#those little guys were the spawn of satan

[damniteggs]

a re-read of Friends Like These got me emotional and decided to throw my (somewhat benevolent) rottmnt oc, Charlie, at Timothy for human friend/machine shop TA support.

Timothy is @pinetreevillain ‘s son and was only abducted momentarily for another doodle with heavy duty machinery.

PS: dealing with CNC ghosts is a mechanical engineering right of passage (and so is having a kooky TA that claims to hear the voices in their head). Might do more of Charlie later?

[jadequeen88]

Nothing Compares: Dad!Eddie Munson x Reader

Cross-posted on AO3

Read part 2 here Summary:

The thin walls of your apartment rattled with the slamming of your front door. You jumped awake in fear, knowing you were supposed to be alone tonight. After your initial panic, you knew by the sound of the heavy footsteps and quiet cursing exactly who was terrorizing your home at 2:45 in the morning.

Eddie Munson.

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Having a kid can change people, but not always for the better...

Notes:

I wrote this faster than ANYTHING I've ever written before, so if there are any mistakes, I apologize! I wanted to try my take on Eddie becoming a dad. Although I think he means well and would be a great dad, I could see it being a hard transition for him. As always, please let me know what you guys think. Hopefully, I will be adding more chapters to The Last In Line soon! I also have a couple of more WIPs in google docs that I'm very excited about. Looking forward to all your comments! ALSO! There will definitely be a part 2 to this!

TWs:

Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Soft Eddie Munson, Dad Eddie Munson, Oral Sex, Making Out

The thin walls of your apartment rattled with the slamming of your front door. You jumped awake in fear, knowing you were supposed to be alone tonight. After your initial panic, you knew by the sound of the heavy footsteps and quiet cursing exactly who was terrorizing your home at 2:45 in the morning.

Eddie Munson.

The specter who never seemed to stop haunting you, no matter how many times you tried to exercise him from your life. Maybe those assholes back in high school were onto something calling him the spawn of satan. It’s one of the only reasons you can come up with at this point. You knew it would be best to go ahead and wake up. The longer he spent ransacking your apartment, the more riled up he’d get and the longer it would take to calm him down.

You pull your robe around yourself and slip into the hallway, wincing slightly at the cold wood beneath your feet.

“Where is he?”

You grimaced. Eddie had clearly gotten wasted after the show tonight. He stood in the middle of your living room, cropped tee still damp around the neck with sweat and eyeliner skewed. You hated how your gut lurched with want at the sight.

“Who, Eddie?”

“Who?” he looked at you with that infuriating expression he wore when he was exceptionally worked up. You wanted to slap him and kiss the breath out of his lungs in apology at the same time. “My fuckin’ son, that’s who!” His eyes are wild and he’s nearly screaming. If his fit resulted in old Ms. Connor calling Jim Hopper again, you’d string him up from a light pole.

“Eddie, I told you Sunday at drop-off that Wayne wanted to keep him tonight. He took him fishing this afternoon and now he’s sleeping over.” you walked a little closer trying to school your features. You knew if the rage you felt bubbled over with Eddie in this state, you’d have to call Jim yourself to haul you and your ex to the station.

“Did not. I would have remembered,” He mumbled, still walking around opening closets and doors.

“I can’t do this tonight,” you sighed. Your hands started to shake.

“Oh, you can’t do this tonight? Huh? And why is that? Got your little pencil dick boyfriend hiding back here?” Eddie stomped towards the bedroom you used to share, hell-bent on catching you in a lie you’d never told.

“Eddie, you know I don’t have one!” Maybe you should save yourself the trouble and call Jim at home. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time you had to disturb the Byers-Hopper household in the middle of the night.

“Stop fuckin’ lyin’ to me, Birdy,” the old nickname sent pain through your chest. Sometimes, you wished for a quick slap instead of these painful exchanges. At least the sting from a blow would fade instead of crawling inside your body and festering like Eddie’s words had a habit of doing. “You went on a date with him last weekend.”

“One date, Eddie!” your voice pitched higher as he threw open your closet. He slammed the door to the ensuite bathroom against the opposite wall before looking under your bed. “I never called him back!”

“Oh, dear! Why ever not?” Once Eddie was satisfied that you weren’t hiding a man in your apartment, all his attention focused on you. His arms crossed over his chest, head cocked to the side, waiting on a response.

“You know why not,” you blinked rapidly, refusing to give him any more of your tears.

“Tell me,” he demanded softly, walking towards you. He was close enough now that you smelled the vodka seeping from his pores. How long had he been drinking tonight? You watched his arm rise, standing still as a statue as he reached out towards you. His ringed hand sat heavily on your neck. Eddie bent forward, trying to meet your downturned gaze. The thick callous of his thumb felt like fire against the underside of your jaw. You knew if you looked into his eyes, your resolve would shatter. You used to joke with Eddie about how his puppy dog eyes were his superpower. If only you knew then that they’d be used against you one day…

“Birdy…” you could hear the tears in his voice. You couldn’t take this anymore.

“Stop calling me that, please,” you wished you’d yelled it. You wished you’d have sounded strong and determined. You wished you could shove him away and scream at him. But you were just too fucking tired. Instead, your plea came out a watery, weak whisper.

“Don’t want to,” he whispered, now both hands cupping the side of your neck. His forehead fell down to connect to yours, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “I miss you so goddamn much. You know that?” he sniffed back tears and your own finally fell from your eyes.

“You’re just drunk, Eds,” your hands came up to his chest to push him away, but only lingered there, digging into his sweaty shirt. “You only miss me when your drunk.”

You felt him shake his head and grip your neck tighter. “Miss you all the time. Just too scared to say it sober,” his words slur even worse through his tears. “You know I’m a fuckin’ coward, baby.”

His wrists felt so solid beneath your hands. The sick, sad, lonely part of your soul rejoiced at the sensation, of him touching you and you touching back. Reluctantly, you pulled his hands away and turned to sit on the foot of your bed, openly weeping now.

You remember sitting in the same spot the night you kicked him out last year. Eddie still behaved like a child while you had a toddler of your own to think about. All the hours away at band practice, the drinking, him dealing even after you said you didn’t want that around your baby. The straw that broke the camel’s back was finding the blonde in his lap at a party you tracked him down to. You’d been up all night with a sick toddler, not knowing where on earth your husband was. Thank God his saint of an uncle was around to watch the baby while you combed through the dark streets of Hawkins looking for Eddie. Of course, he’d been at that asshole Billy’s place…

You remember the sick smirk Billy Hargrove leveled you with, ice blue eyes looking at you up and down shamelessly. He gleefully pointed to where Eddie sat, girl in lap, drunk out of his mind.

“You know,” he’d reached his arm around your waist and purred into your ear. “If you really wanna get under his skin, I’d love to help you out with that, mama.”

You shoved him away, vibrating with fury. “Fuck you, Billy.” you stomped across the room as he responded with a, “Yeah, that’s the point I was makin’, sweetheart!”

Eddie looked up at you in shock, pushing the girl away roughly.

“Fuck you, Eddie Munson. I’m done,” you wrenched off the thin, gold band he’d given you the day he proposed to you under the tree you’d played under when you were both just two poor trailer park kids. You didn’t care to hear his excuses. You didn’t care that he swore he’d never cheated, that he was so drunk that he didn’t even realize a girl was on his lap. You saw the writing on the wall. You knew it would only be a matter of time before his desire to play rockstar would destroy your already fragile little family.

So you kicked him out that night. Since then, you’d raised your son mostly on your own with help from Robin, Steve, and sweet Uncle Wayne. You never kept Eddie from his child, he was an excellent dad when he wasn’t in his own head, but Wayne usually handled the drop-off and pick-up times. You could tell it hurt him to see his nephew potentially becoming like his father. He always promised his uncle that he wouldn’t become his father. Wayne stepped in when the crime and alcohol took a front seat in his life, rasing Eddie as his own. Nowadays, Wayne wasn’t too sure his nephew would keep his word.

After a few months, however, the drunken visits started. At first, your resolve was solid. You were determined to keep Eddie’s shit out of your life and out of your son’s life. But the loneliness and heartache got a little more prominent with each fight. Going on that date last week solidified it… You still loved Eddie. That wouldn’t change, no matter the time or distance.

Eddie hadn’t seen you cry since the night you ended things. You made sure of it. You knew that once he cracked you the slightest bit, there’d be a very real danger of him making his way back into your life. It was a gamble you didn’t want to take.

But tonight, the dam burst. Eddie dropped to his knees in front of you, lying his head in your lap.

“Don’t cry, Birdy. You’re killin’ me,” his hands rubbed up and down the sides of your thighs to comfort you. “Tell me why you didn’t call him back. Please, baby. Just say it,” you sobbed as you pushed his curls away from his face. You still couldn’t look at him, but you felt his gaze on you. “I gotta know you still love me, Birdy. I gotta know because sometimes I think I might die ‘cause I love you so much.”

“Eddie, stop,” you gripped his hair as you felt him nuzzle his tear-soaked face into your stomach.

“No, goddammit! I won’t! You gotta listen this time,” you softened when you felt his arms wrap around your waist. “I know I’m fuckin’ stupid, okay? I know I fucked up a lot, but I never ever cheated. I never could. I can’t live with myself anymore knowing you think I did something like that.”

“There’s so much more to it,” you finally opened your eyes, looking towards the ceiling to gather your thoughts. “The drugs and the constant partying… Eddie you know I love all the guys, and I love you being in the band, but you can’t find a balance between all of that and being present for us as a dad and partner.”

“Birdy, I will! I swear on my mom’s grave, I will do better!” at the mention of his mother, you finally looked at him. He never talked about her unless he was deadly serious. You wiped his black tears away from his cheek, still avoiding his eyes. “I wanted to tell you earlier, call you before the show, but I got all fucked up in here and couldn’t,” Eddie pointed to his head to emphasize his point. “Gene hired me back at the shop,” you raised an eyebrow, finally meeting his gaze. The only job Eddie kept for any considerable length of time was working on cars downtown at Hawkin’s Tire. It seemed to be one of the only honest jobs he didn’t outright hate. “Full time. I’ll be workin’ forty hours.”

“But Eddie, you said-”

He shushed you gently, shaking his head. “For the past year, I’ve scraped by with dealing and playing gigs, and I’m fuckin’ miserable,” his voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears spilled past his lashline. “If I don’t get to go home to you two every night, nothin’‘s worth it. Not the music or the high. I’m starting to hate every second of it.”

“You’re drunk right now,” you ran your fingers through his hair and watched him melt into your touch. “How can I believe you?”

His grip around you tightened, and he sat up a little straighter, “Give me a week,” he whispered. “Let me come home next Friday when I get off work at the shop with my first paycheck cashed.” Eddie’s hands traveled to your hips. You gasped when he gripped you tight. “I’ll bring you yellow roses and that wine you like. I’ll bring the little squirt pizza and rent that one stupid Muppet movie he loves,” you started to smile reluctantly. Eddie’s own grin matched it. “And after, I’ll give him his bath and read to him while you open that wine,” you gasped when Eddie’s lips brushed along your exposed collarbone, but you didn’t move to stop him. “When he’s asleep,” he kissed the top of your cleavage and bit back a moan. “If mama wants,” you don’t stop him as he pulls one side of your robe off your shoulder, exposing the soft bralette you fell asleep wearing. “I’ll worship her all night,” his thumb lightly traced your hardening nipple. You gasped and grabbed his shoulders. “Like I’ve been aching to do for months.”

You pulled Eddie up from the floor, standing with him. Your lips met in a flash, months of pain and longing seeping through every brush of tongues and touching of lips. The outline of Eddie’s cock was already pushing into your hips and your mouth watered. When your hand met his denim-clad bulge, he let out the sweetest, filthiest moan. Before you could get very far, he pulled your hand away.

“No, baby,” he planted a wet kiss on the corner of your panting mouth, “Wanna taste you. That okay?” you nodded as he backed you towards the bed.

Even though Eddie’s hands were shaking, he took his time, just like he always did.

“Tell me there hasn’t been anyone else,” he spoke into the skin of your inner thigh.

“No one, Eddie,” you gasped as his tongue met the fabric of your soaked panties. “Only you.”

“Not even Harrington?” he growled, hooking a finger into the crotch of your underwear and pulling it to the side.

“Christ, no!” you groaned as he went straight for your swollen clit, sucking and nibbling it. “You know better than that,” you sighed, grabbing a fist full of sweaty, dark curls. Eddie groaned and you could see his narrow hips grinding down onto the mattress.

“Pull harder,” he gasped. You obeyed and he doubled his efforts on your clit, kissing, licking and nibbling on it. He moaned into your pussy, grinding down onto the bed harder. “Oh, fuck,” he murmured, “Gonna cum in my jeans like a teenager.”

“Do it,” your voice was husky as you found your confidence again. You sat up and slung one leg over his shoulder, gripping his hair even harder. “Show me how pathetic you are, baby,” you rolled your hips into his mouth and the hold Eddie had on your hips tightened. “Cum in your pants while I use that smartassed mouth,” He nodded enthusiastically and you threw your head back. Eddie helped move your hips with his iron grip and a few moments later, you were orgasming into his open mouth. As you came down, you brushed his hair from his sweaty brow. You could tell by his anguished expression he hadn’t come yet.

“Sit up here,” you said, grabbing the back of his neck. Eddie didn’t hesitate to obey you. “I told you,” you purred into his ear, “to cum in your pants for me.” you straddled his lap and he nearly let out a shout when you put your weight down on his crotch.

This was all relatively new territory for the two of you. Normally it was you underneath Eddie being reduced to a whimpering mess, but neither of you seemed too bothered by the new dynamic. Quite the opposite, actually. You can’t remember seeing Eddie this worked up since you were teenagers.

You devoured his mouth as your hips rolled against his, coaxing his release from him. Eddie came with a shout that you happily swallowed. After a few moments, you both started to giggle. You knew you should get up and let him clean himself up, but it felt so good to be near him again and he made no moves to get up form the bed.

“Please don’t think this is a complaint,” he said, kissing your neck lovingly. “But what the fuck was that, huh?”

“Guess that’s what happens when I go that long with no sex,” you laughed. Eddie groaned and wrapped you in a tight hug.

“Never thought I’d be so happy about cummin’ in my jeans, sweet thing,” he growled, rolling you over to lay on top of you.

Things got quiet again and the reality of your situation began to set in. “Eddie?” you questioned. He looked up at you from where he lay on your chest. Thankfully, he seemed to have sobered up considerably.

“Don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“Never, Birdy,” he smiled with with whole face, laugh lines deepening and eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll prove it to you Friday.”

“Friday,” you said, hazarding a small, hopeful smile.

“It’s a date,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and you pushed his face away laughing.

“Oh a date he says,” you teased. “Pizza and the Muppets. Is that what dating is like once you have kids?”

“Afraid so, sweet cheeks,” Eddie walked towards the dresser, looking in the bottom drawer to see if any of his clothes were still there by chance “We’re boring now.” He smiled over at you when he found an old pair of grey sweats.

“I still sleep in them sometimes…” you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed. Eddie simply nodded and walked into the bathroom to change.

“Just don’t forget the wine and roses,” you warned, raising your voice so he could hear you through the door. “I might never forgive you if you don’t follow through on that part of the deal.”

