#h writes

[obscurecurse]

you guys i need a kimchay catfish au so bad. i don't know wtf my problem is. but for your considerationnnnnn:

Concept A - Kim gets catfished, obviously. Playing off the popular headcanon that Kim is a little out of touch and bad with technology, a catfish just starts sending Kim vague texts like, "it's been a long time. how are you?" Kim thinks it's Chay because he's in his feelings one night so he texts back like, "Chay? Is this you?" and the catfish (who can't believe that worked) replies, "yep it's me!" like Kim just walks right into it. And they talk for awhile and Kim thinks he's making amends, and he's so relieved that Chay is talking to him again, and eventually he runs into Chay and starts talking about something they'd texted about and Chay has no fucking idea what Kim is talking about. The angst. *chefs kiss* .

Concept B - "For a good time, call 000-000-0000 <3" Chay keeps writing WIꓘ's number in bathroom stalls for petty revenge. Kim can change his number easily, and he does. But Chay just asks Porsche to get his new number from Kinn (because Porsche is 100% down to help Chay make Kim squirm.) Kim has no idea who's doing it but his mafia brain gets activated so he texts one stranger back like, "Where did you get this number?" and they tell him the name of the bar. Kim starts casing the places where his number is written, intent on confronting this person. Every bar he goes to he crosses his number out with sharpie. But Chay just writes it again below. Eventually Kim writes, "WE NEED TO TALK. YOU HAVE MY NUMBER." Or maybe Kim catches Chay in the middle of rewriting it??? And now they are arguing in some gross bathroom at a bar. It's not the most romantic place to confess his love, but he's so overwhelmed that Chay is talking to him again. .

Concept C - Kim gets catfished but Chay's college roomate is the catfish, pretending to be Chay. Chay says he's over Kim but this roommate is tired of watching Chay mope around and avoid everyone who tries to flirt with him at parties. At the very least, they need to talk things out so Chay can move on... The roommate does not expect Kim to be so eager to reconcile. (The way Chay talked about him, the roommate thought he would be cold and disinterested.) Kim wants to meet so they can talk, and now this person will have to explain to an actual famous pop idol that they are not, in fact, Chay. The roommate thinks it's better to explain in person and say sorry so they agree to meet. Chay sees his roommate with Kim on campus and loses his cool. Kim is relieved Chay is there after all. Chaos ensues. Chay figures it out first he's like, "What the fuck is your problem?" And then he's mad at Kim, he's like "Why would I ever in a million years ask you to meet me at the tech center at a college library!? I thought you were a criminal mastermind! Do you even have a gun on you? What if it was someone trying to take you as a hostage?" (The roommate is quickly learning A LOT of new information about Chay's relationship with Kim.)

#Kimchay #H Writes #kimchay fanfic #in denial about kimchay being too esoteric to have an existing wealth of catfish AUs #prompts

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

I want to request an eddie fic where Jason finds out eddie has a crush on reader and maybe she's semi popular or a cheerleader. And jason calls reader over to where he's picking on eddie and says sonething like "hey. Have you heard the news? The freak has a crush on you" and she kisses eddie in front of everyone and confesses that she likes him too and jason is just stunned

Requests have resumed. You can submit yours here!

Currently writing for Eddie Munson. I write for a variety of reader inserts (male, female, gender neutral, readers of color too).

The more details you had to your request, the better it is for me. EX: “What about some fluff for Eddie after he’s had a long day?”

Feel free to look through my masterlist here!

Eddie Munson x Female Reader. 

CW: Some name calling/bullying. 

_____________________________

Eddie know he's being obvious. He should truly tattoo the truth on his forehead. But he tries to give the passing decency that he’s not this deep into the hook and line. Eddie tries to pretend he is not sinking. Whenever you pass him in the hallways, he tries hard not to follow you the entire length of it. 

This all started a year ago, when you moved into town moving in from the city. He’s not sure what caused the move though the town rumors are your mother begged for the change of scenery to stop a wandering eye of your father. But Eddie doesn’t buy into small town gossip. 

He doesn’t have to imagine the bullshit they say about him. He hears it every day and the last thing he wants is to stoop as long as them. So he didn’t think about what the reason what. He only thanked the gods that you did land here in Hawkins. You sat next to him on the first day of school, even asked him if he had a pencil you could borrow. 

Eddie cursed himself when he had to tell you no, but he waltzed over to Mrs. Bakers desk, batted his lashes and got one for you. You laughed at the way Eddie leaned into the edge of the desk, fingers twirling a pencil in the mug she had on her desk. When Eddie returned to you, pencil in hand, he gave you a small smile. “Secured just for you.”

And from the second he heard your laugh, Eddie was a goner. 

He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere--Eddie was supposed to graduate that year. You were supposed to just be the girl that Eddie had a crush on and that maybe flirted with if the heavens would be that gracious. But it’s just supposed to be a fleeting things. 

Now he’s year, repeating his senior year and the fleeting crush burns brighter in his gut every second he sees you. At lunch, if Eddie is behind you in the line, he leans in closer, asking what you think is best off the menu for today. You always laugh. “Let’s add a fruit to that skinny pale you call a lunch,” you tease back. 

It’s entirely obvious. 

So Jason Carver really doesn’t need to slide up behind him now on a Friday, which had been rather mundane, and start a scene. 

“Oh, please, not the freak flirting with you. You can tell him no, you know? If he doesn’t take a hint, let me show you how a real man should treat you and intervene,” Jason spits. 

You scoff and move your tray down the line. “So, Eddie, why don’t I ever see you at the games?” 

Jason had been trying to get with you every since you showed up, but he wasn’t your type. Or he was the type you’d go for at your old school, but Jason always felt like he was a predator, stalking you to seize a praise where Eddie also seemed to keep a distance. Sure you could tell he liked you but he never imposed. He inched in momentarily to make a joke and then just as quickly as you could blink your eyes, he was gone again in the distance. You couldn’t tell if it was just shyness or if Eddie was just like that as a person. But you enjoyed having a slower pace, you got to spend more time feeling Eddie out rather than jumping in immediately to things. 

Eddie turns the heated glare from Jason towards you. His heart nearly skips a beat when he remembers you’re in the cheerleading outfit, the skirt barely brushing the first half of your thighs and the tank exposing your midriff. He’ve forgone your sweater--one that Eddie had seen you wearing earlier. “Sports, well, sports aren’t really my thing. I’m much more into intellectual games.”

You giggle for just a moment and then Jason shoves into Eddie’s back. Eddie mindful of you in front, takes the loss of the milk carton to the floor between your feet and slips an arm around your waist to keep you from hitting the metal railing. Eddie does manage to break your sure fire hip bruise and even keeps your tray up on the railing in the process too. 

“Watch it freak!” Jason hisses. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks you. 

You nod, one hand subconsciously reaching for the chain on his jeans. You reach for it to keep you steady and also because it’s pressing into your thigh and the chill of the building has settled into the metal as well. It almost stings against your skin. “Yeah, you?”

“Peachy,” Eddie smiles down at you. 

“News flash, freak, you really need to watch where you’re going. You’re pathetic with your gawking,” Jason presses on. 

