#but he's better than cameo sorry

[whos-hotter-jjba]

Hottest JoJo Character Bracket - Match 1-6

[helianthus21]

Peninsula resorts to the usual Zombie Movie Message of Humans Are The Real Monsters (people are bad). which isn’t bad in itself, but it doesn’t directly tie in with Train To Busan where the message was We Need To Look After Each Other (people are good) which leaves something to be desired for me

[kisses4reid]

convenient pt.3 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

pt. 1 | pt.2 (you cannot read this without prior reading)

summary - spencer likes the girl from the convenience store

warnings - awkward conversations and long silences, both of them being hopeless romantics, allergies/sickness

genre - fluff!!! college!fem!reader x earlyseasons!spencer

a/n - thank you for the love and support on this series. it goes without saying i appreciate all of you all 🫶 thank u @raevyng for the cameo. sorry this is short, it’s either i upload this part or i make y’all wait for another week - i like you guys too much to do that.

“good job on you’re stem cell report, y/n. it was very informed and unique. i liked the, now who was it… william blake quote you included!” the teacher spoke before a class of 60. it was back to teaching new information before the next assessment, you were just about finished typing the professor’s notes before she spoke up. the mention of your name nearly made you jump.

a few of the students looked back up at you, some looking around because they had no clue who you were. you liked it better that way.

you also had no idea who william blake was.

“oh- um. thanks.” you say barely above a whisper. professor raena simply smiled and pushed back her shoulder length bob from her face. she started talking again, so did your friend.

“thanks? the professor who’s known to call out people for their incompetence more than smile in the classroom just praised you. that’s all you had to say?”

maybe logan wasn’t your friend per say. maybe she was just someone who sat next to you the first class and also happened to be your neighbour. she was stubborn and straight-forward, insanely intelligent and also smelt great. but she was caring, and gave you tough love when you needed it.

you glanced at her and smiled awkwardly, “i didn’t have much time to think about an answer.”

“i spend most of my time thinking about what i’d say to professor raena if she ever complimented me.”

“that’s because your-“ you suddenly muffle a cough into your hand, “obsessed with her.” you bring out a small packet of tissues from your bag and wipe your nose, nose reddening. logan leans slightly away from you and you roll your eyes.

“you’re not going to catch anything, it’s just allergies.” you lean back and try to continue typing notes but logan continues,

“you should go home, have some medicine, get some sleep.”

“i can’t, i’ve got work.” you whispered, a man in front of you turning around to shoot you with a side eye.

“you’ve told me multiple times that your manager wouldn’t care if you stole from the store. i’ve also told you many times i also don’t care.”

“yeah well… i like working there, that’s all.”

she rolls her eyes again, and waves you off, her long brown hair blocking her disappointed expression from you.

you stayed loyal to your job for two nights, for nothing. sure you got paid, and sure you got to steal some strawberry milk to ease your throat for a couple of minutes, but it felt boring. you actually started to file through the month old magazines you sold for double the price of a new one. you almost made it a third day without dying of allergies (and another secret feeling of sickness you constantly ignored), before you decided you were over it.

you stood up, flipped the door sign so the word ‘open’ faced you, and turned off half of the fluorescent lights before someone was suddenly in the corner of your eyes. spencer was opening the door so quickly you thought you were being robbed, you wouldn’t have seen him if not for the bell ringing on his entry.

“y/n.” he panted, watching your fingers hover over the last light switch. there was two lights left flickering softly above the front door and the check out desk. he looked stoic in the light, dressed in a grey sweater a little too big for him (like his mother had bought it for him telling him he’d grow into it) and black slacks. he seemed to have gotten a trim, his hair just under his ears now. “you don’t close until 1.”

he was confused, eyes wandering with a light hint of relief. like he was happy he didn’t miss you.

“yeah.” is all you said before you turned away from the light switch and returned to the register, assuming he would get his usual. but he didn’t keep walking, he just turned his body to face you. his eyes were expectant, delirious in a way like he needed something from you.

it was silent before the tension literally forced you to speak, “um. i need to close the store before i pass out. so i can uh… get home alive.” you look down and realise the pile of tissues before you was making a mountain, quickly grabbing them and stuffing them in an over filled bin.

“um.” a cat caught his tongue, he looked down to his feet.

spencer was sitting in his desk chair, scrolling on his government provided computer through forums and websites on ‘how to ask out a girl.’ not realising a majority of his team was reading them as well. he heard a small, familiar giggle behind him, quickly closing the tab and turning his head to be met with many other faces. jj slapped garcia on the shoulder with a smile, who’s hand was over her mouth, morgan and emily also smiling. spencer sighed and was about to cover for himself before morgan stepped in,

“look, pretty boy. no websites or article is ever going to teach you how to ask out a girl. they know nothing.”

emily joined, “yeah, none of those things are going to work. i mean, one of those said ‘don’t take no for an answer’. that’s straight up harassment.” she chuckled. morgan walked forward and placed a hand on spencer’s shoulder.

“all you have to do is talk. learn to what she likes, and be confident.”

“that’s easy for you to say.” spencer mumbled.

“who is this girl anyways? who’s taking our genius away from us?” garcia asked, today her hair was adorned with green themed pieces and a small pink flower clip.

spencer couldn’t help but let the corners of his mouth perk up when he thought about the girl who worked at the convenience store. the girl who’s report honestly impressed him. the girl who knew his total without looking at the register. the girl who called him good looking without noticing, like it slipped off of her tongue with no second thought. “just someone.”

you were not just someone.

“yeah you should get home. you look terrible.” spencer’s eyes widened as you raised an eyebrow, “no i mean- not terrible- you never look or have ever looked terrible- i just meant today- no you- like you’re sick and obviously- i mean you don’t obviously look terrible- it’s just uh…” he nodded at himself after he noticed a smile creeping onto your face. “you know what i mean.”

“i know i look terrible, thank you.” he was slowly walking up to the register.

“you really should go home, i shouldn’t keep you here because of some coffee.”

you eyes stung and were puffed in redness, you nose dried yet running, eyebrow lines permanent from warding off a migraine. any other customer you would stay for, but you felt less guilty with him. not because you didn’t care, because you knew he did.

“yeah, thank you.” you grabbed your bag, put your empty water bottle into it and walked over to the lights, turning off the last ones, leaving you both in darkness. spencer was waiting for you, quite creepily as he was basically just a block of void. “you sure you don’t need your 3 minute lasagne?” you joked, and he smiled.

“no, this is fine.”

this? them? you thought this man was articulate.

you opened the door with a key-accessed button that automatically locked it after it closed, and walked into the warm streetlight with spencer.

“bye spencer.” you looked up to him only to find his eyes already on you. his face was plain of emotion, except maybe it was just the lighting that made you think he looked disappointed. not at you, at himself. he was silent, hands making their way into his pockets. it was a habit, you had learned. “what’s wrong spencer?” you asked softly, sniffling immediately after.

it was cold, the wind let a stray piece of hair cross your stuffy features.

“do you like old bookstores, y/n?”

you blinked, taken aback. “yeah. i like old bookstores.” you huddled into your sweater, a darker grey compared to his with a large font displaying your university.

“okay, goodbye y/n. see you tomorrow.” he hurried off into his car and you followed him with you eyes in curiosity.

you were already walking away before he could turn around and ask you something, he felt like he had missed his chance. but there would be more. spencer closed his eyes in frustration and took a breath, starting his car before texting the team’s group chat.

“Attempt One failed. 😐👎”

there was a string of messages after but he didn’t read them. all he could think about was the percentage of people who die alone, and then the percentage of people who are like you.

the next night he appeared at the normal time, around nearly 11pm. but he wasn’t the only one, logan was there with you, studying behind you on the floor.

she was bored, and needed to get out of her room, and the only person she knew well enough was you. there in her mens pyjama pants and an over-sized shirt that read ‘RIP Princess Diana’ with a photo of owen wilson on it, her computer warmed her lap and made a soft whirling sound the in the background.

“hi y/n.” spencer waved, he felt bad about last night. you were barely walking straight when you left and he could tell you wouldn’t get out of your ‘work clothes’ (whatever you wanted to wear with a vest over it) before falling onto your mattress, and he drove away. he didn’t even offer to take and walk you home, let alone give you a ride. but his hands were sweating and his heart thumping in his ears, and he couldn’t think straight.

“oh, hi spencer.” you turned from your own textbook splayed on the counter beside you to see spencer and his tall self. a bag of apples, a 2 minute bolognese container, and a bag of coffee. you scan them, weigh the apples, and watch him.

he wasn’t meeting you eyes. you furrowed your eyebrows for a second before telling him his total with a sniffle.

“i’m sorry for not driving you home,” he lifted his head, a piece of chocolate brown hair crossing his left eye, “or walking you home. or making sure you made it home safe.”

you widened your eyes slightly and sat still before spencer cleared his throat and continued, “i was nervous, about being around you. and my friends- my colleagues- told me i need to be more confident around you so.”

logan had stopped writing, glancing through her bangs up at you both. your mouth was slightly agape before you realised how stupid you looked and how awkward you were making it.

“oh- no it’s okay spencer, you don’t have to say sorry. i was- i’m fine. um,” you tilt your head with the corner of your lips quirking up with little resistance, “you talk about me to your friends?”

spencer nodded, put his hands in his pockets and thought for a second. he wished there was a better place to do this, a better person to take over for him.

all you have to do is talk.

spencer is great at talking.

“did you know that you could be scrolling for seven weeks before you can reach the end of ‘how to ask a girl out’ results on google? i was scrolling for a long time but then my friends told me to just talk and be confident, but i’m only good at one of those thing. so i was trying to ask you out last night but then i- well i failed basically, it isn’t my strong suit,” he took a breath, “so basically i’m saying sorry for not asking you out and not driving you home.”

it was silent, even a customer stopped humming.

“and also your allergy medication isn’t strong enough for your symptoms.” he glanced down to a white and blue box by your hand. you looked down, seeing logan in the corner of your eyes, hand covering her face.

“spencer-“

“dude just ask her out.”

spencer’s face dropped, and he looked over the counter to find another woman sat down, a cringed out expression on her face. his nervousness increased after he realised this wasn’t as private a conversation as he thought. wiping his hand on his vest, he continue with a gulp,

“no i can’t. not here, um. i’ll see you on monday. and i promise i’ll uh- be better? i’ll try again, so. okay see you on monday.” he quickly took his groceries and walked off quite speedily. you watched him walk away and then once he was out of sight, you simply stared at the box of allergy medication on the counter.

logan groaned in the background and said something about growing balls, but it was tv silence for you.

you didn’t know how to go out with someone, your last relationship was in your first year of high school with a guy who thought baby’s came out of a woman’s bum. not that spencer meant he wanted a relationship, no it could just be a friend ‘going out’. totally not romantic.

you slump and stuff your face in your hands. you didn’t care if you hadn’t dated for however long, he didn’t seem to be a man-whore at all. you just cared about how you were actually going to say yes to a man you’ve only talked to inside of an off-brand convenience store on the night shift.

you muffle a scream before the same silent customer placed a carton of milk on the counter.

“$2.50.” you grumble.

you carried logan’s computer bag as she took out a box of strawberry pocky on the sidewalk. the store was locked, the air was crisp, the light was flickering. you didn’t say much until logan couldn’t stand it anymore.

“you know when you’re this silent it’s actually pretty nice, i like peaceful walks home.” you nodded, and continued your racing thoughts with your line of vision stuck on the concrete as you both walked the block to your apartments. she sighed, “but it’s odd. you love talking. a guy likes you and you go mute?”

“his name is spencer, he does something dangerous for a living, he likes old books and drinks a lot of coffee. he gets home late at night, looks skinny but can lift a box of flour above his head with ease. he’s insanely smart and reads poetry, and helped me with my stem cell report.”

you look over at logan who looks a little disgusted but mainly confused.

“he helped me lift that box of flour without me asking. i have no idea who william blake is. i have no idea how he managed to put poetry in a biology report, and i have no idea how he can admit he’s going to ask me out and then not ask me out. his favourite colour is purple, his favourite fruit is grapes but he buys apples because they’re cheaper. and his name is… spencer.”

logan stopped in her tracks, making you copy. you flung out of whatever trance you were stuck in and raised an eyebrow at logan, “what?”

“what? oh no i don’t know, maybe you’ve just never told me about a man you happen to know a lot about, and yet don’t know anything about. you sound insane- not in the ‘loony-bin way’, in the romcom way. it’s disgusting.”

you both continued to walk, climbing the stairs to the foyer of your building before she took back her bag and gave you the pocky, mumbling, “you need these more than me.”

the elevator ride was mostly silent, and that continued before you both unlocked your apartment doors right beside each other.

“you need to ask him out, if he doesn’t do it first.” she entered her apartment before you could speak, let alone think.

suddenly your apartment felt lonely.

so did spencer’s.

he was cross legged on his plush couch on a call with penelope garcia, she was squealing every second minute trying to create a plan for spencer to ask someone out.

“spence, you’re making this very hard. how am i supposed to be your coach if i only have half a team?”

“you can find someone’s address with half a fingerprint, i think you’ll be fine.” he takes a bite of his 2 minute bolognese.

“that takes the fun out of it. i can only give you tips if i know her personality.”

spencer sighed, and thought for a second, he could practically hear penelope’s growing smile knowing she had won.

“her names y/n.” garcia squealed. “she’s smart and pretty. and her favourite colour’s purple and she studies biology. she knows my groceries off my heart and she’s allergic to pollen. she works late at night at the convenience store two blocks away from my apartment building, and she likes old book stores. she’ll be introverted around an extroverted person, but extroverted around an introverted person. she can read my expressions faster than anyone else, she tries out different hairstyles when nobody’s in the store, and she’s funny.” spencer smiles to himself, “she’s pretty.”

“you mentioned that, lover boy.”

pt.4

taglist: @jeffswh0re @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @trashmonstersara @wannabewolf @evysian @navs-bhat @mywellspringoflife @daphnesutton @smalls155 @amortencjja @anuncalledbridge @belsreid @redmurderbaby @tatilolz @criminalmindsandhouse @forensicuntology @nomajdetective @ilikw @screechingphantommaker

[papercorgiworld]

Muffins and Fireworks, because I want your love

A Mattheo Riddle fluff

You are a kind and sweet person and you weird out Mattheo so much by being nice to him that you have him falling for you badly, turning our sour boy soft and sweet.

This was a lovely request but I feel like I screwed it up. I don't know but I feel like I could've done better, but it's really fluffy so I do hope it's to your liking. Also sorry for taking a freaking century to write this! For the cameo piece, Raven (@sunshineangel-reads) is your friend who listens to you talk about muffins and who ends up dating Blaise. They're very kissy. Thanks for sending in! I honestly feel like this story is more about muffins than Mattheo but yeeah, I love both.

My ending was inspired by prompt 4 of @thatdammchickennugget 's Hogmarch Challenge and since it’s still the 25th, I’m just in time.

Warning: fluffy fluffiness and kinda long for my standards

I. Kindness

You weren’t one for loud Gryffindor parties, but your friends had convinced you to come anyway. So here you were, standing outside the three broomsticks in need of some fresh air while looking up at the moon. After a few minutes you sigh and turn to head back to your friends. Just then a drunk figure stumbles through the door, almost bumping into you. You stop and he turns around looking even more drunk than he was walking. “Elloo, pretty thingy.” He flirts playfully pointing his finger in your direction, making you laugh as you had never seen Mattheo Riddle in this state. He takes two steps towards you and one step back, before focussing on you again. “Have we met?” He says leaning forward and stumbling closer to you. You chuckle and nod. “Yes, Mattheo, we’ve been going to the same school for several years.” A bright and toothy smile spreads on his lips and you find his drunk state almost adorable. “Then tell me, why aren’t you my girlfriend?” Mattheo tries to take another step towards you, but stumbles to the side and you reach for his upper arms to hold him steady. “Whoopsie.” Mattheo says, leaning closer to you again. You shake your head and get a little flustered at his flirtiness. “You. You are incredibly drunk.” You chuckle and his eyes just move from your sweet ones to your kissable lips. Your mind is freaking out as you catch on with Mattheo’s intentions, but it only lasts for a second because suddenly Mattheo tears himself loose from your hands, keeping him steady. 

You frown and scrunch your nose as Mattheo throws up a few feet away from. You hear his painful breath and bite your lip as you watch him, pitting him. You think quickly and conjure a soda for him. Slowly you move over to him, resting your hand on his back. “Here, have this.” You whisper as he still rests his hands on his knees, unable to look away from the ground. “No, no more. I think I’ve had enough.” He mutters and you chuckle. “It’s not alcohol, but I’m glad you’ve figured out that you’ve had enough alcohol for today.” You gently stroke his back up and down and his eyes move to the cup and then looks up at you. You take a step back when he takes the cup and he nods, clearly he’s partly sobered up. “Thanks.” He says, sounding confused, and you offer him a sweet smile. “Go sit for a moment.” You suggest and point to a nearby bench. Your hand brushes his biceps as you guide him to sit down and his eyes watch you darkly. He had never felt so uneasy, he just couldn’t wrap his head around your gentle touch and concerned eyes. You sat down next to him watching him with those sweet eyes of yours and he fell silent, drinking from the cup. “Better?” You ask and your soft voice gives him goosebumps. He nods as he stares at the drink in his hand. 

A few seconds pass in silence until a painful grunt leaves Mattheo’s lips. Again your hand rests on his back. “Do I need to walk you to the common room?” You sound genuinely concerned and Mattheo just doesn’t know how to behave around you anymore. “I’m not a girl. I don’t need to be walked anywhere.” You’re surprised by his snappy voice and you pull away, making Mattheo regret what he said, but it was too late now. He gets up and leaves, throwing the cup in a trashcan before shoving his hands in his pockets. You watch him walk away with his head low and you’re utterly confused at the way he left, but it was Mattheo Riddle after all. You knew he could act out, but you also knew that he didn’t always mean it that way. So you shrug and go back to your friends, not knowing that Mattheo would spend the entire evening alone thinking about you. Why were you so nice to me?

II. Sweetness

It was widely known around the school: you were always snacking. However, you also like to share. After a day in Hogsmeade you would bring your friends’ their favourite candy and you would pass a candy bag around before class to give everyone that well needed sugarboost. Mattheo found the gesture sweet, but also unnecessary. He was almost annoyed by your sweetness since he found it made you vulnerable to greedy people who would just take advantage of your generosity. Yet, you had noticed that on occasion he would take one of the really sour candies. Convinced that Mattheo only wanted one specific flavour of sour candy you made sure to get a small bag extra just for him.

Mattheo entered the classroom and immediately noticed the candy bag go around, making him roll his eyes as people that rarely talked to you suddenly pretended to be your friends, thanking you and saying you were amazing. You immediately noticed his mood get darker and you smile pleased that today you came prepared. Mattheo let himself fall next to Theo, but as soon as he sat you appeared in front of his desk. He shot you a curious look. “You lost?” He asked and Theo carefully watched the interaction between you two from the corner of his eyes. “No.” You say somewhat startled by his tone, but still smiling. “I noticed you rarely take any candy, probably because I never take anything you like, so I got you your favourite.” With a bright smile and shiny eyes you reveal the small bag of sour candies that you were holding behind your back.

Theodore can barely hide his smile as Mattheo stares with wide eyes. Due to a lack of reaction from the boy in front of you, your smile falters a little. “Not your favourites?” You whisper a bit embarrassed. Enzo’s hand reaches for the bag as he passes by. “I’ll take them, I love-” Mattheo’s eyes darken. “Paws off, Berkshire.” Your heart skips a beat at the harsh tone coming from Mattheo, but Enzo just laughs, raising his hands in defence. “They're good.” Mattheo nods and he feels himself melt as your sweet smile instantly returns. You hand them over and his eyes lock with yours for a moment. “Thank you.” Mattheo says, his voice a bit horse, revealing how weirded out he is by your kindness. “Sour candy for our sour boy.” Blaise says with a teasing smirk on his lips, while ruffling Mattheo’s hair, before quickly taking a seat next to Enzo far away from a clearly agitated Mattheo. “You don’t have to do this.” Mattheo says, inspecting the bag and you shake your head, but decide to ignore his statement. “Best to open it like this.” You say and your fingers reach for the bag in his hands. “I think I’ll manage.” Mattheo says tilting his head and you move away. “Right, sorry.” You chuckle and just then the professor walks in, so you quickly move to your seat.

Mattheo’s eyes stay on you as you grab your books while exchanging a casual word with your friend. He hated how you made him feel, how much you made him feel. Why couldn’t you just act like other girls flirty and none of this sweet and kind stuff. 

Boy is clearly weirded out by you, but also can't help but stare.

Mattheo didn’t learn anything during the hour that passed as he was only staring at you and thinking about you. What to do with you? What to do with himself and his growing feelings? However at the end of class he did learn one very important thing, considering cupcakes. Noisy students move through the classroom, quickly heading for the door, but you and Raven aren’t in a hurry at all and continue chatting while putting your quill and books away. “No muffins?” Raven exclaims in shock and you nod with a soft chuckle. “Rae, trust me. If they had any I would’ve bought them all. They have the best. Nothing rivals the sweet texture of Honeydukes’ muffins.” Raven frowns and slings her bag over her shoulder. “Out of muffins?” You follow her through the door. “Not a single one. So I have to wait for the weekend to restock.” You explain, voice pained with the lack of muffins in your life. “Will you survive that?” Raven laughs and you shake your head. “No, I’m in agony and it’s monday.” 

Your voice disappears in the hallway and Mattheo is still packing his books, since he was too focused on listening in on your conversation. Suddenly he’s in a hurry scrabbling his notes together and hurrying through the hallways, passing a confused Draco. “Potions’ that way!” The blond slytherin yells as Mattheo speed walks in the other direction. “Do we need to check on him and make sure he doesn’t punch anyone?” Theo just shrugs and heads to class. 

***

Your day had been exhausting and homework had just killed that last bit of will to live. You drop your bag on the floor of your dorm and walk over to your bed, noticing a rather large box and an envelope addressed to you. 

These are for the sweetest girl I know. Please don’t share, it’s okay to keep some things just to yourself. M.

You frown and flip the card, searching for a name. Disappointed that you don’t know who the card is from you move to open the box. An overjoyed yelp has your friends run into your room. “You okay?” You turn around to your worried friends rushing through the door. Your lips are already on the muffin in your hand and you nod, taking a bite. “I’m better than okay! I’m great! Look, muffins!” You take a step to the side and reveal the box with muffins on your bed and your friends laugh. “Who are they from?” You moan as you take another bite. “My lord and saviour.” Is the only answer you can give them.

III. Information is key

Mattheo could hear Raven’s giggling through the door, but as long as it wasn’t moaning there really was no reason to not walk in. Raven yelps and Blaise is quick to throw the sheets over her. “You’re early?” Mattheo smirks at Blaise’s question. “How are those tutoring lessons about magical creatures going? Learned anything new yet now that your tutor is-” “It got a little late so Rae stayed over.” Blaise explains before Mattheo said anything inappropriate. Mattheo nods in understanding. “She just stayed over. So if I pull the sheets you’ll both be wearing clothes, right?” Blaise’s tongue moves in his mouth and the hufflepuff girl in his bed pushes the sheets down just below her chin and gives Mattheo an innocent smile. “Hi.”

“What do you want, Matt?” Blaise sighs. “Chill, I’m not here for you. I’m here for the lady.” Blaise frowns and Raven’s brown eyes go wide. “Me?” Mattheo raises his eyebrows and nods. “Unless there’s another lady under those sheets…” Blaise groans and gives Mattheo a dark glare, urging him to move it. “I just need to know what’s up with that weird girl that you always hang out with.” Mattheo doesn’t mention your name in an attempt to sound uncaring and nonchalant about you, but the truth was he knew a lot about you. Raven’s eyebrows knit together. “Weird girl?” Mattheo rolls his eyes. “Yeah, the weird and always nice one.” Raven purses her lips as she thinks. “All my friends are nice.” She argues, getting up a little and Blaise wraps an arm around her to make sure the sheets stay around her body. “Well the pretty, weird and nice one.” Mattheo explains rather annoyedly, but this time Raven figures it out and sighs. “You mean (y/n).” Mattheo nods.

“What about her?” Raven asks and Mattheo rolls his eyes. “What’s her deal?” Raven frowns, why was Mattheo being so incredibly vague and weird about you. “Why is she always so nice?” Raven tilts her head at his absurd question. “Because she’s a nice person.” Mattheo sighs, not satisfied with the answer. “Yes, but there has to be something wrong with her?” Raven moves to sit up a little more and Blaise moves with her keeping the sheets close around her body, making sure not to reveal a single piece of skin. “Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s a sweet girl and even on bad days she makes the best out of everything. She likes snacking, either candy or any baked goods. She loves fireworks and chocolate milk. That’s it. Normal, sweet, happy (y/n).” Mattheo nods, finally making peace with the answer.

“Okay, fine. I’ll leave you two to it then. You have like an hour before everyone else returns.” Mattheo heads for the door, only stopping for a moment. “Thanks, Rae. And good luck with your new found idiot.” Blaise rolls his eyes and Raven giggles, turning her head towards Blaise. “He called you my idiot.” 

Now that Mattheo is gone, Blaise relaxes and falls back down on the bed. Raven rests on top of him. “What’s up with Riddle?” Blaise kisses her. “It’s Matt, just ignore him.” His hands roam her body and the kiss gets more passionate, until Raven pulls away. “Is he into her?” Blaise rolls his eyes. Damn, you Matt. “Yes, kinda, but he doesn’t know it yet.” Raven opens and immediately closes her mouth, confused by his answer. How does one not know that he likes someone? “Hasn’t (y/n) told you about what happened at the three broomsticks party a few weeks ago?” The hufflepuff shakes her head. “What happened?” Blaise can hear the curiosity in her voice and chuckles. “Matt got piss drunk and said some embarrassing flirty stuff before throwing up almost in front of her.” Raven’s eyes go wide. You had not told her any of this. “And like some princess in shining armour she took care of him and it freaked him out and he was a bit weird, but what surprised him even more was that she didn’t tell anyone about the embarrassing evening. So ever since that incident he’s getting softer and softer for her.” Raven huffs not believing what Blaise’s telling her. “Riddle soft?” She chuckles, but then something dawns on her. “The muffins! It was him wasn’t it? She gave him candy and he was so weird and rude about it and then those muffins showed up.” Blaise chuckles, but turns serious rather quickly. “Just promise me not to say anything to Mattheo about this, he’s struggling but he’ll figure it out.” Raven nods and kisses Blaise.

IV. Up to something

Annoyed in advance, Mattheo walked over to the Weasley twins sitting at the gryffindor table. “I need a favour.” He announced and both guys looked up, amused. “Why would we help you?” They sing in choir. Having anticipated this reaction, Mattheo coolly lays a few galleons on his end of the table, making both guys move their chin up in interest. Fred’s the first one to speak up with a bright smile. “Have I told you how big of a fan I am of Slytherin.” Mattheo raises his eyebrows, but before he can say anything George speaks up. “Your hair looks exquisite today.” Mattheo sighs. These guys, are they for real? “I need a favour not some shit ass compliments.” Fred tilts his head. “What do you want?”

You enter the great hall and spot Mattheo talking to twins. When you walk in their direction you hear them sing “A muffin?”, having immediately caught your interest you suddenly pop up next to mattheo. “Did I hear something about muffins?” You chuckle, but Mattheo just gives you a dirty look. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to eavesdrop? You didn’t hear shit, okay?” You nod, looking at him through your lashes. “I’m sorry.” Your sad apology makes Mattheo grimace. “Don’t let people be so rude to you.” Mattheo snaps and now you’re just utterly confused. “Sorry.” You blur out which makes Mattheo frown and walk away. “Pathetic.” He mutters and you look at the floor. Fred and George shake their heads. “Just ignore him, he’s just extra cranky. Don’t take it personally.” You smile and take a seat opposite of the twins. “What were you talking about anyway?” You ask and they look at each other for a moment. “You see that pile of money?” Fred asks and you nod. “That includes a fee to keep quiet.” George explains and you nod, knowing they won’t talk. 