“I would never,” he said in mock offense as he opened the door. You thought he looked even better in the old pajamas than he did in the tight, ripped jeans. “But you’re forgetting the most important part.”

“What’s that?”

“The worshipping,” he crawled up the bed towards you again. “Might want you to boss me around again, Birdy.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you said as you slapped his hip lightly.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded as he cuddled into your side. He threw the blankets around you both and before you realized, you were drifting off into the best sleep you’d had in months.

[filthgarbage86]

Part 3, Option 2 - The List: Submissive!Eddie Munson

(this is part of a series that I've been writing but the general idea is that you're trying to figure out which nickname makes Eddie go crazy for and in that attempt, you prove how naive you still are as well) you can find the link to that here

Part 1

Part 2

CW: puppy!eddie munson x afab!reader, smut like absolutely filthy smut, there was plot but that was before, f receiving, face sitting, submissive!eddie, dom!reader, switch!reader, brief moment of degration

Eddie Munson took good care of you. He was always trying to make sure you were pleased not only physically but also in an emotional intimacy way as well. He had such a big heart, you find it really hard to imagine how anyone could be scared of him or think that he's some spawn of Satan. In reality, he was an angel, an absolute darling person.

Most, if not all of the videos that Steve had suggested to you and the ones you found all had very dominant themed names for the guy in the scenes. Which was fine, you loved more than anything when Eddie dominated you. And you knew that most of the names on the list you got just weren't going to encourage Eddie to listen to his own pleasure or even allow you to be able to take on that role or responsibility. You were still going to try them but you were just wanting to figure out what made Eddie blush and feel the same way when he did stuff to you.

At first, you try the basic ones but they weren't really good in that sort of way. And again, there's not much to go off of. So it's not until you two are alone and just sitting in his room that you have the discovery.

You're sitting on his bed and he's sat on the floor, resting his head between your thighs like they're a neck pillow for him while he plays on his guitar. He's strumming out a tune, trying to figure out a chord progression and is so focused that a little bit of his tongue is sticking out. You're just sitting above him, playing with his hair and stroking his face every now and then.

"You're so good, baby"

Eddie shivers a little bit and says a quick little thank you. Interesting.. you had already tried baby but that wasn't it the other day.. You try again, a few moments later.

You start stroking his face and tightened his neck in between your thighs just a little bit more so your presence was notable. You angle his face to look up at you-

"Have I mentioned lately how much I love you? How good you are to me?"

He looks wide-eyed and glazed over. Oh this is interesting indeed.

"N...no, I mean, yeah! but not.. those words exactly.."

"Aw Eddie, you're so cute, you're like a little puppy"

He flushes, deep. Oh. That did something. You remember seeing that in one (1) video and you didn't understand it until right now. It makes sense, especially when he's sitting below you, look up at you with those puppy-dog eyes, big, wide, and brown as can be in the soft lighting.

"You like being called a good boy? Aw puppy, you want to be good for me?"

He whimpers. He lets out the smallest exhale of a whimpered moan and just nods his head slightly, completely forgetting about his music task at hand. You stand up straight, motion your finger for him to come up and come closer and he's on his knees, hands out on both thighs to stabilize him a bit, waiting for further instruction. "Look at you, so obedient."

You now take the liberty of lightly guiding his chin towards you with motioning finger and start peppering kisses along his jawline. This new surge of found power is electric and you're only getting started. You still don't really know what you're doing but you're going along and hoping to figure it out along the way.

"Who knew the satan worshipper of Hawkins, the scary Eddie Munson, was just deep down such a good boy that wants to be taken care of and to be good in return. Isn't that right?"

He whimpers out a soft like uh huh to you and you have a grinch like smile. "Use your words, puppy"

"Fuck, yes. I want that yes miss."

"Oh so good for me puppy, you keep calling me that and we will be in good shape today. Now, what does my puppy want? I'm going to take such good care of you, baby"

He starts getting antsy, he's wanting to touch you and be right up against you, but he's still figuring all that up right now. "I.. I want to make you feel good, miss"

"Baby, that's what you do every other time. What do YOU want?"

He looks up at you from his knee-position on the floor and he looks like he's going to melt away "I want you to use me"

Now it's your turn to blush and muttering for words "Okay. Undress me. Slowly."

He starts going for your belt immediately and you have to grab onto his hair a bit tightly, not enough to hurt him but enough to send a shiver down his neck.

"No, what did I say? I said slowly. You have to wait."

He huffs out but he does as he's told. He slowly unbuckles your belt and pulls it out of your jean loops, disregarding it. He goes to hike your pants down, but again, you pull on his hair. He hisses and moans in succession of each other. "Wait... stay.."

He's really into this. He is blushing just as red as before and you aren't even undressed yet. He zips down your zipper and undoes your button before he is gently wiggling you out of the form fitting jeans. These ones really highlighted your hips. So he started to slowly, absent mindedly, kiss your hips and start sucking into the flesh. He looked up at you while still going so immensely slow.

He looked at you like he was in prayer, and you were an angel- no, he was looking at you like you were a god that he worshipped. He starts kneading and pawing at your thighs and takes a big, obscene whiff of you and groans. He looks up at you once more and just above a whisper asks "please?" You give him a short nod to indicate that he could start.

He immediately dives in and you're already having a hard time standing, your knees buckling at him angling himself so you can quite literally ride his face. The noises are pornographic and sloppy from him sucking and slurping you up and you still somehow feel absolutely filthy.

Without trying, your hips start to spasm from pleasure, making your clit rub up against his nose and both of you are moaning for different types of pleasures. You grab onto his hair and you don't hold back at all, swaying your hips up down.

"Fuck puppy... shit- feels so good. You're so so good to me, baby" He mutters something and you pull him off of you for a moment, "don't mumble, what did you say?"

He takes a few deep breathes, looking already fucked over, "I don't want to be baby right now, I want to be good, I want to be your.. your.." You smirked, feeling a bit of deja vu from this "You're safe. You want to be my..." "Call me puppy again, please."

"Good puppy, that's my sweet boy, wanting to listen so well and make me feel so, so wonderful. Tongue out, handsome"

His blush goes down beneath his shirt collar and he continues licking stripes up you, paying mind to go all around your puffy sides and circling your clit just how you like it. He angles himself again to where he's now got a finger entering you with ease, followed by another, slowly going in and out of you. You are practically humping his fingers and face, and you look down to see that he himself is humping the air.

"You dirty, filthy dog. You really did just want to get me off huh? You so pussy-whipped you'd do anything to be praised huh?"

He's nodding feverishly, adding even more friction to the equation. You weren't going to last long, not when he was being so irresistible. "Fuck fuck fuck.. shit, fuck, shit- Eddie I'm cumming, I'm cumming! Oh FUCK!"

You're essence is dripping from you, it pours out of you without indication or warning. You are washed over with such pleasure that you continue to sit and ride Eddie's face until you literally can't take anymore and have to sit back down on the bed.

Once you catch your breath, you pull him up to the bed to find not only his face is soaked in your essence, but there's a prominent tent and wet patch in front of Eddie's jeans.

"Thank you Bunny"

"Thank YOU. Now... does my good little puppy want to finish the job?"

Let's just say the way he's fucking into you, the way he's whimpering and moaning while just hammering into you? There's a reason he earned his nickname, just like you earned yours

Oh to have a relationship where you're fuckin like a couple of love-sick puppies or bunnies.

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A/N: I KNOW NOT MANY PEOPLE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS BUT I WANTED TO GIVE IT A TRY, I KNOW IT'S A LITTLE RUSHED BUT I WAS WORRIED ABOUT LENGTH AND EVERYTHING. If you want more puppy!Eddie or submissive!eddie, leave a comment or request in my ask box!

[md-confessions]

I’d probably like the cabin fever casualties more (excluding Darren and Rebecca, fuck those two in particular) if they all didn’t

- run away from Uzi like she was the spawn of Satan towards the literal spawns of Satan

- very clearly try to isolate Uzi from the Disassemblers (“You can be our friend, little guy” step off, Emily)(V even joined them. Uzi saved your ass, tf is your deal, V)

- purposefully forget who Uzi was (those mfs were robots, that shit had to be purposeful)

Idc what excuses there are, they’re all pricks

.

[officialparentofadrien]

𝑨𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔/𝒐 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒔

This is for my lovely moot, @vespersposts who loves this tall, sort of awkward baby. Hope u enjoy <3 and I don't know about you guys but Aomine in eng dub is just so boyfriend material. Sorry if it's short 😭 

Pairing: Aomine Daiki x Gender Neutral Reader Warnings: None. Pure fluff. (Unless you're scared of felines), and curse words too. Keywords: c/n1 (cat's name 1) and c/n2 (Cat's name 2)

The feud between your boyfriend and your cats has been going on for a LONG time now. He's always so jealous and it probably didn't help that your cats scratched him more than once. They've been vaccinated and you treated his wound of course, but boy does Daiki hold a grudge. "Little spawns of the fucking devil, I'd say. Wait no, actually, they make Satan seem like a saint." He'd always say.

Of course, you've been trying to avoid incidents like scratching. Like putting yourself between your boyfriend and your cats. Or when push comes to shove, you'll put them in another room which can be a little challenging since always liked being near you.

But eventually, you know they'll at least tolerate each other one day.

That day came when you got sick and needed your cats to be cleaned. You thought of maybe just calling someone to do it but then decided against it. Those people can charge a LOT. and honestly? You'd rather not spend that much money right now.

"Absolutely not."

Your boyfriend immediately declined. Your lips jutted out into a pout as you sank deeper into your sheets while lazily holding the phone against your ear. "Please? Just this once I swear." You pleaded. Daiki knew he was just delaying and he knows deep down that he'll eventually agree because that's how soft he is for you. And that's how he found himself in your bathroom struggling with c/n1. The feline was harsh and aggressive towards him, always running away as much as it could. He was soaked head to toe due to the splashing and jumping.

"Stay still you-"

The cat meowed back aggressively as if yelling back at him. "Listen," Daiki started, pointing at the two, c/n2 who was sitting on top of the toilet, waiting and c/n1 who stopped fighting against him.

" name is sick and I won't be able to take care of her if you two keep making this more difficult than it's supposed to be." He said, staring deeply into their adorable eyes.

To his surprise, everything was smooth from then on, as if understanding their mutual agreement. They stopped struggling against him and were very accommodating. After drying them, he went to your room to check up on you and found you sound asleep. Of course, this was after he changed his shirt and dried his hair.

He observed your temperature and noticed it was much better than earlier. Your fever had gone down and your face didn't look red like it did earlier. He decided to lie down beside you and nap and unbeknownst to him, your adorable cats snuggled up against you two. Later: "Are you three getting along now?" You teased as you observed them on the couch, snuggled up against each other and not Daiki scowling at them while they hissed at him. Instead, your cats were actually sleeping peacefully beside him.

Daiki rolled his eyes, but you didn't miss the fondness in his eyes. "As if. They're still spawns of the devil."

"Awww, you softie."

𝑴𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

𝑲𝑵𝑩 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

Hi! Can I Request Matt Jackson x Fem!Reader with the prompt “ What can I say? You were out of my league.”? Ty 💗

Out of my league 

This should have never happened, you were out of my league. How could someone like you fall for someone like me

Word count: 662

Main Masterlist

Matt’s  Pov

This past year had been crazy, between getting suspended to All In, to say it was a rollercoaster of emotions would be an understatement. Though it made me appreciate all the things I have in my life, a perfect example, the woman of my dreams who lies in bed with me, head on my chest in a peaceful slumber. 

I wonder how I got so lucky, how someone like her fell for someone like me, but let's be honest it was more like how I fell for someone like her. I remember the day I first met Y/n all those years ago in Japan. She was cold, vicious, bad and everyone knew it, yet I found her so interesting. I would often find her smoking outside venues, she would roll her eyes at me everytime I commented how bad that was for her. As far as the way we lived life we were polar opposites. 

She smoked, drank, partied, had tattoos and people feared her. I would hear the rumors that she was a witch, practicing witchcraft during her spare time. She was a “spawn of Satan” while I was “a good christian boy”. I never drank, did drugs or smoked. Not even trying it, living the straight edge lifestyle that was the opposite of Y/n’s. I knew she was bad news but I was so drawn to her, it was like she had me in a trance. 

When I joined bullet club I was able to spend more time with Y/n since she helped form the club. During that time I got to know her, the real Y/n. Believe it or not we had a lot in common. Soon enough we would often go out together after shows and talk for hours, just as friends but during these conversations I found myself falling in love with her and I hated myself for it. I knew she would never want someone like me, I knew I should not be with someone like her but her presence was like a drug, her scent made me intoxicated, I needed her. Why would a bad girl want to be with a good guy, everyone knows that’s not how it works. 

I told Kenny about my feelings towards Y/n and was shocked when he told me to bite the bullet and ask her out for real. 

***

“I think you're overthinking this Matt. Just ask her out, the worst thing that could happen is her saying no and it’s awkward for a little while” Kenny told me 

“But she is going to say no. Why would she want to be with someone like me?” I told Kenny 

“Look Matt, I’ve known Y/n for years, longer than I’ve known you, I know her type. She normally goes for softer guys and I don’t mean you're soft but I’m saying you have a chance here. We both know she isn’t anywhere near as cruel as she makes it seem.” Kenny was right

***

“Would you like to go out with me?” I asked Y/n nervously 

“Like on a date?” She responded 

“Yeah, on a date” 

“Yeah, I would really like that Matt” 

“Really? I’m surprised you said yes” I told her truthfully

“Why would I say no?” 

“I didn’t think you would want to go out with someone like me. Especially as more than friends”

“What makes you think that?” 

“What can I say? You were out of my league.”

***

Often that day replays in my head, if I never asked Y/n out we would have never start dating. If we didn’t date we would have never gotten married, never founded AEW, never started a family together. Although I still strongly believe she is out of my league I’m forever grateful for her being in my life. We balance each other, a perfect fit in my eyes. She is the love of my life and I will do anything for her. 

[rreskk]

Can you please make another mommy kink trevor philips fic , I'm okay with you not taking requests, I just LOVE LOVE the way you write him needy and whiny is PERFECT , I keep rereading your fics

I have a special speciality for Trevor's mommy kink. I fucking love writing it. One of my favourite things to do LOL

Summary: Trevor likes to act up, you made him change his mind quickly though.

TW: -Smut

Word count: 2686

Pairings: Fem!reader/ Trevor Philips

A man so rugged, scary, dangerous. Any normal person would look at him and see Satan spawning in those ugly black pupils. His lips were tattered with scars and unhealed cuts. His face, with every inch of exposed skin, were smothered with dirt and permanent marks from all the conflict he insists. He didn’t even have to try and look this rocky and jagged. Whenever he smiled – his natural, yellow smile – it looked down-right creepy. There was no innocence behind those raged eyes, none at all. This is what he presented, and it didn’t attract anyone.

But you.

You had him wrapped around your pinkie like a swan and her baby.

You knew him. He wasn’t all this “macho, eating flesh, sniffing meth, shooting innocent scums” guy. As time goes on, all he needed was a little ounce of love and affections for him to turn into this “I found this flower and it reminds me of you” man. He was a gentle man. He was gently aggressive.

