan looked back at Seungmin and gulped softly. “Please, hyung.”

“You do know I won't go easy on you? Not after you've not taken care of yourself again?” he asked, and Chan nodded. “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes, hyung, I know I've been a bad dumb boy,” he stuttered and blushed furiously at Seungmin's intense gaze. 

“Mhm, yes you were,” he said and raised his eyebrow as he noticed Chan trying to grind up against Felix's hand. “Huh, needy little pup.”

Chan choked on his breath and squirmed visibly this time. He bit his lower lip hard, nodding with wide eyes. “I'm your needy little pup.”

With Chan's admission hanging thick in the air, Felix could feel the tension and need radiating from both of his partners. He smiled gently, his fingers tightening around Chan, holding him close and secure. “Well then, I think it’s time we take good care of our baby,” Felix murmured, his voice low and reassuring.

Chan's response was immediate, a soft, desperate moan escaping his lips as he nodded vigorously. “Please, babe,” he whispered, his voice laced with yearning and a deep-set need for their affection and control.

Seungmin observed the interaction with a discerning eye, his expression softening. “Alright, baby,” he agreed, his voice dipping into a soothing yet commanding tone that made Chan shiver in anticipation. “But first, let’s get you into bed. Properly.”

Felix helped Chan to his feet, supporting him as they made their way to the bedroom. Chan leaned heavily against Felix, his body still weak from exhaustion but buzzing with excitement. Seungmin followed behind, his gaze never leaving Chan, protective and intensely focused.

Once in the bedroom, Felix and Seungmin worked together to ease Chan onto the bed. They moved with a practiced ease, each action deliberate and filled with an unspoken promise of care and attention. Chan, for his part, submitted to their ministrations, his eyes heavy but alight with trust and affection for his partners.

“Let’s get these off,” Felix said softly, tugging at Chan’s clothes. Chan lifted his arms, allowing Felix to pull his shirt over his head while Seungmin carefully removed his socks. Soon, Chan was lying in just his pants, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his shallow, excited breaths.

Seungmin sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing gently against Chan's cheek. “You need to be careful, baby. You push yourself too hard,” he chided, but his touch was tender.

“I know, hyung,” Chan replied, his voice small. “I’ll try harder. I just... get caught up in it all.”

“We know,” Felix interjected, sitting on Chan’s other side. He ran a soothing hand down Chan’s arm. “But that’s why we’re here, to make sure you don’t have to go through it alone, okay? We take care of each other.”

Chan nodded, his eyes moist with gratitude and something akin to relief. “Thank you, babe. I... I love you both so much.”

“We love you too,” Seungmin replied, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Chan’s forehead. He then looked at Felix, signaling a silent conversation they had shared many times before, one of mutual concern and shared responsibility for their partner.

Turning his attention back to Chan, Felix’s expression softened. “Now, how about we make you feel really good? Let us take all the stress away, hm?” he suggested, his tone light but laced with an undercurrent of desire.

Chan’s response was immediate and eager. “Yes, please,” he breathed out, his eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered himself to the caring hands of his lovers.

Seungmin and Felix exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them. They began to move together, their touches growing more deliberate. Seungmin’s hands massaged Chan’s shoulders, kneading the tense muscles with skilled fingers, while Felix’s hands wandered lower, tracing patterns over Chan’s sensitive skin.

The room filled with the soft sounds of their movements, the quiet murmurs of encouragement and love, and Chan’s occasional moans of pleasure. Felix gently unbuttoned his pants and eased them down his legs. Seungmin didn’t waste another second, planting his hand firmly above the prominent bulge between Chan’s legs. He started rubbing him in circular motions, only parted by a layer of fabric. Chan moaned heavily, hips rutting up against his relieving touch. 

Seungmin’s hand found Chan’s neck, and he stared him down warningly. “Did I say you can move?”

“N-No,” he stammered, biting his lower lip hard as he tried to stop himself from squirming. 