Eddie realizes now Jason is just trying to pick a fight. As the new school year crept on, it felt more obvious to Eddie too that maybe you liked him back. But he still never pushed it. He’d be out of here soon enough. It would never work with him. It would always be fleeting. But now, as Jason seethes down Eddie’s back, Eddie wonders if Jason’s mood is less at the fact that you don’t like Jason and more ten times more pissy because it’s Eddie who you actually like back. 

Eddie’s learned in his years that sometimes not giving in is much more effective. So once Eddie is sure you’re stable, he nods on. “Why don’t you pick a fruit I’ll add to the skinny pale I call a lunch box?”

Your smile dances over your lips. “I’d say sun, because you’re so pale but why don’t we get some potassium in you today.”

“Potassium sounds good to me.”

“And,” you add on, the hand on his chain, trailing up to his neck. Eddie eyes widen and he nearly rears back out of your grasp, but you push up and capture his lips just fast enough to keep him from totally pull away from him. Eddie whimpers into your mouth--as embarrassing as it is, but it is his first kiss that is not game induced or alcohol riddled. It’s a real kiss.

So real it’s got his toes curling in his Reeboks. He feels like a child. The way he wants to whimper again because you’re still kissing him. The point would’ve been made with even just a simple peck. But you’re still holding onto the back of his head, you’re still pulling him even further into you. Eddie’s hands which had been hovering over your skin, dig in just a little on your waist and he tugs you into his body too. 

Your lips finally part, a little wet from the kiss. “And some vitamin kisses too,” you whisper. 

“Oh my god,” Eddie whispers. It is not the thing to say after a kiss. It’s not. And neither is, “I think I died.”

You snort at Eddie’s confession and the cross of his eyes as he buckles just a little in your hold. He catches his own weight but you get arms under his pits, laughing as you. “Eddie, get serious,” you laugh. 

He stands erect again. “Seriously--what was that?”

“I like you too, Eddie.”

It’s five words but Eddie swears they light his skin on fire. “Would-do-a date?” he stumbles out. 

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“Yes--if you want,” he adds on quickly. “Movies? Do you want to go to the movies?” He realizes now he didn’t properly get the question out as his brain is still lagging behind after the kiss. 

“I’d love to go to the movies. Tomorrow?”

Eddie nods. “Yes, sure. Uh, can I call you later after looking in the paper about the releases?”

“I would be disappointed otherwise. I’ll look too, yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

You reach for the fruit, which you know you’ve been standing in front of for far too long by the pursed lips of the lunch lady and hand Eddie the banana you’d teased about earlier. He laughs but takes it with a wink. When you look at Jason, he’s pushing out of the lunch line and heading for the side doors to th cafeteria. You’re not sure how much he saw, but you hope it was everything so he’ll finally get the hint. 

Eddie walks you to your table. He hovers for a moment unsure if it’s too much but the end he goes for a peck on your cheek and then flies over to the table he normally sits. You catch the wind of his run pushing his hair up and laugh as his friends greet him with enthusiasm, hands slapping on his back. 

Saturday can’t come quick enough. 

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #h writes #stranger things

[harringtons-cupid]

Joe Quinn x Best friend Fem!Reader

The Field With You -Based off this

☆彡 - Word count: 2.8K - Not proof read!

☆彡 -Warnings: 18+

Public//outdoor sex, fluff !!, unprotected sex, creampie, biting, grasping, female oral sex. Squirting, nickname use throughout !!

☆彡 - So if people enjoy this, I will be making it into a fanfic called Peaches....

☆彡 -Tagged: @choke-me-eddie @thefreakofhawkins86 @frickinmunson @dylanmunson @heroeddiemunson @eddiemunsonswitch @oo0lady-mad0oo @vecnuthy

DO NOT TAKE THIS TEXT MESSAGE IMAGE - If you would like one, please send me a request !!

[Feedback/reblogs are extremely meaningful. Please support your content creators]

|

| Masterlist | Peaches - 1 |

He had recently become popular in America and Mexico after the release of Stranger Things, he was travelling frequently which meant that you only saw him in videos and shows. Everything he was in, you watched. He always joked that you would be his N.O. 1 fan but you never realised he was right until now.

He had recently become popular in America and Mexico after the release of Stranger Things, he was travelling frequently which meant that you only saw him in videos and shows. Everything he was in, you watched. He always joked that you would be his N.O. 1 fan but you never realised he was right until now.

He had recently become popular in America and Mexico after the release of Stranger Things, he was travelling frequently which meant that you only saw him in videos and shows. Everything he was in, you watched. He always joked that you would be his N.O. 1 fan but you never realised he was right until now.

You missed him, your text messages were brief and cold as he rarely checked his phone. You reread old messages and smiled sadly at photos in hope that he would come home too you.

Before he gained intense fame, you never discussed the extent of your relationship but you definitely had feelings for him. After seeing every part of him whilst growing up, there was no doubt about it.

Your fingers hovered over the message box as you entered yours and Joes chat, you began typing. Rewriting your message three times before reading the final draft.

Hi Joe,

I saw that you were in the Americas! You looked fab, I hope you're having a fantastic time.

I miss you

Sighing to yourself as you bit your lip, pressing send. You stared at the blue message appearing in the chat, placing your phone down you decided to busy yourself.

It grew later and later, still no text from Joe. Deciding to give up, you got yourself cosy in bed and stuck on a film. As you drunk your hot chocolate, laughing along with the film your phone pinged. Excitedly you turned your eyes to the screen, feeling hesitant to answer the message. Waiting for a few moments, watching as the screen flashed more than once.

Your hands shaking as you checked your notifications, they were all from Joe. Squealing to yourself as you opened the messages.

Hey you!

Long time no speak! Ahaha

Yeah I’ve been across the pond for some time now, missing home though!

Missing you.

We should catch up when I’m back

His first message was a long one, a few others were scattered in reply to a photo he sent. You instantly began typing, waiting a few seconds before sending as to not to sound too eager.

Yes please! I would love to see you and hear of your travels, home isn’t much to be missed but I guess compared to the Americas it is.

You put your phone down and continued to watch the film until you fell asleep. The next morning, you awoke to 2 unread messages from Joe. Smiling giddily at your phone, you opened them.

Hey you,

So I’m heading back sooner than I thought!

I’m leaving in a few hours, I have a few interviews in Spain and the UK for the next month or so.

Rereading them with excitement, you typed your sleepy reply.

Oh wow! I can’t wait to see you!

If you fancied I could always meet you at the airport?

You fell back into the bed, smiling up at your ceiling as the light streamed through the curtain. Your phone hitting your collarbones roughly, causing you to wince in pain as it vibrated heavily.

Sounds good Peaches

Boarding plane now! See you soon

Peaches had been your childhood nickname, he met you when you were going through your latest obsession of eating peaches. You’d eat them from a can, fresh, cooked. If it was a peach you were going to eat it and many of them.

He had teased you consistently after the period faded into nothingness, at Christmas and birthdays you would receive a tin of peaches in your gift basket. It was your personal joke between the two of you, he hadn’t called it you in a long time.

Seeing it pop up on your screen made your heart flutter, Joes flight wouldn’t get in for another 11 hours. As you thought about him sitting alone on the transatlantic flight, your phone close to you as you felt yourself drift back to sleep.

