#i am squinting at my calendar

[the-middle-grounds]

You know editing has gone downhill when you start making stupid ass jokes.

#Writing is Hard #i am squinting at my calendar #i wish my need for perfection paid off

[highvern]

Patterns II

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: smut (18+), eventual fluff/angst

Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?

Chapter Warnings: exhibitionism, fingering, hand job, dry humping, oral (face sitting), lots of teasing/minor degradation if you squint, overstimulation, breath play

Length: ~9.9k

Note: part 2 is here, let's goooooo! thanks for being so patient and thank you @millennial-fangirl and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing!

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

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This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Avoiding Wonwoo post D-Day, as Amina calls it, proves to be surprisingly easy. An entire week of back to back meetings leaves you blocking off parts of your calendar just to use the bathroom. And according to the grapevine, there’s been zero proof of life from Wonwoo’s end either which has caused Mingyu to break out in hives. 

But as the weekend draws closer you’re given the greatest gift the universe can bestow.

“Monday is a disconnect day for the client which means all of us are on black out. No emails, no phone calls, nothing.” Mona announces in the team huddle.

Tears of joy bead in your eyes at the news. However, it's short lived.

“We’ll need to hit the ground running when we come back so make sure everything is done Friday. Even if you have to stay late. Understand?” 

Your laptop pings with a message in the corner.

Gerard: how does she make free PTO sound like hell?

Y/N: i think she said it was her special talent when we did ice breakers at the beginning of the project

Gerard: oh yeah right after she said she hates puppies

Y/N: and joy

Mona slaps her own computer shut, sending you ten feet in the air before continuing, “If there isn’t anything else. We can wrap this up. Shoot me a message if there are any questions.” 

“And how will you be spending your new found free time?” You ask.

Gerard holds the door open as you walk past, “The way the universe intends. In bed, sleeping. Maybe I’ll finally unpack my suitcase from the last trip Mona dragged me on.”

“Wasn’t that like, a month ago?” You ask.

“And?”

The rest of the day is a blur, rushing from meeting to meeting with barely enough time to breathe. It’s only the end of the day that grants you the next glimpse at the world outside the dreary office walls. Albeit through the bright screen of your cell phone.

Once back at your desk, you unlock your phone to find several unread messages. Several from Amina document her jealousy that you and Lisa have long weekends. Lisa offers to kick Mingyu off the long planned trip to the adorable bed and breakfast she found for their anniversary. 

Amina 🍑💗: FREE ME FROM THE SHACKLES OF CORPORATE AMERICA

Y/N: Your honor free her!!!

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: Girls trip! Girls trip! Girls trip!

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: mingyu will understand 

Y/N: I am begging you to go have gross emotional sex somewhere other than our apartment

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: we’ve done it plenty of places that arent the apartment :) 

Y/N: whore

But a separate thread unleashes a coldsnap in your veins.

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): forgot to give these back…

Attached is a photo. A familiar swatch of cotton contrasting with the rich navy of his blanket in the background. His long fingers grip the hem, involuntarily jolting memories of them curled around your body.

Upon realizing you’re sitting out in the open staring at a picture of your panties, you hastily lock your phone and shove it into the deep recesses of your purse. Thank the stars no one else was around to glimpse the crude picture or the sudden sweat along your brow. How dare Wonwoo’s first attempt at speaking to you post hook up be a picture of your underwear in the middle of the work day. Who did he think he was?

Overcoming the initial embarrassment that floods your system, you decide to ignore his bid for attention. If you ignored him then he wouldn’t know the power he held. Plain and simple.

—

The next few days fly past without incident. Wonwoo remains silent and allows you to fall back into forgetting his existence.

As Friday hurdles forward, the usual shenanigans of bar hopping is replaced by plans for a movie night. You aren’t the only one suffering from sleep deprivation; Amina’s job ran her into the ground, and same with Lisa’s. 

The idea fills you with dread, spurred by yearning to spend every moment of free time to catch up on sleep. But knowing your friends, the probability of successfully ditching is on the negative side of zero, especially since you’ve barely spoken to one another all week and they’d both be out of town for the weekend.

The atmosphere of the office is sullen. Late Friday afternoons are reserved for pretending to work and gossiping. Unless you work for your team. In which case, you’ve spent the past hour agonizing over different powerpoint transitions and if they convey professionalism yet approachable.

A throat clearing behind you breaks your trace.

“Okay, I need to go home.” 

Looking up from your laptop, an aura of visible graveness radiates from Gerard. His theater minor really came in handy.

“Why?” You ask skeptically. 

Gerard was nice. But he wasn’t that nice.

“Because I’m already going to be stuck here all night.” He sighs. “And there’s no point in both of us suffering. You have the report ready?”

“Yeah, I just need to make a new powerpoint and get it finalized.”

“Then let me handle it. Mona wants me to re-do the other report you need for the deck so I’ll make it when I’m done.”

Hands moving of their own volition, you shove your scattered belongings into your purse. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He groans. “If I need something I’ll call. Now go. Be free.”

He shoos you without another word, diving into his own computer. Before Gerard can change his mind you’re in the elevator and own your way home.

Thirty minutes later, you find Amina and Lisa already in the midst of a full apartment clean up. A 2000s playlist blasts from the speaker on the counter while Amina shoots daggers at the furniture in the living room.

“Do you think we should move the couch?” Amina shouts at your entrance.

Her lips move but you can’t hear anything over the blasting noise. “Huh?” 

“The couch!” She repeats after cutting off the sound.

You nod before realizing you're still in work clothes. Rushing to your room, you quickly change into something more presentable.

When you return, Lisa is in the kitchen putting away dishes. You and Amina descend on the living room, heads bobbing in sync to the music while you work. Under combined efforts, the space shifts from wild disarray to sparkling clean in no time. 

Moving in sync, you both work to tetter the furniture into different arrangements. It takes four attempts before she throws her hands up, accepting defeat and moving to the counter to join Lisa. You fail to silence a half hearted cheer before flopping down onto the soft cushions of the sofa.

“Who said they were coming again?” Amina asks, her head resting on her arms crossed in front of her on top of the cool marble.

“Mingyu, Soonyoung, Eva,” Lisa pauses as she scrolls through her texts to find confirmation. “Wonwoo.” 

Both Amina and Lisa snap their necks to pointedly look at you.

Much to your own disappointment, your cheeks heat. Avoiding the scrutinous gazes of your roommates, you roll off the couch and busy yourself with replacing the pillows and blankets Amina tossed aside earlier.

“Have you talked to him at all?” Amina questions, walking over to reorganize the coffee table, sweeping their trinkets and books away for the drinks and food that would soon be spread atop it.

“Nope.”

“He hasn’t texted you or you haven’t responded?” Amina’s eyebrows furrow, as if Wonwoo’s silence is the most confusing thing between you two.

“He hasn’t texted.” You lie, pulling at a frayed thread at the corner of the pillow.

Lisa joins the effort, folding blankets and organizing them in piles. “Well that’s lame.”

“I’m sorry? Weren't you the one who threatened to kill him?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “So? A girl can’t be dramatic?” 

“There’s dramatic and then there’s you.” Amina chimes.

“Whatever.” Lisa scoffs before looking at you. “Wonwoo’s cool but if he ghosted you then he’s a loser.” 

You shrug before responding, “It was just a one time thing. It’s not like I was reaching out to him either.”

“I thought you said he was good?” Amina asks with round eyes.

“He was but it was just a one time thing. Let’s not make it weird, okay?” You wait until they both nod before continuing. “What time is everyone coming?” 

“Around seven, I think?” Lisa throws the question to Amina.

“Yeah, seven.” Amina answers, eyeing the furniture again. 

Glancing at your phone you spot the time, 4:46PM. Perfect. 

“I’m gonna shower and take a nap,” You call, heading down the hall.

Once in the bathroom, you undress as the water warms to a tolerable temperature. Finding it suitable, you make to enter but the dig of your phone distracts you. The screen illuminates and you spot a familiar name.

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I was planning on coming with mingyu tonight but if you don’t want me to I'll hang back

Wonwoo (lisa bf roommate): I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything

Strange as it may be, you're oddly endeared by his consideration. But his last messages sit on the screen just above and cut the warmth short.

Y/N: and yet there’s a picture of you holding my panties that says the opposite

Y/N: im not spooked so easily

Locking your phone, you jump in the shower. The hot water lulls away the anticipation flooring through your veins. It didn’t have to be weird. Tonight would prove it.

The short nap leaves you disoriented but the laughter of friends draws you out from the covers. Bravely, you change out of pajamas into more presentable pajamas consisting of sweats and a sweatshirt. Once settled, you slide into the hall and meet company. 

Turning the corner and entering the kitchen, you scan the group. Eva and Soonyoung sit across the counter, both of them smiling your way. Amina is fussing about, attempting to organize the drinks spread across the counter into some kind or order. An expensive bottle of liquor Mingyu no doubt supplied sits in the middle like a prize, however he’s nowhere to be seen along with his roommate and girlfriend. You try to assist Amina but the space between the island counter and the stove is barely large enough for one body, let alone two. Amina shoos you away after barely a minute.

A trio of voices echo down the hallway.

“Every project he doesn’t want to do just gets thrown on me.” A deep voice complains. “I don’t even know what his actual job is.” 

The timber sends electricity down your spine. You try not to stare as Wonwoo steps into the light of the kitchen trailing behind Lisa. Apparently Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Lisa were tasked with food duty; however, Lisa's hands are completely empty. A stark contrast to Wonwoo and Mingyu behind her balancing several stacked boxes between them. 

You exchange a brief friendly smile with Wonwoo, before he continues with Mingyu. Shoulders sagging, your relief is only momentary. The weight of your friends watching the interaction is unbearable, despite everyone being wrapped in their own conversations. Lisa and Amina argue over the best order to organize everything while Mingyu sets about actually arranging the boxes. Soonyoung and Eva exchange gossip at the counter, their own laughter slicing through the air above them.

Pouring yourself a drink, you snatch the pitcher next to Eva, no doubt containing one of her deadly concoctions. Filling the glass halfway, you take a sip. Fruit and spicy sweetness tingling on your tongue followed by the warmth of cinnamon. The slight burn is masked with a deceptive tang of citrus. It goes down much too easily for the amount of alcohol Eva includes in her drinks. You estimate it’ll take two servings before you’re asleep against the arm of the sofa. Empting the glass, you pour another helping and cast off from the counter. 

Heading into the living room, you beeline for a spot on the sofa before anyone can object. Despite Amina’s attempts earlier, a few people would have to take to the floor and you refuse to be one of them.

“Alright everyone, come eat.” Amina calls in the small space.

You forgo the pizza for now. There would be plenty after everyone settled. Wrapping in one of the large fleece blankets, you burrow down into the sofa. Bending your knees, your legs cross while you lean back into the seam between the plush cushion and armrest, head perfectly positioned to see the television. 

Your cup empties before anyone comes to join you. Lisa and Mingyu squash into the recliner on the other side of the living room, the shabby chair groaning any time their weight shifts. You hope it's enough of a deterrent for their determined wandering hands. Many movie nights had been ruined because of their less than family friendly activities. Amina settles in front of the coffee table amongst the pile of cushions and thick blankets. Eva and Soonyoung curl up on the loveseat against the wall.

Wonwoo crashes down into the space next to you, sending a tight lipped smile at your responding frown. His legs spread apart as he leans forward to eat. Your shin brushes against his thigh through the blanket but fatigue prevents any sort of reaction beyond registering the presence of his body. 

Someone knocks out the lights and your eyes cement shut. The horror movie Lisa chose begins, lights from the screen dancing across your eyelids. It's a shallow rest at best, allowing you to catch snippets of dialogue from the characters and muffled whispers from your friends. But it’s like being underwater, senses dull as you experience it all from far far away.

You even forget about Wonwoo until he leans back into the cushions. The contact from his thigh breaking when he props his legs on the coffee table. A particularly loud scream comes from the TV but it's Wonwoo’s voice that startles you.

“Mind sharing?” He whispers, asking for permission despite already lifting the corner of the blanket draped over your knee.

You shake your head, nuzzling further into the armrest and away from temptation.

Wonwoo untucks the fold of the blanket from under your legs, stretching it across his lap. The heat of his side radiates into you even more. Even in your lethargic state the hyper awareness refuses to fade. It stokes a part of you wishing to move onto his lap and work you both back into the blissful high of a few nights ago. But you refuse to acknowledge the craving to dive into him, press your face into the front of his sweater and allow the beat of his heart to lull you into a rest.

You're fully aware all you need to do to get the first thing is let him give it to you. You were the one who ran away, shunned his attempts for a repeat, ignored him. Wonwoo provided several opportunities for a repeat of Friday night, now it was up to you to accept his invitation. 

But try as you might not to care, the dread of what your friends will think rears its head. It's a cop out; no one really cares that it's Wonwoo, only happy you’re finally getting laid again. 

You need to act before your nerve fades but in a room packed full of watchful eyes you’re unsure how to proceed. Feigning a yawn, your eyes pry open to lazily scan the room. Soonyoung has Eva between his legs, her back resting against his chest.. From where you are sitting it's evident they both have their eyes glued to the screen, Eva takes movie night too seriously to allow any funny business. Amina slouched down enough you can no longer see the top of her curly hair. Cautiously swiping at Lisa and Mingyu, it takes only a second before you look away. Thankfully Eva insists on blasting the TV volume to a deafening decibel. 

The movement of Wonwoo’s chest, lulled by the shallow rises and falls, clarifies in the fliting light of the screen. More memories of flushed skin shuddering with ragged breaths come to the forefront. Following the curve of his throat to the arch of his jaw, you find Wonwoo already staring back from the corner of his eye.

He arches an eyebrow, challenging and curious. It demolishes whatever resolve you possess to not look away. Instead, you focus back on the movie while untangling your legs and resting them on the coffee table next to his, ankles crossing under the blanket. The sudden motion leaves the entire span of your right leg flush with his left, a comforting warmth spreading between the layers of thick fabric between.. 

In the haste, the top of the blanket falls down to your lap. You tug it back up swiftly, wanting the layer to conceal your next action from the rest of the world. Satisfied with re-arranganged fabric, your hand doesn’t return to its previous home in your lap. Instead, it rests in the small stretch of space between you and Wonwoo, allowing your shoulders to brush lightly and her fingers to ghost along his thigh.

The heat of his sideways gaze continues to heat your cheeks despite your attempt at playing oblivious. Shifting closer, you pause; Wonwoo doesn’t take the opportunity to move away. Instead, he presses back. Some twisted part inside your mind relishes in victory.

Wonwoo’s left arm slouches down from its place on top of the cushion, joining yours in the space under the camouflage of the blanket. The back of your hands timidly brush before he extends his arm. It's sweet for a moment; shy and coy. But Wonwoo doesn’t allow you to sink into the gesture because his hand rests on top of your thigh and squeezes.

Thankfully you’re far enough back that no one can see unless they turn their neck so far it almost snaps off. Even then, the thick fabric of the blanket doesn’t give away what's happening underneath. The only clues are your labored breath and the shit eating grin threatening to split Wonwoo’s lips. The two couples on either side of the room are in far more compromising positions but with Wonwoo’s hand so high on your leg, you might as well be nude.

Calloused fingertips begin tracing across the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. Without thinking, your ankles uncross, letting your legs part slightly to grant him more space. A wince escapes between Wonwoo’s teeth from your nails digging into his own thigh.

Wonwoo’s hands are lazy in their journey upwards. Fingers massaging firmly against the supple skin, pulling at the flesh with a fraction of the intensity he’s capable of. His thumb kneads into cords of muscle, working out the knots he detects along the way. When he grazes the edge of the large bruise, you stiffen.

Most of the hickies he gifted that night healed, some already disappearing completely. The one he’s prodding now stubbornly remained, much to your mortification. With the irritated skin still sore to the touch, you were constantly reminded of its presence each time you moved. In your peripheral, Wonwoo turns his head. A downward twitch of your jaw motions for him to continue.

The scene on the TV is almost pitch black, throwing the room into a similar darkness. Wonwoo makes use of the cover and creeps his hand past the waistband of your sweats. He lets his palm rest against the lower part of your stomach, the pleasant warmth seeping in, soothing the nerves. The respite is short lived when his long middle finger traces along the elastic of your panties, teasing the skin under the band.

Sweat blooms on your brow and your breath grows stunted. It's embarrassing how worked up he has you. Barely twenty minutes into the movie, less than five of Wonwoo’s touch and yet the distinct wetness between your legs swells. But rather than relief, Wonwoo waits. And he waits. And he waits.

What is he waiting for? You think.

Eventually the movie will end, signaling your friends to get up. The second any of them spared a glance at your corner of the room everything will become clear and exactly what takes place under the blanket will become easily decipherable.

But there is nothing you can do to make Wonwoo’s hand dip lower and feel the dampness he spurred. Attempting to distract yourself from suffering, you switch focus on controlling your breath. Counting slowly to four while inhaling, holding for another four, and then exhaling in the same measure. Even your hand on Wonwoo’s thigh follows the rhythm. 

Mouth watering at the tense flex of the muscle under your fingers, you indulge in the visual of his room again. This time, he’s in nothing but his sweatpants, shirt nowhere to be seen. Red nail marks marr his chest and his hair is wild. You’re perched in his lap, completely naked and grinding against the evident bulge, dripping a wet spot on to the gray fabric. Wonwoo would watch while you used his body to get off, his hands tearing into the sheets. Fantasy Wonwoo would beg. He’d beg to kiss you, beg to touch you. Nothing like the devil sitting next to you, forcing you to plead for every once pleasure. 

Next time Wonwoo would beg. But patience was never a virtue you took pride in. 

Your hand wanders higher, finding exactly what you knew you would. Everything in you fights against grinning like the cat who got the canary. Despite the fact that you haven't really touched, Wonwoo is half hard. Even more satisfying is how he strains against his pants with only a few teasing passes.

He releases a heavy sigh when you push against him a little more firmly. Breaking attention from the movie, you sneak a peek at his reaction.

Wonwoo’s features are void of emotion. No matching bead of sweat at his temple and the heat you feel on your cheeks fails to present itself on his. Not even a wrinkle across his forehead. He almost looks…bored. It's a stark contrast to what you can feel under her palm.

But then you look closer and discover a discrete clench of his jaw and the minute flare of his nostrils. A glimpse at his neck highlights the stiff muscles, taunt like he’s fighting to break out of his own skin. You can’t stop looking. Subtle as the signs are, Wonwoo is just as much of a mess as you are. The only difference being he’s better at concealing it. 

Wonwoo continues to play with the band of your underwear, content to pull the elastic and let it snap against your skin, providing no solace. It's maddening but gives you a chance to brace for his next move. He really only has two options, pull his hand away and end the game. Or push his fingers down further and indulge. 

When a deafening scream blasts the TV prompts everyone to jump, he strikes. Wonwoo’s fingers wedge in the tight space between your legs. The sudden intrusion makes your thighs clench, a detrimental mistake since it forces the heel of his palm applying pressure to your clit. He wastes no time before prodding against the soaking fabric curiously. Extending his fingers downward, Wonwoo teases at your entrance through your  underwear. You could cry at the relief but control yourself, lip nearly splitting from biting back a squeak. You’d sell your soul to the devil if it meant you could be alone, sitting on his lap as he talks you through it, whispering for you to be good while he stretched you over his cock again and again. 

But that's impossible. So you’ll settle for this.

Your friends are none the wiser while you build each other up under the blankets. When you stuff your hand under Wonwoo’s waistband, you find out he is certainly not wearing underwear. Immediately you take advantage, letting your thumb graze against the weeping tip. The angle doesn’t allow for a smooth so you play with the head, letting catch on his slit to over and over. Each pass earns you a shudder of his stomach against the back of your forearm.

Wonwoo pushes aside the thin strip of your underwear, two fingers tracing your entrance before dipping inside, curling up to his middle knuckle. It’s hardly enough to get off but the threat of getting caught spawns more and more arousal. At this rate, your sweatpants will be sporting a wet patch if they aren’t already.

She’s so fucking wet. Wonwoo thinks, the revelation sending a shot of want straight to his cock. He curses whatever he did in a past life preventing him from hauling you into your room and burying himself inside your cunt until he passes out. The irony of the position isn’t lost on him. Wonwoo waited all week for a green light and of course you decided to give it to him in the middle of a packed room with a dozen prying eyes and ears. But he isn’t one to shy away from a challenge. If you want him to get you off under the blanket, then he’s more than happy to rise to the challenge.

Wonwoo repositions his hand, allowing his fingers to play with your clit, abandoning the shallow thrust at your entrance. When his fingernail scrapes delicately over the bundle of nerves, a whimper breaks from through your parted lips and almost blows their cover. 

The movie, unlike you or Wonwoo, is at its climax. Loud screams and distorted music occupy the attention of everyone in the room. But still, you both pause, frozen and waiting for a sign someone heard. Wonwoo debates pulling away. He’d seen the film before, and while his mind struggles to remember the plot he knows there's simply not enough time left before the credits roll and the illusion is shattered. 

Brain riddled with hormones and lust, Wonwoo faces an impossible choice. Call timeout and hope you’re generous enough to give him another chance. Or, he can make the most of the opportunity literally at hand and pray he’s fast enough. 

He’d already waited an entire week, what was another day? And if he waited then maybe he’d get to fuck you properly, away from any onlookers. Where you can sing all the noises that drive him crazy.

The way you play with his cock makes confident he’ll get another turn; so, with herculean effort, Wonwoo extracts his hand from your underwear, moves it back on top of her thigh and gives a minute squeeze in apology. He looks down at your face, witnessing the moments of confusion. Your eyebrows knot under his scrutiny.

“Later.” He mouths, hoping you’ll accept his promise to finish what was started.

In an instant, confusion transforms into cold rage. Features smoothing, your chin tips in defiance. Wonwoo already regrets his decision, tempted to go right back to where he left off but you look like you might rip his arm off if he tries. You turn back to the movie and ignore his existence. 

The hand in his pants doesn’t leave, and a chill of fear trickles down his spine. You aren’t prone to violence, but having his most prized possession in the palm of your hand, coupled with the sinister coldness on your face doesn’t inspire any faith that he’ll walk away unscathed.

Wonwoo isn’t sure how much time passes before you act. Seconds drag on, forcing him on the edge of his seat with anticipation. The knee closest to him bends, your foot resting on the end of the cushion, providing a tent of space over his lap. A decisive twist of her wrist catches him off guard. The space between his lap and the blanket hides the rough fists of his cock with their friends only feet away. The motion steals his breath; the way you use the slick to slide across his shaft, squeezing tightly to the point stars float in his vision.

With embarrassing swiftness, he’s close. Teeth pinching at his lip barely prevent the grunts building in his chest; praises for the devil next to him dying on the tip of his tongue. Wonwoo’s hips threaten to cant up, matching the rhythm of your hand with his thrusts. The warning signs of his end sizzle through his veins, the fuzzy snaps of pleasure racing up his spine. 

Wonwoo takes one last glance at your face, finding he’s already being watched. His eyes scan the mischievous smirk on your lips and realizes a second too late that he fell right into a trap. Without warning, your hand stills.

You smile sweetly as your hand slips out of his pants, snaking it into the bottom of his sweatshirt to wipe the mess of cum against his stomach. When your hand leaves his body and returns to your own lap, Wonwoo he’s been punched in the gut. 

He has no time to ponder what the hell just happened because the credits roll and Amina is already up and moving towards the lights. Wonwoo rubs his eyes, thinking about anything that will make his hard-on deflate before he has to stand up. Cold showers, old neighbors morning sex routine, getting hit with a car… he repeats like a mantra.

On his left, you hop up, all but skipping down the hall and into the darkness. Wonwoo wants to chase and finish whatever the hell just happened given that his cock is soft enough he can tuck it up in his waistband. But his phone buzzes before he can. The screen lights up with a new message from the minx herself.

Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)

The next morning, Wonwoo wakes with utter disbelief at his life. Your texts burned into his skull.

Y/N (lisa roommate): maybe next time :)

Wonwoo: Next time?

Y/N (lisa roommate): you can think of this while you wait

The photo haunted him in his sleep. He stared at it for so long he’s sure he could draw the details from memory.

On your knees facing away from the mirror, your ass is on full display. Wonwoo doesn’t know it is better or worse that you’re lent forward with a lewd curve to your spine. Better because he can see everything. Worse because he received it minutes after you fled to your room, which means the wet cling of your panties to your folds was his doing. 

More effective than the picture is the fact you were all but twenty feet away in the privacy of your room, taking nudes while he pretended everything was normal. The entire time he helped tidy up, the walk back to his apartment, and long before he fell asleep, Wonwoo wondered if you were touching yourself. He wanted to ask; ask if you were thinking about him while you did it and if you weren’t, could he give you something to think about?

But every time he opened the thread to message you his finger refused to type. Wonwoo remembered what it was like to have you on your knees. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it. But now he has an idea what you look like from the back and it might end his life.

Instead of spending the night with the subject of his desires, Wonwoo found himself the subject of torture. Lisa came back to their apartment so the couple could leave first thing in the morning to some rural bed and breakfast outside the city to celebrate their anniversary. Apparently, they decided to start their celebration early. Hours of Lisa and Mingyu going at it across the hall stretched on with no end in sight. 

Their usual antics would piss Wonwoo off but he’d deal with it. However, last night it only reminded him how much he is not getting laid and he has no one to blame but himself. Crushing a pillow over his head, Wonwoo attempted to make up for the sleep he is already desperately missing. 

His efforts were hopeless. Barely five minutes passed before he turned fitful, tossing and turning without finding comfort. Every trick he knows failed; counting his breath, meditation, relaxing music, turning off his phone. Nothing works. He gives up after an hour.

When dawn came, Wonwoo’s bad mood set in to plague him the rest of the day. 

Sheltering down in his room, he remains hidden until he is certain Mingyu and Lisa are long gone. When he does finally leave his bed, the choke of storm clouds outside have darkened the skies to the point that if not for the clock on his phone he would think it's closer to midnight than it is to noon.

When he decides to step out to grab food, his mistake doesn’t hit him until he’s already shut the door. 

Wonwoo’s keys are still on the kitchen counter. Next to his wallet. And his will to live. 

Several streets over, your day is going much much better; refreshed from a full night sleep and the thought of what Wonwoo’s face looked like opening the picture.

Lisa and Amina granted clemency last night, cleaning the mess from the evening before abandoning you for the weekend. Lisa off with Mingyu while Amina joined the college friends on their annual retreat (re: party weekend at the coast). Leaving you all to your lonesome for the next two days, nothing but rest and relaxation dancing on the horizon.

The murky darkness of thunder and rain outside the window is staved off by the warm glow from the floor lamp in the corner of the living room and the dancing lights of the TV as a random show whispers quietly. The warm air is clogged with the sweet smell of vanilla and bergamot from one of Amina’s large candles that rests on the coffee table. And bundle on the couch in the same blanket soiled from the night before, you doze off like a house cat. 

A rogue buzzing pulls you back from the shallow slumber, eyes cracking open lazily to search for the device lost in the cushions. By the time you find it, the call has gone to voicemail. The notification on the screen means you must still be dreaming.

MISSED CALL: Wonwoo

A flash of panic tightens your chest. A million thoughts race by, all regarding what could prompt Wonwoo to call you. He doesn’t call you. In the year and a half you’ve known each other there isn’t a single instance of it. The complete uncharacteristic nature of it has you calling him back before giving it a second thought.

“Are you home?” Snaps through the speaker after the first ring.

He sounds pissed. It’s not the usual sarcastic lit that graces his interactions. It’s dry and pointed and already grating your nerves.

“Well, hello to you.” You sneer back.

“Hi.” He deadpans. You can feel the eye roll through the phone. “Are you home?”

“Why?”

It’s 9pm on a Saturday night and both your roommates are out… of course you’re home.

“I’m locked out and I know Mingyu gave Lisa a copy of the key.”

“You’re locked out?” You parrot. It’s not that it’s an impossible situation, it’s just ridiculously unlucky timing.

“Good to know you’re listening.” He bites.

“Actually, come to think of it, I’m out of town.”

“Y/N…” He interrupts, voice clearly exhausted.

Normally, you would goad him until blue in the face. His stunt last night doesn’t warrant patience. But you know he’s had a week from hell too based on what Mingyu and Lisa shared.

“Yeah I’m home. But Lisa took her keys with her so I doubt the spare is here.”

“Great, just fucking great.” He erupts.

You wince, “Sorry.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. The measured cadence of his breath echoes through the line. When he finally speaks again he sounds calmer.

“Not your fault,” he murmurs. “Timing is just shit given the week I’ve had.”

“Your landlord can’t let you in?”

“Not answering his phone.”

“And Mingyu?”

“Also not answering.”

After that, words fail you. But given Wonwoo truly seems to be on the verge of a mental breakdown, you throw him a bone.

Readjusting the phone on your shoulder, your hands pick at the frayed hem of the blanket. “Look, if you want to sleep on the couch here, be my guest.”

Silence.

“If you’d rather call a locksmith go ahead.” You rush. “Just thought I’d offer.” 

“If you wanted a slumber party you could have told me.”

Apparently, even poor luck can’t prevent Wonwoo from being a complete smartass.

“Have fun sleeping outside!” You croon sweetly, looking for the button to end the call.

“Wai—”

Phone locked and tossed to the floor, you burrow back into the nest of pillows and blankets. Any prior  drowsiness transforms into irritation. 

Less than a minute passes before your phone begins ringing once more.

 It's your turn to snap at him. “What?”

The pause on the other end of the line is heavy. 

“I was being an ass.”

“You’re always an ass.” You respond with a deep sigh.

“The locksmith won’t come till morning so…”

Despite your better judgment, you take pity on the poor man. 

“Come over.” You concede, cringing at the implication of the phrase. Wonwoo is coming over because he’s locked out. Not for any other reason. He’s desperate and needs somewhere to crash until his landlord can let him in.

“…Thanks.” 

The call ends.

Wonwoo knocks on the door twenty minutes later. You can’t believe what you see through the peephole. He’s soaked down to his skin, hair matted to his forehead despite the hood of his jacket. The chill of the hallway makes him shake like a leaf in a windstorm. When you finally open the door to face him, he’s somehow worse than he was through the glass.

If it was under any other circumstances the cling of the hoodie against his broad chest would stir something inside you. But Wonwoo has never looked so… pitiful.

“Oh my god,” You manage, choking on laughter.

“Are we just gonna stand here or can I come in?”

Shouldering open the door, you snicker as Wonwoo steps around. At least until he starts abandoning his wet clothes once inside.

“Wait, let me get some towels.” 

Running to the bathroom, you snag whatever towels can be spared. You catch yourself in the mirror before exiting. Messy hair with an indent on your cheek from the crease of the pillow is the least of your problems. There's stain on the front of your sweater from the leftover pizza scarfed down for lunch and you aren’t wearing a bra. 

It doesn’t matter considering Wonwoo looks like a drowned cat but you’re still self conscious. The best you can do is splash cold water on your face and remember he is worse off than you.

Wonwoo waits right where you left him by the door, dripping more water with each second. His bare chest glistens in the dim light. When he looks up from his phone you chuck a towel at his head. 

“You can wait in the bathroom while I find some dry clothes.”

Wonwoo trudges behind as you lead him back the way you came. 

Once again, he immediately unbuttons his pants without regard for your presence. Deft fingers make quick work. You remember where you are when he goes to force them down.

Wonwoo meets your eyes in the mirror, “Staying to watch?”

“I’m just gonna…” You mumble, looking anywhere but at the show he puts on.

The door latch clicks just as the heavy thuds of his soaked clothes land in the sink. Leaning against the opposite wall, your head gently rests against the cool surface. A deep sigh leaves your nose.

You’ve seen Wonwoo naked. Your hand was down his pants less than twenty four hours ago. A picture of your ass lives in his text messages for Christ sake. Seeing him shirtless and wet shouldn’t have you blushing like some virgin.

Ruminating on your momentary lapse of dignity will get you nowhere so you start hunting for the collection of Seungcheol’s clothes from the bottom drawer of your dresser. A few months ago the sight would have sent you to tears. Now, it’s comical. The fleeting memory of Lisa’s bewildered face when you choked down sobs after Amina threw out your ex’s toothbrush rears its head. Crazy how things can change so quickly from hurt to nothing.