“Such a needy little puppy, hm?” Seungmin asked, amused, watching Chan’s eyes roll back as Felix suddenly sucked on his nipple with an obscene groan. He reached out for Felix, gently fondling his hair, fingers tightening their grip on it and guiding him to Chan’s other nipple, eliciting a similar reaction. “He hasn’t even started, and you’re already whining like the little slut you are.”

Chan felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment at Seungmin’s words, glancing up at him through his lashes. “Missed you, hyung,” he admitted barely above a whisper.

“Yeah? How much?” he asked, and Chan pressed up against him in response.

“So much,” he admitted, sounding a little strained as Seungmin pushed him back down hard. 

“Minnie,” Felix chimed in sweetly, nuzzling his nose against his cheek, smiling at him. “I want to suck his pretty dick,” he said, Chan choking on his breath. “Can you keep him still in your lap?”

Seungmin chuckled at the thought and cupped Felix’s cheek, giving him a long, firm kiss. “Of course, love.” Seungmin got situated against the headboard, pulling a now naked and leaking Chan onto his lap. Chan leaned back against him, hiding his face in his neck for a moment. Seungmin knew when to push him and when to reassure him of how much he loved him. He soothingly rubbed his thighs, planting a kiss on his hair, and smiled as Chan nuzzled deeper into his neck. “Alright, little pup?” he asked softly, and Chan hummed in response. “Words, baby,” he reminds him kindly. 

“Yes, hyung,” he nodded quickly, breath hitching as Seungmin’s strong hands pulled his thighs apart, presenting him to Felix, who licked his lips at the sight. 

“Oh, my pretty boy,” Felix cooed sweetly, getting situated between his legs. “I’ll make you feel so good, okay?”

“Okay,” he breathed out needily. He knew how talented Felix was with his mouth, and the thought of having his pretty lips wrapped around his dick now made him dizzy. 

Felix leaned forward, his eyes locked on Chan's, filled with a mixture of affection and lust. He began with gentle kisses along Chan's inner thighs, eliciting soft moans from Chan, who trembled under the touch. Gradually, Felix’s kisses neared his throbbing dick, his breath warm against the sensitive skin.

Chan, desperate for more, shifted subtly, trying to direct Felix's head to where he needed him most. However, Seungmin tightened his grip around Chan's waist, a firm reminder of his earlier command to stay still. "What did I say, Chan?" Seungmin’s voice was stern, yet there was an undeniable undertone of care.

"I... I need to stay still," Chan managed to say, his voice shaky with unfulfilled desire.

"That's right," Seungmin confirmed, his hand stroking Chan’s side soothingly, even as his tone remained authoritative. "You need to wait until we say you can move."

Felix smiled up at Chan, his eyes glinting with mischief and understanding. He finally gave in to Chan's silent pleas, enveloping him in the warm wetness of his mouth. Chan gasped, his back arching instinctively, but Seungmin's arm around his waist kept him from moving too much.

Felix’s movements were skilled, a perfect blend of teasing licks and deep, steady strokes that had Chan writhing in pleasure. Every flick of his tongue was calculated, aimed at driving Chan closer to the edge without letting him tip over.

Seungmin, meanwhile, kept his arms securely around Chan, holding him in place. His touch was both a restraint and a reassurance, grounding Chan as he teetered on the brink of overwhelming sensation. Every time Chan’s body tensed, ready to chase the release he craved, Seungmin’s grip tightened, his voice a whisper in Chan’s ear. “Stay still, baby. Not yet.”

The denial was torturous in its sweetness, and Chan found himself caught in a storm of pleasure and frustration. He wanted to thrust into the warm, inviting mouth that enveloped him, to chase the release that Felix was so expertly keeping just out of reach. But Seungmin’s firm command and unyielding hold forced him to surrender, to accept the pleasure in the exact measure and pace that his lovers chose to give.

Chan’s breaths became ragged, his whines and moans filling the room as Felix continued his ministrations, each movement designed to tease and draw it out longer. Just as he felt he might finally reach his climax, Felix pulled away, leaving him aching and desperate.