Mattheo takes a seat next to Theo at the slytherin table, both guys watching him. Blaise is the first to speak. “Did I just really hear you tell her she’s pathetic?” Mattheo’s eyes shoot up to his friend. “What is it with people listening in on my conversations today?” Theodore chuckles and looks at his friend with a smug smile. “Look, you're gonna have to work on that flirting of yours.” Mattheo’s dead eyes move to Theo as he seriously considers if his face is worth the punch. “Let’s not forget that when Raven first complimented Blaise’s shirt, he laughed and said ‘it’s a guy’s shirt, you can’t like me’ and then walked away like she was the crazy one.” Blaise looked at his plate. “Thanks for bringing that up mate.” 

***

You really need to put an extra lock on your door, because when you got to your dorm you were surprised by another box and note on your bed. 

Allow me to take you to the Yule ball? Ps. if you say yes, you get to wear the dress. M.

You stare at the note for several seconds even though you had already read the message. Then you quickly open the drawer of your nightstand so you can compare the note you received with the cupcakes. “It’s the same person?” You whisper as you notice the similar handwriting. You sit down on your bed while a deep blush creeps up on your cheeks. Your heart goes faster and faster and you can’t hide your smile anymore, pressing your lips into a line. Your mind runs wild. Who is this person? After a second another thought creeps up. The box? You were laying right next to it, but had totally forgotten about it as your mind went wondering who the mystery person was. You jump up and study the box and the perfect ribbon around it. Without opening it you knew it would be perfect. Carefully you open it and gently you pull the dress out of the box, immediately holding it in front of you and checking it out in front of the mirror. Mystery person has taste… and has a date. You smile to yourself in the mirror.

V. Fireworks and love

Mystery dates are fun in theory, but in reality it had you stressing. Who is it? Where will we meet? Will he show up? How does this person even know I said yes? Well he did know I liked muffins so they’re spying on me for sure… 

Mattheo watching you enter the great hall, so in love you and so terrified of love.

The night of the Yule ball had been fun. You had danced with your friends and had gotten a million compliments about your dress, but as amazing as your night had been your mind was only concerned with one thing: your mystery date. Anticipation had filled your brain and heart the last few days and now you felt like you were going to explode. Standing alone you scan the room searching for any clue to who it could be, when Raven and Blaise join you. “Do you think he chickened out?” You wonder out loud and Raven wants to speak up but Blaise cuts in. “Maybe you should get a muffin at the buffet.” You frown, that was not even an answer to your question. With your eyes still scanning the people dancing, you turn down his offer. “Not in the mood.” You state dryly and Blaise’s face falls, but you don’t notice and neither does Raven. “She just wants the guy to reveal herself.” Raven says emphasising ‘the guy’ as she looks at Blaise, making you turn your head around in suspicion. Blaise chuckles nervously as he sees you narrow your eyes. “Just get a muffin, it will make you relax.” Raven sighs. “She-” Blaise kisses her to keep her from talking and your eyebrows knit together. “I already had a snack.” You sigh, eyes returning to the dance floor. “I saw there was only one left.” Blaise argues and Raven sighs. “Will you cut it with the muff-” Again Blaise’s lips crash on Raven’s to keep her from talking. When his lips finally move away from hers she huffs. “I feel like you’re limiting my freedom of speech with your kissing.” Blaise raises a sassy eyebrow at Raven. “Are you complaining?” A playful smile tugs on her lips and they close the distance between them, leaning in for yet another kiss. 

You groan and decide to go look for that last muffin anyway. When did they become so cheesy? And where in Merlin’s name is my date? You sigh, inspecting the table filled with all kinds of deliciousness, but nothing catches your eye as you're still occupied, wondering why your mystery date is keeping you waiting. A weak half smile tugs on your lips as you spot that last muffin and almost as a reflex you immediately reach for it. However it jumps away and you tilt your head. Did that muffin just jump? Again your reach for it, telling yourself that you did not just see it move away. Again it jumps up and you look around if anyone else noticed it, but everyone else was preoccupied with their date or friends. You narrow your eyes. I don’t have a date, but I will have this muffin. You move in as fast as you can but it starts to float. Whoever thinks this is funny is in the wrong. I’ll not chase a muffin around. You cross your arms. The muffin moves closer and you think this is your chance, but when you try to snatch it, it distances itself again, further from the table this time. You huff. Fine it’s not like I have anything better to do. 

Determined you follow the muffin until it brings you outside and you lose it in the darkness. “Lumos.” You whisper and move around the empty courtyard. “You shouldn’t chase floating food. Enchanted food isn’t that safe.” You spin around to meet Mattheo smirking at you with his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning you. “How do you know I was chasing floating food? It could’ve had little legs?” Mattheo opens his mouth but your bizarre argument has him fall silent for a moment and smile. “I know, because I asked Fred and George to make it float.” Your eyes widen at his calm statement and Mattheo chuckles at your surprise, moving closer to you and you notice the courtyard light up as he moves. Your eyes adore the soft lights and you put your wand away. “I didn’t want other people around, when I asked you for our first dance. I didn’t want anyone to stare and judge. I wanted a moment just between us.” You feel yourself drawn to him, his soft voice and warm eyes making you fall in love with slytherin. 

Feeling safe around this gentle Mattheo you take a step closer to him, fingers entangling with the fabric of your dress to lift it slightly. “Did you buy this?” Mattheo smiled his sweetest smile and nodded ever so slightly, like he was almost embarrassed to admit he did all these things for you. “I needed something to convince you to say yes.” You blush, but bravely take another step towards him. “You already had a yes when you got me those muffins… or even before that.” Even though you whisper the last part he focuses on those words. Does she like me? 

You both look towards the castle as you hear the music change and a small smile tugs on your lips as you recognise it as one of the songs you had to learn by heart during those awkward dancing lessons in the weeks leading up to the Yule ball. Mattheo can’t help melting as he notices your soft smile in the dime light. “May I have this dance?” He says, bowing and offering his hand. You had always liked him. More than liked him, but you never dared or allowed yourself to act on those feelings, because he’s Mattheo Riddle. He gets into pointless fights and hangs out with a different crowd than you, different girls. But here he was, in front of you asking you to dance with him. It takes a second for you to reply, but you nod and instantly feel your whole body heat up as your hand touches his. 

It doesn’t even feel like dancing, it's more like you’re featherlight steps on a cloud as Mattheo guides you perfectly. His touch is gentle and yet firm enough to keep you from worrying that you’ll ruin the dance by missing a step. You drown in his eyes and his lips curl at your dreamyness. He didn’t even know how badly he needed someone to drown his eyes until you were in his arms. “Where’s your mind at?” Mattheo whispers curiously and you look away for a second, but you can’t keep your eyes away from his for long. “I- I was wondering… why me?” Mattheo fails to hold back a soft laugh at your silly question. To him it was obvious that it had to be you. You were simply perfect. He was in love with you. You were on his mind constantly. However, he didn’t dare say that, because that would be weird. With dreamy eyes you watch him and he feels himself get a little flustered as part of him wants to confess, while also wanting to run away and hide from you and his feelings for you. “I- I just-” 

Fireworks. Startled, you look up and Mattheo immediately pulls you against him as a protective reflex. You relax as you watch the wonderful fireworks, but hear Mattheo groan in annoyance, making you turn your head a little. Mattheo shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve never trusted something so important with the Weasley's. It wasn’t supposed to happen yet.” Your eyes move between him and the fireworks. “Raven mentioned you loved fireworks.” Mattheo whispers, partly hoping you wouldn’t hear it. Which makes you again wonder: “Why me?” 

Students come running outside, crowding the courtyard and watching the fireworks, but your eyes stay on Mattheo, enjoying the sound of fireworks, as you wait for his response. “Because I want your love, only yours and I’ll do anything to have it… That’s why I did all these silly things.” Mattheo’s heart races as he confesses something so scary. “You have it, Mattheo Riddle, all my love, you have it.” You whisper as you lean towards him and he happily meets your lips for a soft kiss. Ignoring everyone around you, this was your moment and it was perfect.

Feedback is always welcome!

Word count: 4522

[gureumz]

stained glass windows

rating: explicit

member: jungwon

notes: fem!reader, stepcest, dubcon, religious corruption, baby trapping (?), unholy use of scripture (sorry god), dom!jungwon, slight angst, mentions of death, step brother!jungwon, breeding, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, jay has a cameo appearance lol

a/n: so this is an amalgamation of everything everyone requested for jungwon,,,reciting bible verses during sex? i got you. stepcest? no problem. baby trapping (this is 100% what i want and yes my wish is my command)? you bet. religious corruption? hell yeah. something super filthy and kinky? say no more. enjoy, hoes! love ya mwa (the bible verse here is 1 Corinthians 10:13 if you were curious)

sundays are your happy days.

a pretty dress, the stained glass windows, hushed chatter among the churchgoers—these were all the things you waited for at the end of the week.

your mother had always been proud of how involved you are in your faith, showering you with loving words before going to bed when you were little, calling you 'hers and God's favorite angel'. you'd smile and feel a sense of giddiness. God's favorite angel. can you believe it? you made sure to wear that as a badge of honor.

and then you grew up, went to a bigger school, met people who are different from you. even those who you knew were like you, devoted and obedient to their parents and God, seemed to have strayed down the path of parties, drinks, and the unthinkable. that is to say, premarital sex.

you never understood the appeal of it all. your faith and God were enough. you didn't need to participate in such acts to feel anything. you felt Him in every waking moment.

until there came a time when you were convinced He was gone altogether.

until sundays stopped becoming your happy days. every single day was void of any happiness.

your father passed suddenly, leaving you and your mother to fend for yourselves. you watched your mother grieve, grieved on your own, alone in your room. you went to school and saw the excitement in your peers' eyes, talking about a party here and buying drinks there.

you nearly caved. anything to take your mind off your dad.

but this was when your mother spent nearly every day at the church, despite it being mostly empty every day other than sundays. without anything better to do, you tagged along. and you started to feel Him again.

you knew God returned for real when your mother became friendly with a newcomer at church. a businessman who recently moved to your town, towing his son along.

mr. yang, as you later learned. he had a son.

jungwon.

jungwon wore an easy smile, deep dimples appearing every time he did. he shook your hand with a hesitant grip, palms smooth and soft. he had eyes that seemed to sparkle.

seasons changed, months grew into years, and your mother and mr. yang got married.

you saw the life return to your mother's face, easing her shoulders back, smoothing out the creases in her weathered face.

sundays became your happy days again, now that mr. yang and jungwon were in your lives.

---

jungwon is the poster child for the perfect sibling. or, at least that's what you think.

it's been a couple of years since your parents' wedding, and jungwon was nothing short of accommodating. he was kind, always letting you have first picks at whatever food your parents prepared, and offered to do things for you.

granted, it wasn't always like this. the two of you skirted around each other the first few weeks, both former only children, suddenly dealt with the fact that they had a sibling exactly their age. there was even a period of time when jungwon would bolt at the sight of you. though, you tried to not take this to heart.

but after all has been said and done, the two of you fell into a routine, becoming friends of some sort. eternal housemates.

"hurry up. this will be the second week we're late because you couldn't decide what dress to wear."

you turn, spotting jungwon poking his head through the door.

"sorry," you reply bashfully. "these people don't see me on weekdays anymore since i'm off at campus, so you can't really blame me for wanting to make an entrance on the one day they do see me."

jungwon quirks an eyebrow.

"since when did you care what they think?" jungwon questions, stepping fully into your room. he's wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and crisp black pants.

you note that the watch he has on today makes him look particularly handsome.

you merely shrug. "i don't know. everyone at college dresses so nice and i thought i'd make an effort, too."

jungwon snorts. "everyone at college is a try-hard. it's a small-town liberal arts institution."

"hey, you're a student there, too," you point out, crossing your arms at jungwon.

you watch as he surveys your outfit, eyes slowly making your way down your body. you swallow, suddenly aware of how tight the yellow sundress feels. the fabric seems to dig at your armpits uncomfortably, and the hem is too short and—

"you look good," jungwon says, eyes meeting yours.

you breathe a sigh of relief.

"well, if you say so. i trust your word," you say, smoothing down your skirt.

you feel jungwon approach, circling an arm around your waist, ushering you towards the door.

"i am your brother. i think i'd know what would look good on you," jungwon points out with a wink.

---

the service goes by without a hitch. you participated as you always did, offered your prayers as you usually do. you thanked Him for another successful week of classes but also asking for you to ace your upcoming exams. it was all routine.

until your mother pulled you along, chirping excitedly about a new family that had moved to town and joined the church.

the parks.

a father, a mother, and their son who's a business major at some big-shot university a few towns over.

"i'm jay," the son said to you, reaching his hand towards you as his family introduced themselves to yours. you shook hands and you couldn't help the sudden heat that flooded your face and chest.

your hand still tingles with where he held on, even now on the car ride home

"that jay boy sure is cute," your mother says from the passenger seat. you turn to her, eyebrows raised.

"seems like he has a good head on his shoulders," your stepfather agrees. he looks at you through the rearview mirror.

"the kind of guy girls wanna marry."

you see your mother twist in her seat to give you a knowing look. you roll your eyes but the familiar warmth takes over your entire body again.

"i mean, i don't know. we just met him and his family," you point out, trying not to stutter. you turn to jungwon for backup but your brother has his back turned to you, his face angled toward the window.

"right, jungwon?" you try nonetheless.

"huh?" comes his clueless response. he looks at you and his face is crumpled in a frown. you're taken slightly aback.

before you can say anything, your mother speaks up.

"why don't you try and befriend him, jungwon? they said they only live on the next street over," your mother offers, unaware at how deep jungwon's frown has gotten in the seconds she said that sentence.

"i don't know," jungwon mumbles. "i can try, i guess."

you watch as jungwon turns back to the window, his hand balling into a fist on his lap. you decide not to pry, leaning your own head against the window beside you, watching the little houses in your neighborhood speed by.

---

you urge yourself to stop picking at your fingernails. but you can't help it, either. standing outside your brother's door, you're not sure what awaits you on the other side.

taking a deep breath, you decide to just get it over with. you're certain it's nothing. you're just concerned and you want to see how jungwon's doing.

you knock softly three times, waiting to hear jungwon's voice. after a few seconds, you hear a muffled, 'come in!'.

you push the door open a bit, taking a peek inside jungwon's room. he's sprawled on his bed, his phone in his hands as he scrolls through his screen. his eyes shift to you and he sits up.

"what's up?" jungwon asks as you let yourself in. you don't say anything until you're seated beside him on his bed.

"i didn't want to risk your wrath, so i wasn't sure if i should bring this up with you...," you begin, teeth worrying your lower lip.

jungwon raises a brow. "i don't know what you're talking about. but other than that, you know i can never get upset with you, right?"

you continue to bite down on your lip, unsure of what to say next.

"but you were upset today," you say after a few seconds. "in the car?"

jungwon's face morphs into mild recognition. he nods, finally understanding what you mean.

"oh, that," jungwon deadpans. "it's nothing."

"come on, you can tell me anything, remember?" you urge, pulling your legs up on jungwon's bed before crossing them. jungwon glances down as you do so but quickly averts his eyes back to your face.

"it's nothing, i swear. it's stupid and thinking back on it, it just seems like such a dumb thing to be mad about," jungwon explains, shifting closer to you.

you take his hand and you squeeze as jungwon threads his fingers through the gaps between yours.

your mother often remarked how the two of you seemed more like twins than regular siblings. mirror images of each other. the perfect balance. looking at jungwon now, you see what she meant.

"nothing you say would be stupid to me," you reply, voice soft as your thumb runs over the skin of jungwon's hand.

something flashes across jungwon's face and his eyes seem to trail over every part of you. your skin prickles as he stops right at your chest, pajama top showing the very tops of your breasts.

"i didn't like the way that jay guy was looking at you," jungwon finally admits, gaze returning to your face.

you look at jungwon quizzically. "what? how was he looking at me?"

"like he was undressing you with his eyes," jungwon complains. "he was practically flirting with you."

you laugh incredulously. "no, he wasn't. he said two words to me, wonie."

jungwon shakes his head. "i'm a man, too. i know how our brains and eyes work."

you stop for a second to ponder on jungwon's words. you can't deny the intensity of how jay seemed to be looking at you earlier and the way he held your hand so tight.

"so?" you retaliate. "he's cute. i don't mind."

you see jungwon's jaw clench, the muscles spasming under his skin. his lips press into a thin line and he pulls his hand back from your grasp.

"guys like that will only take advantage of you, _______," jungwon says, voice slow and deliberate.

your forehead creases. "how are you so sure?"

jungwon stares at you for a few moments. he reaches his hand out, cupping one side of your face in his palm. you gulp, your heart jumping at the contact.

"i just know. you trust me, right? i'm your brother, after all."

you nod.

your hand comes up to cover his that's on your face and the room seems to still. the steady hum of the ac fades away, the cicadas outside vanish, and the thumping of your own heart amplifies. jungwon is looking you square in the eye and you can't help but cower under his gaze.

just as jungwon makes a move to lean closer, a loud knock and your mother's voice rips the moment away.

"dinner's ready! come eat!"

jungwon pulls his hand back and you scramble off his bed. you hurriedly cross the room, flinging jungwon's bedroom door open and stepping out, not sparing another glance behind you.

---

you toss and turn that night.

your face still tingles from where jungwon touched you. your mind is reeling with so many thoughts, your imagination seemingly going into each and every unexplored direction.

you and jungwon grew close during the years you spent together since your parents got married. it was like becoming friends. you had to learn things about each other, know what makes the other tick. the two of you never shied away from showing who you truly are. you'd be living under the same roof for the most part, so what's the point in hiding, right?

and jungwon never hid his affection for you. brotherly hugs, encouraging pats on the back, kisses on your forehead. he told yu over and over again how happy he was that you were his sister. that you were the best sister.

and you never hid how much you needed jungwon, either. he taught you how to get home on the bus from college on the weekends. he helped you with any handiwork you required in your room. he gave you the ins and outs of the college cliques and clubs.

jungwon always told you he loves you. you always reached out to jungwon. neither was a secret.

so, what's making you so nervous?

before you can answer yourself, you hear the hinges of your door squeak as it opens. in the dim light of your room, you see a figure step through the doorway, startling you slightly.

"sorry, it's me," jungwon whispers. "i couldn't sleep."

you feel your heart quicken once more as you sit up, watching jungwon make his way to your bed. he plops down on the mattress and looks at you.

"mind if i crash here for a while?" jungwon asks quietly.

jungwon does this on some nights, reasoning the bouts of insomnia as he snuggles up to your side. half of the time he talks, telling you stories of what he did during the day, and the other half he spends holding you to his chest, fingers drawing patterns on your back.

on rare occasions, he asks you to turn away, pressing your back to his front. he sometimes rocks against you gently and whispers how much he loves you in your ear. you feel strange when he does this. but you never complain.

"sure," you reply, scooting to one side of the bed. jungwon moves to lay beside you, pulling the covers over him.

wordlessly, his hands find your hips, tugging you close. you let him, your own arms circling around jungwon's torso. he's warm and smells like fresh laundry. you don't hide the way you inhale his scent.

you stay like that for a few minutes and you almost think that jungwon has fallen asleep. but after a while, he pulls back slightly to look at you.

you meet his eyes, sharp shadows cast across jungwon's face from your night lamp situated on the other side of your room.

"stay away from jay," jungwon says. your mouth falls open in mild surprise.

"why?" you ask. jungwon sighs, cradling your face once more in his hand.

"he doesn't deserve you," jungwon responds, voice hardened with something you can't quite put your finger on.

jungwon's looking down at you and even in the darkened state of your room, you can see the seriousness in his expression. he's clearly still upset from earlier.

"but mom and dad seem to like him," you reason with a pout. jungwon lets out a 'tsk' grasping your face tighter.

you let out a whimper. jungwon was never this heavy-handed with you.

"but i don't like him," jungwon insists. "you need someone who knows you, who can do things for you, who loves you more than anything."

jungwon pushes you onto your back, his leg swinging over to plant his knee on your other side. he grabs at your wrists and presses them down, trapping you as he hovers over you, his face inches away from yours.

"you need me."

you gasp, unable to comprehend the words that had just left jungwon's mouth. you're given no time to work it out in your head because jungwon is kissing you, pressing his lips to yours. you protest, pushing against jungwon but he's too strong for you to fight back properly. he has you pinned down and there's nothing you can do.

"w-what are you doing?" you say as jungwon pulls away for a second. instead of answering, jungwon busies himself with your neck, nipping at your sensitive skin. you squirm and whine but jungwon doesn't let up.

"i love you," jungwon whispers in your ear.

you shiver.

"you love me, too, right?" jungwon questions as he looks at you. you blink away tears that have gathered in your eyes.

you're just so confused. what is he doing? what is happening?

"answer me, angel," jungwon urges gently. he leans down to kiss away at the tears streaming down the side of your face.

"i do," you return weakly.

"no no," jungwon tuts. "say it properly."

you sniffle as you feel more tears fill your eyes.

"i love you."

jungwon seems satisfied because he kisses you again, tongue running over the seam of your lips. you've never kissed anyone before and it feels so foreign, having jungwon's tongue licking into your mouth. but you follow what he does, parting your lips and moving your tongue with his.

jungwon groans, one of his hands letting go of your wrist to grab at your waist instead. he presses you to him and you feel something stiff against your thigh.

"you make me so hard, angel," jungwon groans. he grinds against your leg and you watch as his expression crumples into pleasure.

"t-this is wrong," you sob. "we're not supposed to do this."

and you do feel conflicted with it all. everything you've learned in church, everything you've read through His word, it all says that this is bad. that you should only lay with the man you love, the man you married.

oh, but you do love jungwon. you've loved him since the day you met him.

"do you want to stop?" jungwon asks, stilling above you. you continue to cry, your legs squeezing together as you feel wet heat pool in your underwear.

"God will forgive us, angel girl," jungwon coos, a hand dipping beneath your pajama top.

you mewl as you feel jungwon squeeze at one of your boobs.

"He knows how much we love each other, so he'll forgive us, don't you worry," jungwon reassures as he rolls your nipple between his fingers.

"then we'll make it up to Him with a cute little wedding at a faraway chapel," jungwon continues, his other hand tugging down your shorts and underwear.

you're breathing heavily now, head spinning as your whole body heats up. the ache between your legs grows stronger.

"then we'll have babies," jungwon says. "so many babies we'll be filling up our own pew at church."

you gasp as you feel jungwon's fingers press against your core, working on the nub that you've ever really encountered twice or thrice before, too scared to be condemned to hell if you continued to touch yourself.

"what if we have a baby now, huh?" jungwon asks, placing a chaste kiss to your temple. "make you a mommy so no one can take you from me."

you shake your head, initially appalled at his words, but the thought of carrying jungwon's child, it stirs something in you.

"no?" jungwon asks, voice hinting with playfulness. "you don't want it?"

you look up at jungwon, struggling to find the words to say. you want it but your conscience screams at you to refuse.

"i want it," you finally answer. "want to give you a baby."

"fuck," jungwon curses as the words leave your mouth. he hurriedly discards his shorts, eyes seemingly ablaze.

"yeah? gonna give your brother a baby?" jungwon taunts, fingers circling at your core again. you moan wantonly, a million different feelings coursing through your body.

jungwon pokes in one finger through your entrance and you nearly scream, unprepared for the strange sensation.

"sshhh," jungwon says, pressing down on your mouth with one hand. he adds a second finger in slowly and your back arches off the bed.

"look at you," jungwon says with a grin. "your body responds so well to me, huh, angel?"

you cry into jungwon's palm as you feel him pump his fingers in and out of you, curling them inside every time he pushes in. you feel a tightness in your belly and more wetness pooling out of you. your body jolts with every movement of jungwon's fingers.

"shit, i can't take this anymore," jungwon mutters, pulling his fingers out. you whine, hips involuntarily pushing up as they search for friction.

"i got you," jungwon says, taking his hand off your face. the room is filled with your soft sobs, a mix of the lingering guilt and the newfound pleasure.

jungwon strokes his shaft a few times and you watch with bated breath as he aligns himself between your legs. you feel him push against you and you start to cry even harder, fear of what's to come gripping you like no other.

jungwon pushes halfway in and any scream threatening to break free from your lips is muted by jungwon pressing his mouth to yours. you cry and cry and cry as jungwon keeps pushing in, burying himself to the hilt seconds later.

he stills, pulling away to let you breathe. you hiccup, the stretch between your legs equal parts painful and filling in the best way possible.

"s-so big," you sob. "c-can feel you in my belly."

jungwon groans, his hip snapping up involuntarily. you whine, biting down hard on your lip.

"yeah? can you feel me here?" jungwon asks, a large hand pressing down on your lower abdomen. he starts to move then, slowly pulling out then thrusting back in.

"yes!" you gasp. "yes, yes, it's so deep."

"God, angel, you sound so beautiful when you're being fucked," jungwon says, speeding up.

"recite to me your favorite bible verse," jungwon commands. you barely hear him with the way he's moving his hips against yours.

"w-what?" you mumble in a daze.

jungwon takes hold of your face, forcing you to look directly at him.

"your favorite bible verse, angel girl. let me hear your pretty voice."

you rack your brain for it. you should know it by heart, have it seared into your consciousness. but the way jungwon is taking you right at this moment wipes away nearly all thoughts of scripture.

"no temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man," you begin, trying to keep your voice steady as jungwon scrutinizes you, fingers still digging into your cheeks.

"God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability," you continue. jungwon smirks, nodding, urging you to go on.

you're about to speak when you feel jungwon's thumb press down on your sensitive nub. you cry out, the added sensation muddling your brain even further.

"go on," jungwon orders.

"b-but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to e-ndure it," you finish with a shaky breath.

"good job, angel," jungwon says, letting go of your face and leaning in to kiss you briefly on your forehead.

your head falls back against your pillow, your vision blurring as all you can feel is jungwon moving in and out of you. all you can think of is jungwon. all you ever need, right at this moment, is jungwon.

your brother. the man you love. the man you want to have all your babies with.

"so tight, so fucking tight," jungwon babbles, pushing your legs up so he can get a better angle. your lower half rises off the bed and jungwon fucks into you even harder, snapping his hips against your insides with a force that has you gripping onto your sheets for dear life.

jungwon continues on like this, sweat dripping down his forehead. any pain is gone now, replaced with a want, a need for some sort of release.

you don't know what compels you to talk, but you can't help the next words that come out of your mouth.

"p-please, jungwon. feels so good. w-wanna be a mommy, want it so bad. n-need it!"

jungwon seems to let himself go then, hips moving erratically, not caring if you're bent nearly in half, his grip on your thighs painful as his fingernails poke at your skin. it feels good, you think, your insides clenching and tingling at the sight of jungwon getting nearly animalistic with you.

it almost fills you with joy. knowing that he's only ever like this with you.

a few moments later, jungwon's hips start to stutter.

"gonna give you my babies, angel girl. i'm so close, so close to making you a mommy—fuck!"

the words from jungwon stop any coherent thought in your brain as a sort of euphoria takes over you, your whole body tightening up. jungwon completely stills, pressing himself in deeper. a warm feeling spreads from where he's sheathed inside you.

the two of you remain unmoving, panting as your minds catch up with your bodies. jungwon pulls out moments later, replacing his cock with his fingers. you protest weakly as jungwon moves his fingers shallowly in and out of you.

"i came so much, angel," jungwon says with a chuckle. he pulls his fingers out and shows you his fingers, coated with his milky white release.

"your belly's gonna be all swollen up in nine months, for sure," jungwon muses, pushing his fingers against your mouth. you part your lips hesitantly, licking at the saltiness.

"good girl," jungwon praises, pulling his hand away before kissing you sweetly.

"i love you," jungwon mumbles against your lips.

you hold his face steady, thumbs rubbing at his cheeks. you meld your lips together, the elation finally catching up to you.

there are no stained glass windows in your room, your body bare and void of pretty dresses, and the night is still and quiet.

it's still sunday. it's still your happy day.

"i love you, too," you say as you and jungwon share a smile.

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 KNOW IT'S FOR THE BETTER (ALL I WANTED WAS YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: he can't stop himself from calling; you can't stop yourself from answering. he never speaks, but he doesn't have to—just knowing he's there is enough to lure you in. that's how it remains for weeks. that is until you mention that you're going on a risky mission and dazai has to to make an equally risky decision to keep you safe.

(wordcount: 3.1k; fem!reader, pm!reader, post-defection, angsty but not awfully so (again, sorry, i swear there's happier ones coming), implied alcoholism, dazai gets a bit jealous, ango cameo)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: OKAYYYYYY this was actually my first pm!reader and pmzai fic, believe it or not, it's been in my notes app for ages. i tried to fix most of the inconsistencies. as always, can be read as a standalone butttt for the people following the pm!reader universe, this comes directly after death by a thousand cuts! i hope you guys enjoy!! im actually rlly excited to finally get this fic out here!