You're in and out of the bathroom in a flash, collecting wet clothes in exchange for dry ones. Thankfully, Wonwoo doesn’t jest from behind the current.

While he continues to shower, you’re busy with making the couch habitable. Knowing you can’t deal with another of Wonwoo’s uncouth comments, the blanket you previously used is exchanged for the one draped on the armchair. Rather the blanket Mingyu and Lisa sullied than the one tainted by yourselves.

Wonwoo comes down the hallway just in time, toweling at his damp hair. 

“Well, this is it.” You say, avoiding eye contact. “There's a charge plugged in near the TV you're welcome to use. Um, good night.”

“Gonna make me sleep all by myself?” He plops on the couch, arms crossed behind his head. Wonwoo’s too cocky for someone who looked like he drowned on dry land twenty minutes ago. 

Wonwoo’s triumphant smirk doesn’t last when you plop a heavy knitted quilt over him. He scrambles free but you’re already halfway to your bedroom.

Scoffing, you respond,“What? Are you scared of the dark?”

“If that's the excuse you need to come over here, sure. I’m terrified.”

“Awww,” you coo sarcastically. “You’ll cope.”

In the confines of your room, you manage the first deep breath of the night. You won’t be able to sleep. Not with him so close. Not when temptation is just beyond the door and down the hallway. 

How dare he ask you for a favor and then act like an ass. Of course, he’d use something so unfortunate to get his dick wet. 

More steam pours from your ears as you ruminate. Pacing back and forth you scoff at his audacity until it boils over and you're stomping back into the living room.

“You know I’m doing you a favor by letting you stay here.” You fume, stopping a few feet away from where the biggest pain in your ass rests. “I could have let you go to Eva and Soonyoung’s and deal with their bullshit but I didn’t.”

Wonwoo lifts on one elbow, eying you silently. 

Faltering under his gaze, you continue to ramble. “How dare you ask me for a favor and then act like a pig.”

“You’re right.” 

“What?” You choke.

“I’m sorry.” Wonwoo concedes. 

You falter for a second in disbelief, mouth gaping over silent words. It couldn’t have been that easy. 

“I shouldn’t have believed you giving me a handy meant more than it was.”

Huffing, you stop and turn back to your room. “You’re insufferable!”

“And yet, you still sent me a pic of your ass.” He snorts, collapsing back into his pillow. “Pick a lane, Y/N.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Flinging your hands in the air, you return back to your room to stew until morning.

“So that picture was all talk?” Wonwoo yells in your direction.

He wants a reaction and that's exactly what he gets. Pivoting, you storm back in front of the couch. 

“Oh! I’m all talk? You’re the one who can’t even finish what he started.”

“And what did I start?” He sneers, sitting up. 

You know what he’s doing. Attempting to rile you up until there's no choice but to give in. And it’s working. Wiping that stupid smirk on his face is as simple as swallowing his cock until he’s nothing more than a twitching mess. But if Wonwoo wants you, he’ll need to try harder than goading a response out of you. 

Biting back you prod his chest, “Nothing worth my time, that's for damn sure.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asks, rising to his feet. “Didn’t seem that way last night.” 

Chest to chest, he’s more intimidating but you won’t falter. Instead, you switch gears. Your finger skims dangerously close to the waistband of his pants. 

“I’m a really, really good actress.”

A battle of wills ensues. Wonwoo stares you down, unflinching at your smirk. He’s pissed at the implication. It's clear in his body language; tense shoulders, shuddering breath. 

Your fatal mistake comes when his tongue peeks out to wet his lips. The memory of what they felt like jolts an ache in your bones. 

A tilt of his chin is all the invitation you need to drag his mouth to yours.

Wonwoo has you perched on his lap in an instant, legs splayed over his spread thighs and his hands pulling you forward. It's clumsy but eagerness blinds you both to anything beyond the powerful drag of your core hips against the tent in his pants.

Twisting a hand in the short hair at the base of Wonwoo’s neck, you tug hard enough to move him how you want. A throaty moan is the only response he gives, easily following your demands. But the way his large hands grab at the curve of your ass move you how he wants.

He groans into the curve of your shoulder with the next cant of your hips. “God, you’re so hot. Shit.”

Despite the chill that has creeped its way inside the apartment, you’re burning up; skin flushed and hot to touch. The hand not tangled in Wonwoo’s hair slips under his shirt, nails skating up the taunt muscles of his abdomen. His own hands echo the path, finding their way beneath your sweater.

Wonwoo lifts your sweater and swiftly drops it to the flooring, busying his hands with cradling the soft skin he’s uncovered. He leans away to break the kiss, but you manage to drag him back. 

“W-Wonwoo, fuck,” you curse, clinging tighter when he breaks the contact and drops his mouth to your chest.

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, leaving you dizzy and desperate. Head in the clouds, you fold and bend as he tortures your breasts. The rough pad of his thumb leaves goosebumps in its wake, skating across your nipple until it pebbles. One reflex you twist the fist of his hair harshly when he pinches and are rewarded with a moan and rush of his cock into your covered cunt. 

A hot trail of sloppy kisses sends your heart into a tailspin. Wonwoo must feel it with the way he licks and sucks your nipple; pulling until it pops out of his mouth before he leans back to repeat the motion once more.

Eventually, Wonwoo’s borrowed sweatshirt is abandoned on the floor as well but neither of you find the rush present from your previous romp. You follow when Wonwoo leans back, flat against his chest.

Hazy fatigue swells around the edges. The feeling of skin on skin, lips on lips, and roaming hands brings everything to a calming lull. Without the fog of alcohol or the threat of nosey friends, you explore each other with feather light touches that turn into gentle gropes, and hot wet kisses that transform into drags of teeth and lips. From shared exhaustion, running on nothing less than minutes of sleep and a near lethal dose of caffeine, you sluggish trapeze through the motions. 

Taking advantage of the moment, you discover exactly what Wonwoo likes. When you rake a hand through his hair, nails pulling through the damp locks to scratch against his scalp, then Wonwoo shudders and sucks at your chest with more enthusiasm than before. He likes when you bite him, his hips rutting up harshly with each nip at his throat.

Each breathy sigh you release spurs him on. Melting into a needy mess, you can’t find an ounce of embarrassment; even as Wonwoo massages your cunt through your sweatpants and pathetic whimper after pathetic whimper pours from your throat.

Having his focus on you makes you crave him more. A never ending cycle of want. 

“Please,” you beg. The second the word is out of your mouth, Wonwoo is ushering you towards your room.

You trip through the living room with Wonwoo’s mouth still latched to your chest. Pinned between the back of the couch and his body, he sucks until your shoulders cave and you force him from his hiding place. 

“What?” he smirks into your jaw. “What do you want?” His hand sneaks its way under your pants, squeezing a palm full of your bare ass before slipping down further. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He nips at your chin, fingers dipping into your entrance. “So messy for me.”

Your hands scramble for something to comfort from the onslaught. Wonwoo is already back between your breasts, humming around the flesh every time you shudder from his ministrations. He twists his fingers into your core, the noise loud despite the cover of your pants.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you rasps under the prod of his thumb against your clit. Rather than succumbing to the mind numbing assault, you jolt into action. 

Wonwoo angles his hips just right when he realizes your aim. It’s too easy to force your hand under the fabric and find him hard and waiting just like last night. But unlike last night, you don’t have to hide. And the freedom dooms him from the start. 

Anchoring one hand on his chest, you push until he’s upright. He’s a wreck; eyes half shut behind the lens of his glass and lips a delectable shade of red. You pull your hand out of his pants and lap away the evidence of his arousal, delighting in the way a vein on his neck jumps when you give them a lewd suck.

Turning, you saunter down the hallway, shedding the rest of your clothes as you go.

“Coming?” you call over your shoulder, pinning Wonwoo in place as you bend to slip off your sweatpants, flashing him the barest peak of your cunt, before continuing to your room.

You don’t hear him following until you're at the threshold. A rush of footsteps and then he’s emerging from the darkness, eyes taking in your naked form. Wonwoo looks like he’s been starving and you’re the first meals he’s about to have in years.

Wonwoo pins you to the wooden door, one hand finding your jaw while the other bats your legs wide before roughly swiping at your sensitive clit. 

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he rasps into your ear.

Two fingers tap against your lips. Without hesitation you present your tongue, lapping the digits like you would his cock. Wonwoo watches with so much heat in his gaze you can’t stop a moan from slipping free when he puts pressure on your tongue and causes you to drool. He makes to pull away but stops when you grab his wrist and force him in place.

You suck his fingers deeper, eyes never leaving his the entire time. The pressure against the inside of your cheek leaves you reeling. Pure desire inks your brain and makes you desperate. 

Both unsatisfied, you let Wonwoo go. He’s quicker than you imagined. A force full grab of your jaw tugs you away from the door and into his mouth. The slide of his tongue against your own verges on pornographic but you're too busy focusing on the same fingers you’d just been sucking on splitting your folds before stretching your walls. 

Slowly falling to his knees, Wonwoo shoulders under your leg until your pussy is splayed for him to enjoy. The trail of hot kisses across your hip do nothing to comfort you. Not with the swift pace of his hand.

“Are you gonna do something or just stare all night?” 

The strip he licks up your core, tongue flat and heavy, makes you double over. Wonwoo remembers exactly what buttons to push to shut you up, overwhelming you with his mouth and hand buried in your cunt along with the hand continuing to tweak your nipples. 

“Fuck,” you mewl. “You can do—shit—better than that.”

The raze of his teeth on your clit is punishment enough for the outburst. But Wonwoo loves to prove a point. His pace becomes slower than ever, still hard but the tempo of his hand is reserved. It makes you hot all over. Choking on air, your brain melts and bones jelly under the lashing of Wonwoo’s tongue. 

Just as he finds the perfect angle, he falls back.

You snap. “What the fuck?”

He doesn’t answer. Wonwoo pulls away his hand and rises to his feet. Once nose to nose, he smiles. The sudden change is disorienting. Even more so when he leaves a gentle peck against your cheek and heads for the bed.

Perching on the bed, he leans pack on to his palms and presents his lap like a throne. “Come here,” he commands.

Scrabbling into his lap, Wonwoo catches you off guard. His hands strike across your waist as he leans back, shuffling you up his chest until your knelt over his face.

Your hands steady on your thighs, brushing his. In an uncharacteristic act of sweetness, he tangles his fingers with your own. 

The gesture leaves you reeling. “Wonwoo?”

His hands curl around your thighs and force you down onto his waiting tongue. There's no build up, only hunger. Wonwoo points his tongue and uses it to trace hard circles around your clit before suck so harshly you buckle in half. 

If Wonwoo minds he makes no show of it. Instead, he pins your tangled hands in place and licks deeper, tracing anywhere he can reach. Every muscle in your body jerks from the sloppy way he eats you out.

Sweat blooms on your skin. Each breath stilted and you’re drooling when cracks open an eye to take him in. The flex of his biceps when you lurches against a vulgar suck of his mouth. Even the mop of his hair buried between your thighs makes you whimper. 

One hand leaves your, reaching around and pinching your ass punitively.

“Work for it,” he hums into your pussy.

Not needing to be told twice, you rock where your bodies meet. Your free hand tangles in his hair and uses the leverage to grind against his tongue. Wonwoo’s hand continues to follow the curve of your ass until he’s able to tease your entrance. 

Foul noises radiate from where he works you, from his hand and your mouth. Spit and arousal smear on his cheeks and you can feel it against your thighs bracketing his head.

You want to see his face. The heat in his eyes when he’s focused on something, focused on you, making you cum. You pull Wonwoo’s hair again.

“Focus,” His muffled voice is thick and broken, like he’s getting off just as much as you are.

Whining from the vibration against your clit, tears threaten to fall from how tight you pinches your eyes shut from the onslaught. 

“Wonwoo, I’m—” you sob. “Please, fuck. Please, I’m gonna cum.”

The world holds its breath. And then it shatters into a million pieces.

You’re whole and not. No more than a supernova. Whine after whine claws its way out of your lungs until you choke on them.

Wonwoo pays no mind, continuing to work you until you try and fall away. But he expects it, moving with you and staying between your thighs like you haven’t cum at all.

“Too much,” you gasp when he spits on your ruined cunt.

Flashing the pink of his tongue, he sneers your own words back with acidic sweetness. “You can do better than that.”

Tossing your legs over his shoulders, he digs in again. 

It hurts. Wonwoo isn’t easing you into a second orgasm. If anything, he’s bullying it out of you. 

And you take it.

“I can’t,” you plead, dipping your chin to meet his eyes and beg your case. “Too much, Woo. I—”

Wonwoo leans back and slows the three fingers buried inside you. The hand pressed to your stomach rises to cup your face, his thumb tracing the bow of your lips. 

“You can.” He coos. His thumb slips into your mouth a second before he spits on your clit and uses his soiled hand to slap.

The scream ripping its way out is silenced by the digit in your mouth. Wonwoo dives back in, taking zero mercy. Your hips buck into his mouth involuntarily and the bastard laughs.

“See? You want it so bad, don’t you baby?” 

His thumb pops from your mouth but not before you manage a quick nip. The look on Wonwoo’s face tells you it was the wrong answer to his question.

Your breath falters when the faintest amount of pressure ghosts along your throat, waiting for your okay before committing. 

Spreading your legs wider and tucking your hands behind your knees, you nod, “I want it.” 

Pupils blown wide, Wonwoo goes rigid before exploding into a frenzy. 

He sucks your folds into his mouth, hastily laving you in his spit before forcing another finger inside your tight hole. 

“C’mon, you can do it for me. Give me one more.” He demands while coming up for a breath. “Such a fucking mess for me.”

Your hips snap harshly, nails digging into his wrist resting on your chest. “Oh my god, oh my god!”

Feet planting onto the mattress, you rock against his face with more force than before. A cacophony of vulgar squelches and desperate whines fill the room. He squeezes until stars dot your vision from the lack of blood flow only to release with a rush of lightheaded bliss. Using your hands to tug at your sore nipples, you finally give Wonwoo what he wants.

“W-Wonwoo, so good.” You pant. 

He cleans up the mess the same way he made it but with a gentler touch. It doesn’t stop the quivers of overstimulation from wrecking your nerves but he whispers an apology for each one and rubs it into the crease of your thigh when you wince.

With a final peck to your clit, he releases you.

Wonwoo’s chest heaves, eyes drooping in lust or fatigue, you don’t know. Maybe both. When he rises from his spot between your legs, you scramble for his face. Mouths meet in a slow kiss, nothing more than a languid press against one another and a few deep breaths. You taste yourself but ignore it. You’re too tired, too sated, to care. 

You try and palm his cock, eager to return the favor but Wonwoo shifts away. He crowds you up to the pillows, pulls you into his chest, and sends you off to sleep with his lips against your forehead.

You simply lay there, curled around one another until sleep claims you.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi

Series Taglist: @aaniag @sdoulc @wonvsmile @jeonwonwooscutie @wonrangwoo @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @yogurttea @4cheezflatbred @fragmentof-indifference @p-dwiddle @icedearlgreytea @cottoncheol @hoshiskimchi @listxn @kwonshiho @kyeomofhearts @beananacake

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

#ksmutsociety #kvanity #svthub #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt fanfic #svt smut #🫡 highvern

[sgojoenthusiast]

clingy.

gojo satoru x reader

summary:

gojo can't stand when he's away from you and you're not here to help him out.

cw: not proof read!!!, gojo is VERY clingy & slightly obsessed w reader (who wouldn't be???), nsfw, fluff if you squint, smut, use of 'baby', fem reader, dry humping, nudes, degradation & humiliation, penetration, not much prep tbh, crying, teasing, choking, dom reader/ sub gojo.

word count: 1.8k

likes, comments and reposts are deeply appreciated! <3 enjoy.

-`♡´-

Gojo can't handle being away from you. Not just because he misses your smile, your voice, making you laugh, watching movies with you or even just sitting in silence with you. Because yes, he does miss that stuff, but also because ever since being with you, no fist or toy could possibly get him off like you do.

Sure, if he tried, he definitely could get himself off. But, he refuses. Only you can make him feel good, and he is set on that fact.

The feeling of knowing that it's your hand. He's under your control. It stimulates him in a way no one else could because, simply enough, they weren't you. They didn't have your delicate hands yet harsh grip. They didn't have a voice like honey or skin like heaven.

So, when one of you are away for a mission, he’d call you every night, begging for you to help him. He's explained to you so many times how much he struggles to be away from you during times like this, yet you never quite understand him.

However, on this date specifically, you had made plans with your friends to go to a restaurant and catch up. You had only planned to stay out for a few hours and stupidly thought Gojo would be fine by himself.

1 new notification. 2 new notifications. 5 new notifications. 11 new notificati-

"Hey do you wanna get that? It seems important." one of your friends said, as you scrambled to silence your phone.

"It's fine, it's just Satoru. He's probably wondering what he's supposed to eat tonight or something. He can wait a few hours."

Attachment: 3 images.

You didn't think much of it, often he would send you photos of his face along with a message similar to "look at what you're missing babe???"

What you didn't expect, was a picture of a very prominent bulge in his sweatpants, his hand palming it. The two after that, showed his hardened cock in his hand, precum dripping down it as his thumb ran over his swollen tip.

You immediately turned your phone off and looked to the side of you to check your friend hadn't seen the image. Luckily, she was immersed in a conversation with your friends sitting opposite you.

You took a shaky deep breath, and reopened your phone to check what the other eleven messages were.

"babyyyy:(( wya?? i'm so lonely" "fuckfuckfuck just saw the vid you took of us last night baby. come home." and then several other messages along the lines of him begging you to answer him, and all the stuff he wanted to do to you. Of course, by the looks of things and how pissed you were at him spamming you messages like this, you'd be doing most of the controlling tonight.

Incoming call from Toru<3

Your friends looked at you with concern. Your shaky breaths were doing nothing to help portray a collected composure. “Sorry- I'm just gonna take this real quick." Each of them gave you an understanding look as you walked out to the back, where no one could see or hear you before you answered his call.

"Gojo, I am so unbelievably pissed off at you right now, don't even try to pretend you have no clue where I am 'cause you know damn well it's right there in the fucking calendar."

Heavy panting and strained whines was the only response you got for a solid five seconds before he replied with desperate moans and pleas.

“I can’t- I just can't on my own! It's not enough, I need you pleaseee-“

"'Toru, I'm out with my friends! I'll be home in like three hours, can't you just wait--"

"Three hours?!" he gasped dramatically. To anyone else, they would have thought he was bleeding out from his whines, cries and the way he was pleading you to leave like his life depended on it.

"Yes, Satoru, three hours." you looked around, seeing if there was anyone listening in nearby before continuing. "Satoru, you can either wait three hours like a good boy, and I'll let you come when I come home. Or, you can continue calling me whilst I'm out with my friends and I won't let you come for a week. Fuck that, i wont even fucking touch you for a week. Now, which is it, Gojo?"

With the combination of you using his last name and your terrifying threat, his eyes widened as he mumbled out a quick apology and immediately hung up. He craved you from a distance yet waited excitedly in anticipation for the night’s upcoming events.

Whilst you knew your threat was harsh, you also knew it was a completely empty one. Because, despite your annoyed tone, hearing Gojo whine on the other side of the phone had you pressing your legs together and biting your lip. Not even you could spend an entire week without touching him once.

However, it did the trick. For the entirety of the time you spend out with your friends, you didn't receive a single notification with his name on it (you just know he's saved at least twenty videos so he can show them to you whilst you're cuddling later). It was as if he's erased himself completely or destroyed his phone just to secure being able to feel you against him later.

Exactly three hours after your call, he waited patiently on the sofa, his leg bouncing up and down eagerly. He glanced at the clock maybe seven or eight times before he heard your keys in the door.

As you walked in, you barely had time to take off your coat and hang it up before Satoru's lips were on yours with a fervent intensity. His hands clung to your body desperately, attempting pathetically to get your clothes off before you pushed him onto the sofa.

"Patience, Satoru. You were being so naughty earlier." he looked up at you with wide eyes.

"But I didn't message or call you once!" he pleaded.

Gently, you cupped his face in your palm, running your thumb along his cheek. "I know, baby." you mocked.

Suddenly, Gojo grabbed you by the waist, pulling you on top of him. "You told me- hahh- I could- c-cum" he muttered, grinding his clothed dick against you helplessly. Your hand reached behind his head as you grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging hardly.

"Fuck- why would I let you cum after pulling shit like this, huh? Shit-" you moaned at the feeling of him rutting against you.

"Cause I'm, fuuckk, not letting you go-" he mumbled into your shoulder as he continued to thrust himself against you.

"Wouldn't you rather come inside me, baby? Hmm? You look fucking pathetic right now," you laughed, tauntingly. "Seriously, aren't you embarrassed, Gojo? Humping me like a fucking dog. You've got no control over this pathetic dick, do you? You're just some slut desperate for attention."

He stopped moving at your degrading words as he buried himself in your shoulder. You smiled at your victory, as you commanded him to lay back on the sofa and take his clothes off. You did the same, as you straddled his lap whilst he looked up at you in awe.

"Pleasepleaseplease- I've needed this all fucking day." he begged, tears welling up in his eyes as he bucked his hips up into your own.

You grabbed his dick carefully, stroking it slowly and rubbing the tip with your thumb. He moaned at the feeling of your hands, begging you without shame just to put it in and fuck him like he deserves.

However, your malicious teasing never relented, as you continued to give him very light touches, and very occasionally a small lick from between his legs.

He lay in front of you, heaving breathlessly as his mindless babbles grew into ridiculous moans and incoherent begs. His hair was splayed over his forehead and stuck to him because of the sweat, but never had you seen a more beautiful display as his chest rose up and down. His lips were closed in a slight pout, and his eyes were half shut from the constant edging, his arm covering them slightly.

However, his eyes immediately flew open and his hand grabbed desperately onto the sofa when you shifted your position to directly above his dick.

You sink down slowly, the pain fading loosely into pleasure over time. You moved your hips up and down slowly, as he gripped tightly onto your waist, urging you to go faster when you could.

Soon, you were bouncing on him relentlessly as his moans and whines intertwined with your own like your fingers which slid up his body to weave into his.

You leaned down, taking his lips into a passionate kiss, silencing the sounds of his thoughtless moans.

His mind was blank with pleasure, the only image was your pussy sliding up and down his dick. He untangled your hands as he ran them up your body and towards your breasts, grabbing and flicking your nipples - trying to make you feel even a fraction of the heaven he was experiencing.

One of his hands trailed down towards your pussy as he began to rub your clit. You gasped at the feeling, one of your hands flying straight to his throat as you squeezed tightly.

Before realising what you had done, you felt Satoru cum immediately inside of you, both his hands moving to grab onto your thighs as he reached his high.

As he lay beneath you, panting, you tilted your head at him curiously with a slight smirk on your lips which screamed "oh?". His face flushed with embarrassment. One, at the fact he had just came without you, and two at the fact that all it took was for you to choke him just a little bit for him to come immediately.

Before you had realised he liked your hands around his neck, you had retracted them, placing them on his chest. You grinned deviously as your hands began to slide up his body, a finger stopping to tilt his chin up so he was making direct eye contact with you, before continuing to wrap your hand around his neck. He groaned lowly at the connection, yet the sharp feeling of being overstimulated took over as you lifted your lips up before slamming them down ruthlessly.

He threw his head back and whined loudly, bucking his hips up into yours. "Cant take it anymore-- fuuuckkk!"

"Hmm? But you were the one who asked me if you could come? I'm giving you what you want, aren't I? Stupid, spoiled brat." you continued to move your hips up and down his cock, knowing if he really wanted you to stop, he'd say the safe word. "Plus, I haven't come yet. You're not gonna be a selfish brat too, are you? Don't you wanna make me come?"

He nodded his head incessantly. "Wanna make you come too..." he panted out breathlessly, bucking his hips up into you and moving his hand back down to your clit.

You continued like that for what felt like hours. He wasn't sure how many times he came, yet one thing was certain, and that was no matter how many hours you spent fucking him so roughly, he still hadn't had enough of your touch as you lay in bed during the dark hours of the night with his head by your chest as he showed you all the funny videos he couldn't send you earlier.

#fanfic #smut #jjk smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fluff and smut #gojo fluff

[evanchantingpeters]

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 3)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff, Romance

Summary ─ Just as Y/N thought she had it all figured out in LA, her world spins out of control when Evan Peters storms in like a tornado. Their electrifying hook-up leaves her reeling, but waking up alone, she fears the worst. Then, a note appears—his number and an invitation to a date teasing her with a chance. What starts as a romantic evening quickly spirals into a frenzy of hide-and-seek and sex.

Warnings ─ Swearing, semi-public, oral (both receiving), doggy, shower sex, overstimulation, fingering, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, extra smutty—you savvy pros, you know the game inside out ;)

Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Word count ─ 5K

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

You stir awake, blinking sleep away and squinting against the sunlight that streams through your curtains. A lazy smile curves your lips as you stretch, reaching out for...empty sheets. Mmhh, you just love the taste of nothing.

Evan’s not here... Emotional damage, even if what you had was an agreed one-off fling.

A soft groan escapes you as you fumble for your phone, the bright screen momentarily blinding you. 9:30. As you bury your nose into his pillowcase, you inhale deeply, catching a generous whiff of his essence’s sweet residue. You sigh deeply as your eyes land on the bedside table. His missing keys solidify the reality that he’s bounced, and you can’t help but frown.

“I feel like his side hoe when I should be the main character,” you think aloud, grumbling, and it’s giving trauma dumping and anxious attachment. What a refreshing concoction of disaster.

But what really puzzles you is the extra blanket draped over your duvet like a surprise guest. You wrack your brain, trying to recall if you snuggled up in it during the night, but it’s as hazy as trying to piece together a fuzzy Freudian dream.

With a resigned sigh, you roll out of bed, already craving his warmth. Mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you distract yourself with social media updates, news snippets, and the day’s weather forecast while you shuffle to the kitchen for your morning caffeine fix. A pang of disappointment hangs around like a lost sock in the dryer, but you refuse to let it dim your day and activate your female rage.

Or so you tell yourself.

Podcast blaring in the background, you tiptoe your way to the bathroom, facing your reflection in the mirror. You impulsively retrace the invisible path of Evan’s touch on you—from lips to chin, jawline, and neck down your cleavage and stomach. Each sensation has left its mark, and you can’t get enough of the sweet echoes. You sniff through your hair and arms in a desperate attempt to capture his scent on you—a tantalising hint of cinnamon and the musk of his natural oils that never fails to make your knees go weak.

You hop into the shower, letting the scalding water wash away your frustrations. Emerging revitalised and ready to conquer the day, you hastily throw on your work clothes and toss your keys and lanyard into your bag.

And that’s when you spot it by the entrance door—the note board. That bold black marker circling today’s 9 pm to 6 am time slot on your shift calendar, an arrow pointing directly to a message, practically winking at you, “Dinner and quality time with Evan. Text this number for more details.” Your heart somersaults with joy as you read the note over and over again, a goofy grin spreading across your face like wildfire.

You press a quick kiss to the note, folding it carefully and tucking it away as if it holds all the secrets of the universe. With a sense of anticipation bubbling in your chest, you dash out the door, already fashionably late.

On the subway, you retrieve the scrap of paper, tracing your fingers over his elegant handwriting with a soft smile. With a sarcastic tonality, you already craft your message, “I thought ghosts just floated around, they don’t ask you out.”

Within seconds, his response lights up your screen. “Morning to you too. Slept well? I’m the upgraded phantom version. Meet your Casper tonight at 9?”

You can’t help but giggle at his wit. Another text pops up, complete with coordinates to the restaurant he’s inviting you. The excitement builds inside you like a shaken soda bottle, and you’re practically fizzing with anticipation to see what the night has in store.

Time seems to trudge along at a sloth’s pace as you grind through your shift at the boutique. You flash your best retail smile as you serve customers on the cash register. Though, your mind is a million miles away, replaying the reel of moments with Evan; those moments when you convinced yourself that your insides were gonna spill out while he was going to town on you.

Half-heartedly, you tidy up the shop floor, picking up stray items and straightening displays. But let’s be real, your fingers move mechanically, and your brain is on autopilot as your thoughts wander back to the anticipation of tonight’s date. The enthusiasm is buzzing through you like a sugar rush, making it damn near impossible to focus on folding clothes or rearranging racks.

Each interaction with a customer is a blur as you absentmindedly tackle the fitting room. They might as well be talking to a mannequin for all you care. Your mind is firmly planted in Evan-land, where every moment is hot and heavy, and you’re too busy mentally undressing him for the umpteenth time.

“Girl, let me in your bubble, would you?” The voice of Trisha, your department’s jokester, slices through your daydreaming like a ninja with a chainsaw.

You blink, momentarily disoriented, before bursting into laughter at her impeccable timing. “Trish!” you exclaim, relishing in her knack to crack you up with her quirky humour. “Sorry, this bubble is strictly reserved for someone today.”

Her giggle rings out like music in the store as she playfully rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine! You do you, boo. Just make sure to save some of that magic for the rest of us in Stylista Gine, deal?”

With a saucy wink, she sashays off to attend to her own tasks, leaving you to shake off your giggles. The minutes tick by, and eventually, your shift mercifully comes to an end. With a sigh of relief and a bounce in your step, you clock out, knowing that soon you’ll be back in Evan’s arms (and on his dick).

You hastily trod along Sunset Boulevard, your sleek dark coat swinging with each step, and your little black dress add an extra sway to your stride. You’re practically power-walking in heels, like you’re in a race against time and your destination is the finish line.

Arriving at the hotel he’s staying at, you adjust the strap of your black stilettos around your ankle, ensuring no wardrobe malfunctions with your stocking will disrupt your night. With your heart thudding, you breeze through the sliding doors and past the reception. 

The tantalising scent of watermelon cocktail teases your senses as you strut in the bar restaurant, scoping out the room with mounting anticipation.

“Hi there, reservation for Peters?” you inquire, shooting a charming smile at the host, your racing emotions briefly receding.

Reciprocating with a polite grin, he quickly checks his tablet before nodding in confirmation. “Got it! Table 8. Right this way, miss,” he affirms, extending his arm in a welcoming gesture. 

Following the host, you can’t help but feel a surge of excitement as you round the corner and spot Evan’s back at the table. He looks effortlessly handsome in his blazer, like he’s just stepped out of a magazine spread, making your stomach churn with blissful nerves.

“Looks like my date’s here, thanks,” you note quietly with a soft smile.

“Awesome! Enjoy,” the host replies cheerfully, heading back to his post.

As you approach Evan, you lean in and give his shoulder a cheeky squeeze—a silent yet affectionate greeting that speaks volume. His gaze lights up with recognition, and he practically jumps from his chair, his grin widening as he’s eyeing you from top to bottom.

“Hey!” he exclaims, his voice laced with enthusiasm. “My eyes needed a bit of a warning for this stunner. Your fit’s so sleek, it looks tailor-made,” he adds shortly after, beaming, as you flow in a warm hug, his arms clinging around you like he never wants to let go.

With a crooked smirk, you blurt out with a touch of sarcasm, “Thanks. I picked it up with you in mind.”

His eyes widen in surprise, his grin expanding by the second. “Seriously?” he squeaks, visually delighted by the notion. 

You giggle, shaking your head. “Nah, but imagine if I did,” you fire back, your hearty laughter dancing in the air like confetti.

Before you know it, an electric tension fills the space between you as you stand mere inches apart, locked in a silent yet smouldering gaze.

“Are we on a ‘try not to kiss’ challenge?” he spills out, his voice an alluring murmur as his minty breath pleasantly prickles your skin.

A sly smile tugs at your lips. “Let’s see who caves and closes the gap first,” you hum as you flicker between his lips and his eyes. He feels the tension coil in his gut but forces it down with a hard gulp. 

Leaning in closer, his breath mingles with yours as he whispers, “You gotta give your best shot not to kiss me, then,” his tone carrying a seductive undertone that sends a delicious thrill rushing through you.

“You wish. No chance I’m smudging my tinted lip balm,” you retort and playfully pinch his nose, punctuating your mocking banter with a wink.

With a graceful flip of your hair and a coy smile, you ease into your chair, feeling the heat of his gaze on you, all self-assured about the sensual spell you’ve cast over him. 