“No, please, I need…” Chan gasped, the unfinished plea hanging in the air.

Seungmin’s lips brushed against his ear, his voice firm yet affectionate. “What did I say? You need to wait, baby. You can take it. I know you can.” His hand trailed down Chan’s chest, fingertips lightly grazing the sensitive skin, a contrast to the denied pleasure.

Chan’s frustration was palpable, his body trembling with the effort to obey. He nodded, biting his lip to stifle his protests, his eyes glistening with a mix of need and trust.

Felix smiled up at him, his eyes gleaming with mischief and adoration. “You’re doing so well, love. Just a bit longer, okay? Let’s see how much you can take.” With that, he leaned in again, taking Chan deeply, his hands gently massaging Chan’s hips as he resumed his slow, deliberate pace.

As Felix worked him over, Chan felt the familiar coil of heat building again, more intense this time, harder to ignore. He moaned loudly, pleading through his body’s movements, seeking friction, seeking release. Just as he was about to tip over, Felix stopped once more, pulling back with a slick pop.

Chan let out a whimper of protest, his body tensed in unfulfilled need. “Hyung, please, I can’t-”

Seungmin tightened his embrace, his hand sliding up to gently cover Chan’s mouth. “Shh, baby, trust us. You’re almost there. We’re going to take care of you, but you need to wait. Just a bit longer.” His words were soothing, a balm to the burning need within Chan.

Felix looked on with a soft expression, his own desire evident but controlled. “You’re so beautiful like this, Chan. So desperate and yet so patient. It’s breathtaking.”

Chan, caught in a whirlwind of emotion and sensation, could only nod, his eyes locked on Felix’s. The trust and love in the room were overwhelming and comforting even as he was denied what he sought.

Felix's movements were slow and teasing, building Chan's pleasure but carefully avoiding pushing him over the edge. He swirled his tongue, sucked gently, then pulled back to blow cool air over the wetness he had created, making Chan whimper in frustration and need.

As Felix continued his torturous ministrations, Seungmin leaned in close to Chan's ear. "You’re doing so well, baby," he whispered, his voice both soothing and seductive. "But remember, no cumming until we say."

Chan nodded, biting his lip hard to keep from moaning too loudly. The pleasure was intense, spiraling inside him, but the restriction held him back, teetering on the brink of overwhelming ecstasy.

Felix sensed Chan's growing desperation and paused, looking up at Seungmin with a questioning gaze. Seungmin gave a slight nod, and Felix withdrew, leaving Chan aching and panting. "Not yet, baby," Felix murmured, his voice thick with promise. "You need to wait a little longer."

Chan groaned, both in disappointment and in arousal, his body aching for release. Seungmin stroked his hair, a comforting gesture that helped Chan focus on the sensation rather than his frustration. "Focus, baby.”

The denial only intensified Chan’s feelings, the wait making the eventual climax promise to be more explosive. Seungmin and Felix exchanged another look, this one filled with affection and a hint of admiration for Chan’s resilience.

Felix moved again; this time, his touches were less about teasing and more about comforting, his hands massaging Chan’s hips, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin of his abdomen, making Chan squirm with a mix of relief and need.

After several long moments, Felix looked up at Seungmin, silently asking if it was time. Seungmin assessed Chan, his eyes softening as he took in the flushed cheeks and the desperate look in his eyes. "One more time," Seungmin decided, his voice gentle yet unwavering. "He can wait a bit longer. Can't you, baby?"

Chan, overwhelmed and edged beyond his limits, could only nod, accepting the decision with a mixture of exasperation and obedience. Felix resumed his place; this time, his actions carried a hint of solace, as if he was rewarding Chan for his patience.

As Felix lavished attention on him once again, Chan felt the build-up even more intense than before. He looked at Seungmin, pleading with his eyes as tears brimmed them. Seungmin watched him, clearly proud of Chan’s endurance but also moved by his need. "Alright," Seungmin finally said, his voice breaking with a mix of command and concession. "You can let go now, baby."