He calls you sometimes.

Well, you don’t know for sure it’s him—he never speaks, if you’re lucky sometimes you can hear soft puffs of air from the other line, and the number is always unknown, but you know in your heart that it’s him. 

The first call came three days after you found him drunk in an alley—seven months after his defection. 

The unknown caller ID popped up on your phone while you were drinking with Chuuya in his apartment, trying to forget all about Dazai Osamu and all of the pain he’s brought you. You answered it irritably and when you got no response from the caller, you promptly told them to fuck off and die if they’re going to waste your time with prank calls. You expected them to hang up right away but they didn’t—in fact, they only hung up when they heard Chuuya shouting for you to get off the phone so he can open another bottle of wine, as if he wasn’t going to anyway. 

The next call came another three days after that. 

You were in a meeting with Mori when the unknown caller popped back up on your phone screen. You excused yourself to answer the phone only because you were desperate for a reason to get out of the meeting—you think that he might’ve somehow sniffed out that you ran into Dazai and if he outright asked you, you didn’t know if you’d be able to lie without him catching you in it. 

Regardless of the reasoning, you were even more pissed off than you were the first time when you heard the silence on the other end, accusing them of fucking with you and demanding to know how they got your number—again, the person didn’t say anything, and you hung up even more irate than you were the first time. 

It takes three more calls for you to put the pieces together—it’s a bit embarrassing how long it took you, but in your defense, you were trying to put Dazai Osamu as far from your mind as possible. Honestly, you weren’t even sure of it when you first guessed his name. It’s a shot in the dark when you answer the unknown caller for the fifth time and whisper, “Dazai?” so very hesitantly. Your confirmation comes in the form of a sharp inhale on the other line before it instantly goes dead. 

He doesn’t call again for two weeks, and when he finally does, it’s in the middle of the night. The buzzing of the phone woke you up, your alarm clock glowing a bright 3:15 am. You don’t even look at the caller—you figure it’s Chuuya, who has yet to return from his mission in Sendai—as you answer with a groggy “what?” 

You get no response besides the sound of a shaky breath on the other end and suddenly you’re wide awake as you realize who exactly called. He doesn’t speak, even as you make yourself sick with anger—he’s conscious and coherent this time, unlike the time you ran into him in the alley, so you take the opportunity to unleash all of the pent up rage and hurt that you’d withheld that night. You cry for the first time since he defected and he stays on the line the whole time, until you eventually exhaust yourself and fall asleep. When you wake up in the morning, he’s hung up, but the call time reads four and a half hours. 

It becomes a weekly occurrence—occasionally biweekly. 

Sometimes, you tell him about your day, rambling on about how you were irritated because Mori made you deal with Ace or complaining about recent territory issues that the Port Mafia has been facing—something that you probably shouldn’t be sharing on an unsecure line with someone who defected from the mafia, but you can never bring yourself to fully care because it’s Dazai. 

Other times, you just lay in bed quietly, exhausted after a full day of work, the phone resting next to your ear as doze off to the comforting sound of his steady breathing. 

You don’t tell anyone. 

If anyone knew you’re keeping in contact with a traitor, you’d be executed. You think that Chuuya might know—the two of you now share the penthouse of the westernmost skyscraper of the five buildings of the Port Mafia’s base and you know he’s smart enough to have put together who you’re talking to late at night. But if he does, he doesn’t say anything, because he too knows what the consequences of your actions would be if it were true.

You let out a soft puff of air as your phone begins buzzing—it’s well past midnight and you’re half asleep, but you roll over and pick up the phone with heavy eyes.

“Hey,” you whisper.

Dazai doesn’t respond, he never does, but you can hear him breathing on the other line, closer to the speaker than he usually is. You can’t help but notice that his breath is heavier than usual too, a bit shakier. 

He’s been drinking, you realize. You figured that he usually drinks on the nights that he calls you, but he never lets himself close enough to the speaker for you to figure out if it’s true. You just hope it’s not as bad as….

“I won’t be able to answer for a while after this,” you say quietly after a few moments, rolling over in bed to shift your face closer to the phone. “Mori assigned me another mission. An infiltration one—first one since you’ve been gone.”

Dazai would know the implications of that, and from the way he inhales sharply at your words, you know he does instantly, even in his drunken state. 

Whenever you were sent on infiltration missions, Dazai was always the one in your ear, making sure that you got in and out safely. You refused to take infiltration missions unless Dazai and his freakish prophetic ability was the one on comms for you because you knew he’d be able to figure out if you’ve been compromised before the enemy have even figured it out for themselves. 

But you had known it was only a matter of time before Mori put you back on them. You’re the best suited in the Port Mafia for them and the recent issues with that gang that’s been moving into the northern wards from Asakusa all but demands interference from the inside lest you guys will be dealing with another major gang war and the city can’t handle that. 

“I’m nervous,” you admit for the first time, voice little over a whisper. “I don’t trust anyone but you to be my eyes and ears. Plus this mafia is... They're very violent. Kawabata leads it. I faced off against him in Osaka before he moved into Tokyo, back when I was still in Kyoto. It's... risky. It's been years but I'm worried he'll recognize me. I don't know why Mori is insisting on me being the one to go in.”

You swear you hear Dazai take in another breath, as if he was about to say something this time, but he doesn’t. Your throat feels swollen and your eyes feel misty, jaw tight. Not for the first time, you miss Dazai. You miss him so desperately that you swear your chest caves in at the thought of him. 

You want to hate him but you know you can’t. You've come to accept that already. But you think you still might like to pretend you can.

You told yourself after you ran into him that night that you’d push him from mind, you’d forget about him. You knew that one day you’d meet him again—you and Dazai Osamu have been entwined since the day you met, fate has a lot left in store for the two of you for things to just so abruptly end—but until that day, you have to focus on what matters. And what matters is the Port Mafia.

But how are you supposed to forget him when he can’t even bring himself to fully leave you behind? You think it’s cruel of him, and you think that you should ignore his calls until he finally gives up, but you can’t bring yourself to because no matter how much you preach about forgetting him, if the choice of keeping contact with him arises, you’ll always choose it.

“I miss you,” you breathe out, voice cracking over your words. “I miss you so much that it hurts, Dazai. i-“

The line goes dead. 

The words on your lips die as soon as you realize he hung up, heart sinking. You sigh as you stare up at the ceiling before curling over onto your side, hoping to at least get a little sleep before your early wake up call for mission prep. 

But it’s a naive hope—you know that you’ll never sleep tonight, not with thoughts of Dazai Osamu racing through your mind. 

Dazai shouldn’t be doing this. 

His knuckles are white as he sits at a row of monitors in a locked down ex-government facility. On each of the screens are different vantage points of the main base of the Scarlet Gang, the mafia that had been run out of the Asakusa ward of Tokyo by the Sun and Steel and is now challenging the Port Mafia. 

Ango is pacing somewhere behind him, expression tight and arms crossed against his chest. Dazai knows that he’s livid over this, but Dazai also does not care because he doesn’t think that Ango has a right to be livid about anything that Dazai does anymore. 

He’s been here for three days already. His knees are tucked to his chest as he sits on the spinning chair, bags heavy beneath his eyes and hair matted and oily after days of sitting in front of the screen without budging an inch. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off the screen—not when your life is on the line, and especially not when he’s not even on a direct comms line with you. All he has is a burner cell and hope that you at least take a look at your phone if he has to send a text.

If this mission is like every other infiltration mission you’ve been sent on, it’ll be another two days before your planned extraction—and if you have the same luck you always do, the mission will go smoothly. But Dazai has a dark feeling in his gut, and he isn’t quite sure if it’s because he has no control over the mission or if something bad really is going to happen, there have already been some suspicious signs and he doesn't trust Mori. Your whole comment about his insistence on you going keeps scratching the back of his head like he's missing something, because there's no way Mori would ever risk losing your ability, especially to Kawabata. The man is always scheming, and Dazai is certain there's one simmering below the facade of this mission but he just can't figure out what. Either way, he knows he can't risk stepping away for even a moment. 

“I thought you were done with this, Dazai.” Ango finally has the nerve to voice what dazai knows he’s been itching to say for three days. “I thought-“

“Maybe you should stop thinking,” Dazai says dryly, his head hurts and sweat is beading beneath his arms. Three days without drinking is affecting him way more than he thought it would, but he can’t afford to be inebriated for this.

“Dazai-“ Ango begins.

“I’m not doing this for the Port Mafia,” Dazai cuts him off, dark eyes dragging across the screen to where he sees you laughing with one of the members of the Scarlet Gang, leaning in close with a teasing smile. 

You’re beautiful. Stunning. He can’t blame the way the man you’re talking to seems to gravitate closer to you, enamored by the sound of your voice and the way your eyes glitter beneath the room’s chandelier, but he still wishes he could put a bullet through his head. 

He hasn’t seen you since the day before he left—well, he doesn’t remember seeing you since then, at least. He has some suspicions regarding the part of his ear that mysteriously went missing the night he woke up in one of your shared safehouses, but this is his first time really seeing you and it makes his chest feel sick and heavy to know you’re so out of reach and by his own doing, nonetheless.

His eyes narrow as he watches the man reach out to brush his fingers against your arm. His lips twist down even more when his gaze tracks down to your lips—this is always his least favorite part of being on comms for your infiltration missions. 

“You won’t be able to oversee all of her infiltration missions anymore, Dazai,” Ango says, voice a bit more gentle and Dazai has a distinct urge to rip out the man’s vocal cords. “Once I get your records clear and you’ve joined up with the Agency, you’re going to have to leave this all behind for good. All of it.”

Dazai doesn’t respond. His lips press together tight as Ango’s words register. He knows that he’s right, that if he wants to honor Odasaku’s final wishes, then he has to leave everything behind—even you—but he can hardly even bear the thought of it. Never seeing you again, never hearing your voice again, he thinks that a life without you is not a life worth living. 

He thought that he’d be able to do it, that he’d be able to cut you off just like everyone else, but it only took one drunken night at a bar when he stared at old pictures of you for a bit too long for him to give in to the aching feeling in his chest, the desperate need to at least hear your voice one last time. 

Except one last time turned into another and another; as much as Dazai Osamu likes to pretend to be strong, he’s always been weak at heart for you. From he moment he met you three years earlier during the Dragon’s Head Conflict—sent with Chuuya by Mori to retrieve you after finding out the squad sent to escort you back had been decimated by an ability user—he’s known that he was out of his depth when it comes to you. 

He was already curious to begin with, Mori doesn’t speak highly of anyone but he did speak highly of you, and at first Dazai assumed it was just because you were a girl, and a young one at that. Everyone knows Mori’s gross fascination with them. But when they found you mid-conflict with an ability user, trying to hold your own with only a gun and some rubble as shields to defend yourself from sweltering flames, he realized that maybe there was more that meets the eye to you. 

You’re beautiful—god, he can never stress it enough, words don’t do you justice. Wicked smart. Can talk your way into and out of any situation. Have a bounty on your head high enough to rival his own. From the day he met you, Dazai knew you were everything he’s ever wanted. And yeah, maybe it took him too long to come to terms with that, but it doesn’t make the feelings any less powerful.

Sometimes, when he drinks just a bit too much and he finds himself staring at old pictures of the two of you that he’d taken, he wonders if you would have come with him if he told you what he was doing. He wonders if maybe he hadn’t been a coward, you would be with him right now instead of risking your life on an infiltration mission with some incompetent moron on comms instead of him. He wonders if maybe he would have kissed you on that same bridge he tried to kill himself during that first week he spent drunk and alone. 

He doubts it. In his heart, he’s pretty sure you’d always choose the Mafia over him, but it’s nice to pretend sometimes.

“I don’t care” Dazai finally says, his voice rougher than he intended as he gives Ango a cold look from the corner of his eye. “I won’t let her die on a bullshit mission because some clown is on comms for her.” 

Ango doesn’t get a chance to respond again because Dazai’s eyes are drawn back to the monitors, where a conversation is taking place on the far side of the room. A conversation that has them looking in your direction a bit too often for his liking.

Dazai inhales, rising to his feet, shoulders and arms tensing as his eyes trace the screen, trying to figure out if he should send you a warning. If he’s wrong, it’ll have completely blown your mission and it would put you at risk if Mori or any of the other executives start questioning you as to why you abandoned the mission for no reason.

But if he’s right… 

Dazai is good at many things, and he’s always been quick to be the one on comms with you because he, better than anyone else in the mafia, is good at reading and predicting enemy moves. He always knows in his gut what’s about to happen, you would sometimes joke that it was his real ability, some form of foresight and you would be less joking when you nudge his shoulder and tell him that you’re glad you have his ‘freaky prophetic ability’ otherwise you’d have been dead a long time ago.

Dazai grits his teeth. He feels Ango approaching him from behind but ignores him, mind racing as he tries to calculate the best course of action.

Finally, he takes the burner phone and shoots you a short message: compromised. 

And then he waits. 

The longest and most tense minute of his life passes as he watches you on the screen, waiting to see if you’ll even bother to check your phone. He doesn’t think that he’ll be able to stay in the room if it turns out you are compromised and stuck in enemy territory—he’d feel helpless, unable to do anything but watch and pray to a god he barely believes in that you get out okay. 

Come on, he thinks to himself as one of the men begins making his way in your direction, nails digging into his palms so deeply that blood began to flow from the crescents. Come on, check your phone. 

And then you do. 

He lets out a shaky breath of relief when he sees you pull out your phone, eyes tracing the message on your screen rapidly. A flurry of emotions rocket across your face, and for a moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to cry.

But then you smile again, leaning in and clasping the man’s hand and leaning in to brush your lips against his cheek before making your way out of the room. He doesn’t dare look away until you’ve slipped out of sight from the cameras littered throughout the building and out of danger. 

Without another word, Dazai turns to leave the old facility.

“Dazai,” Ango calls after him.

Dazai ignores him, snapping the burner phone. You’re safe—that’s all that matters. Now he can go back to drinking himself away and dreaming of what could’ve been. 

Two days later, Mori sends you away on a mission abroad that lasts the next three years. That night was the last time he had any sort of contact with you until you’re finally brought back.

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 2

I'm loving the response for this. Thank you so much!!!

In this we have a couple of cameos, Steve gets into some trouble and Eddie comes to his rescue.

Pt 1

****

Steve checked with the nurse on Monday, more as a precaution then because his hand was feeling worse. Because Eddie was right. If he didn’t take care of himself no else would.

She signed off on the hand and said that it was doing better, but to still take it easy for a couple more days.

He tried to focus in class, but he was buzzing out of his skin with barely contained excitement.

Finally it was time for lunch and he ducked into library. He pulled out the year book and began jotting down a few names. He decided to stick to just seniors as that would prevent people thinking he was being a creep and of course the add bonus of avoiding a certain Junior’s ire.

Once he got about twenty names compiled he took the list up to the girls manning the paper hearts booth.

“Hey,” he greeted warmly.

“How can I help you?” the blonde haired girl asked.

“These can be anonymous right?” Steve asked chewing on his bottom lip.

The other girl, a cute bubbly red-head in a cheerleader’s uniform smiled up at him. “Sure! Is there a certain lady you would like to buy a red heart for?”

He shook his head. “Um...no. Can I get twenty pink hearts please?”

The two girls shared a shocked glance.

“How many?” the blonde asked.

“Twenty.” Steve pulled out his wallet and handed them two ten dollar bills.

The stunned blonde took the money as the red-head counted out the twenty pink hearts.

“There you go!” she said cheerfully. “Thank you for your donation!”

“I just have one question,” Steve asked. “Why are a couple of juniors manning the booth for senior prom?”

The girls’ jaws dropped in surprise that he recognized them as juniors.

The blonde managed to overcome her shock first. “They were asking for volunteers. We get extra credit.”

Steve nodded. “Thanks, ladies!”

He turned around and nearly collided with Munson.

“Oof!” he cried. “Sorry!”

Munson eyed him warily. “Why so many pink hearts, Harrington?” He crossed his arms and licked his bottom lip slowly.

Steve looked back at the two girls and then back at him. “I don’t have a girlfriend this year and but still have all this money, so I thought that instead of blowing it on junk food and soda to be all sad that night, I do something nice with the money.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and considered him a moment. “And what would that be?”

Steve blushed and looked down at the paper hearts in his hands. He mumbled something Eddie couldn’t quite catch.

“Say that again?”

“I said I was going to write something nice for the girls not likely to get one,” he hissed, this time loud enough for the other boy to hear, but no one else.

Eddie blinked at him a moment. “Oh. That’s actually really sweet of you.”

Steve’s blush deepened and promptly turned on his heel and dashed away.

The red-head asked, “What was all that about?”

Eddie looked over at Chrissy Cunningham, the girl he had no doubt would be queen of Hawkins high next year with her perfect boyfriend, her bubbly personality, and cheerful nature.

He debated telling her what Steve’s plan was, but he didn’t want to ruin it for the guy.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Which to be fair was true. He didn’t know what that was about. How former king of Hawkins could be so sweet? Because hooboy did that throw a wrench in Eddie’s plans to never ever give into his crush on the guy. If Steve wasn’t the bitchy, annoying jock anymore than that last bastion of defense was going to fall and he would be like every other girl with a pair of eyes at this school.

In love with Steve Harrington.

He opened his wallet and counted how much money he had. He rationed gas and other expenses before he nodded to himself.

He walked over to the booth and asked for a single red heart.

“Ooh...” the blonde girl cooed. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Eddie noticed her for the first as he handed her the money. It was Robin Buckley from band. Eddie had tried it out for a semester hoping to get enough credits to graduate last year. It didn’t work. But he recognized a fellow queer when he saw one.

“Maybe I’m sending it to myself?” he teased.

Chrissy giggled into her hand. “That’s what I would do if I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

Robin blushed a dark pink.

“You’d never have to worry about that,” Eddie said.

She handed him the heart and he thanked her before heading on his way.

****

Steve suddenly felt self-conscious after telling Munson what he was going to to. But he resolved to go through with his plan.

That night he painstakingly wrote each girl’s name and something nice he remembered about them. Once he was finished he used a paper clip to keep them together and put it between the pages of his English workbook for safety.

He finished his homework. Or at least he tried to. After about an hour, the words on the pages started to blur.

It didn’t help that it was chemistry and that just made his head spin. He would have called Dustin, but the kid would have just done it for him after five minutes of trying to explain it to him.

He decided it was time for a break.

Steve stood up and stretched. Below him he could hear the hum of the TV in his father’s den and the prattling of his mother on the phone. He wasn’t sure how they managed it in a house as big as theirs but they always made sure Steve was aware they were home.

He always thought it was a weird control thing they had. They were always gone on trips but when they were home they made sure he knew it.

He changed into a pair of sweats, grabbed a jacket and pulled on his Nikes, having decided that a run would be the perfect thing to wake him up so that he could finish his homework. He stood by the front doors and stretched out his legs, making sure they were warmed up enough.

Steve was finishing the last of his stretches when his mother came out the kitchen.

“And where do you think you’re going, young man?” she hissed.

He looked at her in confusion. He had one leg bent all the way back so that his foot was nearly touching his ass. He was managing his balance by using his free hand to touch the door frame.

“Going for a run?” he said, making the statement more of a question.

“At this time of night?” Mrs. Harrington said sharply.

Steve looked at his watch and then back up at her, again in confusion. It was only a little after five o’clock in the evening.

“I wanted to get it before it too dark to,” he explained.

She looked at her watch and then huffed, storming back into the kitchen.

That was the problem with his mother. You could never tell when she was just going to let it go or fly off the handle.

Steve let out a shuddering breath and then opened the door. He closed it behind him and sighed.

He should have told her he was going for a run, but even with them making noise, he had forgotten that he was supposed to tell them where he was going. Having gotten too used to them not being home.

He let out a shiver as he shook his arms to warm them up. If he had been doing anything other than running he would have worn a warmer coat, but while he was cold now, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be in five minutes.

Steve took off running. Just sprinting down the street to get away from his parents, his responsibilities, his troubles, and his cares. He got to the end of the street and slowed his sprint into a marathon. Going for endurance over speed.

He wasn’t sure how long he ran only that when he stopped for breath he was standing in front of a large sign that read: Forest Hills Trailer Park. He squinted up at it like he was seeing things.

Despite what the haves in Loch Nora thought, the trailer park was a lot closer than they wanted it to be. It was literally on the other side of the forest behind his house. But as he hadn’t taken off through the forest, he was a little surprised to be standing there, hands on his hips and panting for breath.

If he was going to mindlessly go somewhere he thought for sure he would have ended up at the Hendersons.

But, nope.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair. How was he supposed to get home now? He squinted down at his watch trying to make out the time, but full dark had taken a hold on this god forsaken town and he couldn’t make out shit.

He wasn’t even sure he could find the entrance to the forest that would lead him back home. Not that he wanted to go through that part of the woods this late at night. The Department of Energy’s assurances be damned.

“Fuck!”

He heard the vehicle before he saw the headlights. He stepped out of the way and hoped that whoever it was would be willing to give him a lift home.

“Fuck!” he cursed again.

Because it was Munson. Of course it was. This day was really out to get him.

“Harrington!” Munson called out, slowing to stop next to him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Steve buried his head in his hands. He had to take a chance with Munson because he didn’t know if there would even be someone else coming in anytime in the near future.

“Would you believe me if I told you I got lost?” he asked, hands back on his hips.

Munson laughed and threw open his passenger side door. “Get in, dumbass. I have to stop at my place to let my uncle know I’m taking you home.”

Steve nodded and walked in front of the van. Mainly because that’s where the lights where, but also because he didn’t want Munson to drive off without him. If he tried that, he’d have to run Steve over. Which at this point would have been an improvement.

He hopped into the van and closed the door. “Thanks. I’m serious about the getting lost thing though.” He buckled in.

Munson gunned it and then gave him the side eye. “Yeah, how does that work for a Hawkins native?”

“Because I’m not?” Steve said. “I moved here when I was eight. I’m no more a native than you are, man.”

Munson slammed on the breaks, Steve’s hand shooting out in front of him. “Wait, you’re really not a Hawkins native?”

He shook his head. “I swear it.”

Munson started going down the road again. “So you managed to get lost?”

“Yeah, I sometimes run to get out of my head,” he explained. “I somehow I ended up here.” He looked at the road out in front of him. “My parents are probably going to kick my ass when I get home. I left before dinner and there is no way it’s not way passed that now.”

Munson pressed a button on his watch and it lit up. “Yeah, man. It’s almost seven.”

Suddenly every muscle in Steve’s body started screaming in protest.

“Shit,” he muttered and he buried his head in his hands. “I’ve been running for about two hours.”

Munson slammed on his breaks again. “The fuck, Harrington!”

“I know!” Steve cried. “I barely warmed up and I didn’t have any water with me. But I didn’t mean to run that long. I thought I was just going to go around the block a couple of times and then go in for dinner.”

“We’re getting you water and food before I send you home, man,” Munson mutter. “And I don’t want to hear a god damn complaint from you. Do you understand? Even I’m not stupid enough to go for two hours without stopping for breaks and drinking water.”

Steve just nodded. He had already gotten yelled at by Munson about not taking care of himself, he wasn’t about to endure another lecture.

****

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List:

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

2- @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

3- @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

4- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

5- @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

6- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

7- @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

8- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @swimmingbirdrunningrock

9- @croatoan-like-its-hot @lolawonsstuff @moonshadows-13

[cno-inbminor]

repertum (pt. 2 - final)

summary: no matter how much you want alhaitham, you don’t think you can ever have him. he may or may not try to prove otherwise. // cameos from lumine and nahida // wc: ~15.1k

a/n: well, here it is! many, many thanks to @allsaiint for being my beta once again, especially for this monster. i love her to the ends of this universe. fair warning though, the smut at the end is un-beta’d so you’ll probably come across many grammatical/syntax errors. sorry, in advance. 

cw: afab!reader, fem!reader, more angst (but with comfort), 3.4 spoilers, probably some incorrect game lore and timing/mechanics, smut (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

smut tags: derogatory/degrading terms (slut, cocksleeve, cumslut, cockslut), referring to alhaitham as ‘sir’, size kink, twinges of dacryphilia, one (1) pussy slap, some overstimulation, light bondage (reader’s wrists get tied together), blowjob, cunnilingus, hints of reader entering subspace (dom!alhaitham, sub!reader), will add more if i remember later but i think those are the highlights lol

please read part 1 for context! | AO3 Link for better viewing if the app is being a bitch

-    

As agreed upon you meet Lumine and Paimon on the walkway leading up to the Sanctuary. The traveling duo go inside first, as you’re sure they have much more private and serious matters to discuss. While you wait outside, you gaze over the ledge at the breathtaking view of Sumeru in the direction of the Lokapala Jungle, and its waterfalls still bright even in the darkness of dawn. Taking in everything around you— the breeze and the stars— you feel some peace in your heart knowing you have a place to call home and return to.

The doors swing open with Lumine looking a little less happy than earlier. Paimon mutters – or  at least attempts to – under her breath, while a man with a wide-brimmed hat trails out after them. The traveler provides no explanation,and instead informs you that Lord Kusanali wishes to speak with you for a minute. Perhaps the time together will let you know more about this mysterious man – child? – and why he seems to have put Paimon in such a bad mood.

“Y/N,” the Dendro Archon greets you warmly. Her voice is gentle as ever and full of compassion. “Thank you for coming here. I simply wanted to see if you had everything you needed for your travels and research.”

You show her your bag with thinly-veiled enthusiasm. “Thank you for the opportunity and your consideration of my proposal. The fact that you took the time to read through it and ask me about it really means a lot to me. It was luck that the traveler happened to be heading in that direction as well.”

“She will be a good companion. Please watch over her whenever you can.”

“Of course, though I imagine she’s going to watch over me more than her,” you jest and Lord Kusanali shares your amusement. “Is there anything else you needed?”

“No. May you have safe travels, and please visit whenever you return. I look forward to your findings.”

You bow with as much reverence as possible before waving goodbye to the Archon and heading out the doors. The man from earlier is nowhere to be seen, and Lumine appears more relaxed.

“Everything all good?”

“Yes! Should we head out then?”

“Very well.”

Those with Visions have always fascinated you with the way they could make their weapons appear and disappear, and materialize things in midair. Lumine does so with what appears to be a map of Teyvat, humming to herself as she pinpoints a location. She waves it away with dainty fingers and holds out her hand.

Though confused, you trust she means no ill will and Lumine grips your hand tight when you take hers.

“Teleportation is always a little rough for first timers. Just hold on and you’ll be okay.”

“Teleporta–”

You disappear in a flash of blue light. For a split, disorienting second, you see nothing, and in the next you’re greeted with a view of what appears to be part of the Mawtiyima Forest, if the luminescent treetops are any indication. Slight nausea overcomes you and your stomach does a small turn – shit, she wasn’t lying.

“Are you alright?” Lumine asks with concern, searching through her pack for a remedy..

“Do you want a cold towel?” Paimon adds on and flutters around you to search for any signs of injury.

“I think I just need to breathe for a second,” you say, collapsing against the cliffside. “And sit for a minute.”

“Take your time. We’re quite close to the border. I would’ve taken us straight into Fontaine, but since I’ve never been before, none of those teleport waypoints have been activated.”

You point towards one in front of you. “You mean these?”

“Convenient, right?”

“...very.”

-

Distraught, perhaps, is one way to describe Alhaitham’s current state of mind.

By all means, it makes no sense. Did he get to know you well in an alarmingly short amount of time? Sure. Did he really look forward to those initial 36 hours passing, to the point where he felt time was crawling by at a turtle’s pace? Perhaps. Was he trying to satiate a curiosity that he had never really felt before and attempting to answer a personal unknown? In some way.

The attempting-to-resign Acting Grand Sage has read his fair share of historical texts – especially conflicts driven by love and lust. A force so powerful that it could twist the minds of even the brightest and most logical – what was that like? From a young age, he was only ever introspective in an academic sense, and the scholars touted him to be a genius. But feelings, emotions, felt abstract and out of reach as he grew up. He only ever understood his lust as a byproduct of his development as explained in the textbooks. A branch of psychology mixed with biology described everything from why humans feel attraction and the need to copulate to what is deemed healthy and alluring in a potential partner, all in the name of posterity and evolution.