He’s practically eye-fucking you right now, and you’re loving it.

“If that’s your idea of payback for sneaking out this morning, Y/N, I’ve been running errands and exploring new job prospects for next year,” he explains earnestly, handing you a straw for your cocktail and cutlery for your appetisers.

“And I may or may not have picked up a little something for you,” he announces next, pulling out a wrapped box from his blazer pocket, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

Your playful vibe evaporates, replaced by a whirlwind of shock and emotion. “Shut the…front door, no way,” you utter sheepishly as you cautiously reach for the unexpected gift.

With a throaty chuckle at your reaction, he jerks his eyebrows upwards, silently encouraging you to dive into the gift.

You eagerly rip open the packaging, gasping in disbelief. “Roland Barthes, Mythologies…Oh my days,” you cry out, unable to believe your luck. Your eyes flit to the curious glances from other patrons in the corner, and you swiftly tone your enthusiasm down a notch.

He nods in understanding, smiling fondly at you. “Yep, saw his Lover’s Discourse on your bedside table, and the bookmark was dangling on the final pages,” he justifies, a knowing twinkle in his gaze.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you slide the book in your bag and rise from your seat. “Ugh, Evan! Thanks a ton, you’re the best,” you gush, your voice thick with gratitude as you move closer to him.

He stands up too, his eyes fixed on yours, soft with affection. Stepping closer, his dark eyes dart from your lips to your eyes, as if he’s wordlessly asking for permission. Instead, he reaches out to pull you into a hug, but you gently lift his chin and crane your neck, sealing his plush, pink lips in a brief yet tender peck.

As you break the kiss, Evan blinks in surprise, seemingly caught off guard by the sudden shift in energy. His eyes search yours, silently questioning the unspoken feelings that hover between you, his own heart pounding with anticipation.

“Why did that take so long today?” he sighs against your ear, softly touching his lips. His voice, like honey dripping from velvet, resounds in your ears like a melody as he delicately brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes—the colour of rich black chocolate—are glued on yours, and the gravitational pull of his euphoric visual abyss draws you in.

Your heart flutters at the intensity of his gaze, feeling the heat expand through you. “It took long for momentum,” you retort, your tone light with playful teasing as you flash him a coy smile and sit back down.

The buffalo cauliflower bites aren’t the only thing heating up at your table; your conversation’s spicier than a jalapeño popper and with more layers than a double-decker with extra cheese. One minute you’re debating the perfect burrito toppings, embarrassing childhood nicknames, weird dreams, European cinema and 80s bands, and the next, you’re digging into careers, beliefs, goals, and life’s deepest truths.

It’s like a game of emotional Jenga—one block, or in this case, one topic leads to another, and before you could utter ‘Evan, eat me,’ you’ve both laid your souls bare without even realising it.

Fully immersed in the flirtatious banter, Evan beckons invitingly to the seat beside him with a subtle tilt of his head. “Why don’t you slide here, so I can properly admire your outfit?” he mumbles in a husky timbre, his eyes ablaze with desire.

But just as the tension between you ignites like a volcano lava, the waiter interrupts with his timely arrival. “What can I get for you both?” he interjects, shattering the moment. 

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you gesture Evan to go first, shooting him a ‘hold up, let me cook,’ look. With a bold move, you slip off your shoe under the table and discreetly brush your foot against his pant leg.

You feel him stiffen as he places his order, his composure wearing out. Stifling a giggle, you almost sadistically enjoy his flustered state as he clumsily fumbles and drops his menu, the clatter against the plate resonating like a thunderbolt. 

He’s a ten, but he stumbles over his words and over-apologises when aroused in the most inappropriate settings. Take my money, that bumps him up to a solid thirty.  

“Would you like extra cheese with that?” the waiter chimes in, oblivious to the charged atmosphere crackling between you.

Evan nods, swallowing thickly as your foot ventures higher up his thigh, stoking the flames of his growing hardness.

“And you, miss?”

“Eh? Umm, double everything, please. I’ll have what he’s having. Thanks,” you mutter with a half smile, your leg rubbing against his throbbing erection to a fever pitch.

As the waiter marches to the kitchen, Evan clenches his jaw, frustration painted all over his stormy gaze. He bunches his cloth napkin from his lap and tosses it onto his plate, blowing out a sharp, exasperated breath.

“Evan,” you call out with an apologetic expression, watching him push his chair with the backs of his knees and storm off to the bathroom.

You shoulder the heavy door and step into the empty men’s bathroom, your insides wounding themselves in knots. You scan the room, hunting for any trace of Evan, until your gaze lands on the locked door at the end. Curiosity gnaws at you, nudging you to investigate.

With a hesitant knock, you signal your presence. Before you can react, the door swings open, and Evan’s dark eyes greet you from the other side as he pulls you into the room.

The door clicks shut behind you as you quickly take in the gold-hued surroundings: a lavish toilet, a gleaming sink, and a long bench strewn with plush towels and designer toiletries. The place gives you a babushka-esque feel—a mini, fully-equipped restroom within the main one, and it’s like stepping into a VIP sanctuary.

Though, as you register Evan’s proximity, his body pressed flush against yours, your thoughts scatter like marbles on a polished floor, and pleasure sparks sizzle through your veins like a live wire.

“Hey,” you bleat, feeling the tension twist in your gut as you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. 

His strong arms cradle your waist. He draws you into a tight embrace until you’re cocooned on his lap, the heat of his body searing into your skin.

You cross your legs as he closes the distance between you, his veiny hands fondling and squeezing your thighs greedily and possessively. 

“Evan,” you croak out, clearing your throat to ground yourself as he strokes your cheek with his knuckle. “I realise that might have been a bit much for public display…and I’m sorry,” you mumble, flashing him an apologetic look before averting your gaze.

But his expression remains stern, a furrow creasing his brow as he lets out an exaggerated huff—eyes hooded and mouth set in a grim line. “That won’t fix it, I’m afraid. I’m still hurt and embarrassed.” 

You quirk a brow at him, a hint of defiance in your gaze as you meet his unwavering stare. “And what do you suggest now?” you challenge with a sly smirk, a daring spark igniting in your face.

His lips curl into a sinister smile as he leans in, his scorching breath against your ear sending a tremor down your backbone. “Get on your knees, and use this beautiful mouth of yours to show me just how sorry you are,” he whispers as he’s massaging your tits, his words like an electric current buzzing through you at a high voltage.

You snort, your hand weaving through his silky hair as you draw him closer. “Oh, you think you’ve won? I’d be more than happy to suck you up—day and night, overtime included,” you purr, your voice husky with longing as you sink to your knees.

Positioned between his legs, you look up at him with a mischievous smile. “Someone’s suffering in there,” you coo and outline his stiff shaft with your tongue, feeling him twitch beneath the smooth fabric, aching for freedom.

Pinned against the wall, he sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, his hips buckling forward in desperate response.

The button of his slacks loosely holds on, barely containing his throbbing beast from bursting it open. Gripping the cold metal of his zipper between your teeth, you drag it down slowly, your pussy dripping as his low growl rumbles from his chest like distant thunder when he finally finds release.

You reach up, flipping down the elastic waistband of his boxers so you can slip your hand in, dragging your fingers along his pulsing crimson tip.

“Suck it, don’t tease,” he commands, his tone rigid and thick with desire. You comply without hesitation, eagerly licking off the subtle traces of his seed off the tip, twirling your tongue around it.

Your mouth is immediately slick with his precum, the thick fluid coating the corners of your lips. The heady scent drives you wild as you savour every drop of his essence. You keep using your tongue to smear some of it to the underside of the head, teasing at the ridges and pressing into the squishy flesh of his head.

He bites down on his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he battles to muffle his grunts, his body quivering with need.  

When you finally close your lips around his painfully hard cock, he reacts with a sharp intake of breath. His fingers thread through your hair as he breathlessly whines your name like a fervent prayer. From that angle, his dimples appear as dark slits along his cheeks, adding to his rugged allure.

You meet his gaze with a sultry mewl of pleasure, giving your throat more room to take him in harder and deeper into your mouth. Flattening your tongue, you glide lower on him as you hold onto his pelvis until his head crushes the back of your throat, testing your gag reflex.

Challenge accepted; you handle him like a pro.

“Y/N, you’re… oh, fuck… No,” he sputters out with an intense shudder, rubbing his eyes as he fights the overwhelming tide of his impending orgasm.

“Load me,” you exhale teasingly as you pull him out of your mouth only to pump him back down with renewed hunger. He intertwines his fingers with yours, guiding your movements as you kick off a slow, torturous rhythmic ordeal just to gauge his reaction.

With a choked moan, he tightens his grip, sticking his convulsing cock all the way down with urgency, thrusting in your mouth with a ruthless pace.

His move and the resonance of his deep voice send a surge of heat to your core that consumes you, tripling the moisture in your panties.

You want him in ways that will add new sins to the bible.

Each time you rise, you suck his tip with fervour before slamming back down on his throbbing length. The symphony of moans he’s emitting are almost sinful—you’ve never gotten soaking wet just from hearing a man groan. He’s gonna be the death of your ovaries.

As you steal a gaze upwards, his abs glistening with a sheen of sweat, you watch his head fall back. “No,” he breathes out repetitively, his chest heaving and his Adam’s apple bobbing—a tell-tale sign that he’s on the brink of letting his load spray onto anything in the room.

His balls tighten, cock pulsing as his thrusts into your mouth turn sloppy and messy. Blinded by pleasure, his mind goes blank as he teeters on the edge.

Still panting, he hauls you off him more forcefully, his fingers hooking onto the hem of your stockings. You notice his nose scrunch up in clear disapproval as he glares at your lips—swollen and shining with wetness—immediately stripping you off your undergarments with raw intensity.

Flipping you over so your upper body’s bent over the wooden bench, he gropes your ass cheek before slapping it harshly, making you squeal with excitement. “Why do I have to say no twice?” he growls, his voice ringing with dominance as he claims you as his own.

You’re ovulating, so your audacity and inhibitions are thrown to the wind, acting like you’ve been dick-deprived your entire life. “I wanna tick you off so much you show no mercy. Just take me already,” you demand, your voice heavy with despair.

With a guttural groan, he obliges, rutting his hips as he lines up his leaking tip with your entrance. The moment he meets your wet folds, you both gasp in unison as he plunges in you. The sensation of him filling you up sparks fireworks as he humps you in long, steady thrusts, his velvet plush head bumping against your swollen clit with a delicious friction.

Your cries threaten to spill out, but his hand clamps gently over your mouth to shush you, his dark eyes flashing with warning. “We have to be quiet, baby,” he rasps, his voice tinged with lust. You turn over your shoulder and nod underneath his grasp, your half-lidded eyes glazing with pleasure.

A muffled yelp roars against his palm as he drills his aching cock deeper inside of you. You grip the edge of the bench tightly, and the sound of it banging against the wall echoes through the room, adding a primal rhythm to your ecstasy. The sensation of your slithery walls stretching to accommodate his thick dick is nothing short of mind-blowing for both of you.

Using the bench for leverage, he thrusts harder, his hand trailing up to caress the curve of your ribs as you writhe beneath him. “Fuck, I love your wet little pussy,” he hisses with primitive desire. “Cum for me, Y/N, all over my dick.”

“I’m getting there, baby. I wanna drown in your juices,” you moan, feeling his jaw slacken against your back as your walls pulse around his throbbing cock.

Just as the bench keeps bashing against the concrete wall in sync with your rising orgasms, a sudden crash breaks the intensity of the moment. The yellow paint plastic box from above the shelf tumbles down—its contents splattering over both of you and the wall, creating an impromptu abstract masterpiece in the spur of the moment.

You both freeze, paint trickling down your bodies, adding vibrant hues to your flushed skin. Evan blinks in surprise, his hands still gripping your hips as he takes in the colourful chaos engulfing you.

“Well, we certainly went hard on the paint,” he quips, trying to lighten the mood despite the unexpected interruption.

You chuckle nervously as you survey the lively mess. “Looks like we got more than we bargained for tonight,” you shoot back, your voice filled with playful mischief.

With a wicked smirk, Evan swipes paint off your cheek, leaving a colourful streak between you two as you embrace. “We’ve got a cleanup on our hands before we can get back to what we—” His words are abruptly cut off by approaching footsteps.

Though the intoxicating passion still clouds your mind, one detail arises with sobering clarity: You’re screwed (literally). 

“You hit it off with the first three cubicles, I’ll handle the ones from the end, and we’ll meet in the middle,” a deep man’s voice echoes from outside, sending a jolt of panic through both of you. 

Evan winces and involuntarily grabs your hand. Your body stiffens as you lace your clammy fingers with his, the paint already forming a small puddle at your feet.

Acting on pure instinct, he ushers you deeper into the toilet, using his foot to discreetly slide the torn condom wrapper closer to your hiding spot.

“What’s the plan now?” you mouth. Your palms are raised in a questioning gesture, fingers wiggling subtly, as your breath comes in shallow, shaky huffs.

Evan shrugs. “That was a plot twist, didn’t see it coming,” he replies, barely audible in his hushed response.

You hang onto his shirt for dear life, your face taking a ghost-like pale complexion as you weigh the consequences of the trouble you’re about to get in. “The door’s locked, but there’s a little slot under it. Shall I wait up here until they’re gone?” you pantomime your words, attempting to convey your plan to Evan with the finesse of a silent movie star. But as you try to hoist yourself up and chamber onto the toilet seat, you slip, almost tumbling backward.

Evan swoops in to catch you like a superhero, his forehead wrinkled by worry lines, eyes wide with alarm. “You good?” he whispers urgently, pressing a finger to his lips in a frantic plea for silence.

You nod vigorously, gesturing toward the door with exaggerated motions, communicating your escape plan like you’re on the charades: “Let’s go check if we’re clear, then sneak out.”

Nodding in silent agreement, he unlocks the door with a flick of his wrist. Poking his head out, he peers cautiously into the corridor. You stretch up on your tiptoes, craning your neck to peek out over his shoulder, scanning the corridor for any sign of movement.

Finding no one in sight, you both spring into action with the speed and stealth of seasoned spies. You snatch up as much toilet roll as you can, using it to hastily wipe away the evidence of your paint mishap. The paper becomes saturated with soap and water as you scrub your life away, determined to leave no trace behind.

Before you know it, Evan seizes your hand, purse and shoes, and you skitter out of the bathroom like you’re escaping a high-security prison. You zip past the slightly open doors of the other stalls, and as you weave the maze of hallways, you catch a glimpse of the two cleaning men hard at work—one wielding a toilet spray like a weapon on the lead, while the other, two doors ahead, diligently mops the floor.

 

You burst out of the bathroom, hearts racing and adrenaline pumping, feeling like you just pulled off the heist of the century. In the dimly lit corridor between the toilets and the restaurant, you exchange triumphant grins, basking in the rush of your daring gateway. With a quick, victorious high five, you’re both ready for the next phase of your adventure.

But before you can catch your breath, Evan pulls you close, his lips crashing against yours in a fiery kiss that sets you on fire. His tongue dances with yours, igniting a fierce passion between you. As his hands start to wander along your ass and clit, you can’t resist and melt into his touch, a soft moan slipping off you.

Reality hits you like a freight train, and you protest against his lips, reluctantly swatting his hands away and pushing him back gently. “You can’t waltz back to your table looking like nuggets dipped in mayo, and I don’t have a spare wardrobe stashed in my purse,” you whine. With a determined swipe, you rub off a scuff mark from his cheek, your thumb tracing the contours of his face as he nods in understanding.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says, and without missing a beat, he takes your hand and leads you in the direction of the toilet. But as you reach the door, he steers you towards the emergency door instead. Throwing yourselves outside, you’re met with the frigid night air, an uninviting shock after the warmth of the restaurant.

The cold bites at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms. But Evan is quick to replace your coat, which still hangs off your table chair, and envelops you in an embrace, rubbing your arms to warm you up.

You cling to him, his body heat a comforting embrace as he cups your hands in his, blowing warm breath into them. The moon casts a soft glow over a secluded pond before you, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the hotel.

“I’ve got good and bad news,” Evan chirps, his voice tinged with a mischievous undertone. You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued as you lean closer to him, flakes of paint dropping off your arms as he intensifies his rubbing.

“Spill the good news first. Enough shocks for today, I wanna buy myself some time.” 

“The good news is,” he begins, a grin spreading across his face, “my rented place is over there,” he reveals and points behind you. You follow his gaze to the tall complex of flats that extend from the main hotel.

You hum in acknowledgment, planting a quick peck on his lips. “Alright… and what’s the bad news?” you inquire, already bracing yourself for whatever curveball he’s about to throw your way.

“The bad news is that if we wanna keep the prying eyes at bay,” he continues, his eyes fixed on you in mounting suspense, “we’ve got some climbing to do.”

The grass crunches under your feet as you wade through the greenery, your heels sinking into the mud with each step. You duck under the low archway in the middle and reach the towering fence.

“Damn, that’s taller than I thought,” he mutters, eyeing the fence with a furrowed brow.

“Piece of cake,” you counter with a coy smile, tossing your heels on the other end. You make the first move by planting your toes on a cracked piece in the wall, gripping the hurdle tightly to propel yourself upwards.

As he gives you an extra push, his hands boldly grazing your ass, a mischievous sparkle gleams in his eyes. “Speaking of cakes,” he cheers, squeezing your curves as his eyes linger on the enticing view of your cunt beneath your dress, his grin broad and cocky.

“Stay focused, dude,” you hiss, playfully waving him away as you divert your attention back to the task at hand.

With a hint of concern in his voice, Evan watches you climb, ready to catch you if you falter. “Take it slow, Y/N. With this velocity, you gotta use one leg at a time...” he advises, his arms poised to assist you.

Rolling your eyes, you brush off his instruction. “The mansplaining’s redundant, Peters. I’ve got this,” you scold jokingly, confidently manoeuvring over the obstacles.

“It’s hard... oh, mind your head on the branches…” he mumbles, absentmindedly repeating “it’s hard” as he observes your every move with a mix of awe and disbelief.

When you safely tumble over to the other side, he can’t help but chuckle nervously, astonished by your agility. “Oh, that was easy…it was really easy, actually” he mumbles with a shake of his head, mouth agape, still processing your swift ascent.

“Come on, slowpoke,” you taunt, your voice laced with playful challenge. You dust off your hands, the thrill of the escape still coursing through your veins.

“I’m just taking my time,” he defends as he carefully navigates his way over the fence. 

“Says the guy who played Quicksilver,” you mock, giggling, and run your tongue along your teeth with a cheeky smile.

As Evan finally makes it over the fence, he stumbles on a loose stone, his footing giving way beneath him. You gasp, lunging forward to catch him as he starts to fall backward, his arms flailing wildly as he tries to regain his balance.

“Watch out!” you cry out, and you manage to pull him back from the brink of spraining his ankle on the way down. 

He winces in pain, clutching his leg as he tries to stand. “Ouch, that was close,” he groans, his breath hitched. 

Concern floods through you as you help him to his feet, supporting him as he tests his injured ankle. “You okay?” you ask, worry evident in your voice.

Evan nods, his expression strained. “I think so,” he replies, clenching his jaw against the discomfort.

You sigh, realising that your adventure may have taken an unexpected turn. “Maybe we should take it easy for now, old man,” you suggest once you realise he’s fine, suppressing a laugh as you guide him back to safety.

As you playfully rib Evan with the “old man” label, he retaliates by tickling you, his fingers sending ripples of loud laughter down your spine. You squirm and wriggle, trying to escape his teasing grasp, but he’s relentless.

“Alright, alright, I give up!” you yell, breathless from both laughter and excitement. But Evan doesn’t stop there. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he picks you up into his arms, his lips hammering against yours in a passionate kiss, his tongue swirling with yours. 

“Let me show you who’s the old man,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice dripping with desire and challenge as he carries you off.

The reception area lies deserted, and the dull glow of an overhead light seeps through the crack at the bottom of the slightly ajar cleaning storage door. 

“Anyone here?” he calls out, testingly, but there’s no response. Without wasting any time, you make a beeline for the elevator. The ding of the lift makes you jump, you launch your bodies up the stairs, bounding them up like a panther on the prowl, your feet padding down on the carpeted floor.

You creep into his room, edging the door shut until the latch clicks into place, and you pause to laugh at the yellow patches on your body. “I feel like I’ve just wrestled a pig in a mud pit.” 

“I’ve got the best way to clean it all up?” he mumbles sloppily into your lips, his arms folded around your waist, massaging your ass.

Hot water spurts out of the shower faucet, raining down marvellously on the tiled floor. You smile, holding your hand up to it and watching the paint, mostly dried now, run off your legs before landing on the ground and swirling around the drain. The temperature is heavenly, able to ease even the deepest aching of your shoulders, and your smile widens.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, planting a few teasing kisses along your exposed collarbone.

You bite down your lip at the sensation. “Finger-fuck while you kiss me, first. I need it,” you huff in despair, eyes imploring.

“You wish, I deliver, baby,” he breathes out, suckling on your pulse as you lightly pump his erect shaft in your hand in your fluid motion. He seems way too horny and too into you to say no.

He grunts and grounds his hips against your inner thigh. Against the wall, his fingers dip in, gathering some of your warm, slithery wetness and splotching it over your shiny folds. His free hand claws on your face, dragging you for a breathless kiss.

“Gosh,” you moan chokingly, an exhilarating lilt in your words. Your back arches as you feel that knot in your stomach beginning to snap. The pad of his middle finger keeps tapping and circling your clit, and you feel the escalating climb of your orgasm. Your legs start to twitch, and once he realises this, his fingers slowly drift away from your weeping cunt, his slick fingers gripping your thigh.

“Wh-why?” you protest in frustration.

Without uttering a single syllable, he snatches the detachable shower head, a smirk playing on his lips as he winds the cable around his wrist. He cranks the setting to its highest level and kneels down, parting your slopping folds with a confident touch. His lips curve in a devilish smile as he takes sight of your pulsating pussy clenching around nothing, giggling as he realises he’s edged you so badly.

As he positions the shower head near your throbbing clit, you instinctively clamp your hand over your mouth, stifling the shrill whimper that threatens to escape. The sensation of the water hitting your sensitive bud forces your breath out in punchy, laboured gasps as you feel the vibrations bringing your high closer.

He laps at your cunt like it’s a melting ice cream cone, and it doesn’t take long for your sweet cream to leak out along his mouth. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, eyelids fluttering as you’re consumed by the tsunami of your looming orgasm. Each flick of his tongue sends tremors through your thighs, the wet, slick sounds filling the room.

His tongue flattens out against your clit and you let out a needy whine, your hips instinctively bucking against his mouth. He presses his face deeper into your wet folds, tongue jerking at the underside of your clit. As he licks at your entrance, he sinks his tongue into your soaking hole, you cum on his tongue, grinding his face, moaning his name in heavy, ragged pants.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you, he stands up straight, his hands gently caressing your waistband in a soothing gesture. But you’re not done yet. With a hungry urgency, you pull him into a kiss, your lips melding together.

He backs you against the wall, hiking up your thighs and wrapping them tightly around his waist. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, guiding him to your dripping entrance. As he slams into you, the world around you fades away, and your head lolls back in ecstasy.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he grunts as he pounds harsher and faster in you, his balls slapping against your ass cheeks.

Your slick is trickling down his cock, creating a slippery mess on his thighs as he drives into you relentlessly. His breathing picks up pace, the air thick with the heady scent of sex and steam. You almost had him, until his hands forces your hips down onto his cock as far as they would go, his tip nudging against your cervix.

A scream tears from your lips as you squirm against his ruthless assault and bruising force. The tip of his cock brushes against that spongy spot inside you time and time again, the lewd squelching sounds of your poor, swollen cunt only a faint indicator that you were close.

In the misty haze of the shower, you catch him smirk crookedly, pleased with the visual above him. Your tits bounce tantalisingly in front of him, a tempting feast he can’t resist as he reaches out to grab them in his mouth, eager to taste every inch of your trembling body.

As the unbearably tight, hot coil in your abdomen snaps, you’re unable to contain the set of moans that spill from your lips. A tingling heat spreads across your body, your muscles contracting and burning with the intensity of your release.

His face contorts in pleasure, his brows knitting together as his jaw drops in awe. His breaths come out in hurried, choppy huffs as he pumps inside you, warm, white strings of cum painting your walls as if he marks his territory and you as his own.

“Ugh, I’m dizzy...and l look like shit,” you huff out, your voice laced with giggles. Evan stays still for a moment, burying his face into the crook of you neck.

“You’re dizzy but beautiful,” he rasps, chuckling breathlessly, and you feel your cheeks flushing. He strokes your face, his touch tender and loving as he presses soft kisses against your lips. Your tongues dance together in a sweet and intimate exchange as soft moans escape both of you.

Slowly, he pulls out. A mix of your juices coats his tip as it drips from your hole in a seductive display of your shared ecstasy.

“I want cuddles on the bed now,” he says, his voice soft and pleading, a hint of a pout playing on his lips as he gazes at you with adoration.

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Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

#evan peters #evan peters fanfic #evan peters fandom #evan peters fluff #evan peters imagine #ahs murder house #evan peters smut #ahs fandom #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you #evan peters x female reader #tate langdon #ahs cult #kit walker imagine #kit walker #kai anderson imagine #kai anderson #kai anderson smut #fanfic #tate langdon x reader #tate langdon x y/n #tate langdon x you #warren lipka #kit walker x y/n #peter maximoff #colin zabel #evan peters dahmer #smut #stan bowes

[its-avalon-08]

op81 reader forgets theme anniversary sounds great! it's always the other way round so this is such a great switch

mismatched plates & fairy lights (op81)

the fairy lights oscar had strung across their tiny balcony twinkled softly, casting a warm glow on the room. he'd even snuck out earlier to get y/n's favorite takeout – the one they always got on special occasions. tonight was their two-year anniversary, and oscar's heart thumped a happy rhythm in his chest.

he set the table with their mismatched plates (the ones they'd gotten from a thrift store on their first date) and lit the candles he'd painstakingly hidden around the apartment. he couldn't wait to see y/n's face light up.

hours ticked by, and the takeout grew cold. disappointment, sharp and icy, began to creep in. y/n still wasn't home. he called her phone, but it went straight to voicemail. "hey, it's me," oscar's voice cracked slightly. "just wondering where you are. hope everything's okay."

he tried again, then again, each unanswered call chipping away at his excitement. finally, the door creaked open, and y/n tumbled in, a tired smile on her face. relief washed over him, momentarily pushing back the disappointment.

"hey, sorry i'm late," y/n said, kicking off her shoes. "work just went crazy today."

"no worries," oscar managed, a forced cheer in his voice. he helped her unpack her bag, the silence in the room heavy and unexpected.

they sat down for dinner, but the magic was gone. y/n was chattering about her day, but oscar barely heard her. his eyes kept flicking to the calendar hanging on the fridge, a stark reminder of the forgotten date.

finally, the dam broke. "y/n," he started, his voice thick with hurt. "is... is there something you forgot?"

y/n's brow furrowed. "forgot what?"

tears welled up in oscar's eyes. "it's... it's our anniversary," he choked out, the last word barely a whisper.

y/n's eyes widened in shock. "oh my god, oscar, I am so sorry! I completely forgot. work was just..."

oscar didn't wait for her to finish. the hurt was raw and fresh, and the disappointment he'd been trying to hold back spilled over. "yeah, work," he said, his voice sharp. he pushed himself away from the table and stood up. "i'm going to bed."

he didn't wait for a reply, just walked away, his heart a lead weight in his chest. he crawled into bed, the sheets cold without y/n's warmth beside him. tears streamed down his face, a mixture of hurt and anger. he loved y/n, but tonight, he felt forgotten and unimportant.

the next morning, oscar woke up to a blinding light. he squinted, then sat up in bed, his jaw dropping. their apartment was transformed. fairy lights, even brighter than the ones outside, twinkled everywhere. red rose petals, forming a heart on the floor, led him to the living room. there, stood y/n, wearing the same dress she wore on their first date, a nervous smile on her face and a beautiful cake in her hand.

"y/n?" oscar breathed, his voice thick with sleep.

"good morning, sleepyhead," she said, her voice small. "i know I messed up yesterday, terribly. but I spent all night making it up to you."

tears welled up in oscar's eyes. he rushed to her putting the cake down on the table and engulfing her in a hug so tight it almost took the breath out of her. "you have no idea how much this means to me," he whispered, his voice muffled against her hair.

y/n pulled back, cupping his face. "you deserve so much more, oscar. I can't believe I forgot, but seeing the disappointment in your eyes last night... it was a wake-up call. you make every day an adventure, and I never want to take that for granted."

oscar leaned in, his lips brushing hers. "I already forgave you the moment you walked in with that dress on," he murmured. then, he peppered her face with kisses, a mix of apology and love.

y/n snuggled closer to oscar, whispering, "thank you for letting me make it up to you."

he leaned in, peppering her face with kisses, each one a tiny apology. "this is perfect," he murmured between kisses. "more perfect than the fancy dinner I was planning anyway."

y/n laughed, tears glistening on her lashes. "you're unbelievable."

oscar grinned, pulling her close again. "and you," he whispered, "are the most forgetful, amazing girlfriend a guy could ask for."

he reached for a rose petal on the floor, tucking it behind her ear. "now, how about we eat this cake and make some pancakes together? the kind we burn a little and laugh about?"

y/n's smile widened. "sounds perfect. but only if you promise to wear that goofy grin the whole time."

oscar chuckled, pulling her into another kiss. "challenge accepted."

the rest of the day was a testament to the fact that grand gestures weren't everything. sure, the fairy lights and the dress were a beautiful apology, but the real magic was in the shared laughter, the playful teasing, and the simple act of being together. as they sat on the couch, their stomachs full of slightly burnt pancakes and hearts full of love, oscar knew that even forgotten anniversaries couldn't erase the strength of their connection. he looked at y/n, the fairy lights reflecting in her eyes, and whispered, "happy anniversary, y/n."

"happy anniversary, oscar," she replied, leaning her head on his shoulder. "and thank you for reminding me why I love you so much."

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

well i hope you liked it! thank you for sending in your request and do send more <3 happy reading!

leave a like! leave a note!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fanfic #op81 #op81 x reader #op81 imagine #op81 fic #op81 fluff #formula 1 #f1 imagine #formula one #y/n #red bull racing #mclaren #mclaren f1 #mclaren racing #anon ask #requests #ava speaks

[roscgcld]

DAYDREAMING!READER || so embarassing...

request: hi ! wondering how dd!reader somehow got drunk from a party and yuuta is protective of her (idk if they're old enough to drink but oh well - or yuuta would even let dd!reader drink) hehe~

note: my first bit of writing after being away for months! i am not really sure how things will go from here on out, since it really has been a hot minute since i’ve written anything. but i am hoping to be able to get back into the swing of things soon! xoxo

pronouns: she/her

!disclaimer! - mentions of alcohol and underaged drinking 

daydreaming!reader masterlist  |  buy me a coffee?  

“A party?”

Dark-blue eyes scanned over the ornate card that fell out from his morning mail, taking in the intricately written characters on the cream page. An engagement party between two smaller, but still influential clans, is to happen over the upcoming weekend. The newly engaged couple were a looker for sure, but Yuta wouldn’t put it past them to only be engaged for bloodline purposes. “Why would I even be invited to something like this?”

Still muttering to himself Yuta glanced away from the card onto the calendar that was on his wall to check his schedule. His eyes however would always drift from his messy calendar to the brightly decorated photobooth picture of himself and Y/N. and immediately, a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Right, he is in a relationship with someone who was once the most sought after bachelorettes; and with his distant but constantly talked about (thanks, Gojo Satoru for not being able to keep his mouth shut when it comes to talking about his beloved students) connection to the Gojo clan, it was no wonder he gets invites to high profile parties. 

Still - that doesn’t mean he wants to be. “I wonder if Y/N wants to skip this one or not..”

He got his answer not long after opening that invitation; and that is how he found himself scrolling mindlessly on his phone as he waits for Y/N to model another dress in a store that she had called in advance to shop in. Before this he had picked up his dry-cleaned suit, and after making sure it was ‘on theme’ with whatever dress Y/N has in mind, he was dragged into the dress store he is in right now. All in her quest to ‘find the perfect dress’.

