#this whole thing is pretty disgusting though but I do not apologize

[fairyysoup]

i can see you

♫︎ i can see you - taylor swift ♫︎

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: The secret history of your long and arduous relationship with Steve Harrington.

aka: the 5 times you pined over each other, and the time you actually did something about it

words: 17.6k (we're NOT gonna talk about it lol)

cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, flirting, making out, heavy petting, slight exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fingering, marking, biting, steve harrington has a big dick, themes of infidelity/cheating (sort of), skipping out on dates, bad dates, steve steal-your-girl harrington, almost-kisses, jealous!steve, jealous!reader, possessive behavior, smoking, alcohol consumption, allusions to marriage but it's never actually mentioned, canon compliant, reader and steve are the same age, 5+1 things, songfic, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, pining, mutual crush, slow burn one shot, mild twist ending, begins in season two (1984) and ends in the 90s, high school, scoops ahoy era, family video era, waiter!steve, steve harrington (the eras tour), vignette, one instance of billy hargrove slander, original characters created for plot, inspired by i can see you by taylor swift, other taylor song inspo throughout bc i'm insane like miss swift

a/n: hi and welcome to ✨rose's mental breakdown✨ yes this song will be my number one on spotify wrapped bc i listened to it on a loop for five days straight while writing this. idk. anyways this is So Much and i'm tired of looking at it so if there are any mistakes i apologize. anyways whoever can point out the most taylor song references aside from the obvious titular one gets a doubloon

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

You brush past me in the hallway, and you don’t think I can see you, do you? I’ve been watchin’ you for ages, and I spend my time trying not to feel it…

Hawkins High, September 1984

He’s so pretty sometimes that it’s disgusting.

That’s really the only thing you think when you watch Steve Harrington sneak up on his girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, and swoop her off the ground in front of her locker. From across the hall, your locker hangs open, your body turned halfway toward them so that you can pretend that you’re not staring.

You stare a lot.

It’s not exactly the hair, you think- everyone shits a brick about his hair, for some reason that you don’t understand. Yeah, it’s nice… but you like everything else about him, too. You like how sweet he looks when he laughs. You like the way that he holds himself and the way that he looks when he puts his hands on his hips and stands around like he’s directing the traffic around him. You like how much of a prince charming he is, really. It would surprise you if he doesn’t win prom king at the end of the year. They already call him King Steve, it’s not too far of a stretch.

You close your locker just as Steve kisses Nancy, in front of god and everybody in the C Corridor hallway. Steve’s arms wrap around Nancy’s petite frame and he dips her, like they’re in some sort of George Peck and Audrey Hepburn movie. Not that the place is much of a cinematic setting, though. Down the hall, the science rooms are doing their dissection units, so the whole place smells like formaldehyde and disinfectant, and you sort of feel like curling up into one of those dissection pans and dying, yourself. 

That should be me, your brain screams. Me!!

It’s always been like this. You’ve had a crush on Steve since freshman year- the fact that he’s dating Nancy, who’s a year younger than him, doesn’t escape your jealous mind. You’ve been in classes with him for four years, you’ve admired him quietly, you’ve hoped and prayed that he somehow noticed you noticing him.

You don’t think he knows you exist. Four years- and now you’re both seniors, about to graduate, and he still doesn’t notice you. You should really stop caring, or stop trying, or stop… pining. Or something. 

You hike your bag up onto your shoulder and juggle your books in your arms. The bell rings, and quite suddenly the entire hallway erupts into pandemonium (predictable, sure, considering everyone loiters around instead of actually getting to class on time). Kids fly around you in all directions to get to their next classroom. Nancy Wheeler ducks away from Steve Harrington, avoiding yet another kiss.

God, you wish you could kiss him.

Someone slams into your shoulder from behind, muscling past you to get to science lab 5, rat central. Your binder slips out of the stack of books in your arms and clatters loudly to the ground, just as someone walks past and kicks it across the floor.

“Fuck,” you spit, chasing after it. The back of your neck feels hot. For the first time in four years, you hope to god that Steve Harrington doesn’t notice you. 

You duck around people’s legs, trying to grab at your binder, while not trying to drop any more of the books in your arms. Loose papers are starting to fall out of the binder as it skitters across the floor, and this is becoming more and more of a comedy of errors by the minute.

Your fingers just brush the corner of it before someone kicks it again. 

“Do you mind?” you snap as they walk away, not even looking in your direction. Crouched close to the floor, you don’t matter. Maybe you could count that as a blessing, considering you don’t want to be perceived right now.

You finally just throw away all dignity and crawl across the tile floor- disgusting and dirty and covered in sandy grit, as though it hasn’t been cleaned all year- to get to your binder. 

And you come face to face with a pair of white Nike’s. Ones that you know way too well, because you’ve stared at them every time they’ve passed you in the hallway. 

Nonononono- You clench your jaw and then look up, way up, to find Steve Harrington towering over you. 

He looks like he was about to just step around you, but then he notices you gazing up at him from all fours, and his hazel eyes lock on yours. You blink at each other for a second before he flushes, a pink blush breaking out on his cheeks and crawling up his neck, and he looks away quickly, but crouches down to grab your binder before your hand can land on it. 

“Sorry,” Steve says quietly, gathering up the couple papers that had started to slide out of the folders inside. You sit back on your heels, your blood rushing in your ears, mortified. His big hands gently poke the papers back into the folder as they should be before he hands it to you. “Looks like you’re gonna be late to class.”

You scoff. “Look who’s talking.”

Steve’s eyes find yours again, and he’s finally so close to you that you can admire the little bit of green in them. You’ve never been close enough to notice before.

He cracks a lopsided smile, one that he uses to charm people, you know- you’ve seen him use it on teachers and cute girls alike. “I’m always late to the party. But I get there, eventually.”

“I hope so.” He cocks his head at you. He doesn’t know the real meaning to your words- or, at least, you don’t think he does. 

I hope you don’t stay oblivious forever, Steve Harrington. I hope you get there, eventually.

You take your binder from him, but you pull your eyes away from his a bit later than you properly should. “Thanks, Steve.”

You get up and take off toward your next class, walking quickly so that you don’t come off like you’re lingering too long. But, halfway down the hall, you look over your shoulder at him.

Steve hasn’t moved, still crouched down close to the floor, with his head bent like he’s deep in thought. With his back to you, you can still see the pink flush on the back of his neck, peeking out above his collared shirt.

‘Cause I can see you, waiting down the hall from me, and I can see you up against the wall with me. What would you do? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you…

Hawkins High, April 1985

Prom season sucks. Always has, and always will. 

Maybe it was your fault for hoping that Logan Sawyer, popular prick extraordinaire, was serious about wanting to take you to prom. He seemed serious enough, stopping by your locker during passing period and leaning over you as he asked you, his mega-watt smile making you blush. You’d counted yourself lucky- you didn’t think anyone was going to ask you, and people aren’t allowed to go to prom stag.

It took Logan two weeks to find a prettier girl to go with, though. You don’t know why it hurts so much. Maybe it’s because you wanted to believe that you were someone’s first choice, but it never quite seems to turn out that way.

You wipe your tears in the mirror, scowling at your puffy, bloodshot eyes. The bathroom next to the girls’ locker room in the sports wing is completely deserted at this time- the boys’ gym class is in session now, and you’re cutting into your lunch time, but you really don’t want to have to go and cry at a lunch table, in front of a bunch of your bitchy peers, who will inevitably make fun of you for it.

Sniffling, but slightly more composed, you head out of the bathroom. The sports wing is ridiculously bigger than any other wing of the school (typical of American public schools, to prioritize sports over every other department). The wing boasts weight training rooms, dance rooms, three separate gymnasiums, and a door directly to the football field, with the locker rooms on the farthest end to allow for easy access to the field. Connecting all of these rooms is the longest corridor in the building, which seems to run for half a fucking mile.

You’ll have to walk that half mile, because in order to get to the cafeteria, you’re gonna have to traverse the entire building. You might not get to eat much today, but it was a sacrifice you were willing to make. Maybe Mrs. Marshall will be kind enough to let you snack on a granola bar in your next class period.

Halfway down the long hallway, you feel the angry sting of tears behind your eyes again, and your face screws up in frustration. You stop, turning halfway back toward the girls’ bathroom, wondering if you should just go back in and allow yourself to cry some more.

Suck it up, you think to yourself, smacking at your tear stained cheeks. He’s not the guy you really want to ask you to prom, anyways.

You press your fingertips into your eyes to relieve the sting of tears, taking a deep breath. Being in high school is driving you crazy. At this point in the year, the teachers have given up teaching, the students have given up learning, and you’re basically just biding your time in a glorified babysitting service until you can inevitably grab your diploma and get out of here. You can’t wait for that time to arrive. 

A door opens further down the hallway, in the direction of the cafeteria. You wipe your nose once and keep moving in the direction you were going, not wanting to draw attention to yourself, standing in the middle of the hallway having a breakdown.

Moving forwards, you keep your eyes on the ground. Once you hear the door that had been opened slam shut again, you figure that whoever it was has moved on down the hallway, and you lift your eyes again. 

They have not, in fact, moved on. And you suddenly have the urge to turn and fucking run back into the girls’ bathroom, because Steve Harrington is bent over at the drinking fountain, directly outside the boys’ weight room.

What the fuck, what the fuck. You suck on your teeth, trying not to falter in your stride. Maybe he hasn’t seen you, and you can just pass him up. It’s fine, he hasn’t seen you crying. 

Your mind backtracks to the beginning of the year, you fumbling your binder all the way across the hallway and ending up right in front of him, crawling toward him. Looking up at him and probably, most definitely, making him really uncomfortable.

You have English class together, where you sit at the desk closest to the door. He comes in late almost every day, so he passes by you every time. Some days he looks at your desk. On good days, he meets your eye. But he hasn’t spoken to you since that day in September, and you really shouldn’t hold out hope that he will. 

You definitely don’t want him to notice you when you’ve been crying, your face is a mess, your hair is limp and you look bedraggled. You just want to fade into the background of your next class with whatever snack you can get from the cafeteria snuck into your bag, so you can stress eat it without any guff from a teacher (like you aren’t 18 and capable of deciding when you are and aren’t allowed to eat).

You keep your eyes down. If you don’t look at him, he doesn’t exist.

Except, Steve Harrington always exists, in the back of your mind, and in your periphery. He is impossible not to notice, as per usual. He really just draws the eye like a magnet. Try as you might, your eyes keep flicking up to take stock of him. 

He’s wearing a uniform gray P.E. shirt and gym shorts that don’t leave a lot to the imagination, and you fixate on his thighs more than you should. He has sweat dripping down his neck, wetting his hair on the sides of his face and the seam of his shirt. It shouldn’t be attractive. He shouldn’t be attractive. With his face a mess. And his hair limp, and looking bedraggled. Truly, you make a priceless pair, being the only two people in the hallway.

We’re perfect for each other, a voice says in your head. And you manage, for the first time in an hour, to crack a smile down at your shoes.

He finishes getting his drink at the fountain, and you figure that he’ll just go back into the weight room and not see you. But, of course, luck is not on your side.

Steve Harrington looks at you. And you look away, quickly, acting like you hadn’t been staring at him. And in your periphery, again, you see him stretch his arms over his head, and then turn and lean against the cinderblock wall beside the door to the weight room, with his hands on his knees as though he’s catching his breath.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

He does it so casually, and with the way he’s sweating and his face is flushed, you’re sure that he probably does just want to take a break before going in and lifting more weights. But something in the back of your mind says that the maneuver was too purposeful, immediately after he laid eyes on you. 

It could just be wishful thinking on your part. You heard through the grapevine that Steve and Nancy Wheeler broke up in a nasty way just before winter break, and it doesn’t seem like he’s been interested in anyone since. He hasn’t dated anyone, hasn’t flirted with any girls or showed up at any parties. Nancy must have really broken his heart.

You know too well what that feels like, right now.

Nearing where he leans against the wall, you keep your head down and you plan on just passing by without any acknowledgement from him, same as it ever was. If he’s still carrying a torch for Nancy, you’re sure that he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’ve nearly convinced yourself of it.

But then you hear your name called quietly, and it nearly makes you jump. You look over at him, thinking you’re just hearing things, but you look directly into a pair of hazel eyes again, and you feel yourself rocketing back in time to September.

You didn’t even think he knew your name.

You slow to a stop. It would be rude not to stop, right? “Uh… hi, Steve. You good?”

Steve Harrington looks you up and down, while he leans against the wall and breathes a bit heavily, like he’s out of breath. He peers at you through long eyelashes, looking impossibly inviting despite everything; the setting, your appearances, the way that you feel like dissolving into a puddle right in front of him. “Yeah, great. You?”

He’s scrutinizing your face now. You shrug, since he’s already seen you, and there’s no way to pretend you weren’t crying thirty seconds ago. “I’m fine. Just being dramatic, don’t worry about me.” 

“When people say not to worry about them, it usually means that you should,” Steve muses. He looks coy, like he’s speaking from experience. 

You sigh, stepping forward to get your own drink from the drinking fountain. “Logan Sawyer called off our date for prom.”

“Oh.” Steve pauses for a few seconds, watching as you bend down and take your drink, more silent than he usually is. “I mean… that really sucks. I’m sorry. But… Logan Sawyer?”  

“Yeah.” You wipe your mouth, and then wet the ends of your fingers and use the cool water to rub at your stinging eyes again. When you’re done, you lean up against the wall beside him, letting your back settle into the cinderblock.

“The guy’s a fucking douche.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, I mean it, I think it’s a good thing you’re not going to prom with him. He’s really shitty to girls.” You look up at Steve, who’s watching you with his arms crossed, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him wear. “I mean, the only guy worse than Logan is probably… I dunno…”

“Billy Hargrove?” 

Steve laughs. Actually laughs. You’ve wanted to make him laugh like that for four years. His cheeks turn crimson and he grins down at his shoes, snickering like there’s way more to the joke he’s laughing at than you even know about. “Yeah. Yeah, he’s gotta be the worst.”

You chuckle, albeit with a sadder tone than he has. “Well, I’m not going to prom with either of them. So, I can count my blessings. I guess.”

Steve frowns, and he looks like he’s going to say something else, but you’re already turning away, not wanting to continue the depressing conversation about your lack of dates. Especially not from the one guy who you desperately want to go on a date with.

You get a few steps away before he takes a step after you, saying, “Wait. You, uh-”

You stop, and look back at him. He looks dumbfounded, his arm outstretched like he was going to try to grab you if you didn’t listen to him. When you frown, he steps back against the wall, bringing his hand up to run through his hair. 

Oh . That’s a nervous tick. You know it, because you’ve watched him do it more than once in English, in front of the class during a presentation.

Steve looks down at his shoes, his brow scrunched in thought. He looks like he’s really trying to find the right words to say. In your head, a hopeful part of you imagines what those words could be. ‘Will you go to prom with me?’

Finally, he looks up at you resolutely. “You’ll find someone to take you to prom. I’m sure of it.” He nods a little, like he’s reassuring himself that he said the right thing. 

You can’t help the smile that springs onto your face. It’s incredulous, of course, but he can’t know that. Keep trying, baby. You’ll get there, eventually.

“Thanks, Steve.” It’s the second time you thank him in the course of the year.

But what would you do if I went to touch you now? What would you do if they never found us out? What would you do if we never made a sound?

Prom Night, May 1985

The dress you’re wearing is sleek and a lot simpler than some of the more popular styles on the dance floor, but you like it more than you care to admit. You’d just grabbed it off the rack at Macy’s, and beyond that you didn’t want to go all-out for prom. It turns out that your lab partner, Gavin Connelly, needed a date, too. So, you’re here with him, because you knew that if you missed prom, you would probably regret it.

Except, well.

Gavin, stoned out of his fucking mind, is sitting at one of the tables, nursing a cup of punch, looking like he’s two seconds from falling asleep. You’ve taken to making the rounds and saying hi to anyone you can call a ‘friend,’ because you’re tired of just loitering next to him. Something tells you he didn’t want to even be here.

The speakers are playing ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart,’ and couples are swaying on the dance floor in a Bonnie Tyler-induced haze. At a loss for people to bother, you wander back over to your date to find his head plastered to the white table cloth. 

You glance to the guy sitting next to him, a kid with glasses who you don’t recognize but who seems to know your date, because he’s just patting Gavin’s back. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, no, he’s dying.” The kid shoots you a sarcastic smile. 

You nod, pressing your tongue hard to the roof of your mouth. “Well, if he wakes up, tell him I’m getting some air.”

Fuck this. Fuck prom. Fuck high school boys.

Your heels, which are killing your feet already, click loudly on the tile hallway floor as you exit the gym. The table where you can check your bag and coat are located at the other end of the hall, where everyone is supposed to enter through the door to the football field.

You can hear voices from the far end of the hall, and Bonnie Tyler’s voice fading out the further you get from the gym. You might never be able to hear that song again without thinking of your ruined slow dance opportunity.

As you pass by, someone coughs off to the left and you turn your head to see Steve Harrington, black tie and all, loitering in the shadows. You stop a few feet from him and squint into the dark.

You can’t believe it. He always seems to show up at the worst times. “What are you doing, skulking around?” 

“I’m not sulking.”

You snort, stepping into the shadows with him. “No, skulk- like, sneaking around?” 

“Well, I didn’t mean to sneak-” he looks over his shoulder at the gym entrance. “I’m just getting some air.”

“Funny,” you murmur. “I was just about to do the same thing.”

He eyes you, a lot like he did a few weeks ago in this same hallway, further up toward the other end of it. He takes in your hair, styled painstakingly to ‘perfection,’ or as close as you could approximate it, and your off-the-rack department store dress. You suddenly feel like you aren’t as pretty as you thought you were at the beginning of the night. 

But then he meets your eye, and all those insecurities fade into the back of your mind. He’s smiling at you, and that can only be a good thing.

“So, uh…” Steve leans back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, “You found someone to take you?”

You press your lips into a tight line. You don’t really want to think about your date right now, but- “Gavin Connelly.”

“Who?”

You laugh, kicking the heel of your shoe against the ground with a soft clack. “Yeah. God, I wish I didn’t know him right now.”

“Why, what’d he do?” Steve sounds perturbed. You look up to find him scowling already.

“Oh, he just ate a pot brownie before he picked me up and passed out at one of the tables.” You finish with a tired giggle, shrugging at Steve as he peers at you with an annoyed expression. “Who did you bring?”

“Kelly Palmer.” 

You know Kelly. She doesn’t say much, but she’s gotten a scholarship to a big art school. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice,” he says mildly. Unconvincingly.

You can understand the subtext. She’s not Nancy. When you look at his face, he seems tortured in the low light coming from down the hall.

“Guess I’m oh-for-two,” Steve adds after a pause. “Last year’s prom, Nance and I didn’t have such a good time, either.”

You nod. It seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. “I’m sorry,” you offer. You don’t know the ins-and-outs of Steve and Nancy’s relationship, aside from watching them suck face in the hallway five paces from you for a year and a half. “Prom sucks. High school sucks. These can’t be the best years of our lives, trust me.”

“Yeah, I hope not.” 

“I just can’t wait to get out of here, you know,” you grumble, allowing your sour mood to come out a little more than normal. It seems like Steve is just really good at getting you to let your guard down. “I’m planning to go to Chicago for college. This is all just… you know, it’s just the starting point. What about you, any big plans?”

“Dunno. I didn’t get accepted to any schools, so I’ll just be getting a job here in town until something better comes along.” Steve shifts, his heel hitting the wall behind him. He looks disappointed when he says, “I think I made too many mistakes.” 

You frown, chewing on your lip. “What do you mean?”

He gives you a heavy look, like he’s gearing up to say something important, something game changing- and then his gaze softens. 

“You’ve got an eyelash.” He gestures to his own eye, like it’ll make you understand exactly where the loose one is on your face.

“Oh.” You falter, lifting your manicured hands and wiping at your undereyes. “Did I get it?”

“No, uh- here, I can-” Steve tentatively reaches forward, and you step toward him to let him touch your face. 

Steve Harrington is touching your face.  

His fingertip brushes your cheekbone, so featherlight you would barely feel it if you weren’t hyper aware of everything that he said or did. His touch glides across your cheek and toward your temple, and then he seems to keep it there, his hand hovering just over your skin.

Reflexively, your hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. You’re inches from Steve’s face, your eyes falling to his lips.

You could kiss him. You could live your fantasy, right now.

Steve’s gaze lingers on your face for a moment, and then he says, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. He doesn’t say that you look beautiful. He doesn’t say it conditionally, like it’s just for tonight. You are beautiful. Even when you’re crawling on all fours after your binder. Even when you’re crying, and your hair is limp, and you look bedraggled.

“Steve…” you whisper, inching closer to him. 

“STEVE??!”

You jump away from him like he’s burned you, and peek around the hall corner to see Kelly Palmer standing outside the gym looking up and down the hall, searching for him. She looks lost, and sad, like he must have ditched.

She looks an awful lot like you just did, coming out of that gym.

You feel Steve’s hand where it had fallen to your wrist, dragging your attention gently back to him. You take his hand and squeeze it once, giving him a tight smile. 

“You brought her here for a good time,” you say with your bravest smile. “Just don’t pass out at one of the tables on her, okay?”

Don’t be a douche. Don’t be like Logan Sawyer. 

Steve swallows, and gives you a short nod. You think he finally got there.

You give a soft pat to the lapel of his suit jacket. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

He touches your arm one final time before he slips around the corner, just as Kelly turns to go back into the gym. You watch him walk away, and you think to yourself, That’s the last time I chase after Steve Harrington.

Wherever there is, it’s not with you.

Steve loops his arms around Kelly’s waist and lifts her, earning a thrilled squeal as the silver taffeta of her dress glints blue in the light from the gym. You wait until they’ve disappeared back into it before you turn and high-tail it toward the coat check table.

And we kept everything professional, but something’s changed, it’s something I like. They keep watchful eyes on us, so it’s best if we move fast and keep quiet…

Starcourt Mall, June 1985

“Come on, it’s ridiculously hot outside,” your best friend, Shelly, groans as she pulls you along by the wrist. “I can’t believe they only have one ice cream place here.”

“I’m sure they have slushies at the-”

“Ice. Cream.” You know better than to argue with her.

Scoops Ahoy has a novelty nautical theme that makes you want to both laugh and break down in tears when you see it. The PA is playing a cutesy rendition of Drunken Sailor on accordion, and you think that if you keep looking at the striped wallpaper behind the counter, you might get literally seasick. In the mall. In landlocked Indiana. 

Or… is it landlocked if it fronts Lake Michigan? It doesn’t matter. You’ll be in Chicago in two days, anyways.

You let Shelly drag you along until you look towards the front counter, and you see something that nearly makes you trip and face plant into Shelly’s fresh perm.

Even Shelly pauses. “Is that who I think it is?”

It’s something about the stupid little sailor’s cap and shorts, and that he’s so, so pretty in it, you think. It’s also something about how you have the perfect vantage point to watch him try and fail to flirt with the girl that approaches the counter to order. You’re enamored with him. There’s no other way to describe it. 

You have half a mind to run away, after what you promised yourself on prom night over a month ago. You’d done good, you didn’t search for him in the halls, you ignored him in your last couple of class periods with him. You’d even been in the bathroom when his name was called at graduation. 

But, here he is. Steve Harrington, absolutely obliterating his chances of getting a date with the girl ordering a sundae ahead of you. 

Honestly, you don’t know what you’re waiting for. Maybe an invitation? A sign from god that today’s the day that you’ll make a move? Or maybe this is just a test of will.

You stop resisting Shelly’s attempts to drag you along, and straighten your spine. You can do this. Four years’ worth of pining won’t make a difference in whether or not you order a strawberry ice cream cone.

He’s even prettier up close, his rosy cheeks framed by sunkissed, wavy hair. When he sees you he stalls, going a bit wide-eyed and then seeming to realize he’s supposed to do his job. He leans heavily against the counter. “Ahoy, ladies! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I’ll be your captain, Steve Harrington.”

“Uh-huh.” You stare at each other for a long moment. “How much do they pay you to recite that script?”

“Absolutely nothing, I do this for pure enjoyment.” You’re almost sure that he doesn’t. He pauses, a hand poised on his hip. “Too much?”

“I’d dial it back just a smidge. Maybe keep the ahoy and the captain thing and toss the rest.” 

“Noted.” He nods slowly, his eyes fixed on you. “I thought you were going to Chicago?”

“I leave the day after tomorrow,” you shrug. “Still time for me to burn the place down, you know.”

“Well, I’m glad you stopped by,” Steve chuckles. “I could show you where the gas line is, then we’d all be in trouble.”

“Oookay.” Shelly gives you a curious side-eye, and then turns back to Steve. “Well, I’ll have a U.S.S. Butterscotch with a chocolate dipped waffle bowl, if you don’t mind.”

Steve tears his eyes away from you long enough to grin at Shelly. “Coming right up. And for you?”

You freeze, glancing up at the menu. It’s written in an infuriatingly cutesy code-language that you have to decipher. “Um. I’m still deciding.”

“All right, then. Just let me know, when you’re ready.” 

Steve slips away to make Shelly her sundae, a heaping pile of ice cream and butterscotch syrup that looks like the fast track to a heart attack. You alternate between trying to comprehend the menu and being distracted by Steve in that stupid sailor’s uniform.

The script on the menu may as well be written in a foreign language. Blackbeard’s Delight. Treasure Island Turtle. U.S.S. Sherbet. The sizes are even harder to understand. Fathom. League. Nautical Mile. You don’t have the capacity to decipher it- your eyes are seeing the words, but your mind is traveling back to prom night, and feeling Steve’s finger on your cheek as you gear up to kiss him.

“Are you ready?”

“Mhm…” It takes you a second to zone back into the present moment, where Steve is standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, waiting to take your order. He waits, with a patient smile on his face, while you blink dumbly at him.

What did you say? What did he say?

“I… um.” You’re sure you look completely out of it. Your eyes flick nervously up at the menu, that you still can’t fucking read. Shelly’s already gone to sit down with her sundae, the traitor.

“It’s kind of hard to understand, isn’t it?” Steve says quietly after a moment, dropping the phony customer service charade. “I hate it. I think we should just be able to say what our favorite ice cream flavor is and be done with it.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still squinting up at the menu. Blackbeard’s Delight: blackberry swirl with blueberry syrup and a gold doubloon. “The fuck is a doubloon?”

Steve snorts, and reaches under the counter before bringing back a handful of gold foil-covered chocolate coins, which he dumps into your outstretched hand. “You want more? We get them wholesale.”

“I’m good,” you giggle, juggling the chocolate coins before they go cascading to the floor. “I think… I don’t… I don’t understand a thing on that menu.”

“What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” He leans forward to ask you, like it's a secret. Just between the two of you. His head bent a little to peer at you closely, so close that you can count the freckles on his skin.

You glance over your shoulder. Shelly is seated by the far wall, under a painting of a kraken, giving you an indignant look. When she notices you looking, she mouths an emphatic, ‘LET’S GO!’

“Don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, and Steve affects his gravest expression as he nods. “Strawberry.” 

“A classic,” he grins. “Fan of sprinkles?” 

“I can dig a few sprinkles.”

“Perfect. I think we have something up your alley.” He grabs a scooper out of the bin and twirls it once, just to show off. “Sex on the Beach.” 

“What?” You don’t remember seeing anything about that on the menu.

He glances up to smirk at you before shrugging. “It’s strawberry ice cream with peach syrup. You’ll see.”

You keep an eye on his hands behind the glass partition, watching them put two scoops of strawberry into a medium sized carton. Completely unable to rein in your thoughts before they get away from you, you’re thinking about how good they would feel under your shirt. You follow a treasure map of freckles trailing up his arms, disappearing under the blue sailor’s shirt he wears. You want to kiss every single one of them.

You finally reply, “I guess I have to put my faith in your professional ice cream slinging abilities.” 

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Steve mutters sardonically as he squirts peach syrup across the two scoops of ice cream, giving it a golden sheen. “I’m the king of cream.”

You purse your lips as it takes Steve a second to realize what he just said. When he does, he snaps his head up to meet your eye in horror. 

He opens his mouth to take it back, but you shake your head, holding back laughter. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I think it’s pretty much ruined already.” He turns crimson, blushing down at the half-made sundae as he rapidly shakes yellow sprinkles onto it. “I was doing so good, too.”

“Who says you aren’t still?” You give him a cute smile when he looks up through his lashes at you, still arranging toppings on the sundae. You’re not sure what happened between prom and now to change him so much, but it’s almost as if he’s… goofy. He’s less concerned with appearances, he’s more laid back and willing to make fun of himself. 

You like it a lot. 

You watch him plop two maraschinos onto one ice cream mound, and wedge a candied orange slice into the other, inverted, to look like a setting sun. As he passes it over the counter to you, he says, “Here you go, one Sex on the Beach. On the house.”

“What? No, I couldn’t-”

“I mean it. For overlooking my stupidity,” Steve insists. He gives you a meaningful look when he adds, “A million times over.”

“I’m not overlooking anything when it comes to you, Steve,” you tell him fondly, and drop one of the doubloons into the tip jar. It’s gaudy, gleaming artificially gold in the middle of the crumpled up dollar bills. “Hang onto that. You might be able to cash it in for a kiss someday.”