Is that a thing? Yes. It is with Trevor.

Picture this: stroking your skin so rough that it feels like a slap. That’s him.

He was talented at changing how he touches and perceives you. He’d never want to hurt you, it was never something he ever considered. You were his favourite girl, his favourite woman. He wanted to impress you. It took long enough to see through his ugly exterior and he wants you to savour his lonely soul.

You completed him enough to heal this wound that had been made years and years before.

A woman.

Womanly love.

Maternal love.

Trevor has found home in your care and affections. You replaced that beast who tormented him. His mother, that bitch. He opened up more and more about her treatment and he thought he deserved all that abuse. Even if he refuses to believe the truth, you still gave him hope that there is a cure for his illness that stains his mind. You provided a comfortable, stable relationship (even if he wasn’t capable of keeping it stable himself).

Anyways… Enough of that. The wound is too deep to disfigure and it would take your whole life to understand him properly. So you just let him differ and express himself in ways you’d think was… Unusual. By unusual, it means that hardcore mommy kink he has. He was a switch at heart and some nights he felt so overwhelming alone, but horny. It was your job to love that poor little boy which was trapped in that hormonal, drug-addicted head.

It was one of those nights.

Tucked into your chest, he reminisced about the past few weeks he had shared with you. Trevor’s face was stuffed between your breasts, both of you naked. It wasn’t sexual, not yet, he just loved skin-to-skint contact. Whenever he wanted to cuddle, it had to be without clothes on. The friction and restriction of not being “close enough” made cuddling less enjoyable, so he had to be naked in order for it to calm him down.

His hands happily caressed your lower back. Them dirty nails would leave red lines from your shoulder blades to your ass. It was a repetitive move that it didn’t hurt nor sting anymore.

“Mmm…” He had paused his mid-ramble to breathe in the fumes of your breasts. It was a long inhale. You felt his breath linger against your sensitive skin, occasionally sending electric energy down your spine.

The night was still young. Your eyes peeled open when you felt his naked groin grind against your inner thighs. He was grunting. You looked down at your breasts (where he was hiding) and saw him obviously trying to subtly jack off to your thighs.  

“Trevor?”

He knew he was caught now and just whined. His thrusts had gotten more obvious since you’d catch him. His penis, fully erected, was diving in and out of your thighs that were pressed together like a real fleshlight. You refrained yourself from moaning due to his cock stroking the sensitive patch of your inner thigh.

“Trevor…” You repeated bashfully, “What are you… Doing?”

“I’m too horny.” He growled. He moved out of your breasts before inserting his full attention on the nipples. That long, tormenting tongue stroked the surface until he tried to suck as much of your breasts as he could. He sucked and sucked and sucked and sucked.

Your hands clenched onto his hair, cradling his head as he continued to suck your tits. You’d hear him mumble out small whimpers when you attempted to pull him away. He refused to move an inch.

“Trevor, baby – “

“Don’t stop me!” Cried Trevor after you had departed him from your swollen nipple and breast. He still had his penis stuffed between your thighs, the length twitching every second also.

“Take it slow, tiger.”

“Fuckin’… No! I want to suck your tits.”

“Easy – “

“[y/n], don’t play with me. I’m so horny, I want your tits…” He begged.  

“Trevor, take it easy. Don’t outrun yourself.”

“I can’t stop myself, mommy.” And it just came out.

That’s when you knew he was in that maternally deprived mood. You should of known the warning signs when it was there. So you fondled the back of his neck and calmed him down. He fell back into your embrace and made whiney noises against your collarbone.

“Tell me how good it feels.” You decided to ask as he was humping your thighs dry.

Trevor gurgled some distorted moans before his ability to speak had returned.

“So good… So good, it’s so hot…”

“Yeah? Are you going to cum yet?”

“I- I’m almost…” He took a sharp exhale, “Fuuuck…”

Then you praised him so more. Trevor had arched his back with your hand around his neck. He moaned your name, thrusting harder and faster that your poor thighs were growing rashes and bruises. It wasn’t long until his whole body went into spasms and that hard boner squirted cum all over your lower stomach, some on your bedsheets. He couldn’t help himself.

“I’m sorry, mommy!” Trevor wailed as his cock didn’t stop ejaculating semen everywhere.

“Shhh…”

“I made a mess, ma… I made a big mess.”

“I can see.”

“I’m sorry, I made a mess!”

You wiped away drool from his lip, “Enough,” You’d tell him, “Stop. Don’t apologise. Stop apologising for feeling good, baby.”

Trevor watched your thumb effortlessly wipe away his saliva. He wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. There was still so much tension in him that was struggling to come out. He’d give you glassy, sad eyes and call your name.

“[y/n].”

“Mhm?”

“I – “ He lets his finger drape across the breast he sucked earlier on, “I’m still horny. It hurts, mama…”

“It hurts?”

“Make me feel good, ma. I’m real horny.”

You sighed, “Okay, baby. Alright.”

The way his eyes lit up. He squeezed his hands together and gave you that iconic, Trevor grin. The feral in his face grew more strong and heavy.

“Gimme more…” He slowly slurred with lust, “I want more, ma.”

“Patience first.”

He cried, “More! More! I want more! I don’t want to wait.”

“Trev – “

But he was already pestering at your breasts again. That sloppy tongue was leaving trails of his drool everywhere. You gripped onto the mattress when he’d playfully bite your nipple and suck you all in. He was so fast. Trevor had completely crawled over your body, his weight pressing against your chest that was being abused by his nasty mouth.

“Trevor!” You gasped.

“Oh God, you have perfect tits…”

“Trevor… Stop – “

“I don’t wanna stop, mommy. I waited too long.” He snickered like a bratty school boy.

If he wants to act like a prick, he can be treated like one; your thoughts exactly. While he was rudely exploiting your breasts, you had reached for his sore cock and with one swift motion, you grabbed it and clenched your fists.

You wanted to replay the moment he jumped back and drastically moaned your name. He sobbed when you didn’t loosen your grip. His hips began jerking all over the place, trying to nudge you off.

“FUCK! AH, AH!”

His penis throbbed in your hands. This uncircumcised, small dick he calls “good enough” was going crazy. Despite Trevor’s painful cries, you knew he enjoyed it. No man would have his erection twitching like this.

“[y/n], fuckin’…” He was struggling to speak. Trevor was now on his all fours. He looked up at you with your hand violating his penis. He wanted to slap your hand away but he couldn’t.

“This is what naughty boys deserve.”

Because he deserved it, just like you said.

“But ma! – “

“But ma, but ma! No, nothing!” You played on his feelings a little more.

“No, don’t say that.”

Your grip tightened on his dick, making his words stutter pathetically.

“No what? Why should I listen to you when you don’t listen to me, hm?”

“Mommy… I’m sorry, [y/n], eh! Babe!”

“Don’t mommy me, Trevor. Your fetish makes you a very naughty boy.” Talking dirty was always a speciality when it’s with Trevor.

He sucked in his lips and stared at the way you used your tongue to speak.

“You like that, darling?” His cock twitched more as you spoke, “You like the way I talk to you?”

“Yes mommy…”

“Why’s that? Why do you like being spoken to like that?”

“Because… I- I deserve it.” Trevor whispered, his eyes barely open at how intense the pleasure was.

You squeezed his dick one last time before he hunched forward, burying his face in your neck and squirting (once again). He moaned intensely.

“Fuuuuuck! AH! OH, YEAH!” Cum soaked the bedsheets now. He couldn’t help but lie against you, his whole body weight in your arms. The orgasm must of taken a turn considering he began choking on tears.

“That feel so good, baby?” You purr.

“Oh, fuck… Ma, I – “ Trevor gulped, “I feel so much better. Ah… Fuck…”

“Now… Only good boys get another chance at feeling good again.”

His face dropped and he stared up at you with despair.

“What?”

“You heard me, sweetie.”

“No, no. But… Mama, c’mon… Babe? [y/n]? Sugar? I- I’ll fuckin’… I’ll do the shopping, I’ll do the gardening, please! Ma, please!”

“Don’t act like you deserve it, Trevor.” You’d grin.

He shook his head frantically. His hands gripping onto your waist, your stomach, your breasts. His breathing had grown rapid.

“I love you, I love your body, you’re amazing, I love you – “

“Trevor.”

“No, no. I wanna… I wanna feel good! Please, mommy… Please, this ain’t funny anymore! Stop playing with me!”

“I’m not playing with you.”

He growled, “I hate begging, ma! I hate it!”

“I know you do, babe. But you can’t get what you want, right?”

“Fuck you! You bitch!”

You raised an eyebrow at his profound insults. Trevor paused when he realised what he had said. His little outburst had possibly destroyed the last chance he had of receiving more pleasure from you. He nibbled his bottom lip and waited for a reaction, but when he saw nothing but disappointment in your face, he broke down and began praising you like a Greek God.

“Fuck! I didn’t mean it!” He was on his knees, hands stroking your body, “I’m sorry!”

You frowned and went to stand up before he pulled you back onto the bed.

“Baby! I didn’t mean it! I want you, so bad!”

“Shut up, Trevor, shut the fuck up!”

He went dead silent, mouth dropped open.

“What do you want, huh?” You were hostile, intimidating.

Trevor was too afraid to speak. He just looked around the room for a saviour.

“What do you want, Trevor?” Your voice growing louder.

“Ma! I want you! Just you, I just wanna feel good!” He whimpered and held his arms open, desperate for warmth.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, mommy! Yes!”

“How do you want to feel good?”

Trevor chewed on his tongue, “I- I… I want your cunt, babe.”

There was a deep desire that was living in your gut. You were horny as well. You did want something to cure it. Even if he didn’t deserve it, you were just using him at this point. Like a doll.

“My pussy?” You’d muse and walk over, your hand fitting around his neck as he moaned softly.

“Yes…” He breathed and gave you a smirk, “Your pussy…”

“That’s right.”

Trevor groaned when you sat on his lap. His naked crotch was pressing against your cunt, his favourite thing. He grinned when you started to use both hands and choke him. He struggled to breathe, but he loved it. He ogled you with admiration as you took matters into your own hands.

“Mmm…” You murmured when you pushed his dick into your pussy. His lap was shaky – by all means – of all the torture you’d put him through. It was understandable.

“Oh – “ He muffled out a longing moan and jerked his hips up, beginning to thrust.

The penetration itself was glorious. You bounced onto his beaten cock and choked Trevor as he turned bright red and blue. He squealed out a sigh of pleasure, still managing to survive through the choke-hold.

“God, fuck…” A gasp left your lips.

Riding him was a regular occurrence. It was your favourite position together. That or doggy style… But either way, whenever there’s a whole to fuck (Trevor’s words).

The both of you kept on moaning together as the night grew old. It was like a ghost-town outside. You wouldn’t be surprised if your neighbours had heard your activities with Trevor (like you don’t do this most days).

“Urgh – “ Trevor panted, getting close.

You loosened your grip around his neck so he could be more vocal. Nonetheless, you were whining and growing more overstimulated with his dick in your cunt. You exhaled heavily and rode him more and more until your laps were both numb.

“Maaa!”

“Oh God…” It was getting closer and closer now. Your pussy was soaked and his cock throbbed continuously.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” He whispered.

“Ah… Ah!” You pressed your forehead against his, “Shit. Oh yeah, tell me how much you love my fucking pussy, babe.”

“I fuckin’ love your cunt, mama… It’s so hot, I love – OH, SHITT!” He bellowed and released his third load from today. He held you down onto his lap and came inside you, his voice hoarse from all the moaning and yelling he had done.

“Oh… Oh my, God!” You gasped at your orgasm that filtered his dick with your cum. He shivered when the sensation of your hot fluid painted his skin. He quickly thrusted back into you so both your cum would merge and mix together, bonding.

“Mmmm…” He’d growl lowly with a smirk.

“So good, babe.”

“Uh, huh…”

“God, my fucking cunt.” You fingered your clit and groaned when you had finished your orgasm.

Trevor licked his lips and stared at you with absolute devotion. He smiled as you closed your eyes to remind yourself of the pleasure.

“I love you, ma.” His whispers were coarse.

“Jesus… Just shut up and cuddle, yeah?” There was no bitterness behind your words, he knew that. You were too immense to act so “lovely dovely”.

“Okay, yeah. But I love you.”

“I lo – “

“I love you.” Trevor repeated.

“Woah, oka – “

“I love you.”

“Trevor!” You laughed, “Goddamn! Let me speak. I was going to say, I love you too…”

“I know,” He smirked, “I just wanted to say it three times.”

“You said it four times actually.”

“Oh! Little miss smartass!”

“Shut up, Trevor.”

“Your tits actually tasted quite nice. A bit salty but that’s sweat, right?”

You rolled your eyes, “Bedtime. Now.”

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Obsession Hanging 'Round My Neck Like a Noose: Part 1.

AAGGH!

Mahiru!

*Hiyoko cries out and helps her Big Sis up as she's once again blasted into a wall. Mahiru groans as she gets to her feet.

Are you ok!?

Ugh...! Nothing we do is working...! This kid's a whole other kind of creature!

I shall take that as a compliment!

*The Remnant's all lie in a heap on the floor after being knocked down by the merciless Osone.

Grgh...! I...I won't lose...! I'm not gonna lose to just some little girl!

Yeah...Take off those gauntlets and what are you really!? JUST SOME BRAT!

Sounds to me like you're getting desperate. Gotta say, I'm disappointed.

Huh...!?

I figured even after everything that you guys have been through, your Hope would hold out for juuuuuust a bit longer. And yet you all look ready to collapse.

Don't...underestimate our tenacity...!

After all we've been through, we've heard enough of that kind of garbage from a certain other person! Don't think that's gonna get to us!

Ah, of course...Still, it doesn't change the fact that you've let me down a little bit...Losing Hajime really messed you guys up, huh?

Do NOT SPEAK OF HAJIME you Satan Spawn!

Satan...spawn...

Aahaa...Ahahahahaha! HAHAHAHA!

*WHAAAAAM!*

GUAGH!

GUNDHAM!

DON'T TALK ABOUT MY PAPA LIKE THAT! I'LL KILL YOU!

GRRGGH!

*Narumi blasts forward and punches Gundham super hard in the stomach. He keels over and collapses.

My Papa died protecting people like you! I'm not about to let you forget his contributions! It's thanks to people like him that you're even still alive, you CHUNI-COCKSTAIN!

*SMACK!*

GAGH!

AGH!

*Narumi kicks Gundham and Sonia in their jaws, then spits on them.

Your father...We read reports on him when we were looking into your background. He was an Ultimate Rights Activist, right?

Post-tragedy, he was an advocate for the reinstallation of Ultimate Students in society, despite what those in this group have done. He was a good man, right until his death!

So why Osone!? Why join with Zetsubou and trample on every ideal he's built!? Don't you think he'd be disappointed in you!?

...

*Narumi scowls, walking back and forth.

Is it...revenge? You want to tear apart the society that took him from you, don't you?

Don't bring that word to me. It's riddled with gross, disgusting Despair...! It doesn't matter what the ends or the means are, revenge is wrong!

And yet you work for the Despair Organization. Despite you prattling on about Hope and how much it means to you, you side with the bad guys who live and exist for it! It doesn't make sense!