“Okay, how about this?,” The sound of a familiar voice brought Yuta out of his mindless scrolling as he glances up; his eyes immediately landing on a pair of bright doe eyes looking at him expectantly. The dress Y/N had on was one was definitely one of his favourites - a soft swirl of reds, yellows, and creams over a simple spaghetti-strapped dress that ends around her knees. It hugged her figure well, yet being loose enough where it doesn’t seem like it’s about to break open if she chooses to take another piece of chocolate cake from the dessert table. “I think this is one of my favourites so far.”

Y/N huffs and puffs her cheeks out a little in thought as she spun around to check the length of the dress from the back; her mind seeming to wander as she gently runs her hands down the smooth fabric. “I like it too,” Y/N states finally as she meets Yuta’s eyes through the mirror, a smile tugging over her pretty features that had Yuta’s cheeks warming up from embarrassment. Now why is he still getting embarrassed whenever she smiles at him? “I think I am going to get it.”

“A good choice,” Yuta somehow replies back with ease as he watches her skip back to the dressing room, a soft chuckle leaving his chest at how adorable she looks. He was sure if he squinted hard enough he’d see happy cat ears on the top of her head wiggling in excitement, all because Yuta agreed with her on the dress. Yuta wasn’t too sure why Y/N would want his opinion, since he found everything she wore beautiful. 

But this was also an excuse for him to spend more time with her, so he wasn’t complaining too much.

It didn’t take too long after that for them to be out of the store, Y/N waving at the saleswoman while Yuta held onto her hand and the bags over his shoulder along with his suit. “Should we be getting a gift for the new couple?,” Yuta asks Y/N curiously as they got onto the elevator to make their way towards another store to continue their shopping spree. “It would be bad if we showed up empty-handed.”

“A lil’,” Y/N admits as she looks up at Yuta, resting her cheek against his shoulder as he raises an eyebrow in response. “Usually ‘tosan would pick up an expensive bottle of sake. You know, those brands that are made by old families with old techniques,” Y/N continues as she leads Yuta off to a shoe store so she can browse for some heels. “I doubt we can get alcohol at our age...maybe something more useful? Like a toaster oven - everyone needs a toaster oven.”

The shopping day passed and before Yuta knew it, the engagement party day was upon them. Yuta and Y/N had decided to get that toaster oven that he had suggested at the mall, so they left their perfectly wrapped giftbox on the overflowing table at the entrance of the party before they made their way deeper into the ballroom. Y/N had immediately led them towards her parents, who greeted the teen couple with warm smiles and hugs.. “How has school been, you two?”

After some catching up Y/N and Yuta started to mingle with the others, slowly making their way towards the young couple to share their well wishes. The young man, Ida, and Yuta both hit it ofg; talking about a video game series they were both into as Y/N and the girl, Iori, fawned over the dress Y/N was wearing. 

“Oh - how rude of me,” Ida comments after a few more moments, giving Yuta a kind smile as Yuta gave him a curious glance. The young man gestures for a server over, and Yuta’s eyes immediately caught onto the familiar wide-mouth glasses. As both him and Y/N were handed a glass each, Yuta leaned down to take a snip of the clear liquid and immediately caught onto the familiar scent of sake. “I know we aren’t supposed to be drinking until we’re of age..but what is a celebration without some alcohol? Of course, you do not have to if you don’t want to.”

Now Yuta is not dumb; although the laws are strict, it wasn’t uncommon for people to drink under the age of 20. Even more so when you come from a noble household; alcohol and politics tend to come hand in hand. And he wouldn’t lie and claim to be a saint either - he’s joined in on Yuji and Maki’s drinking sessions in their dorms as they played a few rounds of poker. It was through those experiences that he realises that he has quite the tolerance. 

So he wouldn’t be opposed to taking a shot of two; but what he is worried about is Y/N. Who, now known to everyone, has little to no tolerance for alcohol. However, the few seconds he had taken to stare at the small ceramic cup and look over at his girlfriend, Y/N had already tipped head head back and drank half of her sake. Immediately he stared at her with wide eyes as she made a face at the taste of the alcohol, yet she put on a smile without missing a beat as Iori giggles and takes a more appropriate sip from her cup. 

Since it would look odd if he didn’t do the same he took a careful sip as well, enjoying the distinctly nutty taste of the drink as he wraps his free arm around Y/N’s waist. “As much as I don’t want to be a party pooper, I do feel a little bad drinking below the age limit,” Yuta admits with a chuckle, wordlessly taking a glass of juice when a server passes by; handing it off to Y/N as she carefully finishes the rest of her sake so she can hold the glass of juice. The speed with which she did it had Yuta cringing ever so slightly in concern. “Plus, I am not sure if it is a good idea to return to campus drunk...”

“Ah, right! You and Y/N-san are both enrolled in Tokyo branch of Jujutsu Tech,” Ida commented with sparkling eyes, looking very interested at the idea of the school as Iori rolled her eyes fondly at her fiancé. Probably a conversation she has heard one too many times. “I am a little jealous. I’ve always wanted to enrol myself, since getting to work with fellow jujutsu practitioners my age may do me some good. But alas, I didn’t manage to pass the entrance exams myself. It would be great if you’d share some tips!”

‘Oh - uh..I can try?”

And just like that Yuta found himself talking to Ida about college, in between the splendour of other grand sorcerers and influential families around them rubbing shoulders. It is during this conversation that both himself and Y/N, due to the fact that they were just standing to the new couple, were offered a few drinks by the other party goers. No one seems to care about the fact that they were all underaged, nor the fact that giving them what seems to be unlimited amounts of alcohol to people their age can be quite an issue. 

And unfortunately for the both of them, both Y/N and himself are people pleasers at heart; so every time they were handed a drink, they do not have it in them to say no. The difference however, is that Yuta can handle his drinks - Y/N, on the other hand...well, about two more glasses of champagne in and she was already giggly and seeming to be swaying on her feet. Immediately Yuta had his arm around her, calling over a server to bring him a glass of water quickly. “Alright, princess - that’s the end for you.”

“But whyy?,” Y/N lets out a whine as she stumbles into Yuta’s chest, giving him drunken puppy eyes that seem to work better than her sober ones. Maybe it was paired with how clingy she seems to get, pouting sadly like a scorned puppy as she seemingly tries to bury herself into his skin. But Yuta immediately felt his heart skip a beat as he stares down at the obviously intoxicated Y/N; who seems to have decided that she did not want to interact with anyone else, and want Yuta’s full attention on her and her only. “Y-Yuta~..”

“Hush,” Yuta mumbles with a soft chuckle as he thanked the waiter who handed him the glass of ice water, holding it up to her lips as Y/N whines and turns her head away from the chilled glass sluggishly. “Come on - don’t do this to me now,” Yuta said with a soft groan as he stills the pouty girl, coaxing her to drink from the glass slowly as Ida gave the couple an amused glance. 

Yuta removed the cup after she took a few gulps, rubbing the small of her back as she rests her head on his shoulder with a huff. “You have quite the handful there,” Ida said with a chuckle, his words causing Yuta to let out a tensed chuckle as he gently strokes at Y/N’s waist. “Nothing new then,” Yuta replies back with ease just as a pair of footsteps made their way towards them, a familiar low whistle following soon after. 

“Damn, the only day you two are allowed out and you guys are really making the most out of it.”

Yuta wasn’t surprised that his white-haired sensei was at the party - after all, it was an honour to have the most powerful sorcerer mingling amongst their guests. However, Yuta has a feeling that Gojo had only agreed because he had seen who had RSVP for the occasion. “As the responsible sensei that I am, I should be reporting you two to Yaga for breaking the rules.”

“G-Gojo-sensei!~,” Y/N greeted through a hiccup, forcing herself out of the warm hold Yuta had on her and stumble her way to the tall man with a giggle. Gojo, used to the antics of drunken people, casually opened his arms to catch his giggling student. His touch was respectful yet firm as he carefully glanced over Y/N’s face, shaking his head even as he carefully rests his hands on her shoulders. “Having fun, young lady?”

A drunken nod and giggle left Y/N’s lips as Yuta gave Gojo an unamused glance, handing the white haired man the glass of water Y/N was sipping on moments before. Gojo, not new to this rodeo, wordlessly grabbed the glass and had Y/N drinking from it with ease. Or more so he had a grip on the back of her neck to hold her in place as he carefully tilts the glass against her mouth so she can sip at it carefully. “How many did she have to drink?”

“From what I remember, the sake and some champagne. I drank the others,” Yuta said with a stressed sigh as he runs a hand through his hair, not noticing the guilty look Iori was sporting. Gojo noticed however, and just one simple glance at the younger girl had her shrinking behind her fiancé's shoulders. “W-Well...we may have had a shot or two of soju..”

“Who the hell is serving soju?,” Yuta asks in a clearly defeated tone, to which Ida just chuckles softly and gently pats him on the shoulder as a form of support. “Probably some of the other younger guests here. You can bring your own drinks in and have them with people,” Ida admits with an awkward cough before he gestures for someone to come over, giving Yuta a reassuring smile when the clearly stressed teen gives him a desperate glance in return. “We will prepare a room for you two to rest up first. Just give the staff a call and they will prepare a car as well. A simple gesture for dealing with my ramblings about college on what was supposed to be your off day after all.”

Yuta was relieved - at least he would be able to sit Y/N down and let her sleep the alcohol off for a bit before even attempting to make their way back to campus. So, with the help of Gojo, they managed to guide the clearly whiny and stumbling Y/N towards the back where there was a room prepared for them without arousing the stares of the other party goers around them. “Yuta, I thought you were more responsible than this.”

“You know her and her alcohol,” Yuta grunts as he kicks his dress shoes off messily, giving one of the maids a thankful look when she quietly states that she will bring more water for them. Ignoring the tsk that came out of Gojo, he leaves the man be to balancing a giggling Y/N as he bends down to unbuckle her heels. Catching onto her ankle so she does not kick his nose clean off his face once he managed to get the first one undone. “I *hic* c-can d- *hic* do it myself..”

“No, you can’t,” Yuta grunts as he managed to get her heel off before carefully setting her foot down, Gojo letting out a sudden grunt when she seemed to have stumble straight into his chest from that alone. Yet Yuta didn’t bat an eye as he quickly takes her other shoe off, taking the step up into the tatami covered floor leading into the room. “Alright, I can grab her from here. Can you go and lay some cushions together, sensei?”

“On it,” Gojo hums as he takes his dress shoes off with ease before he made his way into the room, where a maid was carefully laying out a mattress and some pillows for Y/N to rest on. “Alright princess, hands on my shoulders,” Yuta hums as he held onto Y/N’s waist, guiding her to take the step into the room before he carefully led her towards the makeshift bed pressed up against the wall. “And down you go.”

Y/N huffs out a giggle as she was sat on the mattress, giving Yuta a wide smile as he stares down at her with a blank look on his face. He was definitely not impressed at how mischievous she is being. “Do not even start with me,” Yuta sighs out before he waves Gojo off, since the older man knows that Y/N was going to get an earful. So all he did was wave at them with a cheeky smile of his own as he walked out of the private room, closing the sliding doors behind him to provide the couple with some privacy. “We’ve talked about taking drinks without thinking, Y/N.”

“Y-You’re not my d-dad!,” Y/N whines out with a huff as she crosses her arms over her chest with a pout, looking like a scorned kid with her sleepy eyes as she looks away from her brooding boyfriend. Yuta sighs and closes his eyes in defeat, quietly squatting down in front of her after shrugging his suit jacket off. “What am I going to do with you?”

Wordlessly he drapes his jacket over her shoulders before he turned to face the table behind him, intending to grab a glass of water for Y/N so she can drink from it again. However a familiar hand grabbed onto his shirt sleeve, causing him to pause before he looks back at Y/N. Who was now sporting tearful eyes as her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly. “Oh...princess,” Whatever anger or annoyance Yuta felt immediately left his body as he turned to give Y/N his full attention again, scooting over the tatami flooring on his knees so he can wrap the sniffling girl up in his arms. “I know you didn’t mean to get this drunk..you just didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

Y/N sniffles and buries her face into Yuta’s chest, completely forgetting that she was wearing a face of makeup that can transfer onto his white button up. Yet Yuta doesn’t seem to care either as he gently pats the back of her head, careful not to mess up her perfectly done updo while he tries to comfort Y/N. “It’s a simple mistake. Everyone makes them - don’t beat yourself over it, okay? I’m sorry for seeming to be angry at you, you didn’t do anything wrong alright? I just worry about you all the time..”

Another sniffle and a soft nod was all Y/N gave him, and without another moments notice he carefully collected her into his arms. Shifting himself about so he was now seated on the mattress instead; having placed Y/N so she was curled up against his chest comfortably. “Alright,” Yuta said with a sigh as he settles down against the wall behind him, crossing his legs in front of him as Y/N wraps her arms around the jacket she had over her shoulders still. “To be honest, as much as this is not ideal, I am not opposed to going home early.”

While Y/N didn’t show her tearful face, she did reach over to smack him on the chest gently; as if she was reprimanding him for once again giving into his anti-social behaviours. “I am being serious - I was getting kinda desperate when Ida wanted to talking about nothing more than college. If Jujutsu Tech needed a spokesperson, I’ll make sure to put his name down for the position.”

It took a few more moments of silence and gently swaying from Yuta’s end, but soon Y/N has claimed down and seems to have grown sleepy. “Are you hungry?,” Yuta asks her quietly as he quietly gestures for the maid to come over to bring them some food over, looking down at Y/N when made a face at the thought of food. However Yuta wasn’t sure if she had eaten anything before the party, as he hadn’t had time to cook them something simple before they left. It might explain how. after just a few drinks, she was as drunk and confused as she was. “I know you are going to hate me, but you need to eat some food before we try to get home, okay?”

All Yuta got in response was incoherent grumbling, but he chose to ignore that as he quietly thanked the woman who handed him a plate of finger foods for them to nibble on. Quietly Yuta picked up some karaage with his chopsticks before he held it up to Y/N’s lips, to which she drunkenly leaned forward before taking a bite from the fried chicken. “Careful,” Yuta coos at her and shifts his arm to pick up the piece of fried chicken skin that had dropped onto her chest, wiping at it carefully so he doesn’t end up smudging the sauce all over the fabric by mistake. Because he was sure that even at her drunken haze, she will not let him hear the end of it if he allowed for any of the food he was feeding her to stain her dress.

He fed her a few more bites of the different foods before she whined that she didn’t want anymore. So he just grabbed the glass of water that he had set aside and helped her to take another sip of water, giving her a smile when she takes a big gulp. “There you go. Good girl.”

(rose: the way i giggled at that line was embarrassing - one man should not have that much power over me T^T)

A soft burp was all Yuta got in response, to which Yuta just snorts before he opens her purse after struggling with the clip to find a packet of tissues. After a few more bites of snacks in between, and an entire pint size glass of water down, Y/N was starting to gain some of the colour back to her face. “I wanna go to the bathroom..,” Y/N whines as she gently tugs at Yuta’s shirt, to which he just raises an eyebrow at her before he nods and starts to help her up from the ground. 

He did stand for a few moments and wiggled his toes so he can get the blood flowing back down his legs before he started to lead her towards the bathroom, noting that Y/N was not tripping on her own feet as much. He let her use the bathroom by herself, but he did make sure to keep close to the door so he can rush in if she falls.

 Thankfully nothing happened, and when she did come out of the bathroom, all she did was pout before she rests her forehead against his shoulder sleepily. “Can we go home?,” She grumbles, to which Yuta gave her an amused glance before he held a hand out for her to take. “Yes ma’am. Whatever you say.���

Yuta, being a man skilled at avoiding people, somehow managed to navigate his way through the busy partying crowd to allow himself and Y/N to escape. They did stop briefly to inform the engaged couple and her parents that they were leaving, with Yuta buttering them up and informing them that they have other engagements while skilfully hiding how drunk Y/N still was. He assured her parents that she was just tired, as they did have a few back to back assignments and reports that they had to do before the dinner had begun. He didn’t bother to lie to Ida and and Iori - instead reassuring the young couple that they will make it home safely and that he will text them the moment they make it back to the dorms. 

Although it was last minute, thankfully their driver had just rounded the corner after grabbing some dinner for himself. So he picked the young couple up, being quite concerned for Y/N as he rarely sees her as drunk and out of character. Yet Yuta reassured him that she was feeling a lot better; so the older man made sure to give Yuta a plastic bag just in case Y/N chose to loose the contents of her stomach before they drove off. 

Y/N, although still drunk, thankfully did not suffer much motion sickness - so she just closed her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder throughout the drive. Yuta, deciding that it was too much work to wake her up and make sure she walks carefully down the long and winding hallways of their school, grabbed the keys to her room from her purse just as they were rolling up the front of their college dorm. He got out first, and after adjusting her dress carefully, leans inside to pick her up form her seat bridal style. “Do you need help, Okkotsu-san?”

“No, I think I can manage from here,” Yuta replies back with a warm smile, nodding for the kind man to drive off as he gently shifts the sleeping Y/N in his arms. With another round of mumbled pleasantries Yuta turned to walk back into the college, passing through the gates and into the familiar wooden hallway. Thankfully, as it was a normal school night, the others were either locked away in their rooms to sleep or are hanging out with one another past the curfew time. So Yuta managed to get them back into her dorm with minimal effort. 

“Alright princess, here we are,” Yuta chuckles as he closes the door behind him, greeting Catoru with a coo as the furball ran towards them in greeting. “Wait first, you menace. Gotta put your mum to bed,” Yuta chuckles as the ball of white weaving around his legs, gently nudging the purring cat aside as he stepped deeper into Y/N’s room. 

He carefully set her down in her bed before he started to get to work - taking her heels off before he proceeded to help change her into one of his shirts to sleep in comfortably. He even help remove her makeup with some micellar water, making sure to be careful to wipe her face bare of any products. He did attempt to recreate her skincare routine; but after being intimidated by the many bottles on her vanity, he just stuck to the basic toner pads and moisturiser combo.

It was better than nothing. 

“Guard your mother,” Yuta mumbles to Catoru quietly as he reaches over to pet the resident cat, smiling gently when he made a noise while rubbing his head against his hand. After making sure Y/N was all tucked into bed (along with a plushie for her to cuddle with), he refilled Catoru’s water and food bowl. Deciding to let her sleep along comfortably in bed for the killer hangover he was sure she will have tomorrow.

And he wasn’t wrong - he was in the midst of pouring himself some coffee the next morning when he heard what  sounded like an animal’s pained moan; followed by a sloppy knock being thrown at his door. Yuta lets out an amused chuckle as he walks over to the door and opens in, chuckling softly as he was met with squinted eyes and a pout that expressed pain and annoyance. “How bad is it?”

Y/N grumbles as she gently pushes her way through the doorway, planting her forehead squarely against his chest as Yuta closes the door behind her with an amused look. “Come on - I’ll make some brown sugar toast for you. The sugars will help,” Yuta chuckles softly as he carefully let Y/N into his room and onto his bed, immediately going over to his drawers to find some panadol for her to take. “Ugh..this is so embarassing...”

“You’re fine,” Yuta comments with a chuckle as he handed her the pain killers and a glass of water, going back to the kitchenette in his room so he can finish pouring his coffee and start on mixing the brown sugar and butter mixture for the toast. “You didn’t embarrass yourself too hard. Sure, a few people noticed, but so far no videos of anything you’ve done have surfaced.”

Even though it was all in gest, Y/N gave Yuta the dirtiest look she can muster at that moment before falling back against his pillows, cuddling up with Catoru who must have followed her in. “Not on my black bedsheets,” Yuta sighs softly to himself as he stared at the white furball happily rolling around on his comforter, knowing that he will have to lint roll it later so he doesn’t wake up with fur in his eyes or mouth until the next time he washes his bedsheets. Yet he made no other comment as he puts the buttered bread into the toaster oven, keeping an eye on it so it doesn’t burn. 

Soon he was sitting down on the bed besides Y/N, a mug of warm tea in one hand and a plate with two pieces of sugary toast in the other; giving her a comforting smile when she peeled a sleepy eye open. “Breakfast is ready,” He coos down at her as Y/N gave him a gently but grateful smile, slowly sitting up as she reaches over to take a sip of tea. “Feeling a little better?”

“A little,” Y/N admits as she sets the mug of tea aside, thanking Yuta when she was handed the plate before taking a bite from the warm food. A soft hum of happiness left her lips when she tasted the brown sugar on her tongue, her reaction causing Yuta to smile gently as he adjusted himself against his bed. They were both silent as she slowly finished her meal; with Yuta going on his phone as he pets Catoru with his free hand, while Y/N quietly chewed on her toast while trying to make sure she doesn’t leave crumbs everywhere.

When she was done she sets the plate aside and wiped her mouth and hands clean, quietly making her way over to her boyfriend before she curls up into his side. Yuta just lifted his arm without batting an eye, giving her a warm smile when she leaned up so he can press a kiss on the top of her head. “What am I going to do with you?,” Yuta mumbles with a soft chuckle, cuddling her closer to him while Y/n just lets out a pained moan. 

Yuta just rolled his eyes fondly before he turned his phone off, deciding to just cuddle her and baby her for the rest of the day. He knows he should reprimand her for what she had done yesterday, since it was irresponsible for her to do so. But he also knew better - so all he did was gently stroke her hair and made sure she drank enough water and felt comfortable for the rest of the day. 

He’ll just talk to her about it tomorrow.

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[echo-rambles]

somewhere among the pines

words: 4,807 tags: witch!reader, werewolf!chan, ghost!seungmin and roommate!seungmin. fluff. mentions of an injury. vague allusions to soulmatism, if you squint and believe real hard. mentions of magic. notes: I finished it in time! I feel like there are bits where you can tell I rushed, but overall I'm very happy with it. this is also the longest reader insert I've ever written, so I hope you enjoy! Happy Halloween! [ao3 link]

-:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡ ･ﾟ✧:･.:-

The veil between worlds is thin this time of year. You know this to be true; a fact of your world that you learned when you were very young. 

Every October, the veil begins to thin. Odd things happen all year around, especially for someone like you, but the month of October brings with it a rise of the unexplainable. Or, perhaps unexplainable isn’t the correct word, since you’re very good at explaining the weird and unknown. 

This is a very long explanation for the fact that your roommate and possibly the best friend you’ve ever had, is incredibly corporeal in the days leading up to All Hallow’s Eve. What’s it say about you that you consider a ghost to be your best friend? That’s honestly a can of worms you don’t really want to open right now. 

Normally, your very dead and very spectral friend spends most of the calendar year as a phantom entity in your home. He can speak to you and possibly move small objects around if he concentrates. But for the most part he’s a ghost.

October is his favorite time of year. Yours too, for completely different reasons, but you can’t deny that you also find great joy in watching Seungmin move everything he can get his hands on simply because he can.

It also means the pranks increase tenfold, because now he’s tangible and can do so many more things. He has to get it all in before November rolls back around, severing the strong connection to the worlds beyond. 

“I think your neighbor is weird.” Seungmin says, from his spot by your kitchen window.

He’s wearing a horrendously large sweater that he must have found at the back of your closet, and it almost swallows him whole. Completely covering the shorts he constantly wears. 

He’s also holding your favorite mug. It’s empty, but he’s still clutching it to his chest as if he’s ready at any moment to sip at his morning coffee. You decide to let him have this, knowing that he only truly gets to experience big sweaters and mugs in his hands once a year. 

“Because you’re so normal.”

“I am.” He defends, immediately, glaring at you. “I was. ”

“You were the most normal boy in the orphanage?”

“It was a university for gifted students.”

Teasing him about his life before has become normal between the two of you. After that first year, after you both learned how to coexist in the same space without upended chairs or banishing spells, he finally told you his story. About his university that burned down decades ago with him inside of it. How the land that your house now occupies was once part of the sprawling campus. 

It’s another reason you let him raid your closet every October. It has to be a certain type of hell to spend the rest of your unlife looking like you’re always ready to attend afternoon lectures in plaid shorts and suspenders and shoes with little buckles on them. 

Ignoring his glaring attention, you turn back to the pot you have on the stove. It’s starting to boil aggressively, so you make sure to jam in some cinnamon sticks before wrestling the cover onto it. 

“Can you stop spying on my neighbor? He has nothing to do with you.”

Seungmin glides over to peer over your shoulder. “Whatever, but he is weird. Did you burn dinner?”

“It’s meant to be a spell and no, it’s not burnt. Sorry, are you the professional in the kitchen?”

“Are you?”  

-:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡ ･ﾟ✧:･.:-

Maybe Seungmin was right. Maybe your neighbor is weird. 

You watch, from the same kitchen window Seungmin was staring out of a few days ago, as your neighbor comes out of the woods surrounding your properties shirtless and running. It’s a routine of his that you’ve noticed. In a completely normal way, mind you. 

It's not like you're an obsessive stalker or anything. You just happen to notice things. Especially things that follow a pattern. 

He’s the type of guy that goes running at night, and he always takes the path that cuts through the woods that creeps at the edge of your shared backyards. 

Maybe jogging at night isn’t a completely odd thing, but he’s also shirtless, and it’s the tail end of October. The nights are getting colder, with winter nipping at the heels of autumn. That can’t be normal. 

It’s also a routine that you only began clocking at the beginning of the month. He’s lived in the house next door since the spring, and you’ve noticed him jogging through the neighborhood every now and then. He seemed like the athletic type, so you didn’t think much of it. 

But the nightly jogs through the forest only really became a thing during the first week of the month. At first it didn't seem like anything too different. Seungmin, who never actually sleeps, commented on it but you waved him off. He loved to gossip and get into people’s business. He was possibly the nosiest ghost you ever met. 

But as the nights went by, you became more aware of it. 

You’d like nothing more than to chalk it up to Seungmin as the one being weird, but if you squint you swear there really is something peculiar about him. It’s in the way the air moves around him, you think. It feels impossible to put into words, but there’s something about it that’s just a little unexplainable. 

Once you notice, it's almost impossible to stop noticing it. Which is incredibly frustrating.

Your neighbor approaches his back stairs, and slows to a stop. You watch as he lets out a long breath and stretches his back. As he turns, he catches sight of you in the window. It’s too late to try and move away, pretending you weren’t absolutely staring, so when he offers you a wave, you have to return it. 

-:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡ ･ﾟ✧:･.:-

The next night you curl up on the single patio chair you have on your back porch. It’s barely a porch, really. There’s enough room for a chair and a small table and not much else. 

You wait, quietly, as the stars twinkle above the tree tops and the night becomes as quiet as it can in a neighborhood that’s not urban enough for constant traffic and city noises, but also not rural enough for the silence that only comes with living far enough away from people. It’s the odd sort of in between world. Ambient sounds of a car passing a handful of streets away. Someone’s dog is barking in the distance. You hear a pair of voices from the front of your house, as they walk past on the sidewalk, their voices fade away the farther they get. 

The moon shines brightly from its spot in the sky. It’s not a full moon just yet, you can tell by the subtle shape of it and the calendar on your phone. It’ll reach its zenith in a few days, just shy of Halloween. 

Finally, your neighbor comes out from the sparse woods. Shirtless as always. You try, and fail, not to stare. 

(“He’s kind of hot.” Seungmin had said, that first night he had called him weird, after returning to the window. “Almost upsettingly so.”) 

You were trying to be a polite and respectful neighbor and not oggle him. But Seungmin was so entirely correct. It really is upsetting how good looking he is. 

“Hey.” You greet, grabbing his attention as you call out. You move forward, resting your arms against the railing and leaning just enough over the side so you can see him better. 

“Oh, hi.” He answers, blinking at you before waving. When he smiles he has a dimple. You can see it in the porch light. 

“My roommate thinks you’re weird.” Might as well get to the point, instead of trying to find an excuse to speak to him.

That makes him laugh. Loud and full and it warms you up from the inside out. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“No need to apologize for him projecting.” 

“Uh- ok. Noted. Do you share your roommate’s opinion or…?” His voice dips, like he’s trying to make it sound like a joke but he’s also extremely curious. 

You can taste it on the wind. It’s that same sort of something about him that you noticed before, but now it’s more pronounced. Now that there isn’t a window or a driveway between you. He’s drifted closer to your porch, titling his head a bit, and you, tipping your gaze down. 

It tastes a little like ozone and petrichor. Like the aftershocks of a storm deep in the forest. Woodsy and warm and sharp. It gets stuck at the back of your mouth, up into your nose. The sort of taste that has a smell and vice versa. 

He tastes like magic. 

“I haven’t really decided yet.” You tell him, keeping all of your thoughts locked tightly away. You wait a beat, watching his smile settle, before you introduce yourself. 

“You can call me Chan. It’s nice to meet you.” 

-:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡ ･ﾟ✧:･.:-

A few days before All Hallow’s Eve, you’re awoken by a hand on your shoulder. The feeling is so foreign you’re immediately awake, sitting up with your heart in your throat, blinking away the dizziness of sleep.

Seungmin is leaning over your bed, his mouth set into a perpetual frown. Wearing a terry cloth robe over his school uniform and a pair of slippers in the shape of puppies that you specially bought for him. 

“There’s a dog at your door.”

“What?” You're not awake enough to parse that sentence. 

He rolls his eyes. “There is a dog, and it’s on the back porch.” 

“...what?”

“I’m not repeating myself again. Do something about it, because it’s kind of creeping me out.”

“Creeping you out?" You question, because it feels like an incredibly ironic thing for Seungmin to be saying. "Aren’t you meant to be the creepy thing?” 

“It’s my night off.” He says, before walking away. Leaving you blinking and confused. 

There’s a dog? At your door?

What the fuck does he mean by that? You check the time as you're crawling out of bed and into a pair of house slippers. What is a dog doing on your porch at three in the morning? 

The house is dark and quiet as you shuffle down the stairs and through both the living room and kitchen. The only sound is the soft, almost haunting noise of Seungmin singing to himself somewhere else in the house. 

As you get closer to the back of your house, you can just barely make out a dark shape outside of the window. The moonlight seems to cast it in silhouette, and the curtains drawn over the window blur the outline.

Creeping closer, you quietly try to peek behind the curtain and out onto the porch. Holding your breath, you chance a look. Any other time of year, you might have taken your roommates word for it that there was just some dog outside. But you can never be too careful about the things lurking in the dark so close to the 31st. 

At first you can't really make out what it is. It's just a large shape. Made out of shadow as it shifts around and almost knocks over your chair. Your heart crawls its way back up into your throat at the sheer size of it. 

It's as you're trying to figure out what the fuck you're meant to do in situations like this, and also wondering why your protection wards don't seem to work against this thing, when it moves and catches the light. 

You're still keyed up, because you still can't find an explanation, but there's a sliver of relief at recognizing what the shape is. 

Sitting there, sniffing at the little potted plants you have balanced on the porch railing, is a massive animal. Seungmin called it a dog but it looks so much bigger. 

It has the proportions of a wolf, maybe. You've seen wolves before, on television and that one time you went to a wolf sanctuary up north. You have a rough estimate of what they're meant to look like. Except this wolf looks as if someone clicked and dragged at the edges and enlarged it. 

When it moves to turn, trying to be oh so careful of the small space it's found itself in, you notice the way it flinches and limps. It’s favoring one of its front paws. 

Oh. It's injured. Ok, so you have a gigantic injured wolf camped out on your back porch. Sure. Why not? Somehow you're convinced you've had weirder things happen to you. Seungmin is somehow your best friend and dead, that has to be the weirdest thing in your life, right?

Speaking of your dead roommate, you’re sure that if he were here right now, hovering over your shoulder and watching you pull out the first aid kit from under the sink, he'd say you have a bleeding heart. Or that you’re being idiotic by wanting to help the monster at your door. What else are you meant to do? Shoo it away? It’s injured! 

Gently opening the back door, you try to seem like as little of a threat as possible. You don't need this thing lunging and attacking the moment it sees you. You’re convinced that it could swallow you in one bite if it really wanted it. 

The moment the back door creaks open, its ears perk up and it’s moving to face you. Curious but cautious.

“Hi, uh- please don’t eat me?” You inch further out, keeping the door open in case you have to make a swift exit. The wolf moves out of your way, making room on the already cramped porch. It tips its head and flattens its ears. It doesn’t seem aggressive. 

If anything it looks like it’s in pain. 