When you awoke hours later startled until you finally got changed, it was late afternoon. As you stared out your bedroom window, the peach tree blowing against the wind. You smiled at the sight of it, thinking of Joe once more.

You sat at your desk all day, completing work as you counted down the hours until you would be in the presence of Joe. As the time grew closer and closer, you began to feel sick and giddy. Your mind imagined what he’d look like, it had been a few years since you had seen him in person. Every viewing of his videos led up to this moment.

As the clock on your desk hit 10:30 PM, you downed the rest of your coffee and began to get ready to drive. You changed your outfit a few times, not wanting to make it seem like you were dressing up for him but you were.

Your phone vibrated as you stood awkwardly in your kitchen as the remainder of your coffee stained your teeth.

Hey Peaches,

I've just reached London, now it's time to spend hours being frisked ahaha. See you so soon

Smiling at the message, your face hit the cool nights air. Joe's parents lived nearby to you, assuming that he would be staying with them you had no issue with picking him up from the airport.

Arriving at the airport, you parked your car. The time turned 11PM when you reached the NOTHING TO DECLARE area, anxiously waiting for Joe. A group of people rushed quickly towards their loved ones, you watched them as more people emptied out until your eyes met his.

Grinning giddily as you felt your legs picking up, your arms flung around his neck. Taking in his scent, he smelt of sweat and faded Cologne. His eyes were carried by dark bags, slightly blood shots as he smiled back at you.

''Hey Peaches'' his voice was croaky and soft as he held your arms gently between his fingers. Your nickname sounded better than you could remember.

"Hey Joe" you grinned, yawning slightly as the lights blared into your eyes. He giggled slightly, as you turned to walk side by side out into the cool night.

Joe fell asleep in the passenger seat as you drove back from the airport, nudging him slightly as you stopped the car outside his parents house.

''Where do you want to stay Joe?'' you asked quietly, he opened his eyes but you could see he was barely awake. Deciding not to push him, you drove back to yours.

Carrying him inside, his weight resting on your shoulder as he sleepily stumbled upstairs. He flopped onto the bed, his feet hanging off the bed in your spare room. You partially undressed him and struggled to cover him with the bed cover.

After collecting his luggage you went to bed. Waking up in the morning to the smell of fresh cooked food, your stomach rumbling as the smell filled your nostrils.

Following the smell with sleepy eyes, you entered the kitchen to see Joe dressed in a different style of clothing than last night. His tired eyes lit up at the sight of you, smiling as he plated up your food.

You spent the rest of the morning catching up with him, listening to his adventures across the globe. Admiring him from across the counter as he poured more coffee into his mug.

''You've become Americanised Joe?'' you laughed, your eyebrows raising at the coffee cup in his hand.

''Quite possibly, you'll have to revert me back'' he winked at you, your cheeks flushed red as he maintained eye contact with you.

''I think I'll have too'' All flustered you laughed heartly.

After discussing the further changes in both of your lives, you arranged to spend the day together. Joe informed you that he would plan the day, he always surprised you with the most interesting dates.

You continued to work whilst he dashed in and out of your house, after a while you grew more curious. He had been making a significant amount of noise in your kitchen, as you entered he jumped in shock. His hands grasping something behind him as he laughed sheepishly.

''Peaches, you scared me. So are you ready?'' he looked at you softly, the creaking of the basket diverted your eyes. Making you smirk at him.

You nodded throwing on your coat, he suggested you wait in the car as he rushed around in the kitchen for a few seconds longer. He directed you to the middle of nowhere, puzzling you even more.

The field was quiet, the London traffic was non-existent as you breathed in the fresh air. Joe was walking up the hill in front of you until you reached a gate, walking through it together. He placed it down on top of the hill, as he placed down the blanket you stared the view. You could see the whole of London.

''Wow Joe, how did you find this?'' as you turned to face Joe, he was lying on the blanket with an assortment of food neatly arranged next to him.

You gasped raising your hand to your face, kneeling down to join him on the blanket. You were in shock, he always managed to make things romantic and platonic without even trying.

Relaxing next to him, taking in the view around you. The sound of a bottle being open turned your attention towards Joe again. He had filled two glasses full, raising a glass in your direction with a smile.

Emptying the bottle between the two of you, you greedily ate the food he had prepared. Thanking him constantly with your mouth full of food, he laughed at you softly.

He leant closer to you, his breath was hitting neck. You felt yourself grow warmer, unsure if it was the alcohol or the fact that his hands were touching yours. Turning your head to face him, your cheeks touching as he closed the gap between you both.

It happened so quickly, his body was on yours. His arms resting either side of you as he kissed you, his lips were soft and wet. You had dreamed about this moment.

His hands were all over your body, pinching every bit of skin he could find. Moaning into your mouth as his crotch grinded against yours, your hands tangled in his hair. Pulling slightly on a few strands, you could feel his bulge growing bigger and bigger. Your hands slid down his body, gripping onto his ass cheeks as you moved his hips into yours.

“Oh Peaches. I have dreamt about this moment” your heart fluttered as his words groaned into your mouth.

His hands tugged on your jeans, ripping them off you and gasping as he stared at your thrilly pink underwear. He didn’t wait long before he ripped them off you, his head buried between them.

Your legs twitched as his tongue licked your clit, your head falling back into the blanket as your nails dig into his back. His hands gripped onto your thighs as he moaned into your clit, sucking it between his lips. His eyes met yours, your hips bucked against his face. Moaning loudly into the air, your eyes closed tightly as his tongue moved to your opening and slid inside you.

Gasping in both shock and excitement as his tongue moved in and out of you, your clit flicking between his fingers making your eyes roll back as your legs shook.

“Fuck Joe, you could make cum” you gasped loudly, your legs still shaking against the blanket as he lifted his head up.

“Not yet Peaches” he brought his face closer to yours, kissing you passionately as your hands unbuckled his jeans.

They fell to his ankles, your hand palmed the bulge that was throbbing in his boxers. He moaned into your mouth, feeling it twitch against your hand. Tugging on the elastic around his waist, letting them fall with his jeans.

His dick rubbed against your thigh, pre cum leaked out as he groaned loudly. Leaning his head back as he aligned himself up to your opening, maintaining eye contact with you as you felt him stretch you out.

Yelping at the feeling of his dick filling inside you, it had been a while since you slept with anyone. His fingers played with clit as he slowly slid in and out of you, kissing your lips softly you felt yourself loosen up. Moaning into his mouth as he began to thrust quicker, feeling you wetter around his dick.

“God, you feel so good” he mumbled against your lips, your clit slipping against his fingers. He sucked on his fingers, tasting you as he bent back to admire you.

Birds were twittering around you as he thrusted hard, gasping as his tip hit your sweet spot. Your hips bucking against his as you felt yourself getting closer to your orgasm.

“Joe, fuck. Joe. I’m cumming” your high pitched moans echoed across the field as you came, squirting hard over his dick. Coating the blanket and both your legs.

He giggled with you as you lied there together, his dick still twitching inside you. Slowly beginning to move again, his head tipping back in ecstasy, the noises of you as he moved made him moan.

His rings were gripping against your skin, causing goosebumps to appear. Staring into his beautiful brown eyes as he held your sides, feeling your skin as he thrusted harder and harder. His teeth were gritted together as your hips moved along with him, his eyes were filled with lush and desire.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum” he groaned through his teeth, your legs were tightly wrapped around his waist as he thrusted hard inside you.