Alhaitham first concluded his initial draw towards you could be explained away by all of these findings.It didn’t quite fit all the checkboxes, but enough for him to deem it understandable and valid. Those checkboxes had been visited once before when he lost his virginity, but that was all there was to it. He wouldn’t be blind enough to deny that it was a pleasurable experience, but there were other, more pressing matters at hand. Yet, even after drawing his conclusion, nothing academic could help explain why his desire to be near you was so strong. The more carnal desires took a backseat to his need to pick your brain, to make you laugh, or to have you challenge him. He learned as many of your little mannerisms as possible, all the while pretending he was completely unfazed by your presence. Your different smiles, your nervous movements, your stressed looks, your interests and dislikes – he wanted to know all of them, and not so he could store it in his brain for cautionary purposes. It was all for the sake of getting to know you.

And then he became greedy.

Another sin Alhaitham didn’t quite understand before meeting you was the growing, bubbling pit of a constant want want want for you to be by his side. To have the fantasies of coveting your soul, retching on the inside at the mere thought of others seeing you the way he did you – he was starting to see why individuals were so often thrown into a fit of rage over their loved ones and why the law has separate stipulations regarding “crimes of passion.”

And even as he sits at his usual table in his usual seat (especially on days when he really doesn’t want to be in his office during work hours), sending glares to anyone who dared to approach him or even come near your seat (which was very much not your seat by any legal means), he finds himself buried in books of philosophy. Not that they are so far out of his usual reading, for they typically align with his understanding that there are universal questions that will never be answered yet should be stated, but he has never felt the need to dive deeper than the tip of the iceberg on different schools of thought. One line in particular catches his attention, however.

“Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions.”**

Moral philosophy, the area where this statement hails from, was intriguing, yet Alhaitham knew the respected experts could talk in circles for days and do their best to argue their reasoning. This particular philosopher suggests that passion is the cause for reason, for understanding why humans do the things they do. And as the word connotation suggests, there is no room to discuss whether or not this line of thought is rational. Just as passion drives reason, reason can also serve as the breeding ground for the passions.

Abstruse to several, esoteric to many, ambiguous to the masses – Alhaitham wonders if he’s found some sort of solution to his internal dilemmas. To have it all summed up in a single sentence resonates deeply with him. Simple and succinct, yet speaking volumes to the implications; finally with a deep breath.

The next day in his office, he leans and falls back into his seat, gaze focused on the domed ceiling above. He’s always hated this chair; far too grand and impractically large. One thing he doesn’t mind is the proportionate size of the desk, as he’s learned over the years that if you give him the space, he will inadvertently cover every inch of it with his materials. Even with their dwindling number of research applications, he manages to fill the voids with his own research, books laid open and aged parchment collecting dust. For being so far above the ground level of the House of Daena, it makes sense that silence is usually his sole companion, as he tends to ignore the other researchers and matra milling around. But there must have been some memo sent out because no one is there today, and no one has come up in hours.

Surprisingly, he finds the quietude and quiescence unnerving rather than welcoming, so much so he removes his treasured earpieces and places them in his lap. The white noise he’s often found bothersome is… comforting?

A distraction, perhaps, from the absence of you.

A long, heavy sigh leaves his chest as he pulls himself up and ambles over to a locked filing cabinet with all the approved research project applications. Before he became Acting Grand Sage, the remaining applications had been split between him, Lord Kusanali, and a few other individuals. First sorted by subject area and then by last name, he rifles through with an absent mind until he catches your name on a tabbed folder. Alhaitham wastes no time plucking it from the confines of the drawer and opening it, taking care to make sure the stacks of reports and research diagrams don’t spill out onto the floor. Kaveh would have a field day if he knew just how enraptured he was by the mere sight of your handwriting. He may even take him to Lord Kusanali herself for psychological treatment or interrogation because there was no way this Alhaitham was his same sarcastic, scathing, infuriating roommate – and despite the slight amusement the thought gives him, he cannot ignore the painful pull in his chest.

It’s been five weeks since you were last seen in Sumeru, and five weeks since he had knocked on your apartment door only to be greeted by your next-door neighbor, who announced you’d left early in the morning with no definitive time of return and no mention of your destination. You would be back eventually, but would it be in six days or six months? Nobody seemed to be the wiser.

He had had half a mind to reach out to Cyno and call in a special favor to track you down for his own internal peace, but he knew the request would be irrational and unnecessary. So once a week, he stops by your apartment to see if you’ve returned, and with each unsuccessful visit and your doormat collecting more and more dust, his heart sinks just a little bit lower. If he wasn’t in his current position, he’d be halfway across the desert by now (and ultimately in the complete opposite direction) under the guise of searching for ancient ruins. Merely searching for facts and truth; nothing more, nothing less.

All to say, Alhaitham wishes he had looked through this filing drawer earlier because the file on his desk contained all the answers to his questions of your whereabouts.

The relief of knowing you were safe in a nearby nation surges through every vein in his body, tension in his muscles disappearing with the rays of sunlight beating down from the stained-glass window above. He would’ve been much more concerned if you’d gone to Inazuma – even if this Captain Beidou that Lumine spoke highly of was more than adept at crossing the treacherous seas from Liyue, the mere possibility of you falling overboard or being forced to stay in the nation was still unsettling, to say the least.

Leaning his weight onto the desk, Alhaitham drinks in everything your research has to offer. There are a few mistakes and edits that could be rectified here and there, but nevertheless, it is well done. He remembers now seeing some of these papers before, as notes you had been scribbling down on some early afternoons in the cafe. Pleased isn’t enough to describe the hum in his chest when he notices some of his suggestions incorporated into your application, fondly recalling the moments when you had picked each other’s brain regarding the topic at hand. Never once did you mention that any of this had been in preparation for your big research journey, but he would be remiss not to believe recent events had served as the catalyst for your sudden departure.

“Do come back to me,” he murmurs to no one. As he lifts his head, the cosmical, automated orb— reminiscent of an Auspicious Branch— just above the elevator platform seems to mock him. It’s An inaccurate teller of time as it spins and spins in its orbit, and Alhaitham yearns for the day you return home.--

The day you return to him.

-

Traveling with Lumine is fascinating, to say the least.

Ignoring the fact that feeding Paimon is like feeding three grown adults, watching the Traveler gather and store every fruit and herb and loot in sight makes you wonder what kind of life she had led before all of this. The way she takes down some wayward Treasure Hoarders is a sight to see, like a well-rehearsed dance. It lends to your understanding of why the term is “martial arts” because the way Lumine maneuvers around the enemies and her sword is, very much so, an art.

But more time together means more time into probing the real reason you’ve decided to come to Fontaine with her, and for whatever reason, she is really good at getting you to spill the beans. Lumine’s heard most of your life story at this point.

“Who are you running from?” she asks one night. After checking in with the Adventurer’s Guild in Fontaine’s capital, you’ve joined Lumine in her journey around the nation to activate the rest of the teleport waypoints. You send her your sheepest look, begging with your eyes for her to not ask anymore. But you’ve skirted around this topic the last few weeks and you figure it’s time for her to know.

With a heavy breath, you set down your bowl of biryani on the grass. “Promise you won’t judge?”

“Promise.”

“...it’s Alhaitham.” The crackling of the little campfire Lumine had put together is deafening, even louder than the ripples and waves of the river crashing onto the sand in front of them.

Naturally, Paimon speaks up first, though speaking is an understatement.  “Alhaitham?! You mean that– that super mean Acting Grand Sage? The know-it-all? Can’t really care less about others? Condescending?”

“That’s a pretty big word there, Paimon–” Lumine cuts in.

“Hey!”  

“See?” you respond, the smile on your face small, awkward, and bittersweet. “Things happened and well… I thought it’d be better if we stopped seeing each other.”

“You were seeing each other?!!”

“Paimon, stop!” Lumine interjects and shoots the floating fairy a disapproving glare.

You really wish you had some alcohol with you right now.

“Well…”

For the next several minutes, you provide a detailed summary of how you came to meet and learn more about Alhaitham, the nature of the budding relationship, how all your insecurities came to a head on that night, and how you ended up here. Lumine remains silent when you finish explaining everything, clearly thinking through all the information and trying to find the right words to say.

“You know,” she begins, “Alhaitham may be one of the most infuriatingly logical men that I’ve ever met. And a really good actor, too. Remind me to tell you the details of what he did when we rescued Nahida.”

“...I don’t think that makes me feel any better.”

“I’m just saying, but I also think you know by now that Alhaitham isn’t someone who does anything that isn’t for his own benefit, in some way.”

“Again, not helping.”

“What I’m trying to say is if he just wanted to get his dick wet, I’m sure there are plenty of other people who would agree to help out in much less time.”

To which, Lumine has a point. A very good point. But still you say, “He’s super picky though, I don’t think he’d just sleep with anyone regardless.”

“Which brings me to my original point: he picked you for a reason.”

“Because I’m easy?”

Lumine flicks your forehead before you can even blink, and with a decent amount of force as well. Your resulting indignant yelp pierces the atmosphere as you rub the sore spot. “What was that for?!”

“For being unreasonable. I’m trying to say that you must be special to him, that’s all.”

“... but what if he didn’t want to see me again after sleeping together? Sure, let’s say that I am ‘special’, heavy emphasis on my air quotes right now, but I want more, an actual relationship. How do I know that’s also what his end goal is?”  

“You don’t,” Lumine affirms. “But there’s no use in wading through the what-ifs. You know what you want, and I think you’re allowed to communicate that to him, regardless of what he says.”

It’s hard to come to terms with the underlying implication that you’re being something of a coward, with not a whole lot of reason to be. You’re grateful for the open water before you, its lullaby comforting with the breeze it brings. Years of academic research have made you painfully familiar with the concept of trial and error, but to apply it to human relationships? It leaves much to be undesired. Five weeks, in the grand scheme of things, are certainly nothing more than a miniscule blip of time. But in your limited life with the overhanging unknowns of the world, it was a sizable enough amount of time filled with passive rumination and downward spirals.

“You’ll figure it out when you get there. But I’m warning you, we’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.”

You can’t help but laugh in relief. “That is completely okay, I promise you.”

Running away might as well be your newly developed skill at this point.

-

A few weeks later

“I mean, I could stay with you there in Fontaine, right? You know, extra set of hands and all?”

“You’re not getting out of this.”

“Lumiiinneee,” you whine, petulant pout making itself known.

“Just talk to him – whatever happens, happens. If it’s not meant to be, then it’s not meant to be. But you owe it to yourself to say your piece, as well as to him for an explanation that he needs to hear. Now go.”

She all but (gently) shoves you into the Akademiya, watching over you with an encouraging wave of her hand. When you’re less than five steps away from the door into the House of Daena, you look over your shoulder once more for any signs of escape. As expected, the Lumine-shaped obstacle stands firm in her spot.

You clutch your final report to your chest, mind racing with a thousand thoughts per second, and don’t even realize you’ve already made it to the elevator platform. And once it gives a mechanical shudder and starts to go up, you want to scream and simultaneously steal a glider to jump off and land safely back on the ground level.

Is it good or bad luck that no one seems to be around? Maybe he won’t be at his desk and you can just leave the report there and fucking bolt. Maybe it’s not even Alhaitham in the Grand Sage’s chair. Maybe the man is gone altogether and is somewhere in the desert looking at ancient runes.

Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore and has forgotten about you. Maybe he told himself to let bygones be bygones, and that you were simply another scholar in the Akademiya. No one special.

Your initial hopes of his coincidental absence are dashed as you walk up the stairs. His silver hair stands out among the sea of azure and viridian, and he doesn’t even bother to look up from the stack of papers in his hand. Not that you were a bull in a china shop by any means, but the man would even notice with his eyes closed if there was a fly on the complete opposite side of the office. Your heart is ready to burst from your chest with each shaky step, and too soon, you stand in front of his sprawling desk.

“My office hours will be ending in a few minutes,” he states in a matter-of-fact tone without looking at you. You risk a sharp inhale at the sound of his voice, an all too familiar mix of gentility and sternness. “If it’s something that requires more than that length of time, come back tomorrow.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck – “I’m just, um, turning in a research report?”

At the sound of your voice, Alhaitham doesn’t even bother to amuse himself. He’d much rather not look and not be disappointed, than to do so and become reacquainted with dashed hopes. “...And the necessary cover sheet is on top? Does it have your name, project number, and corresponding title?”

“Y-Yes.”

Still perusing through the paperwork in his hands, he frees one hand to point it at a basket on his far-right corner. “Leave it there. Your advisors and I will be reviewing it within the next two weeks.”

“Oh, o-okay.”

You do as instructed, but with each second that passes without any eye contact or direct acknowledgement of your presence, you begin to wonder if he’s purposely ignoring you. Or maybe he forgot about you entirely and wrote you off as a failed pursuit. Perhaps that would be the best-case scenario and you could hole up in your apartment for the rest of… eternity. Maybe. Lumine can come and scold you later and you can take it like a champ.

But your heart, ever so fickle and occasionally diabolical, plays one last card and causes you to stop at the top of the stairs. “Have a good night,” you muster out. “Thank you, Alhaitham.”

The rustling of his papers ceases as you turn and hurry down the steps, taking extra care to not trip over your feet. Just before you can activate the elevator, a frazzled “Y/N?” is called from above. With sweaty hands, a sullen heart, and a leadened brain, you nervously orient towards the scholar inhabiting your dreams, who stands on the edge of the platform above and peers down to confirm his suspicion. His stance looks as if he had leapt over his desk and sprinted at top speed towards you.

You’re not sure how to take it all in, how to take him in – the “feeble scholar”, for once, appears as such. If possible, his cheeks seem a little more sunken in, further accentuating the sharp edges of his jawline. His hair looks mussed, as if he’d run his hands through it several times too many. The cloak around his shoulders rests askew from his sudden movements.

But his eyes—

Those seafoam irises and amber pupils pierce through your soul, but not in an inquisitive and calculating manner. In fact, it’s quite the opposite – he looks unsure, disbelieving, and hesitant. To elicit such a reaction from this man should be recorded in the most prominent historical annals, but you do have to admit it’s a bad look on him.

When you open your mouth to say something, anything, the elevator begins its descent. Any words you had are wiped from your mind, and you do everything you can to maintain this staredown. Weeks ago, you couldn’t even begin to guess what this man would be feeling based on his eyes, but now? His heart is on his sleeve, and you can’t help the green envy in your veins at the possibility that others have seen him in such a vulnerable state.The constant battle between an illusional desire to be his everything and knowing that you never could and never should be, rages on.

You’re the first to look away. Sorry, Lumine, you think, as Alhaitham’s figure disappears from view. All you’re left with is the rotating orb above, spinning and spinning until it makes you sick to your stomach. You just want to get back to your apartment and start sweeping the dirt away, to return to some sense of normalcy before all of… this appeared. You never should’ve indulged in your whimsical desires.

-

Alhaitham hovers in a state of shock as he watches the elevator take you back down – after weeks of catching a glimpse of who he thinks is you at the cafe, hearing your voice in his head as he scribbles away on paperwork, or dreaming of escaping his duties to find you in Fontaine, he’s not sure if he really believes you were here or if it was some effective lucid dreaming. But the sudden pull, the impulsive need to just check the cover sheet when his name left your lips, was far too strong and he had dived right in without a second thought.

And there in your handwriting, in all its glory, was your name printed neatly at the bottom. One second, he was at his desk and the next, he was at the edge of the outer office ring for confirmation.

The last few minutes of his workday have never gone slower as he paces back and forth in front of his desk. He’s doing his best to stay calm and formulate a plan, but even that has become difficult for him. There are too many extraneous factors at play, several he can’t be sure of – did you meet someone new in Fontaine? Were you going to leave again?

Did you even want to see him?

You could’ve left without another word once your research paper landed in that return basket. He would’ve been none the wiser until he physically picked up the report, which probably wouldn’t have happened for another few days, what with all the cleaning up he’s trying to do before his resignation is official. All that lost time in between would have left him even more distraught.

But the fact that you had stopped and made a point to thank him, to call him out by name, means something. Like him, it seems you are just as unsure of where the two of you stand.

And that’s all he needs to move forward.

-

Granted, moving forward didn’t initially involve climbing up the fire escape ladder behind your apartment building.

With a takeout bag of your favorite foods from Lambad’s Tavern, he was originally going to knock on your front door like any other individual. But before his knuckles could rap against the Adhigama wood, he thought, why not check to see if you’re even home? That would eliminate the possibility of you seeing him through the peephole and then pretending you’re not home – or worse, you opening it and then slamming it back in his face.

His unparalleled logic led him to skip the ladder and jump onto the first floor. It’s not that he wouldn’t be able to climb it with one free hand – the food would’ve gotten messy with all the jostling around. He ignores the sound of laughing children as he ambles past, but allows the semblance of a grin to dawn his face when he hears, “Whoa, look at that mister!” Alhaitham looks above him as he climbs the next set of stairs, noticing a light peeking through the living room window. That’s one good sign, at least, because it means you’re home, right? He peers past the half-open curtains when he arrives at your floor. He’s just checking. Nothing suspicious or untoward. Yet all of that is scrapped— another deviation from his initial plan— when he sees you sitting on your couch, sorting through a pile of mail on your coffee table. With a mind of their own, his knuckles knock lightly against the glass and he can’t help but let a humorous snort slip out when your body jerked with a visceral startle, head whipping towards the source of your adrenaline spike.

You don’t need to verbally question his sudden appearance when it’s written all over your face.  Your eyebrows are knitted and arched, mouth turned down in a slight frown, hands clenched in fists with visible tension and unease. “Alhaitham, what– I mean–”

He holds up the food behind the windowpane for you to see. “I wanted to bring you dinner since you probably don’t have anything prepared on your first night back.”

Without another word, you slide open the window, letting him clamber through as you take the bag from him. He retrieves it as you lock the window and yank the curtains together, setting it on the table away from a mound of what he presumes to be junk mail. You scramble for words and coherency as you search for clean plates and utensils, but the effort is fruitless. There’s a trapped shriek in your chest and you don’t know how to snuff it out.

Dinner is a quiet affair, save for some awkward small talk here and there. He makes it a point to give you extras, whether it be a little more mint cilantro or tamarind chutney for the samosas (despite it being his favorite) or more of the lamb from the biryani. Each little morsel pushes your heart further up your throat, further sending you into a downward spiral. Why is he so kind and caring when you had essentially kicked him out last time? Why is he going out of his way to make up for a wrong he never committed?

Alhaitham basks in your company, taking in every detail of your outward appearance. You seem skinnier than before, hair just a little bit longer. A few fresh, healing cuts on your hand stand out to him and he hopes they were all accidental and not intentionally created by another human being. There’s so much he wants to say and question, but for once he cannot find the right words. Rarely has he ever felt as though he was skating on paper-thin ice with someone – years of not caring or sparing thoughts for how others might perceive him lends nothing to resolve his state of incertitude. So the only way he can currently try to communicate is through actions, hence the extra foods and your favorite parts of them, making sure you have a usable napkin at all times, refilling your cup of water when it starts to look low, and more.

With a full belly, you sigh with satisfaction, a breath that appeases Alhaitham just the slightest bit. “That was good. Thank you for bringing it.”

“You’re welcome. Was the food in Fontaine not to your taste?”

You hum in thought. “A bit bland, honestly. Not as many spices are used in their foods like they are here.”

“Ah.”

The two of you sit silently for a few moments. You’re looking anywhere and at anything but him, your knee bouncing and hands wringing together. Is he trying to let you down easy? Soften the blow? What is his end goal?

His fingers tap the table in a silent rhythm, noticing that despite the small talk, the tension in the air is still viscous. He ignores the gnawing desire to hold your hand and squeeze it tight, to graze his thumb over those scabs and kiss them. He’s not ready to leave yet, which is why he juts his chin towards the only unopened bag on the table and says, “I also brought dessert. Would you care to have some now?”

No. Yes. I don’t know. I can think of something else I want for dessert but that’s not the point right now, is what runs through your head.

“Sure. What is it? I might have something to go with it.”

“It’s baklava.”

For him to remember that baklava from Pupusa Cafe is your preferred dessert when eating your favorite dishes is even more mind-boggling in this whole situation.

You stand on shaky legs and walk towards the pantry. “Does wine sound okay?”

Alhaitham ponders your last mutual experience with alcohol, which had ended in a disaster, even if he knew full well that it wasn’t a cause by any means; an unintended catalyst. As long as neither overindulged, it would be harmless. Right?

So he nods. “That sounds good.”

You return with a corkscrew opener, two stemless wine glasses, and one of your better bottles of aged wine. Alhaitham remains silent as he takes the opener from you and drives it into the cork, hand twisting the top knob with ease. You feel shameless in the way you stare at his arms, watching his muscles flex. The veins in his hand become more visible and you can see the tension in his forearm through his arm guards, all the more when he pushes the levers closed and wiggles the cork out of its confines. He takes good care to tactfully remove the cork and place it on the table, and pours a glass for you first.

“Thank you,” you murmur as you take it from him with both hands, ignoring the way his fingers seem to linger after making contact with yours. You portion out the baklava as he pours a glass for himself and he voices his gratitude in turn.    

As you nibble on the delicacy, the silence weighs heavily on your chest, both a burden and a source of comfort. “Did you find everything you needed in Fontaine for your research?” he asks, once again attempting to make some neutral conversation. Alhaitham has never been one for sweets, but he’s willing to eat it for and with you. The cafe’s baklava is one of few desserts he can handle, as it’s not as sickeningly sweet as some other places’ when they’ve added too much syrup.

You chew slowly as you think of your answer. “I think so. I feel pretty good about my report.”

“I’ll be sure to read it soon,” he responds. After all, he is a pretty quick reader, and with the dwindling number of research project applications, he can efficiently get through the other reports to make sure he reviews yours before he goes back to being the Scribe.

“You know, there’s no need to rush on my account,” you say. Honestly, that’s the last thing you need because it would confirm your worst fears and assumptions. Everything discussed with Lumine would’ve been tossed violently out the window, and you so badly don’t want it to manifest.

“...I won’t,” he assures you. Alhaitham understands your research paper needs to be treated like every other one passing through the Akademiya, especially if he is going to be one of the formal reviewers.

You feel your lungs losing air, your heart rate soaring through the roof. With a stroke of luck, your glasses of wine are finished off and the plates hold nothing but crumbs, which provides a perfect excuse for you to get up and get away.

“I’m gonna wash the dishes,” you announce, voice doing little to hide how nervous and shaky you’re feeling. It’s another miracle that you don’t drop anything on the trek from the dining table to the sink as you wonder if you’ve killed any chance of being with Alhaitham. Where was the confidence you possessed when you first met the man?

Even being mere meters away from him becomes painful. His presence alone provides a sense of security, strong and silent. The lack of warmth, the string between you two pulled taut, ignites an obdurate yearning – the very same yearning experienced when you spent days avoiding the man prior to your departure for Fontaine. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, as they all say, and there certainly was some merit to it.

The silence remains suffocating, in some ways, but also comforts you with its deep pressure, distracting you enough that you fail to notice Alhaitham moving around. He removes his cloak and earpieces, draping them neatly over the couch armrest before he comes to stand next to you at the sink. He grabs a towel and is ready to dry when you’re done washing the dishes. Your muscles begin to relax, that earlier frost of loneliness gradually dissipating with his presence nearby. He dries everything with the utmost care and lines them up neatly as you hand them over, and you ignore the little brushes of his fingers against yours with each relinquished plate. You can’t help but wonder if he can feel the heat emanating from your cheeks because honestly, you feel like your face is on fire.

Alhaitham finishes drying off the last item – the second stemless wine glass – and turns to lean his back against the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He waits as you rinse down the sink and passes you the towel to dry off your hands. Your timid smile leaves him hopeful that you’re not visibly shying away from him— not visibly, at least. Seconds pass, and now there is nothing left for you to do or keep yourself busy. He waits for you to gather your bearings and settle to show that you’re ready to talk about… whatever this is.

Those haunting irises suddenly meet his with an alarming amount of determination, holding steadfast and searching his for something, anything. He can’t bear to lose and look away, not that he wants to. Yet you remain quiet, and Alhaitham leans into his impulses.

With firm, sure hands, he pulls you toward his original spot and lifts you up just enough so that you’re sitting on the counter. Alhaitham plants them by your waist and bends down to be level with your gaze, which now holds hints of fear and surprise. They’re open wide, your pupils slowly dilating, and he catches a glimpse of your fingers curling around the edges of the counter. He so badly wants to cradle your face in his hands, to feel your physical presence and prove to himself that you’re really here before him. But that is intimacy he hasn’t quite been granted yet and he can’t mess this up. He must’ve done something wrong the last time he was here, and he most certainly doesn’t want to risk the same outcome again.

“I like you,” he proclaims with a resolute tone. Alhaitham has always hated beating around the bush when unnecessary, and at this point he needs it said out loud for you to know. “I have been attracted to you since the moment we met, and I used to believe that it was purely a biological response. But then I wanted to know more about you. I wanted to learn more about who you are and how your mind works. To be quite honest, I can’t stand the thought of anyone else being in my position right now. I will not hide the fact that I am selfish and want you all for myself, if you would have me.”

You are struggling so hard to keep the smile off your face, your mouth pursing while your teeth dig into the inside of your bottom lip. Three months ago, you would never have seen this coming, and you would have laughed in anyone’s face if they had suggested it.

“If you need time, I can wait. I am not always the most patient person, but for you, I am willing to do so. And–”

“I was worried that you wouldn’t want to see me again after having sex,” you interject and confess. The embarrassment of your thoughts and actions quickly becomes a heavy weight in your chest. Your nerves strain to get the better of you and shut you down before saying more, but you force yourself to push past them. Alhaitham provided you with honesty and transparency, and he deserves the same from you. “We had so much tension between us and I was worried that once it was all resolved, you wouldn’t feel the need to see me again.”

Alhaitham takes a moment to process your words, but he can still see the tension in your shoulders. You won’t meet his gaze as you look past him or at other parts of his body. “There’s something else, is there not?”

You look down at your hands in your lap, your fingers intertwined and fingertips applying pressure where they land. With how forthcoming he has been, you owe it to him to extend the same courtesy, despite how silly it feels now.

“I couldn’t understand why you would even like me,” you say, voice soft and barely audible in the silence. You’re unable to mask the melancholy in your tone when you remember how it felt to internally question his affections and assume the worst. A quiet chuckle slips past your lips, but it’s derisive and bittersweet. “I’m just another scholar and you— you were the Scribe and later Acting Grand Sage. I thought maybe people would accuse me of… providing sexual favors, to put it lightly, if you showed me any leniency or favoritism in my academic career.”

The back of your knuckles brush against his cheek as you lift your head up to take him in. “You could have anyone in the world and you deserve nothing but the best. So why me?”

“I would need a few all-nighters and several pieces of paper to pen down every reason why.”

His quick reasoning with all indicators of certainty – his tone, the lack of any dishonesty in his eyes, the way he holds your eye contact – takes you for a loop. You’re only able to let out a soft “oh” as you let the implications of his words swim in your brain, leaving you helpless to find a suitable response. How do you follow up on an answer like that?

When he feels your fingers slipping down his jawline, he stops it with his own to press his cheek into your palm. “If it provides you any comfort, I will no longer be the Acting Grand Sage by next week. You know how long I’ve waited for them to process and approve of my resignation. And as the Scribe… it still does not matter. People who would assume something so salacious are simply capitalizing on their own insecurities, and they do not deserve a second of your time or an ounce of room in your thoughts. I do my best to exercise fairness and reason in all matters for the Akademiya, and even as my partner you would not be safe from that.

“I’ve never shied away from telling you how things are and you know this. I can ensure you would not earn any favoritism or leniency within the boundaries of the Akademiya, should my presence be involved in your research.”

The smirk that creeps up at the corner of his lips ignites a small flame in your belly – thrill and heat and trepidation all melding together. “Now, outside of those boundaries, it’s a different matter. If I may pry once more, what is your answer?”

Liquid fire pumps from your heart and into your veins, further fueling the heat in your core. Just as it dips dangerously lower, so does your hand, and the other joins in lightly scraping your nails down his abdomen. You feel him jump beneath your touch and relish in the sound of his swallow, and how his breath hitches when your fingertips dip into the band of his pants. They tug him forward until he’s standing between your thighs, just centimeters of nothingness between you two. Even as close as he is, Alhaitham can’t help but think there’s still too much space unoccupied.