Now that you’re out here, and you have a better view, you catch sight of blood on the boards of your porch. Smeared and shiny in the porch light. “Can I… help? If I help you, that means you can’t eat me. Ok?” 

The wolf whines, settling down in whatever empty space it can find and nosing at its front leg. 

This feels almost too surreal. You know nothing about who or what this wolf is, or why it decided to seek you out, but yet you’re crouching down and snapping open the first aid box. 

“Um, it’s nice to meet you. I’m just going to- sorry, I need to see where you’re hurt.” You start to talk to it, not even knowing if it can understand you. You want to reassure it, in any way you can manage. As you pull its, frankly huge paw into your lap, you remember to introduce yourself. It always pays to be polite. 

You try to hold in your gasp once you get a good look at where it’s injured. The entire foreleg is bleeding, the skin mangled. 

“Did you step in a bear trap? Holy shit. ” You breathe, pressing gauze to the open wounds, trying your best to staunch the blood. 

The next few minutes go by in near silence, as some part of your brain has completely shut off to the entire weirdness of this situation, and instead you focus solely on fixing whatever this is as best as you can. It’s far from a professional job, but the bleeding has stopped so you take that as a win. 

The entire time, you can feel the wolf staring at you. If anything, it just adds to the weird factor. It doesn’t act like a normal wolf. Sure, it flinches when you press too hard on its wounds or when you sterilize them, but it doesn’t growl or snap or pull away. It just closes its eyes tight and huffs through its nose. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, wrapping its leg and paw up in a bandage. “It’s almost over, I promise.” The wolf whines again, quiet and soft and you’re struck with the urge to press a kiss to its head.

When you’re done, and you tuck the bandage into itself, the wolf finally moves. It surges forward, and you flinch, bracing yourself for the worst. A wet nose presses itself to your cheek, and then you feel it bump its head into your own. The force of it almost knocks you over. 

“Oh, uh- you’re welcome.” 

As quickly as it had sat and offered you its paw, it’s getting up and stepping over you. Apparently it got what it wanted out of this exchange. 

It’s only later, after the wolf has limped its way into the woods, that you find yourself looking up at the night sky. It’s the first night of the full moon. A giant wolf that didn’t act much like a wolf showed up on the very first night of the full moon. There’s something about that statement that sticks into the folds of your brain, but you’re honestly too tired and covered in blood to make any real sense of it. 

-:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡ ･ﾟ✧:･.:-

The next afternoon, you see Chan getting out of his car, wearing a big grey hoodie and a beanie. Seeing him all bundled up is almost as good as seeing him run around shirtless. He somehow manages to pull off both looks flawlessly. 

You’re still tired from all of the sleep you didn’t get last night, but you’ve decided that sitting out on your front steps to get some much needed sunlight would do you well. 

You wave when he catches sight of you, offering a small smile as a hello. When he waves back you notice that his hand is bandaged, and the white cloth disappears into the cuff of his hoodie. 

Interesting.

-:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡ ･ﾟ✧:･.:-

“It's at the back door again.” Seungmin says, practically hanging over you. His hair is damp and a shocking shade of orange, and you are not awake enough to wonder how he managed to do that. 

“You have to stop waking me up like this.” You grumble, pushing him out of your face. 

“Your wolf is whining at the back door." 

“He’s not my wolf.” 

You have this sneaking suspicion, you’ve been fostering it all day, that says he’s not really anyone’s wolf but his own. For a multitude of reasons. 

“Well, this is the second night in a row and it’s getting kind of pathetic. I’m starting to feel bad for it.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll deal with him.” You pull a sweater on and shove your feet into slippers.

“Wait- he? Him? The wolf told you its pronouns?” Seungmin follows you down through the hall and down the stairs. 

“Oh, right. I forgot to tell you.” You stop in the living room, peeking just enough into the kitchen to notice the large shape outside of the window by the back door. “I’m pretty sure our neighbor is a werewolf.”

“I knew he was weird!” 

Moving closer to the back door, you’re a bit more resolved in your conclusion after saying it out loud. It feels like the most obvious answer. The only thing you’re still confused about is why did a werewolf seek you out when it was hurt? A werewolf who you’ve barely spoken to and only introduced yourself to earlier in the week?

You open the door, and there he is. Laying with the top half of his body on the porch and the rest of him sitting on the grass. His ears perk up when he sees you in the doorway. 

“Hi Chan. How’s your arm feeling?” You ask, with a tilt of your head and a genuine smile. Seungmin laughs from just behind your shoulder, giddy and loving every minute.

-:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡ ･ﾟ✧:･.:-

In the morning, there's a knock at your front door, and when you answer it, Chan is standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets and the brim of his cap pulled low over his eyes. 

He looks a little awkward and misplaced. You were expecting him to show up sooner or later. Especially after you called him by name last night.

“Hey. Long time no see.” You tease, smiling at him.

“Hi. I uh-” He cuts himself off with an embarrassed sort of laugh. “Right. Actually, that's kind of what I came to talk about.”

“About the werewolf thing?”

“Wow." He breathes, still amused and trying to get a handle on his laughter "Yeah, actually.” With his head tipped away from you, he resembles the wolf quite a bit. You can almost imagine him with his ears flattened and his big liquid eyes refusing to look at you. 

“Sure. Come in.” 

You direct him to the living room, and you know what it must look like to someone who's never seen it before. Different patterns and trinkets scattered around, candles on every surface. Seungmin calls it eclectic. But he says it with a twist to his voice so you can never tell if it's an insult or a compliment. 

After you're both seated on one of the couches, your knees dangerously close to touching, you prop your head on your fist and wait for him to speak first. 

This is his problem more than it is yours, plus he's the one that came to talk. 

“You don’t look like a werewolf.” Seungmin says, appearing from virtually nowhere. His hair is still orange, and it looks a lot better in the daylight. You'll have to tell him you like it, once you're not so annoyed with him of course. 

"Oh, uh-" 

“And you don't look like a dead boy. Leave him alone.” You snap at him. With love. 

Seungmin pouts and rolls his eyes, but he easily slips from the room.

“Sorry about him. He’s nosy.” 

Chan shrugs, hands fidgeting on his thighs. “It’s alright. I don’t really mind. Besides, I did come here to talk to you about the 'werewolf thing,' so it’s fine if he’s curious about it.” He actually adds finger quotes as he says it, which is kind of stupidly endearing.

"I'm the one who's curious. Like I said, he's just nosy." 

“Right, well. I want to apologize, firstly, for bothering you the other night. Or well, for the wolf bothering you.”

You tilt your head in curiosity. "Aren’t you and the wolf the same person?”

“It’s- complicated." Chan presses his lips together, before sighing and settling further into the cushions. "We are but… sometimes, especially during a full moon, the wolf can have a mind of his own. We’re not separate entities but- sometimes, when he’s feeling strong, I don’t get a say over our decisions.”

“Like stepping in a bear trap?”

“Or coming to you for help. Really, I am sorry.”

“You were bleeding, Chan. You don’t have to apologize for that.” 

Somehow, your hand has made its way to his knee. You press your fingertips into his jeans. He shifts closer, and his eyes are so dark and deep. 

"Besides. I kind of like the wolf." 

"What about me?" 

"I thought you weren't separate entities?" 

His dimple appears when he smiles, and you have to stop yourself from leaning close and pressing your thumb into it.

-:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡ ･ﾟ✧:･.:-

It's the last night of the full moon, with Halloween just around the corner, and you're stepping out onto the porch before Seungmin can wake you. 

You have a feeling, rooted deep underneath all of your organs, that you’re going to see Chan again tonight. He mentioned that the full moon has a strong effect on him, and when he’s a wolf he seems drawn to you. So you might as well meet him in the middle. 

Sitting out in your little chair, you wait. The night has turned chilly and the stars glitter brightly in the sky. Finally, movement at the tree line catches your attention. A dark shape that stalks back and forth, just out of sight. 

You don’t really have an explanation for all of this, for why a werewolf is seeking out your attention, but you can’t say that you’re complaining all that much. It’s nice to feel trusted by something five times your size and with teeth as thick as your fingers. 

Getting up and stepping from the porch, you move closer to the woods. Standing barefoot in the sparse grass of your backyard and tempting the shape to come closer. The moon is full and bright and the breeze bites at your bare ankles. The shape stares out at you, eyes glinting between two tree trunks. 

“C’mere.” You call, barely raising your voice. 

The shape moves, bridging the distance between you and the trees in the blink of an eye, and suddenly you have a mass of muscle and fur bearing down on you.

"Hey, you big puppy." The words are all tangled up with a laugh, as you try to push him away and actually get a good look at him. “Y’know, you’re very affectionate for someone who hasn’t known me all that long.” 

Wolf Chan doesn’t answer, of course he doesn’t, but he does huff and shift closer. He’s tall enough that you can look him in the eye without having to bend at all. You reach forward and press your palms to his cheeks, rubbing your thumbs along the soft fur of his face. He closes his eyes at the touch, huffing through his nose again.

He’s soft and warm, fur almost black in the moonlight. You don’t know why this has happened to the two of you, but it feels right. Like you’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time and didn’t even realize it until now. 

Suddenly he’s moving forward and pressing his nose into your cheek, getting as close as he can. Leaning his weight into you as his muzzle moves down and into the curve of your neck. You get a face full of his fur, which has you laughing again. 

You wrap your arms around his neck. Or as much of his neck as you can, returning the favor by nuzzling into his body and sighing in contentment. 

"We should really try this cuddling thing when you're human." 

-:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡ ･ﾟ✧:･.:-

The day before All Hallow’s Eve you have an armful of Chan, as you both lay on the big couch in your living room. You should probably be more wary of how close you two have gotten, and how quickly. But you can’t help but remember that feeling the other night, standing among the treeline and breathing in the wolf’s scent. Petrichor and pine trees. There’s just something right about it that you can’t find the words for. 

The morning after the full moon, Chan had come to your door and asked if the offer for some human cuddles was still available. You told him to take you to dinner first and then you’d decide. 

Which led you both to right now, days later, and almost stupidly inseparable. He hasn’t unwillingly shifted into a wolf since the full moon, so you’ve been able to spend the nights with a very human Chan. Getting to know him and talk to him. Touch your fingers to his skin. Learn his little habits and quirks. 

You smooth a hand over his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he cuddles closer. He hums and moves around until he’s pressing his face into the slope of your neck. It’s warm and familiar and you squeeze him a little bit tighter. "The wolf really likes you."

"Oh. He does?"

Chan nods and hums again, happily. You can feel it vibrate through your skin and into your bones. "I do, yeah." 

“Well that’s good, because I really like you too.”

You both settle back into the quiet, listening to the ambient noises of the house. The fridge hums lowly from the kitchen. Seungmin is somewhere singing to himself again, you can hear it carry through the walls. Petting at the nape of Chan’s neck, you tip your chin and kiss the crown of his head. You could probably stay like this all day. 

He smells like petrichor and pine. Sharp and woodsy, like the forest and magic.

"Hey, if I dress up as Red Riding Hood, would you dress up as the Big Bad Wolf?" You ask, cutting through the comfortable silence. 

"How long have you been waiting to ask me that?" 

"Since I saw you getting out of your car with your arm all bandaged up." 

Chan laughs, big and loud, and he’s propping himself up so he can look down at you, eyes squinting and dimple appearing. He doesn’t say anything, just sort of shakes his head and then surges forward to kiss you soundly. 

You’re going to take that as a yes.

#stray kids #skz #bang chan x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #echo writes #werewolf bang chan #happy halloween!!! it's finished!!

[adhd-attention-deficit-dumbass]

”Failing doesn’t mean you have to quit”- Tips from a university student with ADHD📚

So I’ve been in uni for like….*squints at calendar* almost 5 years, (yikes) and in that time I’ve learned the value of failing.

More specificly I failed a lot of tests, handed in a bunch of assignments late and what I learned from these experiences is that failing an exam…or several of them, is not the end of the world and perhaps more importantly not the end of your plans for the future. I was convinced at several points during these years that because I failed an exam or even a whole course, it would be the end of my academic future and possibly career. I never thought I’d ever graduate but here I am five years later with a bachelor’s degree and now on my way to a master’s.

Failing doesn’t mean you have to quit what you’re doing or give up on your dreams.

It just means you have to get up and try again and if it’s one thing people with ADHD are good at it’s trying. We’re always trying to do better, improve our lives, and as long as you keep trying you’ve never truly failed.

#adhd blog #adhdblr #adhd #mental health #adult adhd #neurdivergent #adhd study #adhd motivation #it’s okay to fail #failing is ok #adhd advice

[jo-harrington]

Freaky Friday - A Stranger Things Story (Part 3)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Word Count: 12.9k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader, Eddie and Steve (Enemies to Friends)

Summary: Eddie thinks that Steve has everything in life handed to him on a silver platter (including his new girlfriend who Eddie has a crush on). And Steve just can't believe that the kids look up to Eddie the Freak, or that he lives his life without giving a single fuck.

Must be nice. But you know what they say, the grass is always greener.

Warnings/Themes: AU with no Upside Down. Angst, body swapping, dark magic/alchemy, unrequited love, mutual pining, fatphobia (if you squint?), Babysitter Steve, unresolved feelings, manipulation/deception, Things That Require Communication (Too Bad There Isn't Any), Reader gets a nickname (Honey), no Y/N if I can help it, Masturbation, Fantasies/Wet Dreams, To Quote JQ "There Do Be Willies"

Note: Guys...ok I tried I really did. First off once again thanks to @ghost-proofbaby, @big-ope-vibes and @trashmouth-richie for being my sounding boards for some things in this chapter. And then because they have been SO amazing with their writing and their big-brainedness, this chapter is dedicated to @myosotisa and @blue-mossbird.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Before Eddie could react at all to Steve's appearance, Steve had launched himself off the bed, crossed the room, and pinned Eddie against the wall with an arm across his neck. The pressure was uncomfortable, but not enough to keep him from breathing or talking.

"How did you get in here?" Eddie questioned.

"It's my fucking house, Freak," Steve spat. "I know where the spare key is. Now, what the fuck did you do to me? To us. How the fuck did you do this?"

"Listen pal," Eddie grunted, trying to shove Steve off of him. Eddie wondered, fleetingly as he stared into his own rage-filled eyes, if he was actually that strong, or if it was just because Steve had better control of his strength. "I don't know what you think I could have done, but I was just as surprised as I'm sure you were when I woke up here this morning. In your fucking body."

"That's bullshit. You did this," Steve insisted. "You...did some satanic ritual—"

"Are you stupid? It's all a joke man," Eddie began. "I don't worship Satan, Hellfire's not a cult."

"Fuck you, you and your devil horns and latin chants during lunc—"

"I just played that shit up so my friends don't get beaten up by meathead jocks like you."

Fed up with being pushed around and accused Eddie went slack against the wall for a second, causing Steve's footing to falter, and with that he threw his whole weight against Steve, causing him to tumble back onto the floor. Eddie knelt over him, gritting his teeth, and fisted the front of his shirt.

"You think if I had some kind of say in my life, some kind of power to change it, I would still be stuck in a shithole like Hawkins?" Eddie sneered. "Stuck in that trailer, stuck being a student at Hawkins high for another day?"

"Except you're not stuck anymore," Steve retorted. "I am."

"Y-you think I would want to be stuck like this instead?" Eddie huffed. "King fucking Steve Harrington. Who has it all handed to him. What kind of life is that?"

"You didn't seem too miserable a few seconds ago," Steve pointed out.

Eddie let go of Steve and he dropped slightly, head bouncing slightly off the plush area rug.

Fucking Harrington can't even have hard enough floors to hurt.

Eddie stood to his full height and looked around the bedroom again—at Steve's desk and his lovingly filled-out calendar, at the plush bed, at the window that overlooked a swimming pool for fuck's sake—and wondered how fair it was that Steve could have anything he ever wanted, but never did.

What would you like me to say to that Steve? That you're right? That I would want your life? That you're an idiot and you don't deserve any of this? That I do instead?

"Where were you just now anyway?" Steve continued as he watched Eddie cross over to the window. "Take my car for a joyride or something? While I'm driving around your rusty old shitbox? Or...or—"

"Took your girl out for a date," Eddie interrupted and glanced back at Steve over his shoulder. "Or did you forget about her?"

"My gir—" Steve paused. "Do you mean...You took her out on our date?"

"I went through the motions today," Eddie explained. "Wake up in someone else's body, go to work at their job, take their girlfriend on the date they had planned."

"For someone who seems to have no idea how this happened," Steve grunted as he pushed himself off the floor. "You seem to know how to handle a situation like this pretty perfectly."

"How do you think I should have handled it? Driving around town screaming about spells and magic?"

Steve had the sense to look ashamed for a minute and Eddie smirked.

"What did you do today then, eh 'Eddie?'"

"I...I went to school," Steve started.

"Sounds like going through the motions to me."

"I went to find Henderson!"

"Wait a minute," Eddie turned to face Steve fully. "You told Henderson?"

"Yeah," Steve shrugged. "What was I supposed to do? He's part of your little band of misfits. Figured he might know some...counter spell and get me back in my body."

Eddie groaned and put his face in his hands.

Great, Dustin was going to actually think Eddie was the devil now.

"Did you tell anyone?" Steve asked dumbly.

"No because I'm not an absolute idiot," Eddie exclaimed, throwing his hands out. "Fuck, no wonder Buckley calls you a dingus."

"Well lah-di-dah, I'm sorry I don't have the mystical body switching handbook memorized like you do" Steve snarked and fell onto the bed, grabbing a pillow to hug to his body for comfort. "What would that even look like? A...a...pentagram with 'shut the fuck up' written in the middle in latin or something?"

Eddie froze.

A mystical body switching handbook.

A pentagram.

Or maybe a sigil?

"God, I can't even believe you went on my date for me. Did you even...how did you know I had reservations at the Club? Wait, is that what you wore? Jesus Ch—”

"Shut up!" Eddie interrupted. "Go back, what did you just say?"

"Uh....The Club?" Steve asked. "The...Country Club up in Marion? My dad plays golf there."

"No before that, you said—" Eddie stopped. "Wait, you were gonna take her for dinner at the Golf Club? Kind of a douche move there, Harrington. Even for you."

"Well where did you take her then?"

"Doesn't matter," Eddie dismissed, smugly filing away the fact that his idea for a date was better than Steve's. Country Club. "You said...a pentagram."

"Yeah? What about it?" Steve asked. When Eddie hesitated to answer, Steve grew concerned. "Please don't tell me you drew a pentagram and asked for...I don't know, better hair or something and now we're stuck like this."

Eddie ignored the dig at his hair.

"Not...exactly."

"Oh!" Mrs. Henderson looked surprised when she opened the door to find both "Steve" and "Eddie" on her doorstep. "What a surprise!"

"Hey, Mrs. H," "Steve" greeted with a smile, causing "Eddie" to roll his eyes. "Is Dustin here?"

"He is. With Will and Lucas. Since someone decided to cancel Hellfire Club," she glared at "Eddie" good-naturedly. "I can go get him for you; come on in. Did you boys have dinner? You hungry? I have plenty of leftover tater tot casserole."

"No thank you," they answered in tandem and crossed through into the living room and took a seat on the couch.

As she made her way back towards Dustin's room, the boys started to bicker.

"Why would you cancel Hellfire? I never cancel. Even when I'm sick."

"I’m sorry was this not a pressing matter? Your little club can’t skip one week?”

Mews jumped up and settled in "Eddie's" lap and Steve froze as she began purring.

Mews was never really a fan of Steve's to begin with, the few times Steve had come over to spend time with Dustin and the kids. It was mutual indifference, actually. She mostly stayed cuddled up in Mrs. Henderson's arms, but when she wasn't they gave one another distance. Steve had no interest in getting near the cat, and the cat had no interest in getting near Steve.

So for her to be comfortable and purring in "Eddie's" lap...it made Steve a little nervous. What if she bit him or clawed him or—

"Well, aren't you gonna give her pets Harrington?" Eddie reached over and started scratching between her ears.

"Uh...I'm not an animal person," Steve explained and Eddie gave him a dull look. "What if it scratches me?"

"Are you kidding?" Eddie scoffed. "First, she's literally the cuddliest cat in the world. Second, she's a she, not an it. And third, if she scratches you, technically she'd scratch me and I've already been scratched several times when I fed the baby raccoons at Forest Hills."

"The—Why are you feeding raccoons?" Steve exclaimed. "They're wild animals, they're feral."

"They're babies, they shouldn't be eating trash. Which reminds me, as long as we're stuck like this, you need to leave a can or two of tuna out for the stray cats once in a while."

Steve watched Eddie for a moment, waiting for the laughter to start or a punchline to come out of his mouth. And it never did.

"What is wrong with yo—"

"Eddie! Steve!" the boys jumped at Dustin and his mother's appearance. Dustin had wide eyes and a strained smile. "What a surprise! Eddie, how was detention?"

Eddie turned back to look at Steve with raised eyebrows and a manic grin.

"Detention?" Eddie asked. "When did this happen?"

"I was late to class. You know, like I am every day." Steve answered, taking a cheap dig at Eddie for putting him on the spot.

"Anyway!" Dustin began loudly. "Why don't you guys come on back. And we can discuss that surprise campaign for Mike's birthday."

Eddie picked Mews off Steve's lap and handed her back to Mrs. Henderson with another last little chin scratch, and then he and Steve followed Dustin back to his room where, indeed, Lucas and Will were waiting.

"Alright dweebs, get lost," Steve announced.

"No way, we're not leaving until we figure this whole body switching thing out," Lucas scoffed.

"You told them too?" Eddie turned to Steve and Steve held his hands up defensively.

"No," Dustin interjected. "I did. I needed Will the Wise's brain and Sinclair the Soldier's tenacity if I was gonna solve this."

"What about Wheeler?" Eddie asked.

The boys sheepishly looked at one another.

"Mike's not exactly the best at keeping secrets," Will began hesitantly. "And if Nancy found out...well..."

"And we do actually need to come up with some kind of surprise for his birthday," Lucas continued. "A quest to reverse a curse on two knights sounds pretty epic."

They all looked to Eddie for his input.

"Could be interesting," Eddie hummed and tilted his head back and forth in contemplation. "I might be inclined to give it a DM stamp of approval if we can actually figure this thing out."

The kids all cheered and started talking over one another, saying that they went to the Hawkins Public Library after school since Hellfire was canceled. They gathered several fantasy books and a folklore book, and when they asked about occultism at the reference desk, there was one book that had recently been checked out.

"Funny you should mention that," Steve piped up and pulled the faded red book out from where it was tucked into Eddie's jacket. "Eddie and I nearly tore apart his trailer trying to find it.

And they had.

After Eddie had dropped the news that he, indeed, might have been the cause of this switch—unintentionally—he and Steve headed to Forest Hills to find the book.

Steve honestly felt a little vindicated that it actually was Eddie who had done this to the two of them, but...he admitted that he might have let all of the mania about Eddie and Hellfire Club fuel his anger.

But as he stood off to the side and watched the boys flip through the pages with Eddie as Eddie regaled them with his campaign ideas and the sigil that had caught his eye, Steve couldn't help but feel that bitter vile jealousy begin to bubble up again.

How long ago was it that he was taking them to the junkyard to ride their bikes and find scraps and bits and pieces for them to use for their...LORPing...LARPing...

And it was fun, yeah, watching the little idiots get excited over hunks of discarded pipes they could use as staffs, and bent and dented garbage can lids they could use as shields.

But he had done all of those things in an effort to make Nancy see he was a good guy, and he had lost her. And he had kept doing those things because the kids were actually fun and like the younger siblings he had always wanted...and now they were arguing about the differences between Latin and Ancient Mycenaean with Eddie.

He just couldn't keep up.

So he took the route he always knew would keep him and his feelings safe: he lashed out.

"Alright, so," he put his hands on his hips." What's the verdict, how soon can we switch back? I don't want to be stuck smelling like weed for the rest of my life. Do you even wash your clothes, Munson?"

All four boys—well, 3 boys and one man—stared at Steve with wide, almost hurting eyes. And Steve realized...

Shit.

...he hadn't made fun of someone like that in front of the kids that way in a long time.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't," he sighed and collapsed into Dustin's desk chair. "It's just been a really long day guys. It isn't easy being Eddie."

"Oh?" Eddie scoffed. "You just realizing that now Harrington? After one day of being me? You have it so fucking easy that it takes one day of...what? Being pushed around or called a freak or driving an old van that is not a rusty old shitbox, by the way. One day without your big house and your notes from your mommy and your neatly pressed clothes and your cute girlfriend doting on you?"

"And what do you know about my life?" Steve argued. "You don't know half of the shit that I go through! And you don't even care. You go around without a care in the world. Everyone you think is your friend is either afraid of you or looking for your approval. I heard from Janie Miller that you offered to give her free weed one time if she flashed you her boobs. You don't care who you're hurting or insulting or shitting on unless it's fun for you."

It was a miracle Mrs. Henderson didn't come to see what the ruckus was about because it just went on. Enough that they started talking over one another. One dig after another, one way their lives were seemingly better or seemingly worse.

The kids tried to interrupt them but they just kept going.

And Steve's breathing got heavy and his throat got tight, his eyes stung with unshed tears as he thought about...

The way everyone left him. The way he was actually alone. The way his dad couldn't see how hard he sought his approval. The way his mom only did nice things for him anymore was because he knew her secrets. The way his high school friends only liked him because of his popularity. The way that Nancy Wheeler never actually liked him at all, just liked the way he made her feel. The way that the kids left him behind for the next cool older brother kind of guy that came along. The way he was sure even Robin only half-tolerated him.

And the more that he thought those thoughts, the more...the more Eddie's body felt like his. The more he could feel every hair follicle on his head, the way every breath rattled his chest a little bit, the way his ears rang a little bit constantly from the loud music he always blasted in his van.

It got to be so much that it was scary.

But he and Eddie kept on arguing, until someone had the good sense to stop them.

"SHUT UP!" Will yelled and everything went silent. The two older boys stared at Will and he shrunk a little bit under their gaze. "I, uh, I think I figured out what happened."

"Well?" Steve snarked.

"...well I don't know for sure..." Will replied hesitantly. "I don't take Latin with Lucas and Dustin. B-but this right here. Alterius Oculos. Another's eyes?"

He pointed to the inscription on the page Eddie had shown them, right above the sigil.

“Ok what about ‘another’s eyes?’” Eddie asked.

“You need to…see through another’s eyes maybe.” Lucas offered. “Not literally. Figuratively. Empathize with them? Ms. Kelly told me about that a few weeks ago. Put yourself in someone else’s shoes.”

“Except, it’s actually literal,” Dustin snapped his fingers. “Because you two are actually seeing through one another’s eyes and wearing each other’s shoes.”

“So I drew the sigil, went to bed and we switched bodies to see through each other’s eyes and…understand each other better?” Eddie huffed. “I wasn’t even thinking of Harrington when I drew it!”

“What were you thinking of?” Lucas questioned.

Eddie quietly picked at his fingernails, and Steve looked down at his own hands—at Eddie’s actual hands—and saw the ripped up skin and closely trimmed nails. Eddie was a nail biter.

Eddie Munson was a nail biter and he was nervous and he was…

“I was thinking that…nothing good ever happened to me. That…I needed to have a reality check or something,” Eddie shrugged.

…Eddie was a loser. He didn’t have it all figured out. He struggled with things…beyond Steve’s understanding. Even because of Steve sometimes.

“Hey, uh,” Steve cut in. “It’s not like I did anything to help things last night.”

“What do you mean?” Will asked.

“I, uh, might have charged you extra for your movie rental just to get you out of my hair for a while.”

“I knew it!” Eddie exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Steve. “I knew you were pulling that shit on purpose.”

“Can you fucking blame me, have you ever met yourself?” Steve asked.

“Well, I certainly can say I have now,” Eddie grumbled. “So how do we fix this? How do we switch back?”

The younger boys all shared another nervous look.

“I guess…” Will began. “Do more things to understand each other. Just…do whatever the other would do…live each other’s lives.”

“For how long? Forever?” Steve scoffed.

“Lucas and I can translate the rest of this page,” Dustin offered.

“I’m sorry, Lucas and who?” Lucas asked. “You’re barely passing Latin.”

“Ok Lucas can translate the page while Will and I can do my best to help ‘Eddie’ navigate Hellfire Club.” Dustin held his hands out as though he was weighing his options. “And ‘Steve’ can just…not fuck up real Steve’s life. Or real Eddie’s life for that matter!”

“Can’t fuck up something that’s at Rock Bottom,” Steve grumbled.

“And maybe you two could work on understanding each other in the mean time?” Lucas asked.

Steve and Eddie stared at one another in a way that felt, to Steve at least, like a challenge. They nodded and Steve felt the unspoken “let the best man win” ring through the air.

Otherwise they were both gonna lose.

Eddie threw his head back with laughter.

"Swing and a miss," he called as you swung the putter at the little purple golf ball, over and over, without actually hitting it. "Honey, are you just letting me win? There's no way you can be so bad at this."

"We can't all be professional mini golfers," you laughed at him.

"Excuse me, that is 'mini golf champion,'" Eddie boasted. "They have my face in the Hall of Fame."

"Oh I didn't know I was in the presence of a celebrity," you bowed to him. "Maybe you could take some pity on a poor peasant and help me get this shot please."

"I supposed I could give you some pointers," he sighed dramatically and sidled up behind you. He wrapped his arms comfortably around you and his hands found yours on the putter. When he tried to get your body into position to make the shot, you pressed yourself back against him and rested your head on his shoulder a bit. "Hmmm, what is this funny business, honey? Trying to distract me?"

You wiggled your shoulders and relaxed, leaning your body further into his, emphasizing the softness of you against the hardness of him.

And it was only getting harder by the second.

"Maybe I'm trying to win?" you turned your head to look at him, breath fanning against his jaw.

"Considering I've made par on every hole so far—"

"I'm not talking about golf anymore Eddie," you muttered, shaking your hands out from below his on the putter so you could turn within his embrace and cup his face softly...reverently. "I...you know I've always had a huge crush on you."

"Honey, why do you have to tell me such sweet things?" Eddie asked. "It's our first date, I'm trying to be a gentleman. We're in public."

"And if we weren't in public?" You tilted your face closer to his, lips practically brushing against his. "Would you be a gentleman then?"

"Do you want me to be?" he asked breathlessly.

He dropped the putter and grabbed at your waist as he crushed his mouth to yours. It was a hungry sort of kiss, like he was a man starved. And when the joyous moan that came from you was as sweet as honey, Eddie resolved that you were, indeed, going to give him a sweet tooth.

Eddie's hands slid easily across the smooth surface of your shiny taffeta dress as he pulled you closer, causing it to rustle as it crinkled under his touch. It got harder to think as he savored your softness but he dreamed of what it would be like to be surrounded by all of you. To be consumed, and suffocated, and smothered by you.

He could have it...he could have you...

You pulled away momentarily and stared up into his eyes, yours glassy with want and adoration, something that he only ever hoped you would look at him with.

"Do you wanna answer the phone?" you muttered.

"W-what?"

"Steven are you up?" There was a knock on the bedroom door and Eddie woke with a start. He groggily looked around the room, at the plaid wallpaper and the tidy belongings.

Damn. The thing that he hoped was a dream was real, and the thing he hoped was real was only a dream.

"There's someone calling for you. Did you wanna answer?" Mrs. Harrington said through the door.

"Y-yeah, uh," Eddie called out and cleared his throat. "M-mom." The word was unfamiliar on his tongue, in his brain. Like a language that hadn't been practiced in quite some time.

He hoped, at the very least, Steve didn't call her "mommy."

He had been well on his way to an early-riser if he hadn't been woken up, but nothing was a bigger boner-killer than thinking of Mrs. Harrington as "mommy."

"Alright, come downstairs when you're ready; I'm making breakfast too. Your favorite."

Eddie pushed himself out of Steve's bed for the fifth day in a row. Threw on some of Steve's clothes for the fifth day in a row.

After the discussion with the kids on Friday night, he and Steve had agreed to go through the motions, make the best of living one-another's lives and actually put in the effort. Eddie told him about the things he did to make things easier around the trailer since Wayne worked nights--the laundry, grocery shopping, bringing home a little extra money by dealing—and Steve told Eddie the things he did—driving Robin to school, working at Family Video, his "health routines."