Steve blinks rapidly, leaning across the counter as you walk away. “After you come back from Chicago, right?”

You look over your shoulder, and you wink at him.

When you finally stop in front of Shelly, and you use your plastic spoon to dig into the adorable sundae that Steve crafted for you, you remember that you’d gone up to the counter with every intention of ignoring Steve and acting like you didn’t even know him.

You winked at Steve Harrington. You said you’d kiss him. You think back to the girl who was so afraid of Steve even noticing her, almost a year ago, and wonder where she went.

You look down at Shelly. She’d graduated a year before you, so she wasn’t there to witness every blunderous interaction you’d had with Steve in school. You never told her how in love you were with him.

Now, she looks up at you coyly. “So. Steve Harrington, huh?”

“Shut up,” you grunt, looking up and out at the food court outside of the Scoops Ahoy storefront. “As if you know everything.”

“Are you gonna try to make something out of that…” she gestures vaguely with her spoon toward the counter, “before school starts?” 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say honestly, still poking at your sundae. “Anyways, I leave too soon for anything to really happen. What- I screw him tomorrow and then fuck off forever? It’s just wishful thinking, probably.” You finally take a bite of the ice cream, just to punctuate your sentence.

“Hm. Probably. How is that?” Shelly nods at the ice cream in your hand. “Looks pretty.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You’re being honest. Something about the peach syrup with the strawberry base literally evokes the flavor of a sunset. “They should give him a raise.”

Humming, Shelly stands and takes her half-eaten sundae. She nudges you in the direction of the door. “C’mon. We’ve gotta eat these before the next showing of The Breakfast Club.”

Steve watches you and your friend leave, with the wistful gaze of someone who just watched their greatest opportunity walk away from them. He never knew that it was possible to hate an entire geographic location, but he really wishes Chicago would get blown off the map in the next 24 hours. 

The wooden partition doors slam open, and Robin’s head appears in the window to the kitchen. “The cream king? Do you want me to actually hurl?”

“I said, ‘the king of cream,’” he groans, digging his knuckles into his eye sockets. “Kill me, Robin. Load me into the freezer. Bury me at the fairground.”

“You think you’re valuable enough to displace that much ice cream?” Robin rolls her eyes, and with another loud thwack, her white board appears in the space behind her. “We don’t make anything called Sex on the Beach. This is a family establishment.”

“I made it up.” 

Robin coos, “Aww. Be still my heart. You love her to the point of invention.” 

Steve whirls around. “Love? Who said anything about love?” 

“I did.” Robin uncaps her dry-erase marker and draws a tally mark under the side that reads, you rule.

“Uh, Robin,” Steve snaps, pointing at the board condescendingly. “I think you put that on the wrong side. I fucked it up.”

“Dingus. Please. As much as it makes me gag- and you know I gain immense pleasure from counting how often you screw up- I could practically hear her heart eyes.” She sets the white board down, begrudgingly. “I think you found the only girl alive who’ll find all this-” she waves her hand at him, “endearing. Who was she? Some ex of yours?” 

“If only,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. When he turns back to the counter, his eyes land on the single chocolate coin glinting in the tip jar.

He scoops it up with two fingers and pockets it.

You won’t believe half the things I see inside my head. Wait ‘til you see half the things that haven’t happened yet…

Family Video, March 1986

The air conditioning nearly blasts you backwards into the parking lot. You don’t know why they need it blasting so hard at 7pm, in the middle of March. It’s not like it’s the height of summer- your spring break takes place earlier than the local school’s, but it just means that you get to beat the crowds when you come home to visit your family.

Of course, they love to send you to run errands. You end up picking up the groceries, and the housewares, and, on this occasion, the choices for family movie night. 

This Family Video’s selection isn’t necessarily as extensive as the ones in Chicago, but it’s good enough. You enter the store, and it dumps you directly in front of a cardboard cutout of Phoebe Cates about to flash you. Family friendly entertainment, and all.

The TV in the corner is running the final scene of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly- Ennio Morricone’s score plays dramatically into the empty store. There’s no one behind the counter currently, so you pull the list of videos your extended family members had all requested. The Breakfast Club. Camelot. The Birds. Pretty general selections for your family, but it seems like you’ll have to hunt them up on your own. 

You’re wandering down the romance aisle, since The Breakfast Club was nowhere on the new releases or comedy shelves, when someone finally emerges from the back room. You see a flash of a head moving toward the front counter from over the top of a rack, and you take it as your chance to ask for help.

“Excuse me? Do you guys have any copies of The Breakfast Club, or-”

You stop short, choking on your words. Steve Harrington turns around to look at you, carrying a stack of VHS tapes perched under his chin, and holding a folded up piece of paper between his teeth.

You stare each other down for a second, before Steve gracefully spits the paper over his shoulder and onto the counter. “Hey, um… long time, no see?”

“I’d say.” You tilt your head. Funny how quickly your eyes will hone in on his lips, like searching for a target every time. “We always seem to run into each other like this. What happened to the ice cream gig?”

“Starcourt burned down,” Steve says, plopping the stack of VHS tapes down on the counter beside the paper he spit out. “Right around the Fourth of July, last summer.”

“So, right after I last saw you?”

Steve smirks to himself before he turns back to you. “Yeah. Like, a week or so after. Did you manage to burn the place down, after all?” 

“I wish.” 

You pause, taking the time to size him up. It’s amazing what the better part of a year will do to someone, inside and out. With a striped shirt and green vest, he looks much more relaxed and casual than he had at Scoops Ahoy. His hair’s a little longer, his eyes a little darker as they rake over you, in return. 

You’re a little bit desperate to see what’s going on in his head, if it’s anything like what’s happening in yours.

You wish you could say that you tried to seek him out when you got back to town- a year ago, maybe you would have. But you’d pretty much given up on the idea of him, moving up to dating college boys who don’t string you along, who don’t wait until the last minute to finally try their hand at flirting with you. If he ever passed through your mind, it was with the attached hope that he’d found greener pastures than Hawkins, Indiana. Foolishly, you hoped that as long as you told yourself that he’d moved on, it would be true. And then maybe what could have been wouldn’t matter anymore.

You’d stepped back into Hawkins after half a year of college, the graveyard of all hope in your happily ever after, and you hadn’t even thought of Steve Harrington. Except, seeing him now, everything comes flooding back. All the days spent pining over him. All the close brushes you’d had with finally getting the ending you wanted. 

You have to be honest. “You look good, Steve. You always do.”

Steve chuckles, tilting his chin down as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his light wash jeans. “Better without the sailor costume, right?”

“Aww, I liked the sailor costume.” You step closer so you can whisper, “I thought it was sexy.”

Steve peers down his nose at you, drawing himself up to tower above you at his full height. He tries to look unaffected, but you can see his ears glowing pink beneath wisps of golden highlights. “Watch it. You’re gonna give me an ego.”

“We don’t want that, do we?” You unfold the list of movies you’re here to collect, holding it up to him between two fingers. “Got any of these movies?” 

Steve reads the short list, and nods to himself. “I know we have Camelot, but I’m not sure about The Breakfast Club. Let me check in the back?” 

“I’ll be here.”

“All right- don’t get up to any trouble, though. I’ve got my eye on you.” He points at you coolly, feigning an authoritative expression. He tries to hide his smile, but the creases around his eyes give him away. 

“I hope you do.” You try to appear casual as you breeze past him, but you have to fiddle with your jacket collar to hide their shaking. Still, you feel the sweep of his gaze on you like rays of sun on your skin. It frightens you how easily you can fall back into the old back-and-forth routine you established in high school- how he gets you to say things you never meant to voice, but that live in your head effortlessly. 

Steve watches you disappear down the drama aisle before he takes in a huge breath of air and bolts toward the back room. Any and all coolness he was performing disappears like so much smoke. Slamming open the door, he nearly shouts, “Do you have a doubloon?!” 

Robin startles, swinging around in her seat, looking away from her computer screen. “A what? Why are you yelling?”

“A doubloon, a f-fucking-” Steve looks quickly over his shoulder, out the door, and starts hunching over as he whispers, “a chocolate coin. Like one of those ones we had at Scoops, remember?”

“Why do you want a chocolate coin?” Robin squints at him. “Stop crouching like that, you look like Nosferatu.”

Steve hisses through his teeth, and he’s got a frantic edge to his expression that Robin doesn’t like. “Okay- remember that girl, the one who showed up at Scoops that time, and you gave me my one and only ‘You Rule’ tally?” 

“No.”

“Great. Well, she’s here, and she told me if I gave her one of those chocolate coins she’d kiss me.” Steve shoves his hands through his hair, mussing up the already disheveled style. “Please, Rob, I can’t let her get away again. I’ve done it, like, a thousand times already.” 

“Okay, Romeo,” Robin humors him, turning around in her seat. “So you’re saying this babe, who I very much don’t remember because you always struck out while we worked at Scoops, told you that if you bribed her with chocolate she’d kiss you?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think she was maybe joking?” 

Steve opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. Truthfully, he hadn’t. He’d overlooked the idea that, after everything that had happened between you, you might just be joking about kissing him. 

“You know you could use your actual charm to get a girl to kiss you?” Robin dips her chin, shaking her head like it’s obvious.

Steve frowns. As if he hasn’t already tried that. “Do you have any chocolate coins or not?”

Robin sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen one of those things since we worked at Scoops. Sorry, bud. You’re out of luck.” 

“FUCK!” Steve’s hand smacks the door as he heads out of the back room, making Robin scowl after him. She shakes her head as she turns back to her work.

Back out on the sales floor, the credits to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly have finished, and white noise fills the empty space. Steve turns in a circle by the checkout counter, searching for you among the aisles.

Where did you disappear to, this time? A part of him dreads the answer. He was the one who fucked everything up- he shouldn’t have chickened out when he had the chance. He should have asked you to that fucking prom, but he was too scared to commit after what happened with Nancy. 

If this is his last chance, he needs to make it count. 

He coughs into the dead air, and says, “Looks like we’re all out of The Breakfast Club.” There’s a disconcerting amount of silence that leaves him cold, almost certain that you’ve left already, for the last time.

Then, you appear from behind the red curtain to the adult videos section.

Oh.  

“Everything okay?” you ask sweetly as you approach, holding a couple tapes that you must have picked up while you shopped around. “I heard some yelling back there.” 

“Oh, yeah. Just, uh… shelving issues.” Steve backs his way behind the counter. He repeats, “Sorry, I couldn’t find the movie for you.”

“I heard. I’m not worried about it.” You plop the tapes that you did find on the counter. “It was nice of you to look for me. Thanks, Steve.”

“Always.” Steve starts scanning your tapes; it looks like you managed to find the other films on your list, along with one for yourself. From the adult section. 

You watch in amusement as you can see the cogs visibly turning in Steve’s head, while he stares at the front of the porn video you picked. Spring Break Sex Party II. Not that you’d ever seen the first one, but the cover of this one was suggestive enough- a bunch of drunk people naked on a beach, lying in a great big pile. Looks like fun, in your opinion.

You always love seeing Steve blush. The prettiest shade of pink colors his cheeks before he glances up at you. “Should I ask…?”

“It’s the closest thing to getting a Sex on the Beach, here.” 

Steve chokes, and he scrambles for a response to that. “I- I was gonna ask for an I.D.”

“You know we’re the same age,” you deadpan.

“Y-yeah. I, uh- I know… I know that.” He hangs his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes tightly shut.

You wonder if this is what you looked like to him, that time in the hallway when he loitered by the fountain to talk to you. “Breathe, Steve.”

A blast of laughter leaves his mouth before he can swallow it. If only you knew how hard it actually is, to act like he’s not just fucking melting right in front of you. When he hangs on every word you say, and every other thought he has is about how badly he wants to tell Robin to get lost and take you in the back room. You don’t know how much he’s fixating on your curves and how they’d feel against him, how much he wants to taste every inch of your body. He’s practically vibrating in place with all his pent up frustration, and you’re here buying porn, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Steve clears his throat, shakes his head. Christ. “Okay, well. You know that this is a sale item, it’s not for rent. You can return it within 10 days as long as the packaging hasn’t been opened.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” He’s still nodding as he puts it into the bag with the rest of your rentals. 

“Are you always this affected by people buying from the adult section?” you ask mildly. 

“Nah, usually I don’t care,” he replies without thinking. 

“Good to know that you care about my taste in pornography,” you tell him with the most shit eating grin on your face, taking the bag from him. “I’m flattered.”

He makes a clumsy noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. He’s right back to working at Scoops Ahoy, fumbling every attempt at flirting, losing his cool at the sight of a pretty girl. It’s… humbling.

He’s sure Robin would say that he can always use more humility.

“It was good to see you again, Steve.” And just like that, you’re sand slipping through the cracks in his fingers. 

Desperately, he tries to block the flow, closing his fingers around you in an attempt to keep you in his grasp. “Do you- uh-” He lurches forward, white-knuckling the counter like his life depends on it. You turn back towards him, an eyebrow raised at his sudden outburst. 

You’re back in the school hallway, senior year. Crying over Logan Sawyer. Harrington is up against the wall by the drinking fountain. You want him to just say the words and ask you to prom.

“I mean… if you have the time, while you’re in town… do you want to go for a cup of coffee? With me?”

“Oh, Steve.” You sigh, and it’s the most heartbreaking noise he’s ever heard in his life. Soft sand, falling through his fingers, disappearing back the way you came. He already dreads your answer before it comes. “I wish… you know, if I had come in here and met you about a week ago, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. But I have to catch the train back to Chicago tomorrow. My break’s almost up.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “I’m just glad that you didn’t completely miss me, at least.”

“Right, of course.” Steve smiles back at you, feeling more like an idiot the longer this drags on. He’s like Sisyphus rolling that rock up the fucking hill. “I… I’m glad I got to see you, too. Maybe next time.” 

Oh, it hurts. It hurts way more than you thought it would, to have to turn Steve down- after all the years pining for him through high school, after the time you turned him away when he would have kissed you. You think about kissing him, now. He would let you do it- he’s asking you out, and he looks so sad that you’re saying no.

You could. But wouldn’t it make saying goodbye this time even harder than it already is?

“Yeah. Maybe next time,” you tell him. You don’t want this to hurt more than it does. You truly hope there’s a next time, another year down the line when you run into him over winter break. Maybe you’ll find him at the Radio Shack. 

Steve watches you leave, once again. Fumbling his chance, again. When the door swings shut behind you, Steve bends at the waist and drops his head against the countertop. 

Typical Harrington. Late to the party, miss the girl.

“Well. That was… really painful to listen to.” Robin emerges from behind one of the shelves, crossing her arms. Gently, she adds, “On the bright side, I don’t think the chocolate coin would have mattered.”

Steve picks his head up, and he thwacks his forehead back down onto the counter.

And again.

And again.

And I can see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission. Hide away, and I will start behaving myself…

Sur La Table Restaurant, Chicago, April 1991

You shake your umbrella out as you step into the warm foyer of, quite possibly, the most upscale restaurant you’ve ever set foot in. The carpet is deep, blood red, the walls a dark chestnut wood. The white covered tables are each spotlit within the otherwise dark dining room, and the atmosphere is flavored by soft piano and the quiet din of hushed voices. 

You had been hesitant to accept Theo’s invitation to dinner- he seemed too stuck up for your taste, but when Shelly introduced you to him, you had to admit that the name of the restaurant piqued your interest. Sur La Table. Chicago’s premiere Michelin Star restaurant. 

As you hand your umbrella over to the coat check clerk, you’re greeted by a smiling hostess. “What’s the name for the reservation?”

“Um… Theo Bowman. I believe he’s already here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Right this way.” 

Theo stands as you’re shown to the table. Tall, with dark hair and a wide smile, he reminds you of someone you knew once, but you just can’t seem to place it. Then, when he towers over you to shake your hand, standing far closer than necessary, you’re able to pick it out from the recesses of your mind.

Logan Sawyer.  

“You look nice,” Theo says pleasantly, and you chalk up your initial comparison to nerves, on your part. You don’t often let friends set you up on dates, so you’re a little bit out of your element as it is.

As you go to sit down, you admit, “I was so glad when you picked this place, I’ve always wanted to eat here, since I moved to Chicago.” 

“It’s not the nicest place I’ve been,” Theo shrugs, taking the seat across from you.

Your smile falters, for a second. “Oh, no?” The water has already been brought to the table, you guess while he was waiting for you. You take a long drink.

“Nah, I’ve been to Le Bernardin, in New York. That’s fine dining.” Theo waves his hand at the upscale dining room. “This is… okay.”

“I see.” You lift your menu, hoping that he’ll do the same.

“Yeah, New York is so much nicer than Chicago, in my opinion,” Theo continues, fiddling with his napkin as he talks. “There’s a lot more to do. Have you ever been?”

You hope this is just his nerves talking. “No.” 

Theo keeps talking as you stare at the menu in front of you, at a loss. It’s an a la carte menu, clearly, but extensive and all in french. Salade de poires pochées. Coquilles Saint-Jacques Gratineés. Filet au poivre vert. You’re scrutinizing the fine print of what all the dishes include when your waiter steps up to the table. You know when it happens, because Theo finally stops blathering about New York. 

You break your eyes away from the menu to glance at the server’s waistline, at eye level with you. He wears a crisply pressed suit and tie, his hands clasped in front of his belt. 

“Good evening sir, ma’am,” the server says in a hushed tone, to keep the volume of the dining room down. “Welcome to Sur La Table. I’m Steven, I’ll be serving you this evening. Before we begin, are there any questions about the menu?”

You peer up into the darkness to try to see Steven’s face. He’s standing just outside of the spotlight over the table, only able to be dimly lit from the indirect light reflecting from the tablecloth. Once your eyes adjust, they lock onto a pair of familiar hazel ones.

Oh my fucking god.

It’s got to be fate, or kismet, or some force of nature that keeps bringing you together like this. Steve Harrington’s face hasn’t changed in five years. Maybe he looks just slightly older, a little more filled out in his suit and tie. His hair is a bit shorter at the back but still that same shade of golden brown, neatly groomed and tidy for the formal atmosphere- but you can see it being tousled on his off days, still flopping across his eyes in waves. And those are the same lips you dreamt about kissing, the same eyes you admired in the school hallway, the same nose that you always wanted to grind o-

“No, I think we’re ready to order,” Theo announces, louder than necessary. You throw your gaze at him, your eyebrows raising despite your best efforts to remain calm. 

Is he really going to order for you? Just like that?

“Well, I was going to ask-” you begin, wanting to get a little more specification on how the filet is made, when Theo cuts you off.

“It’s okay, I speak French,” he insists. Not that it makes a difference to what your question was.

You press your lips together in irritation and glance at Steve, who looks back at you stoically. You wonder if he recognizes you like you do him- it’s been long enough, and you’re sure that you look a bit different than you did the last time you saw him. And then you notice the creases around his eyes.

He’s playing it off well enough, sure. But Steve is doing that same look that he did there in the Family Video five years ago, trying to pretend that he’s not affected by you, swallowing back his smile. He sends you a knowing look that says, What a fucking douchebag, am I right?

Suddenly, this date just got way more entertaining. You give Steve a minute roll of your eyes, only enough for him to notice. Tell me about it.

“We’ll start with the Bordeaux,” Theo is already reciting to Steve as you settle back in your seat. Steve pulls a little notepad out of his jacket pocket and begins writing. “For an appetizer, the coquilles. Then for the main, I’ll have the canard montmorency, and she’ll have the mignons de veau.” 

You watch Steve’s hand pause as he’s writing, and he looks to you. He raises his eyebrow, saying everything he needs to with the one gesture. Is that what you really want? “The veal?”

“No,” you say, digging your thumbnail into your palm, where it rests on your lap. “Actually, I wanted to ask about the filet. What brandy is the sauce made with?” 

Steve smiles, leaning a little bit closer to you. “We use Courvoisier.”

“Great. I’ll have that, please.” 

Steve nods encouragingly at you. As he jots down the order, he says, “Wonderful. I’ll get this to the kitchen for you, but before I can bring you the wine, I’ll just need to see the lady’s I.D.”

“Are you serious?” Theo snaps. 

“It’s all right,” you murmur, hiding your face as you dip your head to fish your I.D. out of your clutch. “He’s just doing his job. Right, Steven?”

Steve meets your eye as he takes the card from your hand. “You can never be too careful.” You watch him smirk as he looks over your I.D., his eyes lingering on your name for a second before he hands it back to you. If there was any doubt in his mind that you are who he thought, it’s gone now. “Interesting. We’re the same age.”

You laugh. Probably a little louder than is respectable, but you can’t help it. Leave it to Steve Harrington to remind you of the time you bought porn from him, while you’re on a date. 

You watch Steve write something else on his notepad, and rip the page out before folding it up. He tucks his notepad into his pocket as he says, “I’ll get this started for you. I hope you enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, Steven,” you offer just as he starts to walk away. 

Steve shoots you a sideways glance. “Always.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your chest as you turn back to your date. Theo looks disgruntled, but he just lifts his water to his lips.

“So,” you begin, “what do you do?”

“Marketing manager,” Theo says, with a click of his tongue. “For Bowman Wine & Spirits.”

“Oh,” you nod. “No relation, I suppose?”

“My father owns the company.”

“Right.” God, help me. 

Across the dining room, Steve watches you over his shoulder. His jaw sets as he sees you, the girl of his literal dreams, sitting across from some idiot who doesn’t even know that you don’t order for your date without asking her what she wants first, you fucking weasel. 

That’s all right. You seem to have the situation under control, for now. Steve watches you calmly sip your water, staring at your date but not listening to a thing he’s saying. 

Steve sighs. He’s never been much of a schemer, but he’ll just make sure that you won’t leave with this guy if you don’t want to.

His fingers brush the note in his pocket, and he pinches it just as he passes the front of house manager, Taryn. Without breaking stride, he slips the note into her hand, heading toward the back hallway and down to the wine cellar.

As Steve passes by, Taryn unfolds the note he slips her, and raises one eyebrow at the request he’s written.

I can see you in your suit and your necktie, pass me a note saying, “Meet me tonight.” Then we kissed and you know I won’t ever tell…

Overall, you enjoy Sur La Table immensely. The restaurant itself, anyways. The wine is wonderful. The atmosphere is great. The food is exquisite. 

You’re about to jump the waiter’s bones. 

Theo got his second wind sometime after the scallops arrived, and you think he hasn’t paused for breath since. You’ve been calmly eating your food, while Theo tells you literally everything about himself. It’s the best case scenario you can see happening on this date. You enjoy the food, mumble a non-committal acknowledgement now and then, and Theo entertains himself with his own voice the rest of the time. 

You’re gonna kill Shelly for setting you up with him, but that’s tomorrow’s problem. 

Right now, you’re focused on finishing your glass of wine while he talks about camping, of all things. 

“So we got up into the Rockies,” he’s telling you, gesturing with his hands like it’ll make you more engaged. “We ended up freezing our keisters off. No joke, I have frostbite scars.”

“That’s, um… that sounds like fun.”

“No, are you listening? I mean, it was terrible. We couldn’t move for, like, two days. And when the snow stopped we were so tired and cold, we almost died.”  

You knock back the rest of your wine with one gulp, and say with a sticky voice, “Wow. A near death experience must have been really scary, I’m sorry.”

Theo frowns. “No- I mean… It wasn’t… it wasn’t near death-”

“You just said-”

“It was more like a serious inconvenience, you know. But we pulled through. I wasn’t scared. A little snow isn’t gonna kill me,” he laughs incredulously. “It was just-”

Theo stops as Steve approaches the table. You catch him giving the back of Theo’s head the most murderous look imaginable before slowing to a stop and plastering an easy customer service smile in its place. “How did you find everything this evening?”

“It was fine.”

“The food was wonderful,” you tell Steve reassuringly. Your date, on the other hand…

“Yeeeah, could we get the check, please?” Theo asks, finally looking up at Steve. 

You watch Steve’s brow twitch, such a small movement you could have imagined it. “Certainly. But first-” from behind his back, he reveals two white gift boxes and places them on the table in front of you and your date, respectively. “We like to give each of our customers a signature chocolate truffle, as a token of our appreciation.”

Everything in you aches. “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you so much.” You look down at the box in adoration, thinking for a second that it might be the only time in your life that Steve Harrington gives you something similar to a ring box. 

“I’ll be sure to have our hostess come through with the check,” Steve adds delicately, making a gracious exit. His finger just slightly brushes your arm as he passes by- a dangerous move, but one that nearly electrifies your entire body at the single touch. You shiver as he says, “Have a lovely night.”

You watch Steve walk away from you, and your heart sinks into your stomach. You want to chase after him. The 18 year old you, who almost kissed him on prom night, is trying to claw its way out of your skin and bolt after him. 

When Steve disappears from view, you have nowhere to look but at your date. Theo opens the white box in front of him and pops a neapolitan colored truffle into his mouth. “Well, that was underwhelming.”

You don’t want to watch him chewing anymore, like a cow gnawing on grass. You sigh, running a frustrated hand across your forehead, and flip open the box in front of you. The top of it rears up like a clam shell, and you freeze, your fingertips suddenly sticking to the sweat beading on your brow.

You don’t have a neapolitan truffle- you have a single golden chocolate coin. You stare at it in shock for a second before you even notice the note pasted to the lid of the box. 

Meet me outside- the door past the bathrooms. 

“Aren’t you gonna eat yours?” Theo asks suddenly, as the hostess approaches holding the check. 

Your eyes snap up just as your heart shoots back up into your chest. “I think I’m gonna save it for later.” You flash him a smile as you close the box swiftly and shove it into your clutch. “Do you mind if I hit the bathroom real quick?”

“No, go ahead. I’ve got it.” Honestly, it’s the kindest thing he’s done for you all night. You might have to thank him some day. 

Once you’re out of your seat, you chase after Steve like a shot. Around a block of tables and into a tiled corridor, you walk past the kitchen doorway just as another server comes backing out, carrying a tray of dishes. 

There’s a door at the end of the hall, labeled exit. You never actually thought you’d be escaping a bad date through the back door; the notion was too clichéed, you thought that sort of thing only happened in movies. But you find yourself nearly running past the men’s and women’s bathrooms, until your hands slam down on the bar of the back door and thrust it open into the wind. 

The rain has picked up, more of a downpour than a light drizzle now. In your haste, you’d left your umbrella and coat with the coat check. Not that it would have been at all discrete if you’d gone to collect it before running towards the bathrooms. 

The door clicks shut behind you, and you gaze around in the dark. The alley behind the restaurant is only partially lit by a yellow street lamp, making it even more difficult to find him than it was in the dining room. “Steve?”  

You catch movement in the corner of your eye, and turn in the direction of the street lamp. Steve stands up from where he’d been sitting on an overturned crate- apparently the only accommodations the restaurant staff gets during a smoke break. The rain has already soaked into his hair, messing up the tidy style and turning it stringy, falling across his forehead, shining gold in the yellow light. He takes one last puff of the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it into the gutter, and he looks at you. 

He sees you. And it’s all you’ve wanted since the day he first walked into your geography class, freshman year of high school. There’s been some kind of a magnetic pull between you two for years. Something keeps bringing you together, it’s just never been the right time. Until now. 

Finally, you’re running towards him, and Steve’s arms finally come around you, pulling you against his body. Your hands find the back of his neck just in time for his lips to crash against yours. 

You had lost count of the amount of times you watched him kiss other girls in the hallway in high school- not just Nancy, but any and every girl he attached himself to (for a while, it seemed like he couldn’t make up his mind who he was dating at any given moment). All you knew was that it was never you, and you wanted it to be so desperately that it consumed your mind half the time. He looked like a good kisser, and you fantasized about going up to him and testing that theory for yourself.

But you never expected that his lips would slide over yours with an urgency that you could feel through to your very core, probably even more desperate for your kiss than you are for his. Steve’s fingertips press into your body through the thin fabric of your dress, holding you firmly to him like he’s afraid you might disappear on him again if he doesn’t absorb you completely. Your mouth opens with a soft gasp, and Steve’s tongue against yours tastes like tobacco. 

It happens so fast that you can’t even think- and you don’t really want to. You’re tired of thinking everything through, finding reasons upon reasons why it’s not a good time, why it’s a bad idea, why it won’t work. He moans into you, grabbing the side of your face as he stumbles with you to the wall, pressing you up against the side of the brick building. 

You meet his moan with a whimper of your own as his hand slides down over the curve of your ass, and he hikes up the skirt of your dress to grab at your skin with abandon. There’s a ferocity in Steve’s kiss that you don’t know what to do with, like he’s trying to stake a claim to you right there in the rain, with no one around to see it happen but the moths in the street light overhead. Not that he needs to- he’s already got you. You already chose him. 

Steve gives you room to breathe with a soft sigh, his forehead resting against yours. “Been wanting to do that since high school,” he admits, just loud enough for you to hear, before pressing a featherlight kiss just beside your mouth, and again to your cheek.

“Y-you fffucking-?” you gasp when he latches his lips around a sweet spot on your neck and sucks. “I had such a huge crush on you, Steve.”

“I know. I- I should have- I should…” Steve drops his head against your shoulder and groans when your nails rake against his scalp. “Fuck.”  