You felt him cum himself inside you, your legs shaking from the grip you held around him. He kept moving even after he came, growling into your ear as his ringed hand touched your clit.

Twitching at the sensation, you gasped as he hit your soft spot again. Your eyes rolling back as he hit the same spots over and over until you felt yourself cum hard on his dick.

“Oh you’re so pretty Peaches” growling once more into the crook of your neck. It tickled slightly, you melted into his touch as you moaned into his ear.

You felt him cum hard inside you, the feeling of his dick twitching inside made you buck your hips encouraging him to continue. He stopped to look at you, clasping your face between his fingers and leant down to kiss you as he stayed inside you.

Feeling him go limp inside you made you giggle against his lips, his mouth moved down to your neck and collarbones rather than moaning you giggled as it tickled. He inhaled heavily and blew raspberries on your skin making you squeal.

"Joe!" squealing his name loudly into the empty field, your legs and arms trying to kick him off your body in delight.

He finally moved away from you, gazing down at you with a big grin on his face. Raising your eyebrows in curiosity as you pulled your clothes back on, you felt giddy from his infectious smile.

You lied on the blanket next to each other until it began to get dark, as you hurried back to the car. Rain droplets hit your hair, gasping in shock as it suddenly grew heavier and heavier.

His hand found his way to yours, squeezing it tightly as he leant closer to your ear.

"Hold on" he sounded giggly, his hand pulled you along with him as his legs picked up the pace.

Running through the wet field, mud was spraying up your jeans as you laughed loudly against the wind. The rain was coating your face, your hair was dripping as you turned to look at him. He was grinning alongside you, finally reaching the car he placed the drenched basket on the floor in the mud.

His wet and cold hands cupped your face, bringing your body closer to him as you felt his wet but warm lips meet yours. Kissing you softly as the rain didn't stop, it dripped between your faces making you laugh against his lips. Vibrating against his skin to keep warm, his body heat was attracting yours.

"Who'd have thought this would happen?" he smiled against your lips, his teeth hitting yours gently as he spoke.

"Maybe me" your cheeks flushed red from both the rain and the idea of admitting you had Joe on your mind.

"Oh yeah?'' he rested his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes with a big smile on his face.

"Yeah" feeling almost as giddy as him, you laughed against his face as you gazed into his eyes. His face was barely visible as the it had got pitch black in the middle of the nowhere but you felt happy.

#joe quinn #joesph quinn #joesph quinn x fem!reader #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn x y/n #joe quinn imagine #joe quinn texts #joe quinnedit #chocolate button eyes #joseph quinn fic #H writes #the field with you #peaches #Joseph quinn fanfic #Joseph quinn fic series

[black-quadrant]

Silence the Noise — joshneku [AO3]

Just like footsteps in sand or snow, the tracks of the Soul leave impressions of its existence where it goes. If it’s merely passing through, its indent is ephemeral, worn away by the tread of other Souls. But the more frequent the visits, the longer the stay, the deeper the impression. 

Neku’s impression on the Underground is indelible. The influence of his Imagination has reshaped an entire dimension. You’d never know it in the Realground. Shibuya continues to hum; Neku’s the only one who recognizes the song.

But where his Soul’s journey should have ended, it instead extended. Beyond Shibuya, for three years, in a city that fell to the fate of what his city could have. He’ll never forget walking the desiccated ground and breathing what felt like fumes only to realize that the smothering haze was the eternally floating ashes of remnant Souls. Alone with only his thoughts and the ripples of displaced voices echoing the memories of Shinjuku’s last hours. Days dragged on into months. By the second month he’d memorized the entire layout of Shinjuku. By the sixth he’d memorized every crack in the streets. By year one, he could understand every note in the haunted elegiac symphony.

And when he tuned it out (which he’d learned to) the absence of sound rang relentlessly through his ears like a permanent case of tinnitus. Suffice it to say, there's no such thing as empty silence when the dead can talk.

Although things have been restored, Shinjuku never forgot Neku’s Soul, and a part of his Soul still exists there, skipping like a scratched CD, reliving the anguish. It projects into his nightmares, fresh as if he was there again, running circles around the border of Shinjuku, pawing frantically at the invisible walls and clamping his hands over his ears, knowing it’s futile because the noise is everywhere, and it’s pulling his psyche apart at the seams. His strangled moans unable to really scream from the paralyzed vocal chords in this throat, carry over into the throes of a night terror. The sound is almost worse than a scream, and certainly more frightening.

Joshua’s voice is the only thing that brings him back time and again, whispering reassurance. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re mine.

It wasn't Joshua's characteristic possessiveness. Neku knows what that really meant: Nothing can touch you because I have you. He’s under the Composer’s protection, and he trusts that unequivocally.

Joshua holds him until Neku’s completely back in his body again. Neku never talks about it the next day. He wouldn’t know how to approach it and he doesn’t want to give it voice anyway. At least it stays in his dreams where he can cordon off his toxic subconscious from his everyday life.

Until the shock wears off and similar to the Inversion, the two collide and collapse.

It happens as breakdowns do: sudden and violent. Sometimes for no reason at all, just the leftover hypervigilance that carried over from the need to survive. And sometimes it’s triggered. Certain sounds snap mental cords. 

Neku flees into the bathroom driven by panic, the one place in the apartment where he could isolate himself without suspicion. The last thing he’s conscious of doing is peeling off his clothes and running the shower. From there experience is felt more than seen. His stomach churned with dizzying nausea. If only he holds perfectly still, he might resist the urge to retch. His chest clenches as his heartbeat slowly rose and the lump in his throat threatens to send him into hysterical sobbing finally wins over. He hopes the hand clamped over his mouth and the sound of the water does enough of a job to muffle it. He knows this feeling. Knows that the tears will be the last thing he’ll feel before he starts slipping away from himself. That’s almost worse than the buildup. It’s so hard to break out of this level of despair once he falls down the hole. It feels isolating, and hopeless. He’s alone. 

He’s alone. He’s alone again.

In his fading peripheral, something shifts. The curtain’s pulled, and someone enters and in the back of his mind he knows it can only be Joshua. His panic rises briefly again at being caught in the most vulnerable and raw state he could possibly be seen in, but within seconds he’s numb again, too numb to care.

There was no hesitation. No questions. Joshua simply climbs in, fully clothed, and scoops Neku into his arms. Again, he holds him, but this time they’re wide awake. There’s no cover of darkness to store excuses. He’d stopped crying but the lump strangled him again and he burst into another fit of sobbing. And as horrible as it feels, it’s a relief because he feels again. Joshua’s grip on him yanks him back up from the well he’d slipped into. It snaps him back and he’s so grateful because if it weren’t for Joshua, he would have stayed there. Alone and numb to the world around him. Just like when he was back in Shinjuku.

You’re here. You’re here.

Joshua sees him. All the way back to the very beginning, when he first identified him. Neku was seen even when he wanted to be avoided; he was seen when he thought no one was looking. Even after the games he’d been comfortable being alone. But those three years changed that.

Joshua reawakens the rest of his senses one by one, starting with touch by caressing his face and stroking his back and Neku can smell the cologne he got him on his last birthday. Joshua takes his chin in his hand and elevates it to meet his gaze.