*BOOM!*

[somegirlontheinternet135]

☆Welcome To Weridworld☆

~The reality of running the cookie kingdom~

Before we go any further, might I introduce to a new Oc, Mei Cookie, my cookiesona. I'll show pictures of her soon, but she's one of the many reasons you shouldn't give a random person a kingdom to rule. . .

For context, I'm sure all of us who play the game long term, had the thought that actually running a cookie kingdom, wouldn't be this happy, kumbaya, paradise. Frankly, the complete opposite. If you're as far in the game as I am, your cookies fall into two categories, either they be absolute angels or spawn of Satan; and there is no in between. Some of these guys are gonna be handfuls (Looking at all the COD, crunchy chip, and possibly dark cacao), you can leave for a minute and several civil wars are going on at once. I would consider it running the cookie kingdom be like running a PG-13 equivalent to South Park, or a kindergarten for crazed adults.

Now please these scenarios ft. my CRK team:

Mei, showing Milky Way Cookie Weirdworld from the castle: Look around you Milky, everything the light touches is our kingdom

Milky Way Cookie, pointing at the dark areas: Everything the light touches huh? then what's that shadowy dark place?

Mei: Those are the dark lands Milky, promise me you'll never go there. . . Seriously don't go there, we've haven't unlocked those areas and we're low on materials. . .

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Clotted Cream Cookie, to Sherbert, Madeleine and Brute: Let's tell a secret about ourselves

Clotted Cream: I'll go first, I hate you!-

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Cream Unicorn Cookie, to Mei Cookie: Did you hang out with Macaron Cookie last night?

Mei Cookie: Yeah, I did

Cream Unicorn: Oh *haha* I love Macaron!

Mei: Don't you hate Mac-

Cream Unicorn, now angry and yelling: YEAH NO SH*T HONEY!!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Wildberry Cookie, to Crunchy Chip Cookie: Would you rather kill Affogato Cookie? Or-

Crunchy Chip: Yes, kill him

Wildberry: But I didn't say-

Chip: I don't need to hear it. . .

Affogato, overhearing the conversation: . . . I feeling a little unsafe. . .

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Choco Werehound Brute, playing hangman: There's no Q, you lose

Captain Caviar Cookie, frustrated: Are you kidding me?! You can still add something!

Brute, yelling: I added belt, four earrings AND AN EXTRA ARM!! YOU LOSE!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

*Milky Way Cookie was added to the kingdom*

Captain Caviar Cookie, to Milky Way: Uhh. . . Ya want a beer?

Candy Diver Cookie: ■□■ ○●○●!!!(SHE'S 4!!)

Captain Caviar: I don't know, WHAT AM SUPPOSED TO WITH HER?!?!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

*Mei and the team, driving to another stage*

Mei Cookie, in the shotgun seat: Clotted, can we go to diner after this?

Clotted Cream Cookie, on the wheel: Mei, we're making dinner at home

Mei, tearing up: I hate this f*cking family. . .

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

*CODs meeting Black Pearl Cookie for the first time*

Licorice Cookie, shuddering and awkward: I-Is there a mister Black Pearl?? Or-or? . .

Black Pearl Cookie: . . .

Dark Choco Cookie, to Licorice: Are you flirting with the f*cking mermaid lady?-

Licorice, now clinging to her side: She's. F*cking. Hot!!

*Black Pearl looks down at them, annoyed*

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Cream Unicorn Cookie: I guess I'm just too tough to cry

Black Pearl Cookie: Just today, you were crying about snakes!

Cream Unicorn Cookie, tearing up: They don't have any arms. . .

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Devil Cookie, holding an airhorn: Airhorn prank!!

*Devil blasts the airhorn whist Pure Vanilla Cookie is asleep to scare him*

Pure Vanilla, waking up: Did someone say something?

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Mei Cookie: I think we made a mistake buying that blender

Sherbert Cookie, holding a toast smoothie: What makes you say that?

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

That's all folks

Definitely want to make part 2 to this^^

[the-delta-42]

The Dead Guy

The Dead Guy

Jason grunted as Ryuko kicked him in the chest. The heroine using him as a springboard to get to higher ground than him. The woman was around Dick’s age, but had the temperament of Bruce on a bad day. Jason absently acknowledged Adrien dropping onto a ledge.

“Ryuko, I thought we all agreed to keep sparring inside the base.” Said Chat, his chin resting on his knee.

“I thought you were helping your wife.” Bit Ryuko, folding her arms.

“She got fed up with me waiting on her hand and foot.” Shrugged Chat, his leather ears twitching into different directions.

“Can you actually hear through those things?” Asked Jason, examining the ears.

“Yup, I can see in the dark too.”

“Bullshit.”

Chat dodged something, before snapping his fingers and throwing a black, stormy, ball away from him. Ryuko was suddenly beside him, lightning running along the blade of her sword.

“Anubis?” Questioned Ryuko, as a sudden burst of air nearly knocked the three to the floor.

Chat waved his hand, the wind stopping. He walked over to a wall and pulled a sickle out of the wall, “Or one of his subordinates.”

TDG

Chat and Ryuko landed on the room across from Adrien and Marinette’s home, while Jason drove onto the driveway. Adrien ran up to the front door and scrambled to get his key into the lock. The door swung open, revealing Chloé staring at them.

“What the fuck’s gotten into you?”

Adrien rushed past Chloé, leaving the woman to stare after him. He skidded to a stop, staring at Marinette, who had her head in her hands, and Damian, who was wearing make-up, with Emma clambering over her uncle, humming a little tune.

Marinette slowly raised her head, before quickly depositing it back in her hands. A mix of a whine and a laugh snuck out of Marinette’s mouth.

Jason froze at Damian’s new look, “Hey, Demon Spawn, trying out new looks?”

“Not a word gets to father, Todd.” As Emma decided to draw whiskers on Damian’s cheeks.

There was a flash, followed by a shutter sound as Chloé took a picture of the pair. Marinette looked at the group of four, before scowling at Jason.

“Jason,” Started Marinette, “I believe I made it clear that weapons are to be left at the door.”

Adrien suddenly shook his head, “One of Anubis’s lackeys appeared tonight.”

Marinette stiffened, before standing up, “Damian, stay with Emma. Emma, you’re doing great sweetie.”

Emma beamed, as Marinette left the room and closed the door.

“What do you mean ‘one of Anubis’s lackeys appeared tonight’?” Demanded Marinette, staring at her husband.

“The one with the sickles,” Responded Adrien, “I think they were watching Ryuko and Hood.”

“But they only appear in the presence of death, or someone surrounded by death.”

“What about someone who’s been brought back from the dead?”

The Miraculous holders all looked at Jason, who was staring at the floor.

“Brought back how?” Asked Marinette, “Because there’s multiple ways, the Pagan Deities, the Kwami, Celestial and Primordial beings and witches can resurrect the dead, so you need to give me more to work on here.”

“The Lazarus Pit.”

Marinette’s face curled in disgust, leaning away from him, “Yeah, that’d attract them.”

“Who’s them?” Asked Jason, irritation colouring his tone, “And who the fuck is ‘Anubis’ and who are ‘his lackeys’?”

“Anubis is a Miraculous User that, until recently, was imprisoned in an eternal cage under the lowest depths of the tallest mountain.” Said Adrien, “Some moron thought it’d be funny to break him out.”

Jason looked between the group, “Who’s the moron?”

“Some boy band that wanted Satan to bless them so they could be famous.” Growled Marinette, her hand going to her bump, “Jason, come back here tomorrow, I need you for something.”

Jason frowned but nodded and allowed Adrien to guide him out of the house.

Marinette ducked her head into the room where she’d left Emma and Damian, “Emma, come on, it’s time for bed.”

Emma groaned, but let her mother guide her ways. Adrien arrived with some wipes and gave them to Damian, “So you don’t have to walk through the streets looking like a clown.”

Damian tried to smile, although it looked more like a grimace, “Thank you.”

Adrien nodded and left the room, leaving Damian to clean the makeup off his face.

TDG

Adrien watched Marinette quietly praying, he seriously hoped that an angel actually responded this time and not Constantine, or the devil for that matter. And Marinette didn’t have the patience to sweet talk a pagan god without insulting them.

A flapping sound made them look at an open window. An angel with dark hair, bright blue eyes, a suit and a trench coat stood in front of the window.

“Hello.” Said the angel, in his signature gravelly voice.

“Hello Castiel.” Smiled Marinette, rising to her feet to greet the angel.

TDG

Jason scowled at the light, before putting on a pair of sunglasses. He strode into Marinette and Adrien’s home, dropping his guns into a tray by the door and stalking further into the home.

“So, what’s gonna happen, cupcake?” Asked Jason, as soon as he saw Marinette.

“Please, don’t call me cupcake.” Said Marinette, “And, we’re going to remove the taint of the Lazarus from you.”

“How’re you gonna do that?”

“We’re going to kill you and bring you back to life.”

Jason froze, before looking around the room, “Okay, are there any alternative?”

“Yeah, we send you to purgatory to get your soul cleansed and then wait anywhere from a day to ten years for you to return.”

“Will it hurt?”

“No, I’ve been told this method is quite enjoyable.” Jason whirled around and stared at the man that suddenly appeared behind him.

“Hello.” Greeted the man, tilting his head to the side.

“Constantine?”

“No.”

“Then, who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Castiel.”

“What?” Sputtered Jason, looking at Marinette.

“Castiel’s an angel, I met him a couple years ago in the states.” Shrugged Marinette, “He works for the man of ladders or something.”

“The Men of Letters?” Asked Jason, looking at Castiel, “Hold on, are you the guy that hangs out with the Windsor’s?”

“Winchesters, and yes” Replied Castiel, “I do ‘hang around’ with Sam and Dean.”

“The guys that go travelling around and killing people?”

“The Winchesters are hunters, Jason,” Corrected Marinette, “They hunt monsters, or at least, the ones the Justice League has no interest in.”

Jason shook his head, “Okay, so, you said I needed to die, how do you plan on doing that?”

“Castiel’s going to overdose you.”

“What?” Squawked Jason, before he felt a pinch on his neck, and everything went black.

TDG

Jason suddenly jerked, finding himself in a room with Dick and Tim. He looked around, there was no Bruce, Alfred, Demon Spawn or other ‘Bat-Family’ member. He couldn’t remember when he got here or how.

“You okay, Jay?” Asked Dick, holding a beer out to him.

“Yeah, just got a bit confused for a sec.” Answered Jason, looking at Dick, “Why are we here?”

“Drinks, Bruce and the others are out getting snacks, remember?” Said Dick, as Tim powered up his laptop.

“I don’t understand.” Muttered Jason, looking around. He knew this place, he remembered this night. It was the night Bruce had chosen to spend time with him while he was sick instead of going on patrol.

It was his happiest memory.

But it was just him, Bruce and Alfred. Dick and Tim weren’t there. Jason shook his head, before looking towards the door, as if they’d always been there, Bruce, Alfred, Demon Spawn, Selena, Stephine, Barbara and, Jason bit down a groan, he could never remember her name, Cassie? Carla? It was something with a C. Jason groaned and rubbed his eyes, before seeing the Kanes, a couple Titans, Kory and Roy, and Marinette.

“This isn’t what happened.” Murmured Jason, before someone snapped their fingers.

In a blink of an eye, everyone was gone. Jason looked around, before spotting Zatara.

“Hold on, aren’t you the guy that Doctor Fate’s using as a suit?” Asked Jason, approaching Zatara.

“That’s a…crude way of putting it, but yes.” Responded Zatara, “Nabu’s able to enter heaven, but he can’t enter someone’s personal heaven.”

“Personal heaven?”

“Each and every person has their own personal heaven,” Explained Zatara, “of course, there’s the main heaven where everyone is together, but personal heavens are usually for one person. Their happiest memory, if you will.”

“But I remember that night, no one else was there aside from Alfred and Bruce.” Said Jason, looking around.

“The memory has remained the same, but the people you love have grown.” Responded Zatara, looking around the room, “Whether you want to acknowledge it or not.”

Jason swallowed, “So, what, I’m dead?”

“Until you want to return.” Said Zatara, “Time passes differently here, a few minutes down on Earth can be equal to several years here.”

“But those years aren’t worth anything without them.” Finished Jason, looking at Zarata, “So, how am I getting back?”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Said Zatara, before tapping Jason’s forehead.

TDG

Jason sat up with a loud gasp. He vaguely heard Dick and Tim shriek, while Barbra and Stephine laughed at them.

“What,” Jason coughed, “the fuck was that?”

A small hand ineffectively swatted his arm, “Naughty! Go put money in the jar!”

Jason stared down at Emma, who had her hair in tiny braids. Jason then looked around the room and spotted Constantine having a staring match with the angel.

“What took you so long?” Asked Marinette, spooning ice-cream and mustard onto her celery.

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I didn’t know I was dead?!” Retorted Jason, staggering to his feet, “What the hell was in those needles?”

“Opioids.” Said Castiel, looking over at Marinette, “Can I go now?”

Marinette waved her hand, making a sigil on the wall vanish. Castiel was gone with a flap of his wings.

“How do you know an angel, anyway?” Asked Dick, looking over at Marinette.

TDG

“Why’s Jason asked us here again?” Asked Kori, as Dick shifted uncomfortably.

“No idea.” Replied Dick, as Barbara and Zatanna talked to each other across the room.

“Are you still uncomfortable around people?” Asked Kori, quietly.

“I’ll be fine.” Dismissed Dick, as Emma toddled into the room, chasing Alfred the cat.

“He spent several weeks asking everyone what their favourite movie was.” Said Roy, slumping in the seat next to them, “For such a big group, you all gave more or less the same response.”

Dick heard Jason and Adrien enter the room, while Marinette and Bruce quietly talked to each other.

“What’s this about?” Asked Damian, folding his arms across his chest.

“Nothing, I just never realised before that we all liked Oliver Twist.” Said Jason, depositing snacks and drinks onto the table, “Or Robo-Cop, Die Hard, or every Disney movie under the sun.”

“Meaning?” Asked Damian, glaring up at Jason.

“Meaning, it’s been a while since we had a movie night.” Shrugged Jason, as Emma climbed up onto Damian’s lap, “So, what one do we want to watch first?”