He grinds his hips up against yours, biting your lip as the hard length of his cock presses up against your core. “Gonna fuck me in this alleyway, Harrington?” 

“I’m seriously considering it,” he growls into your ear. His lips find yours again with a passion, his hand holding your jaw still. A hot breath escapes him, pouring over your skin and making you shiver. You’re lightheaded, so close to just letting him do it, too, when the back door of the restaurant swings open. 

Steve still takes a second to pull away, a little too absorbed in kissing you to really care who sees him do it. If he had his way, he’d have everyone see that you’re his- that you belong with him, and have for a long time. He finally glances over his shoulder to see one of the cooks, Liam, walking off in the direction of the employee parking lot.

“Where did you get the fucking doubloon?” you whisper into his ear, sounding so fucking adorable that Steve can’t help the lovesick look he gives you. 

He brushes his nose against yours. “I sent my manager on a treasure hunt.” You giggle, pressing your forehead up against his, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you. “I wanted to give you one at Family Video, that time.”

“I know,” you say, and he pulls back to look at your face. “I heard you yelling at your coworker in the back room.” 

Steve snickers and turns red with embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his rain-soaked hair, a content smile on your face as you feel him grin against your skin and shake with laughter. “Take me home, Steve.”

You don’t have to ask him twice.

What would you do, baby, if you only knew? That I can see you throw your jacket on the floor, I can see you make me want you even more…

The drive to Steve’s apartment downtown is made with light conversation and the heavy, heavy weight of his hand on your thigh, creeping up further with each mile. But aside from the implication of sex hanging in the air, it’s as easy as breathing, chatting about the night with him. Shitting on Theo.

“Did you notice the way he said coquilles,” Steve murmurs to you at a red light. “I thought he was gagging on something. He was just trying to impress you, you know.”

You grunt. Could’ve tried a little harder. “He didn’t even like them. He said he didn’t like shellfish,” you laugh in return as you lace your fingers through Steve’s. “Why the fuck would you order scallops, then?”

“The price.”

“The price.”  

It’s sweet, talking to him all the way to his apartment building, just catching up like old friends. He tells you that he’s going to culinary school now, and he’s been working at the restaurant for a little over a year, just to pay the bills.

“Culinary school? Really?” you say, with a note of awe in your voice. 

“Turns out I’m really fucking good at cooking,” Steve chuckles. “Who’d have thought? Maybe someday I’ll stop waiting tables and work back there in the kitchen.”

“I can see it,” you tell him softly. “I can see you being the world’s best chef. Three stars and everything.”

He scoffs, but a pink blush creeps up the back of his neck. “You have too much faith in me.” 

“Those are fighting words, Harrington.” You wag your finger at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?”

“You just want me to cook you something,” Steve tuts.

“Absolutely, I do.” You consider him for a moment, in the passing light of a streetlamp. “Am I that transparent?”

Steve tilts his head to eye you meaningfully, and he smirks. “Always have been, honey.” His thumb rubs a little circle on your thigh that has you squirming in your seat.

The first thing you see of Steve’s apartment is the kitchen, and beyond that the dormant living room, but you don’t get that far before you’re sidetracked. Steve throws his keys onto a drop station by the door, and pins you up against the refrigerator before you can even think to ask where to put your shoes.

Your clothes are still damp, your hair still pasted to your clammy skin. Steve’s lips are attacking yours and his hands are grabbing at everything he can touch, but it’s still not enough. He’s not able to feel all of you at once, and it’s driving him insane with every passing moment.

Steve roughly yanks his suit jacket off, throwing it onto the tile floor beside the kitchen island. “Lay down.” 

“What?” you whisper to him as he kisses your neck, guiding you away from the side of the fridge. “Here?” 

“Right here,” Steve states, not joking in the slightest. You wobble on your feet as you kick off your heels, but his hands on your hips keep you steady. “Been waiting too long for this- can’t wait anymore.”

“I- wwhuh-?” you gasp as Steve kneels in front of you, and your knees buckle involuntarily as he lays you down across his discarded jacket. Your hands grab his shoulders as you tumble backward, taking him with you. 

He face-plants into your stomach with a noisy, “Oof.” Cackling, you run your fingers through his damp hair, as he laughs and shoves his blushing face further against your torso. Steve litters your stomach with kisses, giggling against you with a note of nervous energy. He’s adorable.

You pet your fingers down the side of his face and he leans into the touch. “Can’t even wait long enough to take me to the bedroom?”

“Well, I would have fucked you in the alley,” Steve points out as his fingers breach the hem of your skirt and find your panties. He tugs as he says, “Be thankful I even got you home.” 

Your cheeks burn hot. You fidget, trying to press your thighs together to abate the throbbing ache between them. “Careful, baby. You’re starting to sound desperate.”

Steve pauses, his hazel eyes lighting up when they lock on yours. “Call me that again,” he requests, pressing a kiss to your ankle as he pulls your panties off your feet. He tosses them over his shoulder, but you don’t see where they land as he continues peppering kisses down your calf.

You hold his gaze. “Baby?” His eyes flutter, his lips parting as they drag up toward your knee. “You like when I call you that?”

“I like when you call me anything,” Steve admits. “But as long as you call me that, it means I’m yours.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. Steve Harrington is yours. It doesn’t matter if it’s just for tonight- what matters is that you have him now, and he wants you just as badly.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he murmurs quietly against your skin, his voice crackling with brimming need. He’s flushed, his cheeks pink and his hair drying in tousled waves over his forehead the longer he drags this out. 

Nodding your head, you reach down to lace your fingers through his, where they’re bunching your skirt up around your hips. “Yes, Steve.” Always have been.  

He turns his head and sucks a spot on your calf, just below your knee, resting your ankle over his shoulder. Still, despite your desperation, you nervously keep your thighs pinched together.

Steve tuts, “C’mon, baby, you’ve gotta spread your legs for me. You wanna let me see that pretty pussy, right?” 

Still clammy and cold with rain, the air on your exposed skin makes you shiver almost as much as his sweeping hands do when they gently part your thighs. You let go, let him take control as you still and keep your eyes focused on his face, because looking anywhere else would remind you that this is real, and not a dream.

Steve sighs, “There she is. Y’gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?” He bats his pretty eyes at you in a way that makes your heart stop dead in your chest. He can’t keep his mouth off of you, even for a moment, his lips and slight stubble dragging across your skin as he says, “Been wanting to forever, you won’t even believe-”

“Please, Steve,” you start to beg before he even finishes his sentence. “Please, my god, I- I just- I just want you so much-”

“Sh-sh-sh-shh.” His tongue licks wet and hot against your inner thigh before he whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. M’not going anywhere, I’m staying right here ‘til you cum.”

You’re instantly hot all over, your blood fucking boiling beneath your skin and your wet dinner dress. Steve’s fingers dig into the meat of your thighs as he yanks you toward his face, the fabric of his jacket beneath you audibly zipping along the kitchen floor. 

Steve dips his head, and his mouth closes over your cunt right at the same moment that yours falls open with a moan that won’t come out, because you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe. The noise stalls right at the beginning- your lungs stop working and you can’t seem to get them to start again, because Steve’s tongue is everywhere, dripping wet and gentle on skin that’s way too sensitive to handle it right now. Your hips try to jerk away from him in resistance, but he slams his hand down on them, holding you hard and still against the tile floor, his shoulders pushed up against the backs of your thighs to keep them open. 

Steve takes a break just long enough to grin evilly up at you, because he’s been waiting for five years to tell you to, “Breathe, sweetheart.”

“Fffffuck,” you manage to spit out finally, your voice cracking on the word like it didn’t even really want to put in the work to make it happen. Your breath comes back into your lungs all at once, rapid firing with a dozen moans for punctuation. Steve’s lips quirk against you, and he rumbles a noise of satisfaction against your pussy that makes you jolt in his hold again. “Steve…”

He pulls off of you with a slow, slow stroke of his tongue over your clit, making you whimper high and tight in your throat. “That’s it, baby,” Steve whispers, his breath fanning across your slick cunt, his left hand leaving your hip so that he can drag his knuckles teasingly through your swollen folds. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Feels so right.”

Two long fingers sink into you with ease, stirring the need in you to have him just simply destroy you. You moan loud, your hand shooting out and wrapping around the leg of a bar stool for the kitchen island beside you. 

“Poor thing’s just so sensitive, huh?” Your head arches backwards against the floor, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as he curves them with practiced accuracy. Steve’s voice is a deep murmur, distant thunder rolling over your nerves, “Relax for me, honey. You’ve waited long enough, just let it happen. Let me give you what you want.”

His lips shine when you look down at him, your hand reaching to run through his hair. Stifling a whine that threatens to come out when he kisses your clit and bends his fingers within you, you stutter out, “J-just want… I- ha-ah! Just want you.”  

Steve purrs. “I know.” The crisp white fabric of his shirt scrapes against your thighs, almost rough in comparison to his tongue flat on your pussy. You can hear the wet, salacious sound of his fingers pumping into you, pulling you toward the edge of oblivion. He hisses through his teeth, shaking his head slightly. “God, I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”

“Y-you-?” you manage a laugh, scraping your nails along his scalp lightly. “You’re lucky? You have n-no… fffucking idea-” You cut off with a sob when Steve wraps his lips around your clit, sucking long and hard enough that your leg twitches, your heel dragging up the back of his pristine white blouse. Your breathing picks up just as all your muscles lock down tight. “Jesus Christ-”  

“There you go,” Steve praises as your orgasm shakes your body, your hand gripping his hair so hard that he groans softly into your damp skin. He doesn’t stop moving his fingers, lewd wet noises picking up and echoing through the quiet kitchen. “That’s a good girl. Mmm , felt so nice to let go, didn’t it?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that- you’re still twitching, coming down from your high as he pulls his fingers from your spasming cunt and sucks them into his mouth. The pause gives you a gentle reprieve, sinking back onto his suit jacket beneath you. Then, his mouth finds your pussy again, his tongue delving deep into your entrance and laving up to your sensitive clit. 

You gasp, throwing your hands down into his hair. “Steve-?!”

He moans in response. “Just needed to taste you some more, honey. Taste so fuckin’ sweet, I can’t get enough.” Steve relents, crawling up your body to hover his face over yours. “Still wanna see the bedroom?”

You nod excitedly, your hands finding his smiling face and stroking the hair away from his eyes. With a gentle kiss of his wet lips to yours, Steve gathers your still-wrecked body into his arms and carries you into his bedroom. 

He’s struck by how blissful you are as he sets you down on his bed, so soft and inviting. He encourages your arms up, his hands finding the zipper of your wet dress and finally, finally, pulling it over your head so that he can see you. All your curves and edges on display for him, after all this time imagining what he couldn’t see with the naked eye. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve repeats what he told you all those years ago at prom- he meant it then, and he means it now. Maybe even more this time, now that he’s not a stupid teenager, now that he finally has his head on his shoulders. 

You shiver against him when he unclips your bra- black lace that matches the underwear sitting in his entryway. A possessive part of him rears up, knowing that you’d worn them to a date with some asshole who couldn’t treat you right, even for one hour of the guy’s miserable life. Steve dips his head and kisses your breast, so much softer now than he was before, feeling your heartbeat against his lips.

“Hey.” You gently tug him by his tie, loosening it and his collar. You look into his eyes, and his heart melts. “Where’d you go just now, sailor?”

Steve blushes, his eyes flicking down as you remove his tie and start unbuttoning his blouse. “Just thinking...” he trails off, eyeing you thoughtfully. “Just thinking I could have missed you again if I wasn’t careful.”

“Mmm,” you hum, your hands smoothing up his chest and over his shoulders to get his shirt off of him. It drops to the floor with a whisper. “I don’t think so. I think this was meant to happen, eventually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You scrunch your nose cutely, in a way that makes Steve’s pants tighten even more uncomfortably across his hips. “We’ve run into each other too many fuckin’ times, baby. Karma’s on our side.”

He laughs. “Karma.” He shakes his head as he undoes his belt.

You quirk your brow at him as your hands fiddle with the fly of his suit pants. “Don’t believe me?” 

Steve grunts, shifting to lean over you. “I’ll believe anything you say when you’re taking my pants off, honey. I’m easy that way.”

Your nails rake through the hair on his chest- you can’t keep your hands off of him now that they’ve got him. You trace over two blotchy scars, one on either side of his torso that mirror each other. “What happened here?”

He blows a puff of air out of his mouth, rounding his cheeks as he shrugs. “Some… animals decided I looked really tasty, at one point. I know, they aren’t very pretty.”

Steve’s brushing over it like it’s nothing. You search his face, and you decide to do the same. “Actually, I think it’s kind of hot.” You drag your hand up to lay flat over his chest. You whisper conspiratorially, “Plus, I think you look really tasty, too.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow. “Y’gonna bite me about it?”

“Probably.” You wink. “Most likely.”

Your gaze falls indiscreetly to his cock, hard and flushed, glistening with precum and curving up toward his stomach. Girls talk, especially when they’re all trying to one-up each other; you knew that he was big. You’d heard the rumors. You’d seen him wearing those tight fucking jeans all the time, and you didn’t have to have much of an imagination to figure it out.

Still. It’s… a little overwhelming. You reach out a tentative hand, lightly wrapping your fingers around his base. They barely meet. Jesus Christ.

He groans, and kisses you until you can’t speak, resting his weight on top of you until you sink gleefully into the mattress. There’s a smile on your lips that transfers onto his, happiness and ease still flowing between you even as he grinds his hips up against yours. 

“Ready?” Steve murmurs softly into your mouth, stealing your breath when you feel his cock slide through your folds, hot and fat.  

“Dunno,” you tell him teasingly, but there’s an edge of reason to your words. Your hips squirm and you feel him even worse, slippery with your arousal. You whine. “I think you might kill me with that thing, Harrington.”

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, hoarse in the back of his throat, his voice already shaking. “I’ll make sure you feel every bit of it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree as you reach to line him up properly. “I’m all yours.”

Steve gives a relieved sigh as he slides into you, his head falling heavily to your shoulder. His cock aches, his torso shaking as he tries to steady himself. “Oh my god.”

“Baby,” you coo, choking on a moan when he bottoms out. He’s so thick- your nails dig into his shoulder blades as you try to remember how to breathe. It’s certainly a big stretch to try to fit him, but you can’t help wanting more just as soon as he comes to a stop. You can feel him trying to hold steady, holding himself back as though it’s the hardest thing in the world for him to do. 

Because it is. You can’t see it, the way that his brow is furrowed in concentration, his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t know it would be like this- that he’d be in danger of blowing it just as soon as he started. 

Your heel digs into his ass, and he doesn’t know if you do it purposefully, but he almost whimpers.  

You take a shuddering breath. “Please- please move, Steve, I can’t take it.”

Oh, you can’t take it? “You know what,” Steve says with a hint of strain in his voice, picking his head up to nuzzle his nose with yours, “I think you like me.”

You snort, and kiss him lightly. “What gave you that impression?”

“Y’so fucking cute.” Steve hums and sloooowly pulls his hips back, dragging his cock through your walls so deliciously that your toes curl. “Could be all those times you stared at me in class-” He watches your face as he pushes forward, until his hips are flush with yours and your head arches backwards against his sheets. “Could be when you nearly let me kiss you at prom-” Out. In. Steve runs his tongue up the length of your throat, and bites at your earlobe. He whispers, “Could be that you came on my tongue ten minutes ago.”

He picks up his pace, just a bit. Just enough to have the bed creaking under you with the rhythm, to have you moaning in tandem with him- needy and high pitched, leaping from your throat into the hot, sex-charged air.  

Steve’s lips latch onto your neck, and he sucks hard. He eases up after just a couple seconds, dragging his tongue over the sensitive spot, but you know what he’s just done- he’s marked you, right where you won’t be able to hide it in the morning. 

You want him to do it all over your body.

Your jaw goes slack and you’re losing all integrity. He’s even better than you imagined- sleepless nights wanting, hoping endlessly that you’d find yourself here, under him, couldn’t have prepared you for how perfect it feels. His hand finds yours and laces your fingers together, pinning it to the mattress beside your head, squeezing with every slow and purposeful thrust of his hips. 

Steve’s cock finds your g-spot like it’s nothing, like he’s known your body for ages. He barely even has to try before you’re whimpering, raking your nails up his back and leaving long red trails behind. 

Your teeth latch onto his shoulder and you bite, probably harder than you should, but you just can’t refuse the urge to mark him the way that he’s left his mark on you. He moans, a deep and boyish sound in your ear, as you drag your tongue along his shoulder, soothing the bite, tasting his sweat. The salt and the sweetness of his skin, mixed with the heady smell of sex in the room, have you losing yourself in him.

“Biter.” You hear him chuckle dangerously, rumbling along your skin while his nose skirts your jawline. 

“You’re so good, Stevie-” you whine, hot pleasure rearing up in you like a tidal wave. “Oh, you feel so fucking good, I love- love how you feel inside me.”

Steve groans loudly into your shoulder, his teeth grazing your collarbone. You think he has a mind to bite you back- maybe he’d do it harder. You can see Steve drawing blood, when the mood suits him. 

But his hand squeezes yours, his other sweeping broadly up your thigh and hitching your leg up further over his hip. “Yeah?” His voice is rough, bordering on a growl, “What’d’ya say we stay like this forever, huh? Just like this?” 

His pelvis grinds up against yours, his pubes crushing against your clit making you gasp. Everything’s wet- your skin, his skin, the sheets. Sweaty bodies sticking and sliding against each other, your hips meeting his in the middle.

“Like this?” you gasp, your head reeling. His forehead presses against yours, and it’s just about the only thing bringing you back into focus. Steve doesn’t falter, keeping the same pace and rhythm while he watches you try to form a coherent reply. “Mm- I- I, hhuh-”

“C’mon, babygirl,” he breathes against your damp skin, “you can do better than that. You love my cock so much, you wanna keep it warm all the time? Wanna stay in bed with me forever, is that it?”

You nod fervently, your hands grabbing at his neck, his hair, his shoulder- anywhere you can touch. “Yes, yes. God, Steve, I- you’re gonna make me cum, shit-”  

“I know it,” Steve murmurs, tugging your lip between his teeth and making you whine again. Your cunt pulses around him, and he hisses, his hand slipping on your thigh. “Love seein’ you all drunk on my cock- shit, you’re so gorgeous like this.” He pauses to kiss you, making you lightheaded, making you tug at his hair. “Y’look so pretty under me, baby. Pussy feels so good, I wanna stay here, too. I can see us doin’ this for the rest of our lives, huh? How’s that sound?” 

How does it sound? You and Steve Harrington, together forever? Intertwined, knotted up with no way to lose each other, no disappearing and then reappearing years down the line?

“S’that a challenge?” you whimper shakily at him. “Throwing down the gauntlet?” 

“I don’t think I could let you go, now,” Steve tells you firmly, his hand leaving your thigh so that he can grab your jaw possessively, his tongue darting out to trace gently across your bottom lip. “I’m never gonna let you go, baby.”

You wrap your legs around his waist. “I don’t want you to.”

“I hope so,” he whispers, his breath mingling with yours.

Steve kisses you long and slow when you cum. You swallow his moans when he does.

What would you? Baby, if you only knew that I can see you, oh, I can see you…

You almost think it’s a dream. When you rouse in the morning, you feel like you imagined it. But you’re surrounded by the scent of Steve, of musky cologne and sweat and sex, and maybe just a little bit of hair gel stuck to his pillows. 

You flop over and stare at the ceiling. You’re alone in a king size bed, fitted with gray sheets and a few too many pillows. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your paramour is nowhere to be found. His bedroom is fairly stark, with a few little things arranged on the dresser top and clothes thrown around the floor. It doesn’t feel like a room he spends much time in, aside from sleeping and dressing in the morning.

You immediately think about what this all means for you. Whether he really meant what he said in the heat of the moment, if he really wants this to be a long-term thing or if it was just pillow talk. It doesn’t take you long to determine which one you want it to be.

There’s commotion on the other side of the closed door. You lean over the side of the bed, searching for something to put on before you just waltz out there naked. Ultimately, you pull on his blouse from last night.

You emerge from the bedroom squinting against the light in the room. The blinds in the living room are open, casting bright sunlight across the room and into the kitchen. You find Steve in front of the stove.

“Hey, there she is!” he announces happily. “Just in time for breakfast.”

Steve looks so comfortable in the kitchen, moving around quickly and efficiently, whereas you tend to blunder about. When you wander over to the island, you notice he’s already picked up his suit jacket, and laid it across the bar stool next to the one you choose. 

Your underwear is nowhere to be seen.

You grin at his back, plopping down onto the bar stool. The metal is cold against your bare ass, nearly making you squeal and jump back up. “Is it a Sex on the Beach?”

He laughs gleefully. “Nah, if only. How was that, by the way?” 

“The ice cream, or the porn?”

He turns to grin at you over his shoulder. “Both.”

He’s wearing glasses. Round wire frames that complement his face perfectly, making him look distinguished in his gray sweats and black t-shirt. Just like that, you’re spiraling. Suddenly, you’re picturing yourself being here, with him cooking breakfast in his glasses and PJ’s every morning, on and on into the future. Doing domestic shit, grocery shopping, dancing around in the kitchen at 3 am, kissing in the rain- well, you’ve already done that one.  

But you can see it. That future, with him by your side, it’s right there. You just don’t know if it’s the one that he wants. You don’t really know how deep this runs for him.

Funny what just an accessory can do to your train of thought.

“Um.” You swallow. What was the question? “The ice cream was great. Still the best sundae I’ve ever had, by the way. The porn was bullshit, I didn’t get through twenty minutes. I just wanted to make you blush.”

“Brat.” He spins around, and plates an omelet right in front of you. You watch his face, tracing the easy smile he wears. “I hope you like it- but if you don’t, you better not say anything. I don’t think I could handle the pain of your rejection.” He looks up at you, hazel eyes shining gold in the sunlight. “You’re staring.”

“I-” you blink at him. You don’t fucking say. You open your mouth to ask- you want to ask what this is, what he feels, did he mean it. Do you want to do this again? Is this serious for you? Because it is for me, if you want it. You just don’t get that far.

“You’ve been staring since we were fourteen,” he chuckles, sliding you a fork. 

That startles you. “Well,” you click your tongue. “I didn’t realize you were looking so closely.”

“Oh,” Steve shrugs, turning to place the pan in the sink. “Just since freshman year. When you read Juliet’s monologue in English class. Remember?”

You tilt your head. Vaguely. It was just a class project, where each person had to choose a Shakespearean monologue to recite in front of the class. You thought he only even became aware of you senior year.

Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee, Take all myself. 

“Are you telling me,” you say, palms flat on the counter as you peer at him incredulously, ��you’ve liked me just as long as I’ve liked you?”

“Told you I’d get there, eventually.”

Your brain refuses to compute. You stare at his back, his tousled hair, and want to yank him toward you and squeeze him like one of those fucking squeaky toys that you get at the pet store. The ones the eyes pop out of.

Steve turns to you with a smirk, leaning across the counter to mirror you. He reaches forward to trace the mark he made on your neck, still tender, while mocking your pout back at you. His eyes crease at the corners, like they always do when he’s trying to be coy.

“Eat your breakfast, baby. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

(I see you, I see you, baby.)

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #roses*

[eternal-moss]

Christ, the whole Wilbur situation is so fucked. Already the things that are coming out of the woodworks so quickly are so sad.

tw for abuse and misogyny. If you aren’t aware of this yet, Wilbur Soot has been revealed as a prolific abuser

My heart breaks for all the people he’s harmed. I think Shelby was really intelligent in the way that she’s brought this to attention, without naming him. This meant that even though some people denied it or lashed back at her, the repercussions were minimised.

Wilbur responding proved it was him she was talking about, although the details she provided made it so patently clear it was him from the start, it made it so that he had to admit he was the one who had been committing essentially serial abuse on young women by the nature of him responding to the description of the unnamed abuser, although he didn’t mention that it was *multiple women* in his absolutely pathetic excuse of an ‘apology’.

I’ve been thinking about this deeply from pretty much directly the moment after Shubble revealed it really. I’m not going to pretend that I’ve ever watched any of Shubble’s stuff, and I’ve not watched streamers for a couple of years now, but the courage she had to do this is fucking immense. Wilbur is very well off financially with a massive and loyal fanbase, the influence he has is very large and not to be underestimated. His ‘apology’ reeks of PR pressure, although it fails to meet the mark on all levels of even a basic apology (which is not even the bare minimum in this situation) and omits some very important details.

It’s so sad that abuse and grooming is so common amongst streamers/YouTubers, but the response to this time (from the community) being genuine support instead of victim blaming does make me feel hopeful. Wilbur’s condescension of women and younger ccs is absolutely disgusting. This recontextualises so many moments when he’s been dismissive of and made jokes at women’s expense. What he’s done is abuse and it’s misogyny. He’s picked on people he knows are less able to fight back from all parameters. Misogyny is massive in the gaming scene, and he’s relied on all these women (it really is a lot at this rate, even an ex-trumpeter from Lovejoy) staying silent out of fear.

Shubble saying keeping their silence protected him more than it protected her is very true, and this will absolutely wreck his reputation. Rather, he’s fucked it up himself, and there really is no one else to blame in this situation. The people who knew about it and were subject to this were typically smaller, younger or female streamers. It’s disgusting that he had relied on their silence for so long.

This is a bit of a mess, but ngl so am I. It’s been eating at me for as long as it’s been going on, I found out almost immediately. I was quite a big Wilbur fan for a damn long time, since his early days of streaming (when skyblock randomiser was made etc). I was emotionally invested in his original music and looked up to him a lot.

The worst thing I think is that I resonated with his online interactions with Tommy (which makes me feel vile), and his adoration of Wilbur, always calling him ‘like a big brother’, and it fondly reminded me of me and my younger sibling. Except Wilbur would sometimes do some unexpectedly cruel things. Like stomping on Tommy’s hand and causing it to bleed. That alarmed me at the time, also when he revealed that he was relying on Tommy to talk him out of suicide, which really made me concerned about how healthy their relationship was. The worst thing is, this didn’t surprise me that much at all when it was revealed. Shelby’s descriptions could fit no other person, and it made sense and lined up with his past behaviour, but that doesn’t make it any less wholly awful and horrific.

I wasn’t going to talk about it on this blog, but I just feel angry. Angry for all these people he’s hurt. Angry that he’ll still be living comfortably off of his fanbase for years to come, young people who trusted and idolised him, the vast majority young girls themselves. Angry for Shubble, angry for Niki, angry for the women’s names we don’t know yet, angry for those who had been intimidated into silence. Angry for those who had been abused and brutalised by him. The main thing that’s coming up again and again is the biting, the bruising, the physical abuse, the way they were scared into saying anything, left traumatised by the way they’d been treated. As if that could be brushed off in any way by some disgustingly shallow and self-centred attempt at self preservation of his reputation. Fuck off.

Like Aimsey said, this isn’t some light cancellation from Twitter, these are reprehensible serial misogynistic crimes, and it’s only been days since the initial reveal and hours since his response and the influx of victims speaking up. My heart breaks to know how much more is going to be unearthed.

So yeah this is basically it, I treat this blog mainly as an archive for fan creations of things I like, but also as a collection of my thoughts. I have been unable to stop thinking about this, and I know that I’ve barely talked about mcyt on here, but I was heavily into dsmp and streamers for a long time. Shubble is insanely bloody brave for doing this, I wish them all the best (and the other victims) in recovering from his behaviour, as well as applauding her for the sheer fucking bravery to make the decision to speak up.

***I’ve seen some people saying Shubble uses they/them pronouns, but most people I’ve seen refer to her with she/her. If I find out she doesn’t use she/her I’ll change this post < Shelby uses she/they

#Wilbur soot #< for people blocking this tag #Sorry if this is a mess but wow yeah it’s not good

[yukoii1]

❥# — 𝘐𝘯𝘧𝘰 slightly dirty, manipulation?, toxic relationship, stalking, choking, degradation?, cheating

☆ — 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 after breaking up with dabi, he doesn’t take It too lightly, and decides to claim what’s his again.

❣︎ — 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦 finally started watch mha again. and l forgot how FINE most of these characters are 😩 but I lowkey got lazy at the end so I apologize:( but next story is going to be about shigaraki!.

this is for all my dabi fan girls 🫡.