With Seungmin’s permission, Chan felt a rush of relief flood through him. Felix’s touch, now encouraging and deep, guided him through the waves of his climax. Chan cried out, a sound filled with gratification and release, as he finally let go, his entire body trembling with the intensity of his release.

Afterward, Felix gently cleaned him up, his touches tender and caring, while Seungmin held him close, cradling him against his chest. "We’ve got you, Chan. Always," Felix murmured, kissing his forehead. Seungmin nodded, pressing a kiss into Chan’s hair.

Chan, spent and content, nestled deeper into their embrace. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse but filled with gratitude. It didn’t take long and he got restless, shifting on Seungmin’s lap. “Hyungie?” he asked innocently.

“Yes?” he asked, smiling at the title Chan used so freely with him whenever they got intimate.

“Need you so bad,” he admitted and bit his lower lip. “Want you to use my hole until you feel all good,” he said, and Seungmin fought back down a moan. 

“Really? My little pup wants to be fucked this badly?” he asked, amused, and Chan nodded shyly, blushing heavily. “Want Lix to prepare you for me?”

“Please,” Chan nodded eagerly at the thought of Felix’s fingers and tongue working him open. “Please, babe,” he said, looking at Felix, who smiled fondly.

“Of course, my sweet boy,” he assured him, fondling his hair. “Get on your arms and knees for me, yeah?” he asked, and Chan did immediately.

Seungmin laughed, smacking his butt with a wide grin. “Such an eager pup.”

Chan positioned himself as instructed, his breath hitching with anticipation and a flush of excitement coloring his cheeks. Felix admired the view for a moment, his gaze appreciative and warm. Then, with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with Seungmin's earlier rough slap, Felix positioned himself behind Chan, his hands gently caressing Chan's sides.

"Relax, love," Felix whispered soothingly, his fingers tracing small circles on Chan's lower back. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the air charged with a mix of tenderness and desire. Felix leaned down, pressing soft kisses along Chan's spine, each touch light as a feather yet burning with intensity.

Chan let out a soft moan, his body responding eagerly to Felix's gentle ministrations. "Felix, babe..." he murmured, his voice painted with need and affection.

Hearing his name uttered with such vulnerability, Felix felt a surge of protectiveness and love. He continued his trail of kisses, moving lower until he reached the curves that he had come to know so well. There, he paused, glancing up at Seungmin, who watched them with a look of intensity mixed with affection.

"Go ahead, love," Seungmin said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down Chan's spine. "Prepare him well."

Felix nodded, his hands now gently spreading Chan's cheeks, exposing him completely. He chuckled as Chan clenched around nothing, watching as Chan shivered at the sound and pushed back slightly, seeking more contact. With a smile, Felix complied, his tongue darting out to delicately lap at the exposed skin.

Chan gasped, his hands clutching at the sheets, knuckles turning white. The sensation of Felix's tongue was gentle yet insistent, circling and teasing before delving deeper. Felix took his time, savoring the taste and the way Chan squirmed under his touch, his sounds of pleasure music to Felix's ears.

As Felix's tongue worked magic, his hands got busy as well. One hand traveled forward to grasp Chan's hand, intertwining their fingers, a silent promise of care and connection. The other hand remained on Chan's hip, holding him steady, guiding him back onto Felix’s eager tongue.

The room was filled with the soft sounds of Felix's movements and Chan's responsive moans. Felix was thorough, ensuring that every nerve was alight with pleasure, preparing Chan not just physically but emotionally, weaving a tapestry of sensation that was both comforting and arousing.

Meanwhile, Seungmin observed them both, his expression one of deep affection and undisguised desire. The sight of Felix, so tender and attentive, coupled with Chan's unabashed pleasure, was incredibly arousing. Seungmin's hand moved over his own body, tracing his skin, excited for what was to come.

"Ready for more, baby?" Felix finally asked his voice husky with his own desire as he looked up from his task. His lips glistened slightly, curling into a smile.

Chan nodded eagerly, almost desperately. "Yes, please, babe, more," he pleaded, his voice thick with need.