“There you are,” he murmurs cheekily, leans in, and kisses him. Neku finally grabs the lifeline that is Joshua, pulls him tight to him and intensifies the kiss, occasionally broken by crying jags. The passion that grows hotter and heavier finally roots him in place and the rush of arousal solidifies his return.

Neku’s hands twist into Joshua’s shirt, realizing it’s waterlogged from his urgency to get to Neku, and that’s… profound. 

He peels back the damp blonde locks plastered to Joshua’s face and falls into laughter that’s still riding the waves of an epic breakdown. Joshua let him dissolve into the near hysterics of giggles with an amused expression on his face.

“A drowned rat of a guardian angel,” he finally manages to sputter as if it’s the most hilarious thing he’d ever said.

“I am no angel.” His wicked giggle and devil’s smile confirm it. “You’re my partner.” His voice quivers on that word, hefting its weight. “I accept every part of you.”

Joshua’s sincerity strikes lightning to his heart, and threatens the return of his tears.

“Josh?”

“Yes?”

“I’d choose you again, every time.”

It’s Joshua’s turn to be utterly thunderstruck, but they crash together in another half tender half wanton exchange of kisses that Joshua is grateful for, as they wash away his own tears before Neku can feel them.

#joshneku #joshua kiryu #neku sakuraba #twewy #twewy fanfic #tw ptsd #it was deeply satisfying and heartrenching unpacking his trauma #h writes

[pathologicalreid]

buried alive | S.R.

in which the BAU races against the clock to rescue you from a killer team

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

category: angsty

content warnings: kidnapping, case stuff (murder yk), suffocation, being buried alive, hospitals, blood, nausea, CPR, funerals, use of pet names, guns, and drugs. i think that's all.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: okay, so i've been reading so much spencer fanfic and i started writing it and yesterday i realized i have 20 fics written and they're doing no one any good just sitting on my computer. i decided to finally try posting one. i wrote fanfic in high school (so like seven years ago) but this is my first time writing for a TV show. i've also never really posted on tumblr so please bear with me while i try to figure out formatting. tysm for checking out my post.

part two part three

You walked into the conference room and dropped the file on the table, allowing it to land on the wood with a satisfying splat. “The unsub’s burying them alive,” you said, letting the rest of the team know the conclusion you had come to with the medical examiner. “The M.E. found metal shavings and satin threads under the nails of our last victim. The most common materials to make up a casket.”

“There’s no way someone could bury someone alive in a casket alone, we’ve got to be dealing with a team, at least three people,” Emily concluded, standing in front of the evidence board.

It was the team’s third day on a case in Nebraska, four women had been discovered dead. Asphyxiation by hypoxia. Carbon dioxide poisoning.

“Approximately 420 people in the United States die from accidental carbon dioxide poisoning every year,” Spencer said, grabbing the file off of the table and flipping through it, taking a few seconds to read through it.

Rossi looked over Reid’s shoulder to look at the file, “but there’s nothing accidental about these deaths. Who would have access to these caskets?”

You shook your head, placing a hand on the back of Spencer’s chair, “A funeral director seems most likely.” You looked around at the Omaha field office, different agents running about in an attempt to solve these very murders. “They’d have the most access, write it off as displays. It could be hard to match the materials since they’re so common.”

Hotch leaned over the table and pressed the conference phone, “What can I do you for?” Garcia’s bright voice rang through the speaker.

“Garcia, I need you to look into funeral homes within the comfort zone. Look for a director who’s ordered more caskets than they’ve had funerals. Find anything, nothing is too small.” He told her.

“Absolutely, I’ll hit you back when I’ve got something,” she said, hanging up the phone.

There ended up being four funeral homes in the unsub’s comfort zone, so the team split up. You went with two locals to a family-owned business, Garcia had sent you all of the files you’d need on the location. “It looks like the Varn family has been in the funeral business since the seventeenth century,” you read aloud to the two agents you were in the car with.

“Does it mean they’re more or less likely to be the killers if they’ve been in business for so long?” One of the agents asked you, a younger man named Harrison.

You pursed your lips as you continued to look over the files, “I’m not seeing any glaringly obvious stressors before the murders started, but over the years I’ve learned that’s no reason to write someone off. Psychopaths can be tipped off by the slightest thing. Things none of us would bat an eye at.”

Harrison nodded in the passenger seat, looking over to his partner Jimmy, “You and your guy sure do make an interesting pair.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, so thank you.” You and Spencer never explicitly stated to the field office that you were dating, but you walked into the precinct this morning holding hands. The agents must have drawn their own conclusions.

The younger officer cleared his throat, “It is a compliment, ma’am. The two of you are very impressive, your whole team is.”

You smiled, “Thank you, Harrison.”

The funeral home was run by a mother and her two sons, you held up your credentials for the mother when you knocked on the door. “Are you Sheila Varn?” You asked her, raising your eyebrows.

“Yes, what’s this about?” She inquired. She didn’t really look the part of a serial killer, a middle-aged woman who was running her family business.

Pocketing your credentials, you spoke, “We’re investigating the recent murders in the area and we were wondering if you had samples of the materials your caskets are made out of. Might we be able to come in?” You asked, adding a charming smile for effect.

Something flashed across her face before she returned your smile, opening the door and welcoming the three of you inside. “Hold on, let me get my boys up here. They’re so much more versed in the goings on of the town than I am,” she said, opening the door and calling for her sons. Felix and Joss came up the stairs from the basement, now they definitely had the physique to load dead women into caskets and bury them alive.

“Why don’t you two men come with me? I’ll get you those samples,” Sheila said, motioning for the agents you were with to follow her. To your horror, they followed her around the corner. “Felix, Joss, show this young lady what you know,” she instructed.

You took a deep breath before you looked up at the two men.

They were tall, maybe Spencer’s height, but they were built like wrestlers. There was no way you could physically subdue them on your own.

You passed out before you even had the chance to pull your gun.

Hotch was in full Unit Chief mode, Spencer watched from the corner of the room as he separated people into groups and gave them specific instructions. JJ and Morgan walked into the precinct, “What’s going on?” JJ asked looking around the room.

“The Varn Family is the team; two agents were found drugged on the side of the road and when we went to the funeral home Y/N was missing. Her badge, gun, and phone were all there, covered in blood,” Spencer said morosely, watching as Hotch finished giving orders and called the rest of the team over.

Your picture was up on the evidence board with the word “missing” written in bold letters beneath it. All of your belongings had been put into evidence for the time being. “Reid?” Hotch said his name, causing his head to snap up. “Are you okay to keep working?”

Spencer nodded affirmatively, “Yes.”

“Good, I need you to estimate how much time we have, I want a clock on these screens,” he ordered.

Morgan turned to Reid, “What do you think she has, kid?”

“The tidal volume for the average adult is point five at rest. That ends up being about six liters per minute. The average casket is approximately 886 liters in total volume and the average volume of the human body is 66 liters, leaving 820 liters to be filled with air for her to breathe. If she’s been gone for half an hour already, I’d estimate she has less than five hours of breathable air left.” Spencer explained, doing all of the math in his head while Emily put a timer on the screen next to the evidence board.