𝑫𝑨𝑩𝑰 (𝑻𝑶𝑼𝒀𝑨 𝑻𝑶𝑫𝑶𝑹𝑶𝑲𝑰) 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕

dabi was extremely manipulative. during and after the relationship. during, It had there rough moments, always arguing, jealousy, cussing each other out etc etc bit despite those bad moments you guys had happy ones too. always cuddling each other, kissing, in general being love birds that made the league gag in disgust. though the relationship was a bit toxic..it did take you some time to build up the courage to break up with him. why? well because you loved him, so much that it hurt. you would assume he was like this because of his trauma but at the same not. you couldn’t lie to yourself and say you don’t miss him because fuck you do,

the day when you got the courage to break up the relationship dabi thought you would come running back but after 6 months going onto 7..he was slowly getting Irritated. can’t lie, you felt relieved but also lonely not going home everyday to see his pretty face already there waiting for you. but during the whole time he stalked you throughout the six months, seen you've gotten a new job as a secretary at a office building with a nice paying rate, you live In a nice neighborhood now, and even got yourself a new play thing. he hated It. hated seeing you with another man that’s not him. the day you ran into him and started fucking around was the day you signed an unbreakable contract.

when your shift had ended for the day you said bye to all your coworkers making your way home. It wasn't as busy considering It's a friday night and everyone was home resting, walking freely making your way down the street. you hummed a small tune, five minutes going by making It to your door step, unlocking the door entering your home. you turned around to lock your door, dropping your bag next to where your shoes were going to go to the kitchen before you felt a warm hand on the back of your neck with a body pressing behind you, "you're still unaware around your surroundings huh?." that voice..your hands clenched together with wide eyes, no. It couldn't?. "you miss me doll?." he chuckled hearing a small gasp, you were defenseless. against him you were a dove In a hawks grip. you swallowed that giant lump In your throat, fists clenching together "what do you want." he could hear the snarl In your voice only chuckling, flipping you around harshly pinning you against the door. facing him. those blue teal eyes..haven't seen those since you've last seen him.

still attractive as ever.

he smirked seeing you eye him, trying so hard to look at him with hate but knowing you? you were easy to see through, you missed him but trying so hard to deny It. "you want me to be honest or lie to you?." you furrowed your eyebrows glaring at him. "like you've never lied to me before.." you spat, dabi raised a brow shrugging, "but you've always fell for It dove. you used to listen to everything I said to you, lie or not." your nails digged Into your palm remembering those memories, the deep memories you wanna keep locked away, "what're you getting at dabi." he hummed. "I've been watching you dove. got a new job at an office building as a secretary, moved Into a nice place..even got yourself a little boyfriend huh?." this bastard still hasn't changed a bit. you tsked. "and what If I did? that's non of your busin —!.” you choked on a gasp getting cut off from your sentence feeling his hand on your throat squeezing It but not hard enough to close your air pipe, just enough to shut you up. your eyes widened. those bright teal eyes were now darkened and serious. a look he gave you when you broke up with him. "just to get this clear doll, the day you slept around with me was the day you signed an unbreakable contract." — he leaned closer towards your ear leaving shivers to run up your spine, "you're mine and no matter how much you try to deny it baby It’s all a lie."

you wanted to argue back but..

seeing that look on your face proved him right. he chuckled moving his hand to your cheek placing his thumb on the bottom of your lip slightly opening It leaning In close, “wanna know something sweetheart?.” you grumbled. but he was going to say It anyways, “those nights where you would finger your little hole, I watched It all.” seeing your reaction he hummed, “every night I can practically hear your needy moans..legs spread open with your fingers deep In your pussy. wishing, It was me instead. Isn’t that right?.” whenever you got hot and bothered thinking too much Into the past this is the result of that, you admit. you did wish It was him Instead, of your useless fingers. the guy— ur boyfriend that fucks you everytime couldn’t provide your needs like dabi could. and you guessed you could see he realized that seeing his face. dabi laughed with a scoff, “bastard can’t even fuck you right can he?.” you groaned feeling his other hand slide between your thighs, dabi chuckled leaning in, “I’ll treat you right, bet you’re so pent up huh?.” without saying much more he placed his lips against yours. you hated how much effect he has on you.. the moment he kissed you, you kissed him back missing the way he used to touch you like this, dabi smirked Into the kiss, picking you up by your thighs whimpering In his mouth. "see?." he teased pulling back from your mouth placing you on the bed going to take off his shirt, you snarled bucking your hips up with a small moan. “shut the fuck up and jus’ fuck me already you bastard..” dabi threw his shirt off to the side going to unbuckle his pants looking at you with a lustful gaze tilting his head to the side, “trust me baby.”

“I am.”

#black reader #anime x black!reader #anime x reader #{ 🖋️} writings #smut #mha dabi #dabi todoroki #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #short story #dabi x reader #dabi x black!reader #dabi smut #dabi x you #anime x poc!reader #poc reader

[chronicowboy]

"Hey, Buck, you busy tonight?"

It's just the two of them in the locker room. They'd stuck behind to shower off their shifts whilst Hen had rushed home to relieve Karen of baby duty and Chim had sped off for a cake tasting appointment Maddie has been worryingly strict about.

"Yeah, man." Buck tugs on his jacket, watching Eddie fasten his watch out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, he's back at the tailend of an endless shift, blackout over, watching Eddie piece together a breakup in real time. The image of it sends a thrill through him as confusing as it is satisfying. He bites down on it and tastes blood. "Movie night? Like the old days? Or does Young Mr Diaz have another social responsibility he's abandoning us for?"

Eddie huffs a laugh, but it's wistful. Buck gets it, tries to remember the last time they sat down to watch a movie all three of them. Or, well, just the three of them.

"Nah, not tonight." He grimaces a little like he's been thinking the same thing as Buck. "But, uh, I do."

"Ah, I see." Buck nods as he busies himself with his duffel, it's already packed, neat as can be, but he fusses anyway. He can't face Eddie's gentle expression of apology, a sudden fragility in the way he holds himself. "Babysitting duty then?"

Eddie grimaces agin, his face twisting and scrunching and crumpling into a complicated expression of something to the left of disgust. Buck wants to smooth out all the wrinkles in his face until only the smile lines remain, he wants to revel in Eddie's obvious discomfort for reasons he can't explain.

"I wouldn't really call it babysitting."

"Yeah, you're right. Kid'd probably kill me for calling him kid never mind baby." Buck aches a little as he says it, remembers when Chris was small enough to swing up into his arms and over his shoulders, when he'd giggle til he couldn't breathe rather than complain until his lungs gave out from sheer teen angst.

"No, I mean." Eddie sighs, packing his own duffel now, stuffing things in haphazard in a way that always makes Buck feel a little crazy. But then all Buck can think of is whether Eddie's hiding in his duffel for the same reason Buck had. "Hen didn't rush home to babysit, did she?"

If only his duffel bag was big and sentient and hungry enough to swallow him whole. As it is, he just kinds of stops functioning halfway through zipping it up.

"Whuh, um, what?"

"Fair warning though." Eddie swings his duffel over his shoulder. "He's in a crappy mood at the moment. He told you about the new supply teacher who gave him a C on that short story he was really proud of?"

"Bitch," Buck mumbles, still functioning just enough to hate the woman that made Chris feel anything less than proud of his tale of dragon-fighting knights and best friends who Buck thought might have been a little bit in love—he'd been too afraid to ask, too afraid Chris would shut down and start thinking things Buck had to think when he realised who he was as a teenager, too afraid of what Chris had grown up around. Eddie snorts.

"We'll have a movie night soon though," Eddie tells him, still seemingly oblivious to Buck's pretty spectacular implosion. He looks up from his watch, meets Buck's eyes and winks. "Promise." He's off then, leaving Buck staring off into the middle distance like he didn't just turn the world upside down with one sentence. "Oh, um." Eddie smiles down at his shoes a little, rosy cheeked as he pauses in his stride. He glances up at Buck, another moment of hesitation before he drops his hand to Buck's shoulder. "Don't tell him I tipped you off, but he's got a little surprise." Eddie's eyes, molten vats of chocolate Buck wants to sink into, drown in. He's had the thought before. He doesn't know what it means. (He does, he really does.) "He's pretty excited about it, so..."

Eddie squeezes his shoulder once, then he's gone, and Buck. Buck tries to breathe beyond the burning want in his chest.

He's not going home to babysit. He's just going home to his kid.

#sami rambles #seti kept begging me to write and well. here u are. #idk what this is except i'm really digging the essay theory #911 show #911 abc #911 spoilers #911 spec #buck x eddie #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buckley diaz family #buddie fic #buck x eddie fic #buddie ficlet #911 spec fic

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 [𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

If you want to support me and read my other works that won't be on Tumblr, you can always do it on my Boosty~

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: yandere!Sunday x fem!reader

Warnings: a bit of obsession and Sunday is the obvious stalker here, but no more triggers.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. Loluet - I beg you

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

It's so mean to eavesdrop on your thoughts*, but Sunday just can't stop.

You think he's pretty cute when he gives you another gift. You think his appearance is quite attractive for your taste. You think that the smell coming from Sunday, when he accepts your grateful embrace, is so exquisite, to match a man of his position. You think you'd probably feel safe near him.

You think Sunday is a little intrusive. You think he probably has a lot of fans, because he's so handsome. You think that the attention of a man with such a high position on Penacony is burdensome, because you are clearly not his match, so why does he continue to behave as if he is in love with you? You think that you are anxious near him, even though you cannot find any explanation for this feeling that suddenly arises in his presence.

Your thoughts warm Sunday's soul, and they also wound him to a nagging pain in his chest.

He really would like to stop doing this, but he's ready to give you the whole world. Even the dreams in which you are so happy, he'll bring that to life, if you only wish. It's probably corny to mentally promise a star from the sky just for you, but Sunday's ready to make the sky itself fall at your feet if this is the price for your smile. But you don't want any of this. You don't want him.

Why?

It's really so damn hard for Sunday. Helplessness, such disgusting helplessness torments him day by day, while he listens to your voice all day long, wanting to hear what you remember about him. But, as soon as the farewell separates the two of you, such useless thoughts fill your head, in which he has no place. And it's cruel. You're so cruel, but Sunday can't be mad at you.

How pathetic he must look, covering his own face with wings to hide the way his cheeks turn red and the corners of his lips lift in a gentle smile at the mere memory of how your honey voice pronounces his name. But this is not enough. Why not color your voice with brighter colors? Maybe… Red notes that give your tone of adoration and passion? You'll want him, and you'll get him if you just call. Playful pink notes will desire him with airy tenderness. Oh, how beautifully his name will shimmer on your tongue.

«It seems like I've been on Penacony for so long… It's worth coming home»

No, no, honey. Why go back to a place where he's not?

«He's looking at me so strangely again, as if he can read my mind…»

You have a great intuition, that's commendable. Sunday admires you even when his honor as a man and family member is at stake.

«Will Sunday be upset if he finds out that I'm leaving this place soon? Probably not»

Oh, darling, where did you get such thoughts in your lovely head? You're breaking Sunday's heart. How can he let you go? Dreams will lose their magic without you, this beautiful little world will lose light without your smile, the whole universe will lose its voice without the sound of your laughter.

«I guess I should just thank him for everything»

Don't mention it. Sunday would do anything for you. Tell him to rip the heart out of his chest, and he will present you with a bloody pulsating muscle in his palm.

— Y/N, — again this charming smile adorns the already perfect face of a man when he stretches out his hand bending over your figure. — Your hair is disheveled.

He can touch your hair, right? Of course he can. He hears a voice in your head, and you want the same thing, you just can't admit it even to yourself. It's an attraction between you and him… You have to feel it the same way Sunday feels it. He'll help you again, he just need to tweak your memories a little. You'll share with him all the feelings that Sunday experienced all the time spent with you. Desire him, love him, be there for him. That's all he can ask of you. It only takes his palm to touch your cheek…

The heat penetrates into the pores, permeates the skin, flows into the veins, spreading throughout the body until it captures the mind with rainbow waves blurring the eyes. And only the image of Sunday is so clear. You look into golden eyes that meet you with piercing gaze, and you see in them so much pain, torment, from which an unpleasant bitterness knits on the tongue. And then the sweetness. A cloying but airy sweetness. Every piece of sugar that gets into your mouth melts on your tongue, and for some reason an unfamiliar taste evokes so many memories that you seemed to be cruelly deprived of, and now they have returned to you, responding with a tremor in your chest.

«Y/N… listen to my voice»

You know him. This tenderness with which a man pronounces your name is so painfully familiar.

«You're happy here next to me, Y/N»

He's right, but why do his words seem so wrong to you…

«Touch me, Y/N, put your hand on my chest and feel my heart pounding. Just like yours… Aren't we made for each other?»

Of course. Of course, you're made. You can feel it. Soft pulsations touch the fingertips, beating off a sweet melody, so lulling and causing an irresistible desire… But what do you want?

«You're mine, Y/N. And I'm yours, forever»

Exactly. And how could you forget?..

It is so warm and cozy, as if beloved hands are pressing you to your heart, rocking you to an alluring lullaby, involving you in a sweet dream. And it doesn't matter at all if this dream is viscous and sticky, like a spider's web woven just for you. He'll take care of you if you just give up.

— That's better, isn't it?

«Has Sunday always been so… beautiful?» — what kind of strange thoughts are going through your head? Of course, always. The hours spent remembering how pleasant his wings are to the touch, how soft his skin is under your fingers, how pleasant the sound of your name escaping from his lips is, flash before your eyes, like a living reminder of the truth that lurks somewhere so deep, but lying on the surface, if you only dare say it.

You love him. You love him with all your heart, so long ago and so unconditionally that you feel ashamed that you dared to doubt the perfection of his face, the very sight of which is enough to make a muscle in your chest tremble.

The man notices your slight confusion, and grins melodiously.

— I mean the hair, — long eyelashes hang over the irises, shimmering with gold, when Sunday tilts his head to one side, not taking his eyes off you and continuing to smile charmingly.

— Oh, yes … thank you, — you awkwardly look away, and your cheeks involuntarily blush. — You know, I wanted to ask you something.…

The gold is covered with an icy crust, sharp and tingling skin, over which Sunday's gaze slides while you shift from foot to foot, trying to find words.

— Can I… stay here? — you hesitantly look up at the man with an innocent look, quietly uttering the last words. — With you…

«If only he didn't say no… I won't survive this…»

Oh, you're so lovely. Charming, charming, charming.

The ice is cracking, defeated by the vibrations of your sweet voice, which appeals so imploringly to Sunday. Isn't this happiness?

The tips of elegant long gloved fingers rest on your chin, lifting your head before a kiss touches your lips. So needy, oozing with obsession and love, with insane awe, which now seem so familiar to you, as if these feelings were always somewhere nearby, but burst into your heart only now, blooming like forget-me-nots somewhere deep in your chest.

«Don't ever ask again… My love», — it was never said out loud, but you managed to hear Sunday's velvety voice shamelessly invading your consciousness while his lips greedily but slowly devour yours. And you don't mind at all.

Your thoughts, one way or another, from now on will be filled only with him.

*Sunday is a representative of the Halovian species, one of the features of which is reading the thoughts of others, however, the ability to rewrite memories and, in principle, somehow influence the consciousness of another living being is not It is one of the abilities of this species. This ability of Sunday in this work is based on a completely plausible theory that he, like his sister, are Emanators of the Aeon of Harmony, because if we recall our first meeting with Family in the World of Dreams, then we can see how Robin is doing something similar, helping us with the "side effects" of the first immersion in a dream.

#headcanons #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai:star rail #honkai:star rail x reader #hsr drabbles #sunday #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday yandere #yandere #yandere sunday #sunday hsr #hsr x you

[inkykeiji]

anonymous said: what would flawless tomura do if they were at a party and he left reader alone for a few minutes and came back to some guy talking to her?

character: shigaraki tomura

genre: smut

notes: okaaaay so it’s a teeny tiny bit more than just talking to her but ah anon! this ask immediately sparked an idea in my brain and i just had to write it for you! this is set within my flawless AU and it’s pretty much a prequel to part two!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, semi-public sex, toxic relationships (jealousy, possessiveness), minimal prep, rough sex, noncon nonsexual touching from a stranger, size difference, implied yakuza

words: 4k

Tomura hates these things.

As far as he’s concerned, these overly extravagant ‘work functions’ are nothing more than an excuse for a bunch of bigwigs and hotshots to get together and jerk each other off.

Really, it’s not much different than a college house party; if you take away the opulent venue and the nice clothes and good food, it’s practically the exact same thing.

He hadn’t wanted to bring you, fucking despises the thought of having you in the presence of any of these animals at all—disgusting and crude and primal and dangerous—but Kurogiri had insisted.

It looks good to include her, Tomura, he had said. You know how important these events are to your father.

And he knows how important you are to Tomura. But Tomura supposes that doesn’t matter nearly as much in his father’s eyes, now, does it?

In his mind, you’re just some silly little girl, a shiny new toy for Tomura to play with, to occupy his son’s time until he needs him, until he once again deems him useful. Then it’s expected you’ll be cast aside in favour of the family business, because nothing could ever be more important to Tomura, poor little orphaned Tomura, saved from the clutches of poverty by the Shigarakis, than the family business he’s being groomed to own one day, right?

Wrong.

But his father doesn’t give a fuck about that. He’s right if he says he’s right, end of discussion, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

So you’re here.

You had been cautiously excited to attend, desperate to earn his father’s favour, to prove that you’re worth it, worth all of the time and energy and love Tomura spends on you; that you can belong, if you really try to.

It’s sweet, really, how eager you are to be a part of the family. Impossibly, it makes Tomura love you even more.  

Kurogiri’s been bouncing around the banquet hall like an efficient but headless chicken, splitting his time between checking in with guests and keeping a watchful eye on Tomura, since he has a nasty tendency to suddenly and miraculously disappear into thin air at these things.

The corner Tomura has the two of you wedged in is shrouded in shadows and at the back of the room, far from all of the excitement, the chattering voices and chewing teeth. It’s still loud, though, a mess of chaotic and indistinct noise, booming laughter tangled with confident speeches wafting over you in waves, carrying with them the scent of hors d’oeuvres from the self-serve table at the head of the room.

Your tummy growls, nothing more than a gentle rumble beneath Tomura’s palms, and he hugs you tighter, chin hooked over your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck a little in apology.

“I’ll have Kurogiri grab you some food the next time he makes his rounds, baby, I promise.”

A dainty hand lays atop his own, fingers snuggling between the gaps of his own and resting there.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur, the side of your head knocking against his own.

And, oh, that word.

That special word, nothing more than a sweet huff of breath on your tongue, five little letters that get his blood surging and his chest puffing and his spine straightening.

That one word that summons the true dominant that lays dormant at his core, slept and stomped on by inherent brattiness; that single word that pumps his whole body full of heady authority, muscles swelling with it, tense and gorged on the power it affords him.

But then your tummy grumbles again and Tomura frowns, fingers flexing as they sink into your flesh, holding you closer. Your ankles hook around his calves in response, body melting further into his—giving in, giving over, complete and total control—sagging s little in his lap, and he sighs.

But there’s no way you can get up, no way he can allow you to get up, to go anywhere near the food so meticulously laid out across a long, white table. Because Tomura has already seen the way these mongrels called men have been staring at you, eyes sick and starved as they try to swallow you whole, gazes nipping at your bare legs, tearing at your sweet little dress.

Instinctively, his body curls further around your own, shoulders hunched and chest curved as it molds to your back, almost as if he’s trying to hide you away within himself, within his flesh and bone and soul, far away from those ogling eyes and their gnawing little teeth.

Kurogiri returns not long after, though he is not able to fulfill Tomura’s promise, a slight breathlessness to his tone as he delivers a directive.

“Tomura, your father needs your assistance.”

“What?” Tomura hisses, head whipping to face his handler, eyes narrowed sharply. “With what?”

“There are some people he’d like you to meet,” Kurogiri responds calmly, unfazed.

Tomura’s features pucker, the mere thought sour in his head. “You can tell him to fuck right off, I’m not—”

“Tomura,” Kurogiri cuts him off, stern but not sharp. “Is this appropriate behaviour for a CEO-in-training? These are very important guests—important clients, and it is imperative that you continue to keep our relationship with them in good standing.”

Scarlet eyes dart between you and Kurogiri, settling on the crown of your head, a certain type of woefulness imbuing his features—mouth turned down, eyes drooping slightly, forehead woven with lines of worry.

“She’ll be alright on her own for a second or two,” Kurogiri continues, voice softening. “It’ll only be for a moment, Tomura. Just come say hello.”

“Fine, fuck.”

With the utmost gentleness, Tomura slides you off his lap as he stands, taking your jaw between his palms, bony fingers splayed across your cheeks, so long his middle fingers nearly rest on your temples.

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” you laugh a little, nudging forward to press a quick peck to his lips. “Promise I’ll survive on my own while you’re gone.”

“You better,” he threatens, cold voice contradicted by the mirth shimmering in his eyes and the love tugging at the corners of his lips. “Be back in a minute or less.”

“Thirty seconds,” you hear him growling to Kurogiri as he stalks off, vying fingers already gouging his own flesh, nails leaving thick divots that pool rapidly with blood in their wake. “Thirty fucking seconds, that’s all they’re getting from me.”

Your eyes trail after him as he weaves through the space, an ache, dull and heavy, settling behind your ribs when you spot the ribbons of crimson adorning his neck, trickling onto his crisp white collar, Kurogiri hastily attempting to dab at them as Tomura viciously swipes at his hands.

The ache throbs, expands and pushes against your ribs as if it’s trying to escape the cage, as if it’s trying to propel you forward, urging you to act, to move, to go be with him.  

“Hey,” a voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you startle slightly, gaze snapping towards its owner. “You looked lonely—Like a lost kitten, or something. This your first time at one of these things?”

It’s clearly a lie, you know it is, can see the falsities glimmering in his stretched smile, wide and tense and hungry across his cheeks—there’s no way this man didn’t see you with Tomura only mere seconds ago.

“Uh—”

“I’m Shin,” he continues, eyes obscured by the chandelier lights glinting off his glasses. Even veiled, you can feel it, the man’s slimy gaze gliding up your body, slowly, studiously, and leaving a filmy trail behind it. Your flesh crawls along your bones, feeling wrong, dirty, bare, and you wrap your arms around yourself, hugging your ribs. “Nemoto Shin. I work for a, uh, friend of the Shigarakis.”

“Oh,” you say, dull as your eyes skip across the crowd, feet shifting a little as you lean away, hunting for Tomura in a sea of businessmen.

“Actually, I’m a doctor of sorts.”

Your narrowed gaze drifts back to his, eyebrows knitted slightly.

“Of sorts?”

“A chemist, kind of.”

“Kind of?”

Smirking, he tilts his head to the side as if he finds you fascinating, revealing dark eyes as the light catches on his hair.

“I run clinical trials, collect data, and then revise.”

And it’s the way he says it, voice imbued with a sort of deranged glee that smears his sharp smile wider, as if he takes pleasure in conducting these experiments, that has shivers skittering up your spine, nails digging into your biceps as your arms squeeze your torso.

“On people?”

“Of course.”

“Oh. That’s, uh...”

Your eyes dart around the venue again, expensive silk suits and leather loafers all a blur as you search for an out, a familiar face, someone, anyone.

“You know,” Shin begins conversationally, taking a step closer to you. “You look like you’re about the correct age and height for our newest study.”

Large hands wrap around your own, fast and sudden, and forcefully uncurl your fingers, tugging your arms from around your body and holding them out wide, leaning back on his heels to fully appreciate you.

“In fact, I’d say you’re perfect.”

A discontented whine catches in your throat as you struggle in his grasp, attempting to pull your wrists free, Shin’s grip tightening to near bone-crushing in response.

Yelping, you wrench again, trying harder to jerk yourself away from him. He merely laughs in response, a sound that shoots spikes of ice through your limbs, and yanks your arms open further, tutting his tongue as if your struggle is so adorable, head quirked to the side with an egging smirk.

“What do you say? Want to participate?”

“No, you bastard! Ugh, let go of me!”

“C’mon,” he goads, eyes gleaming with poorly concealed sadism. “I promise it won’t hurt. In fact,” his head dips a little, looking at you over the wire of his spectacles. “You might even enjoy it.”

“She’s good. Thanks, though.”  

Tomura’s voice has the man flinching, a jolt of panic surging through his veins and loosening his muscles, your arms dropped from his hands in an instant. He recovers quickly, though, any traces of alarm smoothed out from his expression a second later, features morphed into a perfect mask of professionalism.

“Tomura,” he says with a polite nod, a small but appropriate smile on his face. “You’re looking well.”

Tomura says nothing in response, glaring at him through sharpened eyes, crimson simmering with such anger you swear you can see the heat waves radiating from his sockets. He holds the man’s gaze until, finally, the man looks away with a cower, head hung in submission.

And then Tomura’s turning away with a sneer, catching your hands, busy mauling his biceps in desperation, with ease and wrapping a palm around your arm.

“Fucking vultures,” he’s spitting as he all but drags you from the venue, the fingers cuffed around your wrist tensing. “I leave for, like, a minute and they’re all over you.”

“I—I’m sorry,” you’re whimpering as your free hand winds around his forearm, jogging a little in your haste to keep up with his pace.

“Sorry?” he questions, the word seething on his tongue, as if you’re stupid for even apologizing at all. “It isn’t your fault, princess.”

And even though his voice is still scalding, the look he throws you over his shoulder is soft, stuffed full of love.

“Besides,” he’s continuing as he shoves past the heavy glass doors at the entrance of the hall. “I’m gonna show those fuckers who you belong to.”

The satin toe of your heels catches on the rough concrete, instantly causing it to scuff and fray as Tomura hauls you along behind him, the slap of his trademark red sneakers echoing out among the parking lot with each hasty stomp toward his car.

“Tomura, wait!” you’re calling as you teeter quickly behind him.

But he isn’t listening, your staggering not nearly fast enough for his liking, giving another harsh yank on your arm with such vigour it sends you stumbling right into his back, ankles wobbling a little as you almost trip over your own feet, a little yelp sounding in your throat.

He catches you easily, though, skinny arms wrapping around your form, offering minimal stability as they slam you against the driver’s door of the Bentley, effectively trapping you between the metal and his body.

Knobby knees are parting your legs instantly, sharp as they barge at your inner thighs and force them open, his feet framed by your own.

His hips slot up against yours, bones defined and protruding as they press into your supple flesh, his cock already half-hard.

And, God, you’ll never tire of how easily he gets hard, just the thought of your cunt enough to send a rush of boiling blood to the apex of his thighs, to fill his cock, a girlish giggle bubbling past your lips.

“Something funny?” he’s asking as large hands cup your jaw, fingers curling around the hinges and dragging your face upward, prohibiting you from answering as he all but smashes his lips to yours, keen tongue prying through your lips to lick at your teeth.

It’s messy and enthusiastic, just like kissing Tomura always is, smears of drool glistening across your chin and dripping off your jaws in fat, sticky globs to cool in little puddles on your collarbones, dribbling steadily from the corners of your lips as they move and mash and mesh.

His hands work in tandem with his mouth, large palms sliding up your thighs and beneath your dress, hem pooling around his wrists as he reaches your pretty pink panties, revealing your bare legs to the throngs of men clustered around the gilded doors, leering at you through hazy clouds of cigar smoke.

A squeak of his name is pushed from your tongue onto his, muddled and weighted with spit, eyes popping open as vying fingers begin to twist and tear through dainty lace, elastic band snapping audibly against your waist a moment later, leaving a lingering sting in its place.

“Daddy!” you whine as your panties flit to the asphalt in a ruined little heap, legs instinctually trying to snap shut only to be kept wedged open by his hips, a dark chuckle soaking into your skin as his lips glide clumsily from your mouth to your jaw and down the curve of your neck, painting your skin in slick strokes of saliva.

“I’ll buy you more, y’little brat,” he mumbles into your shoulder, teeth sinking into the muscle a moment later and forcing a pitchy cry from your throat, the sound embarrassingly loud, echoing through the parking lot.

His jaw flexes, tenses, burrowing sharp ivory deeper into your flesh until they slice through it, staining his mouth with your blood. His tongue laves over the wound, sops up the oozing blood like it’s sugary syrup tinged with copper, and seals the bite with spit that turns frigid the moment his mouth is gone.

A large hand squeezes your thigh, fingertips dipping into plush skin as they hoist your leg up, hooking it over his hip. You can feel his clothed cock, prodding your bare hole as he ruts unevenly against you, premature little thrusts that he can’t quite seem to quell.

A collection of baritone murmurs draws your attention back to the men, tendrils of smoke coiling in the air as they watch the scene in front of them unfold, exhaling little chuckles and comments among themselves, eyes never straying from your bodies.

It all feels so fucking grimy, their gazes sludgy as they creep across your frame, thick like glue as Tomura’s free hand traces up the curves of your torso to knead your breast much too hard, eliciting a low whistle and a smattering of claps.

“Daddy, Daddy, they’re looking,” you whimper, casting another quick glance at the men and wincing when your eyes connect with theirs.

“Let them look.”

“Tomura!”

“I want them to look,” he growls, a sort of petulant possessiveness bleeding into his tone. “I want them to see who you fucking belong to, I want them to see what they can’t touch, I want them to see who it is that makes you cry and scream and cum. ”

“No, Daddy, please,” little fingers curl in the cashmere of his dress shirt, attempting to use his body as a shield. “Not here, not like this, not all out in the open—”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a baby.”

“No, no, no,” you’re nearly weeping, head shaking in shuddered little movements.

Panic rips viciously at your chest, rising high in your voice as protests pour from your lips, heated face burrowing into the junction of his neck. You’re pawing at his shirt now, a few of the buttons popping open to reveal milky skin stretched over a prominent collarbone.

“You can do it, angel,” he chides, voice just a hint gentler. “I know you can do it for me.”

A hiccup hitches in your throat, caught painfully on a breath, interrupting your stream of pleads, burning tears leaking from your crunched eyelids and staining his collar with salt.