Felix rose, his lips finding Chan's in a deep, possessive kiss that left them both breathless. "You're doing so well," Felix murmured against Chan's lips. Then, glancing at Seungmin, he added, "He's ready for you, Seungminnie."

Seungmin moved forward, his presence commanding as he took Felix's place behind Chan. He ran his hands over the work Felix had done, appreciating the readiness and the invitation of it all. Then, positioning himself at Chan's entrance, he looked at Chan through the mirror positioned in front of them. "Look at us," he commanded softly.

Chan lifted his head, catching Seungmin's gaze in the mirror. The eye contact was intense, buzzing with unspoken promises and desires. Seungmin entered him slowly, savoring the tightness, the heat, and the way Chan's eyes fluttered with the mix of pain and pleasure.

"You're perfect, Chan," Seungmin murmured, beginning to move with a slow, deliberate rhythm that was both a claim and a caress. Chan moaned, the sound a mix of satisfaction and longing, his body moving instinctively to meet Seungmin’s thrusts.

Felix, not wanting to feel left out, positioned himself in front of Chan, offering his lips and his body for Chan to hold onto. Chan reached out, pulling Felix into a kiss that was as needy as it was loving, their bodies melding together in a dance of desire and fulfillment as he collapsed on top of him.

“Can I touch you?” he asked Felix breathlessly, who gave him permission with a quick nod. He spit into his hand, reaching down between their bodies and wrapping it around Felix’s dick. Felix was leaking into his hand, worked up from all the tension before, and it didn’t take long for Chan to stroke him sloppily.

Seungmin smacked his bum suddenly, pulling a pleasured yelp from him. “Such a good pup, taking me so well,” he told him, pounding into him harshly. 

Chan arched his back, pushing back against him with needy, loud moans, and buried his face in Felix’s chest. Felix desperately fucked back into Chan’s fist, soothingly fondling Chan’s hair as the older fell apart above him. He could feel Chan starting to drool onto his skin, jaw slack with obscenely loud moans, voice cracking repeatedly. It didn't take long, and he was spilling down Chan’s fingers, painting their stomachs with a loud groan of Chan’s name.

Seungmin's grip tightened as he continued to thrust, each movement forceful yet calculated. The room echoed with the sounds of their passion, a symphony of gasps, moans, and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin.

Chan's cries grew louder and more urgent as the intensity escalated. He clung to Felix, his fingers digging into his skin, seeking comfort as much as he sought pleasure. Felix, ever attentive, kissed Chan's forehead drowsily, whispering words of encouragement and love, and wrapped his hand around his dick to return the favor. "Such a good boy," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the storm of sensations.

Seungmin watched them through fluttering eyes, his actions unyielding but his heart swelling with affection. He admired the strength and the vulnerability Chan displayed, the way he opened himself to their love and control. "Look at you, so beautiful," he praised, his voice low and husky, pushing Chan further into the abyss of pleasure.

The balance of tenderness and dominance, the intertwining of pain and pleasure, pushed Chan toward the brink. His body trembled under the simultaneous assault of Felix's gentle strokes and Seungmin's relentless thrusts. The overwhelming mixture of sensations left him gasping, his mind foggy with need.

"Please," Chan keened, his voice breaking as he looked up at Felix with pleading eyes. "I need..."

Felix nodded, understanding his unspoken request. "Let go, sweet boy. We've got you," he assured him, his tone firm yet full of warmth. With one hand, Felix caressed Chan's cheek while the other continued to work him towards his climax.

“Let go, my needy little pup,” Seungmin added, grip on his hips turning almost bruising. Seungmin felt the shift, the tightening around him, and he slowed, allowing Chan the moment he needed. His thrusts became more deliberate, each one hitting his prostate with force. "That’s it, let it all out," he coaxed, his breath hot against Chan's ear.