[alexmercer2424]

Hi I saw that requests were open and I was wondering if you could possibly do alastor and sister headcanons like maybe the sister kind of just overworked herself cuz she she just wanted the best life for him even though she probably was like getting sick constantly and she eventually dies and they possibly meet in hell

Please only platonic and only if you have time to do this

Alastor’s Reuniting w/ His Sister in Hell

When you and Alastor were kids it always seemed like he was getting himself into trouble

Sure he had all the girls crushing on him, but those terrible little boys were always so jealous and would often bully him

Al never said it bothered him, would just laugh and say they’ll get what they deserved

And you may not have understood what that meant exactly

But you still felt bad for your brother, it’s not like you two had the best home life and now his school life wasn’t the greatest either

And that was besides the fact you and him were mixed (Im following the idea he’s Creole and has a light brown skin tone)

You didn’t exactly partake in school, you did your best, but most your time was focusing on helping provide for your brother rather than studying

Your mom tried but it wasn’t easy due to her heritage and your father was next to useless if he was even around the guy was drunk more often than not it seemed when he was around

And things didn’t get better as the two of you grew older

Teen years were met with Alastor talking back to your father, the two of you trying to protect your mother, which resulted in him getting in altercations with your father

He got into more than enough altercations with the neighborhood boys due to the fact the ladies seemed to be drawn to him rather than them

And to your knowledge your brother didn’t have any interest in these women

Alastor was more involved in music, specifically radio, and sometimes hunting

He somehow managed to get a job in radio, how you’re not exactly sure

Sure he was a charismatic guy but he was also standoffish

You were just glad he started to find his way

Everyday for you felt like a battle to get out of bed, your body seeming to age as rapidly as your mind had to growing up

When he moved out he offered to take you with him but you stayed home with your mother, her health starting to fail her as well

By now you don’t know what happened to your father, he left just to never come back and Alastor seemed to care less than ever

As if they guy never existed

So you couldn’t bear the thought of your mother being all alone in her time of need

It wasn’t until one day when there was a knock on your door did everything change

A man stood at the door, a man you didn’t know but he wore a police uniform

You assumed it was going to be random trouble, neighbors calling about this or that just to complain and unsettle your family

What you didn’t expect was for the officer to tell you Alastor had died in a hunting accident

And what happened next you really don’t know

The next thing you remember is waking up in a hellish world where people looked like demons and animals looked like spawns of satan

You faired no better, you looked like some sort of horse or something, somehow still human, it was all just a mess (see metaphor workhorse)

You knew no one here, everyone seemed rude, and this definitely wasn’t the place that had girls wearing skirts to their ankles and men in anything but slacks and a shirt

It took weeks… months…

You felt even more loss than when you were alive and the isolation of everything was getting to you

It wasn’t until you were at work one day, managing to find some sort of work to keep from wandering, did things change once again

Getting yelled at your boss for not cooking the order right, even tho he wrote it down wrong and instead blamed you

Everything was too much and you just wanted to die again but it seems the Executioners have no interest in you so here you were… stuck for eternity

But as your boss yelled at you you heard a family voice

At first you thought it was your imagination until you saw the swagger, the confidence

There Alastor stood, smile larger than anything you’ve ever seen as he stared down your boss

And there Alastor grew in size, limbs becoming lanky and long, antlers spouting from the top of his head, teeth managing to become sharper as that smile only grew

Nothing happened besides your boss apologizing to you before running to the back room

You stood shocked, not only equally as scared but as well surprised at what was in front of you

Your brother, someone you thought you would never see again, stood in front of you

And though he looked different, even small and more human looking than whatever you just saw, he was still as charismatic yet questionable as ever

“Well dear sister, never thought I’d see you here!” He laughed “only the scum of the earth end up in a place like this!”

You had no idea what he meant, you knew this was hell, came to terms with it, but if only he knew what you did to help the two of you survive

His shock was a reassurance of his lack of knowledge

“No matter! You mustn’t stay in a place like this, not worth your time. Come with me and I’ll make sure you never work a day in your life! Not saying you didn’t do enough of that already when we were living”

He only continued to laugh, as if everything the two of you had become was a joke

You may have not understood, and may have feared the change you sensed in Alastor

But even the slightest familiar face in a place like this was better than anything

[guardianoftheearth]

whats ur opinion on porky minch?

"Porky, oh Porky... I remember when we were actually friends... At least I thought we were... He was never the coolest of guys looking back, but I still cared about him. He had some good in him sometimes. I remember that one time he scared off some bullies away, it was incredible... *Sigh*, his parents were never the best, all the few times I saw them they were always looking down on me, and I did saw them punish Porky and Picky with their hands, it was terrible assisting at those shows. And Giygas, Giygas really did him dirty. I will NEVER believe that Porky was that evil from the start. He could've been not the best person around, but he never seek me out just to... Hurt me, hurt me like that... that one time at Happy Happy village...- It's not his fault! I... Really want to believe this..."

-🧢

Speaking out of character (it was hard as hell), I think that Porky is a spawn of Satan and I fucking hate him.

Jokes aside, I think he's a FANTASTIC, character, with a story that spans in two whole games, and who's pieces of informations during Earthbound give a perfect setting for Mother 3. A little kid who never got the attention from his parents, who filled him with material goods instead of giving him love. The result, by Giygas' influence, he became greedy, egomaniacal and straight up evil. This is wonderfully explained by "His highness' room" in Mother 3, when I saw that room what that theme I was straight up dumbfounded. Some see a spoiled brat in that image, I see a troubled child who tries to fill himself in the only way he knows how to: Recieving toys and material gifts. I legit felt so damn bad for Porky, yes, his actions were terrible, but I hated how it all started because of his parents, who didn't do even the bare minimum to grow him like a normal person.

End of the day, bad person, straight up amazing character, thank you for coming to my and Ness' TED Talk.

[chickensarentcheap]

Tyler stuff :)

@tragiclyhip​, @youflickedtooharddamnit​, @secretaryunpaid​

I stumbled upon this guy (Takota’s rabbit Bologna) in the upstairs hallway and nearly had a mini stroke.  I actually checked his pulse and expected the worst and starting planning the eulogy.  

He was  just sleeping.

Yeah, mum. Where’d the hot cheetos go?

I bet that’s why he has so much hair.  All those freaking cheetos she ate. 

You know Tanner’s been in the pantry when things are THIS organized

Feeling cute. Might wait you until you put on a shirt  to puke down your back.

I don’t care what she or anyone else says. This is what perfection looks like.

#hottie #MILF #MIDF (mother I DO f*ck)

What in the hell...

I’m gone for four days and I come back and find this over the light switch leading from the garage into the house.

Who did this? Which one of you spawns of Satan are responsible?

These kids are way too smart and creative (and sneaky) for their own good. 

We’re going to eat well for a week or two.

I kid, I kid.

I actually said that to the kids when we visited these guys and I think I traumatized them. For life.  I don’t think Addie and Kota will ever be the same.  I’ve never heard them scream that loud or seen them run that fast to their mother.

Finland.   Nothing but snow and the love of my life to entertain me.

Miss you kids. Wish you were here.

Not really.  On that last part.

Look at  little mate. Fearless.  Must be the ginger in him.

So I thought I’d take a glimpse at  my oldest’s Insta page. She’s away with her Aunt Riley, Aunt Shaena and her bestie Alannah.  And just like that, I aged about thirty years.

#ohhellno  #neverleavingthehouseagain

Can I help you?

Can’t even take a nap without an audience in this house.

“Show me your mean face!”

Not what I had in mind, but okay.

Happy 41st birthday to this not so big pain in my ass.

I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather drive batshit insane for the rest of my life.

Thanks for the horde of kids,  the daily trips to Target, the butt I accidentally grab during every surfing lesson, the cold feet that continuously press against my back in the middle of the night,   the lengthy and humorous conversations I have with you while you’re asleep, and all those times you’ve eaten the last bagel or taken all the best donuts before I can get to them.

I love you.    More than you’ll ever know.    

You are the love of my life.  My best friend. My confidant. My biggest cheerleader.  My lover. My wife. The mother of my children.   And I look forward to celebrating more of your birthdays with you.

PS:  I’m sorry I cheated on you in your dream last night. I didn’t mean it. It just happened.  Can I come back and sleep in the bed tonight?

[brokentoys]

ANONYMOUS ASKED :

Assuming the minions evolved from prokaryotic organisms, why did they stop at their current form? If they truly evolved, how are they immortal? What brought the minions to their current state of being? Are despicable me’s minions holy figures? How do they reproduce?

He  takes  a  hit  from  a  suspicious  looking  pipe,  that’s  as  black  as  his  lungs.  Afterwards,  he   sighs.  “  Yes,  YES.  The  minions  are  -  they’re  BIBLICAL  CREATURES.  But  not  holy.  To  use  holy  to  describe  them  will  -  it’ll  earn  you  a  one  way  ticket  to  hell.  Because  the  minions  are  demons.  I  mean,  have  you  EVER  looked  at  them  ?  They’re  quite  demonic  in  ap  -  appearance.  &  also,  that’s  why  they  work  for  THE  BAD  GUYS,  &  wh  -  why  they’re  heavily  involved  with  capitalism,  &  the  suffering  of  low  class  or  middle  class  workers.  The  minions  were  S  -  Satan’s  way  of  tricking  humanity  to  do  his  deeds,  without  making  it  so  obvious.  After  all,  the  minions  are  cute  enough  to  make  you  question  if  they’re  demons,  or  not.  Also,  minions  come  to  you  with  the  offer  that  they’re  working  for  you.  When  it’s  actually  the  other  way  around.  In  reality,  as  soon  as  you  hire  them,  you  gi  -  give  your  soul  to  Satan.  This  nearly  happened  to  me  once,  one  of  th  -  those  little  bastards  came  up  to  me  with  their  goofy  fucking  grins,  asking  if  -  if  they  could  work  for  me.  But  luckily,  I’m  God’s  favorite  princess,  &  He  also  gave  me  His  special  crystals,  ”  Eddie  waves  around  his  pipe,  “  &  with  this  BIG,  FAT  BRAIN  of  mine,  I  was  able  to  tell  just  what  the  minions  were  trying  to  pull.  Since  you  c  -  cannot  kill  a  minion,  I  had  to  just  kick  it  out.  I  was  fucked  up  for  the   rest  of  that  day.  ”

Eddie  takes  another  hit  of  those,  uhm...  crystals  of  his.  He  then  turns  up  the  music  that  was  playing   on  the  radio,  Wiggle  by  Jason  Derulo,  &  Snoop  Dogg.  “ Anyway,  the  minions  don’t  reproduce.  They’re  sp  -  spawned  by  Satan.  Devil’s  spawn,  if  you  will.  That’s  why  there  are  so  many  of  them  around.  Also,  when  people  qu  -  question  if  the  minions  had  anything  to  do  with  the  Joker  War.  It’s  true,  they  did.  But  not  all  of  them,  though.  It’s  stupid  to  assume  minions  only  work  on  one  thing  at  a  time.  There  are  millions  of  minions.  Other  group  of  minions  are  out  doing  other  evidfgfghjgfdsfkdsgffjgdfkdsfkghijgrnje mmmmmmmmm.... !4534342fkfksdsdkfgmgffq34555ytrgkifwer8u58645h6urtmf02396uy,,,,5jymrekfg.  ”  He  pauses  for  a  moment,  as  though  he’s  being  ‘ restarted’  . 

“  Anything  else  you  want  to  ask  ?  ”

[maatryoshkaa]

between the lines | lee minho

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒!𝐀𝐔

✑ Late fines, shared lockers, and a missing love letter:

In which a frantic search for an overdue library book leads to you finding other things that are...long overdue.

✑ PAIRING: student librarian!minho x bookworm!reader

✑ GENRE: retro!high school au, slow burn, slice-of-life romance, slight enemies-to-lovers shenanigans

✑ WORD COUNT: 9.7k

✖︎ TAGS/WARNINGS: fem!reader, mild language, bullying themes, skz are all around the same age. mc is insecure and a bit of a valentine's day grinch. minho is whipped but too hardheaded to admit it. also, an embarrassing amount of classic literature/pablo neruda references.

Ah, Valentine’s Day.

Call it the most romantic day of the year if you will, but in the treacherous hallways of Levanter High, it meant a minefield of hormonal couples, crushed chocolate boxes, and supermarket rose bouquets. Clutching your backpack with a grimace, you narrowly dodged a pigtailed cheerleader as she leapt into her jock boyfriend’s waiting arms. Turning into another hallway, you plugged your ears to block out a senior boy’s cold rejection of a freshman’s nervous love confession.

You finally caught sight of your locker and breathed a sigh of relief. Levanter High’s lockers were split in half lengthwise—one top row, and one bottom row. You dropped to a crouch to wrench yours open—you’d lost your lock a couple of weeks ago—trying to block out the early morning commotion as you rummaged for your English books.

“Hey, watch ou—”

The locker above yours opened with a screech, and you looked up just in time to see a pink avalanche of cards and chocolates raining down on your head in a painful, deafening crash. The student who had called out the warning was frozen with a comical look of shock on her face. You swore the entire hallway fell silent, blood rushing to your cheeks as you slowly raised your gaze at the person who had opened the locker.

Lee Hana—head cheerleader of Levanter’s pep squad, and in your humble opinion, the spawn of Satan herself.

“Ohmigosh,” she exclaimed, raising one hand to her mouth in mock horror, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

The crowd around you was beginning to snicker and point, and you felt your face growing redder by the minute. “What are you doing here?” You asked tersely, motioning towards the locker above yours. “That’s not even your locker.”

Hana smiled and held up a small, glittery package. Oh. You didn’t have to look closer to know that the envelope was a love letter, elaborately tied to a box of expensive chocolates—the kind your parents would probably have to work overtime to afford. “My Valentine—for your locker buddy,” Hana replied matter-of-factly, then added, “Not that you would understand, hm? Since you’ve never received one yourself, and all.”

A smattering of laughs erupted from the crowd that was building around you. Biting back a retort, you looked down at all the other Valentine’s trinkets that had spilled around you. Of course—you should have gotten used to it by now. After all, your locker was right underneath the one that belonged to the student librarian, school heartthrob, and the absolute bane of your existence, Lee—

“Minho!” Hana exclaimed, and you looked up to see him shuffling through the crowd, his eyes briefly falling on yours. You immediately turned away as the pretty cheerleader skipped up to him, and shoved your books into your bag. Slamming your locker shut—twice, because Levanter’s damned lockers always jammed before shutting properly—you snatched up as many of Minho’s fallen Valentine’s Day trinkets as you could before shoving them back into the now-emptied top locker. The metal door was still swinging wide open. You’d overheard Minho complaining to the boy who always did the announcements—Han Jihyun? Han Jisung?—about how he kept losing his own lock. Both of you seemed to have a habit of misplacing things (not that you liked to admit to that similarity).

Out of the corner of your eye, Minho was still watching you over Hana’s shoulder, his lips tilted in a half-smile. Your gut twisted unpleasantly. Four years and counting—that was how long you’d ended up with a locker right under Minho’s.

“You’re so lucky!” Lia—your best friend—had gushed, while you had scoffed in utter disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Just my rotten luck.”

“Come on, y/n. Are you still hung up about that love letter from freshman year?”

Yes, you had thought sourly. “No way,” you had snapped, and Lia had giggled, unconvinced.

It wasn’t like you’d always had a personal vendetta against Minho. In fact, in ninth grade, you’d been head over heels for him, just like the rest of the student body—to the point where you’d even slipped a small love letter into his locker on Valentine’s Day, too. It had been one of those gaudy 99-cent corner-store cards, and you'd saved up your pocket money just to buy a matching pack of candy hearts. Then you’d spent the day with butterflies in your stomach, anxiously waiting nearby his locker to see his reaction.

But when he hadn’t shown up, you'd shrugged and begun heading home—and that was when you had caught sight of Minho, throwing all the love letters he’d received straight into the Dumpsters in the back parking lot.

Talk about a reality check.

As if that hadn't been traumatizing enough, you’d been forced to face him nearly every morning for the following three years. To make matters worse, being Minho’s involuntary locker mate also meant that all the girls—and guys, for that matter—saw you as little more than a stepping stone to him, always asking you to relay party invitations or trying to curry favour with you to get to him.