“Please, please, please,” the word is humid against his neck, exhaled on shaky little gasps, letters disintegrating into droplets of condensation on his scarred skin. “I don’t wanna, please, Daddy, I don’t—”

“All right, Christ,” he’s groaning over your pathetic begging, pivoting your bodies quickly and keeping an arm wrapped around your waist as he rips the drivers door open.

Collapsing heavily behind the wheel, he pulls you down with him, hands rough and cumbersome as they try to rearrange your body into straddling him.

It’s cramped, one knee digging into the centre console while the other leg bends, foot planted on the leather of the seat.  

“Get my fucking cock out,” he’s spitting at you the moment the door shuts, hips pushing upwards in emphasis. “I can’t fucking wait any longer.”

You’re obeying in an instant, dainty fingers clawing at the buckle of his belt, leather cracking as you yank it free from the prong. Then he’s lifting his hips again, aiding you as your fingers hook in the waistband of his briefs and tug, pulling his trousers down with them.

His thighs spread instinctively, elastic and cotton cutting into thin muscle.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he’s muttering as his palms wrap around your hips again, dragging you towards him to hover over his swollen, leaking cock. A hand grips the base, holding it steady as he lines it up with your hole, the head bumping against your cunt.

For the breath of a moment, everything is still, your combined panting ragged as it rings throughout the car, dense and tangled. Your forehead knocks against his own, hands clamped over the back of his seat.

And then he’s shoving his cock into you with one quick, sharp thrust upward, a high whine escaping your lips as your face scrunches in pain.

Your cute little hole stings as his cock tears through it, rips you open wide and forces you to take it all, a loud cry spilling from your lips as Tomura holds your hips in place, savouring the way you spasm around him, desperately trying to adjust to his girth.

The pace is brutal right from the start—not that you’ve come to expect anything less from Tomura—the snapping of his hips vicious as he pounds into you, sweet little snarls falling from scarred lips with each slam of his cockhead against your cervix.

There’s nothing for you to do but just take what he’s giving you, his grip on your waist blooming tiny blotches of blues and purples in the shape of his fingerprints into your skin as he holds you in place, thighs flexing in time with his powerful thrusts, the soles of his sneakers skidding against the rubber floor mat as he uses his feet for leverage.

It hurts, but Tomura doesn’t care, hips rapid, rabid, ruthless as they piston into you, so rough and hard and fast that it has your entire body shuddering, the thin, sharp heel of your stiletto skidding against white leather, tearing it open.

It hurts, but it’s also so fucking good, choked little wails of his name and his title knotted on your tongue, each one fucked out of you as he bounces you on his cock, easy and effortless like you’re nothing more than his favourite little toy.

And there’s something so hot about it all, something so wicked and disgusting and deliciously depraved about fucking in the middle of a crowded parking lot, open and on display for anyone to see as the sun begins its descent below the horizon, lacking the protective veil the night brings with it.

You can feel their eyes searing into your skin, glaring and gawking, wide and unblinking, the Bentley’s thick windows doing little to lessen the smoldering of their gazes as they roam your body, the Bentley’s bulletproof glass muffling the howls and the whistles.

It sends sick thrills racing through your veins, leaving your blood fizzy and muscles tingling, a loud moan, stuttered by Tomura’s incessant bucking, tumbling from your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it, baby,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, straining under pleasure, edges of his words breathy, almost whiny in a way, as if he’s begging instead of instructing. “Show them. Show them how pretty my cock makes you.”

“Yes, Daddy, yes, Daddy,” you’re whimpering out, head nodding in tiny, short motions with your words.

And you do—ever the perfect, obedient, good little girl that you are—cumming pathetically quickly, the fast, hard drag of his cockhead over that swollen patch of tissue buried deep inside of you combined with the peeping, prying eyes resulting in your sweet cunt convulsing almost violently around his cock, thighs aching and tense as his title shatters on your tongue.

It’s so much, slick gushing down his shaft to soak into the waistband of his pants, bare thighs slippery with your essence, sick and sticky with each slap against your ass, obscene sounds echoing throughout the car.

“F-Fuck,” he gasps, the curse cracking in his throat, head knocking back against the headrest and face contorting in ecstasy, watching you through lidded eyes and thick black lashes.

His thrusts have turned messy now, rhythm sloppy and irregular as he jackhammers into you almost desperately, clenched teeth bared and on display.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy—” you’re mewling, grappling little fingers twisting in his damp shirt, nonverbal begging imbued in the motion.

“M’cumming,” he nearly moans, cutting you off before you can even ask for it.

He gives you exactly what you want, a mere two thrusts later, whole body going rigid as his nails gorge themselves on the flesh of your hips, holding you still as his cock pumps you full of thick, hot cum.

And he’s so fucking beautiful, breathtakingly so, so much that it decays your words and kicks them from your chest in frail little huffs.

Sliver tufts of hair have flipped upwards, clumped and curled with salt, tiny dewdrops of sweat collecting on the points, glittering in the waning sunlight. The white of his shirt has turned translucent, sodden and sticking to his juddering ribs, expanding and straining beneath his heavy, laboured breaths, the whole cage starkly defined, shadows outlining all of the curves and contours, bumps and ridges, each bone and every gap.

But then he’s pulling you from your admiration, gangly arms wrapping around your body tightly.

“Mine,” he murmurs as he hugs you to his chest, whole body finally deflating, soaking into your own.

“Yours,” you whisper with a little nod, pressing chaste kisses along his scarred neck. “Yours, forever.”

His. Forever.

He hopes they all understand who you fucking belong to, now, hopes they’ll keep their grubby hands and grimy gazes off of you, now, but should any of them forget—well, neither of you are necessarily opposed to teaching them this lesson again.

#shigaraki tomura smut #shigaraki tomura x reader #bnha smut #shigaraki smut #shigaraki x reader #eee hehe enjoy!!!! it's just something smaaaall but i really enjoyed writing it!

[maybanksx]

LOW BLOW | JJ MAYBANK.

routledge!reader x jj maybank. bonfire moments and jj being the little shit he is!

"john b's such a cockblock." she huffed, bending her knees and almost falling into the, already, cold sand. as annoyed as she could've looked, her eyes still held a some sort of hope, the night wasn't over yet.

"he's at it again?" kie plopped down, right next to her best friend, crossed-leg and a blunt between her fingers, furrowing her eyebrows.

"he didn't even say anything this time-" she groaned, hiding her face through her hands, the whole bunch of friendship bracelets covering her wrists. "the death glare was enough to not let anyone come closer." she heard the brown haired girl giggle, already high enough to be feeling good about everything, but still fast enough to notice when y/n pointed at a figure, that was close enough all this time, and heard all of the small talk they were having. "and that's almost your fault as well!"

it was easy enough to recognize him in the crowd. the dirty blonde hair - already messed up from the hat- the kildare used shirt and no shoes. jj was hearing, with a shit eating grin on his face, and two red cups in his hands.

the boy sat right next to both of them. handing y/n one cup of the cheap beer they had at the keg, which led to her taking a sip, before passing the cup to kiara, who did the same, and handed right back to the other girl.

"goody-goody can't end up hooking up with some random touron.." it was jj time to speak. the teasing, almost cheerful tone was loud enough for anyone paying attention to hear. gladly they were at a pretty busy bonfire, and everyone was intoxicated enough to not care. "y'know, y/n/n, your brother would've killed me if i didn't do anything, and c'mon, what if they're like, waiting to kidnap you, or worst, they might have a std and - ouch!"

the girl's elbow poked right through the blonde boy's ribs, letting him take a hand to the spot, forming a big pout on his face. kie giggled. "that's so disgusting, don't say it like that." the grimace on her face made the young routledge forget the whole hooking up night in a second.

"low blow, dove." he was still rubbing his ribs. y/n simply smiled.

jj got lost in it for a second. it was all he could do and no one should blame him for it. the way she did it, delicate and smooth, genuine, without a care in the world, made something inside the maybank boy feel different. anxious, almost excited, but different.

he was joking, soft hearted and all, and she knew it. it was a regular thing between them, the teasing and making fun, never crossing any lines, but still, y/n being the y/n the pogues knew, mumbled a tiny "sorry". if she bumped into a door, she would've say sorry, so even though it was on purpose, she still apologized.

"i know you guys are worried, but i just-" y/n sighed, leaning her head on top of her palm, shoulders falling down. she wasn't truly upset, a little disappointed at herself, maybe. "i wish i could do it just like you guys do."

jj would be lying if he said it didn't feel the tiniest bit of satisfaction to almost kill that boy with his eyes. probably a touron, wearing sunglasses - even in the evening, which was a stupid move - and a confident grin, that tried to make him look like he owned the island, but to jj it was exactly the opposite. the floral shirt and the way he was looking at his best friend's sister's ass was making his blood boil. and still, the last thing he wanted was to make her feel blue about herself.

"all right, c'mon." he stood up, patting his pair of shorts, taking part of the sand out. "you ladies should quit moping and try to defy me, and my incredible pong performance."

"not a chance." kie answers first, taking another drag of her blunt - little braids covering her forehead and face, that was already flushed - shaking her head right after. "i'm alright."

"okay, we lost the first one." the ocean blue eyes took the direction they've been wanting to take all night. raising one of his hands, so y/n could took it. "dove, how does that sound to you?"

the girl pretended to think about it. the way her face scrunched, just like her brother's - and exactly like big john, or what jj remembers of it - before letting her head fall softly to the side, accepting his hand to get up.

"you ready to lose, maybank?" she said, crossing her arms, while walking through the beach where the improvised pong table was, holding in her laugh as long as she could.

"you're the light-headed one!" he defended himself, catching up to her, following right by her side. "two cups and you're already dizzy, if anything, i'm the one winning tonight."

"shut up."

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj x routledge!reader #jj maybank x Routledge!reader #jj #obx x reader #🎟️ — gab writes: jj maybank! #obx #outer banks #outer banks x reader

[depravitycentral]

Hi! I know you already discussed this with the hxh yanderes, but do you think some yanderes in demon slayer, hashiras and demons, would want to get married to their darling? Hashiras probably would, but i'm not so sure about demons.

Hi anon!!

I'm always happy to write about kny, and this is a good question! I'm not too much of a buff on Japanese history/historical time periods, so hopefully I'm not too factually off - based off of Tanjiro's reactions anytime skin is shown/ Zenitsu's insistence on marriage, I'm going to guess that marriage was probably more expected than it is today. So we're going to move forward with that in mind!

(Also I know next to nothing about traditional Japanese weddings, so you're getting my Western norms/knowledge... sorry! Also, I'm still debating on whether I want to write Mitsuri and Obanai as separate or poly yanderes because I really can't stomach the thought of separating them, so you're getting poly for this!)

Without further ado, let's discuss!! (This is long I apologize)

First of all, you're right - almost all of the Hashiras have marriage on the mind once their obsession forms. They're dreaming of you in pretty white gowns, boquets of flowers everywhere, and a pretty, glittering ring on your finger. There's something comfortable and good about knowing that you're safe, that you're protected, that you're theirs, both in the eyes of the law and of each other.

The demons, on the other hand, are more of a mixed bag - none of them really remember their time as a human, but some are more connected with their human sides than others - and thus, some of them are much, much more desperate to make you theirs in a way that satiates their remaining scraps of humanity. (Plus, this is a way to bind you to them that the demons know you'll recognize the weight of - after all, it's not like divorcing them is really an option; you can't even run two feet without them immediately catching and immobilizing you. What makes you think you could ever truly escape them?)

But of course, let's start with the beloved, oh-so-righteous Hashira. They each have a different level of motivation for getting you to share their last name - personal trauma, dependency, and their awareness of your feelings for them make each individual approach in asking for your hand very unique.

(Though each is laced with just a hair of hesitance, their vulnerability coming to light when they pop the question, because even if they've already stolen you away, even if Stockholm Syndrome has already bent and warped you, there's still the possibility of rejection. There's still the possibility that you don't want them as badly as they do, that you don't need them like they need you. You'll say yes, they'll make sure of it, but you need to mean it - you need to love them, too.)

Kochou Shinobu wants to marry you, and while she won't force you to, she's not too shy to drop hints. In general, she's not too terribly controlling, aside from her extreme overprotectiveness, and this extends to her plans of marriage with you.

She wants to bind you to her permanently, to get you officially and legally tied to her in a way you can't deny no matter how badly you may want to, but she won't force it. After all, while she does force you into all sorts of things in the name of protection and your wellbeing (forcing you to eat certain foods, keeping you inside the Butterfly mansion with scheduled times for you to sit outside in the garden, and a whole variety of other things that make you bristle with indignation and shame), she wants big steps in your relationship to be consensual.

(Aside from your kidnapping, of course - though she sees your captivity less as a step and more of a necessity, more of something she's doing to make sure you aren't the victim of some horrible, disgusting demon. And, of course, so that you're alive and well and she can see you and hear you and smell you and touch you.)

She'll pop the question once she thinks Stockholm Syndrome has set in, and even then, the moment is actually quite nice. She'd set up a nice meal for you (with foods you actually like, not the overly healthy, bland slog she always forces down your throat), with a few candles glowing and nice, fluffy blankets surrounding where you both sit on the floor.

Her voice is strangely soft and sweet when she asks you, this odd look in her eye that almost looks scared, as if she's genuinely afraid of how you'll respond to her slightly wobbly will you marry me? She wants you to say yes, needs it, really, but if you say no she'll respect that.

She won't let you go, of course, but she won't force it onto you. She'll be more distant, a little more snappy, and she'll spend noticeably less time physically close to you, but once she's recovered a bit (meaning she's slaughtered enough demons that her anger is slightly quelled, though the hurt is still very much present), she'll return to you, working even harder than before to make you happy and want her.

Perhaps you'll change your mind if she's more accommodating, if she's sweeter, if she's just better.

Giyuu Tomioka, for one, probably won't ever ask you to marry him.

It's not that he doesn't want to, but rather that it seems like this unnecessary step that doesn't need to happen for your relationship to be stable and happy and loving. He's a bit of an odd duck as a yandere - he's emotionally stunted and difficult at communicating his feelings, and because of this, he often worries that you're feeling things that he's unaware of.

He's paranoid that you secretly hate him, that you're lying every time you say something even remotely nice to him, that you wish he was dead or being tormented by a demon. (And frankly, this isn't entirely false - he does eventually kidnap you, once his hand is forced, and of fucking course you hate him after that - you're terrified of him, and it nearly breaks Giyuu, sending him into a spiral that'll take months of you eagerly convincing him otherwise to move past.)

And because of these fears, Giyuu is hesitant to really do anything romantic at all with you - anything from calling you pet names to cuddling you takes a long time for him to feel comfortable with, and so marriage?

It's unlikely that he'll ask, but not impossible - after all, he does harbor strong feelings for you, finding you on his mind constantly, his hands always twitching and itching to reach out to you, his eyes always seeming to wander back to your figure, his entire body just yearning for you you you.

Giyuu does genuinely want to marry you - he likes the idea of you having his last name, and the idea of being tied to you in a real, tangible way. It makes some of the paranoia quell, because would you really leave him if you were married?

Widows don't survive easily in this world - you'd find it extremely hard to remarry. (That thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth, though he does like that it means you're less likely to leave him.)

So while Giyuu probably won't ever ask, just know that when he's staring at you so longingly, gazing at you with those wide eyes that never seem to blink, he's imagining the way you'd look in lace, how your pretty face would look at him from under a veil, how your voice would caress his name when you say your vows.

It's a sweet thought that he harbors, and it's only many, many years into the future that he'll admit this to you. (And even then, it's only in passing, only when he's in your arms, on the brink of sleep and feeling the most calm and vulnerable and safe he's felt in his whole life - you'll hear a small would you want to be a wife? He won't elaborate if you ask him to repeat himself, instead pretending it never happened, but that's probably the closest you'll get to admittance.)

Kyojuro Rengoku knows marriage is in his future from a young age. He's always dreamed of having a loving family, of having another family for Senjuro to grow close to.

And really, you just make it so easy - it's disturbing how quickly he's fantasizing about dropping to one knee, imagining your face - in detail - when he pops the question; he's sure your jaw will drop, your eyes going wide, maybe you'd even cover your mouth with your hand because you can hardly contain yourself with excitement.

And then you'll say yes - over and over again, crushing him into a hug that he eagerly returns, burying his nose into your hair and smelling and breathing and yearning -

Nights he spends fantasizing about your future normally end with flushed cheeks and sweat coating his body, his chest heaving and dried cum splattered along his navel.

He expects marriage, really, simply because he's a traditional man and he wants to become your protector and provider - he's lenient on most things involving the wedding, however. He's daydreaming about you in your dress, of course, but he'll be delighted with whatever style or color you choose, tears of joy in his eyes when he sees you walking down the aisle towards him, towards your future.

He'll let you decide the flowers and how you style your hair, and he'll even let you choose his own clothing - he will be incorporating the flame somehow, however, and that goes for more than just his clothing. Your ring will have a large, somewhat gaudy opal jewel in it, along with a flame engraved on the inside of the ring, so that you're close to him always, even when he's away on missions.

Kyojuro is so very sure that you'll become his wife one day that even before you're aware of his obsession with you, he's referring to you as my flame and my spouse and my lovely wife both in private and public. It's off-putting and strange, but no amount of explaining or pleading will get him to stop.

He's genuinely dead set on becoming your husband, and he'll even allow you to invite a select group of your family and friends to the event - after all, it's not like they could stop it. What could they do? He's the Flame Hashira, responsible for saving more lives than you could count - he can have whatever he wants, and that includes you.

(At least Shinobu will be on your side at the wedding - she'll watch with sad eyes, sad for you but happy for her comrade, though ultimately she can do nothing as well - even when she sees the way he looks at you, the way his eyes absolutely devour you.)

Marriage isn't exactly necessary for Gyomei Himejima, but it's still certainly a thought that lingers in the far corners of his mind, dancing behind closed eyelids on the rare night he's laying in his own bed, the blankets feeling cold and empty.

He normally wills away any sort of fantasizing about you at night - both on principle and because once he starts thinking of you, you don't leave his thoughts for hours, making sleep - something already a bit difficult for him - even harder to come by. But on the few nights where his self-control wavers ever so slightly, he allows himself to imagine the way your hands would feel with a pretty, smooth ring adorning your finger, standing out against the softness of your skin.

He'll move his own fingers against the fabric of his futon, pretending the lackluster linen is you instead, moving up to cup your face, brush over your hair, let his fingers trace the curve and juts of your collarbone.

He'll let himself imagine coming home to you, how the smell of you would fill his nostrils the moment he opens the door, how your voice would sound calling his name, telling him I'm so glad you're home, my love, it's lonely to be a wife without her other half by her side...

It's a desire he nurses, slowly letting it fester and grow and rot in his heart, and so when the day finally comes that you've given up on fighting him, that you've reluctantly accepted that he is your future now (and after months of him calmly and simply stating that I'm doing what is best for you, you are weak and you need protection, helpless creatures like yourself cannot be left to the wolves), he'll swallow and ask you, with a voice that's just slightly uneven, if you'd do him the honor of becoming his wife, if you'd share yourself with me, both in life and death?

It's not like you really have a choice, but he can't help the tears that slip down his cheeks when you answer him, those big, scarred hands of his slowly slipping down to your hips, excitement brewing in his chest that makes him feel both elated and sinful because married couples show love in much more intimate ways, and he's been holding himself back for so long, far longer than any other man could endure...

Sanemi Shinazugawa is, even to you - the love of his life, the woman he finds himself so ardently and frustratingly obsessed with - difficult to understand. He never explicitly tells you about his past nor childhood, only dropping small, hardly-there hints once in a blue moon.

All you've managed to gather is that something horrible happened to him, and that despite seeming rough and callous and cruel, he's significantly softer at heart than you'd expected.

And so, when Sanemi bites his lip a few months into your kidnapping, his fingers tapping together in his lap and his eyes struggling to stay fixed on you while you quietly and calmly folded the pretty, new kimono he'd just returned from a recent mission with, you're completely floored by his question.

Will you marry me?

It's rushed, nearly slurred, full of doubt and sounding more like a statement rather than a question, but when you freeze and flick your eyes to him, he only furrows his brows and looks angry. Truthfully, he'd been planning on asking you for months - marriage was on his mind embarrassingly early into his infatuation with you, though he'd never made any action to make you believe so.

He has a cold exterior and is outwardly brash and rude to those around him, but he's still the young, caring, gentle boy he once was - and when he's with you, ever protective instinct long buried from his childhood comes back in full force, urging and begging him to wrap his arms around you and protect you from each and every horrible thing in this world.

(And, of course, so that he can feel you - your heart beating against his chest, your breaths tickling his hair, your soft body pressing flush against his own, so opposite to his own scarred, calloused skin.)

And so, when you eventually tell him yes after a very, very long period of silence, Sanemi can only nod and chance a glance at you, a small pink rising to his cheeks because fuck, somehow you're even prettier now, like you're practically glowing, like you're practically his - and now, you are.

He's a lot more gentle to you after you accept his proposal - he's always treated you like you're made of glass, but his touches are even more feather-light now, his voice noticeably softer, his eyes noticeably wider when they follow your every move, this shy, boyish smile slotting onto his lips when he sees you humming to yourself or reaching for something on a high shelf or sleeping soundly in what is now your shared bed.

Marriage domesticates him, and while he's still obsessively checking your health and forcing you to report what you did every moment he's not at home with you, he's different. Softer, happier, needier.

Tengen Uzui pops the question early. Extremely early. The idea of marriage is no foreign concept to him - and as his darling, you are also, by default, his wives' darling. And so, while Tengen alone is overwhelming with his flirtations and overprotectiveness, it's something else entirely to have three other people also doting on you, keeping a careful eye on you and making sure you're always, always out of danger's way and never having a moment of privacy to yourself.

And so, while Tengen is the one who actually asks for your hand, all of the wives are dropping hints and not-so-subtly mentioning how things will be once you're an official wife, too. It's always when you're their wife, not if - and they're not shy about it.

Hinatsuru will be standing behind you while you sit at the vanity, brushing her fingers over your hair and smiling down at you, pink sitting high on her cheeks while she tells you that Master Tengen will buy you the most lovely dress for the ceremony, Makio and I have already picked it out. You'll look so very beautiful, though you always do.

Suma will clutch onto your arm and beg you to do her vows first, to tell her that she's pretty and sweet and beautiful and perfect and exactly your type.

Makio will swat your hand away from sweets when she thinks you've had enough, telling you with a pout that you must stay healthy and not grow a stomachache, I saw the ring in Master Tengen's room early this morning and the whole moment will be ruined if you've eaten yourself into illness!

(Of course, you're allowed to have more sweets if she feeds them to you, but this is just a technicality.)

And Tengen himself is even not particularly subtle about the whole ordeal - he'll wrap an arm around you and plant a kiss to the crown of your head, telling you that the proposal will be quite extravagant, I can't wait to see your face!

Marriage has always been an assumed milestone that you will complete with the Uzuis - it's only a matter of time, and even if you say no over and over again, you will end up their spouse, one way or another.

(It's been such an ingrained concept in their minds, of course, that even before they stole you away, more than one night was spent with all four in bed, each imagining you on your wedding night, laying in silk fabrics with four wedding rings glistening on your fingers and your face all twisted up in ecstasy and their names tumbling form your lips like some sort of prayer...)

Mitsuri Kanroji and Obanai Iguro are both partial to the idea of marrying you, but Mitsuri is considerably more likely to make it a reality.

Obanai wants to wed you, to call you both his wives, to share your bed every night and to know that you're his. But there's still lingering fear and self-resentment that bars him from ever actually asking you simply because he thinks he doesn't deserve someone like you. You're utterly perfect - divine in a way that's hard to stomach, as if the air is being sucked out of his lungs every time he so much as glances at you. He's shy, frankly, and afraid to confront his own feelings, and so it's left to Mitsuri to make your marriage a reality.

And oh, she doesn't mind this responsibility at all - marriage plans are happening early on, her brain filled to the brim with ideas of different color schemes, which flowers to use, which songs to play, even which undergarments to have you wear to make undressing you even sweeter.

She's daydreaming about it near constantly, and similarly to Uzui, she's not particularly great at keeping it a secret. She doesn't purposefully blurt out how good you'd look in a particular dress style, but when she sees you, her brain turns to mush and it's like she has no control of her words.

(Or her actions, it seems, because she'll always, always greet you with a hug that's just a bit too long, your body pressed flush and tight against her own in a way that feels too purposeful to be innocent.)

So as their darling, marriage is likely in the cards - but contrary to others on this list, Obanai will persuade Mitsuri to actually take your wishes into considerations as far as decorations or style goes - you get to choose your wedding dress and the food that's served (Mitsuri's only stipulation is that there is a lot), along with most other personal items you wear/interact with.

So from that aspect, marriage actually doesn't sound too bad with them - the only unfortunate portion is that you're marrying your captors, of course, and the vows. They're long and sappy and extremely detailed, sharing facts you weren't previously aware of but really shouldn't surprise you - admittance of stalking you, stealing some of your clothing or personal items, even to sometimes tampering with your food just to make things 'taste better'.

It's hard to stomach and it's things you really already knew in your heart, but it's hard to hear it nonetheless - especially when it's spun in such a way as to sound romantic, as if it's some testament to their love for you - pretend to be wooed, or things will get ugly. And you wouldn't want your wedding night to be forceful and rough, now would you?

And then of course there's the demons, who have a very, very wide variety of opinions regarding the topic of marriage.

For Muzan Kibutsuji, the context in which his obsession developed is extremely key to how he feels about marrying you.

Most likely, you were some human he came into contact with frequently during one of his many false human aliases. He finds you annoying at first, of course, deeming you as horribly pathetic and someone literally not even worthy of his time to consider, but then one day something changes - some small act of kindness or defiance that piques his interest, and suddenly he's finding himself idly thinking of you, noticing you amongst the crowd, recognizing your scent even in crowded spaces.

And he doesn't like it. At all.

It takes him a very long time to navigate his feelings for you - he's intrigued and feels this strange, carnal urge to be around you, but he's also disgusted and angry and irritated that you have this control over him. And so, it's most likely that he won't marry you - the anger and possessiveness he feels for you will likely overwhelm him and lead to him kidnapping you, and once you're stuck with him, under his thumb, what's the point of marrying you?

You're his, the possession of the Demon King - what are you going to do? Run away? Try to fight him? (Some part of him wishes you would, just so he could punish you, just so he could pin you down and see those pretty tears roll down your cheeks, just so that for one solitary moment, you're looking at only him and thinking of only him and seeing only him.)

He doesn't see the point in marrying you if this is the route his obsession takes - the only benefit is making you more complacent, which isn't too much of an issue anyways because Muzan makes it clear from the very beginning that he's in charge.

If you were to catch his attention in another way (say, if he'd chosen to get close to you for a strategic reason - perhaps you're the daughter of some important figure or a powerful merchant), then he'd intend to marry you. It'd been the plan from the beginning, but once he gets to know you and decides that you aren't absolutely abhorrant, the marriage becomes less of a chore and more something that pleases him, because now you're his.

Tied to him, irrevocably his property that no man will ever touch. It quells his possessiveness and strokes his ego, all the while he'll tell that it's your duty to provide your husband with your heart, body, and soul - the smirk that curls onto his lip when he pins you down is hard to miss, as is the way he sneers out show me how devoted you are to your husband.)

Kokushibo is traditional. He's a fan of power structures and order, and while he doesn't necessarily believe that women are weaker (he doesn't respect Daki, but he can admit that she isn't horribly weak), he does believe that women are incomplete without a male partner. It's a sexist view and a product of his left-over human morals from many centuries earlier, but it stands strong in his relationship with you.

Similarly to most other demons, he doesn't really view you as a partner - you're his, his possession, a human that he finds himself oddly fascinated with despite himself. And so, he doesn't really care about your opinion in the matter of marriage - you're his woman, and he'll marry you.

It's about possession, not romance - he's certainly not bound by any laws, but marrying you might get you to realize the extent to which he owns you, the extent to which he's in charge of every aspect of your life. And the traditional values don't simply stop at the idea of marriage - they bleed into marriage as a concept, too.

He has strong opinions about what you should be wearing, how you should be acting, how the ceremony itself should be run. He's a bit domineering, and while he does hold a feeling as close to love as demons can have, it manifests itself mostly as controlling behavior.

He's running the ceremony, essentially, and it's extremely small - you're both in attendance of course, as are his fellow Upper Moons, but that's the extent. It's small, quick, and seamless, and before you know it you'll be back in the small, remote cabin he keeps you in, his form standing in the doorway and the room entirely silent.

He's controlling and doesn't fully view you as a person, but it's in moments of intimacy that just a sliver of his humanity comes crawling through, because no matter how badly he wishes to, he simply can't allow himself to touch you without your approval. He doesn't enjoy the sight of you crying, and he's internally conflicted about what the wedding night should look like. He should be fucking you, claiming you as his in the most primal and natural way a husband can, but you'll start sobbing again, and he doesn't want that. And so, instead, he compromises by simply holding you, his voice monotone as he tells you we can make love, if you'd wish.

It's awfully open-ended, and if you were to take him up on the opportunity, he'd be overjoyed - you'll find yourself waking up the next morning with a new kimono laid out on the bed, a small note written in extremely neat, near-perfect handwriting: a gift for my wife.