With a cry that tore from his throat, Chan surrendered to the sensations, his body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over him. He gripped Felix tighter, his other hand reaching back to clutch at Seungmin, anchoring himself between the two as he rode the waves of his climax, whimpering loudly. After the storm, the calm settled gently. Seungmin gradually stilled, his hands running soothingly over Chan’s hips, grounding him. Felix leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to Chan’s lips, a silent testament to the depth of their connection. Seungmin pulls out with a groan, painting Chan’s reddened cheeks and back with his release. He marvels at the sight of his cum dribbling all over the red imprint his hand left.

Chan, spent and content, collapsed against Felix, his breathing ragged but slowing. Seungmin moved carefully, his movements gentle as he shifted to lie beside them, wrapping his arms around both. The three of them tangled together, a perfect puzzle of limbs and satisfied sighs.

"We love you," Seungmin whispered into the quiet, his voice a soft rumble against Chan's ear. Felix nodded, pressing another kiss to Chan's temple, his eyes reflecting the same deep affection.

"I love you both so much," Chan murmured, his voice hoarse but filled with emotion. He snuggled deeper into their embrace, the warmth and weight of their bodies a comforting presence.

After some time, Seungmin and Felix got to work. Felix changed the sheets, opened a window, and helped Seungmin get Chan back to bed once he was done cleaning him up. He retrieved a bottle of soothing lotion from the bedside table, the kind specially formulated for sensitive skin that could help with the marks of passion left behind. With tender care, Felix poured a generous amount into his palm, warming it between his hands before applying it to Chan’s body.

Starting at the shoulders, Felix’s hands moved skillfully, his fingers pressing into the tight muscles with just enough pressure to release the knots without causing discomfort. He worked the lotion into the skin, paying special attention to the areas where Seungmin’s grip might have been too firm. Every stroke was a message of care, a silent apology for any pain, and a promise of tenderness.

Seungmin, watching Felix’s methodical movements, felt a swell of affection for both of his partners. He couldn’t help but reach out to brush a stray lock of hair from Chan’s forehead, his touch gentle. “You okay, baby?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

Chan, his eyes half-closed in relaxation and fatigue, nodded slowly. “Feels nice,” he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. The warmth of the lotion, combined with Felix’s soothing motions, pulled him further into a state of blissful drowsiness.

Encouraged by Chan’s response, Felix continued his work, moving down along the spine. Each inch received its attention, and he massaged the lower back where Chan was usually tense. Chan’s occasional sighs of relief were a clear indicator that Felix’s efforts were not in vain.

After finishing his back, Felix signaled Seungmin to help turn Chan gently onto his back. Together, they maneuvered him with care, ensuring he was comfortable before Felix resumed his task. Now facing upward, Chan’s chest and abdomen were exposed, showing some faint red marks left by their earlier activities.

Felix’s hands now worked over these new areas, his fingers lightly skimming over the sensitive skin. He applied the lotion, which had a cooling effect, to each mark. Seungmin watched intently, his eyes softening at the sight of such gentle care. He leaned over to plant a soft kiss on Chan’s temple, murmuring, “Better?”

With the tension easing out of his body and the soothing presence of his lovers enveloping him, Chan nodded, his eyes fluttering shut. “Much better, thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Satisfied that Chan was feeling better, Felix capped the lotion and set it aside. He then settled next to Chan, drawing the blanket over all three of them. Seungmin, on the other side, wrapped his arm around Chan, pulling him close. In this secure embrace, Chan felt cherished and protected, the peace a stark contrast to the moments of roughness of earlier.

Seungmin’s fingers traced mindless patterns on Chan’s arm, each touch reinforcing their bond. “We’ve got you,” he said softly. Felix, feeling the weight of the moment, joined in, his hand finding Seungmin’s under the blanket. Their fingers intertwined, a physical manifestation of their united front in caring for Chan.

As the room settled into a comfortable silence, the only sounds were the synchronized breathing of the three men and the occasional soft whisper of fabric as they adjusted in their embrace. This was their sanctuary, a place where each of them could be vulnerable, strong, loved, and loving.