“We’re not close,” you’d insist to his persistent admirers every time, but it didn’t help. Minho, on the other hand, you thought bitterly, seemed to think he was too good for anyone—he didn’t even respond much to Hana’s advances, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. There was no way he’d even look twice at you—you’d been firsthand witness to that. You finally gave up trying to clean up the fallen Valentines, and stood up with a sigh. Throwing him a death glare, you pushed past the crowd just as the bell rang and students began scurrying away.

What did it matter if Lee Hana was trying to get with Minho? If anything, they were a match made in heaven. Or hell. With a decided huff, you plopped yourself down at your desk just as your English teacher began class.

“We’re starting the poetry unit today! Remember, you’ll be writing a love poem of your own for the final project—so I suggest you all get started on reading!” You teacher had winked and clapped her hands excitedly while a collective groan had swept through your class. A few couples had nudged each other meaningfully, already promising to write their poems about each other, and you’d thrown up a little in your mouth.

Romance was a bit of a touchy subject for you— now, you didn’t hate the notion of love, per se, you’d just always been somewhat...wary of it. After watching your friends fall in and out of disastrous relationships and fleeting feelings from the sidelines too many times to count, your own defense mechanisms had skyrocketed, and now you found yourself trying not to roll your eyes at every piece of romantic writing you read. Still, this inexperience only made you more determined to get a head start on the topic— and so, once the last bell had rung, you made a beeline for the school library. You would tackle love the only way you knew how to—by hitting the books. Pushing open the door, you overheard Hana and her friends muttering in disappointment and immediately recoiled.

“You said he’d be in here!”

“Well, I thought I saw him! Let’s wait for a bit.”

You peeked over the librarian’s desk, and sure enough, it was vacant— save for a tray of half-shelved books and stamping cards. Maybe Minho left early today, you thought, shrugging. That’s a relief. Then you shook your head quickly. What’s it to me whether he’s here or not? You tried to ignore Hana’s disdainful glance at you, heading straight towards your favourite nook at the back of the library instead: a cozy alcove tucked behind the last row of shelves. With a deep sigh, you pulled out the first book of poetry your teacher had assigned—Shakespeare’s Complete Sonnets—and sank into the bean bag chair.

‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May…’

A couple lines in, and the Englishman’s words were already making your head spin. You grimaced, massaging your temples. ‘A summer’s day?’ Seriously? You could swear you’d seen something less cheesy on a dollar store card. After a couple of pages, you could already feel your treacherous eyelids beginning to droop, fighting to stay awake as you tried to make sense of Shakespeare’s verses. But thy eternal summer...shall not fade...nor lose...possession…

“The library’s closing.”

You jolted awake, hands fumbling blindly before you could even force your eyes open. The library came into focus first—the lights had been dimmed, the flickering EXIT sign from the empty hallway casting a warm glow through the panelled window across the room. A dull headache still throbbed in your temples.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes groggily. You had to practically peel your cheek away from the Shakespeare book, fingers gingerly feeling the dent the cover had left in your cheek. “I-I’m so sorry, I must have—lost track of time studying.”

A familiar chuckle sent your heart plummeting to your stomach. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

When your eyes finally adjusted, your expression automatically soured into a glare.

“Now that’s more like it.” Smirking, Minho crossed his arms, leaning back on a bookshelf. He glanced down at the book in your lap—the book that you clearly hadn’t been studying. “Didn’t know you were one for Shakespeare.”

“I—” You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I’m not. His writing gives me a headache. It’s like it’s all in another language or something.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Old English. Why are you reading it, then?”

“We’re doing poetry in class—and our final project is to write an actual love poem, based on the poets we’ll study. Shakespeare was just first on the reading list, so…” you felt yourself trailing off, flustered. Why were you even bothering to explain this to Minho, who probably couldn’t care less? “Nevermind.”

You felt his piercing gaze on you as you shoved your books into your bag, glancing outside at the nearly emptied parking lot. If you squinted, you could spot a couple—Seo Changbin, judging by the male’s iconic leather jacket, and his lover—making out under the bleachers. You shook your head incredulously. Valentine’s Day. Love poems. Hormonal couples galore. It was like the universe was playing a long, cruel joke on you: Ha-ha, look who’s spending Valentine’s Day studying in the library alone.

Well, alone except for a student librarian with whom you had a mortifying history. Not much better. Eager to leave, you got to your feet, only to see Minho flipping through a smaller book he’d pulled off the shelf next to him. “If you want some real inspiration,” he began slowly, pushing up his glasses, “I’d suggest you start closer to our time period.”

You looked down at the book he was holding up, brow furrowing as you read the title out loud. “Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair. Pablo Neruda.”

“The best Chilean poet of the 20th century,” he nodded. “‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this.’”

It took you a second to realise Minho was quoting a poem, and you were suddenly grateful that the dimly lit library hid the flush of red that had betrayed your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you mumbled, “That actually sounds...kind of pretty.”

He didn’t look up, but you thought you saw the corners of his mouth shoot up ever so slightly. Maybe the shadows were playing tricks on you? Flipping through the book, Minho fished out a pad of sticky notes from his back pocket and marked a few pages. “Here. ���The Song of Despair’...‘Tonight I Can Write’...‘Here I Love You.’ Those are good.” Clamping the book shut, he held it out towards you.

You almost thanked him, but the words faltered on your tongue as you took it from him suspiciously. “What’s with the sudden helpful attitude?”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.” You raised an incredulous eyebrow, and he smirked. “Consider it my apology for this morning, then.”

That left you at a real loss for words, and for the first time, you struggled to find a retort. “That’s...considerate of you, apologising on behalf of your girlfriend and all.”

“Hana’s not my girlfriend.”

You breathed a small laugh. “Soon-to-be, then. Don’t break her heart.”

Minho scoffed, bringing the book to the front desk and scrawling your name on the sign-out card. He stamped the dates, then held it out at you before glancing out the window. Dusk had fallen, the empty football field lit only by rows of flickering lampposts. “You can get home safe?”

“Screw off, Lee Minho.” You eyed him warily, shoving the book into your bag before practically running to the double doors. The strange atmosphere that had suddenly built up in the library felt terrifyingly foreign to you, and your first instinct was to be rid of it as soon as possible. In the hallway, you spotted a janitor dumping a bin into a trash bag. A familiar avalanche of pink envelopes and gifts caught your eye, and you felt a wave of humiliation. Just the memory of Minho throwing yours out—after reading it and having a good laugh, no doubt—made you want to ram your head into the lockers all over again. You’ve got no chance with him, y/n, you thought blearily. Right when you’d thought you’d finally come to terms with Minho’s brutal (albeit unintentional) rejection, here he was again: crashing back into your life like some...cat-eyed, pointy-nosed meteor.

“Oh, y/n! One more thing.”

You’d already had one foot out the front door when Minho called your name again, making you jerk your head back in surprise. Minho had his bag slung over one shoulder, a pile of books in his arms as he waved to get your attention. His smile looked almost...genuine in the warm shadows, his round glasses softening his usually sharp gaze. Despite yourself, you felt your heart skip a beat.

Then Minho made a wiping motion over his face and grinned. “You’ve got drool on your chin.”

Your face reddened, and you slammed the library door shut, earning a glare from the janitor down the hall. Smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead repeatedly, you stormed out of the school muttering curses under your breath. Typical Lee Minho.

To your surprise, you practically devoured the poems in less than a week, taken aback at how much you genuinely enjoyed them. It was the first time you didn’t find yourself cringing at romance—and sure enough, in a couple days’ time, you found yourself reluctantly standing back in front of the double doors of the school library once again.

Carefully, you craned your head to peep into the panelled window, scanning the room for Minho. As per usual, a gaggle of girls were huddled on the other side, blocking your view.

“Looking for someone?”

Flinching, you nearly tripped on Hana’s long legs as she came up beside you. Before you could respond, she fixed you with a withering look. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Little Miss Perfect.”

“I—sorry?”

The cheerleader rolled her eyes, sneering. “Don’t act all innocent with me, you sneaky b—”

Sighing, you pushed open the doors before she could finish. Hana followed you into the library, still sputtering angrily. Her hand snatched your arm, French manicure digging painfully into your cardigan.

“The Valentines,” she hissed, and it finally clicked.

She’s talking about the love letters, you realized. The ones Minho throws out every year.

Gut twisting, you looked up to see all the other girls crossing their arms and looking back at you expectantly. “None of you...got a response?” You asked incredulously, already knowing the answer. This happened every year: Expectant admirers showered Minho’s locker with gifts, Minho wouldn’t even glance at them— and then, for some reason, you were left to take the blame. A twinge of annoyance shot through your chest.

“You stole them from his locker, didn’t you?” Hana continued accusingly, pupils shaking. “You sneaky, jealous bitch— of course you did.”

He threw them all out, you wanted to scream back at her, but the words wouldn’t budge from your tongue. Somehow, saying them out loud felt like tearing off the stitches of an old wound; a painful reminder of your personal humiliating memory. And—though you hated to admit it—a small part of you still didn’t have the heart to throw Minho under the bus just yet, even after all that he’d done.

Feeling defeated, you sighed and turned towards her. “Why would I want to do that?”

Hana scoffed, tossing her chocolate curls over one shoulder. “Oh, please. We all know you’ve had a massive one-sided crush on him since ninth grade.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks, the other girls’ snickers at your reaction drowning out any of your protests. “That’s not—”

“Not true? Then—is it mutual?” Hana sneered mockingly. “Don’t make me laugh. He wouldn’t be caught dead with the likes of y—”

“Can I help you with anything?”

The small crowd fell silent as Minho appeared from one of the aisles, eyebrows raised slightly in his usual nonchalant manner. A chill of panic rushed down your spine, palms growing clammy with cold sweat. H-how much did he overhear? In your peripheral, Hana was practically batting her eyelashes at him, but Minho’s mild eyes were focused on yours expectantly.

“I—uh. Well,” you stammered eloquently, your entire body suddenly paralyzed. Hana’s cherry red lips were twisted in a smug smirk, clearly waiting for you to embarrass yourself. “The book,” you blurted, immediately rummaging for the poetry book in your bag and holding it out to him.

Minho took it from you, fingertips grazing yours slightly. They were surprisingly warm. “How’d you find it?”

“R-really good, actually.” Then, you hesitantly added, “I...like the way Neruda uses imagery—he’s precise without being plain, and artful without deviating too much into purple prose. I think I liked Tonight I Can Write the most— y’know, ‘Tonight I can write the saddest lines...’” You swallowed, then instantly began regretting having ever spoken. Great job, y/n, now you sound like a full-blown nerd.

But Minho nodded, his eyes gleaming. “‘I loved her, and sometimes, she loved me, too.’”

“That’s the second verse,” you muttered automatically, and his lips twitched.

“It’s one of my favourite lines.”

The other girls had begun to awkwardly shuffle out of the library, their absence easing your racing heart. With just a few mildly spoken words, you noted, Minho had managed to make you feel as though you had blocked out the rest of the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Hana glaring daggers at you, and the small smile dropped from your face.

“Do you need something?” Minho asked her blankly, his gaze trailing down to Hana’s hand, which was still painfully latched onto your arm. With a roll of her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the library.

As soon as she was gone, you breathed an audible sigh of relief. Minho was peeling the sticky notes off from the poetry book you’d returned, eyes still watching you intently. Giving him the side-eye, you deadpanned, “She’s pretty, you know. Maybe you should go talk to her sometime.”

There was a small smile on Minho’s lips. “Does she like Chilean poetry?”

You could only give a short—slightly too shaky for your liking—laugh in response, ruffling your own hair as you tried to calm your frazzled nerves. Don’t forget, y/n. One, that he’s out of your league. Two, how this was all his fault to begin with.

“Is that all you came here for?” Minho’s voice broke into your thoughts again, making you jump. There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. He finds this—me—amusing.

“Well…” you looked down at your feet, then grudgingly nodded at the poetry book you’d just returned. “Do you...have any other recommendations?”

Minho’s face broke into a shit-eating grin, and you bit back a groan. before your pride got the better of you and you changed your mind, he was already heading towards the back of the library, sliding books out as you struggled to keep with his pace. “First of all, Dickinson. Hit-or-miss, but you never know. Then there’s Sylvia Plath, some Emily Brontë…”

Before you knew it, you’d been whisked into a world of verse and metaphor, flying between numerous time periods and continents as you and Minho perused the shelves. Just like the time when you had accidentally fallen asleep in the library, the library seemed to grow cozier, quieter, more peaceful during moments like these, as if the entire world was holding still as you lost yourself in pages upon pages of books. Soon, you found yourself heading to the library nearly every day after school. Despite yourself, you found yourself looking forward to that sunset hour, the fleeting period where most students had left, and the entire library would glow warm as though it were blushing under the swathes of golden light. And in these same fleeting moments, you found your gaze lingering more and more on Minho—the way he would push his silver glasses on, furrowing his brow in concentration whenever he searched for a book, or run his long fingers over their worn spines whenever he was lost in thought—

“Like what you see?” With a flinch, you realised Minho had begun walking back towards you, a crooked smirk on his lips as he set a new pile of books down at the desk you were sat at.

“No!” You snapped, too quickly. “Just—spaced out for a bit. Too concentrated on the project.”

The smirk hadn’t budged from Minho’s face, and you resisted the urge to throw a copy of Emily Dickinson’s Selected Poems at his long, pointy nose. “Mm. You seem to be coming here a lot more often.”

“That’s because the due date is coming up.”

“No. I mean, you seem to be talking to me a lot more.”

You rolled your eyes, snatching a book from the top of his pile as you muttered, “Screw you, Lee Minho.”

His eyebrows shot up in wicked mischief. “You’re more than welcome to try.”

With a cry of exasperation—and surprise at having been heard—you hoisted your book bag onto the table, building a makeshift wall between the two of you.

You didn’t catch the way Minho’s laughter slowly faded as he rested his head on one hand thoughtfully, quietly watching you read. Your lips were pursed in concentration as you muttered your notes under your breath. Cute, he couldn’t help thinking.

Minho had always been good at memorizing things, but he couldn’t remember exactly when you’d begun disliking him so much. You had always intrigued him—what with the way your locker always seemed to be overflowing with books, or how you used to lend him your copy when he forgot his, back in ninth grade. That Valentine’s Day, four years ago, your name had been the only one he’d hoped to find as he rifled through the cards he’d received. But he’d come up empty, and so he’d thrown them all out. And for some reason, you’d been cold to him ever since.

Minho had assumed that you were probably annoyed with all the letters that would fall out of his locker and onto you, and so every year he tried his best to get rid of the Valentines as soon as possible. Nevertheless, you only seemed to be getting more and more annoyed with him.

And now here you were, right in front of him, four years later, and he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you why. Confrontation had never been his strong suit—his words always seemed to come out too blunt, too cold, too soon, and so he’d always avoided bringing it up with you again. Minho sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Written words—that is, books—had always been so much easier than people.

He did, however, remember when he’d started falling for you.

Tenth grade, literature studies. He’d begun arguing against your thesis during one of your presentations, and the two of you had ended up bickering the entire class—pulling out quotes from nearly every chapter of Pride and Prejudice before the class president had to intervene, and your teacher had sent you both to detention.

You had glared at him once, and he’d fallen head over heels.