He's a bit of a sap, though it's hard to see - he'd never admit, either.

Douma doesn't have any particular desire to marry you, but he is admittedly intrigued by the idea.

It doesn't even cross his mind until one of his followers mentions something offhandedly about when the leader will marry his clearly favorite follower, and it gets him thinking. Marriage seems pointless, really, but humans do seem to like it, and he does like it when you smile and when you look at him all shocked and flustered.

And so, he considers the idea and decides that maybe he should do it - it'll force you to be closer to him, which is never a bad thing, and perhaps it will finally deter all other cult members from getting close to you in any way.

(Not that any of them are currently - they all know that you're Douma's, that you're staunchly off-limits. They know that everyone who approaches you disappears, and while Douma writes it off as a coincidence, it still leaves most people wary of your presence. But still - Douma likes the idea, his possessiveness quelling and his excitement sky-rocketing because it means he'll be all you have, and therefore you'll have to give him all the attention he craves from you.)

He pops the question in a not-at-all romantic setting, but he does gently cup your chin, tilting your head to look at him, those flashy eyes of his sparkling as he asks you whether you'd like to be my wife? He can't help the sigh he lets out at your bashful expression, the sound seeming much, much too high pitched to be normal (mimicking something more akin to a moan), and when you stutter out a y-yes, I would like to, Douma is pleased beyond words. It strokes his ego that you said yes, that you clearly want him, and he's quick to get the preparations rolling.

The wedding is extravagant and honestly way too much, but Douma wants everything to be over the top. The entire cult is in attendance, your dress has a train that drags a few feet behind you, and the flowers are such a vibrant red that it almost looks like they're stained with blood. The ring is simple, surprisingly, and the look in his eye is borderline psychotic as he slips the ring onto your finger.

And when he dips you for your first kiss as a married couple, he'll linger at your ear, sharp teeth grazing the shell as he whispers that you're mine, pretty, so don't run.

Akaza doesn't feel any need to marry you, surprisingly. He's another who has a difficult time rationalizing his feelings for you, simply because his view of humans being weak is difficult to move past.

He does, however, respect women significantly more than the other demons discussed in this post - and not only does he respect you, but he's genuinely the closest to being an absolute simp that a flesh-eating creature can be.

He's a bit rough around the edges and a bit abrasive, but he absolutely spoils you. You're getting high-end clothing and accessories, the best foods he can find in the local villages he slaughters, all kinds of trinkets and things that caught his eye and made him think of you.

He lives to see your smile, feeling this weird sense of accomplishment and self-satisfaction when you're pleased. And so, if you expressed some desire in getting married, Akaza would happily oblige, feeling only the tiniest bit of embarrassment. He's a bit clueless, however, so if you were serious about marriage you'd need to do all the planning. He'll let you dress however you want, whatever decorations and color themes, and he'll even let you choose which forest clearing the ceremony happens in.

(He won't allow you in any human establishments, even if you beg - he can't stand the thought of another person looking at you, and even if the entire village was killed before the ceremony, he's not willing to risk anything ruining the day he wants to be absolutely perfect for you.)

His vows are a bit choppy, the raw emotion on his face difficult to miss, though the words are more disturbing than sweet. There's talk of how he'd kill for you, proclamations of the extent to which he'd go for you - even detailing the murder of a man he'd noticed wash staring at you in a derogatory and objectifying way early on into his obsession when he was stalking you one day.

And when the infamous kiss occurs, he kisses you hard - his tongue is in your mouth and he's dipping you so deeply that your back is fully arched, and he keeps pressing into you harder and harder and harder, as if trying to bridge any little bit of space between you.

He wants you to be happy, and while he's not willing to let you go, he'll (somewhat) accommodate to your desires - so if you want something, just tell him.

(Especially when it comes to your pleasure - your wedding night will be much, much smoother if you guide him through your pleasure. After all, he'll do absolutely anything you want if it means seeing you pretty face when you come for him.)

Gyuutaro harbors a surprising amount of romantic fantasies between you and him. Of course, he'd never admit it, but he's frequently daydreamed about marrying you. Even during his human years, marriage wasn't too prevalent in the area he grew up.

(He's very familiar with sex and companionship work, but marriage? Not so much.)

Even so, he understands that marriage is the ultimate sign of love in the human world, and as his obsession with you grows deeper and stronger, so too do his fantasies of living through every human milestone of a happy relationship. He wants it so very badly; he wants you to want him, to love him and cherish him in a way that makes him scratch at his neck and warble on about how he's too ugly to be loved.

He wants you to want him - and so, after a few years of being stuck under his thumb, slowly letting the Stockholm Syndrome build and shatter your concept of reality, he'll pop the question. It's harsh and defensive, as if he's absolutely convinced you'll say no even before he's asked - his voice is sharp and whiny as he asks you if you'd like to marry a monster like me? What do you say, eh? Could you stomach marrying something so disgusting and ugly as me?

It's disguised as a self-deprecating comment, but the way he waits on edge for your response will tell you that he's very, very interested in your answer. Every muscle in his body is taut and tight, tension eating away at his stomach because oh god he's nervous, even as embarrassing as it is to admit.

If you say no he'll close himself off, berating you and telling you that you're judgmental, that you're no different from the hundreds of humans who only care about looks and beauty. His words are cruel and harsh and they hurt, but he doesn't mean them - he's just lashing out because he's hurt and doesn't know how else to express his pain.

But oh, if you say yes? Well, Gyuutaro's suddenly scratching himself hard, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with you, a flustered feeling rising up his throat and nearly making him sick because god, is this what acceptance and love feel like?

The wedding itself is a bit half-assed, though he tried it best - his tastes are built upon the very little he knows about human weddings. But despite the fact that everything is a little dirty and the dress you're wearing doesn't fit you correctly, there's something about the way Gyutaro's hands are shaking as he hands you the ring that's almost, almost endearing - he resembles a shy, awkward boy rather than the man-eating captor he actually is.

And that night, he'll spend hours worshipping your body, pouring over every detail and scar and mole and committing it all to memory - committing you to memory, though he really doesn't need to because he'll be turning you into a demon soon so that you never leave him.

But still, it's the principle - and when he fucks you, with a voice that's especially high and a pace that's sloppy at best, you'll be able to feel what your marriage means to him - the way he moans when he sees the ring on your finger tells you as much.

So anon, long story short: they all feel a little different, but most are happy to marry you. It's a product of the time, yes, but also just another way to bind you to them - something they will not pass up.

So who would you marry? Choose carefully - because once you say 'I do', you're absolutely trapped.

#yandere kny #_kny #_giyuu tomioka #_kochou shinobu #_gyomei himejima #_kyojuro rengoku #_tengen uzui #_mitsuri kanroji #_obanai iguro #_sanemi shinazugawa #_muzan kibutsuji #_akaza #_douma #_kokushibo #_gyuutaro #yandere demon slayer

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TIME AFTER TIME

Chapter one ❣︎ Uh oh, i’m fallin’ in love

uh oh, i’m fallin’ in love

i thought the plane was goin’ down (how’d you turn it right around?)

❧ warnings: none!

❧ wc: 2.8k

❧ Note: first chapter is outtt! I hope you guys enjoy and are as excited for this story as I am! if things seem to be going a little fast i do apologize, but i am going straight off of the book! like all this happens in literally the first chapter

❧ masterlist

♥︎

The day started out completely terrible.

First, you’d woken up late and threw on the first thing you saw. And you only realized the massive coffee stain on it once you’d reached school.

Then you realized you’d completely forgotten about Mrs. Clicks homework and had barely managed to scribble down random answers on it before the bell, and even then the disappointed look she gave you as she collected it made you want the floor to swallow you whole.

The only good part of the day had to be the prom posters that had been thrown up around the school over the weekend. You couldn’t help the pride that filled your chest when you saw your own design looking right back at you.

The prom committee had let you have complete and total free range over them, and you liked to think they turned out pretty well.

You’d gone with a dark blue base with white sprinkles thrown across it, the words “A Night Under The Stars, Senior Prom, 8:00, April 5th, 1985” sprawled across it in baby blue letters.

“The posters came out super nice!” You don’t have to look behind you to know the voice belongs to your best friend, Robin Buckley.

You bit your lip, arms crossed over your chest, “Do you think so? I feel like I should’ve made the letters white or something.”

Robin shakes her head, “It looks fine to me.”

You gave her a grateful smile, “Shouldn't you be getting ready for the pep rally?” You asked. The school would be having a seniors only pep rally at the end of the day to celebrate your final semester of highschool, and you were honestly excited for it.

It was silly, but you couldn’t help the thought in the back of your mind that this could be it. Maybe you’d meet the guy you were meant to end up with there, even though you already knew practically everyone in your grade. You still couldn’t help but hope.

Robin threw her head back with a groan, “Please don’t remind me.” She whined. You snorted.

You knew the real reason Robin didn’t want to go was because of her new crush. It was cute, honestly. And you understood why Robin is so hesitant to make any moves, but you’re positive Vickie is the right girl.

She looks disgusted every time she’s with her boyfriend and you swear you catch her gazing at Robin more often then what should be considered normal.

“If you never make a move you’ll never know, and then you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.” You tsk, lips thinning out into a sharp line.

Robin rolls her eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” She sighs, “Look, I don’t wanna be any later for band then I already am so i’m gonna run, but nice dress!” She yells out as she jogs away, and you grin and yell back a thank you.

You turn around to head to your next class but are met with something rock solid. You nearly tumble to the floor, but are caught by a hand around your waist.

“Shit,” The wall says, “Are you okay?”

You looked up, arms tight across your chest to hold your books in place. The sight you’re met with is one you hadn’t been prepared for at all.

Jonathon Byers stood before you in all his glory. He was still as handsome as you had remembered.

Jonathon had lived across the street from you practically your entire childhood, and you’d harbored a massive crush on him the entire time.

How could you not? He was kind and such a gentleman, and he had an amazing family. (Apart from his dad, but you liked to pretend he didn’t exist.)

He smelled so-so good, and you wanted to catalogue every part of this moment in your mind. It was the perfect meet-cute, even if this wasn’t your first time meeting.

“Jonathon?” You stuttered out, carefully finding your footing as he slipped his hand away from your waist and back to his side.

He gave a weak smile, “Hey, Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but throw an arm around him, the other holding your books in place. “Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in years! When-when did you get back from California? Why are you back?” You asked, thoughts going a mile a minute.

Jonathon had moved to California at the end of your eighth grade year. His mom, Joyce, had been offered a well paying job that she couldn’t turn down.

It had been a teary goodbye, but you chose not to dwell on the fact that Jonathon would never know how you really felt.

Now, you couldn’t help but think that maybe you’d be able to turn that around.

Jonathon shrugged, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Mom lost her job and she was offered a managing position at her old one back at the store, so we came back.” He explains.

You frown, Joyce losing her job must’ve sucked, but you can’t help but be the tiniest bit thankful that it brought Jonathon back to you again.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You murmured, laying a gentle hand on his bicep. He just shrugs, hands shoved into his pockets, “It’s okay. At least we didn’t have to move somewhere completely new again, right?”

You nodded in agreement, and you both stood in silence for a moment. You held your breath, you had to do it. You were going to ask Jonathon to prom. Was it a little hasty? Sure, but chances are he doesn’t have a date to prom yet, and there was no harm in asking, right? You were friends, or at least you had been, so it only made sense.

You swallow, “Hey, do you think you’d want to-” But you were cut off by someone knocking into you from behind and shoving you away from Jonathon.

“Holy shit, man! I didn’t know you were back!”

Your eye nearly twitches at the voice. Steve Harrington. The very bane of your existence.

You’d grown up with Steve as well, he only lived two houses down from you, but it’d been nowhere near as romantic as it had with Jonathon.

Steve was obnoxious. He was what your parents considered “troubled.” He would tease you for the dresses you wore, refused to play any of the games you wanted to, and was just an overall punk.

You grit your teeth, “Um, maybe watch where you’re going?”

Steve blinked, once, then twice, before finally he turned to you. “Oh, so sorry. I didn’t even see you. Which is strange, because that dress is seriously an eye-catcher.”

The tone that he says it lets you know it’s anything but a compliment, and you cross your arms over your chest, subconsciously hiding the light brows stain on it. “Hm, it’s weird, Even with your hair being nearly half your height, I still didn’t see you coming.”

Steve goes to bark back a retort, but Jonathon’s chuckle stops him. “It’s nice to see you two haven’t changed a bit.”

You force a smile, “Yep. You know. Same ol’, same ol’.”

Steve glared at you, “More like she hasn’t stopped being annoying.”

Jonathon furrowed his brows, “She’s not annoying. She’s just spunky, it’s my favorite thing about her.”

Your jaw nearly drops at Jonathon’s words, and your cheeks begin to flush a pretty pink. You stutter out a thank you, and Steve leans in and whispers, “Careful, you’re drooling.”

You stomp on his foot with your heel, causing him to hiss and pull away from you. He swatted at you before he turned back to Jonathon, “You remember Tommy Hagan?” He asks.

Jonathon nods hesitantly, “I think so, yeah. First Baseman right?”

Steve snaps his fingers, “That’s the one. Look, he’s having a party this Saturday and you should totally come.”

You do your best to keep your expression neutral as you listen to Steve invite your Jonathon to a party. What right did he have? What if you were gonna invite Jonathon somewhere on saturday?

Jonathon glances at you, “Sure man,” He says. “Sounds fun.”

Steve grins and claps him on the back, “ Party starts at eight, i’ll see you there!” He turned and jogged to his next class with a shout of, “Later guys!”

You and Jonathon watched as Steve disappeared into the crowd of people. He turned to you, “Are you going?” He asks.

Your mouth dries a bit at the question, though you aren’t sure if it’s because Jonathon’s looking at you with those wide, chestnut brown eyes like you move the sun and the moon, or if it’s because you, in fact, weren’t invited.

“Oh, um, I don’t know. I think I have to work.” You stammer out the excuse, hoping he doesn’t catch the nervous way you pick at your chipped nail polish.

He doesn’t, instead he gives you a weak smile and lazily says, “Alright. Look, i’ve gotta run, but let’s catch up soon, yeah?”

You smile girlishly, “Okay.”

His arm brushes against your own as he leaves, and the touch nearly leaves you dizzy.

Finally, things were working out for you.

🝮

Once the pep rally ends you immediately shoot for Robin. You find her next to the bleachers, staring longingly at an unaware Vickie.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “You look like a kicked puppy!” You yell at her.

She nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of your voice, but she’s quick to collect herself and throw you a glare. “I do not.”

You shrug, “Fine, keep telling yourself that. But, anyway, you are not going to believe who’s here!” You nearly squeal, fingers playing with the hem of your dress.

Robin thinks for a moment, “Who?”

Your grin grows impossibly larger, “Jonathon Byers.”

“I know.”

Your smile immediately drops, “You do?”

Robin furrows her brows, “Uh, yeah? Was it a secret?”

You scoff, “I mean, no, but - look, this is really good for me.”

Robin squints at you, leg kicking up onto the wall she’s leaning against. “And why is that?”

Your grin returns as you shift back and forth on your feet, “Jonathon is gonna be my date to prom. We already had our meet-cute, now I just have to win him over.”

She nods, eyes lidded, “Right. And how do you plan to do that?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

You shush her and roll your eyes, “Don’t question me. Just trust that I'll make it work.” You begin to walk away, gesturing for Robin to follow. She does so with a groan.

“Steve invited Jonathon to this party. Which, might I add, he did right in front of me and didn’t even ask me if I wanted to go!”

Robin snorts, “Don’t you guys not like each other? Why would he invite you?”

While what she said may be true, it was still just basic manners to not do something like that right in front of people. But, Steve was constantly tiptoeing the line between person and barbarian so you wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t know basic human decency.

“That’s besides the point,” You grumbled. “I just need to get into this party and then boom! Me and Jonathon will be married in no time.”

“Tommy’s parties are always just beer pong, fireball, and truth-or-dare immature bullshit. Honestly, I'm glad we didn’t get invited.“ Robin murmurs.

The both of you approach your car and you hop into the front seat with an annoyed dent in your brows.

“And…” Robin bites her lip, “I guess Jonathon moved a couple houses down from Nancy Wheeler and they’ve been talking for a while now.”

Your heart plummets. Nancy Wheeler? Is this a joke?

Sure, you didn’t know Nancy very well, but that didn’t stop you from despising her very being. She always played the image of the perfect girl. Smart, pretty. You could see right through her though.

It’d started in kindergarten, when you’d gotten a bloody nose and shrieked an Ewwww right in your toddler face, making the entire class join her.

In first grade she exposed your box of love letters you’d made for Bryce Waterson, and he’d called you gross. It was humiliating.

In fifth grade, not long after your mom died you’d been forced to sit next to her at lunch. And it wasn’t the perfect cookie cutter sandwiches that bothered you, no, it was the notes.

Everyday she’d pull out a handwritten note from her mom. It always said something different and had colorful hearts and doodles. You’d get so sad you couldn’t even eat.

While Nancy could play the part for everyone else, you saw right through her.

And besides, Nancy always got everything she could ever want. She couldn’t have him. You wouldn’t let her.

And Nancy didn’t have the history with Jonathon that you did. She didn’t grow up in love with him, always watching in admiration as he played around with your nemesis.

Your mom said it was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen, though your dad couldn’t help but disagree.

Robin looks at you like she knows exactly what you’re thinking, “Jonathon Byers is not your perfect oh-we’re-so-in-love guy, okay?”

He could be, you wanted to retort, but you held your tongue. Instead you just shrugged as you began to drive your car out of the parking lot, “In all actuality they aren’t even together yet, so I still have a chance..”

“Don’t be that girl!” Robin scolds, “Whatever happened with him was not your meet-cute.”

You couldn’t help but buzz a little at the thought of your interaction with him. The way his arm had ever so gently bridled your own.. that wasn’t coincidence.

“But maybe it was.”

She throws her head back against the seat, “Pull yourself together, woman! You barely even know him anymore.”

His eyes flash in your mind, those beautiful dark eyes. “I know everything I need to know.”

🝮

Jonathon was back.

You propped your feet up onto the kitchen table and dug into your container of ice cream.

After Jonathon had moved, you’d daydreamed about him for what honestly was probably years.

You came up with so many different scenarios in your head for him, but there was one that always seemed to stick.

It was December, Christmas Eve. You were sitting outside in your cutest winter outfit just staring at the snow, and you get the sudden urge to turn your head. When you do, you’re met with the sight of him. He runs to you, holds you in his warm embrace and tells you every thing you’d ever wanted to hear. Some would call it delusional, you just called it perfect.

It took you forever to get over him. And at some point you’d accepted that he was never coming back.

But now he’d returned.

The smile on your face grows wider at the thought.

You didn’t have any classes with him and you were no longer neighbors, which sucked so badly, but you were anything if not persistent, and the one thing in your corner was your expertise on love. Not to call yourself a love expert, but, well…

Love was practically in your genes. Your mom lived and burned for it, and she had luckily given the very same passion to you.

Thanks to this, you were more then certain you had to get to Tommy’s party.

Honestly, the party scene had never really been your thing. A house filled with the distasteful smell of sweaty jocks and booze along with people who didn’t even know you wasn’t your idea of a good time.

But, you were running on a tight schedule here, so party here you come.

Lightning shoots across the sky and illuminates Steve’s car, and you’re reminded of the days events.

There was a parking spot right outside your house, and it was sacred.

If you wanted to be able to comfortably get to your house without having to walk all the way up the street, you’d have to park in this spot, which should be no problem right?

Wrong.

Steve knows about this spot, and unfortunately he wants it just as bad as you. And he’d tailgated you as soon as you’d dropped Robin off at her house and he’d snagged it away from you, forcing you to park a block over and walk all the way to your house in the rain.

You licked off a spoonful of ice cream and daydreamed that Jonathon lived there instead of Steve.

And that’s when it hit you.

Steve was the key.

He was your in. Steve, who’d invited Jonathon in the first place, would be attending this party.

But, there was only one world where Steve Harrington would be willing to help you, and honestly, you were willing to live in it. Even if you had to be drenched in rain everyday.

♥︎

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #joe keery #stranger things #jonathon byers #jonathon byers x reader #stranger things x reader #robin buckley #jonathon byers x nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler #xspeter #time after time xspeter #better than the movies au

[pinkandpurple360]

here's a recap if you don't wanna watch! (spoilers!)

starts on the duet, basically unchanged from the con preview clip that I could tell

cut to the CHERUBs who are stuck on Earth and scamming people for money, the purple deer one has reservations but the other two are losing their morals. they get captured by DHORKs who have now got massive government funding I guess because they captured demons on tape? anyway they're working on this stargate-like portal to Hell and can only make a little one so they give the CHERUBs robot suits to go through and kill IMP for them (also DHORKs have a line of...pope robots? idk why they looked like that, I guess holy=hurts demons?)

cut back to office, Blitzo is dressed up for night with Stolas but is only enthused about having sex with him. He's also happy that Stolas has been letting him have months off (lol) but gets nervous about the business when Loona says Stolas pulling away means he's bored of him

he goes looking around town for more sex toys to impress Stolas with while CHERUB tail him, thinking he's gonna kill a human soul on earth with the things he buys. He goes to Fizz who gives him a massive sex toy which was blurred out so idk what it was supposed to be (Fizz calls him buddy! also there's definite sexual tension when Fizz shows him some blindfolds but it's a very small thing in Blitzo's animation so we're probably not supposed to read much into it)

CHERUB see massive sex toy, assume murder weapon and are gonna fight Blitzo when IMP get in the way. they'd been tailing Blitzo so he doesn't mess up (and I quote) "their meal ticket" [Stolas]. fight ensues, Blitzo comically doesn't notice it's going on right behind him, etc. IMP beat CHERUB and throw them back through earth portal

scene where Blitzo & Stolas talk finally happens. Blitzo tries to impress Stolas with sex toys, Stolas retreats to book shelf and gives him crystal. Blitzo is confused & desperate not to lose book during this scene, even saying 'I'll do anything'. Stolas says full moon deal was wrong, shouldn't have bound Blitzo to him, doesn't say he's sorry directly or apologize for using Blitzo's class to get sex out of him, doesn't apologize for using him being shot at to do it.

Blitzo assumes Stolas is doing roleplay and tries to join in and Stolas immediately gets offended and leaves the room, telling Blitzo (who follows) that he's hurt Blitzo assumed it was a sex thing and he wasn't sincere. pacing wise this happens pretty quick, like Stolas literally just dumped this all on him (which Blitzo points out)

Blitzo gets mad and yells at Stolas for treating him the way he did his servants, calls him an asshole (doesn't get to call him out for the whole 'leveraged my life being in danger' thing though...typical...)

Stolas immediately breaks down in tears and is all like 'I think so highly of you but you think so low of me!' and uses magic to dump Blitzo at his front door right as it sounds like Blitzo is trying to say 'Stolas, I'm sorry' (kill me)

smash to end credits, no music

He's also happy that Stolas has been letting him have months off (lol) but gets nervous about the business when Loona says Stolas pulling away means he's bored of him

they'd been tailing Blitzo so he doesn't mess up (and I quote) "their meal ticket" [Stolas]. fight ensues, Blitzo comically doesn't notice it's going on right behind him, etc. IMP beat CHERUB and throw them back through earth portal

God that’s fucking. horrible. they’re all complacent in their ‘friend’ being pimped out and only care about themselves, not him. Abuse enablers. I swear to fuck it’s only striker the “villain” who says he’s treated like a plaything and deserved better??? CHRIST. The entire world literally revolves around making stolas happy and if you make him unhappy your world is over. I hate this bastard but now I find the rest of IMP disgusting as well. They don’t give a fuck about blitz and shouldn’t bother pretending they can point out his flaws to him, while this is who they are. The show admitted he’s been extorting him for sex, conveys the pressure he’s under to give stolas whatever gratification he wants so he and his family can stay alive, has him lash out at the manipulation, but then because he made stolas cry, he’s wrong.

But again, this is all part of Medranos theme that poor people and minorities are bad, scheming, thieving people, and white men are misunderstood, need love, have so much on their shoulders, and are so wronged by the world.

ANYWAYS

ROBOT BATTLE ROBO FIZZES VS EARTH ROBOTS Trust.

Kindve sad missed opportunity for fizz to interact with MnM and Loona. Id want it to be a slow paced scene over a random skit or worse, offscreen meeting.

The Cherubs were massively shoe horned in.

#helluva boss critical

[milfgyuu]

What’s My Age Again? Pairing: Wen Junhui x Fem!Reader Tags: 8.9k, F2L, Fluff, Crack, Humor, Smut 18+ Summary: Wen Junhui is sort of a dumbass but he’s your dumbass and you’ve come to realize that you like him just the way he is.

A/N: this was 100% inspired by me obliterating my vocal chords in the car to “What’s My Age Again?” by Blink182 - also, apologies in advance my friends....Jun was perfect for this story and i lowkey have temporary romantic feelings for him. shhhh. temporary.

Warnings: [Sexually Explicit Content 18+, MINORS DNI] the mc/reader is bisexual! language, adult themes throughout, protected sex (mxf), oral (f/m), face sitting (f), sixty-nine (spongebob voice), lots of gentle bullying between friends, threatening someone with peanuts. 

The light tapping of your finger nails almost matches time perfectly with the clock on the wall.

You’re on your regular night shift which could be worse, but as it stands, it’s just a whole lot of standing around and doing nothing. Yo-Nuts - as ridiculously stupid as the name sounded, was actually pretty popular…during daylight hours. 

A combination frozen yogurt and donut joint that stood alone on a quiet corner didn’t really attract much attention at night but the owner was one of those generational money kids who built the place on a whim after a night of the munchies for two very specific things that weren’t typically available at night.

Frozen yogurt and donuts. Yo-Nuts. Points for originality.

You also can’t complain because you’re working with your designated himbo, per usual. Jun is one of those really tall, really good looking nice boys who are especially…dumb but in a likeable sort of way. He’s goofy and a little immature but you enjoy his company. The long quiet nights are filled with laughter, conversation, and a lot of shit you probably shouldn’t be doing while getting paid - most of which Jun instigates.

“Hey,” you hear from somewhere behind you, “Psssssssst!”

You put your phone down and look over your shoulder to see Jun across the store holding a glazed donut up to his mouth, flicking his tongue through the middle suggestively, like an idiot.

You snort but pretend to be unimpressed and he, very briefly considers putting the donut back before tossing it in the trash. The boss let’s them eat whatever they want anyway so it’s not like anyone is truly caring for the inventory numbers. He comes up to the counter where you’re sort of monitoring the floor and leans down to whisper, “When do you think that guy will leave?”

“He’s gonna ask for more gummy bears, bet.”

Jun holds out his hand immediately. “If he leaves without asking, you have to lick my armpit.”

You give a look of thinly veiled disgust, “You’re so weird,” and then slap your hand into his, “If he does, I’m giving you a wedgie.”

Jun’s nose crinkles as he thinks about the last time he lost a bet with those odds. His ass crack was scarred for life, but Jun also had a plan this time around, “Deal.”

His efforts were amusing to say the least.

It was mostly just him sitting behind the counter trying to make direct eye contact with this poor man sitting alone in the shop, trying to enjoy his fro-yo in peace. Every time he looked up, Jun was somehow in his line of vision. Cleaning a table, examining a sprinkle, spritzing a window, hovering around floor like an absolute creeper. He got distracted though.

He’d found a dollar bill on the floor under a table and the guy got up and beelined it toward the counter. You painted on the friendliest smile when he asked for extra gummy bears and wished him well on his way out the door. For some reason he thought his treat was better tasting at home. Probably because he wasn’t being stalked while he ate it.

Jun caught the interaction just as the customer was leaving and he sulked across the entire empty shop, heavy feet stomping each step of the way. “How come you always win?”

Laughing, you circle the counter and Jun takes a careful step backwards. “Have mercy on my cheeks,” he begs, “I wouldn’t actually make you lick my pit had I won!”

“Yes, you would have,” you step closer and jump at him, making him squeal a bit, “Don’t drag out the torture. Bring that ass here boy.”

“What if I'm not wearing underwear?” He giggles, backing into a table and jumping out of the way, “Didja ever think about that?”

You back off and smirk, walking back toward the counter, “It’s fine…I don’t mind waiting and catching you off guard. Let you slip into a false sense of security before I destroy your ass.”

His face drops and he automatically clenches out of fear. “Ohhh,” he blows out with narrowed eyes, “You’re pure evil.”

You smile angelically and then tilt your neck sharply like a broken doll, and Jun shudders, very slowly and wearily joining you back behind the counter you’ve perched on. He offers a very tiny smile like a white flag and you grin, keeping him on his toes.

“Soooooooo,” he drawls out, “Pretty sure Rin is never calling me back…”

Rin is the super hot girl Jun’s been talking to lately and she is so far out of his league it’s insane. She drives a brand new Audi and owns her own clothing line but apparently she likes funny guys and there is anyone doofier than Wen Junhui. Again, dumb but objectively attractive. The thing is, she is just way too mature for him. She’s running a high-end business and he works in a fro-yo shop and thinks butt jokes are still funny.

It’s too bad Rin’s not into girls.