Although, Eddie would hesitate to call shaving his chest and styling his hair something someone did for their health.

He was also hesitant to maintain Steve's morning run, considering the fact that he hated running, but found that it was easier in Steve's athletic body than in his garbage bag one—Steve's words, not his.

They also set one non-negotiable thing each, that the other must do no matter what.

For Eddie, that was Corroded Coffin and their Tuesday gigs, like the one they had that night.

He had spent the weekend coming up with a plan for them to still play, even with Steve in his body and fully unable to play the guitar. Steve had even offered to learn some easy guitar riffs or chords, but Eddie had standards to keep. It would be his luck that on the night Steve was in his body putzing around that some....record label exec would walk into the Hideout. He wasn't gonna let that fly.

So they figured out that "Steve" would be spending some time with "Eddie" at Dustin's request so they could "reconcile their differences." And in an effort to learn more about "Eddie," he would go to Corroded Coffin's shows.

Since the "stage lights" were so bright and blinding anyway, no one would know that he slipped into the supply closet where his Fender would be plugged into the equipment, while Steve faked playing an unfortunately dead Sweetheart on stage. There was more to the performance than just focusing on the music...so he'd just have to hope that none of the guys gave Steve any cues that he couldn't see.

The singing was an easy fix. Jeff was working on his confidence; Eddie would just let him be the frontman tonight. No need to worry about Steve knowing any of the songs, let alone their lyrics.

He was an optimist when it came to music though. This would work.

For Steve, it was that Eddie did not talk to his parents outside of any quick, cordial conversations. And Eddie wasn't one to pry—he had his fair share of parental issues—it just seemed weird that the mention of Ma and Pa Harrington would cause Golden Boy Stevie to choke up the way he did.

Thankfully for Eddie, the Harrington's had vibrant social lives. Thomas Harrington worked late at the car dealership and then went out for dinner and drinks with his salesmen most nights Monday through Saturday. And on Sunday he got his clubs out of the hall closet and went to the Country Club to play with his other businessman friends for most of the day. Mary Harrington was just...unexplainably gone from the house for most of the day, most days. Eddie couldn't even explain when she was home to do all of the things she seemed to do around the house.

"Steve" had the day off of work yesterday so he was home for most of the day, and short of the few hours he had left the house to take you out on another date, Mary hadn't been home at all. Miraculously, when he returned at the end of the night, his hamper was empty, his bed had been made, his new schedule was written in his calendar, and his lunch was ready in the fridge for the following day.

Eddie wondered why everyone thought he was capable of dark magic when, clearly, Mary Harrington was the town's resident witch.

This morning was the first one that he had even heard her voice, let alone be the first time he would see her as he resided in Steve’s body.

Eddie crept down the stairs and into the hall, peering around to see if Mrs. Harrington was anywhere nearby then approached the little hall table where the phone was sitting off the hook.

"Good morning, this is Steve Harrington," he greeted as he pressed the receiver to his ear. "Fine purveyor of rental videos, microwave popcorn, and movie theater candy. How can I help you?" There was giggling on the other end of the line and he grinned.

"Please don't tell me that's how you answer the phone at Family Video?" you said, instead of a "hello."

"I will now," he promised.

"No!"

"You'll just have to call more often and stop people from actually having to hear it." His smile grew at your skeptical uh huh and he continued. "What's going on this morning, honey. I thought you had class."

He could envision you leaning against a payphone, twirling a finger through a lock of your hair.

"I have a few minutes," you explained. "But I just wanted to call and say I had a really good time last night."

He had taken you to the drive in to see a double feature—House on Haunted Hill and The Bat; Eddie knew you loved Vincent Price but "Steve" just had incredibly luck—but most of the night was spent talking and holding hands and at the end of the night, he got to kiss you again.

Eddie felt triumphant once again, knowing deep down that you would like the dates he had planned over anything Steve could have come up with.

Part of the discussion with Steve about how to go about each other's lives also included you. Eddie had hesitated and asked how Steve felt that someone else was dating his girlfriend and Steve had just shrugged.

"She's a good one, I don't wanna let her get away," Steve shrugged. "You'll just have to keep her warm for me."

"Is that really the best way to build a relationship?" Eddie asked. "Lies? Tricks?"

"She doesn't have to know you're not me," Steve explained. "Just...take it easy, don't do any of the good stuff until we switch back. You wanna know some of my favorite dating spots?"

So Eddie decided...if he happened to be stuck in Steve's body forever he could have you. And if he ever made it back to his body...well...Steve wasn't exactly as smooth as people thought he was. If he couldn't keep up the loverboy act Eddie had started, you would get fed up and dump him.

And Eddie would be right there to pick up the pieces.

"Oh yeah?" Eddie laughed. "Well I'm glad. I did too. What was your favorite part?"

"Uhhh...oh! That part when you—"

The two of you chatted for a few minutes, talking and laughing easily, before you told him you had to get to class. He needed to get going too, so he could drive Robin to school.

His chest ached a little when he hung up the phone.

"It's good to see you smiling, Stevie," came a voice from over his shoulder. He jumped, seeing Mary leaning against the threshold to the living room.

"Uh, good morning," Eddie greets her.

"Were you hungry? Figured we could have a little chat over breakfast," she smiled an obviously strained smile.

Shit, how did she know? What did she know?

"I actually have to get going," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder then put his hands in his pockets. "Take Robin to school...get to work, open the shop."

"Let me get your lunch then!" Her eyes crinkled at the corners and she dashed away. Eddie wondered if he could make an escape before she came back, but before long she was pressing the brown paper bag into his hand. "I put your allowance in there too. Remember Dad can't find out about it, Steve. Please...dad can't find out. Please."

"Oh...kay," Eddie frowned. Was that the reason Steve didn't want Eddie talking to his parents? Because his dad cut him off but his mom was giving him money instead? Well, Eddie could keep a secret, and enjoy the benefits of some extra pocket money. "Sure. Mom. Whatever you say. I've gotta go."

"You have plans tonight?" she asked. "I can leave dinner for you."

"Nah, I'll probably be home late," Eddie explained. "Going out with friends."

Mary's face fell into a neutral expression, then she rolled her eyes and sighed. It was night and day from how it was just moments before, and it was incredibly uncomfortable for Eddie.

"You can't do this forever Steven," she shook her head. "Keep me at arms length. I'm your mother. I'm trying."

"I don't...I'm sorry mom. I've gotta go."

Eddie scooped Steve's keys out of the little dish on the table and headed towards the front door.

"I'm trying, Steven," Mary called after him cryptically. "You can't be mad at me forever."

Tuesdays were your favorite day of the week.

Well they weren't...your favorite; did anyone even have a favorite day of the week?

To be completely honest, they were actually kind of nasty.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were the days you had the heaviest course load at the Community College. Your first class started at 7am—you thought they would be easy thanks to your early starts in high school, but you thought wrong—and aside from a brief, squeezed-in lunch break at 11:45, you had classes straight until 3. Tuesdays also meant Bingo at the Rec center and an early dinner rush of senior citizens at Benny's that started right at the beginning of your shift. So no breaks again until closer to 6? Or 7? Or later if the actual dinner rush ran long.

And Benny was a nice guy, right? He always let you take an extra 5 minutes when he made his rounds about the restaurant to greet the regulars.

But Lynn? The curmudgeonly opening waitress who had been around Benny's before it was even Benny's?! Who had been doing this for longer than you'd been alive? Lynn spent the tiny bit of overlap in your shifts criticizing everything you did.

Every. Little. Thing.

Usually you could ignore her, but on Tuesdays when you were just one...big mass of irritation, it took everything in you not to flip her the bird as she left. Just one big "fuck you, you miserable old bitch" to her back as she retreated to her clunky, old Mercury Monterey.

As soon as her tail lights were out of sight from the diner windows and she was a little too far to turn back and chastise you about something she forgot to earlier—she had done that enough for it to always be a valid fear—you got to breathe.

You suddenly gained a sense of serenity and joy.

Because Tuesday wasn't your favorite day. Tuesday nights were your favorite nights.

Corroded Coffin came in on Tuesdays. Eddie came in on Tuesdays.

You told yourself going into the day...well, now that you were dating Steve...it was going to be different. It had to be different. The date on Friday really felt like Steve had turned a new leaf; he was moving on from Nancy and was actually gonna give this thing with you a chance.

And your date with him the night before? It had been so perfect; you hadn't even thought about Eddie once. Well...actually...

That fleeting thought you had about Eddie on Friday night, wondering how he might kiss you, left a pit in your stomach. And it had returned with a vengeance after Steve had kissed you last night too. Enough so that it practically kept you up all night from guilt and made you call him this morning to tell him...

I really had a good time with you last night but when you kissed me I thought of someone else.

...to tell him what a great time you had, and that you were excited to see him again.

And it wasn't a lie. You were excited to see him. Excited for this change in him. Excited for the attention and affection he freely gave you during these last two dates that he, generally, hadn't given you during the first two.

You owed it to Steve, and to yourself, to give it a chance. And in order for it to be a fair chance, you had to make a clear distinction in your mind that...well...Steve was...your boyfriend now, and Eddie? Eddie was unfortunately just a friend.

A friend you wanted to kiss.

God this was gonna be difficult.

You could still be nice to him, still look forward to Tuesday nights when he and the guys would come in. They were fun nights filled with music and silly arguments and a textbook example of "boys will be boys."

You simply had to remember that all of those little extra things you did—make sure his favorite booth was free, ask Benny for pickles on his patty melt that he always forgot to ask for, or give him extra whipped cream on his slice of pie—weren't because you wanted Eddie to like you. Or notice you. Or maybe ask you out one day.

It was because you were his friend.

You had even come up with some foolproof plan to get the butterflies to stop flapping in your stomach when you did all of those little things for Eddie. Because you certainly couldn't stop doing them; that would be suspicious. Instead, every time your heart would beat a little harder for Eddie, you would just...think of Steve. His smile and his laugh and his kiss...

It would be so easy.

And certainly much easier tonight of all nights, as Steve walked into Benny's with Corroded Coffin, laughing along to some joke Jeff told before they had opened the door.

It would be so easy.

"Hey guys," you greeted nervously and turned to Steve. "What are you doing here?"

“What a lovely greeting Honey,” Steve chuckled and quickly glanced around before he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. You felt your face heat up in embarrassment as Eddie and the boys watched the interaction, Dave and Gareth giving Eddie pointed looks, which he ignored.

How strange.

“Steve, please,” you laughed nervously. “I’m at work.”

“Well the boss isn’t around,” Steve pointed out.

“Uh…w-well I have your usual booth ready guys,” you greeted Eddie and his friends.

"Harrington's joining us tonight," Eddie pointed out. "Can we get a table or instead?"

"I can just pull an extra chair up to the booth," you offered, knowing Eddie really liked the view out of the window.

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "That booth does sound nice, Eddie. I don't mind a chair."

"No, we'll get a table," Eddie waved a hand dismissively. "Everyone good with that?" The rest of the guys agreed and Steve huffed an agreement beside you.

"Ok, uh," you stammered. "Wherever you guys wanna sit then, I'm the only one here tonight. And Ben. As usual."

It wasn't...terrible or anything, them wanting a table, it just threw off your cadence. If they had sat in the booth, you already had menus, waters, and silverware set out. Now you had to move everything across the restaurant because Eddie had beelined for a round table in the corner.

It was fine.

Steve hung back for a second and pulled you to the side.

"Hey, uh, is it ok that I'm here?" he asked. "You look a little flustered."

"Yeah, no I'm ok," you gave him a small smile. "Just wasn't expecting you. And I've had a bit of a long day. Kind of overdue for my last break too."

"You should ask Benny if you can take your break," Steve offered. "We'll be fine. The guys are hungry but they'll have to wait regardless."

"The...guys..." you narrowed your eyes at Steve. It felt too familiar coming from his mouth. "What are you doing here with them Steve?"

There was a beat as Steve's eyes got a little bigger and he looked down at his feet for a second before he cleared his throat.

"Listen Honey, I took what you said the other day to heart," Steve started quietly, inching a little closer to you. "About Eddie being your friend. I figured...he had something going on with him, I shouldn't have been so quick to judge. So I went to check up on him and...I don't know, turns out the guy isn't half bad when you get to know him."

"Really?" you asked blankly. You had no reason not to trust him but...going from calling someone a dangerous freak who should be in jail to hanging out with him and his friends in just a few days...seemed drastic.

But when you stared into his hazel eyes, there wasn't a hint of deceit in them.

"Sure," he shrugged a little. "I even went and watched his band play tonight."

"You did?" You were sure the craziest music Steve was into was Van Halen, if that. All of the tapes in his car were…rocky and poppy and nothing outside of the Top 40 charts.

"They're pretty good," he grinned. "Very good actually. They did Flight of Icarus and Mr. Crowley."

"You...listen to metal?" you asked with a frown.

"Uh," Steve shrugged again. "There's some good songs. And Ozzy. Who doesn't know Ozzy?"

"You gonna sit there and chit chat all night Harrington?" Eddie called from the table and the rest of the guys all chuckled. Steve's eyes hardened for a second but he gave you a gentle smile before he went to join them.

You didn't always go outside during your breaks; more often than not, you would sit in the kitchen, do some homework, and chat with Benny as he manned the grill. You'd think a middle-aged man and a 19-year old would have nothing in common, but Benny was honestly like an aloof father figure. He just stood there as you talked or complained about this or that, offered advice or lame jokes. It was perfect.

But tonight was just...confusing.

You tried to make the best of it, you really did. You brought the guys everything they needed, you smiled shyly when Steve reached over and held your hand as he ordered...

He even asked for a little kiss and you reluctantly gave him a peck on the cheek.

But it was Eddie.

He was being a real douchebag. Not to everyone else; just to you.

You had gotten their table set up and then went to check on the other customers and get their drink orders. But when you came back, he didn't even want his Dr. Pepper. He said water was fine.

When you asked everyone if they wanted their usuals—Patty Melts all around. No onions for Dave, extra sauce for Gareth, on a bun instead of rye for Jeff, and add pickles for Eddie—Eddie changed his mind and ordered a bacon cheeseburger instead. Ok, no big deal. It wasn't the first time he'd changed it up.

But then he had just been...picky.

The fries were overdone, the bacon wasn't crispy, it wasn't medium well.

You had brought his food back to the kitchen 3 times, and Benny even offered to kill Eddie for you to get you to laugh.

"He's a good kid but maybe it's his time of the month or something," Benny shrugged, urging you to let things slide. "Got bitten by a werewolf. Or turned into a vampire or something. I could even put some garlic powder on the fries, see if it does him in."

He then told you to go take your break, that he would take the burger back out and make sure none of the guys were having any problems with their food.

"Or else," he raised his spatula as though it was a deadly weapon.

Who knows, Benny kept things to himself, maybe he could kill someone with a spatula...

You were leaning against the grey stucco on the side of the building, enjoying the slight breeze, when there was a crunch of gravel off to the side. You turned your head to see Steve standing there with a small smile and his hands in his pockets.

"You doing ok, honey?" he asked.

"Yeah, just a long day like I said," you explained.

"How was class?"

"Stupid. How was work?"

"Stupid." He grinned wider. "I, uh, was really looking forward to seeing you tonight though."

You pursed your lips to stop the smile from making it onto your face.

"You really wanted to see me in my stupid uniform?" you asked, holding your hands out to emphasize the shapeless blue dress. "I look like Hazel."

"Did I ever tell you that I had the biggest crush on Shirley Booth when I was a kid?" You broke out in laughter. "What? What's so funny? Hazel might just be my type, did you ever think of that?"

"You are..." you started, but paused and shook your head dismissively as he got closer to you.

"I'm?" he questioned, leaning over to take one of your hands in his. He pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"You're not...what I expected Steve Harrington to be like," you muttered. His eyes went wide for a second as they darted back and forth between yours. "You're so much better."

"Of course I'm better, it's because I'm..." He faltered for a moment. "It's because I'm crazy about you, honey."

Your heart dropped into your stomach...

Steve was...crazy about you?

"You just make me wanna dance," he chuckled and took a step back, pulling you with him. He lifted your arm and made to twirl you around, and you laughed as you tripped on the gravel drive. He urged you to try again and you managed to twirl this time, apron flaring.

Round and around until you got a little dizzy and he pulled you to his chest.

"Hi Honey," he whispered as he rocked you back and forth to some unheard tune.

"Hi," you giggled breathlessly.

"Can I kiss you?"

"You don't always have to ask."

"But can?"

"Always."

Then his lips pressed to yours and you closed your eyes and you were surrounded by him again. Noses brushing, his lips softly pecking at yours, his hands tugging you closer as you reached up to hold his face in yours.

He pulled away briefly to drop little kisses on the corner of your mouth, then your cheek. Your eyes opened and you watched your own fingers thread through his hair, seemingly leading him further along to your neck, but instead it was just an unwitting follower because the choice to suck a bruising kiss at your pulse point was anything but yours.

You grasped at him tighter as something between a whimper and a moan exited you, and he chuckled in a husky, smokey way before laving his tongue over the abused spot.

You closed your eyes again, luxuriating in the moment and all things Steve Harrington...then it hit you.

All of the other senses got to you first—touch and taste, and sound and sight—and now it was smell. And it wasn't what you had initially associated with Steve, that bright, citrus scent.

It was musky and sweaty and spicy and a little bit sweet. There was a heavy undertone of tobacco beneath it all.

Eddie.

"Hey kid, break time's over!" Benny hollered into the night and you pushed yourself away from Steve, stumbling over the gravel drive once again. His hands reached out for you, to pull you back or to steady you, you couldn't be sure.

You regained your footing and batted his hands away to quickly fix your rumpled uniform and wipe at your lips with the back of your hand.

"You good Honey?" Steve chuckled. "You need a minute?"

"Uhh, yeah, I'll be in there in just a second," you waved him back inside. He gave you a wink and a smug smile before he turned and headed back to the door.

Your posture went slack for a second as you tried to control your heart rate and your thoughts. And where your head should have been consumed with thoughts of Steve, instead they were filled with—

"Nope! No. No more!" You stomped your feet and gave your face a few light slaps. "No more. Bad."

You took a few deep breaths, regained your composed service persona, and headed back in.

You spotted the guys table had been cleared, so you got ready for the best part of the night.

Benny was a realist who knew how to do burgers, fries, and shakes, and outside of that, didn't push the ticket. Which meant all of the desserts came from the local bakery every afternoon. They even came pre-sliced.

The whipped cream however? Benny was a connoisseur. He boasted to everyone that had the patience to hear about it that it wasn't cool whip, it wasn't from a squeeze can. If there was whipped cream on a shake or a dessert it was fresh.

"Nothing good in life comes without a little effort," he said the first time he handed you the hand-crank-egg beater-turned-cream-whipper that was, most assuredly, older than you.

So you spent the next few minutes plating everyone's desserts, whipping the cream, and getting it all looking perfect. It might have been the end of their meal, but it was the highlight of your night.

You would take a win where you could. Because everything else felt...

"Alright guys, time for dessert?" you asked, bringing the tray to their table.

You went clockwise starting with Eddie at the head of the table.

Cherry pie for Eddie, Apple for Gareth and Dave, Cheesecake for Jeff.

"And I didn't know what you'd like Steve," you told him with a sad smile. "But just let me know what sounds good and I can go grab it for you."

You were about to start putting dollops of whipped cream on everyone's dessert when Eddie pushed his plate further out from him.

"I didn't ask for Cherry," he said with a sniff.

Everything went quiet.

"Uh," Dave looked at the other guys at the table. "Cherry is your favorite man."

"I don't know, I'm not in a cherry pie mood," Eddie dismissed. He looked up at you "Can I get cheesecake instead? No whipped cream."

"S-sure," you smiled.

You were about to grab the cherry pie from the table to bring it back when Steve reached out and pulled it towards him.

"I'll just take this one," he reasoned. "Cherry actually is my favorite, and I am definitely in a cherry pie mood."

Eddie laughed.

"Whatever you say Harrington," he teased with a roll of his eyes. "Guess you have to get an extra long run in tomorrow if you're indulging so much. Mr. Star Athlete over here."

The

"I'm not gonna say no to cherry pie," Steve shrugged then looked at you. "Can I get extra cream on mine honey?"

He winked at you and you felt your face heating up, but you kept your mouth shut. You went around piping the whipped cream on everyone else's desserts, then ran back to the kitchen to get Eddie's.

As soon as the door swung shut behind you, you started to feel sick.

Something was wrong...

It was just off, you'd been feeling it all night. But you couldn't put a finger on it until now.

It was Eddie...

He was still his funny self...for the most part. But just like the other day at Family Video, he just seemed to be operating on a different frequency. And you wondered for a second if maybe it was you...or maybe it was Steve...maybe the fact that Steve was here and he wasn't...being very discreet with his affections. Neither were you, if you were being honest.

Was he...angry? Jealous?

He was the one to invite Steve out in the first place, so it seemed. Something just didn't make sense...

Steve had to admit that he was having fun.

It had barely been a few days of being Eddie Munson, but it was great. He spent most of the weekend with the kids learning the basics of DnD and putting together some things for a campaign.

He still didn't really get the whole game part, actually. But spending time with the kids? He wouldn't say no.

Having to go to school again wasn't...the greatest. Especially when all of the teachers seemed to have it out for Eddie. Steve just...started paying a little more attention, stopped being a general menace during class. He dug deep to remember some of the coursework from last year...and vaguely wondered how much Eddie didn't pay attention in class in the first place. Steve was not a model student and he could still remember this stuff, so he figured Eddie should be getting an A+ in all of his classes he was repeating now for a second time.

He was sorely mistaken.

Eddie's friends were also...pretty nice too, he had to admit. He had never really given the Hellfire Club the time of day when he was still at Hawkins High, aside from the obvious, but they were actually pretty nice guys.

The music though? It had been the highlight of his week so far.

Steve hadn't ever really understood what the big whoop the theater kids got performing but it was an adrenaline rush, something he hadn't felt for months since he was no longer a star athlete. He hadn't even been playing the guitar but the high of being on that raised platform, having the lights in his eyes, having his heart beat in time with the drum. He hammed it up a bit on the stage once he felt confident enough, like he had seen in one concert or another.

It wasn't the kind of music he liked, really, but he could get used to it if only to chase that rush.

And Steve had felt like a king again when Jeff had clapped him on the shoulder at the end of the set and excitedly gushed on that being the first time he had ever fully landed some solo or another.

Except..."Eddie" hadn't nailed the solo. Eddie had.

And as infectious as the celebration was, it made him feel a little guilty that Eddie couldn't even properly celebrate what must have been an exciting moment. Instead he just sauntered out from the little alcove they had set up and watched Steve take the credit for his accomplishments.

Steve went through the motions, just like they had agreed on, for the rest of the night.

They went to Benny's with "Steve" in tow at "Eddie's" insistence—he couldn't be left alone with Eddie's friends, he just knew he would fuck something up and give it all away—and had their late night bites.

And you were there, laughing and chatting and doting on all of the guys, especially "Steve." Even though it sucked watching you kiss his cheek, knowing it was really Eddie inside…it was nice to know that he had something to look forward to once he got back into his own body.

Something real. Something he thought he had with Nancy.

Now that the remnants of dessert were pretty much over and the guys were just shooting the shit until Benny kicked them out, Steve wandered across the restaurant to the old jukebox to pick out some music.

He briefly wondered what the response would be if “Eddie” picked something like Billy Joel. He couldn't give less of a shit though. "Eddie" might not like it but Steve was a little tired of metal after hearing it all night, after all.

"Hey Eddie?" your voice came from behind him and he turned to face you.

"Yeah, hey...uh...sweetheart," he gave you an easy smile. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were doing ok," you explained. “You seem…I dunno, kinda off tonight.”

“What?” Steve faltered. He seemed off? How? If you could tell…could the others?

”Yeah you didn’t…want your regular order, you didn’t want pie,” you shrugged. “Didn’t even want whipped cream on your cheesecake.”

Shit.

How was it that he could flawlessly fake his way through a guitar solo, but not this?

"I...uh...," he started hesitantly, wracking his brain for an excuse. He dug deep, deeper than he thought was possible, and he came up with...

Dinner with his parents. His father pushing away a plateful of food. His mother looking tired and bored.

"Sometimes people's tastes change," he finished.

It was a painful answer for him to give...but he didn't think you and Eddie were close enough for your expression to crumple the way it did. It probably wasn't the kind of answer Eddie would give to a friend—he had seen how protective he had been over them even before this whole fiasco—but if it meant getting you off his back, he would easily do something that would push you away.

"You know I've been worried about you," you stared. "The other day, outside of Family Video. It was so incredibly scary. And if you're having a tough time..."

"Uh, yeah," Steve folded his arms across his chest awkwardly. "Sorry about that. It was just...just a bad high. I'm ok now. No need to worry."

"Ok," you nodded hesitantly. Steve thought you would just turn on your heel and walk away.

But you didn't.

“Listen I know we’re not…super close or anything,” you hesitated. Steve raised his eyebrows and nodded for you to continue. “I just…I want you to know you aren’t alone.”

“Thanks, uh, I appreciate that,” he nodded and smiled tightly.

"And if there is something going on, you can trust me."

"Of course."

"You know," you paused and looked down at your hands. It was several beats of you taking deep breaths and looking down at your hands, and Steve wondered if you were waiting for some kind of response...or thinking the right words to say next. You glanced up and frowned. "I had a-a c-crush on you in high school."

His heart dropped in his chest and suddenly it felt like Nancy all over again. Telling him that she didn't love him, telling him that it was over, that their relationship was fake, that she didn't even know she was ready to be in a relationship. Only to show up with Jonathan Byers to the Sadie Hawkins dance a few weeks later.

Steve thought everything was working out so well with you. He watched you...kiss his cheek.

Were you planning on breaking up with him?

He wanted to lash out, like a wild animal, tell you all of the things he wishes he could have said to Nancy.

Except...

Except he wasn't Steve Harrington at that moment, he was Eddie Munson.

And you weren't confessing your feelings in a way like someone with a crush would. You didn't look happy or excited. You didn't even really look like your usual sweet and kind self. You looked conflicted.

Because, he realized, he did watch you kiss his cheek. He, Steve, watched you kiss "Steve's" cheek.

If you weren't here to tell "Eddie" that you were breaking up with "Steve" to be with him, then what were you doing?

"I-I mean, we both did," you backtracked with a little laugh and Steve frowned. "Me and Terry. You remember Terry right? I mean, of course you do."

Steve didn't know who Terry was, but "Eddie" would.

"Of course I do."

""Right," you smiled. "Anyway, we both had a crush on you. And there was this time...I don't know, you don't want to hear about this."

"You're dating Steve now," he pointed out. "Why are you telling me this? Why are you telling me that you—"

"I guess," you interrupted him but hesitated again. "You seemed pretty lonely last year, all the times we talked. Even if they weren't...talks? Just small talk. But...after Mickey left for college and you stayed behind—"

That's right, Mickey Caldwell...and his sister Terry...

"--well you have the band and all...but...no one even wanted to be your partner in class but me. And now...you have to do it again and I'm sure it's even harder now."

Steve was catching on.

You weren't there to tell "Eddie" that you were breaking up with "Steve" to be with him. You were just being a good friend. Because even though Eddie had his group of misfit friends...

He was lonely.

Steve knew the feeling. Aside from Robin and the kids...he really didn't have anyone around either. He had just been thinking about how nice it was to spend time with Eddie and his friends after all.

Steve had been jealous that Eddie was spending all of this time with the kids...taking them away from Steve, when he was just as lonely as Steve was...if not more so.

It gave him an idea...

"So," you broke Steve from his thoughts. "If you ever...want to talk. I'm here for you. You have me, always, if ever you want."

You smiled then. Bright and hopeful.

"Well, thanks, sweetheart," he nodded and placed a hand on your shoulder. "I appreciate it...really...it's very nice of you. You're a really good friend."

He didn't see—didn't notice—how your smile fell as he walked past you to get back to the table with the rest of the guys.

Eddie walked into the familiar darkness of the Harrington house, a good exhaustion settling in his bones as he trudged up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

He went through the motions of getting ready for bed. with a peaceful smile on his face. It had been a good day, the likes of which he really hadn’t felt in a long time. If ever. 

The show at the Hideout then dinner at Benny’s. Dancing with you, kissing you, and holding you in his arms.

He could see your smile in his mind’s eye clear as day.

He didn’t want to delude himself into thinking it was love or…or happiness…it was just joy. Plain and simple. And it brought him so much comfort, knowing he could be the one to provide that for you.

Once he was in bed though, and he replayed specific moments over again, that comfort soon faded.

He tried to sleep, he really did.

But every thought he had, he thought of you. Looking perfect in your little uniform. Your laugh as you spoke to everyone, the special attention you gave him. You looked at him the way he always wanted you to.

You moaned the way he could only ever have imagined when he kissed your neck. It was filthy and still ringing in his ears hours later.

He’d wanted to touch you, just like he did in his dream that morning and it was even nicer than he had imagined.

The only thing that would have made it better was if he was in his own body. If it was him, Eddie Munson, that you were looking at and feeling things for and moaning for.

It was with all of that and at the reminder of the dream that he had been so rudely pulled from that morning, that Eddie started getting hot under the collar. 

It wasn’t about sex, really; it was intimacy. And that’s what he wanted more than anything. The closeness with you. To know you. To be with you.

He closed his eyes and imagined your smile directed at him again, the way you put your hand on his shoulder when you asked if everyone was alright, and then fixed his hair a little bit when you went to leave. 

His hair…he’d always been sensitive about it and even in this other body…in his own body…giving it a tug always helped get his motor running.

Eddie reached up and gave Steve’s hair an experimental tug, the short few days not nearly enough for him to be used to the difference in length and texture. It felt crunchy from all the product he had put in and it immediately felt uncomfortable on his fingers.

No touching the hair, noted.

He vaguely wondered, were his nerves on fire because this body was sensitive and aroused and receptive to your attention. Or was it because he, Eddie Munson, resided inside.

Only one way to find out.

He palmed himself over the comforter, then over his sweats, but it wasn’t enough. 

Eddie didn’t hesitate to strip himself of his sweats and the suffocating briefs, and he propped the pillows behind him in a more comfortable way so he could…well so he could watch if he wanted to.

Right now he just wanted to imagine. To feel.

The thought of touching himself had vaguely crossed his mind the other day, after he’d jumped into a cold shower shortly after he’d woken up with morning wood. He wondered if that was crossing a line though. Steve’s dick…was just a dick. Just like his dick was a dick. The same but different. And he’d seen different ones before and yeah some were weird or different sized…did it matter?

If Eddie thought about it from a mechanical sense…a car was a car, no matter who the owner was, or how cautious or rough the driver was…and even two cars of the same make and model could have their very unique quirks…

As long as everything worked and you got from Point A to Point B right?

So he closed his eyes and imagined.

You were there, of course, back outside of Benny’s. He was making you laugh and twirling you around, just like he had earlier that night. Watching your little uniform skirt balloon out just the slightest bit. It wasn’t ruffly or anything, just a standard waitress uniform with a straight skirt.

It didn’t take much touching to get him fully hard; he’d spent enough time exploring to know what he liked so he just let the feelings guide him in this new body.

He licked his palm several times then spit in his hand before he held the shaft loosely. He gave it a few loose strokes before he tightened his grip a little and twisted, hissing at the sweet friction. 

But this was his fantasy, so your uniform could be anything. Flowier, shorter, enough to see the frilly lace edge of your panties when he twirled you and the skirt flared.

“Didn’t know you were trying to turn this sweet moment into a peep show,” you giggled at him and swatted at his chest as he pulled you into his chest to rock together with him.

“I dunno honey,” he sighed. “I think I would be seeing more than just some lace if this was a peep show.”

“Well, what did you have in mind, big boy?”

The hand that had been resting near his head immediately went down to cup and squeeze his balls, and his throat got tighter as he held in a strangled moan. He wasn’t…too sure if he liked it all that much…but he was positive that he didn’t dislike it. He could make himself grow to like it if he needed to.

He stilled the stroking to run his fingers over the head; a favorite little move of his where he pivoted his wrist, letting the joints in his fingers run over the tip and around the head of his cock, hitting all of his sensitive spots in varying intervals. It wasn’t the same, his fingers weren’t as long now, as he noted while he was playing the guitar earlier. 