These violent delights have violent ends, he’d mused in his head back then—Romeo and Juliet—and with the murderous stare Minho sometimes caught you fixing him with, he was willing to bet that you were wishing a violent end on him, too.

He couldn’t pen a love letter to save his life, either— and so, he resorted to pettily glaring at any admirer that approached your locker like Gandalf—you shall not pass—until they backed off. Minho didn’t think you would appreciate him revealing that, either. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous his actions seemed—and like a poorly written plot twist, you had ended up stumbling back into his life again. Never in his life, however, did Minho think that Pablo Neruda would become his wingman. Glancing down at his portrait on the back cover of the book, Minho could almost imagine the Chilean poet pointing his pen threateningly: “Don’t screw this up.”

“Hey, Minho?” He snapped out of his thoughts to see you waving your hand at him from the other side of your book bag. “You were right. I don’t get any of Dickinson’s poems.”

Your words took a moment to register, Minho caught off-guard by the soft golden hour light illuminating your pretty features. You waved your hand in his face again, and he blinked, breath caught in his throat. Almost tripping over his tongue, he finally quipped, “How on earth are you passing AP English?”

You glowered and smacked his shoulder, the near-silent library ringing with Minho’s laughter once again.

With a week left to the deadline, you were planted at your desk in your room, the wastebasket littered with crumpled up half-sheets of notebook paper. To your dismay, none of the words seemed to be coming out the way you wanted them to. Gnawing the back of your pencil in frustration, you dumped the contents of your book bag onto the desk, and spotted your latest library book—100 Love Sonnets, by Pablo Neruda. Inexplicably, out of all the poets Minho had introduced to you, you always found yourself coming back to him.

Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, your fingers stopped at one titled Sonnet XVII. “I love you without knowing how,” your eyes scanned the verse curiously, “or when, or from where. I love you simply…”

It was the poem Minho had quoted that evening in the library, you realized, heart skipping a beat. “...without problems or pride / I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving / but this, in which there is no I or you / so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand / so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close.”

With a sigh, you buried your head in your arms, lying face-down onto the desk. Maybe the reason why you instinctively disliked reading love poems so much was because of the sheer sincerity of them all. You envied their ability to put feelings into words—with unabashed, unapologetic ardour, and be celebrated for it, to boot. Eyes scanning the verses again, your mind wandered to the way Minho’s eyes had lit up as he’d explained the lines to you, his brow furrowed in focus.

At Levanter High, you had grown used to being pushed around and out of the spotlight. It was either the popular girls and their backhanded compliments, or the boys who spoke to you condescendingly just to a) get you to do their homework, or b) get in your pants. But Minho had always taken you seriously, albeit while driving you half-insane with his infuriating remarks. And as much as you hated to admit it, that same fiery look in his eyes whenever he got worked up—so different from his usual reserved facade in front of the teachers and swooning students—had always made your heart skip a beat. In tenth grade—back when he seemed to pick a fight with you nearly every English class until Bang Chan had to hold the two of you back from killing each other—you’d thought you’d successfully quashed your feelings for the mild-voiced, hazel-eyed librarian. Yet every time he spoke, he left you feeling vulnerable, disarmed, and you were back—though you refused to admit it—to square one.

“‘I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul,’” you whispered, fingers tracing the words on the paper. Feeling a sudden surge—of confidence, or simply exasperation, you weren’t sure—you seized the pen and began scribbling on a new piece of paper. For years, you’d been afraid to face your feelings, terrified of the humiliation if Hana—or anyone at school—found out. But if getting them all out in one cheesy, hot mess of a love letter could give you some closure, you thought tensely, you were more than happy to oblige. You would write it all out under the guise of a love poem, and then it would never have to see the light of day again.

Words began coming to your head like a floodgate had been thrown wide open, and you began scrawling onto the page. “‘I love you as the plant that never blooms, but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,’” you quoted thoughtfully as you drafted your own poem. In a way, it felt cathartic—you could get all your feelings out, pass it off as an assignment, and never think about the forbidden fruit again. For all you knew, it was a win-win situation. The pen kept wobbling, ink spilling out haphazardly and skipping, but you relaxed slightly. Maybe this assignment wasn’t too bad, after all.

Head filled to the brim with poetry, you set the pen down and dozed off.

“You’re not coming to the football game?” Lia flashed puppy eyes at you, and you smacked her hand playfully, swiping a french fry from her plate.

“Lia, since when have I ever gone to one?” The two of you had dropped by the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe for a quick pick-me-up during lunch hour, but one smile from the cute waiter—Yang Jeongin, if you remembered his name correctly—had dazzled Lia into ordering an extra burger combo, complete with a plate of fries. “Sports and crowds—not my thing. And I have an English project due the next day.”

She pouted. “Oh, come on! Knowing you, you’ve probably already finished it by now.”

You grinned, thinking back to your love poem and fighting the urge to cringe. You’d read it the morning after, and it had taken every fibre in your being to hold yourself back from ripping it to shreds. Piercing, catlike eyes, you’d written in one line. Silver spectacles. Long fingers on dusty pages. Shuddering, you’d stuffed it into the Neruda book before banishing them both to your locker and going about your day. Love poems are supposed to be cheesy, y/n, suck it up. It’ll only be this one time. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone other than your teacher would ever read it.

When you dropped by the library after school, you spotted Hana’s familiar figure by one of the cubicles. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder with a laugh muted by the plexiglass windows, you saw that she was talking to a grinning Minho.

“Are you sure you’re not coming to the game on Thursday?” Hana was whining as you pushed open the doors to the library. She patted his arms playfully. “You could be on the football team if you wanted to, you know! Why don’t you try?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“Well, tell you what. They’re having a party at Hyunjin’s place right after—his parents are out of town. If you don’t feel like coming to the game, at least join us at the afterparty to loosen up a little—have a little fun.” She blew him a kiss and stood, throwing her purse over her shoulder and spotting you. You instinctively froze, bracing yourself for whatever slew of insults she had for you today, but all Hana did was beam and wave at you.

As she passed you by the door, she threw you a knowing wink. “Have fun on your little study date!”

Her words made your ears grow hot again, but to your surprise, there was no trace of venom in her voice — only a lighthearted teasing, as if she had been your friend all along. Hana really did look sweet when she smiled genuinely, and you could see why she had so many people easily wrapped around her finger. Maybe people do change. Or she’s just in a good mood. Before you could shrug and turn away, you sensed Minho’s presence behind you and yelped.

He held his hands up in mock surrender, and you could swear he was suppressing a laugh. “Here to work on your project again?”

Hana’s strange exchange with you on her way out had left your mind reeling, and you scrambled to form coherent sentences. “No, I, um—I actually finished it last night. I just…” Thought I’d just drop by to say hi. But your pride turned the words to mush before they had even formed, and you ended up trailing off awkwardly.

“Really?” There was a flash of disappointment in his face, then Minho’s gaze landed on the book-borrowing register on the front desk. “Right—your book is due today. Did you want to return it?”

Your eyes widened, silently cursing at your own forgetfulness. “Um—yes,” you lied, pretending to search in your bag before giving an awkward laugh. “Yep. I think it’s in my locker—let me go get it.”

After jogging to the other side of the school, you flung open the bottom locker, making another mental note to replace your missing lock. Still catching your breath, your hand sifted through the notes and textbooks before coming up empty. Where is it? You could swear you remembered putting it there, unless—

Breath catching in your throat, you shut the locker with a mortified bang. The English classroom. You practically sprinted down the hallways, earning another dirty look from the janitor as you raced past. Bang Chan looked up in alarm when you nearly crashed into the English classroom door. The entire room was empty, save for the class president, who looked like he was helping to file the teacher’s papers.

“Where’s the fire?” He asked jokingly as your eyes frantically raked the room.

“Have you—seen a book, by any chance? 100 Love Sonnets. Pablo Neruda.”

Chan frowned. “We shelve all the books after class, and if it’s one we don’t recognize, we keep it until the students come back in the morning.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing anything.”

Your heart sank, and you saw the corners of Chan’s mouth lift bemusedly.

“What’s the hurry, anyway? I thought you hated love po—”

With a groan of frustration, you left the baffled class president staring after you as you turned on your heel and back into the hallway. Your mind was racing, panic making your ears buzz. The love letter’s in there. Where the hell did I put it? You sprinted to the Sunshine Coffee Shoppe next, but only got an apologetic shrug from Jeongin even after you’d scoured every nook and cranny of the diner. The sun was already beginning to set as you trudged, defeated, back to the school. Spotting the library’s dim windows in the distance, you wrestled with your options — if it weren’t for that cursed love letter, you could’ve probably just told Minho you’d misplaced it. But now the book—along with everything you’d never dared to tell anyone, crammed onto a sheet of notebook paper—could be anywhere, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop looking until you found it. Heart heavy with dread, you did a full 180 and began walking home.

It was no use. You’d practically pulled an all-nighter tearing your room apart searching for the book— and then, the better part of the following day running around town. But no matter where you looked—the record shop, Blockbuster’s, or even the laundromat—you came up empty.

It’s like it’s disappeared entirely, you thought as the lunch ladies piled your tray with a few sad-looking burritos. The cafeteria was buzzing with teenagers jittery with caffeine and sugar, and you had to duck as a boy chucked an apple at another across the room. You passed the cheerleaders’ table, trying to avoid eye contact, but their giggly conversation carried over the chaotic commotion.

“Did you see how cute Hyunjin looked today on the field?”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend? Maybe Hana can talk to him for us—if he doesn’t fall for her first.” The blonde cheerleader that had spoken nudged the older girl insistently.

“Me?” There was a smile in Hana’s voice. You could feel her eyes on you as she mused, “Oh, I don’t know, Hyunjin’s not my type. I much prefer boys with—how should I put it—catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long fingers perfect for turning dusty pages…” She clasped her hands together in mock adoration, and her friends erupted in giggles.

“What the hell was that? Sounds like a cheesy love poem.”

You had frozen stiff as soon as she had uttered the words, stunned eyes finding Hana’s only a couple feet away. She gave you a winning smile—the same one you’d deemed friendly just a couple days ago—and winked.

“Give me my book back.”

You pulled her aside after the last bell had rung, voice shaking. Hana only tilted her head innocently, eyes round as a puppy’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before you could spit a biting retort back at her, the taller cheerleader tapped her chin thoughtfully with one bejewelled nail. “But I might think harder if...I got a little something in return.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?”

“Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party as my date,” Hana beamed, “and tell the office you want to change your locker.”

“You’re crazy,” you blurted, and her face immediately darkened. Dropping her voice, she leaned in closer, until her voice was right beside your ear.

“Oh, I can be even crazier. What would happen if I made copies of this little letter on Monday, hm? Or published it in the school paper for everyone to read? I’m sure Han Jisung would love that—”

Your eyes trailed down to the slip of paper she’d pulled out of her purse, the sight of your own familiar handwriting making panic surge through your veins like ice. Snatching it from her hand, you quickly began tearing it apart before noticing the calm smirk on Hana’s face.

“Photocopy, silly,” she giggled in a sing-song voice as you peered more closely at the shredded pieces, hands shaking. “Oh, all right, don’t cry. If you want the original so badly…” she leaned in again, cruel smile on her lips. “Then you might want to look in the library.”

Eyes widening, you immediately pushed her away and bolted for the stairs. “Don’t forget the deal! Thursday night,” Hana called after you, and you broke into a run.

Most of the classrooms were already empty, their dark windows reflecting your own face back at you as you hurtled past them. Your heart pounded in your chest as the library finally came into view at the end of the hallway, but you nearly came to a screeching halt when you saw that the lights had been turned off. Had Minho gone home early? Chewing your lip anxiously, you peered past the plexiglass. Aisles empty, books all shelved neatly, chairs stacked. The library was quiet as a tomb. Desperately, you tried the knob—and to your surprise, the door creaked open. Maybe he forgot to lock it. You had nothing to lose. Holding your breath, you slipped in.

Even the faint click of the door closing again sounded deafening. You rifled through the front desk first, dropping to a crouch as you inspected the carts and borrowing-bin. To your dismay, they were all empty—they must have all been re-shelved already. Heart sinking, you began tip-toeing through the shelves, fingers trembling as they ran over the laminated Dewey Decimal labels. Please, please, please…

You reached the poetry section at the back of the library, eyes squinting to try and read the spines of the books under shrouds of shadows. Poets— Nash. Naidu. Nemerov…

“Neruda,” you gasped, eyes falling on the book you had practically gone through hell searching for. 100 Love Sonnets. Almost sobbing in sheer relief, you reached out to grab it—just as another hand shot out from beside you. Your yelp of surprise broke the still, dim quiet, and you didn’t have to look up to know who the warm, pale fingers belonged to.

“Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

Spectacles glinting under the twilight, one hand in his pocket, nonchalant as ever, was the boy that had gotten you into this mess. Lee Minho.

As you stared back at him, mouth slightly agape, you felt as though your entire world was balancing precariously over a yawning abyss— as if one wrong move would send everything you’d spent the last two months—no, the last four years—repatching. You swallowed hard. His hand had landed a split-second later than yours, holding both you and the book in place, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his warm fingers on your chilled skin. Forcefully, you yanked the book from the shelves and out of his grasp. “The—book. I-I realised I still needed it for the project. It’s due this Friday, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, unconvinced. “Today’s only Wednesday. Why not come back tomorrow morning?”

Shit. “I, um, promised Lia I’d go with her to the game tomorrow,” you fibbed, flipping through the book quickly, ready to grab any stray piece of paper that flew out. Nothing. “So I—need to finish the assignment today. Could you renew it for me?” Trying to plaster on an unbothered smile, you flipped through the book again. Still nothing. Had Hana lied to you?

In your peripheral, you saw Minho slowly shift his weight, crossing his arms as he mused, “Well, I’m not too sure about that. We’re getting...careful about letting students borrow books for too long. People tend to leave some...strange things in them.”

Your eyes snapped up, fingers freezing on the fluttering pages. “What—then did you—see anything? S-strange, I mean.”

A flicker of amusement passed through Minho’s eyes, and then it was gone. He cleared his throat, humming thoughtfully. “Why? Do you have something in mind?”

The strange intensity of his gaze seemed to corner you into the shadows, and you swore your heart was pounding so hard it seemed to echo through the room. “Nothing,” you stammered, throwing your hands up in exasperation, “I mean, I just—accidentally left—” Kill me now. You shook your head rapidly. “N-nevermind. I’m heading home.”

“Y/N—”

“Oh, one more thing.” You turned, remembering Hana’s sly words to you back in the stairwell. “You’re invited to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, after the game on Thursday.” Then, hoping you sounded more convincing than you felt, “Hana’s really counting on you to be her date.”

Minho chuckled. “You know I go to parties as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no malice in his words, only that same, airy indifference Minho always carried himself with. “Please? Hana—I mean, it would make her really happy if you went.”

“Would you be happy?”

The strange question caught you off guard, making you look up again. Minho was no longer smiling. His hand was still resting lightly over the missing space the book had left on the shelf, and his expression looked strangely lost under the twilit sky.

“Would it make you happy if I went?” He repeated, and you felt your mouth go dry.

Make your librarian boy come to Hwang Hyunjin’s party, and I won’t publish your little love letter for everyone to see on Monday. You nodded firmly, laughing in an attempt to ease the strange atmosphere that had settled over the two of you once again. “Y-yeah. Ecstatic.”