Your eyes scream, beseeching him to understand your actions and for him to respond in kind. It can only mean one thing, but he wants to hear those words. He wants it engraved in his memories for the rest of time, despite the desperation to give in and give you both what you desire and need. Alhaitham grasps your chin between his thumb and curled index finger, leaning forward closer and closer until his lips barely touch yours.

“Use your words.”

Arousal seeps through your underwear as the subdued tenor of his voice sends shivers down your spine. Wholly unfair, this man is. Devilish, demanding, teasing, controlling – but most of all, he is yours.

“Please let me have you, if you will have me,” you whisper against his lips, eyelashes fluttering closed at the faint touch.

No sooner when you are greeted by darkness does he fully slot his mouth against yours, hands gripping tightly on your hips to pull you against him. A groan slips past and into you because gods, he’s missed this so much. After nights of waking up with the ghost of your kisses, he never wants this to end and longs for a reality where time can stop and he can take his sweet, sweet time to worship every millimeter of your body with his lips, and then some. Excitement electrifies his whole body when you reciprocate his desire ounce for ounce, and even more so when you let out a pretty little whine, just for him.

When he pulls back for a chance to breathe, he doesn’t move far. “Good girl,” he praises so sweetly, the words washing over you in something akin to pride for eliciting his approval and pleasing him. Alhaitham slides the tip of his nose against yours, moving to kiss your forehead, then your cheeks, your jawline, and the pulse point on your neck. Even the slightest pressure has you tilting your head to the side, granting him permission and room to do as he pleases. Alhaitham bides his time to press whispers of kisses onto your skin until he nips a sensitive spot. A sharp inhale pierces through the kitchen when he sucks on the patch of skin caught between his teeth, taking the utmost care to break the little capillaries underneath. He wants you to experience his phantom touches on these spots in the hours when he’s away from you, a constant reminder that you are his and his alone.

Your fingers dig into Alhaitham’s silver locks, torn between pressing him further into your neck and pulling him away. “Haitham,” you plead and tug on his strands, which only prompts an even harsher abrasion from him. “Wanna kiss you.” Your voice is breathy, and you feel as if you’re on the verge of tears. Who is he to deny such a reasonable request?

Though instead, he pulls you off the counter and rushes to your bedroom with you in tow, granting your wish as soon as you enter. The back of his knees hit the foot of your bed and Alhaitham drags you with him when he sits on top of your blankets. Despite your eagerness to clamber over and straddle him, he disapproves when you attempt to exercise a modicum of control over the situation by leveraging some height over him, utilizing gravity to lean into his embrace and kisses. His palms slide up your thighs with reverence until they dig into the crevice of your hips and yank them down. To have you pressed fully against him is most certainly a blessing, and there’s no way you don’t feel his growing arousal against yours.

When he feels his bottom lip stuck between your teeth, Alhaitham smiles. It still seems you’re not fully understanding the position you’re in. Perhaps, he might need to remind you of just who exactly is succumbing to who.

You keen when his hands dip underneath your shirt to draw meaningless patterns into your waist, but also to make his mark as he holds tight enough that you think you would feel some internal bruising tomorrow. They dance higher and higher, until they meet the bottom seam of your bra, and you nearly choke with the arousal suffocating your lungs.

“Can I?” Alhaitham almost begs, but watches for any sign of hesitation.

“Yes,” you breathe back. You lift your arms up, waiting with thinning patience, and he wastes no time in following through, tossing the shirt to the side with one hand as the other busies to unhook the metal clasp of your bra. Soon enough, your upper body is bare for him to see, to touch, to love – and his breath is taken away because you are so, so beautiful; perfect breasts with hardened nipples, an empty canvas all for him. He made a mistake last time for not seeing them properly, having been too focused on the way they felt against his chest instead.

“Fuck me,” he murmurs. His subsequent scoff feels derisive, sardonic, self-destructive, and his thumbs ghost over your areolas. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous – this is unfair.”

“You’re the one who’s unfair,” you retaliate with a shaky breath as you nearly tear off his shirt. One look at his muscular and toned frame, and it takes everything to stop the drool from spilling past your lips. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Be careful,” he warns, his fingers digging into the flesh just underneath your breasts. Alhaitham holds onto you as he scoots further back onto the bed, and once he deems there’s enough room, he rolls over until he’s hovering above you, panting and hair splayed and lips swollen. “I’m just a feeble scholar.”

When you roll your eyes with an excessive amount of sass, he dips down to capture your right nipple in his mouth and gives a harsh suck as punishment, satisfied when all defiance on your face morphs into pleasure. Pretty, responsive, little angel, all for him, so sweet, so delicate, so adorable when your spine arches into his mouth and continues to suspend itself as he pays his respects to your other breast. You feel your conscience become fuzzier and fuzzier, dissolving into mush as the tendrils of overstimulation begin to grow, and once again, you find yourself torn between wanting to let him continue and wanting him to stop.

He decides to grant you some mercy when you can’t help but twitch and shy away. Alhaitham’s primal desires begin to crest and wash away any rationale, desperate to keep the taste and feel of your skin between his lips and on his tongue. He doesn’t quite understand this newfound desire to nip and bite, but all he knows is that when he does, his arousal pulses and nearly threatens to break past the seam of his pants. Alhaitham moves lower, lower, ghosting past your stomach, nudging past the band of your bottoms and underwear to tug them down all the way. Those are thrown out of view and he finally, finally, gets to continue from where he last left off, taking no time to push your legs away towards your chest and give a lascivious lick up the length of your cunt. The tip of his tongue meets your clit at the end of its journey, and he firmly holds you down when your hips buck into his mouth as it circles the nub.

It’s game over when he takes it fully in his mouth.

Your hands twist themselves once more into his silver hair, expletives slipping off your tongue as you chase your high. You feel your pussy clench around nothing the higher you climb, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter. He eats you out like a man starved, enthusiasm unveiled and clear. His passion unbridled and sending you further into the clouds, you feel tears in your eyes begin to well up from sheer bliss, so sensitive and so unbelievably unprepared for everything this man was going to give you tonight. “Haitham,” you cry over and over, his name a mantra and prayer.

When he leans back, you catch a glimpse of the sheen on his chin and the way his eyes remain focused on your arousal, pupils blown. “You taste so good,” he compliments, his voice somehow having dropped an octave lower. “Could eat you out for hours. So good for me, fuck.” It’s dangerous how much you love to hear him curse, knowing that you are the reason why. The rational, feeble, well-spoken scholar, his prose extending to situations such as now, is almost reduced to such crude and filthy vocabulary.

Alhaitham would need to be blind to miss your sticky precum practically spilling from your core after what he said. It’d be a shame to let any of it go to waste, he muses, as he drags his tongue up the length of your cunt and pays attention to your clit again. He watches for every reaction, what makes you tug him closer, what makes your body twitch and convulse, what causes the shakiest exhales from your lungs, what contributes to your squeals and cries – he wants you to get a taste of just how unhinged he becomes in your presence.

Each moment of friction, so wet and slick, against your core seems to send you further and further into oblivion. Tears overflow when your heart bursts and Alhaitham doesn’t miss them – the sheen sliding down the sides of your face shines in the moonlight and he knows there is no reason to fear you’re in pain. He drinks in your moans and feels your fingers tangle further in his silver strands, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, your hips with a mind of their own as you grind against his tongue and nose to chase your release. Alhaitham pays no mind to the way his cock twitches once more in his pants or the unmistakable wet spot that’s formed from his own precum.

The coil in your abdomen wounds tighter and tighter. There is nothing on your mind but the man between your legs and your impending orgasm, one with an intensity you haven’t experienced in ages. “ ‘m close,” you gasp and meet his burning gaze. “Please, wanna cum – yes – please, sir–”

How he doesn’t cum in his pants at the title is beyond his comprehension, but the stroke to his ego is welcoming, to say the least. Alhaitham never felt any type of way when others addressed him as so, sometimes annoyed even, but from you? It is everything. A verbal indication of relinquishing your power to him, your existence at its highest vulnerability, the underlying respect, the implicit trust hidden between three letters – only has him pushing down harder against your thighs, leaving no room for you to fight. The resolve and determination to have you cum on his tongue only increases and his thoughts plunder further into hell. Cum for me, cum on my tongue, let me taste your release that I give you, so fucking addictive – his silent commands painted on your tight bundle of nerves.

With Alhaitham exercising a dizzyingly sinful strength against you, leaving you helpless and defenseless, you let yourself succumb as your heart rate increases. Your breathy warnings and pleas, the oh fuck!s, the whimpering sir!s, confessions of love on the tip of your tongue – you have one minute, moment of clarity when your body freezes, and the coil snaps.

You don’t think you’ve ever cum so hard before, reality-shattering, nerves on overdrive, your body trembling beneath his palms as you ride out the pleasure for as long as you can. The quiet scream from your lungs is inevitable as it dissolves into sobs and Alhaithm follows you when your hips buck. There’s not enough oxygen for you and you can feel the visceral clenching of your abdomen as you fight for air and some semblance of control again – but that flies out the window when, for the first time tonight, Alhaitham slides his tongue inside your quivering cunt.

Said Scribe cannot help but groan, and he wishes he’d done this earlier. To feel your creamy walls squeeze as his taste buds slide amongst them, your keening ringing in his ears, the shaking of your thighs a prisoner between his fingers, the intoxicating taste of your cum – all of it is more than he could have ever dreamed of. Right where he wants you, and all his, his, his.

The incessant tugging of his hair tells him to stop for now, as much as he doesn’t want to. If it were up to him, he’d have you cumming on his tongue for hours, his hard cock be damned. But your convulsions of overstimulation manage to generate the slightest bit of sympathy and he laments when pulling away. His eyes hone in on the way your pussy contracts around nothing, almost begging for something to fill you again. “Good girl,” he praises, tenor delicate and charming, as he rubs gentle circles on your abdomen in an attempt to ground you. There are stars in your eyes, and he waits for you to come back to him.

You barely register Alhaitham’s hand on your body as you stare up at the ceiling, brain and soul somewhat disconnected due to the high of your orgasm. So good to me, your thoughts coo. Haitham, sir, how can I show my gratitude to him?

“Y/N,” and at last, you make eye contact with him. He preens at the blissed out look on your face and moves forward until he’s lying next to you, his weight supported on one arm while the other brushes away your baby hairs. A dreamy smile graces your lips, and he can’t help but lean forward for a soft kiss. Languid, sensual, pliant – several minutes fly by as you bask in each other’s presence until the need for more begins to bloom again. Alhaitham lets out a chuckle when he feels your hand wandering down his frame until it rests on his crotch. Making out with you has kept him semi-hard, and he’s happy you’re taking the initiative. Not that you’re in control, by any means, but it’s cute that you might think so.

Your mind reels from just how big he feels beneath your palm. You can’t deny the times when you’ve sneaked glances at his crotch, his tight pants outlining a slight bulge from day to day – but you never thought your fingers would be splayed so far apart, and you just know they would struggle to meet when gripping his length. Your whines reach his ears as you fumble with the clasp above the zipper, and Alhaitham is so kind, kind enough to take over and do it for you. Seconds later, his pants and underwear join the pile of forgotten clothes, and you immediately look down at what you’ve been waiting for.

The instant pooling of saliva in your mouth is embarrassing, shame and lust spilling into your chest and through your veins. Alhaitham’s cock is so beautiful, just like the rest of him, and you’ve never wanted something in your mouth so bad. It twitches under your reverent gaze, and the tip glistens with his precum. Even the noticeable veins drawn along his length are beautiful, and his balls seem to be engorged, heavy with cum. You prove your earlier hypothesis when you hold it in your hand, and your fingers truly do not meet around the circumference. A gush of slick leaks and paints your inner thighs, your hand seemingly tiny in comparison as you slowly stroke him.

Alhaitham hisses at your touch, so cold against the heat of his cock. There’s a passing thought of wanting to keep that fawning look on your face at all times, the metaphorical hearts in your eyes with his dick in your hand. In a moment of weakness, the thought begins to spiral into darker fantasies, how to keep you hooked and dependent on him, his cock, his mouth, his touch. A flash of a daydream crosses by of him sitting in his office chair, you on your knees between his legs, his shaft bullied deep in your throat as you keep it warm for him, drool and spit spilling from the corner of your lips, so submissive and desperate for him to fuck your face–

Your thumb glosses over his frenulum and he is ripped from his reverie. At risk of cumming too quickly, he thinks of how to keep your soft hands away for now. What can he use? How can he restrict you?

Ah.

Confused whimpers follow after him when he abruptly stands up from your bed and walks over to the pile of discarded clothes. You miss the warmth of his body next to you, goosebumps from the sudden chill rising on your skin. But before you can begin to chase after him, he returns to sit on the bed and beckons for you to sit up for him.

He loves how willing you are to obey him, your eyes wide and a little awestruck as you follow his gesture – almost as if he were your puppeteer. Alhaitham holds out his hands in front of him, palms facing the ceiling, and you match the posture with intrigue painted across your face. As you wait, clarification comes to you when he reveals the patterned, teal sash that usually encompasses his hips. Slow, deliberate movements as he wraps the cloth around your wrists (in case you don’t want it because he would never force you to do anything you were uncomfortable with), indicate this uncharted territory. And when the tie is made and the knot is pulled tight, you look up at him.

“Is this okay?” He asks. When you give a mute nod, he clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Words, Y/N.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “Yes, sir, it’s okay.”

Alhaitham watches as you lay back until your head meets the pillow, and your bound wrists lay prettily above your head. Your constrained and exposed body greets him. He sees your eyes strain to catch another glance at his cock, and the smirk on his lips is nothing but smug as he gives it a few quick pumps as a gift to you.

“Can you come here?” You plead because you know there’s no room to make any demands, and it’s his turn to be curious. Nevertheless, he resumes his original position by your side, but you shake your head. You can tell he doesn’t know what’s happening, but you are feeling shameless and powerless, at the mercy of this man, and you want him to really, really, drive that point deeper.

“Can you…straddle me? Like above my chest though?”

If this is going where Alhaitham thinks it’s going, he might just abandon the Akademiya altogether, whisk you away to his house, kick out Kaveh and have him live in your apartment instead, and keep his own doors locked for eternity. He does as you ask as he thrums in excitement, his cock weighty and leaking when you’re satisfied with where he is.

Time slows to a crawl as he watches you lift your head up with your pretty mouth open and take the tip of his cock between your glossy lips.

The tight heat is maddening, a strangled “fuck” falling off his tongue, and you push forward to take more of his length in your mouth. So dutiful and loyal, you have proven yourself, as you suck his cock with your eyes closed and moans vibrating around him. Given certain physical limitations, there’s only so much you can take in, which is where he believes it’s his time to act his part. He places a hand on the back of your skull to provide you some relief, but also to sink deeper down your throat. Naturally, you fall back until it’s just the head between your lips again, but he is right there to drag you back towards him and fill your depraved mouth.

“Look at you,” he hisses, controlling your pace. Such a good little fucktoy, no?  “Who knew you would want my cock so badly? For me to sit on top and watch as you struggle to even take half of it in your mouth? I don’t think you have any idea of what you’ve started. Your lips are stretched so wide, but just wide enough for me to fit perfectly in between them, like it was made for me. Maybe that’s what it is.” His perverse thoughts run wild without any composure or filter, and he is unable to hold it in. “You were made for me and my cock, and– oh fuck – it seems like you love the idea of being my personal cocksleeve.”

Your eagerness to please him increases as you strain to take more in, his tip slipping into and catching the back of your throat. The sound of you choking on his cock rings in your ears, sending you further and further into oblivion. Every word from Alhaitham sounds true, and he’s right – right that maybe you were specifically made for him, his own blessing from the Archons, and right that you deeply, painfully, love the idea of letting him use you as he wishes. A garbled cry, followed by more sticky release dripping from your cunt, doesn’t go unnoticed when his voice sounds ragged on the word “cocksleeve.” It’s a lascivious tone of accord and approval, and your tears flow when he pulls you as far down his length as your quenched throat allows, your chained wrists resting atop your skull, and he keeps you there.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” He asks with a teasing lilt in his voice. “I have no objections to fully commit to being yours, your sir. But you must understand I expect the same commitment in return. This cock is yours,” Alhaitham promises, relishing in your muffled whimper of agreement. “And you are mine. My,” – a pause – “personal, depraved, slut.”

At first, he worries he might have gone too far with such a derogatory term, but they are all dashed aside when he watches your eyelids flutter closed and eyes roll into the back of your head. A long whine sends him into overdrive, and even more so when you try to fit more of his cock down your throat. Expletives slip from his tongue as he pulls you away completely, a tendril of saliva connecting your lips to his tip, your mouth still wide open while gasping for air. He sees your own tongue peek out and rest on your bottom lip, pliant and waiting for him to return.

Alhaitham lets go of your skull and watches you fall back to your pillow. He moves your tied hands above and over your head until they settle right above your belly button. The position allows him to trap your arms beneath him and move just a little further up the bed for the bottom half of his length to weigh heavily on your eager mouth. It remains open as he drags his shaft along your tongue, teasing you by slipping the head of his cock in your mouth. Your lips immediately close around it, but they are no match for when he pulls away, and you’re left empty once again.

“Truly a cockslut,” he chides as his hand takes a hold of his length and smacks it against your tongue. “You’ll take everything I give you, won’t you?” And he smirks when you nod, still beckoning, still waiting. “You’ve done well for me so far. Perhaps I should give you a gift.”

There’s little time to regain your senses when he shoves his length in until it hits the back of your throat once more and grabs onto your headboard. Just that angle gives him enough leverage to fuck your face as he pleases.

“If your mouth is this tight, I can only imagine what your cunt will feel like on my cock,” he grits out. Your brain goes numb as you take it all in, content and satisfied to please Alhaitham. You focus on making sure your teeth don’t drag against his skin, tongue swiping patterns and circles around his cock when possible. “I’ll need to take my time stretching out your tiny pussy, won’t I? Fuck, need to make it fit inside you. Isn’t that right?”

Alhaitham pretends to be dissatisfied with your moan, all garbled and thick with drool. “How many times do I need to tell you to use your words?” He teases, knowing full well there’s no way for you to form any right now. But a wicked, joyous laugh rings in your ears when he can tell you’re attempting to do it anyways. It goes straight down his dick and into his balls, and as they tighten further, he knows he’s close.

You don’t know how it’s possible for him to grow any thicker, but somehow it happens when his pace increases, and he tells you, “I’m going to cum, okay? Going to give you all my cum, make you my cumslut. You want to be my cumslut, you’re doing so well, so perfect, letting me fuck your mouth. Shit, cumming, cumming –!”

At the very last second, he pulls out and furiously pumps his cock, shifting back just in time for his cum to paint your breasts. “Fuck!” He growls and rides out the high until there’s nothing left to give you, blinding light beneath his eyelids before he snaps them open so he can watch you become covered by his release. Viscous, white ropes paint over you, some even landing on your cheek and neck. His chest heaves and his eyes remain unfocused from the fog in his brain.

That is, until he watches you swipe his cum from your neck with your fingers before it drips onto the bed, and place them in your mouth. Your sigh screams content as you lick them clean, and as far as he can tell, you’re enjoying the taste of him – as if he was the one to sate your thirst rather than the other way around. In a trance, he joins you in your meal by feeding you more with his own appendages, and his dick returns to half-mast once all the cum is visibly gone and slid down your throat.

“Thank you for your cum,” you say, your voice dreamy and euphoric. Alhaitham pulls you by your bound wrists again until you’re sitting up close enough, and buries his head into your shoulder, embedding his own kisses of gratitude into your skin. It doesn’t matter that there’s dried spit on your chin and your hair is a mess – you’re still so incredibly stunning to him.

To look into your eyes, to cradle your face in his palm, to ghost his thumb over your cheekbone, how lucky he is to be in a position to even ask you, “Was that okay?”

“Very,” you smile, unabashed and clearly happy with everything that had just happened. A small giggle slips out as well.

“Good,” he murmurs after kissing your forehead. “Would you be open to one more round? It seems I haven’t gotten enough of you.”

You see the evidence of his claims, how his cock gradually grows and rises under your watchful stare. His earlier words of needing to stretch you out before he can fuck you play in your head, and they remind you of just how wet you are. Still tied up, you scoot back away from him until you can stretch your legs out, parted to reveal what you so desperately wanted to touch as his dick was lodged in your mouth. Alhaitham’s pupils dilate and zero in on the mess between your thighs, and he chases after you to spread your legs farther.

“You became this wet from me fucking your mouth?” His fingers slide against the folds of your puffy cunt, your clit peeking out and swollen. “Tsk, all this pre gone to waste,” and you whimper when his nails barely graze that bundle of nerves, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. There’s no resistance when he works his middle finger inside you and your breath hitches. He turns his wrist as he fingers you, creating more and more arousal coursing through your veins. Alhaitham is proud that one finger of his affects you so. You whine and reach for him with grabby hands, managing to latch onto his wrist so he can keep his appendages buried inside you. “My my,” he teases, and his fingers curl, searching and searching until his fingertip taps against the exact spot that makes your back arch.

“You’re so eager to be filled,” Alhaitham taunts as he lubes up his ring finger with your slick. You feel even tighter when it slips in with his middle finger, and he finds that spot again in no time, already having memorized where it is. “You don’t have my permission to cum yet,” he warns, a decision just made when your walls are really beginning to clench around him.

“B-but–”

A third finger joins in, cutting you off from any protesting. “You either cum on my cock or not at all,” he offers and you think it’s beyond cruel. Why can’t you cum on his fingers and his cock?

With every last thread of your existence, you stamp down the growing desire to cum again. It feels like hours have passed, your sanity barely intact, when Alhaitham hums, just loud enough to be heard amongst your moans and whines. “I’m beginning to question whether I truly am too big for you,” he contemplates out loud. “What do you think, Y/N?”

It’s so hard to answer his question when you’re using everything else inside you to not break around his fingers. The depraved squelching of your slick only adds fuel to the fire in your core, and you’re trying to think, you really are–

The friction ceases, and before you can even address it, there’s a light, punishing slap across your clit. “Fuck,” you whimper, throat dry.

“Answer my question. Do you think I might not fit inside you?”

You know what answer he’s looking for. You know he wants you to surrender to his hidden intentions, that, “It doesn’t matter,” and you swallow. “I will…make it fit.”

In turn, he removes his fingers with care, but leaves you horribly empty with the void expanding into your chest. “Do you have a condom?” Alhaitham asks while looking around your bedroom.

“The bottom drawer on the right in the bathroom.”

Your sir leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your stomach. “I will return soon.”

For the seconds that you try to catch your breath, to calm your beating heart, to ignore the vacuity between your legs, you realize just where you are and who you’re with. You haven’t had much of a clear mind since the second he knocked on your window, caught up in the whirlwind of your nerves and paranoia – and then to have it turned on its head where you now lay in your bed, free of any prior anxiety, and drown in your lust.

Alhaitham wanders back into your room, focused on the package in his hand. Shameless and perverse, your eyes drink in his length, bobbing with each step. Even you’re beginning to doubt your ability to take him all in, but the anticipation, the threads of excitement that you may be filled again clouds over everything else.

“Hold your legs for me,” he commands gently, and you obey once he unties the sash around your wrists. Your arms hook beneath your knees so that everything is displayed and exposed to him. He sets the condom to the side when he shuffles closer so his hips meet the bottom of your thighs. Your breath hitches when he presses his cock onto your abdomen, and it pleases both of you so much to see that his tip just about reaches your belly button. “Look at how deep it’ll be inside you,” he coos, your whine following. “But it’s okay if you can’t take it all, you can’t help it that your little cunt is so tight.”

There’s a twinge of faux disappointment in his words. As if on instinct, you shake your head in vehement disagreement. “I’ll make it fit, sir, I promise,” you gasp and pull your legs closer to you. “We have to make it fit.”

“Mmm, my eager cocksleeve,” he responds with mirth, his regales washing away the panic from your system. You wait with bated breath as he grinds the underside of his entire length against your glistening folds, purposely catching onto your clit when possible. You’re not sure how much longer you can stand the torture, becoming wetter and wetter with each glide. “The color system is okay to check in with you?”

“Yes.”

He nods and leans back so the tip of his cock is just outside your entrance. His fingers roll and stretch the condom down his length. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to tear his gaze away from your core so he can obtain your consent to start, and the determined nod he receives sets his heart aflame.

A sinful perversion enters his mind as he watches your messy cunt split open and stretch over the head of his cock. He thinks about the future and wonders when the day will be for you to be in his lap and sink down his cock with no hesitation. His thumbs spread your folds further apart so he can get a better look, his lustful illusions from many lonely nights finally coming into play. Your breathy gasp when the head pops in is alluring, and he craves more of it. That perversion echoes its lack of satisfaction, that this is not enough, and he needs it all. Pride fills his chest as you take the first few inches with no problem, trying to take deep breaths as he continues to bully his way into your pussy.

Though internally, your mind is on the verge of breaking from how thick Alhaitham is. The emptiness from earlier has long been fulfilled, and you take a look to see that he’s barely fit half oh him inside you, and you already feel so full.

You were made for me.

I was made for him, you remind yourself, rationality thrown out the window because serving Alhaitham is all that matters in this moment. He’s giving you his cock, taking his time for you, providing a subtle reminder of just who you will belong to from here on out. Alhaitham has been so kind to you, you think. The least you could do is to be his good little slut, so eager and always yearning for him.

“You’re doing so well,” Alhaitham praises, though his voice chokes. You’re terribly tight around him, so much so that he wonders if he would even be able to pull out once he’s buried all of himself inside you. It wouldn’t be much of a problem, he thinks, to have you stuck on his cock for eternity, fucked dumb with nothing on your mind but him and pleasure. His hand puts the slightest pressure on your abdomen, but it’s enough for you to break with an “oh!”

“Fuck, I can almost feel myself inside you,” he marvels. “Color?”

It takes you a few seconds to process his question. “Green,” falls off your tongue with a whimper. But the bit of hesitation is enough for Alhaitham to stop in his tracks.

“Y/N, look at me.”

A dreamy hum on your lips, your blown out eyes meet his, and he realizes how far gone you are. “We can stop, it’s okay if we do.” But that may have been the wrong thing to say because your face falls, tears prickling your eyes. “I can do it,” you sniffle. “Please, sir.”

There is no way for him to remain unaffected by the way you address him, but he ensures to take extra care for the last few inches.

“You’re doing so well, taking all of me in. You’re keeping your promise, I’m so proud of you,” Alhaitham coos. The bottom of his shaft is just a little bit thicker, and you let out a happy squeal when your cunt stretches as much as it can to accommodate him. His tip barely grazes your cervix, and through your floaty thoughts, you almost wish it was deeper. The groan from Alhaitham as he bottoms out provides you comfort. It can only mean that you’re making him feel good, and that you did manage to have him fit inside you. So pleased with yourself, your pussy clenches around him and coaxes for more, for his cum.

If Alhaitham didn’t have better control of himself, he would’ve cum right then and there. Buried deep inside you, warm velvety walls sucking him in – it’s hard to believe that this is really happening. The person he loves is in his arms, joined with him in the most intimate way known to mankind. He never wants to leave you, leave this, yet his cock begs for friction. Your adorable whine of protest as he slides out a couple inches beckons him to return, and return he does as you let out a sound of pure satisfaction.

“Loveyou,” your words slurred together and fuzzy. “Love, love your cock, please, wan’ more, please?”

Archons, how are you so perfect for him? Alhaitham sets a steady, moderate pace and focuses on you, ensuring that you’re okay and pleased. It seems there’s a permanent grin on your face, even when you gasp or scream, and he’s determined to keep it there. When you seem completely accustomed to his pace, his strokes become longer and more indulgent. “Fuck,” you cry each time he fills you up with more and more of his cock with each stroke. His thumbs rub circles into your clit and drive you closer to your peak – you don’t know if you’re ready to cum yet, or if you want this to end. You don’t, but you’re so close–!

“Such a good girl for me – your little cunny was really made for my cock. There’s no one else for me, just you, pretty girl,” he breathes, seeing the hesitation on your face as your walls clench tighter than before. “I know you’re gonna cum soon, I want to see you cum on my cock. Can you do that for me?”

Anything he asks for, you would go to great lengths to give him what he wants. So if he wants you to cum, then you have to. You nod with a pout on your face, but Alhaitham leans forward, pushing your legs back further as he reaches to kiss the pout away. “That’s my good girl, so perfect.”

He pulls out completely, but why?

Alhaithm grabs and maintains eye contact with you for two agonizing seconds, and then commands you to, “Cum for me.”