Chan, nestled between the warmth of his partners, felt the last of any residual tension melt away. The care they had shown, both in intensity and gentleness, filled him with an overwhelming sense of love and belonging. As sleep began to claim him, his last conscious thought was of gratitude for the love and safety that enveloped him, a testament to the complex but unbreakable bonds they shared.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

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[urfavoritegirlkisser]

"To all the Girls I've Loved Before" Hazel Callahan x Reader

"And then she shoved them all into her closet, for her eyes only, and it would stay that way until she died…or at least that was her hope."

Tags: Fluff, Nothing big happens really, only one use of y/n, wlw, proof read but it's currently 4:44am and my eyes burn so just ignore imperfections

A/N: This is kind of loosely based on the scene in "To all the Boys I've Loved Before" where all the guys receive their letters, but make it gay, also please don't steal my writing...it would suck

Hazel always kept her romantic feelings to herself…well, she tried to at least. 

Sometimes she would have a crush that made her want to just scream from the rooftops and parade around town confessing her love to whoever was the object of her desires at that time.

So, Hazel decided to write them out, to save herself from becoming an even bigger loser than she already was. She would write letters to all of her crushes but never mail them so she could look back and read what crazy things a simple crush can do to a person.

There was only three letters, one to PJ, one to a girl she had met at summer camp once, and then you.

You were the one crush that Hazel didn’t think she would ever be able to shake, PJ was simple to shake after a few arguments and harsh words thrown Hazel’s way…

But you seemed to keep Hazel in your grasp even if you only knew her from that one spin the bottle game during a party freshman year, which was the first time Hazel kissed a girl. Ever since she would still catch herself faintly blushing if you caught her gaze in the hallways.

She had written your letter first, the night she got home from the party freshman year. Hazel poured out all of her giddy feelings about the kiss and how pretty your eyes were underneath the cheap party city lights.

And then she shoved them all into her closet, for her eyes only, and it would stay that way until she died…or at least that was her hope.

It was a regular Friday afternoon. Hazel’s last period being gym which wasn’t exactly her favorite, especially since she had gotten caught up with fight club business and ran late causing her teacher to tell her she was running an extra lap because of her tardiness.

Hazel had been running for a while and stopped to take a breather as the sun shone down on her, and of course she forgot her water bottle in the bleachers in her haste.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hazel saw you approaching and tried to straighten her sweaty and wrinkled P.E. uniform. Not that it helped her appearance any since she knew her cheeks were probably a blotchy red and could feel her hair sticking to her forehead from the sweat.

“Hey y/n, what’s up?” she asks, trying to be cool but cringing at herself for not coming up with something less generic.

You smile sweetly, “Hi Hazel, look I wanted to tell you that I am very flattered, but I just broke up with Josh a few days ago” you say putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry…what?” Hazel says, confused and still trying to catch her breath from running, and that’s when she saw it

Oh fuck…

In your hands was a letter, Hazel’s handwriting clear as day with your name and address on it.

“And don’t get me wrong, that kiss freshman year was great for a first kiss, I wouldn’t say it was like a firework show but I mean I wasn’t in your shoes for it so…” You ramble on a little awkwardly

And that’s the last thing Hazel remembers you saying before she hit the ground

—————

“Hazel!” You say sharply while shaking her shoulder and she jerks awake with a sharp inhale

Hazel squints as the sun shines directly into her eyes, “Jesus…what happened?” she groans a little as she leans onto her elbows

“Well, you fainted” you say before helping Hazel sit up

She knows that you continued speaking to her after that, but she can’t really pay attention as she looks over you shoulder to see a confused looking PJ walking over, letter in hand

Oh no…no no no no no

“Oh my god…” Hazel mutters to herself trying to think of a distraction and then turning to you.

“Oh my god” she repeats before quickly pulling you down so she’s on top of you and quickly presses her lips to yours, while you shriek in surprise.

“Hey! You two! Get up and stop that!” the coach shouts, which causes Hazel to immediately break away in shock of what she had just done.