After a moment, Hotch continued, “Rossi, JJ, go back to the funeral home. Tear it apart, there has to be something there we haven’t found yet. The rest of us will split the list of cemeteries in the comfort zone and search them.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover, we don’t have anything else to go on?” Morgan asked, looking at the list of burial sites he had been handed.

Hotch looked at Spencer, but Spencer stayed silent. “That’s all we have right now,” Hotch responded, “hopefully we’ll come across leads as we go.”

It smelled like a garden around you. The memory reminded you of spring with your mother, tending to the vegetable garden.

The only difference was that instead of the sun beaming down on you, it was pitch black. The space surrounding you was so dark that you weren’t totally sure your eyes were open.

Your head was throbbing just above your right temple, and you observed your surroundings. Slowly, you lifted your arm until it hit a ceiling.

Not a ceiling. A lid. You were in a casket. You pressed one hand to your chest and tried to slow your breathing. Chances were that the casket was already buried beneath the surface of the earth, trying to open it could be catastrophic. You patted the pockets of your jeans, only to find your phone missing, so the team wouldn’t be able to trace the location.

Even if you had it, there likely wouldn’t be service six feet under.

Your team would find you. They had to find you.

They found Spencer, they found Emily, and they would find you.

Spencer shifted in the passenger seat of the SUV, “You know, carbon dioxide poisoning is a rather peaceful way to die.”

“Reid,” Morgan said, turning the vehicle onto the main road, they had just finished scouring over another cemetery with still no sign of you.

He sighed and stared at his hands, “No, it’s good. We see so many people killed in so many different ways that it’s good that she won’t be in pain when she runs out of air.” He tried to convince himself.

Morgan cleared his throat, “We aren’t out of time yet, kid. We can still find her. Y/N’s smart, I’m sure she found a way to make more air or something.”

But they were running out of time, less than an hour remained on the timer set on all of their phones.

They pulled into the next cemetery, “There’s some fresh dirt over there, what are the names on the graves of people who were actually recently buried?”

Spencer starts to recite the names, and the two of them start to comb through the cemetery.

You had done enough research on this case to understand what was going on. The light-headed feeling had started not long ago, but now you felt like you were spinning, despite the knowledge that you were stuck in place.

It was a high. Not unlike the good kids high. Except instead of trying to chase a feeling, you were dying.

The timer went off when they were still scouring graves, shovels in hand. Derek stopped in his tracks, but Spencer kept going.

“Wait,” Spencer called out, reading the name on the card next to the fresh grave he was standing at, he moved to start digging. “Essie Dunbar was a thirty-year-old woman who was mistakenly buried alive in 1915,” he said, digging. “This has to be it.”

Derek called Hotch, putting the call on speakerphone so he could help Spencer dig. “Hotch, we got her, but she’s buried.”

“We’re on our way, Omaha police have one of the brothers in custody,” Hotch told Emily to have an ambulance dispatched.

What Reid knew that Derek didn’t was that it could take four hours to dig a grave by hand. The soil had been overturned, so maybe call it three. Your odds were still negligible. He didn’t stop, he didn’t stop when a caretaker came running at them, and he didn’t stop when Derek told him to get his digging equipment out here now.

Derek flashed his FBI badge to get what they needed. He had to physically pull Spencer back from the grave so the backhoe could dig, only going until there was less than a foot between them and the casket.

Spencer crudely attached a chain to the casket and the caretaker's vehicle. Carefully, the caretaker dragged the white container out of the earth and up a slant they had dug. It was locked shut, “Reid, move,” Derek ordered.

He leaned back and Derek fired at the lock, taking it off and opening the casket. Spencer gasped, there was blood on the side of your head, dried and raked through your hair. He was vaguely aware of Hotch and Emily arriving as they pulled you out of your satin prison. You had no pulse, but you were still warm. Immediately, Spencer started CPR.

“Reid let me do it,” Derek insisted.

What he was trying to say is that he shouldn’t have to be the one to try to save your life.

Morgan repeated himself and Spencer pulled away, allowing the other agent to immediately take over. There was a siren in the background, an ambulance. More people showed up, Spencer heard their voices, but he just kept watching you. CPR was effective if it was done shortly after your heart stopped, and even then, permanent brain damage was likely.

It had been eight minutes since they pulled you out of the ground. Clinically, you were dead for eight minutes before you gasped.

Spencer smoothed your hair back, away from your face, while you desperately tried to catch your breath. You weren’t moving, and Spencer started running through symptoms of hypoxia. His biggest fear was brain damage, that they had done more harm to you in bringing you back than they would have had you died.

The EMTs came running over to where everyone had gathered, dispersing the crowd, and placing an oxygen mask over your face. As they were loading you on the stretcher, you started trying to talk, reaching your arm out to your side. “Wait, what’s she saying?” JJ asked.

“Sometimes it’s hard to talk after CPR,” the male EMT said as they moved you closer to the ambulance. He listened to what you were saying, “It’s not coherent.”

Spencer didn’t move, all of the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body all day was leaving.

Aphasia. They were saying the lack of oxygen to your brain was causing aphasia. “No,” Emily said, realization dawning on her features as she strained to listen to you. You were whispering, rasping the same word over and over again. “She’s saying ‘Spence.’”

He stood quickly and looked at you, sure enough, you were reaching out your hand and whispering, “Spence, Spence.” Your voice no more than a whisper.

Grabbing your hand, Spencer squeezed it, “I’m here,” he answered. “It’s okay, it’s over,” he told you, moving your hair out of your face. Spencer secured your oxygen mask over your face as you tried to take it off, “You have to keep this on, angel.”

To his relief, you squeezed his hand back.

You had been instructed to get some rest, but you couldn’t close your eyes. You asked Spencer to go back to the hotel and change his clothes because he smelled like dirt, and it made you nauseous. Your head had been bandaged, you’d been run through an MRI, and you did an EEG, so far, the only brain damage that had been incurred seemed temporary.

According to the doctors, the nausea and fatigue should wear off, but they hadn’t been able to fully assess if any permanent damage was done. At this point, the worst of your injuries had been caused by being given CPR, resulting in cracked ribs.

Despite your headache, you kept most of the lights on in your hospital room, not quite ready to be left in the darkness again. “Hey,” a voice called from your doorway, Spencer stood, waiting to be invited in. He was wearing different clothes, a button-up with a green cardigan thrown over it, and clean pants. “How are you feeling?”

A nasal cannula slightly restricted your movement, but you were sat up in the hospital bed, “Better than I was, but not perfect.”

He shook his head, walking in and taking a seat next to you, “No one expects you to be perfect right now.” Gently, he reached out and took your hand, skimming the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. “They found the mother and the other son, and all three of them are going to go away for a long time,” he told you, speaking in the kind of hushed, reverent tones that are reserved for hospitals.

You sighed and tilted your head back, “Good,” you maundered. “That’s uh, good,” your voice was barely audible.

“So why do you look so worried?” He asked, leaning in closer to you.

In an attempt to dismiss his concern, you joked, “I think I owe Morgan some sort of life debt now.”

Spencer offered you a soft smile, “The two of you tend to trade those off, I’m sure you’ll find some way to make it up to him.” He inclined his head towards you as if to silently say, So what is it really?

You swallowed thickly, “I’m scared to close my eyes, Spence.”