And you do just that when he slams his entire length inside you as soon as those words leave his lips.

Alhaitham basks in your scream and sobs, your body convulsing and trembling beneath him, your walls an impossible vice around his cock. He grinds against you to go as deep as he can, “fuckfuckfuck”, and a growl buried in your neck as he cums. In your high, you think you can feel the heat and its spasms of it all, passively wondering what it would feel like to have him cum inside you without a condom. Perhaps one day you’ll be granted a nice little breeding session, but that is neither here nor there.

Alhaitham plants pecks and kisses all over your face, neck, and shoulders, smiling when your little giggles reach his heart. If anything, he’s just happy that everything turned out okay and didn’t end up in a disaster like last time. As he observes the serenity gracing your complexion, he cannot contain his affection any longer.

“Thank you…for having me.” I love you.

Another giggle. “I love you, too, Haitham. A lot.”

You’re kindly gifted a most adoring eskimo kiss. “I need to get you cleaned up, so I need to pull out, okay?”

The pout returns despite your agreement, and Alhaitham spends much needed time to pull out without you breaking. The devil on his shoulder protests otherwise, as it attempts to coax him into keeping you speared on his cock for the night, or more. Your whine of loss tugs at his heartstrings and feeds into his greed, and he embraces you once more to keep you grounded. Slowly, but surely, you return to your senses. Alhaitham is heavy and sweaty against you, but it’s more than you could ask for. A few taps on his shoulder are enough to tell him that you’re back on the same plane of reality with him, and he dives in to kiss you again, painting compliments and praises of how amazing you were along your lips.  

Alhaitham then sweeps you off the bed, into his arms, and takes hurried steps towards the bathroom. You’re like a delicate flower with the way he places you on the toilet, and he reminds you of the importance of peeing after sex. Your privacy is granted when he leaves to remove and tie off the condom to discard it in the kitchen trash can, and later returns with a warm, wet towel. He waits until you’re back in bed and comfortable before he tenderly wipes away any excess fluids and leaves it on your nightstand before cuddling next to you. You turn towards him and burrow into his chest, content as his arms embrace you with an air of security and protection.

He mumbles something into your hair, but you’re out before you can even think to ask what he said.

-

When you finally come to, you can’t remember the last time you slept so well. No tiresome dreams, no sporadically waking up in the night – weeks out in the nature with Lumine had turned you into a light sleeper, and you missed this feeling of being so well-rested.

But the soreness in your thighs screams otherwise, and you wince when they refuse to cooperate. A muscular arm rests around you as if it has always belonged there. At first you question why it’s there, but then your brain decides to wake up and remind you just exactly of what transpired last night. Despite the mixture of shock and embarrassment (mainly at just how wanton you acted), you look up from where you are buried into Alhaitham’s chest. Somehow, you’re surprised to see him already awake. Well, surprised may not be the right word. But the clear adoration in his eyes is unmistakable, seizing and pulling on your heartstrings.

Alhaitham quite enjoys watching you think and process, imagining the fine-tuned gears and cogs in your brain working in overdrive. He remains silent as he smooths out some of the tangles in your hair, and he patiently waits to hear from you. You two had already experienced many hours of quietude before, so this was nothing new for him. There are very few moments in his life when he’s felt this serene and content, half-naked and you pressed against him, both drinking in each other and the light of day coming from your window. He could get used to this. He wants to get used to this.

“You’re making me breakfast in bed,” you decide with your first words of the day, grumbling with a pout on your face. “I don’t think I can walk properly.”

The former scribe arches a perfect silver brow, but the shit-eating smirk stretching along his face is anything but confusion. He knows exactly what you’re implying, and he’s quite satisfied with himself for causing such a situation. Perhaps he should do it more often.

“That I can do,” he agrees, his morning voice deep, yet full of mirth. After a quick kiss on your forehead, he rolls out of bed to do just as you command.

The growl from your stomach prevents you from calling him back because you’re cold now. A shiver runs down your spine as you tighten the blanket and sheet around you, tucking some beneath your chin in an attempt to trap whatever warmth you have left. But when you catch a hint of Alhaitham’s lingering scent, you feel yourself immediately calm down and breathe evenly. The gentle cluttering from your kitchen provides another layer of security as well.

Lost in your basking, you’re quite startled when you feel Alhaitham’s lips on your cheek, a tray in his hands with a light, yet nutritious breakfast arranged. But as you continue to lay there, he can’t help but laugh.

“Do you need help sitting up?”

“No.”

“Don’t be stubborn.”

You do, in fact, need his strength to sit up comfortably against some pillows. The embarrassment hasn’t quite worn off by the time he slides back underneath the sheets to sit next to you, an arm slung over your shoulders as you eat. But in seconds, it dissipates, and is replaced with something akin to love. For you both to finally be here, together as if you two have been dating for years, is exactly the outcome you have been wishing for.

“You know,” he starts before being interrupted by a forkful of food shoved into his mouth, courtesy of you. “You’re a perfect reason why I can finally kick Kaveh out of my home.”

You swat his shoulder with your free hand. “That’s so mean!”

“He can just move in here. I’m not that heartless to leave him homeless. Is that what you think of me?”

You answer without hesitation, “Yes.”

With the hand hanging off your shoulder, his nails scrape lightly in retaliation against the skin beneath your collar bone.

“If I recall, I was pretty fair with you last night,” he murmurs into your hair. “Perhaps I need to remind you just how fair when you’re done with breakfast.”

And you’ve never finished a meal so quickly.

fin.

[cheeseceli]

Shut me up

Pairing: Choi Soobin × Gn!reader

Genre: fic, fluff, friends to lovers

Prompt: "I know I talk too much, so honey come put your lips on mine and shut me up"

Warnings: the rest of txt make a slight cameo, soobin is a loser (affectionate)

A/n: thank you for requesting this with him because I was hoping someone would😭 enjoy! | Join the 1k event

Yours and soobin's first kiss was... Kind of a hopeless mess.

It all started with a date you didn't even know was a date. Following his friend's advice, he invited you out. Just keep it casual, they will love it. That's what Yeonjun said.

Soobin wishes he could punch Yeonjun right now.

That's simply because you were both sitting side by side on a bench in the park, and you've just asked when the others were coming along.

"Probably soon, I think they might be stuck in traffic."

You nodded, thinking it probably made sense. But it actually didn't. Because no one was coming. Maybe keeping it so casual was a mistake, considering you thought it was so casual that it would be just a normal outing among friends. Not a date. Not that Soobin was stressing over it, of course not.

He just casually wants to punch Yeonjun.

But he also should kick Taehyun since it was his idea to come to a park this weekend. Saturdays are always great for dates, there's no better day than this one. Taehyun was a very smart guy and, since he told Soobin that the place and weather would be perfect, he was most likely right as always.

Except it started to rain.

You and your clothes, that made you look more ethereal than you already were, were getting wet. And so was your date friend. When you got up from the bench, Soobin swore he heard his heart get broken thinking about how you were going to bid your farewell. Happily, you just said "Let's go to some cafe, we can wait for them there".

You were way smarter than Taehyun, that's a fact.

Buy them something to drink. Now that was Hueningkai's advice. Soobin thought to himself for a second before complying; that one couldn't go wrong. He had the money - he made sure to avoid his wallet around the guys. He also knew your favourite drink by heart and the place was very nice. Okay, that one really couldn't go wrong.

"Go find us somewhere to sit, I'll have something for us to drink" he told you smiling, hoping to look confident and cool.

You smiled back at him. Oh my God that must've worked right?? Soobin was about to kiss kai for giving him the only right advice until now.

In his opinion, everything was going on pretty smoothly. They had your order there, it smelled good and it looked nice. For a second, Soobin thought he could really impress you, even if it's with a silly thing like that.

That is, until this random guy dropped his coffee in his shirt. Yeah, that really sucked.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" the person said. The coffee was kinda hot but not enough to hurt him, but sadly it was enough to ruin his shirt. Of course he had to wear a white shirt that day.

"It's okay, don't worry" The stranger even paid soobin's and yours coffee as an apology but he doesn't know if that made him feel better or worse about the whole situation. Sorry Kai, I couldn't pay for the drinks.

But once he sat down next to you, your eyes turned confused at the exact moment, and you didn't hesitate on taking some napkins to try and help soobin's shirt. A win is a win, he thinks when he feels your hands trying to dry his sleeve. His skin was getting hotter and redder. He hopes you assumed it was the hot coffee.

Don't forget to compliment them, Beomgyu said. Usually Soobin wouldn't hesitate on ignoring any possible advice his friend could give, but this one felt like the sanest thing he had said in a while. Maybe it was worth the risk.

He started to look at you, still focused on trying to clean his shirt. There were just so many things he could compliment. He loved the way your eyes would squint when you were paying attention to something. He loved how your skin felt delicate when you were touching him. He could spend hours talking about how your hair framed your face perfectly or how your voice was adorable. He also really liked your lips, a lot. If he could, he would kiss you right on the spot.

"What?"

"What?"

You were looking at him confused, like you were solving the hardest of puzzles in your head. But Soobin doesn't understand. He didn't do anything, nor said something that could make you have his reaction. He just...

His hand flew to his mouth, covering it and only showing his wide eyes in total horror. No way he said that. He couldn't have said that.

"Did you just say that..." you tried to formulate it without sounding weird, not that the situation itself wasn't already bad enough "that you wanted to kiss me?"

He laughed. Little giggles started to get past his lips, but it was extremely clear that it was a laugh filled with panic. How can someone screw things up so badly?

"No, no. I mean yeah I did but no! I shouldn't have said that, it was a mistake. Not that I didn't mean it, because I did, but in a sense that I shouldn't have said it, you know?" he looked at you trying to find a string of hope, any sign that he was on his way of fixing things, but damn he was so lost. "Like, I won't actually kiss you! I wanted to but then, no hold on. I wouldn't do it like this, in something like... You understand what I mean right?"

He doesn't know for how long he kept on speaking any random excuse he could think of. At some point, his panicked laugh got mixed with words and the only thing he could say were unintelligible sounds. You could almost see a little smoke getting out of his brain. He only came to a stop when you kissed the corner of his mouth, shutting him up immediately.

Did you just... kiss him?

You giggled lightly, probably at how awestruck he was right now. It wasn't even a kiss on his lips - unfortunately - but he felt like he could die a happy man at that moment.

"I can't believe I'll have to thank the boys for that."

"Weren't they tagging along?"

Oh.

"Now that's kind of a funny story..." You could see he was collecting his breath to start yapping again, but he stopped right when he saw you smile. Apparently, both your kiss and smile had the ability to stop his brain.

Suddenly he started to talk again, not knowing exactly what he was ranting about this time. His words probably weren't even coherent, but maybe you'd kiss him to shut him up once more.

Maybe this one kiss would land on his lips instead.

Masterlist | you'll probably like: So Sweet

Thank you for reading 💛

Taglist (open!): @zzzzzwicked @yuyubeans

Credits for images 1 , 2 and 3

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.

And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)

ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning.  Definitely before everyone else went to bed.  But he couldn’t bring himself to.  Not yet.

Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms.  Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest.  Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest.  He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear. 

And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall.  It kept him sane.  It kept his eyes open.  It kept him from letting the nightmare return.  You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.

“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”

Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.

“I can’t stand you.”

You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life.  Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you.  Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing. 

“I can’t stand you either.” 

I love you too.

Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in.  Something danced inside of his stomach.  It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost.  He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy.  And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him.  The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler.  The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good.  Robbed of love.  True love.

But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler. 

Steve Harrington loved you.

Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive. 

Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies.  The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray.  He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves.   Otherwise, he’d go berserk.  Completely berserk.  Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him.  She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone.  To everyone’s surprise, they operated well.  Like chef and sous-chef.  What an unlikely duo.

Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.

Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms.  He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.

But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise.  With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you.  You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.

Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door.  But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring. 

Turns out, it was Murray.  He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.

Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good. 

Your uncle cleared his throat.  “Uhh, I made some soup.”

Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls.  Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed. 

“She’s still out,” Steve told him. 

Murray nodded.  “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.”  An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued.  “Listen, why not come down?  Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup.  Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”

Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you. 

“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve.  “Trust me.  I keep having to remind myself that, too.”

Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you.  He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass.  It took Steve by surprise.  No wonder you two were related.  With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce.  She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing.  Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway.  Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor.  She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.

“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”

“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort.  She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile.  She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.

“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen.  “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat.  Don’t even think about not eating, Steve.  I’m serious, okay?”

Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef.  Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in.  Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.

Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar.  They all sat next to him happily.  YAY, MOM’S HOME.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon.  Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks.  Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.

Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this.  “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear. 

“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused.  “Dude’s a legend.”

Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not.  “Wasn’t always...”

Eddie clocks what he means by that.  He knew King Steve, too.  But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it.  Jealousy.  It’s subtle.  Not toxic, or even remotely a threat. 

That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids.  She looks enchanted, melancholy.  Is she sad?  Why is she sad?

…why is she sad looking at Steve?

Jonathan’s brow furrows.  Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking.  Because he sees it too.  Uh oh.

“Trust me, he was a dick.  I know.  Told him so myself.”  Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning.  “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head.  Shit, I did.  I used to run away from alllllll my problems.  Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big.  Not in a bad way, though.  Never mean.  Just…immature.  Y’know?  Point is, I’ve been there too.  Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…”  He snorted.  “No pun intended.”

Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction.  What did that mean?

Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood.  “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks.  You know?  Big ones.  Small ones.  Medium…sized…ones.”

He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan.  Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself.  “The point, the point.  We uhh…we live and we learn.  Right?”

Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her.  And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody. 

It began to click for Jonathan.  The longing stares.  The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back.  He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California.  But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him.  One look at her made it all go away.  They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.

But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too?  For Jonathan?

…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…

Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms.  Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again.  No Byers in sight.

…was this karma?  Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that.  Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school?  Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?

…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.”  Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him.  Broken, anguished and betrayed.

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly.  “IT’S TOO LATE.”

When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad.  He never got mad at either of them.  He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay.  And he never said anything to Byers about it.  Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence.  Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing.  But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then.  Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.

But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger.  Red hot and flaming.  He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief.  For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain.  Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.

“DON’T SAY THAT.  NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW?  THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE?  FUCK YOU, BYERS.  FUCK YOU.”

Jonathan deserved it.  He completely deserved it.  All of it.  It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it.  All of it.  Even what was still left unsaid.  Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.

And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen.  He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate.  Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat.  Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been.  But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again. 

Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler.  He pined for you. 

Not for long, though.  Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual.  The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his. 

It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table.  Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things.  But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.  

Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile.  Eddie watched them, knowing.  Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…

Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike.  They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind.  He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him.  He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table.  Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.

“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”

Dustin’s question made everyone freeze. 

Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee.  “About what…?”

“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”

Robin choked on her coffee.  Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm.  Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing. 

“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said.  “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”

Robin was still working on clearing her throat.  “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”

“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll.  “If any of us know, you do.”

“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.”  She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes.  “I really should have seen it coming, though.  I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”

“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive. 

Eddie smirked, uneasy.  “Meh, not important.”

“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious.  “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us.  Like an old married couple.”

Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together.  Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed.  But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…

Robin puffed out a breath of air.  “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer.  You know, found a way to get along.  Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”

Dustin scoffed.  “Robin.  He kissed her.”

Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.

Robin stared.  “What?”

“When?”  Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.

“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.

“Today,” Dustin kept talking.  “Whenever we…brought her back.  He — he kissed her.  He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.” 

Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all.  Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing.  Even Eddie looked over at him. 

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured.  “Steve’s never sad.  Not like that.  I’ve never even seen him cry.  Not once.  Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”

Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought.  She shook her head, realizing… “No.  No, he didn’t.  Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says.  “Because he’s awesome.  He’s brave, and cool, and awesome.  Steve doesn’t cry.  Today?  He bawled.”

“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy.  “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today.  I did.  Byers did.”

“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm.  It made everyone go quiet again.  “Not like that,” he repeated.  “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died.  Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back.  How Hopper and Joyce would.  How Jonathan and Nancy would.”

That made the present couple go stiff.  But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug.  “S’true,” he mumbled.  “If that were you, I would.”

Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty.  Of course, it was the same for her.  But she couldn’t focus on that right now.  Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed.  Now that she knew for sure…

“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain.  “It’s a matter of when.  When did it start and how were we blind?”

But no one could answer that.  Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t.  She knew her best friend all too well.  How had she not seen this coming?  How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you?  Maybe even loving you…?

Eddie had only started sensing it that day.  Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy.  To get her back, win her over.  But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course.  He knew better than to cross that line.  Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her.  He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin.  They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other.  Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.

And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth.  She lost Steve.

“Alright, guessing game is over.” 

Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl.  He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly.  Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.

“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused. 

Jonathan, however, was not.  This was so karma.

“...had what coming?” Dustin asked. 

Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.

“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl.   “The sexual tension.  The incessant arguing.  Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”

Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself.  “But…why though?  She didn’t do anything wrong.  Why would he have disdain towards her…?”

Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her.  It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.

Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck.  “Honey…really?” 

Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.

“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s.  Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess.  But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends.  Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down.  But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you.  Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial.  On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well.  She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —”  (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued.  Because my niece isn’t stupid.  She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna.  She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie.  She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve.  So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' " 

Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.

Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.

"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do?  He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."

Nancy's blood ran cold. What? 

"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all.  Every lick of it.  So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl?  The person who told him to do it.  Myyyyyy niece.  Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life.  And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension?  But Steve had to hate someone.  To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself.  So he chose her.  He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her.  Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids.  Which is to be expected.  So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.” 

Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued. 

“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding.  Trauma bonding.  Forced alliance.  The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive.  And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears.  Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back.  And then…suddenly…”  Murray snaps his fingers.  “Common ground.”

No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.

“Vecna ends the world.  At least, Hawkins.  We all somehow manage to survive it.  We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here.  In a house, all underneath the same roof.  Forced to coexist.  Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters.  Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker.  Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in.  Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”

Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following.  “Magic.”  He walks closer, slowly.  “Some small talk becomes bigger talk.  Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation.  My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one.  They both discover they’re the only child in both their families.  His parents are absent.  Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care.  But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why?  Because she’s listening.  Relating.  Understanding.  Meanwhile, Steve feels heard.  Seen.  Relevant.  Important.  Like maybe whatever he has to say matters.  Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”

Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape. 

“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together.  Not that you knew that.  You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet.  Which is good.  And they love that.  Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her.  And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same.  Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you.  Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more.  Or at least, that’s what I observed.  Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures.  Just like you two were.  She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her.  She insists they are mortal enemies.  That he hates her.  Will forever hate her.  And then…that rambling turns into truth.  Admittance.  Denial, still.  But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”

Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue.  She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.

Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.

“...someone had to love Steve.  But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler.  Not forever, anyway.  Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas.  But it was her.  You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve.  And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”

Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop.  The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.  Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing.  They were stunned into shocked silence.  With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.

“Do me a favor…”  He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup.  Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again. 

“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah?  Not yet.  Not to them.  Wanna do it with each other, go ahead.  But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”

Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes.  They felt parented now.

“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”

Dustin gulped, nodding.  Robin did, too.  Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now.  Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real.  With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.

So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them.  Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin.  Jonathan swigged his coffee.  Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.

“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.

Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression.  Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan.  Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too.  He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”

Robin tried to speak, choking on air.  Steve squinted at his best friend.  Finally, she found her voice.  “Sorry.  Got the jitters.  Too much coffee.”

She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip.  Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin.  She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself. 

“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”

“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head.  He watched her go, curious. 

But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly.  The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers.  He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes.  That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow.  But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.

Nancy felt queasy.  Really queasy.  And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan.  She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own.�� He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink.  She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall.  But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.

“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly.  “Real early.  Probably 6AM.  Hopper’s letting Murray know.”

Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.

Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad.  Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked.  “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back.  “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind.  Everything.”

Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection. 

Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce.  After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain. 

No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there.  Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place.  They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both.  The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep.  Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground.  He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time.  Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew.  He just knew.  You two were crazy for one another.  Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too.  Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens.  Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s.  He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…

But he didn’t say anything about it.  He felt it best not to push anything.  Not yet.  When Max woke up, he would.  But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to.  Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you.  And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous.  Then Lucas would say something.

***

That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas.  She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual.  And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his.  At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore.  Thanks, Murray.

“Hey, dingus,” she grinned.  Steve grinned back. 

“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands.  “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”

“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously.  His wounds, I mean.  I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”

Robin nodded, biting her lip.  God, she wanted to ask him so many questions.  Hug him.  Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans.  Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her.  To scream.  To laugh.  Anything.

“Robs, you good?”

“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted.  “Like – love you to death.  Best friends forever.  Just — just…”  She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks.  Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous.  Robin sighed.  “Just know that…I’m here.  And I’m always gonna be here.  Supporting you, with…whatever you need.  Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions.  Alright…?”

Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs.  His best friend of a soulmate.  Platonic with a capital P.  Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets.  She sagged with relief.  Thank God.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.

“Cool.”

“Bed’s all yours.  Spread out.  Starfish.  Steal all the covers.”

Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter.  “Okay.  Cool, yay.”

Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death.  He really did have the best friend in the world.  They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace.  Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair.  He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide.  Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin.  She smirked.

“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”

Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs.  “Sir, yes, sir.” 

Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms.  Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit.  He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.

***

Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell.  There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully.  Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair.  He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position.  Almost like you hadn’t moved at all.  He looked at the clock.  It’s…been hours.  Several hours.  At least 4.  He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark. 

His heart stopped.  Were you too still?

Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell.  But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —

You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily.  Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.

You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning.  He melted. 

“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily. 

“Hours,” he told you.  “Which is good.  You need sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly.  “M’hungry.”

That made Steve grin ear to ear.  “I can fix that.  Want me to bring it up here?” 

A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully.  Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return. 

When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication.  You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard.  You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.

The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl.  Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close.  His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.

“Yellow.”

Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter.  “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two.  Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”

There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring.  Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town. 

“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”

“Nah, the dogs are.”

Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple.  You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.

“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window. 

“Blue.  Sky blue.” 

You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers.  “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”

“Schyeah, that.”  Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine.  He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…

Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night.  He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s.  Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl.  He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits.  Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say.  But regardless, your answers fascinated him.  He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men.  Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time.  You were smart, but somehow underestimated.  It was strange.  You were strange.  Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’

And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too.  Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.

“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously.  But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.

“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff.  “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own.  Be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him.  “God…no wonder you love those kids so much.  You’re a natural born mother.”

“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”

“Apparently, I’m dad.”

“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.

You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows.  He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk.  Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another.  Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone.  Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god.  How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting.  Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla.  He loved diners, and you did too.  He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner.  It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not.  It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years.  Maybe ever.  Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.

“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”

Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration.  Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding.  “Heard that, huh?”

You gave him a little smirk.  “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”

He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah.  Turns out being an only child gets to you.”

You nodded sadly.  “Yeah.  It does.”

Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness.  But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly?  Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else?  Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him?  He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.

You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever.  You nodded eagerly.  Yes.  Those, or a border collie.  A dog that felt like a true family member.  Even a stray mutt who needed a home.  You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids.  Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku.  When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household.  Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard. 

God, you were beautiful.  You were so beautiful.

…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud.  “So are you,” you breathed.

Steve shook his head.  “I’m not, though.”

Your brow creased.  “Yes, you are.  You know you are…and if you don’t –”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you are,” you said simply.

Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious.  How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now?  You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek. 

“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper.  “Not to you.  I’ve been ugly.  Really ugly.”

You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours.  Just understanding and forgiveness.

“I was, too,” you admitted.

“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly.  “Not like me.”

“Steve, I wrecked your life.  Well, your love life.  But still, I wrecked it.”

“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.

Never at you.  Never again.

“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.”  He visibly winces at his own words.  “God, I’m so sorry —”

“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks.  “Don’t.  I’ve forgiven it.  Really.  You didn’t know.  You were hurt.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight.  “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway.  Worse.  Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again.  “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”

Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears.  Still, he let the joke land.  You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss.  Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.

“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered.  “My ribs, too, damn…”

Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck.  He sighed.  “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly.  “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take it.  Pain’s good.”

You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him.  It did, for the most part.  Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end.  He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same. 

“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you.  “Hawkins.  The country.  The world.”  He paused, breathing you in.  “Just know I want you there.  All the time.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering.  “Good.  You’re stuck with me, Harrington.  Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”

“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot.  He felt happy.  Absurdly happy.  Who thought that was possible?

“...Steve?”

He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his.  He waited, pulling back nervously.  Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way.  That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens.  So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan?  Why was he suddenly worried that you —

“I love you so much.”

19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment.  His childhood.  His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed.  He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him.  It hadn’t been many.  At least not many that meant anything to him.  He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years.  But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.

“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours.  “God, you’ve no idea, I…”

Steve felt overwhelmed.  He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks.  He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly.  Little kisses peppering your face.  “I love you so much.”

He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul.  Steve could bawl about it later.  Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.

as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.

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[soraontop]

THE TRUTH UNTOLD

title the truth untold ( pt. 1 of 10 things i hate about you series )

summary how it all begins.

genre angst, fluff towards the end, slice of life

characters jung sora (8th female member oc of enhypen), nam iseul (female oc, former 9th female member oc of enhypen), park jongseong, park sunghoon (briefly), brief cameos of other enhypen members

warnings poly ot7 enhypen au with 8th female member. knetz are really mean to sora. slut shaming, self-deprecating thoughts. enhypen are still learning about sora’s many, many layers. unrequited (?) love. idiots in love. pining.

words 2412

note aaaa okay sorry it took a min. here is the first part of how enhasora began. just letting you know … prepare for a ride cause im not gonna make it easy on them. 🫶🫶

Jung Sora knew one thing before ENHYPEN debuted. She was absolutely and utterly fucked.

It starts a month before ENHYPEN’s debut. Iseul gathers Sora and the seven boys in their living room, the room cluttered as always when all nine of them were in their tiny dorm. She knows what’s coming before it leaves Iseul’s mouth. She thinks of how she knows Iseul better than anyone.

“I’m leaving ENHYPEN.”

The room goes still, and Sora’s heart drops, even though she expected it. There’s an awful, funny feeling in the pit of her stomach and she feels like she’s going to throw her breakfast back up.

Sora inhales sharply and that seems to break the rest of the members’ silence.

“You’re kidding, right,” Jake chuckles, head ducking down. They wait for her to laugh, telling them it’s a joke. But she doesn’t. His head snaps up, “Wait, seriously?”

At Iseul’s silence, Sunghoon stands and walks out of the living room, slamming the door to the bedroom shut. Sora flinches, closing her eyes briefly. She feels eyes on her and looks to see Heeseung staring at her. She smiles weakly, breaking eye contact to turn back to Iseul.

“I don’t understand,” Niki said, brows furrowing. “Why? We haven’t even debuted yet.”

Iseul swallows, “I— I thought I could do it, but I can’t.” Her eyes connect with Sora and her eyes are shining, bottom lip trembling. “Sora … you understand, don’t you?” Her voice breaks, hand reaching out for the younger girl to hold.

Sora stares at her hand for a moment, disappointment settling in. This was really happening. She looks back up, and a tear falls from Iseul’s eyes. She pushes her feelings aside, forcing a weak smile as her own eyes become wet, “Unnie … You know I do.” Their hands clasp together, fingers intertwining tightly. She swallows the lump in her throat, “I want to tell you to stay. I don’t want you to leave.” The other members watch as she blinks away her tears, never one to cry in front of others. “But I know you’ve already made your mind up. You’ve already booked your train ride home, too, haven’t you?” When a sob rips out from Iseul’s chest and she nods slowly, she nods back. She stands up, pulling Iseul in for a hug, shocking the older girl.

They hold each other tightly and Sora whispers for only her to hear, “I love you, unnie.” She pulls back a moment later, glancing at the boys who are still staring in confusion. They don’t know the reason. She sighs, turning back to Iseul. “I’m going to …” She turns her head but Iseul already knows where she’s going, sniffling and nodding.

As Sora walks away, she knows there is no use to beg Iseul to stay. If she didn’t want to debut so badly, she’d go with her. But she’s always wanted to be an idol— it was her dream. She had been a trainee for far too long to just give up now because netizens didn’t like that she was a girl in a boy group.

She hesitantly stops at the bedroom door, bringing up her fist before stopping. She stands there for a moment before breathing in and out, gathering the courage to knock on the door. “Sunghoon?”

There’s no answer. She sighs.