She looks over to see PJ staring at the two of you dumbfounded. Hazel jumps up and shoots you a thumbs up.

“Uh, thanks…i guess” she stammers out before running away from both you and PJ who tries to call after her. 

--------

Thank you for reading!! This is my first time posting fanfic so I am actually so nervous, go drink some water you girl kissers, love y'all!

[haunted-headset]

Wilbur talking about YN at a concert and YN just happened to be streaming and chat told her. Then once wilbur gets back from tour (theyre roommates) YN mentions it and wilbur gets all flustered 🤭

💬 Everybody Talks Too Much 💬

Summary: Wilbur was talking about Y/N at a concert and Y/N happened to be streaming & her chat told her. Then, once Wilbur gets back from the tour, Y/N mentions it & Wilbur gets flustered AF

A/N: guys go follow @joviepog, they're basically one of the reasons you guys get fanfics. Also, this title was based off of a song called Everybody Talks :p

pairing: CC!Wilbur x afab!musician!reader

pronouns used for reader: She/her/hers

tags: @vibestillaxxx @joviepog @ax-y10 @themonsterunderurmom @wilburstan @smolsleepykitten @funnyreally2009 @crows-death @thewheelersgaygaragelights @dykepunz @aresriiots @0miamor0 @cathers-world @defonotval @chipch0p @mazzistar16 @unmellowyellowfellow @justalittlebitofchaos @thosecolorfulsheets @vopix @taylors-version-from-the-vault @aine-lasagna @merianakross @veeislost @urfav-sapphic-siren (pls let me know if you do/don't want to be tagged!)

warnings/cw: reader & Wilbur getting flustered, swearing, mentions of whimpering audios

proofread?: *aggressively shakes head*

genre: fluff

word count: 455

"Do we have to steal Wilbur's YLYL rules again, chat?" You said to your chat with a laugh. "It seems like Wilbur's the only one who can tame you feral fuckers." You were doing a YLYL stream & your fans thought it would be a funny idea to try & send whimpering audios through MediaShare. You were not amused. Just then, a different video had been sent in. You were very prepared to pause the video or have the mods remove it, but you then saw your roommate Wilbur in the video.

"What's this?" You asked with a raised brow. You read the caption of the video, which read, "Wilbur was talking about Y/N during one of his concerts!!!!" You felt your face get hot.

In the video, Wilbur had just finished a song & he said to the crowd, "Guys, I forgot to mention, but shoutout to my roommate Y/N, because they stuck around even though I forget to pay rent half of the time & I bother her with my dumbass rambling! So, yeah, respect for my pretty hot roommate!" He said it so easily as if it were nothing. As if he didn't just call you hot.

"...interesting," you mumbled. The chat was blowing up with 'lol' messages & comments about how red your cheeks were. You didn't really care because you heard a knock at your bedroom door. You were home alone.

"Uh...come in?" you said to the knocking at the door. Wilbur then opened the door. "Wilbur?! You're back from tour?"

"Yeah," he smiled. He became Beardbur again during the tour & he looked very tired. "Sorry, I didn't tell you. I wanted to surprise you."

"Nah, it's fine," you said. "I was too busy to pick you up anyway."

"Wow," Wilbur said sarcastically, placing a hand over his heart & scoffing. "I can't believe that you would prioritize your streams over me!"

"Oh, piss off," you laughed.

"What're you doing?" Wilbur asked, looking at the webcam. He looked at the video & raised a brow.

"We're doing a YLYL stream," you said. "& my chat sent a video of you talking about me during a concert."

His usually pale face went ten shades pinker. "Th-that must've been edited or something-"

"Wilbur, it's fine, I know you're madly in love with me," you said jokingly. He laughed awkwardly.

"Oh well, I'll leave you to your weird chat," Wilbur said as he quickly got up & left the room. You waved goodbye & saw that someone had subscribed & left a message along with the sub.

"WILBUR LIKES YOU! HE SAID SO DURING THE SHOW! I JUST DIDN'T SHOW YOU THAT PART!" The message said.

"...what?" You said softly.