You sigh, unsurprised. “What did you do?”

Jun’s face falls and he purses his lips, “Why do you always assume I did something?”

You merely blink back and him and he deflates. “I think she wanted to have sex with me and I screwed things up.”

You automatically laugh and he whines at your reaction, crying about you never taking him seriously. You choke down the laughter but can’t dim the smirk upon your lips, “I’m intrigued, please,” you gesture to the empty space between you, “Paint me a picture.”

Jun leans against the opposite counter, sighing as he recounts the details. “I took her out last Friday and we had dinner and then she said she wanted to come hang out at my place so we went home and we were watching a new movie,” he gets distracted and then really excited, “You know that Blissful Revenge movie I wanted to see, right?”

You nod amusedly, of course. He’s talked about it for weeks.

“So, we were watching it and she kept getting closer which is like cool, I like to snuggle, and then she started kissing my neck and you know how ticklish I am so I kept laughing and she stopped. Then she climbed on my lap and blocked the whole tv and we started making out but I think she saw that I kept trying to look around her to watch the movie and she got pissed and left,” he grimaces awkwardly, “I asked if I could walk her to her car and she said no. So, I stayed inside and watched the rest of the movie by myself.”

Riveting. “Was the movie good?”

His face lights up, “Dude, yes it was amazing! The graphics were so much better than the last movie and it was like a hundred times more gory,” he spreads he hands out and smiles serenely, “Blood and guts, everywhere.”

“Hey,” you look at him curiously, waving your hand, “Come here for a sec…”

Jun looks worried and touches his face then his hair and moves slowly towards you, ‘What-”

“Hold still,” You caution him and as soon as he’s close enough, you reach around and smack him in the back of the head.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You ask incredulously, “You have hot and horny girl in your lap and you’re too busy watching tv?! You’ve fumbled the bag, severely. Idiot.”

Jun winces and rubs his head, mussing his hair. “I just don’t get why we couldn’t do it after the movie was over…”

You roll your eyes skyward, begging aloud for Rin to just give you one chance. One chance is all you need to treat her right unlike this towering doofus in front of you.

“Jun,” you say with an incredible amount of patience, “Are you a virgin?”

He narrows his eyes and scoffs, “No.”

No elaboration, interesting.

“Do you like having sex with hot girls?”

He snorts, “Uh, obviously? Don’t you?”

You jut out your chin sarcastically, “Obviously,” you roll your eyes, “And I’m way better at it than you apparently. Do you, like, not know how to tell if a girl is horny? Or into you, in general?”

Jun says nothing but he opens and closes his mouth a few times, scoffing and walking in circles with his hands on his hips, occasionally bringing one up in the air like he’s about to make a point and then lowering it again without a word.

“Dude, you don’t know how to read women at all, do you?”

He finally sighs and dejectedly slumps against the counter next to you. “Women are so beautiful and so mysterious,” he groans, “They don’t talk with their words. How am I supposed to guess what they want?”

Another incredulous look crosses your face. “Her kissing your neck, climbing into your lap, and initiating a make-out session was not clear enough body language for you?”

“We were watching a movie!” he shouts word for word.

“No,” you loudly correct him, “You were watching a movie. She was trying to fuck you! If there is one thing women hate most, it’s being ignored. Especially when they’re trying to initiate intimacy. If she walked out, I can almost guarantee this has happened before with you.”

He seems contemplative but then a couple walk in and you paste on your customer service face and greet them, taking their order. You and Jun work in relative silence, passing things back and forth to each other then to the customers and they leave, emptying out the place once again.

“So, that one time I asked her to watch me play video games and she kept trying to take off my pants…”

He ducks as you throw a handful of m&ms at his head and shouts, “WHY?”

You glare at him and point at the floor, whispering threateningly, “Pick those up,” before he’s running for a broom and dust pan.

He sulks around the shop while you hide in the office, choosing to kick your feet up on the desk and watch an episode on Netflix. Jun is made to watch the floor as punishment for being a dumbass. He has to reflect on the consequences of his actions.

It’s not long before he’s poking his head into the office, a pout plastered on his useless lips. “Whadda you want, virgin?” you ask without looking up.

His forces a teeny, feeble voice and bows his head, “Teach me your ways, sensei.”

You pause your show and look up with a flat face. “I’m not taking on new students.”

He drops to his knees and you both grimace at the crunchy sound they make. “I am begging you,” he shakes his hands, pleading, “I will do the floors and bathrooms myself for a month!”

You narrow you eyes and he folds, “FOR ETERNITY!”

Sighing long and hard you set your phone down and adjust the computer monitor so you can see the front doors should someone come in. “Listen and listen well, young grasshopper. Today is lesson one in ‘How not to be a clueless, immature loser’, ok?”

“You’re a goddess,” he sags in relief, snickering when you sharply tell him to shut up.

And this is how you spend your shifts for the next few weeks, with Jun following you around asking questions and giving hypothetical scenarios. He attempted to rekindle things with Rin, but she’d long since moved on to a much older man with a private yacht and fat 401k. Poor kid hadn’t stood a chance. 

He hadn’t really made an effort to see anyone else either, which you pointed out one day.

“You know,” you twirl a strawberry glazed donut around your finger before taking another bite, “You ought to be putting my incredibly wise and carefully taught methods into practice. What’s the point if you stop talking to girls all together?”

Jun scoffs and spreads his arms, balancing half his weight on the broomstick in his hand. “I have been trying,” he complains, “I hooked up with this girl I met at the club and when I texted her the next day, like you said, she ghosted me.”

You hold your eyes shut for a very long time and poke your tongue in your cheek. “Ok,” you blink, “Walk me through it.”

“We danced-”

“Skip ahead, Jun,” you huff in frustration, “Your place or hers?”

“Mine.”

“I offered her a drink and asked if she wanted to play video games.”

“Christ…okay. Then what?”

“We played Mario Kart and she sucked,” Jun answers with a frown before perking up like he’s about to deliver the good news, “Then she asked if she could blow me and I said yes!”

“Thrilling,” you sip from your near empty drink and gesture for him to continue, “And did you pay attention to her?”

His smile falters and he chuckles awkwardly, “She wasn’t very good at it and seemed kinda irritated that I didn’t have a better reaction but like, isn’t it rude to fake it?”

“Did you attempt to help her in anyway? Remember the whole communication thing?”

“I was going to but then she gave up and it was kind of awkward so I suggested we go to my room to bang.”

“Verbatim?” you nearly choke on your donut, “You- nevermind,” you hold your hand up, “How was the sex?”

Jun shrugs, “Fine?”

“Fine?” you repeat, “What does ‘fine’ mean?”

He scrunches up his face. “She was so boring. Dead silent, missionary, lights off.”

You frown in thought, “That is boring,” you shake you empty cup and Jun takes it from you to refill it, “This one sounds like it’s not one-hundred percent your fault.”

“I didn’t even finish,” he laughs, handing the cup back to you, “I asked if she wanted to stay and chill but she said she didn’t think we really had anything in common so she just kinda left.”

“Why did you ask her to stay if you guys didn’t hit it off?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, “It felt yucky asking her to leave after we hooked up.”

“Oh, Jun,” you pout your lip out sincerely, “You’re many things, most of them being dumb, but you really are a sweetheart. I’m beginning to think half your problem is that you’re going for the wrong type.”

He accidentally bumps the register and the cash drawer comes flying out, the corner of it nailing him in the hip. He bows over and you scramble off the counter. “Shit, are you okay? I told Jim to fix the fucking drawer!”

You tug his shirt up and sure enough there is a small cut, purple and angry. “Ouch,” he says dumbly but you’re already dragging him to the back office by the arm, grumbling about giving your manager an earful when you spoke to him next. Jun patiently waits as you slam drawers and cabinets until you find a first aid kit and start grabbing things out of it.

“What do you mean I’m going for the wrong type?” he asks, wincing when you dab his cut with alcohol as gently as you can.

“Well, I don’t think you’re shallow or anything but you like pretty girls and most of time, the ones you pick, have nothing in common with you, interests or personality wise.”

“Soooo I have to find a girl who likes all the things I like?”

You snort. That’s a unicorn of a woman. “No, just find a girl who likes you for you, stupid. Someone who cares enough about you to be interested in your hobbies just because they make you happy and understands the way your tiny brain works.”

Jun hums in thought as you smooth a Band-Aid over his cut with your thumb softly. He glances down at the crown of your head and his eyes widen in shock and sudden realization .

“Like you…”

You pick your head up. “What?”

“You like me for me-”

You stand up and put your hands out about to cut him off but he advances on you, thoughts spewing from his lips in a mad dash to spell out the connection.

“You like me even though you think I'm dumb and immature. You always laugh at my jokes and listen to me talk about all the stuff I like and we play games together and you like the same kind of movies! Plus, you’re the only girl who didn’t think my collectables were weird! We have so much in common!”

“Yeah!” You shout back in a panic, “We both like girls!”

“I know! We’re perfect for each other! Wait- I thought you were bi…”

What the fuck is happening?

“I am but I haven’t been with a guy in…years,” you let out a breath as Jun takes a step back, “I’ve had like a handful of experiences with men and they’ve all been super disappointing. I haven’t even been interested in a guy because wait-”

You point your finger at him accusingly, “Are you my designated golden retriever boy?!”

Jun points to himself questioningly, “Is that a thing? I’m more of a cat gu-”

“No, no,” you push past him and start your closing duties, rushing to be finished and get out of the shop, “We’re not even entertaining this train of thought. Go do the floors.”

He purses his lips and swallows at your frantic movements deciding it’s probably in his best interest to just do as he’s told…and quickly.

He rushes around speed cleaning the floors and taking the trash out while you shut everything else down, which is relatively easy. You do get stuck counting the cash deposit four times though. Too easily distracted by your errant and wholly ridiculous thoughts. Twenty minutes later, you're locking the doors while Jun rocks on his heels, hands dug in his pockets.

“I’m sorry for making things weird,” he says quietly, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfy.”

You drop your head, still facing the door before forcing yourself to turn and look at him, “I’m not upset with you, noodle head.”

“Promise?”

He sticks out a pinky and wiggles it.

You snort and then link your own. “Promise.”

Jun grins and bounces on his feet, “Cool. Wanna come over and watch scary movies?”

It’s one o’clock in the morning but you’re not tired and Jun is actually your favorite movie buddy because you both can talk through it without missing anything and critique the plot the whole time. Plus, he has comfy clothes and good snacks.

“I get your Karasuno hoodie.”

“Deal.”

“Dude,” you snort, biting off another piece of your sour gummy worm and twirling it around, “Can you believe they cut her out of the last film?”

Jun tosses his head back, “Right?! She was one of the best characters and her arc was trash. It was such a waste.”

He attempts to reach for the bag but keeps missing so you grab a hand full and shove it in his mouth, both your eyes still glued to the screen. It’s pitch black in the room aside from the tv and you’re both huddled up on Jun’s couch bundled in his hoodies, pajama pants, and blankets. Plus the Snorlax plushie you stole off his bed. It’s so stupid soft and squishy.

The table is littered with snacks, candy, empty noodle cups, and your bra which you carelessly ditched early on. Comfort was key on movie nights and Jun never once made it a big deal.

When the credits finally roll Jun claps like a buffoon and laughing, you stretch our your limbs, your tendency to sit like a pretzel making your joints stiff. He turns and holds up the remote. “One more?” he asks hopefully.

You hum, indecision splitting your mind. You do want to watch another but you know you’ll be too tired to drive home afterward. It would have to wait for another night and you explain as much. Jun pouts for half a second, but he never makes you feel bad when you decide to go. He grabs the things from the table and carries them all back to the kitchen while you stuff your bra and uniform into your bag. You’d bring his clothes back another time.

When Jun returns, he meets you at the door and prepares to walk down to the parking lot with you, an oddly endearing habit of his you’ve always liked. You go to grab the door handle but something makes you turn around and look at him.

He smiles back at you even though he’s not sure why you’re looking at him in the first place and a sudden curiosity overcomes you.

“Can I try something?”

“Uh,” he tilts his head in confusion, “Yeah?”

You slip your hand up to the back of his head and pull him in, pressing your lips against his...just trying it out. Jun’s hands come up in surprise but he just holds them over your hips, not quite touching you. When you pull back you just look at him, your eyes flitting from his deep brown eyes to the little mole near his lip.

“Was that weird for you?”

“No,” he shakes his head slowly.

“Ok…coo-”

Jun presses you up against the door, kissing you harder while his hands slip beneath the hoodie you’re wearing, stroking your bare skin. Your bag falls to the floor and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, sighing into his mouth just as his tongue prods along your bottom lip. He folds over you, caging you in and gripping your hips, growing more enthused with each swipe of your talented tongue against his own.

“Bedroom?” you ask between kisses and he doesn’t even answer. He simply picks you up like a cardboard standee and carries you the short distance to his room, not bothering to close the door. Instead of setting you down, like a normal person, he shifts your weight to one arm while clearing space on his bed with the other before dropping you onto the mattress with a little bounce.

“I thought you didn’t like boys,” he smirks, tearing his hoodie off and throwing it to the floor while you do the same and Jun doesn’t even pretend to look anywhere other than your bare chest.

“I don’t,” you maneuver out of your pants just barely fast enough before Jun is on the bed, hovering over you with a grin.

“Just to be clear,” he wiggles his pelvis against yours, “I have a dick.”

“I’m aware, thank you,” You snort, knocking him off of you just so you can swing a leg over his hips and smirk down at him, “Big dick and no brain cells.”

You slip your fingers beneath his waistband and run them back and forth, tickling his skin and making him giggle. Your nose twitches, smiling hard at his stupidly endearing reactions. You were so hard pressed to just admit that all the immature, boyish characteristics that made Jun who he was were some of your favorite things about him. 

This...whatever it was...is physically driven but the rest would certainly cloud the forefront of your mind come tomorrow morning.

Jun startles you out of thought suddenly, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you down until your chests are pressed together, faces mere inches apart. His thumb strokes over your cheek and you peer back curiously. “I wanna kiss you again,” he whispers.

The admittance is so soft and genuine you can’t help but ask why.

He blushes and teases his tongue at the corner of his mouth, “It’s exciting,” he breathes, eyes sparkling in the dim lighting, “Honestly, I’ve thought about kissing you before but I was afraid you’d punch me or something.”

“Wait,” you push yourself up onto your elbows, “You’ve wanted to kiss me? When?”

He hums in thought for a minute. “Uh, anytime you’ve ever laughed at my dumb jokes, rolled your eyes at me, or called me an idiot.”

“I do those things all the time.”

“Yep.”

“So…you…?”

He nods resolutely, “Yep.”

Jun groans at the feeling of your breasts pressed against his chest, your hands in his hair, your tongue dipping past his lips and he wraps his arms around you, blunt nails scratching at your sides. He sucks down air when you pull back, eyes unfocused from your sudden, overwhelming kiss and you flick him in the forehead, sighing down at him. “How dare you make me feel feelings for a man,” you chuckle, kissing the same spot, “You big dummy.”

He laughs in response and you release a strangled shout, holding on for dear life as he flips you over with a devilish grin and wastes not a second before he’s kissing and giggling his way down the length of your body. He reaches the front of your panties and looks up, tilting his head.

“I will crush your head between my thighs right this second, Junhui. Try me.”

“I’m just taking a moment to appreciate,” he marvels, running one finger down the imprint of your folds through the soft material, “Also, don’t threaten me with a good time. I love your thighs and would gladly beg for death right this second if I wasn’t about to suffocate myself in your pussy.”

Not a single woman you’d ever been with paused to say such ridiculous shit nor has any other man bothered to sound so enthused about giving head and it just another box only Jun could check for you apparently. You sigh as he crudely pushes your panties to the side but not a moment later he’s looking at you again, eager hands stretching the material unforgivingly.

“Sit on my face.”

Your neck cracks as you look down at him incredulously, “Sorry, what?”

He grins curiously, “Sit on my face, please.”

“I-” he begins putting everything in motion, tearing off your panties, “I wasn’t looking for the magic word! You…Wait-” he keeps you moving, manhandling you into a sitting position despite your babbling, “You told me you’ve never done this-”

“I haven’t,” he confirms, shimmying further down the bed to work you up and over his shoulders.

“J-Jun!” you shriek as he lifts his head and kisses your bare pussy, “I’ve only done this once with an ex-boyfriend and it did not go well!” your voice catches when he kisses you again, humming happily between your trembling thighs, “Thick girls are not made for face-sitting!”

At that, Jun stops what he’s doing and glares up at you with contempt for whichever sad bastard put that idea in your head. “And I’m the stupid one?” he mumbles under his breath before softening his face, “Do you trust me?”

Your nails dig into his hands at your hips. “With most things, no.”

He rolls his eyes and says, “Shut up,” and then he’s squeezing the junction between your hips and thighs, pulling you down onto his mouth - his hot lips kissing a sucking every ounce of hesitance away until your melting against him, struggling to hold your own weight up.

“Oh, fuck…you,” you groan when he flattens his tongue against you, eyes soft and hazy as he savors and worships his mouthful.

How Jun has ever managed to turn a girl off with this sort of talent is shocking but perhaps that’s why they stuck around as long as they did. They were more interested in his bedroom ability then any of the silly things that came out of his mouth. It makes you sort of sad and then Jun’s rolling his tongue against your clit and dragging you back and forth over his face like a deviant and you can’t seem to focus on how much of an L these girls took anymore.

The sensation has you squeezing your thighs unintentionally, squishing Jun’s cheeks between them and he groans, hands kneading your soft legs and hips. “How…are…you even…still b-breathing?”

Making him laugh is a mistake, kind of, because the vibration it causes sends a tingle up your spine and a hearty moan spills from your lips and that’s just when you give up. You give up trying to carefully hover over him. You give up clinging to some semblance of dignity. You give up the charade of acting like you don’t want to ride his face because you do and all the little poisonous bubbles of self consciousness floating around in your head begin to pop and disappear, and when you slip your fingers into his hair, he moans against you.

Jun gives immaculate head. You’re more than qualified to judge that.

Speaking of…

“Jun,” you attempt to get him to open his eyes but he’s too engrossed in making out with your pussy like it’s prom night until you pull his hair a little harder than intended and he blinks up at you. It’s almost embarrassing how messy and wet his face is when you pull off of him and he starts to complain but you carefully spin around, placing your knees on either side of his head so you can lay your body along the length of his and push down his boxers.

“Sixty-Nine,” Jun chuckles, grabbing a pillow to prop his head closer and then he’s reaching for your hips again, “Cool.”

You blink eight more times than necessary and swallow the laugh building in your chest to instead take him in your hand. It almost feels foreign, having been so long since you’ve actually let anyone with a cock near you but Jun’s is not half bad. More than decent length, a little bit of girth, hint of a curve - if anything your just intrigued by the fact that you had actually wanted to see it, touch it, put it in your mouth and see what sort of reaction Jun had when you teased it.

His tongue playfully pokes at your clit the same time you lean down and circle yours around the tip of his cock and he sighs against you, warm breath making you roll your hips back against him in time with the way you take him in your mouth, experimenting to figure out what makes him happiest. Judging by the hands on your ass that squeeze and flex when you take him as far as you can and come back up to suckle on the head, that’s probably his favorite.

It gets harder and harder to maintain a pace the more enthused Jun becomes, especially when he pushes two long fingers into your cunt, lapping at your throbbing clit over and over. No doubt, on the list of reasons why Jun’s relationships never worked out - giving out orgasms was not in the top ten because when your legs begin shaking around him and his cock pops out from between your lips on a long moan he flattens his tongue and drags it back and forth messily until you’re cumming hard and collapsing on top of him, head rested against his thigh.

“I can’t see,” you murmur as Jun gently rolls you over, giggling at the empty, fucked out expression on your face, “I can’t feel my legs.”

“Mmm,” He hums with a goofy flat smile, “A bit dramatic but I’m flattered…so, uh, do you wanna just like wait here while I,” he points toward the bathroom and you furrow your brows, “And then we can watch youtube or something?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows and give him a funny look, “Are you going to jack off in the bathroom? Alone?”

Jun opens and then closes his mouth and then opens it again, ”Well…I, yeah I’m mean unless you wanted to like…should I not?”

“You’re the eighth wonder of the world,” you shake your head, chuckling in disbelief, “Do you not want to have sex with me?”

Jun’s eyes widen, “What kind of question is that?”

“So, you’re not having sex with me right now because…..?”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to,” he answers right away and you have the sudden urge to both smack him upside the head and kiss the living daylights out of him.

The latter wins out and you press your lips to his sweetly, your hand gently cradling the side of his head and you pull back to meet his eyes. “It seems as though we still have a few lessons to go on ‘how to read women’. Letting a girl ride your face for twenty minutes while she sucks your dick is pretty indicative that she’s into you and also in the mood to have sex. If you still can’t tell…it’s okay to ask.”

“Should we start over?” He asks already reaching for your body and you laugh swatting at his chest, “I’m kidding!” he grins and then his voice is so quiet and sincere, “Are you really sure? We don’t have to-”

“Jun,” you stop him with another kiss, “I’m sure. Do you have condoms?”

He scoffs, “Of course I do,” and then he’s getting up out of bed and opening the first drawer of his dresser, pulling something from the back corner.

“....Is that a poke ball? You keep your condoms…in a poke ball?!”

The red, white, and black ball is all too familiar and Jun turns toward you, splitting the ball open and flashing a gold wrapper in your direction. “Uh, yeah,” he whispers, “Gotta catch em all.”

Laughter spills from your lips freely and Jun grins so hard his cheeks hurt because you actually appreciate his juvenile sense of humor unlike every other girl he’s ever dated. Maybe you were right and he’s been going after the wrong type all along and maybe he’ll be lucky enough to be given a chance to prove how perfectly suited the two of you were for each other.

He realizes it’s something he really wants to put effort into and something clicks in his brain. A memory of the two of you at Yo-Nuts, talking while you tossed gummy bears at Jun one at a time for him to catch like a seal, most of which bounced off his face. You had told him that if he really wanted something, if he truly desired to pursue a real relationship, then he had to put forth the effort. 

Pay attention to her, really listen when she speaks, let her know you’re there for her, lift her up, make her laugh, make her feel appreciated and understood.

It had sometimes felt like a chore and one mostly unreciprocated.

Except when it came to you. It was so easy and he realized that not only did he freely do these things for you without even knowing but you did the same for him. The teasing and name-calling was all surface level and never intended to be hurtful but beneath all that, Jun knew how much you cared about him. He just never considered there could be a different side to this relationship and now that he sees the potential…

“Jun,” your voice suddenly pierces through his hurricane of thoughts and feelings and he blinks rapidly as you look up at him in concern, “I lost you for like a solid two minutes. Are you okay?”

He shakes his head and laughs it off, “I’m good, sorry. I was just- nevermind…conversation for a different day I think. Did my zombie trance kill the mood?”

Your tongue pokes between your lips in amusement and you slowly shake your head, “No, but it wouldn’t hurt if you hurried the fuck up and played with my tits while you’re at it.”

If his dick wasn’t rock solid already, it is impossibly so right now.

He fumbles with the wrapper, pulling out the condom and rolling it over himself with record speed and then he’s pressed against you, pushing your thigh up, fingers imprinting your skin. The weight of his cock between your folds makes you swallow hard and he uses his free hand to squeeze and knead your breasts, rolling his thumb over your nipples as he coats himself in your wetness, tip poking at your hole.

You accidentally hold your breath when he breaches you slowly, trying to ease his way between your tight walls without hurting you or going cross-eyed at the pressure himself. “Are you okay?” he asks about half-way in, pausing to let you take a deep breath, “Not that I think I have like the most massive dick on the planet bu-”

“It’s f-fine, I know what you mean,” you let out a strained huff of amusement, “It’s still a big dick and the only one that isn’t made of silicone or attached to a body in some fashion that I’ve had in a long time. I’m appreciative but I’m okay - this is okay, Jun.”

The reassurance comforts him and he carefully pushes forward until he’s bottomed out but he doesn’t sit still, instead he starts a slow, shallow sort of rhythm, watching your face with each stroke, still massaging your breasts in one large hard while the other remains firmly attached to your plush thigh. He watches, waiting for that little bit of tension to melt from your features and when it does, he doesn’t hesitate to pick up the pace, drawing his hips back further and driving them home deeper.

Jun can’t get enough between the soft faces and pretty sounds you make, and the way your tender flesh feels beneath his fingers, taking handfuls and drowning in just how much he wants to touch you and please you. Never has he been so utterly enthralled in a partner and maybe that’s because there is so much more than sex involved in your relationship. 

He knows he’s slipping right back into dangerous territory but he can’t help it.

Especially not when you reach down to play with your own clit, big doe eyes trained on his, long delicate lashes drawing his attention to your flushed face.

Jun is pretty sure he has never been so excited to cum in his life though he wouldn’t dare voice that, lest you mock him for eternity. He doesn’t really mind though. He sometimes thinks he has some masochistic kink considering the amount of times he’s popped a boner over your smart mouthed, half-hearted insults.

“I think I'm in love with you,” he breathes out accidentally, brain too full of lust and hot air to filter what comes out of his mouth.

“I think you’re thinking with your dick,” you all but moan back to him, cutting your breath short when he pushes both of your legs forward, pressing down on your thighs to angle your hips up.

  Jun smirks which is a stupidly hot look on him. “Ah, but my dick and my heart are very closely connected.”

“Guess that makes sense since you have no brain.”

“Shut up.”

You do the opposite, however, no real words come out. Only incoherent strings of encouragement or flat out begging that you will refuse to acknowledge and deny until the end of days pours from your open lips with a clear end in sight. All it takes is a few more rough strokes and he’s pushing so deeply inside that your body gives up and orgasms so abruptly that Jun jerks forward, emptying himself into the condom almost violently as he shakes and groans.

There are several long extended moments of silence as you both attempt to catch your breath and figure out what to say to one another. He attempted to pull out at one point but even that brief bit of movement sent a shockwave through your body and you tugged him down to lay on top of you, forbidding him to move with a barrage of intricate threats.

The problem is that five minutes later, Jun is now too comfortable and half asleep and you’re smooshed under his long, lanky frame.

“Jun,” you mumble against his throat, making him wiggle, “Jun, you need to move.”

He giggles but it’s more so a physical reaction than anything else because his neck is so ticklish and he whispers back, “Noooo~ stay…”

“I’m not leaving dummy,” you roll him onto his back, shuddering at the sudden empty feeling, “We both need to get cleaned up.”

He hums, eyes still firmly shut and you roll your own toward the ceiling. “If you sleep with a condom on your dick will lose circulation and fall off in the middle of the night.”

He springs out of bed so quickly he nearly knocks you over but he grabs the blankets and folds them over you so you don’t fall off the edge as he trips and nearly eats the ground. Finally steadied, he grins down at you and offers a hand up, “I would feel like a loser if it was anyone other than you who witnessed that.”

“You are a loser,” you smirk, “Kind of a hot loser though.”

Jun tilts his chin up confidently, “She loves me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“She does,” he sings, pulling you toward his bathroom, “Do you wanna have a sleepover?”

“No.”

“Ok, perfect! I like to cuddle!”

And then fifteen minutes later you’re both passed out in Jun’s bed - snoring and all. You’re not the prettiest sleeper and neither is he and you’re definitely both waking up a little sweaty because Jun sleeps like an octopus, clinging to you with long limbs no matter how many times you accidentally elbow him in the gut. It’s comfortable though, too comfortable, and that’s something you’ll be thinking of for the days and weeks to come.

“Smash or Pass,” Jun tosses his wet rag in the sink, just having finished cleaning the toppings counter during your usual night shift a few weeks later, “Edward or Jacob?”

You scoff, keeping your voice down considering there were actually a few customers that had rolled in. “Pass on both,” you wipe around the register, throwing your rag in the sink next to his, “The correct answer is Jasper and all other options…other than Alice…are invalid.”

Jun nods slowly, “Smashhhhh...you’re right,” agreeing with your answer and then he shrugs, “Jacob was hotter than Edward - kinda creepy though like no means no….and don’t get me started on the whole renaissance thing.”

You snort, loudly, he avoids saying the kid’s actual name at all costs and the replacements are always top tier. “Wait - who is the ultimate twilight smash? 3-2-1…”

“Charlie,” you both say at the same time, grinning at your cultured tastes.

“Ultimate smash number 2?” he asks and you both respond, “Sam,” within a matter of seconds.

Jun laughs, a hand on his hip, “I don’t know what it is but you just get me.”

You chuckle, turning away from the counter but it ends in a frown when you dip your finger beneath the material of your shirt and find a fro-yo stain at the bottom. “Junhuiii~” you sigh without looking, “I’ll brb, gotta go see if I can rinse this stain out.”

Jun nods and busies himself organizing the donut display though there isn’t much to organize. The pace at night is either steady or so quiet there isn’t much to maintain unlike the day-time rush. The two of you have things pretty spotless by the time you leave each night. 

The door chimes and Jun looks up with a big smile on his face that drops into an awkward tight grimace.

“Oh, hey, Rin,” he greets as his ex-something, they had never actual had a label, approaches the register “N-need a donut?”

Rin smiles and leans on the counter, “Long time no see, Wen Junhui. You haven’t returned my call.”