His shoulders dropped, “oh, Angel,” he breathed. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, looping a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “Wait, what are you doing?” He asked, watching you as you lifted yourself, so you were on one side of the bed.

Shyly, you patted the new empty half of the bed, inviting him to sit next to you.

He had no choice but to comply, he had the hardest time saying no to you. Leaning the bed back slightly, Spencer kicked off his shoes before he laid down next to you, wrapping an arm around you as you set your cheek on his shoulder.

Your body relaxed into his and you sighed, “Spence?” You murmured.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, “Yes, angel?” He whispered back to you.

“Thanks for coming to save me,” you mumbled, slowly relaxing enough to fall asleep.

Spencer exhaled, “I’m always going to come to save you.”

part two

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #derek morgan #penelope garcia #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x you #h writes (hypothetically)

[cinnnamongrl]

just had disgusting filthy thoughts about ellie showing you off to loser!abby who’s never been with a girl before (mutuals look away i’m shy)

ellie having you spread open on the bed, vibrator held against your clit as you squirm, unable to move far with your feet tied down.

“y’hear those pretty little sounds she’s making?”. abby nodded. “‘s cause she’s gettin’ close again” it was true, you were approaching your third orgasm of the night, desperate to come yet overstimulated all at the same time. abby nodded again, face red and boxers soaked through. “look at her little pussy clenching around nothing” ellie told her “desperate to be filled, poor thing.” abby cleared her throat “are you gonna…?”

ellie shook her head. “gotta make her wait for it. makes her so fucking needy” you huffed from the other end of the bed, tears filling your eyes at your desperation “‘s too much ellie. please” abby looked to ellie, slight concern on her face but ellie just turned back to the pretty display she’d created “dumb little thing’s just being pathetic. she’s gonna come again soon”. your head felt more fucked than ever before. the combination of another orgasm approaching and your girlfriend talking to abby about you like you weren’t even there was making your mind fall deeper into a submissive fuzzy mess.

“you wanna touch?” ellie asked and abby’s eyes widened. “‘s ok. she’d like that. wouldn’t you, pretty girl? you nodded fervently “please. touch me abby” abby almost wanted to pinch herself, convinced she was having some kind of hyper-realistic wet dream. she reached out hesitantly. “so fucking wet isn’t she? i think she likes being spread out for us like this” abby managed to breathe out a small “yeah” and she brought a thick finger to your dripping hole. “jus fill her up, nice and slow” ellie told her and you moaned loud as abby followed her instructions.

“s-so tight” abby mumbled as you tried to relax, the stimulation on your clit making it almost impossible not to clench down. “always is,” ellie mused “no matter how many times i fuck her pretty little pussy.” abby groaned at the feeling of you stretched around her and ellie’s dirty words. “now move your fingers properly and make her cum”

#this was supposed to be like 1 paragraph lol #i’m writing college!ellie i promise but this came to me via h-word brain postal service and i had to share #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #ellabs x reader #ellabs x reader smut #abby x ellie x reader #ellie x abby x reader #slutty thoughts🩷🍓

[cupid-styles]

only angel (tattoo artist/plug harry)

in which harry owns a tattoo shop, sells weed on the side, and has a big crush on y/n, a shy virgin who's very much enamored by him.

here is part one of tattoo/plug harry!!! I hope you like it :) please lmk if you'd like more from them <3

word count: 10.2k (!!!!)

content warnings: y/n's parents being unkind people, comments and discussions about weight/disordered eating, fainting (caused by a piercing), smut! (y/n's first time being fingered, dirty talk, harry being a soft dom)

masterlist | talk to me

part two

. . .

Y/N doesn't know why she's here.

If the glares from the employees of the tattoo and piercing shop are anything to go off of, they don't know why she's here either. And it all makes this whole thing even more embarrassing.

In reality, she does have a reason to be here. Mai, one of the few friends she's made in her grad school program, asked if she would drive her down to The Village for a tattoo appointment she had.

Y/N's eyes nearly bulged out of her skull when she asked, especially when she pressed for more details about this tattoo she was getting (it was a strawberry just above her hip, which Y/N didn't quite understand considering she thought tattoos were supposed to be meaningful). But, ever the pushover, Mai ended up convincing her, going as far as getting her to come inside — the one boundary she had — and wait while she got it done.

(Thankfully, her parents had some benefit charity thing going on today, so they weren't concerned with Y/N's whereabouts or where she was taking the car they bought her on a Saturday afternoon.)

The shop, called St. Mark's Place Social Club (aptly named, she supposes, considering it's located on St. Mark's Place), is nice. Unlike what she imagined tattoo parlors would look like in her brain, the spot Mai chose to get tattooed at seems sanitary and actually quite trendy.

It's not wildly crowded with customers hustling and bustling around, but there's a few artists at work at their own small stations. The walls are painted a cozy forest green, all donning frames upon frames of, what Y/N assumes are, sheets of tattoo designs. The receptionist who checked Mai in even offered them some water, which Y/N thinks was very nice.

"Are you nervous at all?" Y/N asks quietly as they sit in the rattan chairs in the waiting area. Mai's filling out some questionnaire on an iPad, but she shakes her head at her question, crossing her legs. 

"No, not really," she murmurs nonchalantly, "I have a few tattoos already and I've been here before. The artist that's doing it is really cool and he's so hot."

Y/N's mouth forms around an oh as Mai quickly taps her signature into the tablet. She stands from the rickety chair and walks back over to return it to the front, her heeled boots clacking against the wood floor as she does. 

Y/N has her gaze set low in her lap, eyes passing over her fresh manicure (her mother has a standing weekly appointment for her). She doesn't even notice that someone's standing over her — more so, towering over her — until the figure clears his throat, her head snapping up to address them. Assuming she's done something wrong (what it is, she isn't sure), she goes to apologize immediately, but the long haired man in front of her cuts her off.

"You have an appointment?" 

Instantly, she flounders. Her mouth drops open as she stumbles over an answer: "I— um, no, I'm not— no, no appointment."

"So you're a walk-in, then?"

"N-no," she shakes her head quickly, his all-black outfit forming a blur in front of her eyes, "No, I'm not getting a tattoo."

The man laughs. He actually laughs at her, and Y/N doesn't know whether she should be embarrassed or pleased that she's made this very attractive man smile.

"You're sitting in a tattoo shop. You know that, right?" the stranger crosses his heavily tattooed arms over his chest, and Y/N's eyes fly to the swirls of black ink covering his skin. They're everywhere; all different fonts and images and numbers and... she wonders if he even knows what they all mean or how many he has. 

"Yes," she finally manages out, folding her hands neatly in her lap. It's the default body language she goes to when she's nervous — when she was a teenager, her parents paid for her to go to social etiquette classes, and the instructor told her that this was a good way to show that she was in control of her actions, even if underneath her pastel pink turtleneck, her chest was covered in hives. "No, I'm not getting a tattoo. I'm here with someone getting one."

Thankfully (though Y/N would've preferred it happening about two minutes earlier), Mai walks back over to them, a grin taking over her features when she spots the man talking to her.

"Harry!" she greets excitedly, and Y/N watches as his eyes flicker over to her, flashing a tight smile in her direction.