You turned on your heel, breath leaving your lips in a shaky sigh. If the poem wasn’t in the book, where on earth could it be? Option one: It had fallen out somewhere along the way, and hadn’t fallen into anyone’s hands. The best case scenario. Option two: Hana had been playing with you again, and she had had the original all along. Option three…

“By the way, Hana told me not to give this to you.”

You whirled around in surprise, and your eyes landed on a horribly familiar piece of notebook paper dangling from Minho’s fingers. Option three, damn it all. Mortified, you snatched it from his hand, crumpling it into your fist as he laughed lightly.

“It’s a very good poem.”

“Shut up, Lee Minho,” you wailed, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and bury you six feet under for all of eternity. “It’s a cheesy, cliché wreck.”

He hummed in amusement. “What were you writing about?”

Paralyzed, your eyes flickered towards the window before sputtering, “The—sunset. Figurative approach, you know? Emily Dickinson-inspired—”

“Mm. Then what was that quote about—” He tilted his head in thought, fingers snapping. “Catlike eyes, silver spectacles, and long—” He stopped when you plugged your ears instinctively, eyes glowering at him in disbelief. If looks could kill, Minho was sure he’d now have died more times than the characters in a Shakespearean tragedy. “—was that about the sunset, too?”

“Of course,” you snapped, your voice a tad too pitchy for your liking. Damn Lee Minho and his knack for memorizing things. “Haven’t you ever heard of extended metaphors? Rest assured, Lee Minho—I will never, ever, ever—have feelings for you.” You crumpled the sheet of poetry into a ball as you spoke with a note of finality, jamming it into your back pocket for good riddance.

Minho looked unfazed, the light curve of a knowing smile playing on his lips. After a moment, he took a step towards you, making you stumble back in alarm. “‘You can cut all the flowers,” he mused, glancing down at the crumpled love letter, “‘but you cannot stop spring from coming.’”

“Wh-wha—”

“Neruda quote. Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable, and I’ll stop,” he murmured, eyes growing serious for a moment before his lips twitched with mirth, “but something tells me I deserve to hear more about that sunset from your poem.”

Gulping, you felt hot tears brimming in your eyes, and suddenly wished you were anywhere but here. This confrontation had been your worst nightmare, what you had always wanted to avoid. Your pride’ll be the end of you, y/n, you remembered Lia remarking when you’d sworn up and down that your feelings for Lee Minho were a thing of the past. And it was true—your pride had always gotten the better of you. You were a hypocrite, and a terrible one at that—always telling yourself you had gotten over that stupid, ninth-grade heartbreak, before unravelling into a nervous mess whenever Minho so much as threw a glance at you. And now, you could feel everything you’d feebly repressed for the last four years caving in. Crashing down on you like an avalanche of cheap supermarket chocolates.

“It was about you. You, alright?” You hissed, voice coming out more wounded, rather than venomous like you’d intended. “There. Are you happy now?” You were glad the shadows hid the humiliated tears beginning to roll down your cheeks, and wiped at your eyes furiously. Damn it all. So much for not crying.

“Then why didn’t you—”

“Say anything?” You breathed a short laugh. “Because I didn’t want to see you just throw it out again, okay?”

The silence that met your words was deafening, and when you finally mustered the courage to lift your gaze you saw that Minho’s look of disbelief mirrored your own.

“'Again?'”

Damn Lee Minho and his two-faced ass. Had he already forgotten? “In ninth grade. I left you a—stupid love letter in your locker, with all your other Valentines. Then I s-saw you throwing them all out, behind the school.”

“But I read every name on the cards,” Minho insisted, running a hand through his tousled hair. I left you—a stupid love letter in your locker. Your words sent his head spinning, and he felt his flustered cheeks heat up as he mumbled, “I’ve never—seen yours on any of them.”

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion. Minho’s brow furrowed in vague recollection. “But I did see Hana pulling an envelope out from my locker that day. She said that—she’d heard someone had been sending chain mail on Valentine’s Day, so she was helping the principal clean them up from people’s lockers.”

Hana? Your mind flashed to the missing locks, and the cheerleader that always seemed to be hanging around your locker, and suddenly everything dawned on you. “What did the envelope look like?”

“A corner store card. With—”

“Candy hearts. Right.” You muttered, watching Minho nod slowly. Your anger faltered slightly, feeling a slight shame wash over you, but you weren’t willing to give up just yet. “That still doesn’t explain why you dump out all the gifts you get every year.”

He sighed. “Look. Why would I keep love letters from people I don’t like? That’s just...narcissistic. And I don’t...like chocolate, either,” he added as an afterthought, and you couldn’t help exhaling a short laugh at his ridiculously blunt sentence. Another silence fell between the two of you, the angry tension in the air replaced with an almost childish awkwardness.

“I really did like the poem,” Minho spoke tentatively after what felt like an eternity, and you buried your head in your hands.

“Shut up, Lee Minho, oh my g—”

“And I wouldn’t have thrown it out.” The soft edge to his voice made you stop, peeking out of your fingers to look at him questioningly.

“Why not?” You asked, swallowing hard. “You said keeping letters from someone you don’t like would be narcissistic.”

He was barely a foot away, and the sheer proximity of his face from yours made your stomach flop—with irritation or butterflies, you weren’t sure you wanted to find out. Nonetheless, a tiny voice at the back of your head told you that you were heading towards the latter.

“You know, for someone who reads so many books, you sure are dense,” Minho murmured, shaking his head.

“Wh—”

“I throw out all my Valentines every year because I never see your name on them, alright?” His expression was as careless as ever—that cool, calm facade he wore like a suit of armour—but you didn’t miss the slight tremor in his voice, the flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Lee Minho, you realized with a jolt, was nervous. “I...only ever wanted to receive one from you.”

Your eyes widened, hands lowering from your face in shock. The book tumbled from under your arm to the ground. “But—Hana always told me about how much you hated me.”

“Hmm.” He dropped down to pick it up before fixing his piercing eyes on yours. “Funny. She’s been telling me the same about you. How you’re a two-faced, back-stabbing...such-and-such,” he smiled at the indignant look on your face before his face grew serious. “You’ve always let people walk all over you, and you never retaliate. It’s both admirable and frustrating to watch.”

“I’m not good at confrontation,” you mumbled, still shifting your weight from one leg to the other nervously. “Every time I think I’ve finally got the guts to try and say something back, I...I get all terrified that the words’ll jumble up and I-I’ll start to cry like an idiot again—”

“You’re not an idiot,” he interrupted sternly, “You’re probably more clever—and genuine—than everyone in our grade combined. Your thesis was brilliant.”

You snorted incredulously. “Then why did you keep attacking it every class?”

“It was the only time I could get you to talk to me.”

“Weirdo,” you muttered, but you couldn’t find it in you to make the word sound insulting anymore. Minho chuckled, hand grazing yours as he handed the book back to you. You didn’t move your hand away, and neither did he.

“It is weird. I must be out of my mind. Whenever you look at me, it’s like the whole world stops, and suddenly every cheesy line of poetry I’ve ever read just seems to make sense.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were more than certain Minho could hear it. The way he was looking at you was nearly overwhelming, stomach fluttering with a feeling so strange and foreign it terrified you. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought that you would be here, in this delicate, unreal moment, and you felt all your insecurities threatening to swallow you up again. Out of everyone in the school, he likes you? A voice snickered at the back of your mind. Don’t kid yourself.

Shrinking away, you mumbled, “Y-you—don’t have to say stuff like that, you know. I mean, i-if you feel bad because of the letter and everything, you don’t have to pretend you lik—”

There was a flash of an exasperated smile on Minho’s lips. Before you could finish, his hand reached to pull your chin towards him again, and suddenly his mouth was pressed flush to yours. You froze, lips parting in surprise, but the kiss was light—barely even a brush of soft skin, and bringing with it the faint scent of vanilla and old books. Minho pulled away almost as quickly as he’d pulled you in, stammering, “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

That seemed to send what was left of your hesitation crumbling into dust. You grabbed the collar of his dress shirt to pull him back in, and the library fell silent again.

Minho kissed the way he talked—soft but firm, and always leaving you struggling to catch your breath. Each touch had the growing intensity of something long overdue, starting out careful—as though you were treading over the newly shattered, four-year-old misunderstandings of one another—before your hands instinctively tangled in his hair and Minho pulled you in impossibly closer. You could feel his heartbeat pressed against yours, the crumpled poem and Neruda’s sonnets long forgotten on the carpeted ground.

The click of the library door opening sent the two of you flying apart, Minho hitting his head on the shelf with a comical thud. The kiss left you dazed and out of breath, and Minho’s face was flushed as both of you whipped around to see a livid Hana at the front of the library. Mouth opening and closing in silent fury, she shot you a death glare before storming out the door, leaving both you and Minho blinking after her.

Several moments passed, the whiplash of the unexpected interruption having sent both of your heads reeling. Then, the two of you broke into stunned laughter, slowly sliding down to the carpet as you doubled over in giggles.

When you finally stopped laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Minho’s gaze was fixed fondly on your face. You poked his cheek. “You’re blushing, asshole.”

He didn’t respond, eyes falling to your lips again, and you felt your own face flush. “W-what?”

Minho grinned. “And you have drool on your chin again.”

“Hey, Minho! Minho, you won’t believe this!”

That enthusiastic voice belonged to none other than Han Jisung—voice of Levanter High’s morning announcements, and notorious school gossip. He hurtled down the bustling hall towards you and Minho, hunching over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Shit, ‘sung—did you kill somebody?”

The dark-haired boy shook his head rapidly. “Did you see the school newspaper?”

Your mouth went dry, Hana’s lingering threats still ringing clear in your ears. Jisung continued excitedly, “Two people submitted anonymous love poems over the weekend—at the same time! Can you believe it? I’m supposed to cover it on the announcements in a bit!”

Two? You peered at Minho, who hadn’t looked at you, and glimpsed a knowing glint in his eyes. “W-who submitted them?”

“Well, Lee Hana was handing out copies of the first one to everyone first thing this morning. But when I showed her the other one, she refused to tell me who the first belonged to.” He pouted.

Minho looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. “Do you have a copy of the paper, ‘sung?”

The dark-haired boy grinned. “Yeah, ‘course! You guys can have mine. See ya!”

As Jisung disappeared into the crowd of students, you turned back to Minho. He had been in the middle of putting a new lock on your locker, and was now setting the combination on his own. “They’re matching,” he’d pointed out when you’d gone into town together to buy them, and you’d groaned.

“Gro-oss.” The old, PDA-hating you would have probably thrown them away on the spot, but now the sight made you smile like a dork. If you can’t beat em, join ‘em.

You looked down to read the papers Jisung had deposited into your hands. Sure enough, on the left column, you spotted a photocopy of your own love letter. But on the right, there was a completely new one—and you had a sneaking suspicion you knew who the anonymous writer was.

“You know, Minho,” you deadpanned, “I don’t think either of us are cut out to be poets.”

“I stayed up all night writing that love letter, you know!” Minho exclaimed indignantly, and you just shook your head laughing. “But you’re right. I could feel Neruda turning in his grave.”

“You’re going to be the end of me, Lee Minho.”

His face broke into a mischievous grin at that, pinning you playfully to the lockers and stealing another kiss as you yelped in surprise.

“Can it be a happy ending?”

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi! I sent an ask a while ago but I'm not sure it went through. I was wondering if you could rec any business sterek fic, where one of them is the boss and the other is their significant other? Bonus points if other ppl (non-pack) mistake the s/o as someone they can boss around only to get corrected really quick by the boss.. hoping this makes sense 😅

I sure do.

in the heat of the moment by anarcheologist (sensalito)

(1/1 I 1,673 I Explicit)

Stiles is Derek(lovingly dubbed "fire-breathing dragon, spawn of Satan" by his subordinates)'s secretary.

Formerly "Ain't no other Knight capable of handling the hotness"

accidentally? by bibliosexual

(1/1 I 3,683 I Mature)

BOSS: “know why I called you in here?” ME: “because I accidentally sent you a dick pic” BOSS [stops pouring 2 glasses of wine]: “accidentally?”

yup.

Or, in which Derek receives a surprising email one morning.

Answer (at the end of the line) by ChrysX

(1/1 I 6,771 I Mature)

Derek , for the sake of his own sanity, was trying really hard to look at things with a hopeful perspective. Maybe this day would be different from the cloudy haze that were the rest. Maybe today something would happen and he would finally start living. Surprisingly..for once in his life… Derek was right. Something did happen.

or

The one where Derek is trapped in an unhappy marriage with Kate Argent and then Stiles happens.

What a pair we make by tugela54

(4/4 I 16,905 I Explicit)

When Stiles’ boss unexpectedly goes into rut, he offers himself to the lycan, knowing all too well how utterly terrifying it can be.

Will his gamble pay off, or ruin everything…?

Hope in a Stranger by SophieTrancy

(10/10 I 27,857 I Explicit)

None of this should have happened. None of it should have been possible. One night changed it all.

Derek had lived through the unthinkable. He walked away unscathed when his wife and daughter weren't so lucky, only to find hope in a stranger. Stiles had been used and broken by a man who didn't appreciate what he had when he had it. The same man who took the greatest joy in his life away from him, only to find hope in a stranger.

An AU where one night spent together changed both of their lives forever.

Not Like Bond & Moneypenny by WhoNatural

(1/1 I 29,869 I Mature)

(AKA, the Ugly Betty AU where Stiles is totally Betty)

Stiles thinks he’s finally getting a break when a job at the sleek, sophisticated, Alpha Magazine opens up - but soon realises he’s not going to be writing anything and instead is playing tutor-slash-babysitter to their new Editor-in-Chief. Derek’s spoiled, grumpy, in way over his head...and so painfully attractive it makes Stiles want to lick his face. So there’s very little choice in the matter.

“Totally not like that,” he maintains, “It’s not like we’re Bond and Moneypenny.”

Scott gives him an excited grin, chuckling. “Dude, you’re totally his Miss Moneypenny!” he says, eyes wide like the world just finally started to make sense. “You’re the only one who won’t sleep with him even though you’re dying to.”

Husbands for sale by mirkwood131

(7/10 I 31,268 I Teen)

When Stiles Stilinski pressed ‘enter’ and his Tinder account was created, he sort of expected the flow of comments that varied from 'hey beautiful’ to 'I want to come on your face’. What he didn’t expect was going on a sort of date with a guy that looked like Adonis. Or at least, that’s what his profile picture looked like. And when they finally meet, he has the shock of his life: or better, the catfisher is catfished by his worst nightmare (in the form of his boss).

Hidden Expectations by Lislmf123

(32/32 I 52,884 I Explicit)

Derek is the boss and Stiles is his loyal employee. One work night, things change between the two and it flips Stiles world upside down.

Don’t Take Your Work Home With You by step_lightly_little_wren

(12/12 I 56,083 I Explicit)

Stiles was suddenly reminded of those Choose Your Own Adventure books. He wished he could have looked ahead to see if choosing, “I want to climb you like a tree,” would land him in the sexy sex-beast’s sexy sex-lair or the unemployment line in the mystical Land of Fired-For-Sexually-Harassing-His-Boss.