“Please … Just hear her out,” is all she has to say before he’s ripping the door open and pulling her in. The door closes behind her and he’s staring at her, face blank. If she didn’t know him so well by now, she’d think he was angry at her. He was angry, yes, but not at her. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand,” Sunghoon fires back.

“Imagine you’re in our shoes. We’re the only girls in a group full of boys, set to become idols in front of thousands of girls who already have their claws in you. You know how fans are, they think you’re theirs,” Sora says in one breath. “They see us as competition and they don’t like that.”

“We get the same reaction from guys—”

“No, you don’t,” she shakes her head, “They call us sluts. Whores. They pat you on the back and say, ‘Wow, aren’t you lucky with the ladies?’” She tilts her head, smiling a patronizing smile. “It’s always been like this. And it’s always going to be harder on us.”

She doesn’t stay for a second longer, hoping her words get into Sunghoon’s head as she leaves. Iseul is still talking to the boys as she heads to their shared room. No, her room. Only her room now.

When the door shuts behind her and she climbs into her bed, shoving her face into her pillow, she finally allows the tears to fall.

When Iseul comes into their room a few hours later, she pats Sora on the head and climbs into bed with her. They hold each other and don’t speak for a very long time.

It’s weird without Iseul, Sora decides a few days later after Iseul has gone back home. It’s like the boys are walking on eggshells around her and she hates it. She tries to go back to normal, but it’s hard when they won’t let her.

After Niki allows her to serve his food, she stares at him for a moment, expecting him to protest, but he doesn’t. He only thanks her and begins eating. She waits another second, before turning away. Her eyes connect with Heeseung’s and she bites her lip, forcing herself to look away. Jay is now staring at her and she blinks.

A warm feeling washes over her body and she turns her head abruptly. She knows if she looked in the mirror right now, her cheeks would be red. She hates this feeling. She hates feeling vulnerable, like he can just tell what she’s thinking with just one look. She wishes he didn’t pay her so much attention. Then maybe it would be easier to get over him.

Sora sits down at her spot at the table after Heeseung hands her her plate as the boys engage in conversation, allowing her to eat her food silently. She hates herself. It’s a bold statement, but she does. All the things netizens are saying about her, that she’s a slut— that she likes one of the boys, or worse, even all of them. That she paid her way into debuting, either by actual money or other … favors. She’s just proving all of them right.

When she first read the comments about her, after the final episode of I-LAND aired, she was appalled. She felt sick to her stomach. How could anyone assume that of her? How could anyone say something like that to anyone? She doesn’t know how many times she’s cried herself to sleep or gotten so sick that she threw up nothing.

She knew the expectations of an idol, she’d been one for a year when she was thirteen with I.O.I. But that was nothing like this.

“Sora?”

Her head snaps up, eyes widening as she looks around the table. All seven of them are staring at her. She hopes she didn’t miss anything too important. She puts down her utensils, realizing she hadn’t even been eating. Just playing with her food.

Sora clears her throat, “Yeah?”

“Are you not hungry?” Jake switches to English, glancing down at her plate. “You should eat.”

“Ah …” She looks at it, too. She’s sheepish as she looks up, “Yeah. I had a big breakfast.” Everyone knows that’s a lie. But she doesn’t allow any room for argument as she stands up, “I’m going to put it in the fridge and I’ll clean dishes once all of you are done. Anyone want anything?” She almost expects one of them, Heeseung, most likely, to protest and tell her to go lay down, but they don’t. She bites down on her bottom lip, slightly ducking her head so her hair will hide her face. “Okay,” she says quietly, quickly taking her plate and walking into the kitchen.

Sora doesn’t know why she’s so disappointed. She hates being taken care of. She’s used to being the one to take care of others. She shouldn’t feel this way. She shouldn’t feel any of this.

Her phone rings in her jacket pocket right as she finishes putting her plate in the fridge. She checks the contact name.

Dad.

Sora blinks. And then stares at it some more. She allows it to continue ringing, staring at the screen until she hears footsteps heading her way. She quickly silences it, shoving it back in her pocket and leaving the kitchen just as Sunoo comes in. She doesn’t make eye contact, making sure to not brush against him as she leaves.

She can feel their eyes on her as she leaves. She wishes someone would say something.

LITTLE BIG BRO: Noona, are you having fun?

LITTLE BIG BRO: I miss you.

Sora hates feelings, she decides. She’s staring at the text messages from Kangmin, her oldest younger brother. His contact photo stares back. She goes to type something back, but she doesn’t know what to say. Does she lie? Say she’s having fun? Say she misses him, too?

If she said she misses him, would that be a lie, too?

Guilt creeps in at the thought and she hates herself more for even thinking it. Of course, she misses her brothers. They were always around, always messing with her and begging for her attention every second.

Sora turns her phone off, throwing it on what used to be Iseul’s bed. She shoves her head under her pillow, wanting to scream. There’s a knock on the door and then— “Sora? Can I come in?”

She bolts up in her bed, eyes automatically heading to the mirror in the room. Her hair is a mess, her cheeks are puffy, and her lips are dry. She quickly combs her fingers through her hair, searching for her lipbalm and smoothing it over her lips. She clears her throat as Jay knocks again, “Yeah, oppa. Come in.”

Jay steps inside the room, eyes roaming around as if he hasn’t seen it a hundred times before. But now it’s different, she tells herself. One half of the room is gone now. Empty. Before she can dive into her self-deprecating thoughts once more, she pats the bed beside her, “What’s up?”

Jay complies, staring down at his lap for a second. He had practiced this for a while before he even left his own room, but now that he was here, it was like all of it left his mind. He sighs, looking up at Sora who looked at him in confusion, “Do you want to talk?”

Sora blinks. “Talk? About what?” She knew what he was talking about and he knew that she knew. But he indulged her, anyway. He always would.

“Iseul noona,” Jay says gently, hand twitching by his side as if he were about to hold her hand. “You didn’t stay.”

“I went to talk to Sunghoon-oppa,” she murmurs, rubbing her palm on her sweatpants. “He needed to understand.”

“And he does, now,” he says. “I …” He sighs, “You’re not like yourself, Sora. Are you uncomfortable around us without noona here?”

Sora blinks in shock, head snapping up to look at him, “What? No! I’ve been friends with some of you before unnie and I even met. If anything,” her voice grows stronger, “It’s you guys who haven’t been yourselves. You’re uncomfortable with me.”

Jay doesn’t know how she can come to that conclusion. “What? No, we love you.”

Her heart warms at the confession, but she forces it down, “You guys keep just … letting me walk all over you! Letting me do whatever, walking around me like I’m about to break. I hate it. I hate it so much.”

Jay blinks. And opens his mouth before hesitating. He closes his mouth. “What … I thought you liked doing all that? We all did. That’s why we’re not stopping you like we usually do. We thought it’d make you feel better.”

Sora swallows, suddenly realizing what she had confessed after hearing his words. She looks down to her blanket, playing with the end of it.

“Sora,” he sighs at her silence. “It’s okay to want to be taken care of sometimes. You know I’m— we’re,” he clears his throat, “—always here for you. No matter what.” His eyes focus, becoming a little stern, “Okay?”

She looks up, studying the look in his eyes. She doesn’t recognize it. She wants to change the subject. “Okay.” She still doesn’t fully believe his words and he can tell.

Jay abruptly cups her cheek with his hand and her eyes widened, cheeks flushing red. His hand is warm, fingers slightly rough as his thumb smooths over her cheekbone. “Sora. Listen to me. If you need anything, if you want to talk about anything, you can come to me. You don’t always have to do things yourself. It’s okay to ask for help. You will never need to do anything by yourself when you have us.”

Her heart is beating erratically and she’s pretty sure Jay can hear it, he’s so close to her. God, that’s so embarrassing. Her eyes nervously dart away from his, laughing nervously at his words, “Ah, alright, alright. I get it, oppa. I understand now.” She pauses for a moment, before asking, “Does this mean you guys will go back to normal now? I … I miss the way it was.” Her voice grew quieter with the last sentence.

Jay chuckles, “Yeah, I’ll tell them.”

“But don’t tell them I said any of that,” she points her finger at him, trying to gain the upperhand again. She straightens up, and his hand falls from her cheek. She tries not to seem disappointed.

Jay’s smile is endearing, teasing but gentle, “Whatever you want … Baby.” His smile grows larger at her reaction, not expecting him to use the petname as it came out of Heeseung or Jake’s mouths more. Her eyes widen comically with appalled rage in them, mouth dropping open. Her cheeks are still red, hair a little messed up but she’s still pretty as the first time he saw her in the halls of BigHit.

“Yah! Don’t call me baby. I’m not a baby, you’re a baby, baby.”

“Whatever you say, baby.”

NEXT.

[crheativity]

Congrats on 200!

If it's cool with you, can I request a 5pm spa day with Vil?

WARNINGS: I don’t know anything about skin care (which is probably not a good thing). Also, featuring workaholic Vil. This also might be a bit out of character, I’m sorry, I tried D:

COMMENTS: Thank you Ithseem!! I’m sorry this took so long!! Not knowing anything about skincare or spa days made this like 10x more intimidating haha. I hope you enjoy it!!! Also, Vil with banter >>>>>

(Also, I promise I haven’t forgotten your other req, it’s just taking a while ;n;)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that the more “perfect” someone is, the busier they must be. If that was the case, you thought, then your boyfriend must be the most perfect person in the world.

It wasn’t that you were starved for attention - your boyfriend, the one and only Vil Schoenheit - gave you the attention you wanted any time he could (and quite often when he really should be working). But that never stopped you from feeling just a little bit lonely when he was away for a model shoot or busy with his acting. The past couple of days had been particularly painful. Vil had been away for about two weeks, shooting various cameos in various TV shows that you definitely remembered the name of.

Now he was finally back, and, as such, you’d gone to see if you could spend time with him, only to find him sitting cross-legged on his bed, deeply entrenched by a small mountain of paperwork.

“What’s all this?” You made your way over to his bed, attempting in vain to find a free spot to sit.

He glanced up at you and smiled, humour dancing in his eyes. “I believe it’s polite to knock before entering someone’s room.” He gently reminded you as he shuffled around some papers, making room for you next to him.

You sat down, wriggling into a comfortable position. “Usually, yeah, but you’re my boyfriend. You don’t count as a ‘someone’.”

He raised his eyebrows, his smile quirking into something a little more smug. “If I’m not a ‘someone’, does that mean I’m no one at all? Or do I not exist to you, hm?”

You took his arm and hugged it, humming in thought. “More like the fact that you do exist is unbelievable.”

Vil rolled his eyes but smiled. “And where did you learn that one?”

“From the best - you.”

He chuckled and patted your head with his spare hand.

You remained there in quiet for a while, the silence only occasionally broken by the scratching of Vil’s pencil on paper.

After a couple minutes that felt more like a couple hours, you felt restless. Having Vil back was amazing, but you wanted to do something, not just sit here and wait for him to finish whatever paperwork he was working through. That was out of the question, however. Vil always preferred to have his work done before doing anything else, so he didn’t have it hanging over him to do later.

To stop him in the middle of his work for something that could be done later, it’d have to be something pretty special.

After a couple minutes of brainstorming, you had a plan. It wasn’t guaranteed to work, but it was better than nothing.

Hesitantly, you tugged Vil’s arm. “Vil?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Do you wanna have a spa day?”

Vil glanced up at you, surprise and some suspicion evident in his expression. “Pardon?”

“I just wanted to ask if you wanted to do a spa day.”

“…Why do you ask?” He looked interested, but confused.

“Well… you were gone for ages and I missed you. And I know you worked really, really hard on those shoots. So I was trying to think of something that you like that we could do as a celebration or something, I guess? Like, a celebration that we’re together again and a reward for your hard work.” You glanced up at him and smiled hesitantly. “Is that okay?”

Vil looked surprised, a faint splash of pink dusting his cheeks. He hesitated, then smiled. “Oh, alright then. This can all wait.” He took the papers on his lap and placed them in a pile, then gathered up all his other papers and dumped them unceremoniously on his desk. “It’s all utterly boring anyhow. But, dearest,” he paused and turned to look at you, a curious light in his eyes, “what made you think of a spa day?”

You shrugged and smiled. “Because you like them, right? And besides, relaxing after a long trip is better than doing more work.” You wrinkled your nose at the paperwork as though it smelt like Grim after rolling around in the mud.

Vil quickly walked over to you and pulled you into a tight hug. “Thank you, dearest.” He pulled away, a tired smile on his face and a purely, genuinely happy look in his eyes. He turned and went to prep everything needed for the spa day, and for that you were glad;

Even when he was exhausted, he knew how to make your heart skip a beat.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

[loko4koko]

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ex-husband!Matsukawa Issei x f!reader ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

>fanart_credit: Okeidohan (via_twitter)

MDNI 18+

>word_count: 6521

>contents: angst w/ a happy ending, reader on a date with an unnamed oc, alcohol mentions (minor), mattsun being a lil cocky and a lil toxic and a lot possessive, (barely there) hanamaki cameo, brief slut-shaming(ish) moment from reader’s date, fingering (f!receiving), talks of masturbation, squirting, creampie, (minor) breeding kink, multiple orgasms, (minor) overstimulation

there were few things in this life that truly, unequivocally irritated you: traffic, gross coffee, and your ex-husband were a few of the major ones that came to mind. it’d been 8 months since you officially became a “ms.“ again and not “mrs. matsukawa,” and yet the man you’d said your vows to still managed to irk your every nerve. sending you silly memes, calling to talk about his day, offhand flirty comments in your ear like you were still together. it was all so damn maddening.

it was funny, actually, how much he continued to bother you when he was the one who wanted the divorce in the first place. it devastated you, shattered you, when it happened. no one expects for their husband to come home, sit them down and tell them, “this isn’t working anymore.” you didn’t understand at first, how he could say such a thing, when everything felt perfectly fine. but he “wasn’t truly ready” for this and he was “sorry, so sorry for hurting you.” you asked if it was a cover story- if he’d really just been cheating on you and couldn’t bring himself to tell you about his mistress, but he denied the allegations through and through. it almost made it worse, then, that it wasn’t a matter of him falling for another, but just him simply not wanting to be your husband anymore. it ruined you for months, cost you sleep and so many “sick days” from work that you’d almost lost your job. but after a while, you knew you had no choice other than to accept it, move on, get yourself back together again.

moving on is what you’re trying to do right now, actually. seated in a booth at a low lit restaurant, you laugh as the man in front of you tells some story about an outraged lunatic of a client he recently had to deal with at his job. he’s pleasant- easy on the eyes, very sweet, and a real gentleman. it’s your first date with him, your fourth since the divorce, and it was going well so far. it’d been a long time since you were on the scene, only having been married to issei for just over a year, but the two of you had dated for almost 3 before he proposed. it was difficult at first, to dip your toes back into the proverbial dating pool, but you were handling it nicely. the first few men that you’d gone out with ended up not working out, obviously- all for different reasons- but this one wasn’t too bad.

he’s pouring more sake into your glass when you see something familiar out of the corner of your eye, something that makes your heart want to choose between stopping or beating straight out of your chest. you try to calm yourself, tell your brain to stop playing tricks on you and that you’re just seeing things, but then you realize that you aren’t, that you can’t lie to yourself. there’s a mess of black hair on a tall figure, one with their back towards you only briefly before they turn around and you see a face you hadn’t quite expected to see today, let alone here in the restaurant your date chose.

it’s issei, it’s your ex-husband, it’s the man who tore your poor little heart into pieces, right in front of your eyes. you’ve never been terribly religious but you are right now, silent prayers sent up that he hadn’t noticed you- hadn’t noticed that you’re here on a date.

it’d been a few weeks since you’d seen him, when he called about some mail of yours that got sent to his home- your last address. he was as vexing as he usually was, telling you that if you’d wanted it, you’d better come get it soon before it ended up in the trash, so of course you’d hopped into your car later that evening after work. it was a dirty trick, you’d realized in retrospect. issei was an ass but he wasn’t so terrible that he’d throw your stuff away. however, he was so terrible that he’d convince you to hurry to his home under a guise so that he could (attempt to) entice you in with talks of a new bottle of sake. he was shameless, well and truly shameless, but you were unmoved, denying his offer with thanks for it, for keeping your mail out of the trash as you collected the envelopes and walked right back out.

you’re trying your best- to not alarm your date, to not draw issei’s attention, to not have a goddamn brain aneurysm. your date is asking you about your own line of work and you begin to explain, a welcome distraction from the situation at hand. you spare a glance in the direction that your ex-husband was seated- not alone but with his pink-headed best friend, another man you’ve known for too many years, and you find yourself having to look immediately in the opposite direction. issei’s looking at you, they both are, albeit with different expressions on their familiar faces. hanamaki’s is a little stunned, it seems that your look in their direction confirmed to him that it is you, but the other… the man you used to be married to has a head tilted in curiosity, eyes narrowed and a smirk on his lips that you hate to see right now. fuck. fuckfuckfuck.

you give your date a small smile, excusing yourself to the restroom as you grab your purse, willing yourself to walk as normally as you can even though you want to bolt. you’re relieved to be alone in the space, fingers gripping the edge of the sink as you stare into your own eyes. “this can’t be fucking happening..” you say to yourself, but you know that’s a falsehood to keep calm. you take a moment to breathe in deep, wet a paper towel with some cool water to dab on your neck and chest.

it’d been a few minutes and you don’t want the man you’re seated with to be concerned, so you do your best to get it together quickly and make your way back out to the dining area. only you can’t do that, because as you leave the bathroom, your exit is blocked by the lanky nuisance you call your ex-husband. you’re frozen, stopped dead in your tracks at the unexpected roadblock of a man. neither of you speak, your eyes set on his face as his own roam your figure, and you almost regret wearing a dress so formfitting, so low-cut.

“hey, babe,” issei finally says, a picture of smugness and it has your eyes rolling, moving to brush past him but no, no, he won’t let you.

“i am absolutely not doing this with you right now. what are you even doing here? what do you want?” you ask, exasperation evident in your tone.

“what, i can’t even say hi now? see you’re on a date- quite the looker, too. not as much as me, though, that’s for sure.” you’re in disbelief- real, unbridled disbelief at the man before you. there’s just no way he’s serious right now! first, he rudely blocks your path, but now he’s taken to belittling your innocent date?

“you are something else, issei,” you snort, shaking your head, “you do remember that you’re the one who wanted me to sign those papers, right? not the other way around. now if you’ll excuse me, i have a date to get back to. and don’t- don’t do anything stupid.” you slip away before he can say anything else, relaxing your face so as to not raise any questions as you sit back in your seat. you apologize for the delay, reaching for the menu and asking your date what kind of meal he plans on ordering.

an uneventful bit of time passes and you’re fine again, sharing more sake and offering food from each other’s plates to try. you almost forget about the intrusion from a little while ago, keyword there being almost. every now and then you can see issei in your peripheral vision, and damn near every time, his eyes are on you. it’s hard to ignore but you’re doing it, until the last time you look and he’s much, much closer. your eyes widen and you’re subtly shaking your head at the man, but it’s too late, his mind is made up and he approaches your table with a wink that only you can see.

“oh, hey! it’s crazy seeing you here,” issei starts, and the way your name falls from his lips is far too familiar, far too cordial for your taste. “another date already? thought we’d had a good time the other night, i know i did. i mean, we practically broke my bed frame. hey pal, just a warning but this one gets crazy in bed- a real nasty girl, i’m tellin’ ya.” your date looks absolutely appalled, scandalized even, but issei..issei is fucking beaming. there’s revulsion in your date’s eyes and you’re not sure who it’s directed to, you or the bastard that intruded so tactlessly- so offensively. it’s probably both, you think- probably disgust at his learning of your supposed promiscuity, and at issei’s attempt to give him “pointers” about things you like in the bedroom. he gives you no chance to explain, muttering to himself that he should’ve known you were a slut and he’s rising from his chair despite your pleas, your denial of issei’s words. you sadly watch him walk out of the door, and that’s it. he’s gone.

you resign yourself to a literal facepalm, tossing your cloth napkin onto the table as you stare at issei in contempt. “you have some fucking nerve. are you happy now? that i’m alone? is that what you wanted?” you don’t even give him the time to formulate a response before you’re pulling money from your wallet and placing it on the table. you’re not even sure how much the bill is, but you leave more than enough in your haste to remove yourself from this situation. you sling your purse and jacket over your arm and stomp your way out of the restaurant, trying hard to avoid the gaze of nosy onlookers as a few salted streaks leave your eyes. you stand outside, plans gone horribly awry, and your despair grows as you can’t even remember where the hell you parked your car. you realize, when you hear the sound of footsteps approaching, that you’re not alone in the chilled evening air. there’s no second thought as you whip around, black of your eyeliner smudged and wrath in your wide eyes, to see your ex-husband.

“was divorcing me not enough? was leaving me, when i wanted nothing but to be with you, to-to make it work, not fucking enough? i mean, fuck, what is this really about? if you don’t want me then no one should? it feels like you’re punishing me when i did nothing to you- nothing to deserve this. all i ever did, issei, was love you, support you, show you my devotion- and this is the thanks that i get? a divorce i didn’t want and loneliness.” you laugh sardonically, and issei sighs with a shake of his head as he steps towards you. you don’t step away, don’t retract yourself from him, acceptance of what feels like defeat unmissable in your sagged shoulders.

“i didn’t know that i’d see you here tonight- didn’t know i’d see you out with somebody else. i..cant describe the feeling i’d gotten in my stomach when i saw you with him, laughing with him like you used to laugh with me, smiling at him like you used to smile at me. nausea, i guess. jealousy- no, envy, if you really want me to be honest. i envied that man in a way i’ve never felt before.” you look up at him with red-rimmed eyes, taciturn and short-tempered as you are, but you allow him to continue. out of curiosity or something else- something deeper, you don’t know.

“the divorce- the biggest mistake i’ve ever made, was never about me not wanting you. this, tonight? this was never about me not wanting you. did i go about it the wrong way? yeah, yeah i did and i’m not proud of it. that was cruel, and i’m sorry, but i’ve been trying. maybe not hard enough, maybe not in the right ways, but, shit, i’ve been trying, baby. i’ve tried with the phone calls, i’ve tried to get you to come over and stay- just for a minute, just so i can tell you how bad i know that i fucked up. you were-you are the greatest thing that ever happened to me and i was too selfish and immature- thought that if i let you go, i wouldn’t be holding you back. but i can’t pretend anymore, i can’t lie to myself and say that i don’t want you back every fucking day that i wake up. being married to you was the best time of my life by a long shot. seeing a face this beautiful everyday, getting to laugh with you, eating every meal with you, pulling you in close when you’d steal the blankets ‘cause you were cold- you were always so cold at night- i miss it all. i miss you whenever i do anything ‘cause you were always there. you’re always a part of me, even when you’re apart from me. and i don’t want you to be apart from me anymore.”

your eyes feel heavy, almost as heavy as your heart, and you swallow thickly. his own eyes look sincere- a plea in the darkness that crushes you under its weight. there’s two parts of you- one pushing, one pulling. one that wants to leave him standing here, leave him in the emptying street just like he left you. but the other part- the stronger part, the one that loves him so intensely, that made him hot tea and soup when he was sick, that ugly-cried at his vows on your wedding day, that part wants you to stay. you stare at him for a long moment, battle between love and loathing waging inside of you.

“you’re…an idiot. you know that, right?”

issei doesn’t know whether to frown or to jump for joy. you are insulting him, sure, but you’re also still actually speaking to him. he considers it a good thing. he scratches the back of his neck, nervous huffs of laughter escaping through his nose.

“yeah, i know, babe. i’m an idiot who needs you, though.” you roll your eyes, a fond smile on your face. issei’s stepping closer to you, his large hands gentle as they wrap around your waist. it’s a strange feeling, to be held by him like this. it’s one you’d felt so many times over the years and then very suddenly not at all, not until now. you miss it.

your eyes are wide, full of hope when issei leans down, lips so close to yours. “come home,” he says softly, “need you home, need you with me.” he doesn’t give you time to answer, though, because his lips are fully on yours. he kisses you so lovingly, so longingly that it steals your breath right from your lungs. one of his hands comes up to cup the side of your face and he tilts your head just how he wants you, tongue unfaltering as it prods its way between your lips. he soaks up the way you sigh into the kiss, the way your hands find shelter on his biceps, the way you’re still as teasing as you were before- teeth catching his lip as you giggle.

you pull away from the kiss first, cheek warm against issei’s palm and you blink up at him. “take me home, ‘sei.” he grins, something triumphant in his eyes as he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder, your laughter and shouts of protest being ignored by the tall man.

it’s only a short minute before you’re in issei’s car, on your way back to issei’s home. the ride isn’t long either, but it is full of tension. issei drives with one hand on your thigh the whole time, and when he has to stop, he’s leaning over to catch your lips again. you think this is what deja vu must feel like, because it just feels so familiar to be here- in issei’s car with his fingers splayed out on your thigh, in the driveway of a place you called home for so long. he smiles at you after he puts the car in park and takes the keys from the ignition, quickly exiting so he can open your door and usher you inside the house.

there’s a hand on your lower back as you enter the house, and the nostalgia of it all hits you harder. so many times had you come home like this after a night out, issei’s greedy hands touching you anywhere he felt like touching. those nights often ended with him between your thighs, or behind you, or- you have to blink the thought away as you feel your cheeks flushing, feel issei’s gaze on you. he sinks down to his knee, dark eyes still on yours and you gasp when he takes a hold of your calf. his fingers are reverential, worshipping as they glide across your skin to wrap around your ankle. he pulls your heel off, kisses your calf, and repeats the process on the other side. when he rises back to full height, he leaves a fleeting kiss on your lips and takes your hand, guiding you to the kitchen.

there you were, glass full of sake in hand as you sit on the counter. issei isn’t far, leaned back against the counter just to the left of you, smile on his face as he rambles tipsily. you have to admit, you’re only half paying attention, more stuck on the way that he licks his lips, the way that he cuts his eye to look over at you when he thinks you don’t notice. you sip your drink, mischievous glare behind the glass as your free hand creeps to meet his on the counter. he’s startled out of his rambling, looking down to see your hand on his, and when he looks back up at you, all he can do is grin. he sits his own glass down before stepping in front of you, hands caging you in on either side of your hips. he’s so obvious, so extraordinarily lacking in subtlety, with how his eyes linger on your plump pout, on the oh-so-perfect way your tits threaten to spill out of your dress. he ogles for a moment before he locks eyes with you again, and god, he can’t believe he let someone as beautiful as you go for even a second. the way you stare at him- so enamored and forgiving and lustful, he truly thinks it could drive a man crazy.

“‘m never lettin’ you go again, baby, never gonna fuck up that bad again,” he murmurs against your lips. your eyes slip shut and his nose nudges yours when he leans in all the way, lips gliding over each others in a kiss laden with desperation and yearning. his hands move to your hips and yours are on his shoulders, the two of you in something like a competition to see who can pull the other closer. your lips are so sweet to him, your tongue much like a lollipop that he wants to suck on all day. you’ve always tasted good, every little part of you, and issei’s been without his fill for too long now. the little sighs and soft whimpers that leave your lips are icing on the metaphorical cake that is kissing you.

“lemme make it up to you, baby,” he groans in between exchanges of saliva, “can i show you how sorry i am, hm? show you how much i missed you?”

you nod, unwilling to remove your lips from issei’s when he bites at your lip like that and it’s okay because he doesn’t need you to. his hands leave your hips in favor of sliding down your thighs, stopping when he reaches the hem of your dress. you’re a smart girl, don’t even need him to tell you to plant your hands on the counter and lift your ass and thighs up a bit so he can shove your dress up and your pretty little thong down.

the kitchen counter is cool against the skin of your thighs, a stark contrast to how warm issei’s palms are as they spread your legs apart. he separates from your mouth with a smack, gossamer strings of one another’s spit keeping you connected, and rests his forehead on yours. his fingers finally find treasure between your legs, fingertips already sticky as they sweep up and down your slit. you suck in a sharp breath, eyes not leaving his while he toys with your cunt.

“this pretty pussy still gets so wet for me. did you ever think about me? when you were with those other guys? did you get wet like this for them?” he gives you no warning as he plunges his middle and index fingers inside you, eyes squeezing closed in a long blink while your jaw falls open. he sets an unwavering pace, hand on your thigh coming up to cup your chin. his stare feels like an interrogation, so confident in his ability to pick you apart in every way possible. he’d know if you lied, could see it in your eyes and feel it with the pads of his fingers buried in your oozing cunt.