Jun looks out into the dining room as if some random patron can save him from the awkward situation but alas, none jump to their feet. “You didn’t leave me a message…”

He chuckles nervously and presses his finger to the counter, “You know…beeeeeep.”

She blinks long and hard, attempting to squash her temper. “I see you’ve grown so much,” she sighs to herself and then schools a smile onto her pretty face, “Anyway, we should go out, catch up over dinner…how’s tomorrow for you?”

“Uhhh, don’t you have like a guy, like a boy-,” he’s kind of old, “Man, uh, friend?”

Rin shifts uncomfortably, “David isn’t the jealous type and besides,” she leans in further and reaches for Jun’s arm, “I’ve missed you.”

“Hey, did you call for me?” you say suddenly and Jun turns to find you coming up to his side, pulling his arm out of reach with wide eyes and a sigh of relief. Rin retracts her hand and glances down at your fingers ghosting over Jun’s, narrowing her eyes.

She points her manicured finger in accusation. “Are you two together or something?”

“Yes,” you say before Jun has a chance to answer and his eyes grow wider if possible, not leaving your face for one second as you glare at Rin across the counter.

Rin laughs and you smile. “Jun, go check on the security cameras in the office.”

He stares at the space above your head for a moment then looks back down with furrowed brows, “Wait, those don’t wo-”

“Right, they don’t work,” you drawl in a flat tone, still staring at Rin who seems to be losing a bit of steam, “Must have forgot. Go sweep.”

“But-”

“Junhui,” You look at him with a tight smile, “Go sweep.”

He wearily shuffles away and you set your eyes back on Rin. “What are you doing here?”

“Look,” she flips her long hair over her shoulder condescendingly, as if she’s about to impart you with real-world wisdom, “Girl to girl, he’s hot and a great lay, but save yourself the trouble. He’s a man child who cares more about his little dolls and made up characters than he ever will about you.”

“Oh? Is that why you were here trying to ask him out again?”

Rin’s mouth falls open slightly and she goes to speak but you beat her to it.

“Because your super mature, rich, sugar daddy boyfriend is what? Incredibly sad in the sack?” you grit your teeth, frowning in faux-sympathy, “Probably only talks about golf and sailing and 401ks, huh? Lasts like 10 minutes and grunts a lot, hmm? You must be so bored.”

Rin gets angry but she doesn’t yell, too aware of the other people within earshot if she were to raise her voice. “At least he pays attention to me and cares about things other than movies and video games! Dating Jun was like babysitting an overgrown teenager!”

You place both hands on either side of the register, “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re a boring, vapid bitch and you have nothing in common with Jun - who is incredibly thoughtful and intuitive with me by the way,” you narrow your eyes and whisper, “Sounds like that was a you problem - and now you’re here thinking you can walk right in and have him back? As if what? He was just waiting for you to call him back to your side? Like a dog?”

She opens her mouth to argue and you hold up a hand, “Listen, Rin, you’re a smart girl, so I know you’ll understand when I tell you that if you attempt to disrespect Jun like this, ever again, I will shove a fistful of crushed peanuts so far down your throat that pretty face will swell up before you reach the door.”

Rin gasps in horror and you tilt your head, “What? You thought Jun wasn’t listening when you mentioned your deathly serious allergy the first time you met? Ah, it seems he does pay attention - not that you cared enough to notice even though he refused peanut butter everything, which he loves, from the moment he met you, always asked if things were made with peanut oil, etcetera, god forbid he hurt you in some way for being exposed himself.”

She stutters, “I…I d-didn’t know-”

“Of course you didn’t,” you come around the counter and Rin backs toward the door the closer you get, “Now get the fuck out of my building before I-”

The words fall out in a shriek of surprise as Jun runs up behind you, loops an arm around your middle and picks you up, quickly carrying you back behind the counter, “Bye Rin!” he says hastily, “You probably shouldn’t come back…like ever!”

A few customers stare at Rin who quickly disappears through the doors and to you being physically escorted around the counter and out of sight before they go back to their treats. It’s too late for them to make it their business it seems. 

Jun doesn’t put you down until you’re in the tiny back office and once he does you cross your arms, “What was that for?! I was handling it.”

He flashes a smile and then rushes forward to kiss you, clumsily running your back into an old filing cabinet but his arms are there to cushion the blow and you’re too busy thinking about how soft his lips are to complain about anything at the moment anyhow. Eventually one hand cradles the back of your head and he eases back, giggling at your closed lids. “Thank you for sticking up for me,” he says quietly and you pop your eyes open, looking back at him.

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, eyes caught on the sincere smile he offers.

Jun lets out a little puff of amusement. “So, we’re together?”

You groan, pushing him back though he clings onto you, unwillingly to let you get away so easily, “I was just saying that to make her leave you alone. I told you we’re not dating.”

He furrows his brows teasingly, “Seriously? I put on the sexy maid costume for you and we had an hour long discussion about pegging. We’re totally dating.”

Laughter knots your stomach and you try to wiggle out of his long arms, “You liked it more than I did, rat boy! Let me go!”

“No!” he struggles to hold his grip on your squirming and twisting, “You’re so cute and I wanna hold you!”

“We’re working!” you hiccup after giggling so hard, “Unhand me you cheeseball!”

Jun suddenly lets you go but catches your hand, grinning like a fool. “Say ‘Jun is my cool, hot boyfriend that I’m totally in love with’ and I’ll let you go.”

You mumble a bunch of words under your breath and tug your arm to no avail, “Wen Junhui, loser extraordinaire, is sort of good looking-”

“And?” Jun raises his chin, eyes peering down patiently.

“- And maybe, is my friend boy, that I l-”

“Love,” he fills in, nodding as he feeds you words.

You fake gag, “Love…in a totally platonic way-”

Jun gasps and your eyes light up, “Liar!” he laughs, “Say it!”

You’re such a liar and you both know it. It’s been weeks now that you’ve practically been attached at the hip - going out, staying in, watching movies, playing games, talking and laughing all the time. Not to mention you’re in his apartment in a t-shirt and underwear more often than you’re in your own these days.

“Having a boyfriend is really going to kill my game with the ladies but I guess if I have to have one, you’re the best option and maybe I do love you just a little. Like the smallest amount. A crumb from the world’s tiniest cookie. Microscopic. I barely like you.”

Jun beams, “Good enough for me,” he loosens his grip and you walk back up the the front to check on things. You’ve both been gone a little too long.

“Since you’re my girlfriend can I call you cute names? Baby, sweetheart, honey, angel,” he offers and you look over your shoulder with a grimace, “Lover, goddess, beloved mistress of the night…”

“Jun…those are terrible and I'm going to drown you in strawberry fro-yo if you do not shut up or if anyone on this god forsaken earth ever hears you call me those things out loud.”

“Yes, my beautiful rat queen. Whatever you wish,” he bows comically and you flap your hand loose from his grip, running back up to the register but Jun is never more than three feet behind you. “Hey, you’re still coming home with me right?”

You ignore him, aimlessly poking at the screen and he leans beside you, still whispering discreetly, “Mingyu finally let me borrow his guitar hero because I told him it’s your favorite…and it’s the original…”

You finally look up at him and he grins, knowing he’s got you.

“Jun is my cool, hot boyfriend that I’m totally in love with,” you murmur and then you look out into the dining room finding only one customer left in the building, pointing him out to Jun, “The sooner he leaves the sooner we get to go play. You know what to do.”

Jun stretches and cracks his knuckles, “I’m about to make this man so uncomfortable.”

“I have faith in you,” you pat his shoulder, chuckling, “Make me proud, dummy.”

He tries kissing you before he walks away but his lips meet the palm of your hand.

“Sorry, I only kiss rat boys who can beat me in guitar hero, you’ll have to wait.”

He walks and then stops, looking very serious and contemplative, “Ok but you can’t play it with Mingyu or Woozi then because they’re like really good and you can only kiss me.”

“I’m not kissing anyone unless you get us out of here.”

“Right,” he focuses his gaze on the poor soul in the corner of the dining room and grins, “Be ready to leave in ten minutes,” and then he’s moving and you’re left giggling behind the counter.

Yeah, he’s still kind of a loser but he’s your loser now and that somehow just feels right. 

You know what else feels right?

Giving Jun that overdue wedgie the second you clock out and listening to him complain all the way home that you’re an actual super villain for waiting months for him to let his guard down just to turn around and desecrate his honor in the Yo-Nuts parking lot. All while holding your hand in the car.

Jun is probably right. You two are perfect for each other. 

Thanks for reading! 

SVT M.List | Main M.List

→ Please do NOT copy, repost, or translate, any of my works here on tumblr or on any other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, Milfgyuu, 2019. ©️

#caratwritersclub #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #ksmutclub #svt fanfic #jun fanfic #wen junhui fanfic #junhui fanfic #seventeen fanfic #svt smut #svt oneshot #jun oneshot #jun smut #jun x reader #svt x reader #lana writes #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #kpop oneshot

[alevicke]

Request: SFW, platonic, TADC (headcanons)

-Reader is a 15-17 year old mime who doesn't speak, and instead communicates through emotes and sign language. What would their relationship with the TADC characters be like?

-I'm not sure how many characters you feel comfortable writing for at the same time, but if you don't want to write headcanons for each character, you can just write for Ragatha and Jax, since they're your favourites (I believe?)

Thank you in advance and sorry if I broke any rules

Aah I completely forgot to write I don't really enjoy writing for minors as readers! I should have specified that I didn't want to ban minors completely bc I like writing sometimes about canon characters as parents. My bad ;^; I'll try my best anyways, thanks for requesting!

TADC x Mime!Minor!Reader (Platonic)

(Ragatha, Gangle and Jax)

Ragatha:

Out of the three of them, she's probably the most protective. Being the oldest one she's also the most motherly one.

She's most of the times more like a mother than a friend. She sees you like a young one to protect the best as possible in that situation

She feels is completely unfair and disgusting that you ended up there. You had your whole life ahead and now were trapped (she had her whole life ahead as well but she is way more pissed off it happened to you even being a minor)

She loves seeing your mime tricks! She's often clapping at them and trying to guess what you're doing, like a fun game you both enjoy together.

You can feel the protection under her wing. Jax is not usually too much around you when she's by your side. And you're probably the only one who have heard an apologize from him after Ragatha broke the chancla in his back (that's my queen, sorry)

You didn't think it was possible but you could see his back completely red. Virtual world is so cool and your protector is the best

Ragatha is really sweet and caring and if you want to show her new mime movements you have been improvising she would leave everything just to be by your side seeing what they are.

She's also well awared that you're about to become an adult (when getting close to 17) and while that's a whole process she still want to be there to let you know she'll be by your side for any doubts, but luckily, most of the doubts probably were in your teen years. And that she won't stop caring for you just because you grow, she'll still see you as her little mime.

Luckily, Jax nor Zooble would be flirting with you so there is no people she gotta keep an eye on

Gangle

Gangle finds you more like a good friend. Someone she trusts to spend some nice chilling time. She likes that you're usually pretty quiet since she gets overwhelmed quite easily. And she already has enough dealing with Kingers screams to be honest

She likes all the mime tricks you have and just as Ragatha sometimes she tries to guess what are the movements you're doing. Other times, though, she would like you to teach her how to properly do it and appear that she is in a box

Despite being all laces is not that hard to teach her. She tries her best listening to you (She's actually scared you could think she's stupid for not understanding your explanations)

Gangle is pretty silly and nice, hanging with her is pretty easy because most of the times the words aren't even needed. She just likes to hang with someone and not be alone. Someone who won't be pushing her or breaking her mask

Or won't be clipping through time and space

Gangle often likes to sit next to you and come up with new ideas for new movements with you. It's something you both do sometimes to spend the time.

She offered to help you as an asset in the shows. Sure, the whole point of a mime is doing tricks and simulating invisible things are there, but let her be, she wants to have some fun in the twisted circus and have a silly show by your side

Jax

I'm sorry but it doesn't matter if you're 15 or 17, or even 9. This guy is still slapping your nape whenever you pass next to him

It doesn't matter what you do or what you say, to him, you're a kiddo he is going to annoy (until Ragathas appear). He's just being an asshole to absolutely everyone, really, nothing personal

He likes to annoy you a lot about being a mime. Sometimes he grabs the hat if you have one and throws it around away from you so you can't pick it up and other times he will imitate you and make fun of you

If you're making like you're trapped in a box? He'd do like he gets in the box and kicks you out of it

One time at the beginning you thought he was being nice doing a little mime act with you showing you something he had hidden in his hands and it turned out to be a boxing glove directly to your face. Not as big as the ones seen in the pilot episode but still fairly big and annoying

The first time Ragatha punished him for being so annoying with you, he spent a few days complaining being a whiny baby about not being able to do it. So he tries methods less visible like throwing you peas during the foods

Still, doesn't mean he would leave you out if you were in danger. Almost everyone has a feeling of protecting you if something bad happens so you can be sure that despite how annoying and a thorn in the ass he can be, he would still protect you and help if something ever happened

#vickart #tadc jax #jax tadc #jax #the amazing digital circus #jax the amazing digital circus #tadc x reader #ragatha x reader #gangle x reader #jax x reader #tadc jax x reader #tadc ragatha #tadc gangle

[puphyo]

apologies for how long this took, i had a whole bunch of things going on and one helluva writer’s block episode that i’m still recovering from.

there is a cw for swearing (one single word) and negative language but otherwise that’s it i believe :)

the drive to tzu’s old apartment isn’t a very long one, it’s pretty close to where nayeon works. mina pulls up into a guest parking zone, putting the car in park before she looks over to tzuyu in the passenger seat. “do you want me to come up with you?”

tzuyu seems to think for a moment, hands bunching up the fabric of the sweatpants she’d borrowed from jihyo as she thinks. “yes please. but, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, i think it’ll be okay.”

mina nods, reaching a hand out to one of tzuyu’s intertwining their fingers before lifting the hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “i’ll come up with you. it might help to have two people collecting your things.”

“i don’t have that much stuff,” tzuyu whispered, her voice small.

mina nodded, and reached to take tzu’s seatbelt off. “are you ready?”

tzuyu nodded, jerkily, clenching her hands repeatedly. mina unbuckled tzu’s seatbelt, guiding it to go back to its resting place before taking her own off, then turning the key to the car to turn it off and taking the key from the ignition. tzuyu opened her door first, mina following shortly after, then letting tzuyu guide her to the entrance of the apartment building, then to the stairs. after about three flights, tzuyu turns down a hallway, knocking on the third door on the right, waiting for the door to be answered.

sure enough, a person no taller than mina opened the door and made a noise of disgust seeing tzuyu. “you here to get your shit now?”

tzuyu nodded, not saying anything in response, reaching for mina’s hand who had stepped to the side, not wanting to be there if tzuyu didn’t want her to be. “awe, how cute. brought yourself an actual adult to help out since you’re nothing but a child.” the person told tzuyu, forcing tzuyu to shove her way in, hitting the shoulder of the other person fairly hard, though not initiating any other contact, not even looking back at them. mina followed with a small nod, immediately off-put by the feeling the apartment contained.

it wasn’t much, a small two bedroom apartment, the living room changed into a makeshift bedroom, and tzuyu’s seemed to be the smaller of the actual bedrooms, and true to her word, tzuyu didn’t have much in there. barely anything was on the walls, a shoddy old dresser, seemingly on its last legs was the only other furniture item in the room, other than the bed tzuyu’d slept on, though it was without a bed frame, just a single mattress on the floor, two pillows and three cheap fleece blankets to cover herself with at nights.

a cardboard box acted as tzu’s nightstand, where a cell phone, still plugged into the charger sat, once tzu spied her phone was okay, she let out a sigh of relief and then grabbed two bags, a duffle bag and a backpack, opening the drawers of the dresser and taking the clothes out of it, putting them in the duffel bag.

“tzuyu?” mina asked, moving to sit next to her on the floor. “how do you want me to help you?”

tzuyu’s hands shook as she hurriedly shoved her belongings haphazardly into the bag, eyes bubbled up with tears. “can…can you get my bedding and the stuff under the box, box please?”

mina nodded, her heart aching for tzuyu. she could see the pain and vulnerability in her eyes, and it made her want to wrap tzuyu up in her arms and protect her from the world. but she knew she couldn't do that. instead, she pushed aside her own emotions and focused on being a steady presence for tzuyu.

"of course," mina replied softly, moving towards the makeshift nightstand. she lifted the box carefully, revealing a few scattered photographs and a worn journal underneath. mina hesitated for a moment before picking up the journal, deciding to leave the photographs undisturbed for now.

tzuyu continued to stuff clothes into the duffel bag, her hands trembling with each movement. mina watched her for a moment before gently placing a hand on tzuyu’s knee. "hey," she said softly, trying to catch tzuyu’s gaze. "you’re doing great, okay? take your time. we don't have to rush."

tzuyu glanced up, tears streaming down her face. She let out a shaky breath and nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "thank you, mina."

mina gave tzuyu’s knee a reassuring squeeze before moving to gather the bedding. as she folded the blankets and sheets, she couldn't help but notice the faded stains on them. she wondered what kind of nights tzuyu had spent on this mattress, wrapped in these worn-out covers. but she knew better than to ask just yet.

once the bedding was neatly folded, mina stood up and crossed the room to where tzuyu was still sorting through her clothes. she crouched down beside her and placed a gentle hand on her back. "do you want me to pack your clothes for you?"

tzuyu’s shoulders slumped, exhaustion taking over her features as she handed the duffel bag to Mina. "thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "i just... i don't know what to do anymore."

mina’s heart ached at Tzuyu's words, feeling a surge of protectiveness towards her. she knew she couldn't fix everything for tzuyu, but she could offer support and be there for her in whatever way she needed.

"you don't have to figure it all out right now," mina said softly, her voice filled with empathy. "just focus on getting through one step at a time. we’ll figure out the rest together."

tzuyu nodded, a glimmer of gratitude shining in her teary eyes. together, they continued packing tzuyu’s belongings, bringing order to the chaotic room. as they worked, mina couldn't help but notice how strong tzuyu was, despite everything she had been through.

once everything was packed, mina zipped up the duffel bag and stood up, offering tzuyu a hand to help her up as well. tzuyu took it gratefully, her grip tight as she rose to her feet. mina could feel the weight of everything that tzuyu had endured, the pain and the struggle, but also the resilience and determination that burned within her.

"we’re almost done," mina said, trying to inject a hint of encouragement into her voice. "just a few more things to take care of."

tzuyu nodded, wiping away the tears that still clung to her cheeks. She glanced around the room one last time, as if bidding farewell to a chapter of her life. then, with newfound resolve, she turned towards mina.

"let’s go," tzuyu said, her voice steadier than before. "i don't want to stay here-stay here any longer."

mina smiled softly, proud of tzuyu’s courage and determination. she could see the fire in tzuyu’s eyes, the spark of a fresh start. together, they walked out of the small, dingy apartment, leaving behind the hardships and pain that had plagued tzuyu for far too long.

As they made their way down the hallway and towards the exit, mina couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over her. she knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter for tzuyu, and she was grateful to be a part of it.

they stepped out into the cool evening air, breathing in deeply as they left the heavy atmosphere of the apartment building behind. the city lights twinkled in the distance, a reminder that there was still beauty in the world beyond their past struggles.

tzuyu turned to mina, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "where do we go now?" she asked, her voice filled with both uncertainty and excitement. mina motioned towards the car, then dug through her pockets, finding the key to open the doors and unlocking them with the remote, guiding tzuyu to the back of the car to put the backpack and duffel bag away.

once both settled in and got their seatbelts done up, mina turned and looked to tzuyu, lifting a hand to rest against tzuyu’s cheek and turn her face to meet mina’s. tzuyu’s eyes looked anywhere but at mina, but she couldn’t care, “what would you think if i took you to get you some things for staying with me? and maybe a treat by the end of it?”

#sfw #twice agere #twice #sfw regression #sfw interaction only #non rq #forever home au #mina #tzuyu

[writtenjewels]

Night Watch part 2

Part One

When Wilson told him there would be someone studying during the night shift, Jason pictured some kid. He was caught off-guard by the presence of a full-grown man. He had looked up on Jason's approach. Jason's heart gave a little skip in his chest. He was surprised, that was all. Sure, the guy had a fine square jawline and he had dark eyes pretty enough to be jewels, but so what?

“Well,” Jason spoke up once Wilson left them alone. “Good night.” He turned and made it a few paces before Salim called him back.

“I thought we could talk,” Salim suggested. “We'll be seeing a lot of each other, after all.”

There were no set rules against it. Clearly Wilson had a friendly relationship with the guy. Jason never had a problem with chatting in his other jobs. Still, the idea of talking to Salim made him squirm a little. Wasn't this guy here to study? Besides, it was Jason's first night, and he should acquaint himself with the job rather than waste time.

“I got work,” he grunted. He tugged the brim of his hat down over his eyes and walked off. This time Salim didn't stop him.

It took Jason walking half the perimeter of the building before he shook off the weird nerves. He was going to make a pretty shit watchman if his first encounter with a stranger unsettled him this much. He continued his circuit, mentally talking himself out of his funk. The only thing to do was talk to Salim and settle the awkwardness. The guy was still at the table, reading and taking notes.

“Hey,” Jason greeted. Salim looked up and gave him a smile. His whole face seemed to warm up from the expression. “Uh.” Jason cleared his throat and shook his head to clear it. “I'm Jason,” he introduced.

“I remember,” Salim assured him, looking amused. “Wilson introduced us about half an hour ago.”

“You don't gotta be a smart-ass,” Jason complained with a scowl.

“My apologies. It's a pleasure meeting you, Jason. My name's Salim.” He held out his hand and Jason shook it. Jason couldn't help noticing the strong, calloused grip. He let the hand drop and fidgeted with his cap.

“So what are you studyin'?” Jason asked.

“Ancient history, culture, music.” Salim's face grew brighter as he spoke. “I tried to teach my son that knowledge is never a waste of time. There is always something to learn, some way you can understand the world around you.” Jason smiled with him. The guy's enthusiasm was infectious.

“I'd better leave you to it, then.”

“You don't have to. That is,” Salim clarified, “I would be interested in hearing your thoughts.”

“I donno about that.” Jason fidgeted with his cap again. “I get all the history I need from cable TV.” Salim gave him a disgusted look and snorted.

“Typical.” Jason fought the amused smile and failed. Salim caught it, his face going wide. “Oh, you were messing with me.”

“All those books and you're still pretty ignorant,” Jason teased. The guy teased him first, so he figured a turn-around was deserved. “This is why I prefer the movie,” Jason added, and felt a little pleased with himself that he made Salim laugh.

“On second thought,” Salim mused, eyes sparkling, “maybe it is better for you 'leave me to it.' I'm finding it hard to focus.”

“You started it,” Jason reminded him, though amiably stepped back to give Salim space.

That wasn't so bad. Once he broke the ice, it was easy talking to Salim. There was something really charming about the guy. Night watch might not be too bad with him around.

#jason/salim #jalim #jason x salim #salim othman #jason kolchek x salim othman #jason kolchek #house of ashes

[akiizayoi4869]

The Search: A story about abuse, abuse apologism, and ableism.

So as you guys all know, I spent my night reading The Search for the second time, and much like the first time I read it last year, I wasn't impressed. At all. It gives us a detailed backstory about Ursa, and what her life was like before and after she married Ozai. To make a long story short, she was forced into an abusive marriage. And the comic goes out of its way to show us just how abusive it was, and that this was a bad thing.

These panels show us an abusive marriage, and how that was bad. The panel that shows they're wedding night shows a prelude of what will be an abusive marriage. Ozai also happens to be abusive to his children.

This is verbal abuse, not just to Zuko but to Azula as well(even though the writers clearly don't see her as an abuse victim) and it's framed as a bad thing. And it is. No child should have to go through this. As far as all of this goes, Yang did a good job with depicting Ozai as an abusive person, and how it had a negative effect on his family.

Now let's move on to the abuse apologism and ableism that this comic had when it comes to Azula.

Every time Azula has an outburst, she's immediately attacked because she's seen as dangerous, even though the characters should have used their damn brains and asked her who was she seeing and what was she talking about, rather than constantly attacking her. It's heavily implied that she was abused at the asylum, and yet this is framed and written as a good thing by Yang, simply because she was mean to people, fought on the wrong side of the war, and dared to be better than her brother. She's forced into a straight jacket that she wears 24/7, which realistically she shouldn't have even been able to MOVE after being in that thing for so long, and she gets chi blocked for no reason at all. OZAI has better imprisonment conditions than she did, when he was the one who nearly committed genocide in the earth kingdom. When he was the one who had no intention of stopping the war. When he was the one gave Zuko his scar, who had his father killed. That same person is treated better than Azula. And for what? Because he's not "crazy" like she is? The way how this whole thing is framed when it came to Azula makes it seem like Yang was pretty much saying that she deserved the abuse that she suffered in the asylum, that she deserved to be constantly attacked by everyone, as a consequence for her actions during the war. Even though she didn't do anything worse than what Zuko, Iroh, Zhao, and Ozai did. And yet she's the only one getting treated like this.

How many times do we have to see this shit in media? See the woman who was abused by a male who was dominant in her life be treated horribly because of the way she turned out as a result of said abuse? To have the people who supposedly love her, BLAME her for the abuse that she suffered. How many woman in reality go through this bs? And yet Yang and the other writers thought that this shit was ok to put in a book for a young audience? That's the wrong kind of message to be sending. Yang makes this message ten times worse by doubling down on it by making Azula "insane and nutty", which he uses to justify the treatment that she gets. And it's disgusting. The stigma surrounding mental health is already bad enough in this society, we shouldn't have to see it in a book that's meant for kids.

So in conclusion, fuck this book. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

#atla #azula #zuko #ozai #ursa #akiizayoi4869 meta #fuck the search #anti Yang #fuck the writers #The Search meta

[danmei-confessions]

Adding my two cents as a survivor of multiple forms of abuse (including CSA): I *really hate* how this fandom acts about abuse narratives-- demonizing one abuse survivor vs another, when in reality both of them have done fucked up things as a result of their trauma (it's what makes both LBG and SJ so compelling to me personally!!). I *especially* hate how people seem to basically "tier" abuse, with SA being the "worst trauma" over any other kind and acting as though SJ is more worthy of... pity? idk because of implied CSA (which... that in itself is fanon and up for interpretation... I personally think so, but in a somewhat different way than the usual interpretation but that isn't important) than LBG is... that might not be peoples' intent, but physical vs sexual abuse shouldn't be a "this is worse than that" sort of thing since different traumas affect different people differently, and it's really really uncomfortable to see people make that kind of assumption and talk about very real traumas that very real people face the way they do.

Anyway, I feel like a lot of the debates are due to piss-poor reading comprehension across the fandom. People point out that SJ abused LBH because *a lot of times people will actually act like he didn't.* Things like saying there was medicine in the tea, or that he didn't know/approve of the fake manual... even claims that "that was just the way things were and corporal punishment was normal." Which... is pretty gross tbh.

I like SJ's character as a person who was hurt who then turned around and took that out on others. He's one of my favorite characters because he shows that less inspiration-porn, poor-meow-meow side of a trauma survivor. It's realistic in a very gritty, bitter sort of way. That shit can fuck people up! I relate to him for so many reasons, but that doesn't mean I'm going to deny what he ended up doing by his own agency later. The cycle of abuse is a real danger, and SVSSS actually portrays that really well, which is why I like the book so much!

Idk. SJ stans claim they "don't excuse his abuse" but that's absolutely not true bc I've had people come on my posts and fics doing just that. It's like they miss the point of the character-- not completely scum, but both scum and pitiful... Some people seem to go too far in the defense.

Also, if you're someone who doesn't deny that SJ abused LBH, then *this isn't about you.* It's about the people who do. People in this fandom need to realize that both SJ and LBG are abusers, and that that's the POINT OF THE WHOLE THING, and that neither of them should be excused for it!! But the source of it should still be recognized in both cases!! And I feel that a lot of people don't like to admit that SJ, despite his trauma, *was* the cause of a lot of LBH's trauma. And me saying this ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT ERASE HIS OWN TRAUMA OMG but like... those SJ fans are already well aware of SJ's trauma and LBH's crimes so it doesn't really need to be mentioned??

LBG and SJ were BOTH TRAUMA SURVIVORS. Neither "Worse" than the other because uhhh clearly they were both incredibly traumatized because of the way they ended up turning out. Stop ranking trauma, that's disgusting.

But BOTH OF THEM WERE ALSO ABUSERS.

That. Is. The. POINT. OF. THEIR. STORY!!!!

This is at ANYONE who denies either the victim or the abuser status of either of these characters: fucking stop it. You might not like to hear it, but no matter how traumatized SJ was, the way he treated LBH was still abusive and if you excuse him for it then you're participating in abuse apologism. The same goes for LBG (and any other character whose actions are abusive).

I know we get attached to our favorite characters for various reasons, but when it actually starts veering into abuse apologism IN ANY FORM, that makes me feel really sick and uncomfortable with the way people talk about things that *actually happen to people irl.*

SVSSS fandom, you need to fucking stop.

.

#danmei confessions #svsss #shen jiu #luo bingge #discourse #salty pickle jar