Regardless, pleasure still surged through him, so it got the job done.

“No peeking,” you whispered against his lips and you covered his eyes with his hands. He’d asked for your panties and you’d agreed without hesitation. If this wasn’t a dream, he would never have been that lucky. He chuckled as your hands pulled away from his and it took everything in him not to look through his fingers at the sound of the rustling of your uniform. 

Suddenly your hands were on the waist of his jeans, working the button open and the zipper downwards.

“Honey, what are you doing?” he teased. “You being naughty?” He just about pulled his hands away from his eyes and you snatched your hands away from him.

“Nooo,” you sing-songed. “No looking yet, I’ll tell you when.”

The ache for him to chase his release was different than he was used to. The best way to describe what he usually felt was…dulcet…smooth…it danced along his nerve endings and made him want more. Drove him to do more, to explore more. A siren’s song to tug and twist and tease until he was floating. But now it was almost…primordial. It leached into his skin and deep into his bones; a hefty, cloying need that would grip his entire being whole and drag him into the depths of the earth itself if it could.

It was a delicious contrast, the difference between the softness of your hand wrapped around him and the slight drag from your panties as you used them to help get him off.

You spit on his tip and let it mingle with his precum, let it slide over the sensitive skin.

Eddie spit in his hand again, trying to achieve that feeling that his imagination conjured up but was just outside of the corporeal.

“Do you like it?” you asked and he could hear the feral grin in your voice.

“I like it,” he moaned. 

“Do you like me?”

“I love you,” he said breathlessly. “Fuck, I would love you so if you just let me.”

He was close, it was euphoric. His nerves exploding, synapses firing as he twisted his hand around the head just so, squeezed his balls again, and then the base of his cock.

“Ok you can look now.”

And he did, directly into those mischievous, knowing eyes of yours as you looked right back at him.

“Cum for me Steve.”

And…he couldn’t…he couldn’t…

Eddie opened his eyes and stared around the room–a room that wasn’t his–looked down at the hands that weren’t his, touching the cock that wasn’t his. 

Because as much as Eddie could simply…compartmentalize and rationalize for however long he had been in his little fantasy…

It was Steve, it was all Steve. All you wanted right now was Steve Harrington and not Eddie Munson. You probably would never want Eddie.

And maybe one day–if he was still cursed to live like this, if he was stuck in this body until the end of his life–he could live with the fact that you wanted Steve.

But as his pleasure evaded him and all of the sad thoughts returned, he simply couldn’t escape the simple fact that his honey didn’t want him…she wanted someone else.

The guys had left shortly after your...interaction with Eddie.

Your confession.

The sweet kiss Steve had given you before they had left was...wonderful. But it was like the glue holding together the broken vase on that one episode of the Brady Bunch.

The feelings were building, the pressure too much, and before long...you sprung a leak and the reality of what you had done hit you. It had you shaking. Benny must have known something was wrong; he had asked you all through your closing tasks if you were alright.

"You good kid?" He asked. "Cuz I can finish up if you wanna get home. I know today's your busy day."

Truth be told, he always asked you that, but the extra edge of concern to his voice was a dead giveaway that you weren't doing a good job of holding it together.

“Nah Ben,” you smiled meekly. “I’m ok. Tired. But I’ll make it. Thanks.”

You started hyperventilating by the time you got into your car.

“Stupid, you’re so stupid,” you muttered to yourself. “How could you tell him?”

You weren’t even sure what possessed you to say anything, what compelled you to stop and say those dumb words.

You know, I had a crush on you.

What did you expect him to say...confess that he had a crush on you too?

Declare his undying love for you?

Instead he just called you a friend.

By the time you reached the 5th street intersection, you rationalized that, at the very least, you hadn’t mentioned that you still had a crush on Eddie. And as you pulled into your driveway, you were panicking again because…well what did this mean now that Steve was spending time with Eddie?

Would he say anything? God, did Steve already know?

It really was nice that Steve was hanging out with Eddie...they seemed to get along well enough. And yeah Eddie had the guys but…well, it wasn’t a stretch to say that Eddie could use as many friends on his side as he could get. He always put on a brave face but that didn’t mean he never felt lonely. Or alone. Stuck in a place he desperately didn’t want to be.

You just wanted to tell him it was ok. That he had you if he want—

"God, stop," you slammed your hands against the steering wheel as though it would force the thoughts from your brain. As though it would stop your heart from aching. "Stop thinking about him, you have to stop thinking about him."

Because the more you thought about Eddie, the more you’d want to comfort him.

And the more you wanted to comfort him, the more you’d want to hold him and kiss him.

And he’d made it plenty clear tonight that he didn’t see you as anything more than Mickey’s Kid Sister’s Silly Friend.

Or at least that’s just how it felt.

Another busybody townie who couldn’t mind their own business, who had to offer words of encouragement, who pitied him.

No. Not that. He didn't give people who pitied him the time of day. What if...

Bile rose in your throat as you came to a realization.

What if he didn’t just see you as another silly townie? What if he had known? He had known you had a crush on him all along, and he had taken pity on you. Because you were Terry's friend, he didn't want you to get hurt. And now that you were with Steve...he couldn't let you keep your hopes up anymore? You had a real boyfriend now.

That was it...

He was just...being nice to you all this time.

And that...hurt.

The realization of all that wasted time. Years spent thinking...hoping...

You made it into your house, went through the motions of getting ready for bed, and numbly said goodnight to your mom as your mind raced and raced and your heart broke even more.

It wasn't until you were tucked into bed, head filled with sad thoughts of every time you thought that maybe...just maybe Eddie liked you back, that you remembered.

Your diary.

Some silly old pink think that Terry had gotten you for your birthday years ago. You didn't write in it too often—you hadn't ever really been a diary person—certainly not recently. It was tucked into your nightstand underneath magazines and random junk from your school bag.

You sat up, turned the lamp on, and opened the drawer. You dug through the junk until you found it.

You flipped indiscriminately through pages filled with doodles and random thoughts. Until you came across entries from your freshman year at Hawkins High.

Silly things about class schedules and how mean Mrs. O'Donnell was and how you were not good in geometry.

And then...hearts and stars and flowers and one name repeated over and over and over...

Eddie Munson. Edward Munson. Mrs. Edward Munson.

You ran your fingers over the indentations your pen made in the pages as you read your own silly words.

Eddie invited us to sit with them at lunch.Terry said no, that she wanted to sit closer to the cheerleaders. Maybe they would be nicer to us if they actually knew we existed.

Eddie held open the door for me when I passed him in the hallway.

Eddie got his driver's license. He and his uncle fixed up this van and now he's driving Mickey and Terry to school. He asked if I wanted a ride too, said he would let me ride shotgun on Fridays. He's so sweet.

Eddie called me sweetheart today. I swear my heart stopped. I am dead. I have died.

Terry said she has a crush on someone but she won't tell me who it is. I really want to tell her that I have a crush on Eddie. Maybe if she knew, she could say nice things to him about me.

She likes him too. She wants him to ask her to prom. She keeps asking who my crush is and of course I can't tell her. Because he would obviously choose her over me, who am I kidding?

It's the last entry in the diary and the page is warped from old tears and scribbled over with pen.

After that day, you buried the diary in your nightstand. You kept your thoughts to yourself. Writing them down made them real and scary. Instead you let your secrets fester and grow and rot inside of your heart.

You didn't realize you'd started crying until fresh tears started hitting the already-warped page.

"Shit," you scrubbed at your eyes for a second and then stared at the journal as your throat got tight.

Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson. Eddie Munson.

His name written over and over and over again. Obsessively.

Nancy Wheeler. Nancy Wheeler. Nancy Wheeler.

Just like Steve had been with Nancy. Always talking about her and thinking about her.

All of your wasted feelings. From both of you.

But Steve had moved on. And so could you.

You ripped the warped page out of the diary and tore it to pieces. And then the next page. And the next one. Over and over until your thoughts and feelings were ripped to confetti on your bedspread.

No more.

It was time to move on from Eddie Munson.

Tag List:

@luna-munson83 @kaitebugg03 @invaderzia1 @delusionalbabe @secretdryrose @eddiesguitarskills @simplyundeniable98 @imaslutforcuddles @hanobe8 @josephquinncore @champagnejoker @strawberrysodaslut @fangirling-4-ever @sadbitchfangirl @rosaline-black @vxlkyrieee @aysheashea @micheledawn1975 @thora-jane @pricelessemotion @lfaewrites @hazydespair @realsuper-dark @novelnovella @jaime1110 @manda-panda-monium

#eddie munson x reader #Steve Harrington x reader #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson angst #Steve harrington fluff #Steve harrington angst #Eddie munson smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #Eddie munson stranger things #Steve harrington stranger things #freaky friday au #god this took forever but im so happy with where it landed #holy shit how are they all gonna fix this now

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

One in Eleven Million (ch. 8)

damian wayne x reader x jon kent

(A/N): So about that getting chapter out quicker thing...I blame tech week

Series masterlist can be found here.

warnings: a little bit of cursing, mild anxiety, airports

wc: ~1500

~~

Soon apparently meant thirty minutes. The plane’s landing gear hit the tarmac hard. The few shrieks were outweighed by the many sighs of relief, you own included. Jon yanked the window open, squinting. The view of the tarmac went from blurred to clear in the morning sunlight as the plane slowed. 

“Tt, finally. Though Philadelphia would not have been my first choice as a welcome back to the East Coast.” Damian pulled his gaze from the window, bending down to resecure the closures on his backpack. Jon’s eyes stayed glued to the window. 

“Are all plane landings this rough?”

“Yeah, usually,” you replied. “But it means we’re on the ground, so I don’t mind.” 

“Welcome to Philadelphia, ladies and gentlemen. The local time is 9:32 am and the temperature is 47 degrees Fahrenheit. Apologizes for the early landing but glad we all made it safe and sound. Remember to stop at the help desk if you do need to get your luggage routed to baggage claim or if you would like to take a voucher and find another method of transportation to Gotham. Thank you all for your patience and cooperation and thank you for flying with us.”

“If I ever see the inside of a plane again, it will be too soon,” Jon whined. You turned to see him drop his head on Damian’s shoulder.

“Flying commercial is both unpleasant and inefficient, I concur.” Damian squinted at the standstill line forming at the front of the plane. You stayed carefully silent. The two future trips you had in your calendar burned in the back of your mind. 

“But hey,” Jon sat up. “At least we met you!”

You chuckled, maneuvering up and out of your seat into the line of departing passengers before swinging your backpack over your shoulder. 

“Yeah,” A bittersweet wave of emotion gripped your heart. “It would have sucked so much more without you guys.”  

The deplaning of the flight was the worst you’d ever been a part of. Between panic and desire to leave, everyone was sloppy and on a short fuse. You nearly got whacked in the head with a carry-on bag trying to stand up. You did get elbowed trying to move forwards in the line.   

There was no Damian and Jon right behind you this time when you turned around after finally making your way into the airport. The spike of disappointment that drove through your chest caught you off guard. I knew this was going to happen, you reminded yourself. It didn’t make the ache in your chest go away.

“Hi,” you greeted the help desk employee. “I’d like to get my bag routed to baggage claim.” The required materials—your boarding pass, baggage tag receipt, and driver’s license—weren’t hard to produce. In just a few minutes, you were given a new receipt and an instruction to check screens for the baggage claim. The guaranteed “voucher” was to be later emailed, added to your airline account. You stepped off to the side, shoving the new receipt in your pocket. They’re tall, you figured. You’d see them if they were still there. Multiple scans of the crowd later, you didn’t see Damian’s waves nor Jon’s signature glasses. The spike of disappointment morphed into a vice around your chest even as you shoved it down. Your phone, now off airplane mode, buzzed in your pocket. You spun on your heel and headed towards baggage claim. The train you needed to take back home wasn’t going to book itself. 

Despite your unfamiliarity with the airport, it was simple enough to follow the signs towards the baggage claim area. You stopped at a restroom on your way there to avoid having to maneuver through one with a full suitcase in tow. The screen was empty of flights from your airline when you arrived, and your phone was blank of any email updates. Instead, you rerouted to the Amtrak app. The train with the lowest fare that also gave you enough buffer time to get your bags and catch the local train from the airport to the station was 2 hours away. The number of your bank balance flashed in your mind. 

“Thirty-eight for the train and eight to get to the airport,” you muttered aloud. “Yes I am so willing to spend fifty bucks to finally just be home.” The inevitable expense of a taxi or rideshare back to your home poked at the back of your mind. You ignored it. The voucher would cover the difference later on and that would have to be enough. 

A notification banner popped up on the top of your phone screen. The text notification was from the airline, declaring baggage claim three. Sure enough, the screen on the wall said the same thing. Baggage claim number three was farther down. You moved quickly, shoving through other passengers to stand in closer to it. Standing nearby was someone you had a murky recollection of from the boarding line.

All that was left now was to wait. 

~

Damian bit back a growl as a large man shoved him back into Jon and forced his way farther up the line. 

“That’s not getting him anywhere,” Jon muttered. He was half-hoping his powers would spontaneously come back and help them out. “What’s the point?” Damian shook his head.

“If people made sense, Jon, we’d be out of work.” Jon rolled his eyes. 

“You’re hilarious.” 

Damian chuckled lowly, pulling his carry-on bag from the overhead storage, then Jon’s. 

“Damn it.” 

A jolt of panic sliced through Jon. His head snapped towards Damian, eyes wide. Jon winced, massaging the back of his neck. That hurt.

“What?” 

“We lost them.” He nodded towards the front of the plane. You were gone. 

“Shit.”

As much as he wanted to get off the plane, Jon wouldn’t have pushed through the other passengers even with powers at full strength. Especially with powers at full strength. He followed the movement of the crowd as they exited the gate, coming to a stop just beside a stand selling Philadelphia hoodies and t-shirts. Jon eyed them with a not small amount of disdain. He’d pass. 

“So we’re not taking another plane-” Damian began. 

“Oh fuck no,” Jon interrupted. 

“Why do you think I started with ‘we’re not’?” 

“Right,” Jon could feel his cheeks heating. “I knew that.” 

“Hnn. So could it be worthwhile to call someone now? It’s past 9:30, your family should be up. Of mine, Alfred at the very least will be awake at this hour.”

“What’s the other option?”

“We take another method of public transport to Gotham and have Alfred pick us up there.” 

Jon thought about it for a moment. Then he thought of you. His hearing was past the point of awful fluctuation, but not good enough to hear across a crowded airport. And he didn’t know your heartbeat. It was a weird thought. Jon thought about it again. That was a weird thought too. But it had been a long time since he’d gotten to know someone without being able to hear their heartbeat. 

“Do we know what they’re doing? I don’t think we even talked about it. But I don’t want to leave them alone after all this.” He paused. “That’s not weird, right?” 

Damian shook his head. 

“No, I agree. Which means your family is out. And waiting for Alfred to drive all the way here and then asking them to get into a car with a complete stranger for two hours is also less than ideal.”

“So public transport it is.” Jon concluded. “Wait, how do we even know they aren’t taking another plane?” Damian smirked. 

“They don’t call us the world's greatest detectives for nothing.”

Jon narrowed his eyes at Damian. “You guessed.” 

“I formed a hunch based on multiple deductions,” Damian retorted, arms crossed.

“So you guessed.” 

“Deduction and guesswork are two different things.” 

“Uh huh,” Jon smiled and started heading to the help desk. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The help desk employee guaranteed Damian that the vouchers would be emailed and attached to his airline account. Based on the look on his face, Damian couldn’t care less about them. Jon wanted to hurry up and find you too. But he also didn’t want to be booked into the nearest flight to Gotham. Until he got his powers back in full, Jon wasn’t doing any flying whatsoever, much less flying that involved any sort of metal contraptions. 

“Which baggage claim is for this flight?” Damian asked before he stepped away. The airline employee checked her screen. 

“Three, but I don’t believe bags have started arriving yet.” 

Damian nodded and headed quickly towards the signs leading towards the baggage claim area. 

“Thanks!” Jon threw out as he followed, sneakers squealing against the linoleum floor as he hurried to catch up. 

#damian wayne x reader x jonathan kent #damian wayne x reader x jon kent #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne #damian wayne x gender neutral reader #damian wayne x reader #jon kent x reader #jonathan kent #jonathan kent imagine #emerson writes sometimes #one in eleven million

[thrawns-babygirl]

The Gallery (Thrawn x F!Reader 18+)

SO! A few things before we get started.

I know nothing about art. I tried my best to make this seem somewhat believable but I'm not an artist, nor will I ever be.

The "dates" I used were in the form of the 'Coruscant Reckoning Calendar' or C.R.C since the battle of Yavin hasn't happened yet and I hate BBY and ABY as in universe measures of time. However they aren't real dates I just threw random numbers into the format and hoped it looked semi believable

I am aware this is really derivative and I'm sorry in advance lmao

This is my first time writing Thrawn, and while I read copious amounts of Thrawn fanfic, I'm still nervous about how I write him so constrictive criticism is encouraged.

I hope y'all enjoy this, I had fun writing it. Been over a month since i wrote anything and it shows.

Rating: E (18+) Word Count: 3800+ Warnings: Unprotected PiV, Oral (F receiving), the tiniest breeding kink if you squint and tilt your head sideways, Art

Masterlist

You looked around the halls of the Imperial Palace and sighed. These galas were boring, atrociously so. But alas, if you wished to maintain funding for your gallery you had to at least make an appearance, rub elbows with the Imperial elite, sweet talk some moderately intoxicated senator or delegate into agreeing that your program was in fact not a waste of credits, and was actually something that the Empire should foster. A civilization without the arts was barely a civilization at all. You sigh, swirling the obnoxiously expensive drink you have in your hand as you stare up at a large canvas painting on the walls of the hall.

Pre Republic era, oil on canvas, looks to be-

“Coruscanti in origin, an interesting blend of ancient human styles native to the planet with a Duros influence, I’d date it around 3591.39.5, what do you think?” as smooth, calculated voice drawls from beside you.

You hum in thought, as you continue looking up at the artwork. “Perhaps earlier, the dot work is absolutely indicative of Duros influences, maybe even around 2280.124.43, when Duros traders started using hyperspace routes to explore the galaxy and foster trade” you turn to face the mystery man and stiffen as you notice the crisp white uniform of a Grand Admiral, but perhaps even more intriguing was his cerulean blue skin, and more intriguing than that, his red eyes that glow softly.

Without taking his eyes off the painting he continues “an interesting theory, however, I would date it after that. The artist was obviously human, their style indicating that they grew up around humans, the brushwork is similar to most works of that period, however the Duros influence would indicate it would have been some time after Humans had made contact with other races. Humans of that era were exceptionally isolationist, their artwork reflects that, this piece shows of an artist who is comfortable with outsiders enough to incorporate them into their medium” the man takes another sip of his drink before turning to you, fixing you with those enchanting eyes “what do you think?”

You’re taken aback, this man, this Grand Admiral, knows what he’s talking about, in fact he may even know more than you about the topic, you scramble to think of something, anything to say. Your face heats up as you think back on human art and history from that era and realise, he’s right. You take a sip of your drink to steel your nerves, warmth flooding your cheeks that you hope he doesn’t notice as you turn back to the painting.

“I think you might be right; I forget about how isolationist humans were back then; it would have taken a long time before they would have taken on facets of other species art in their own” you say thoughtfully as you look up at the painting. It really was a beautiful piece of art. You look back at the stranger to find him also gazing up at the painting with a thoughtful look on his face. Perhaps this art enthusiast of a Grand Admiral was the person you were looking for this whole time? Steeling yourself again you turn and give him your name.

“I curate the Royal Imperial Gallery here on Coruscant, a pleasure to make your acquaintance” You incline your head respectfully as he turns to face you again.

“Grand Admiral Mitth’raw’nuruodo, however you may call me Thrawn, and I am aware of who you are” Thrawn takes another sip of his drink as he turns his gaze back up to the painting. You eye him curiously as he drinks, his throat bobbing as he swallows and turns back to you.

“You do?” your tone slightly more accusatory than you wanted it to be, Imperial Grand Admirals tended to be the types of people who rallied against your requests for more funding, claiming that the money could be better spent on the Imperial Navy or the Stormtrooper Corps.

Thrawn’s mouth quirks slightly, as if he were attempting to stifle a smile before he speaks again, his voice low “Of course, I am a regular at your institution, I also appreciate your holo galleries so that I may appreciate new instillations while I am away on long campaigns. It is obviously, a crude imitation of having the original piece in front of me, but I will make do with what I can” he eyes you seriously. “I especially appreciated your most recent display of Pantoran tapestries. Pantora is a hub of so many different species and cultures, their art always provides an interesting challenge to see what visiting species influenced what pieces”.

You stare at him wide eyed as he speaks, this man, this Grand Admiral, was an art enjoyer, no an art enthusiast. Perhaps this meeting was destined, perhaps he was the one who would help you retain funding for your gallery before it was all syphoned off and spent on warfare. You open your mouth to speak but it’s like he could read your mind. “I have already spoken with the Emperor, he agrees with me that maintaining the fine arts is important for any society. Your funding is secure” he turns back towards the painting and takes another sip of his drink.

He spoke to the Emperor himself? And the Emperor himself agreed to maintain your funding? Your head was spinning. This is not at all what you expected when you came here tonight, you were expecting to have to plead your case to stuffy senators and businesspeople for them to even consider the possibility that your gallery was worth it. You shake your head as you realise you’ve been staring at him in stunned silence for longer than what would be considered polite. “I… Thank you Grand Admiral. That is… that is wonderful news” you fight to keep the emotions out of your voice, finishing your drink quickly “I don’t know how I can repay you” his lip quirks again in that almost smile before he too finishes his drink.

“No thanks is necessary, and please call me Thrawn, although I would love to hear about what new instillations you are planning for the gallery in the coming months, I have some time planetside and would be remiss to not attend a new display should you be preparing anything exciting” he waves over a serving droid as he talks and takes two more glasses of the overly expensive amber liquid, offering you one which you politely accept before he takes a sip of his.

And just like that, the hours melt away as you walk with Thrawn around the hall, speaking quietly to one another about the intricacies of the art hanging on the walls, from paintings to tapestries to the small statues lining the hall, Thrawn had something to say about all of it. For a military man, he was very, very well educated.

And very, very handsome.

You shake your head as you finish your drink, maybe you have had one too many glasses of Chandrillan Sweet Wine you think to yourself as Thrawn continues speaking about the techniques used to weave a particularly intricate tapestry the two of you were standing in front of. You wanted to listen to him, you really did, but watching the way his lips wrapped themselves around the words he was speaking combined with the melodic sound of his voice had your mind wandering to places that could be considered vastly unprofessional.

As if sensing your fleeting attention to what he was saying he turns to face you, raising a single eyebrow as his lips quirked once again in a ghost of a smile. “Apologies my lady, I do tend to get ahead of myself when discussing art, if you wish to take your leave I will not be offended” you falter slightly because no, you don’t want to leave, you could spend forever listening to his peculiar accent and you rack your brain for something that would keep him in your presence. So, you decide to take a small risk.

“No Thrawn, not at all, in fact I was just wondering if you would perhaps like to join me for a small excursion to the gallery. I could give you a sneak peek of the next exhibition we will be opening in the coming weeks, provided traditional Rodian woodwork is a topic you would be interested in?” you say hopefully, willing the heat away from your cheeks as you place your empty glass on a passing serving droid.

He smiles this time, not just a slight movement of his lips, but a genuine smile that has your heart beating slightly faster and your face burning. He too places his glass on a passing droid and gestures with his hand towards the door. “Lead the way”

The speeder ride towards the gallery is quiet, the lights of Coruscant illuminating the cab as the pilot droid takes you both towards the gallery. You shift in your seat, gazing at his profile from the corner of your eye. His long nose and pronounced cheek bones illuminated by the slight glow of his eyes. You wish you could think of something to say as you fiddle with the hem of your dress, but he doesn’t seem to mind the silence, in fact he seems to be the type that enjoys comfortable silence over inane small talk, so you keep your lips sealed, willing yourself to stop acting like a blushing schoolgirl as the cab stops in front of the gallery.

The gallery is dark, quiet, giving it an almost eerie quality as you walk through the halls, you unlock the door to your office and step to the side to allow Thrawn through, turning on the lights to reveal a small room, a moderately sized desk with a few shelves and a window that looks over the city.

“We haven’t gotten all the pieces yet, so this is only a taste of the style of art we will be displaying soon” you unlock another door that leads to a storeroom, pulling on some gloves, passing him a pair and grabbing a few of the intricately carved wooden sculptures to show the Grand Admiral. He takes them off you and studies them closely, his intense eyes scanning over every detail of the wood before moving over to another sculpture, then another. At the last sculpture he pauses, studying it even more intently than the others before looking up at you. “Do you know the importance of this piece?” he inquires as he holds the small wooden figure towards you.

You take it off him, studying it closely, noting the ridges and bumps. Unfortunately, Rodian art and wood carvings in particular have never really been your area of expertise, although you have a feeling that you’re about to learn. “Unfortunately, Thrawn I am not very well versed in Rodian woodworking, I have a few on staff that would know more than I do” you place the statuettes back into the storeroom and lock the door before turning back to him only to find him looking at you intently.

“That particular sculpture is known as a ‘Prwiss’ it was used as part of a fertility ritual on Rodia centuries passed. The statue would be placed near the bed of the couple attempting to conceive as they partook in intercourse in order to increase the likelihood of fertilization” he explains evenly.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks. ‘Definitely too much wine’ you think to yourself. The words ‘intercourse’ and ‘fertilization’ shouldn’t have such a visceral effect on you. All you can think of is having such a statue over your own bed as Thrawn runs his large hands all over your body, as he thrusts in and out-

“Do you know of my species?” Thrawn asks suddenly. You shake your head, mouth dry as you respond “No… I don’t” his shoulders rise and fall slightly, something that could potentially indicate a chuckle from the stoic man.

“I am Chiss” he says slowly walking towards you “and being Chiss has many benefits” he continues approaching you, in any other context, you could almost compare his slow steps to a predator stalking its prey.

“My eyes for example, I am able to see things that humans cannot. Heat for example” he says as he stops directly in front of you. You blush again, a fact made worse now knowing he’s been able to see your blushing so clearly the entire night the two of you have been together. You swallow, not trusting your voice as he stares you down. You take an unconscious step backwards, Thrawn following you until the backs of your legs meet the solid material of your desk.

“At first I simply thought that you were flushed from the alcohol but… now I have come to a different conclusion” he leans his face closer to yours, you can feel his warm breath against your lips as he holds his lips above yours. A moment for you to back away should you not wish him to go further.

You stare into his bright eyes as your face warms further and heat pools between your legs. Would he be able to see that beneath the layers of your dress? Your thoughts are abruptly cut off as he places his lips over yours, one hand coming up to cup your cheek as he presses you against your desk. You meet his lips in a passionate kiss, the heat from the night reaching a boiling point as he removes his gloves and places his hands on your hips, following his lead you do the same before tangling your hands in his soft hair.

After what feels like an eternity he pulls back, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss and a faint dusting of purple along his sharp cheekbones. He presses you further against your desk and you get the hint, moving some small items out of the way before sitting on the desk.

Thrawn attacks your lips again, a hunger present behind his movements as he situates himself between your legs, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he begins kissing along your jaw, down your neck. You gasp as you feel him suck a dark mark into the skin just above your collarbone, you tug at the soft strands of his hair eliciting a low growl that rumbles through his chest as he moves his hips against your core. You can feel a definite hardness in the front of his pristine while uniform pants as he moves his body against yours, dragging small sounds of pleasure out of you.

His hands begin moving all over your body, running up your sides around to your back where he begins unfastening your dress, his movements pausing for a moment as he looks at you. You answer his unspoken question with another fiery kiss as his hands work methodically behind you to unfasten your dress, letting it pool on the desk as he moves over towards your breasts. His long fingers tweaking and pinching at your nipples through the thin material of your bra as his other hand moves down your side to help totally remove the dress from you.

He pulls the dress over your head, pausing to haphazardly fold it and place it on your desk before his hands are all over you again. One runs along your thigh while the other expertly unclasps your bra, he pulls the fabric away from your body before moving his lips to your jaw and neck again. You move your hands to his hair again as he kisses down your neck towards your chest.

“Watching the blush crawl up your skin” he mumbles against your neck, voice husky “is truly the most beautiful thing in this entire gallery” he says before taking one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking, rolling the nub around his mouth, his tongue lathing over it. His tongue has an odd texture to it, you note, as he shifts his focus to your other breast, and you can’t help but wonder what that tongue would feel like against your clit. You arch into his touch as he kisses along your chest, lightly biting into the soft flesh, leaving dark marks against your skin as he slowly begins moving to his knees, kissing down your body as he goes, pausing at the fabric of your panties and placing a long passionate kiss on the damp fabric before he pulls the delicate material to the side and sinks his tongue into your cunt.

You moan, throwing your head back in bliss as he eats you like a man starved, lapping at your juices with fervour, your hands finding their way back into his soft hair as his tongue works magic against you. He alternates between rolling his tongue around your clit and shoving it as deep inside you as the muscle will go, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

You tug on his hair causing him to groan into you, the vibrations making your walls clench as he focuses extra attention on your clit and suddenly the wave of pleasure crests as you climax, your eyes screwed shut and hips moving on their own accord as you all but ride his face through the precipice of your orgasm.

As you come down you open your eyes and look down at him, noting the sound of flesh on flesh and the movement of his arm another white-hot wave of arousal runs down your spine as you realise, he’s stroking himself.

A Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy, on his knees in your office, touching himself while pleasing you with his mouth. The thought alone is almost enough to send you over the edge again.

His glowing red eyes look up at you, and he slowly stands from his position kneeling on the floor. You hold your breath as he rises, trying not to look too eager to get a look at what is between his legs. Do Chiss look like humans? Is he totally alien down there? Your eyes widen as your question is answered, despite the colour and a few, quite pleasurable looking, ridges, he looks remarkably human. Remarkably human and remarkably large.

The vision of the stoic Grand Admiral, still dressed in his white uniform with his trousers open and his rock-hard length on display is enough to make you lick your lips, your pussy clenching around nothing as fresh wave of arousal washes over you.

He takes himself in his hand, stroking himself a few times, placing the blunt head of his cock against your wet entrance before pausing. “A moment” he says as he looks around your office, retrieving your key card from the desk next to you before walking over to the storeroom and taking out the statue he had spoken about before and placing it on the desk next to you before taking his place between your legs at your entrance again.

He places both hands on your hips as he lines himself up with your slick cunt and slowly pushes inside of you. His uniformed chest rising and falling as he struggles to maintain his tenuous control over himself. The feeling of his girth stretching you open has you gritting your teeth, and screwing your eyes shut. Each ridge of his cock rubbing perfectly against every nerve making you see stars.

You’re both panting as he bottoms out, a low rumbling groan coming from deep in his chest as the feeling of your walls choking his length has him gritting his teeth as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, even deeper.

He lets out a hiss as he begins moving his hips, you resist the urge to close your eyes at the pleasure, wanting to watch each reaction you could earn from the usually pristine grand admiral. Watching the way his jaw clenches, the muscles around his neck tensing, the way his nostrils flare as he struggles to maintain his composure is like a drug to you.

You moan as his thrusts begin to become more forceful, the sound of flesh against flesh filling the confines of your office. He leans over your body, his lips finding yours again as his hips move with more purpose, harder and faster, the ridges of his girth causing you to cry out, his mouth swallowing your sounds as his pace continues to get more intense, more passionate.

He brings one of his hands down in between your bodies, his long, skilled fingers expertly finding your clit, drawing tight circles over it as he pounds relentlessly into you. The sensations becoming too much too quickly as another orgasm begins building in your core, your muscles tensing around him as your walls flutter and tighten, forcing his mouth to part from yours as he lets out a low moan of your name.

Hearing his voice, full of hunger and desperation moaning your name is what does it for you, pleasure cascades through your body as you wrap your arms around his back to ground you, the course texture of his uniform heightening the experience as wave after wave of pure ecstasy rips a harsh moan of his name from your lips.

His pace becomes even more forceful, his hips slamming almost painfully against yours as he chases his own high. His mouth finds your neck again, biting down as you feel his muscles tense, letting out a long low groan against your neck as he finishes inside you. You feel each throb and pulse of his cock as he fills you, his hips moving in short thrusts as he rides out his own high, his breathing ragged.