“i, f-fuck, i didn’t fuck a-anyone else, ‘sei,” you whimper, “only wanted you- only get this wet f-for you.” issei groans at your words, grip on your chin so tight as he forces you into another searing kiss. his fingers don’t slow their pace, thumb coming up to press down on your clit as his tongue rolls across yours- over your teeth and lips.

“that’s my girl. i didn’t either, baby, couldn’t even think about it. just kept fucking my fist to the thought of you, how pretty you look suckin’ me off or cummin’ on my cock.” the needy moan you let out has issei straining in his pants, and shit, is he wrecked for you already. he’s obsessed- with you and the pretty faces you make, with the way you whine his name, with how you clench and throb and gush around his fingers. he’s utterly intoxicated by every little thing that you have to offer, and he drinks it up greedily.

issei knows practically everything about you, so it’s no surprise that he remembers exactly how to find it- that cushiony little place inside you that makes you cry out when he presses against it. he’s so cruel, so abusive to your g-spot, pushing his fingers deep inside you to hit that button over and over again. he knows when you’re close, too, knows how you leak and flutter around whatever he’s got inside of you.

“‘sei, please,” you whine, voice hoarse and shaky with need. your fingernails are digging into his shoulders as he looks up from where his hand disappears inside of you to meet your eye. he steals another quick and sloppy kiss from you, hammering his fingers inside of you so hard that you can’t help your gasping moans.

“please what? you wanna cum, angel? do it then, cum all over my hand- cum for me.” he brings his free hand up to snake into your hair, gripping tight at the roots in an effort to keep your mouth from leaving his. it didn’t take long for you to fall apart, thighs spasming around his wrist and pussy spasming around his fingers as you brokenly sob his name against his lips. your chest heaves, cunt still squelching and squishing as issei slows his digits to a stop while you come down from your high.

it’s issei’s turn to moan contentedly as he slides his sticky fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking every last bit of you that coats the skin. he gives you a smile when he’s finished with his meal, and you taste yourself on his lips and tongue when he slots your mouths together again.

“gonna fuck you right here, baby, right in the kitchen like we used to,” he drawls, watching as your hands move to undo his belt and fly, “couldn’t eat in here while you were gone without thinking about how many times i’d stuffed you full right on the table.” you look up from your task to grin at him, shaking your head as you finally get the zip down.

“yeah, i couldn’t make breakfast without you waking up just to bend me over,” you snort, shoving his slacks and boxers down. his cock springs free and fuck, he’s so hard. he’s long, a little girthy with a curve to the left and the tip is blushing, leaking precum as it comes to slap against his stomach.

“shouldn’t’ve been lookin’ so goddamn good every time- bein’ a sweet little wife and cooking for me, how could i not just give you my cock?” his laughing tone is cut off with a hiss, eyes falling from yours to where your hand is wrapped around him between you. your grip is so warm on his already hot skin but he couldn’t care less, not when he’s been missing your hands on him for as long as he has. your free hand comes to mirror his earlier actions, fingers digging into his chin and jaw as you cup his face. he takes a breath before his eyes open back up and when he focuses, it’s you that’s staring up at him so amorously- so covetous in your gaze on him.

“fuck me, ‘sei. show me how much you missed me.” it’s like a switch flips in issei at your words, cravings for you back in full force as he takes your hands off of him with a strong grip on your wrists. he’s got his tongue back in your mouth in an instant, so bruising and eager as it takes in your flavors. he lifts your hands up to his shoulders in silent instruction, his own coming to grip the base of his cock in one and your hip in the other. the man is so teasing even when he’s just as insatiable as you, dragging his cock head between your folds, against your clit until you breathily plead for him. he could never deny you, not like this, so he obliges and starts the breach into your sopping pussy. he’s so slow, so careful in how he stretches you open around him that you don’t even care that your head hits the cabinet when it falls back.

“fuck, i missed you, baby. missed you and this pussy. suckin’ me in like you never want me to leave, shit,” he curses, hands tight on your hips as he begins to rock in and out of you. he loves the way you shudder and keen for him already when he’s barely given you anything yet, and if he were a better person, he’d warn you about what he’s going to give you. he isn’t, however, so he doesn’t.

issei drags his lip between his teeth as he pulls out of you, leaving only the very tip of his cock in your sweltering heat before he’s driving back into you, harder this time, faster. you wail at the abrupt change in his pace, arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he sheathes himself into you on repeat. your legs are quivering around his lithe hips, panties dangling from your ankle as it bobs with the force of issei’s jackhammering thrusts into your sopping hole.

“you feel so good, baby, y’always have,” he rasps, drawing your attention back to him as you meet his gaze with lust-clouded eyes. “so stupid for me to think i could give you up, not when you’re so kind, so pretty, so fucking wet, so you.” it’s so hard to reply, so hard to do anything but moan his name as you clench your drooling cunt down on his length. he drags you to the very edge of the counter by the fat of your hips so you’re forced against his chest, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he pounds into you voraciously. his hands are rough as they slide up your thighs to grip you under the knee, keeping you spread so wide you know you’re going to feel it for at least a few days.

“couldn’t let that guy have you, baby- fuck-couldn’t let him have my wife,” his voice is husky, low in your ear when he speaks. “you belong here, at home, getting fucked dumb on my dick.” you’re trying to pay attention, really, you are; but it feels like a mission impossible to catch every word when his heavy cock lays assault on your g-spot.

“yeah, ‘m home, fuck me dumb,” you pant, nails leaving crescent shapes in the skin of issei’s neck and shoulders. it’s something you’d feel bad about if he cared- if he didn’t fuck you so full and deep and all-consuming.

the sound in the room is such a lewd combination- the slapping of skin on skin, your gasps and whines and little ‘unh unh unh’s, issei’s harsh breathing and grunts. he feels your cunt pulsing around him and he knocks into you even more crushingly than before, separating you only slightly so he can see your face.

“c’mon, baby, i can feel how close you are. lemme feel it, angel, cum on my cock,” he groans, one hand leaving its position on your leg to slip between you and rub quick, merciless circles onto your clit. you let out a long, unrestrained sob and let your head fall back again, unable to fight off the carnality of your pleasure.

“‘sei, ‘m cummingggg! fuck- i love you, love you s’ much.” your pussy is palpitating around his cock like a heart, which is entirely fitting when he’s so deep it feels like his cock is in your chest. you want to be embarrassed about how much your slick flows out of you, coating issei’s cock and the counter below you in a shiny essence, but you can’t think about it, can’t think about anything at all. your vision goes white for a moment and you’re sure that this here is what people mean when they say “rapturous.”

issei fucks you through it, keeps massaging your puffy clit with his long fingers and your hips are still jerking even after it’s over. he’s got his lips on your neck and you soon learn that he’s actually talking, when your hearing finally returns to you.

“nobody can make my wife cum like i do- know you inside and out, baby. ‘s why you belong with me, huh? belong with someone who fucks you like this,” he growls against your throat. he bites down on the sensitive flesh and you whimper, grip on him tightening as he picks you up from the back of your knees. he’s still heavy and hard inside you as he lays you onto the dining table. the way he stares down at you almost makes you want to shrink, his need to devour you and claim you so easy to spot in his features. the large hands that held you now make their way to the straps of your dress, pulling them off of your shoulders just enough that he can yank the front of your dress down. the first thing you can feel is the cold air hitting your pebbled nipples, and the second is the roughness of issei’s hands as he squeezes and tugs on the nubs, not satisfied until you pathetically whine his name.

there’s no preamble, no warning when he starts to roll his hips into yours again. he’s plowing into you so hard already that you can feel the table shaking beneath you, and you reach for him in instinct but he’s so mean, hands holding your wrists down against the table.

“want you to marry me again, baby. you gonna marry me again, right?” he questions you, eyes pinning you down with a gaze as heavy as iron. it’s a loaded question, really- you know that whether you say yes or no, he’s just going to fuck you harder. you bite your lip as his cock digs against your g-spot and decide to nod- lesser of two evils, and something you’ll think about when he isn’t kissing your womb with his fat tip.

“say it,” he groans, bending over you to nose along your throat. he maps his way up to your ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth before planting a kiss on the shell. “say it for me, baby.”

issei gives you a particularly harsh thrust- one that knocks the air out of your lungs and you sob, back arching off of the abused dining table. “‘m gonna- ah!- ‘m gonna marry you, ‘sei. wanna be your wife again,” you murmur, cock-drunk and being hurled over and over into orgasm too much for your brain to handle. issei is satisfied with it, though. he takes full height again as his heavy cock twitches inside of you and he uncurls one of his hands from yours, slipping it between you to thumb casually at your clit.

“mmh- fuck yeah, you are. yeah, you’re gonna be my wife and you’re gonna cum, right?” you hate so badly that you have to give him the satisfaction- but he’s right. you’re so close you can taste it, can feel it deep in the pit of your belly, and you need him. you nod, breathless and hazy, and he gives you a pleased little grin, circling of your clit more deliberate now. his free hand takes your leg and splays it against his chest, your ankle at his ear and he hisses as you take him so much deeper.

there’s no time to warn him before it happens, no time for words of caution because it even shocks you. the coil within you snaps, back arching as you cry so pretty for him. your hands search desperately for purchase and land on issei’s shirt, wrinkling the fabric in your fists while you sob and writhe. the flood that comes out of you is a welcome surprise to issei, who moans out an “oh, fuck” as he’s drenched in your spray of cum. everything’s so wet now, much wetter than before- so sticky when his pelvis meets your ass. he keeps driving his hips into you, keeps his rough thumb on your slippery clit and it’s all so fucking much to process.

“see, baby? nobody else can make you squirt on their fucking dick like that. you’re mine, y’were made for me. now, you’re gonna be a good girl and take my load, right?” he knows what he says might as well be rhetorical because you’re not gonna give him a true, proper answer. but he’s fine with it, as long as you keep making those pretty little noises and clenching his cock so tight like that.

issei’s close, nails digging into your thigh as he twitches inside you. his hair clings to his forehead with sweat, shirt half unbuttoned, half drenched in your juices, and he looks so debauched. and he is- has no choice but to be when it comes to you, when it comes to being inside your velvet heat that wants to wring the cum out of his cock. his breathing is picking up, little huffs of warm air hitting your leg as he ruts into you.

“f-fuck, ‘m gonna cum, baby. you still on the pill? hope not, maybe this one’ll take, huh? if not, that’s ok- i’ll just keep cumming and cumming in this tight little cunt until it does,” he grunts, head falling back and hips stuttering as he fills you with rope after rope of his hot seed. you moan with him, sensitive as you are, while he rides his orgasm out, chest heaving and thighs twitching. issei stares at you from above as he catches his breath, cock slowly softening inside of you but he doesn’t pull out yet, opting instead to drop your leg from his shoulder and back to his hip before he leans down to meld your lips with his in a tender kiss. he slips his arms underneath you, gathering you up into his hold and you gasp, startled as you’re lifted from the table.

“‘sei- what- put me down!” you whine, hissing in overstimulation at every step he takes with his semi-hard dick still inside of you. he ignores you in favor of taking you to the bedroom, dropping you on to the bed you’d once shared, except now the sheets smell only of him. you huff as you pout up at him but he just laughs, dragging his fingers up your sides.

“you didn’t think i was done with you, didya, baby? gotta show my wife just how much i missed her.” he begins to stir his hips again, somehow fully hard already, and somewhere in your mind you know that this is going to be a very, very long night.

it’s bright and warm the next day- a perfect day to move your stuff back home, issei says to you. you’re doing just that, starting simple with clearing out your closet while he does the drawers. there’s a dress in your arms that you’re about to lay out to fold when issei whistles, drawing your attention towards him. he turns to you, smirk on his face and goddamnit, you hadn’t even noticed that he went straight for your underwear drawer- but the skimpy, lavender colored g-string in his hands tells you that.

“give me those!” you scold, reaching to snatch them up but you curse him and his height as he holds them high up over your head.

“oh, absolutely not. these? these are going in my pocket so you can wear them for me tonight.” he snickers, shoving them in his pants pocket when you playfully roll your eyes and back off.

you can’t help but laugh with him, in too high of spirits to be truly annoyed with his antics, to be disgruntled with packing and moving. nothing could bother you, not now when you get to be with issei again, not when he woke you up this morning with languid kisses and whispers of how lucky he was that you wanted to be with him. starting over with him would take work, but it was work that you were both happy and willing to do for each other- for your second marriage.

>authors_note: if mattsun divorced me i would probably kms tbh 👨‍🦯 but anyways i hope u all enjoy!!

>p.s./announcement: i will be opening up for requests soon so have a look at my pinned post for more info!

>thank you for reading ♡

>masterlist.exe

© loko4koko 2023

[daylite-writes]

Platonic Yandere Lyney Thoughts

Just a little think piece abt what I think Lyney would be like as a yandere, and what I think would make a him a yandere. Small Lynette cameo. Repost cause the last one disappeared so sorry. PT 2 here!

cw: soft yandere, kidnapping, child!reader, gn!reader

Platonic and soft Yandere Lyney who really wants to feel like a good big brother. His siblings are both House of Hearth members, doing dirty work for the Fatui, so he knows he failed somewhat with them. But you?

The adorable little street rat that sneaks into the crowd to watch his shows, wide eyed and amazed? Who jumps and can’t help but giggle when he shows off even the simplest of card tricks? You just look so… starved. Like a baby bird without a nest. Easy to scoop up and take home.

He wanted to be your savior. The one who you look up at with admiration, amazement. “How did you do that, Mister Lyney!”

In front of you, he didn’t feel like a mistake of a brother that failed to save his siblings from this life.

If only you just came home with him. Every time he offered dinner, or invited you around to watch a new magic trick of his, you refused. He supposed he couldn’t be mad, stranger danger and all that. He knew better than anyone else. As days passed and he continued to watch you hungry, searching for scraps while he had a house full of food. It broke him.

Maybe thats why he followed you back to your little hideout.

You didn’t notice, after all, what match was a street rat against a master of diversion? The hideout was tucked in a thin alleyway, hardly wider than him, behind some shops not too far from home. The rooftops of the nearby buildings shielded you from the rain as you huddled in what could only be described as a nest—formed from ratty old blankets and the rare trinket or clothing item you undoubtedly stole.

Lyney sighed, gathering you up in the dirty quilt you clutched and holding you in his arms. “Lighter than you should be… poor thing. I’m taking you home now kid.”

You didn’t move, just laid in his arms, but he hoped warm glow of his pyro vision was soothing to your freezing body.

Lynette was awake when he came through the door, you in his arms. Immediately, her sharp eyes fell to the child in his arms, and she just sighed. “I suppose this is what you set the guest bedroom up for?”

“Oh come on Lynette.” He said, an edge of excitement in his hushed tone. “I couldn’t just leave them. Anyone could have come by and snatched them up!”

“Evidently, someone did. You.”

“They’ll be better off with us.”

“They don’t know that. They won’t. For months, even. Are you prepared for that?” Lynnette said, sighing when Lyney nodded. “Oh well, you seemed so set on this. I installed key operated locks on the windows throughout the house while you were away. You already did but I figured everywhere would be more helpful in case they escape their room before they’ve settled.”

All at once, Lyney untensed, a look of pure relief washing over his face. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do had Lynette rejected their new sibling.

“Thank you Lynnette, you’re always such a help.” He smiled over his shoulder at her as he carried you to off your new bedroom.

[papercorgiworld]

An unintended double date

Draco and Theo

Enzo doesn’t want you ruining his date so he calls in back up to keep you busy, which leads to an interesting date.

Warning: Draco none, Theo is very suggestive

Today’s little cameo is Noemi ( @njutul ). She’s a new student and you’re a bit protective of her. Enzo asks her on a date, which ends up being an unintended double date.

Sorry, the intro is a bit longer than necessary, but I love writing Enzo being a love struck idiot. Also, sorry I’m in the mood for short little silly stories so that’s what you’re getting… I have two more to finish and then I’m focusing requests. Anyways, as you know feedback is always welcome, but most importantly happy reading!

You had been assigned with the task to show the new student from Italy around, after that Noemi and you quickly became friends. Now after two weeks the Hufflepuff was settled and seemed to know the castle even better than you. However, your biggest worry wasn’t that she would get lost in the castle, rather that she would get lost in Enzo’s starry eyes. The slytherin had fallen for the new girl at day one and had been an absolute menace to you, regularly interrupting you when you toured Noemi around the castle.

And today was the day he was finally going to make his big move. Filled with confidence he struts over to Noemi after class. “Ciao bella-”Enzo starts with a forced Italian accent, but immediately goes back to English seeing how Noemi looks utterly confused. “So I was thinking- wanna go for a swim later?” Enzo curses himself for getting flustered, when he normally was so confident.

“Sounds lovely, can (y/n) join? She was talking about swimming just the other day.” Aah no! It’s supposed to be me and you in the water, close together, without (y/n) swimming around! “Sure, sweet, perfect.” Enzo forces a smile and Noemi calls you over from across the hall. “Let’s join Enzo and his friends for a swim later?” Noemi asks with sparkling eyes and you look at Enzo who’s begging you with his eyes to say no. “Sure, sounds fun.” You say and grin at Enzo.

***

A frustrated Lorenzo enters the Slytherin common room. “(Y/n) is joining in on my date with the most gorgeous girl at Hogwarts.” Draco and Blaise start laughing at Enzo’s dramatics and his failed attempt at a date. “Romantic.” Draco snickers. “How can you be so in love with Noemi? She’s only been here for two weeks?” Theodore asks dryly. “It’s because she’s Italian.” Blaise explains with a serious voice.

“I’m Italian! None of you are jumping my bones.” Theodore argues being difficult, but just then Mattheo enters the common room. “I would jump you, Theo.” Mattheo jokes, not knowing what the conversation is about and making his way to his room. Blaise snickers, explaining the situation to Mattheo as he passes by. “Enzo is in loooovvee with the new Italian girl, he asked her on a swimming date.” Mattheo stops in his tracks and looks at Enzo. “Better not screw it up, Berkshire, or I’m asking her out tomorrow.” A confident smirk tugs on Mattheo’s lips as he grins at Enzo before entering his room

“Merlin!” Enzo groans, realizing he has competition. “This date needs to be perfect.”

Draco

“Draco, you’re going to entertain (y/n) so I can make Noemi fall in love with me.” Draco snorts and wants to protest, but Enzo throws him a dangerous death glare and Draco just nods. “Right, I’ll… entertain (y/n).”

***

On your way to the lake Enzo and Noemi are walking in front of you and Draco. When Enzo shamelessly slings his arm around her you want to intervene, but as soon as you take a quick step forward Draco grabs your hand, pulling you back to him. “Please chill, he’s just being casual Enzo and the girl can make up her own mind.” You stop walking when Draco doesn’t let go of your hand. “Yeah, but she doesn’t know that, just like you, Enzo comes with a warning label.” Draco snorts and pulls you a little closer. “And what does the warning say, too hot to handle.” You roll your eyes. “You wish.” You move away trying to hide the little blush creeping up on your cheeks, but Draco still doesn’t let go of your hand and laces his fingers with yours. You stare at your entangled hands with a questioning look. “I have orders to keep you at bay.” You throw your head to the side out of annoyance and he just smirks. He was really enjoying this, glad to finally have an excuse to literally keep you close.

You watch Enzo playfully drag Noemi to the water and cross your arms. Draco’s hands reach for your shoulders kneading them softly. “You need to chill. You’re like a worried mom or something.” You raise your eyebrows and ignore him, but Draco doesn’t mind your lack of response as he slowly reaches for the zipper of your dress. “Let’s relax in the water, shall we?” With one swift move he unzips your dress, making you yelp. When you turn around, he’s playfully grinning at your baffled smile. You narrow your eyes, but let your dress slide down to reveal your bikini. Now you get to see his smile fade as he gawks at your figure. You smirk at how simple he can be, not being able to keep his eyes off of you. When you turn around heading for the water he’s still staring, focusing on how your ass moves with every step you take. “You're gonna just stand there, Malfoy?” He forces a smile as he curses himself for simping.

Once in the water, you cast a spell to get it to the perfect temperature and allow yourself to relax. “Look at that you’re not stressing for once.” Draco jokes and you glare at him. “I can be fun.” You argue, but just then you spot Enzo and Noemi in the distance. “He’s so preying on her.” Draco rolls his eyes and pulls you closer. “He’s not preying on her, he’s flirting and I think she doesn’t mind.” You look at Noemi laughing as Enzo playfully pulls her against his chest. “And you should be glad it’s Enzo, apparently Matt was planning on asking her out as well.” You turn your gaze back to Draco with a slight panic in your eyes. “Okay, now I hope Enzo marries her.” Draco laughs and you let the hand he’s once again holding, rest against his chest. “We’re not all bad you know.” Draco whispers sincerely with his hand on yours and you realize that maybe you were in the wrong. “I guess I sometimes get a little caught up in the gossip about you guys.” You let yourself drown in his eyes for a moment, which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I think you’re warming up to me.” He wiggles his eyebrows and you blush at his words. When he notices this, he closes the distance between you two. “No Malfoy, that’s just the warm water.” He nods with a bright smile at your incredibly lame excuse. “The gossip about you being incredibly full of yourself is still true.” You joke, but can’t help enjoying being this close to him. When you don’t move away from him, he feels confident enough to snake an arm around your waist. Now you were way past warming up, you were heating up. “I think you like me.” Draco sings and you instantly protest. “No, I-” You shake your head, creating a little distance between you two, but he won’t allow it and immediately pulls you against his chest again. “I think if I would kiss you right now, you would let me.”

He makes a soft sound out of amusement and curiosity as he leans in and you don’t move away. Were you really about to kiss Malfoy? Hermoine is going to kill me. When his lips brush yours you lean in for a kiss, startling him with your eagerness, but he had been dreaming of this moment for too long to let it pass by. His hand reaches for your head keeping you close as he kisses you tenderly. You feel your whole body melt into his as he goes from a grinning moron to a passionate lover. These slytherins really should come with a warning label.

Theodore

“Theo, you’re going to entertain (y/n) so I can make Noemi fall in love with me.” Theodore frowns, but Enzo stares at him with a stern look. “Fine. I’ll keep (y/n) busy.”

***

Maybe not the worst thing I’ve had to do for a friend. Theodore stares at you as you wiggle down your dress, but you don’t notice him as you are too busy worrying about Enzo’s advances on the innocent hufflepuff. You groan and narrow your eyes at Enzo as he plays with Noemi’s honey brown hair. “Unbelievable.” You mutter, stepping out of your dress, ready to intervene as Enzo’s about to pull the classic sunscreen move. However, Theodore doesn’t allow you to get very far as he shamelessly wraps his arms around your waist and pulls your back against his chest. His lips brush your ear. “Okay, little miss I’m on a mission, I can’t let you ruin their date.” You huff trying to wiggle your way out of Theo’s arms, but unintentionally only making it more enjoyable for him. “Careful there, you might give a guy the wrong idea if you squirm against him like that.”

At his words your face heats up. Is this man incapable of not talking dirty for one moment? “I bet you’re on a mission as well? Enzo asked you to watch me, didn’t he?” You ask with a stern voice and he lets you go. You turn to face him and there’s an amused grin on his face that tells you your assumption was spot on. “Enzo, that sneaky bastard.” With determination you try and walk past Theo, but honestly you had zero chance as he simply grabs you and lifts you up. “Theo!” You scream as you notice he’s walking you to the water. “You can just throw me in! I need to slowly adjust to the temperature.” Theodore stops a few steps away from the water and lets you land on your feet. He smirks with suggestive eyes. “You’re one of those girls, hm.” He teases and you frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, crossing your arms and unintentionally pressing your boobs together, giving Theo an even better view. He licks his lips and ogles between your breasts and your eyes until you look down and drop your arms.

He takes a slow step towards you with teasing eyes. “What I meant was that you’re one of those girls who needs time to adjust and gets all whiny when it’s too much to handle.” You place your hands on his chest to keep him at a distance. “I think it’s fair to assume you’re not talking about the water anymore.” Your voice is unamused, but Theodore knows you’re enjoying his little teasing game. “Are we still getting in the water today? Or are you already wet enough?” Your mouth drops at his blunt filthy talk. “This is exactly why I think guys like you need a warning label.” You say taking a step towards him in an attempt to come off as intimidating, but Theodore just raises his eyebrows in amusement. “A warning label?” Theodore questions, leaning in with his eyes focused on yours.

”Ye-yes, you-you’re trouble.” You stammer feeling your legs get weak under his piercing gaze. His eyes move to your lips. “Oh, I’m much more than just trouble, trust me.” His voice is low and seductive. You notice how his eyes stick to your lips as his tongue slowly moves over his lips. “Don’t you dare kiss me.” You breathe out sounding not the least bit convincing. A smug smile tugs on his lips and he lets his hands rest on your hips, allowing his thumbs to draw small circles just above your waistband. “What are you afraid of?” He whispers and brushes his nose against yours. That’ll become even more desperate for you than I already am or worse that you’ll figure out how in love I am… if you haven’t already. You open your mouth in hopes that you can come up with a good response, but just then Theodore takes a step closing the distance between you two, causing a soft whimper to leave your lips at the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

Embarrassed by the sound you just made and flustered by his closeness you look away from him, but Theodore doesn’t allow it and reaches for your chin. It’s then that you notice something has changed in his eyes. Looks pretty, sounds pretty and a little bit annoying… to Theo you were irresistible. His hand moves from your chin to cup your cheek and within seconds his hungry lips are on yours. He softly grunts and his large hands grip your ass, lifting you up and allowing you to feel his hard member through swim shorts. He walks you to the water, so your make out session is at least partly private.

[niki-phoria]

YOUR SMILE LIGHTS MY HEART UP / YOU'RE MY DESIRE, TAKE MY HAND

pairing: itadori yuuji x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 502

notes: non sorcerer jjk au bc my boy deserves some rest, yuuji skates bc i say so, slight mentions of blood, inumaki cameo, title from ZEROBASEONE - take my hand

ITADORI YUUJI flinches as you brush the alcohol-soaked cloth against the cut embedded into his arm. blood soaks into the fabric quickly, staining the previously white fibers a deep shade of red. “sorry,” he hisses, gritting his teeth at the sting. 

“don’t be,” you shake your head in response, tossing the cloth to the side. it lands unceremoniously on the nearby table, right next to a small spool of bandages and a box of medium sized band-aids. “what happened this time?”

yuuji’s face flushes a light pink - nearly the same shade as his dyed strands of hair. he chuckles awkwardly, unconsciously beginning to nervously scratch at the back of his neck. “i made a bet with inumaki that i could land a kickflip.”

you bite back a chuckle of your own as you reach over to grab the roll of bandages. yuuji had become a familiar face in the infirmary, showing up with a variety of injuries ranging from deep lacerations requiring stitches to newly-forming bruises that barely needed an ice pack. 

your gaze drifts to the side where yuuji’s skateboard has been haphazardly propped up against the wall. despite being no more than a few months old, the wood is already covered in a lifetime’s worth of scratches and the griptape has been worn down from excessive use. “and did you land it?”

his smile brightens. he sits up excitedly as he nods. “i did! it only took me three attempts.”

yuuji was used to pushing his body to its physical limits, uncaring about the scars that litter his knees or the possibility of broken bones. but you treat him differently; you treat him delicately. your touch is gentle as you carefully weave the bandages around his forearm, effectively covering most of his skin in a blanket of white. your cool hands brushing against his flushed skin sends bolts of electricity down his spine - an unfamiliar, but not unwelcome feeling. 

“be more careful next time,” you lightly scold as you tuck the bandage under itself to secure it in place. “i’m tired of you stumbling in here all bloody.”

“if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you were worried about me,” yuuji teases. he stretches out his arm, experimentally rolling his wrist to feel how the bandage shifts against his skin. 

“maybe i am,” you shrug. you say the words casually - as if they’re part of an already unspoken agreement between the two of you - but they made yuuji’s heart stop beating in his chest. he freezes; wide, unblinking eyes meet your own. 

his breath catches in his throat when you chuckle. your laugh is a beautiful sound that fills the walls of the usually grim infirmary with a newfound excitement. butterflies swarm throughout his stomach. “i’ll need to see you tomorrow to replace the bandage. don’t keep me waiting.”

the implication of your words hangs heavy in the air. yuuji shoots you a lopsided smile. “i wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckles with flushed cheeks and a bright smile.

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