You both stay there, panting, bodies entwined as you come down. He gives you a long, passionate kiss before extracting himself, pulling out slowly, he looks down at your cunt, his cum slowly beginning to leak out of you and his mouth quirks again, into that ghost of a smile, like he’s proud of himself, before he moves your panties back into place and begins to straighten himself out.

You have no idea what to say as he tucks himself away and smooths his hair, after a short time, he looks immaculate yet again, barely a hair out of place, nor a crease on his uniform, meanwhile you look like well fucked mess, hickeys and love bites litter your neck and chest as you move off your desk on unstable legs to grab your bra and dress, you pause as you see the small statue, the ‘Pwriss’ as Thrawn had called it sitting on your desk. You blush as you move to put it away in the storeroom again.

Thrawn is standing, back straight as he looks at you from across your office, hands clasped behind his back. “I appreciate you taking the time to show me the artwork the gallery has to offer” he inclines his head politely “I’m glad the sculptures were to your liking” you smile at him as you redress.

“Oh yes, I suppose the sculptures were lovely too”.  

Not tagging my usual Crosswhore taglist because IDK how many of you are interested in Thrawn, but I'm tagging some people I think might be interested. Let me know if you don't want me to tag you in the future.

@khapikat222 @vibratingbonesbis@al-astakbar

#thrawn smut #thrawn x reader #admiral thrawn x reader #grand admiral thrawn x reader #thrawnposting #grand admiral thrawn smut #mitth'raw'nuruodo #mitth'raw'nuruodo smut #admiral thrawn smut #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #admiral thrawn

[spartanguard]

an important date

it's Friday and it's Colin's birthday....I had to do something!! Just a bit of a post-canon Captain Charming scene, inspired by this prompt: "We both meet at the bar at a birthday party but we don’t even know who’s birthday it is. I think it’s yours, you think it’s mine." 1.1k, rated T | AO3

The Rabbit Hole was…well, the Rabbit Hole—its usual divy self. It wasn’t where Killian would typically expect to find David, least of all on the prince’s birthday.

At least—he thought that’s what Emma had said? She’d all but shoved him out of the station that evening, with the direction to meet her father here for a “birthday drink”. Of the birth dates he’d memorized (and would never forget—Emma’s, Henry’s, Hope’s), he realized he was severely lacking when it came to his in-laws.

But perhaps David’s would be easier to remember, given its proximity to his own. Or, rather, when he thought his own was; the actual date was long since lost to time, realm travel, and changing calendars, and it had been centuries since he’d actually done anything to mark the date, but he remembered it being in spring. 

Really the only fond memory he had of the day was picking fresh wildflowers with his mother, the light scent filling their small house, and the sweet taste of the modest cake she’d baked. When the hyacinth began to bloom in Storybrooke, he was always taken back to that day, and generally used that milestone to mark the passing of his years—but he’d lived enough of them that he needed no extra celebration or recognition.

As it was, the first shoots of spring had only just begun to emerge, so by his math, that put David’s birthday—or whatever today was—a few weeks ahead of his own. Good to know.

He scanned the bar for his mate—squinting a bit harder than he’d like to admit in the dim light (further evidence of the passage of time, he presumed)—almost missing him at the far end of the counter, until David waved at him.

“Evening, mate,” he greeted as he slid onto the barstool next to his father-in-law. “Not your typical scene, eh?” he added, nodding towards the rest of the bar, where all manner of seedy goings-on (well, as much as ever happened in Storybrooke) were happening—things the deputy sheriff should probably be concerned with, but he was off the clock (and had no room to talk).

David shrugged. “I’ve been known to pass the occasional night here—cursed and not cursed. Having royalty around seems to keep things calm.”

“Aye, but you’ve never been here with a pirate,” he winked back, even if it had been ages since he’d anything resembling a rowdy night. The most exciting his had been lately were the times that they managed to get a teething Hope down early enough to squeeze in some intimacy, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Emma’s father.

“No,” David agreed. “But I figured I could manage for one night. To mark the occasion and all.”

“Aye; it does warrant that. My apologies for not knowing the date sooner—happy birthday, Dave.”

But instead of the customary thanks, David just tilted his head at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

Bloody hell—had he misheard Emma? “We’re here to celebrate your day of birth, are we not?”

“No; my birthday is in July—so now I kind of am offended,” David replied, though his tone was light. “Wait—did Emma not tell you?”

“She told me to meet you here for a birthday drink—I assumed that meant it was yours.”

“No, man—it’s yours.”

“Come again?” He’d never so much as commented to anyone, including Emma, the whereabouts of birth date; so how would either of them, least of all David, have known?

David explained, “Remember near the end of her pregnancy, when her magic was kind of overpowered and she was trying to release it?” How could Killian forget? He spent a whole week with blue hair, and trying to keep Pop-Tarts from flying around the house. “Apparently during that, she was trying out a bunch of easy, informational spells; there was one about revealing birthdates. Turned out mine was off by a couple of days. But yeah, she did yours, too; she never mentioned it?”

Killian was momentarily speechless. Not out of betrayal or anything—things were rather chaotic leading up to Hope’s birth, so he didn’t blame Emma for letting it slip her mind—but moreso that it had been able to be determined.

And, despite the last several years being filled with things such as True Love, marriages, and more family than he’d ever imagined having, he was still touched by the idea that anyone cared enough about him to know the date he’d entered this world (or whichever world it was)—and even more that they wanted to acknowledge it. 

“Uh, no,” he said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I seem to recall her pregnancy brain was pretty bad then,” he quipped, hoping to lighten the moment. “So—really? Today?”

“Today,” David confirmed. Killian thought back to the wildflowers—then recalled that he grew up in a far warmer climate than Maine’s, perhaps the reason for his miscalculation.

(Also: he now understood why Emma had woken him with morning sex that day. That was never something he’d question, though—and also something he wouldn’t dare mention in present company.)

The barkeep then set two glasses of amber liquid in front of David. He slid one across the worn wood to Killian, then raised his own. “Happy birthday, Killian. To the best son-in-law—best friend—a man could ask for.”

Killian clinked his glass against David’s and quickly took a sip, hoping it might wash down the lump that had formed in his throat. Alas, it didn’t—but at least it was there with good reason. “Thank you, mate; and, uh, the feeling is mutual.” It wasn’t often words escaped him, so hopefully his father-in-law picked up on the weight of the emotion in his voice; he tried to find David’s eyes, but was overcome with an odd bashfulness he hadn’t felt since youth.

David just gave a gentle chuckle and a solid, brotherly thump on the shoulder, before attempting to down his own shot of rum—which brought on laughter of a different kind, but it broke the bit of tension. 

They shared another drink after (whiskey; far more palatable to the prince), before leaving to their respective princesses—and sharing perhaps a stronger embrace than Killian had originally intended, but it was certainly called for. 

As sweet as his memories from childhood were, it was nice to add this one to the collection of birthday remembrances—the first in so long. (And, as he eventually found, not the last—not by a long shot—in the many years to come.)

(However, he still refused, in all those celebrations, to tell David the way Emma preferred to mark the occasion.)

-----------------------------💙💙-------------------------------

[thanks for reading, and happy Captain Charming Friday! tags below cut]

@optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook388 @kmomof4 @kat2609 @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @annytecture @phiralovesloki @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thisonesatellite @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @killianmesmalls @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubblesandwich​ @athenascarlet @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke [let me know if you do/don't want tags!]

#killian jones #killian jones ff #captain charming ff #captain charming friday #my ff

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Up All Night 3

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, narcissim, probably name calling and nasty words, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (older!reader)

Note: I wasn’t serious about this but now I were. Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You take the three minutes you have before you’re due for the meeting to pull on the black leggings you keep in your gym bag. It’ll have to do. You don’t have time to waste. The cardigan conserves your professionality.

You enter the meeting room. Ransom sits, hunched slightly as he squints at his laptop. He rubs his cheek, his lack of sleep showing in the bags under his eyes. You sit in one of the sleek black chairs and tap your fingers on the table. He aims a pointed look in your direction. You tap your nails louder.

“You call these notes?” He scoffs as he looks back at the screen.

“Mr. Drysdale, if you have your own, I suggest you go off of those.”

He rolls his eyes and sits back. “Whatever, I don’t need to fucking talk about the book. This is about a contract, not whatever bullshit plot this guy dreamed up in his shit–”

You see Robert Laing through the transparent panes of the wall. You recognise him from his author’s portrait. You stand in expectation as Ransom remains as he is, slouching in his chair as he swivels it back and forth. You muster a smile as Laing enters.

“Good morning, thank you for meeting me,” he takes the lead as he enters.

“Been waiting,” Ransom mutters.

“Robert Laing,” the writer introduces himself, offering his hand over the table.

Ransom makes a show of sitting forward and shakes it halfheartedly. To your surprise, the prospective client turns to you. You shake his hand eagerly, “Mr. Laing, we’ve been looking forward to it.”

“I know you,” he returns smoothly, “you must be the face behind the emails.”

“Ah, yes, that would be me,” you say proudly, raising your chin, “I trust you received the firm’s offer then.”

“I did,” he lowers himself into the chair across from Ransom and you sit as well, “I had my lawyer review it, of course. I’ve terms, a few, no major changes. More of an author than an editor, which is where you come in.”

“What do you want?” Ransom demands.

You clear your throat, “what are your suggestions?”

Ransom pivots the chair slightly and stomps your foot under the table. You hide the pain in your crushed toes and push your shoulders wise. He’s a little brat and he doesn’t like being reminded of that. He has to realise Laing is a hot property he can’t bully into taking the contract.

“It would be the percentage, solely, on the rights,” Laing unzips his bag and slides out a thin tablet, “what I think you’ve offered is just below fair, I would say. You must understand, everything I create is very personal.”

“We do understand, Mr. Laing,” you assure him, trying to disguise Ransom’s scoff as you raise your voice.

“Forgive my assistant. She talks too much. Let’s not get confused, Robbie, I’m the boss,” Ransom says, “so the lady is gonna leave and let the men talk figures.”

You slowly glance over at Ransom, careful not to lose your poise. You keep your smile in place and gather up your leather folder and metal pen. You stand.

“Of course, Mr. Drysdale, you are correct, I am only the assistant. Mr. Laing, it was a pleasure. You are very talented and I hope your place is with Thrombey Press. If not, I wish you the best in your endeavours.”

“Thank you,” he stands politely, “very nice to finally place a face to the name.”

You nod and strut out without looking back. There’s nothing more you can do and if Ransom blows it, he’ll know exactly who to blame. Though you’re sure he lacks that humility.

🩸

You settle in at your desk, the smell of cappuccino wafting up from your blouse. A bitter reminder of your hectic morning. You review the workday against Drysdale’s personal calendar. You truly hope he doesn’t intend to meet with the new non-fiction editor at that club. 

Just as you feel your irritation fading, Ransom appears, striding past without a word. He slam his office door and you glance over. He steps up to the blinds and closes them, blocking your sight. Oh, you don’t think it went well.

You continue, trying not to think about it. Laing would’ve been a great acquisition, especially since Drysdale has lost several during his tenure. A few minutes pass before a message pops up on your screen.

‘Asshole is ‘thinking about it’.’

You open Teams and type back. ‘Better than a no. Let’s hope he accepts.’

‘Cappucino is cold.’

His response is about as much as you expect. You reply with ‘yes, sir,’ and grab your purse. Anything to get away from him. The wall is hardly thick enough to simmer your agitation.

You sweep out and check your watch. You’ll allow yourself fifteen minutes to get it together and get his cappuccino. You’ll do your best not to spit in it.

At the coffee shop, a local place you prefer on your rare breaks, you put in your order. A cappuccino for him, a tea for yourself. You move along the counter, joining the queue at the window, waiting for them to call your name.

You stand close to a table, the shop overcrowded. A chair scrapes and someone coughs. You try to shimmy out of the way as someone stands on the other side of the table.

“Excuse me,” the familiar voice calls your name, “I thought that was you.”

You turn an greet Laing with a smile, this one less put on, “oh, surprise running into you here.”

“Ah, yes, I’m afraid I have a weakness for caffeine. A writer’s curse,” he smooths his lapel, “and you?”

“Tea,” you answer.

“Mm, yes, black tea?”

“Herbal, no caffeine,” you assure him.

There’s an awkwardness there, things unsaid.

“Would you mind,” he gestures across from him, “five minutes. I’d love to run something by you.”

“Oh?” you tweak a brow curiously.

“Forgive me, I don’t know the man well, but you seem the brains of the operation,” he explains, “and honest at that.”

“Right,” you utter slowly.

“I promise, I won’t keep you long enough for your tea to go cold.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” you wave him off, “I don’t mind.” You sit and forget all about your order, “I really think you could do well with Thrombey Press…” you begin the pitch Ransom scrapped.

#ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #drabble #series #the club #up all night #knives out #au #robert laing #high rise

[oharabunny]

Happy Autumn Moon Festival ☾ ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Disclaimer: I was given to write this fic by @kairiscorner for an anon (I am @hisachuu). I'm Chinese-American, so I write from the perspective of one and my own personal experiences! Also, this is a reupload because I was unsure if anyone could see my reblog. Warning: Miguel x GN!Reader // Reader is Chinese-American // Fuckboy Miguel if you squint (but more like a flirt) // Shy!Reader

Word Count: 2229

Summary: Imagine sharing mooncake with Miguel under the moonlight

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

It was that time of the year again. You made sure to google around September so you never miss the date since it always changed every year according to the lunar calendar, even if the date was usually towards the end of the month. The Autumn Moon or Mid-Autumn Festival. You were disheartened when Miguel assigned you yet another hard anomaly mission for the 4th time in a row with him that you just finished, without so much of a proper break. It was a blessing and a curse. It meant he had immense amount of trust in you along with great approval. (Something you secretly craved) But it was beginning to take a toll on you, as you were beginning to miss your family. You won't be home to celebrate with them with all the work that you do for the Spider Society.

For Miguel.

You were in the middle of your thoughts when you were approached by some of the other Chinese and Chinese-American Spider variants who came up to ask your plans for the holiday. You all chatted for awhile and some were discussing how they were part of the Mid-Autumn Festival like lion dancing or helping their family's vendor in their home universes. Some variants were still teenagers who were volunteers to guide the traffic. Some of the older variants shared their homemade mooncake and gifted you some snacks.

That gave you an idea.

If you couldn't go home to spend the holiday with your family, then you could bring the holiday to Miguel. It's not like he knew about the Mid-Autumn Festival, so perhaps a fun cultural exchange could eliviate some of the stress you were put on.

You told Lyla you would be right back, and quickly left HQ for Nueva York's Chinatown to pick up your favorite brand and type of mooncake: the traditional one with lotus paste with salted duck yolk...though you also picked up a box without the yolk just in case Miguel didn't like it, and also another box of assorted flavored snow skin mooncakes from the freezer section if he just couldn't handle traditional mooncakes as well. You decided to go with your favorite to stay true to yourself since it wasn’t economic to buy all three boxes. You left the other two back on the shelf before checking out.

You also picked up jasmine green tea (your personal favorite) on the way. You went into the cafeteria, and asked the kitchen crew to let you brew the tea, which they happily allowed. You gave them one of the mooncakes you bought (a box has 4 mooncakes typically), and taught them what it was and what it was for. Safe to say they were not the biggest fans, but that was no surprise to you. You were used to it, but there was only one person's opinion you cared about.

Your heart skipped a beat in anticipation and nervousness of what he would think of the mooncake. Would he like it? Hate it? Would he even care?

You slowly approached Miguel's office where his super high platform resided in. To no one's surprise, he was up there working for who knows what, for who knows how long. Almost as he anticipated for your return, he turned around, and cocked an eyebrow at the bag of the metal tin box and thermos you were carrying.

"What's all this?" Miguel lowered his platform quickly for you, which he rarely did for anyone. But for you, he made an exception.

"Ah, well I got us some mooncakes and tea, for you know, the Mid-Autumn Festival." You motioned the bag and thermos at him. "It's today. If you have time, that is." You broke eye contact with him, a habit of yours when you weren't sure about something.

Luckily for you, Miguel was receptive to your emotions and habits from working with you all the time. Overworking you was his way of making you spend more time with him, which is how he picked up your subtle mannerisms. Not that you knew, of course. Your compliant and people-pleasing nature didn't question it, to his delight. Now you were standing before him all fidgety and nervous while holding a bunch of things that you were trying to share with him.

How cute. Miguel mused. "Sure, I have time."

Miguel was not a tea and cakes type of guy, but again, for you, he'll try anything once.

"How about we go on the roof? The moon is said to be at the fullest and brightest tonight."

"Of course."

You two swung and zipped through the halls of HQ, and reached for the top of the building. You set your thermos and bag down on the floor of the roof. Miguel closely followed and watched you as you sat down and took out the tin box, and noticed the intricate details that were painted and embossed on the lid. As you were about to open them, Miguel pointed at the female figure from the design.

"Who's she? And that rabbit."

Your eyes beamed in excitement the moment he asked. You were afraid he was only going along with you for your sake. (He was interested in anything about you.)

"She's the moon goddess, Chang'e, who's famous for stealing her husband's elixir of immortality. Her husband, Houyi, was an archer that was rewarded the elixir by the gods for his services. She escaped to the moon, stayed there, and became its goddess. The moon is said to be the fullest and brightest according to the lunar calendar today which is why she is always referenced for the Mid-Autumn Festival." You explained as much as you could remember from stories you were taught in Chinese language school. You pointed at the rabbit. "And that lil bunny there is always with her because Chinese people think the moon crater looks like a bunny pounding more of the elixir of immortality! So it's like it's always with her."

You looked up at Miguel who was looking straight at you with soft brown eyes as he leaned his weight extremely close to you. He wore a soft smile from listening to you, making your heart flutter and temperature rise on your cheeks.

"You look so lovely under the moonlight." His eyes were half-lidded looking down on you. "Looks like you're stealing something from me too."

He was leaning dangerously close as his lips ghosted yours. You could feel every fiber of your muscles in your entire body tensing up and heat reverberating. Your breath hitched, but before anything else could happen, you panicked and looked down at the mooncake tin beside you.

"U-Um let me cut you your share." You said awkwardly. You didn't even notice Miguel pouting in disappointment.

You opened up the tin box. Miguel frowned and crossed his arms. He looked at the opened tin and noticed a missing mooncake. "You shared them with someone else, first? Guess I'm really not that special to you."

"I-I didn't mean to! I just had to brew some tea at the cafeteria and I wanted to thank the kitchen crew." You explained hurriedly like you were in trouble.

"I'm just teasing." Miguel chuckled and squeezed your arm for reassurance. He moved on and noticed something. "They're much smaller than I thought they'd be. Are they mini cakes?" He tilted his head to the side in curiosity, examining all lines, shapes, and characters of the design on the mooncakes.

"No, they're meant to be this size. The cakes are super dense." You had cut up the mooncake into 4 pieces. You held up the plastic tray it came in for Miguel. "Here. It has a salted egg yolk, and the filling is lotus paste. It's sweet and salty, and also my favorite!"

He took a piece of his share and you watched tentatively, unsure of his reaction. His eyes widened, but not in shock, rather in delight. He nodded in approval. He followed with a small smile.

"That was actually really good. I won't lie, I thought the salted egg yolk was weird at first, but it actually works to balance out the intense sweetness of the mooncake." He paused. "Could I get some tea though?" He pointed at the thermos.

"Oh, yeah, of course!"

You quickly pour him the tea into the lid of the thermos that also served as a cup. The tea was still warm as steam was coming off of the cup. You gently blew on the cup before handing it to Miguel. He immediately sipped the tea. He had let the tea sit in his mouth before swallowing to taste the tea.

"Think this might be my favorite tea. The light floral flavor helps neutralize the stickiness and sugar of the mooncake." He noted.

You couldn't be more happy to hear his compliments and analysis. Your need for his validation and approval was more than satisfied at this point.

"It's a bit rare for someone who never grew up on them to like these traditional mooncakes." You reminisced a bit on your childhood growing up. Even the other Chinese kids didn't always liked traditional Chinese food.

"Well I'm just cultured like that." Miguel dramatically flipped his hair, being the cheeky guy he was. "I have good taste."

You giggled. "Yes you really do!" You paused for a second. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." He replied softly, a tone he almost never used with anyone.

"What did you celebrate usually at home?" You could feel yourself regretting to ask due to his past, but you couldn't help wanting to reminisce with him and learn more about him.

"Well, growing up, we celebrated the usual holidays like Christmas and Halloween. Although for Mexican holidays, usually just Cinco de Mayo." Miguel looked away to the moon. You too gazed upon the lunar plane, mezmerized by its soft light as Miguel's voice carried you away. "And you know, my Gabi, she used to make sure I celebrated every holiday she liked with her. Christmas was her favorite. She loved getting presents, playing games, and making cookies for Santa."

You looked back at Miguel. His face was stoic, but you knew better. A war of emotions dazzled in his chocolate brown eyes against the moonlight. You took a deep breath. "She and I have in common then, I love Christmas. It's the best holiday for families. My family usually celebrates major Chinese and American holidays with a good feast. I always pitched in activity ideas for them or else we'd do nothing else but eat eat eat."

"You and Gabi would get along. She had quite the creative and active mind, like you." Miguel snuck a compliment in.

"I would have loved to meet her." Your heart ached for him. "I can never understand the pain and loss that you feel, but I do miss my family a lot too."

Miguel looked down, and then back up into your eyes. "I'm sorry, I know I've been overworking you. Had I known today's a holiday for you, I would've given you a break."

"It's alright. As long as you let me go home at some point." You fiddled with your fingers, unsure of what to say next. "I'm grateful to be here...it's just...I want to see my family more."

He nodded to that. "I can give you the week off, but can I ask something of you first?"

"Of course! I'll do anything!" You jumped up in people-pleasing mode.

Miguel felt some heat when you said that, but held up his composure to ask: "Can I kiss you?"

You were taken aback by the absurdity, but you weren't opposed to it. Unlike before, your nerves couldn't get the best of you this time. "Y-Yes. I'd like that very much." Blush and heat formed on your face. This couldn't be happening right now. You thought you blew it earlier.

With definitive confidence from you, Miguel shifted closer to you and guided his hands so that one was on your hip and the other guiding itself up to cup your cheek. He lingered to gently rub his thumb on your cheek before lightly pinching it.

"Ah! What are you doing?"

"Your cheeks remind me of a lil bunny rabbit. You're too cute." He said before silencing you with his mouth. He was holding you like a flower, as if he was so afraid to crush you in his strength. His kiss was firm yet soft, as if he was kissing his spouse. His body began to hover and push against you until he was on top of you. He nipped your lip teasingly, and pecked your lips. He peppered little kisses all over your face before giving your forehead one final kiss. He pressed his forehead against your own.

"You're wonderful. You know that? I appreciate with all that you've done for me and for all of us. Don't overextend yourself more than you have to. Don't be afraid to tell me no." Miguel spoke barely a whisper. "I...care about you."

You could melt into a puddle and ascend to heaven right now. Everything in your mind was being scrambled like a stir fry. Words could not even begin to form in your mind to explain how you feel. Your tummy was in knots while butterflies were threatening to spill out. You could've sworn the moon became brighter than before. You could almost hear someone urging you to go to him. As if in sync, the two of you leaned in and sealed another kiss under the moonlight.

"Me too."

‎‧₊˚✧[fin.]✧˚₊‧

a/n: How do you feel about this format? I want to switch it up for the style of my new blog. I kept the old fics from the main blog the same format for consistency sake.

中秋快乐！

  ◌                             ◌                                       ◌                                                        ‧₊ :･ﾟ彡       ◌                 ☽︎       ◌             ◌                                 ✩彡 ･ﾟ :                                                                      ◌                                        ◌ ◌                                                  ♡                                         (_(\      /)_/)                                         (      )    (      )                                      ૮/ʚɞ  |ა ૮|  ʚɞ\ა                                       ( ◌    |      |     ◌ )

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #spider man 2099 #atsv miguel #miguel 2099 #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #spiderman atsv #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv x reader #miguel atsv #across the spiderverse #astv #mid autumn festival #autumn moon festival #chinese #chinese american #chinese-american reader #chinese holiday #mooncake

[eoieopda]

jade. my soulmate. co-parent of our brain cell. the time has come—i have worked up the courage to send you a request.

i am thinking of the absolute love of my life park jimin. like estranged friends to lovers (not necessarily bad blood, just time and life caused distance between them)? fluffy like so fluffy but a hint of angst if you squint?? perhaps song inspo ‘find me here’ by hayley williams???

love u, sending this made me NERVOUS LMAO

OH, BINCH, I AM READY.

As the saying goes, two things in life are inevitable: death and taxes. As far as Park Jimin is concerned, that list is non-exhaustive, woefully incomplete. It fails to account for the one thing he knows is certain.

When he left his apartment that morning, Jimin didn’t necessarily expect to run into you. The Google calendar you once shared had been out of commission for nearly a year; and your paths hadn’t crossed in the meantime. He had no reason to know that your plans for the day included sitting riverside, sipping coffee, and watching the water. Despite that fact, it doesn’t surprise him to find you there now.

It just makes sense.

You’re daydreaming when Jimin sits down next to you. He gets so caught up in that thoughtful crease between your eyebrows that he forgets to make his presence known for more than a few minutes. You don’t even jump when he eventually decides to speak rather than stare. Finding him doesn’t seem to be a shock to you, either.

“Hey,” you sigh as if you’re relieved, and you are all smiles.

Jimin echoes your greeting in that same, soft tone, and it’s easy, like the last time he said it wasn’t twelve months ago. He’s grateful for that — for the lack of theatrics. It isn’t a dramatic reunion; there’s no gasp, no tears, no oh my gods. There’s you and him, falling into lockstep without so much as a stumble.

Glancing down at the travel mug in your hands, Jimin confirms that he knows exactly what he’s looking at. Right above your thumb, he finds the accidental dent you made in the metal when you knocked it off his kitchen counter two years earlier. The sight of it has him warm all over.

He doesn’t have to guess that it’s full of the medium roast from that café up the street, but he does have to ask: “One shot of espresso, or two?”

You grimace and Jimin knows exactly what that look means.

Eyes wide with mirth, he snorts, “Three? Shit. Don’t tell me you’re still staying up until sunrise.”

“Excuse you,” you gasp in feigned offense, swatting playfully at his bicep. Thank god some things never change. “I’ll have you know that I went to bed at midnight last night like a responsible adult!”

Jimin makes a big show of rubbing the spot where the back of your hand collided with his jacket. He relishes the way you roll your eyes at him for doing so. “Responsible is debatable, but I’ll concede that — for you — midnight is impressive.”

“I know, right?” you snicker. There’s a beat, then you blink at him expectantly. “Please clap.”

With your face lit up like that, how could he not?

“Proud of you,” He chuckles as you bow through his applause. And he means it, he really does. Sleep never came naturally to you, yet here you are, willingly going to bed before the moon does.

When it grows quiet again, that feels easy, too. It’s just as comfortable as it ever was, sitting silently next to you. Jimin realizes now just how much he’s missed this. Missed you, missed existing on the same page.

In any other circumstance, with anyone else, Jimin would feel obligated to keep the conversation going. He’d volley small talk until he was exhausted; fill every lull and refuse to let the mood hit the floor. Social interactions have always felt like endurance exercises — but not with you. Not then, and thank god, not now.

You’re looking straight ahead, shoulder leaning ever-so-slightly into his, when you eventually do speak. “Thank you.”

Now, Jimin is surprised.

“I don’t think I said it before I left, so I need to say it now,” you quietly answer before he can ask.

You turn to look at him and find that his eyes are already trained on you. It’s hard to put a finger on it, but there’s more of you now than there was the last time Jimin saw you. The glow you used to have — the one that had started to dim — was back, brighter than ever.

Happiness looks good on you, he thinks.

“I don’t think I would’ve gotten my shit together if it wasn’t for you,” You sigh. Then, you slot your fingers into the spaces between his without any hesitation at all. “I needed to — like, really needed to — but I wouldn’t have seen it if you didn’t point it out.”

Jimin squeezes the hand he didn’t want to let go of in the first place. It would’ve been selfish of him to cling to it back then, but it was a gamble not to. He threw in all his chips and hoped that you were the boomerang he thought you were; that you’d come back to him when you were ready.

You were, and are, a safe bet — one he’d take every single time — so Jimin gambles again.

He leans in slowly and you lean, too. Even though it’s the first time, the way you kiss him back feels natural.

Inevitable.

#re: the one with jimin and the boomerang #jade’s requests #jade’s drabbles #trashlibrary #moots #nicki! #jihopesjoint #pjm #park jimin #jimin #bts #bts jimin #park jimin fluff #park jimin x reader #park jimin x you #park jimin x y/n #park jimin drabble #park jimin imagine #park jimin scenarios #jimin fluff #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin drabble #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #bts drabble #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts scenarios

[lords-of-mayhem]

Varg x Pelle Playlist

We'll Never Have Sex

Depollute me, pretty baby. Suck the rot right out of my bloodstream. Oh, dilute me, gentle angel. Water down what I call being grateful.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me, not to take me home. It was simple, it was sweetness. It was good to know.

You look perfect, you look different. I don't wonder about your indifference. If I said you could never touch me, you'd come over and say I looked lovely.

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me, not to make me cry. It was simple, you are are sweetness. Let's just sit a while.

Depollute me, gentle angel. And I'll feel the sickness less and less. Come and kiss me, pretty baby, like we'll never have sex.

Would That I

True that I saw her hair like the branch of a tree, a willow dancing on air before covering me under cotton and calicoes over canopy dapple long ago.

True that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me, that the sound of the saw must be known by the tree. I fretted fire, but that was long ago.

With the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet like the ashes of ask I saw rise in the heat. Settle soft and as pure as snow, I fell in love with the fire long ago.

So in awe, there I stood as you licked off the grain. Though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame. Long as amber of ember glows, all the "would that I'd loved" is long ago.

Suck It And See

Your love is like a studded leather headlock, your kiss it could put creases in the rain.

You're rarer than a can of dandelion and burdock, and those other girls are just post-mix lemonade.

Jigsaw woman with horror movie shoes, be cruel to me 'cause I'm a fool for you.

That's not a skirt, that's a sawn off shotgun and I can only hope you've got it aimed at me.

You have got that face that just says, "baby, I was made to break your heart."

Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet

Head like a steel trap. Wish I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I didn't, I don't just want to be a footnote in someone else's happiness.

I will never end up like him. Behind my back, I already am. Keep a calendar, this way, you'll always know the last time you came through.

Oh, darling, I know what you're going through.

Tempest in a teacup, get unique. Peroxide princess shine like shark teeth. It's a sign, what if you peaked early?

Cotard's Solution

And if dreams can come true, what does that say about nightmares? I'll stay awake tonight.

Cry my name, remind my brain of my identity. Rolling my third eye into the back of my head and squinting through the black

It's times like this that make me wish that I wished that I were dead, I don't wish I were dead. But somebody's got to go.

I wanna make my murder look like a suicide, but they'll all know that the body's mine.

Carving my initials in the back of my hand, in case of losing track. I forgot, remember to forgive.

It's times like this that make me wish that I wished that I could live, I don't wish I could live. But somebody's got to stay.

Oh Ana

I'll be God, I'll be God, I'll be God today. Hold my head under the bath and breathe away, slit my wrists and watch that blood evaporate.

Ante up and play that God a poker game, walk away with all our little God's spare change.

I'll be with you still, you are the angel that I couldn't kill.

I'll fake God, I'll fake God, I'll fake God today. Hop up on a cloud and watch the world decay.

Person In The Mirror

The person in the mirror lookin' like they wanna fuck me. I ain't thinking straight. No, wait. Yeah, I must be. All of y'all be rusty, but I know what I'm doing.

So, I think that I can trust me, trust me.

I wanna feel handsome, I wanna feel pretty. If you want me to dance, you can take me to the city. I like taking chances and I like taking pities.

If that's too much for you, I'll find another one to mingle, mingle. You fuck like you're single, I feel like a monster. I'll put on a show.

#vargelle #varg x dead #dead x varg #varg x pelle #pelle x varg #playlist #suicide mention #rpf