"Ah. This is who you're here with." he — Harry, apparently — says to Y/N. She doesn't know what she's supposed to say to that (if she's supposed to say anything), but any response is once again cut off. "Hey. You ready?"

She only now notices the gum wedged between his teeth, his jaw moving in a hypnotizing way. His tone appears to be far more clipped with Mai, but Y/N is fast to chalk it up to some fluke. Maybe the other employees mentioned something to Harry and they thought she was in the wrong place or something. That would make sense, she thinks.

"Yeah, all good. I'll see you in a bit, Y/N," Mai nods, swinging her bag over her shoulder, focusing her attention to Harry, "So listen, I'm going to a show in midtown tonight, I was thinking maybe after we finish up here we can—"

"Are you coming back with us?" Harry's eyes fall back onto Y/N, and it's only then that she realizes he's talking to her again.

"Uh... am I allowed to?"

He smirks. Y/N's chest feels like it may concave in simply from the sight.

"I own this place, so yeah, you're allowed to."

Mai's tapping her foot impatiently now, her hip popped out slightly with her arms crossed over her chest. "My appointment started a few minutes ago, Harry—"

"Okay," he says curtly, turning on his heel to face her, "Go in the back and get ready then. You know where my station is."

Both Mai's and Y/N's jaws drop at that, his snappy tone clearly not one to fight back on. Surprisingly, Mai does just that, turning around and walking back to where Harry has his things set up. 

"You coming, then? Y/N, right?" 

The teasing smirk is still painted over his features, as if he finds humor in outwardly rejecting Mai's advances. Y/N doesn't know why her heart beats a little bit faster at that, warmth spreading from her chest to the rest of her body as he continues gazing down at her.

"Y-yeah," she answers, grabbing her purse and standing up. "If it's not too big of a deal."

"Course not. C'mon, you can follow me."

. . .

Mai's tattoo comes out beautiful.

However, Y/N can hardly focus on the artistry and apparent talent because she's far too busy staring at Harry, who also looks beautiful while he works.

It's distracting, embarrassingly so, that she barely even registers when he's finished wrapping her new tattoo in some sort of clear wrap, sending her back up to pay. Quickly, Y/N scrambles to grab her things, realizing that she's once again left alone with Harry.

"What, running away so soon?" He asks as he cleans up his work station, spinning around to face her in his chair. He has that smirk on his face again — the one that simultaneously intimidates her and makes her entire body burst into flames — and anxiety begins to eat away at her, nervous of saying the wrong thing.

"I just— you're done. So I was gonna go."

"How do you know Mai?" 

It bothers her somewhat that he ignores her, but being the subject of his intense glint, she shifts her stance from foot to foot, shrugging her shoulders.

"We're in the same grad program. We've had a few classes together." she answers obediently, clutching the strap of her purse closer to her shoulder. 

"Mm," he hums, tossing some paper towels in the trash, "You sure you didn't want any tattoos today?"

Y/N's face erupts into a hot flush for the thousandth time today and she instantly begins to shake her head. "No. No, thank you, I mean. My parents would kill me."

"Your parents?" Harry asks, a slightly stupefied expression on his face. "You're in grad school. Surely you don't make decisions on your appearance based off of them."

He punctuates his sentence by giving her a once-over and she feels nervous under his gaze. She's never particularly felt good about her appearance. She's always just felt... neutral. She grew up with a mother who was constantly dieting, imparting weight loss tips on her every chance she got. When Y/N hit puberty, her father made comments about how grateful he was to finally see her drop the "baby weight". Even now, her mother critiqued her, making comments about how important it was to maintain a good figure; that she'd never find someone to spend her life with if she didn't take care of her looks.

So, all in all, it was safe to say that tattoos were extremely off the table for Y/N. 

"It's complicated," she finally replies vaguely. She knows that most people in their mid-20s aren't as deep under the thumb of their parents as she is, but she wasn't lying when she said this — the circumstances weren't as black and white as she wished they were.

However, there was something she'd always been curious about, and she had seen the piercing rates out in the front of the shop.

"But, um— do you guys do piercings?" she follows up before Harry has a chance to question her parents any further. 

"We do," he replies slowly, "Well, yeah, I do. Why, are you thinking about getting something pierced?"

She swears his eyes quickly glance to her chest, but just as quickly as she notices it, they're focused back on her face. She clears her throat, willing herself to have an ounce of self-confidence. 

"I was wondering if I could get my ears pierced."

Harry quirks an eyebrow and stands from his chair. Her heart rate speeds up tenfold when he walks over to her, his hand reaching outward. 

"May I?" he asks, pausing before he makes any movements. She nods, hoping he misses the way her throat bobs in nervousness. Gently, he pushes some of her hair behind her ear, taking a look at the lobe. He does it to the other one and she wonders if he can sense that she's holding her breath. 

"Hm, you really don't have them pierced," he mumbles lowly, eyes flitting back to her face. "Yeah, we could do that if you'd like. You sure daddy won't get too pissed?"

He says it with a simper though she's not entirely sure why; she thinks if he understood the dynamic between her and her parents, he'd be more concerned than teasing. Nevertheless, she shakes her head. 

"Like you said," she says softly, blinking as they stare back at one another, "I shouldn't make decisions on my appearance based on what they want."

His smirk breaks into a grin, and for the first time, Y/N feels like she's doing something right.

. . .

Y/N didn't think she would be this nervous to get her first piercing, but between the gorgeous man invading her space with a needle and the fact that Mai definitely won't want to be her friend anymore, she's feeling a little tense.

Before getting situated in the chair, Y/N said that she needed to tell Mai she'd be a bit longer, but Harry waved her off and told her he'd take care of it. Apparently, that just meant peeking his head out from his work station and yelling out to Mai that Y/N was busy and wouldn't be driving her home. (Y/N thinks she heard Mai practically stomp out of the shop.)

So now, she's spending her Saturday the last way she thought she would: With her eyes squeezed shot, anxiety making her heart thump far too fast in her chest, with a long-haired tattoo artist hunched over her body. He's so close that she can smell the woody fragrance of his cologne, and she has to resist breathing it in as she inhales deeply in an effort to calm her heart rate.

"Alright, you ready?" Harry asks lowly, his tone a groveled murmur that sends tingles down her spine. She nods, feeling particularly speechless from his closeness and her nerves. "'kay, I'm gonna count to three. Take a deep breath."

Y/N imagines he looks especially gorgeous right now, but she's too scared to open her eyes and see the needle he's about to puncture her skin with. Instead, she simply nods her head again, mentally preparing herself for the countdown. 

"Breathe, dove," he says calmly. Her stomach jumps at the pet name but does as he says. "Good. Okay... 1, 2, 3."

She jumps from the bite of pain that stings her earlobe, instantly wedging her bottom lip between her teeth as he shushes her. 

"It's alright, that was it," he murmurs, though she can still feel him at her side, carefully wiggling the earring into the newly formed hole. "Y/N? You okay?"

She blinks her teary eyes open and opens her mouth, willing her throat to push out a yes. Instead, Harry's face goes blurry as the images in front of her get hazy. In a panic, she tries to stand, the ringing in her ears sending loud alarms to her brain. She thinks she hears Harry tell her to sit down, his strong arms taking a hold of her own — but that's when everything goes dark. 

. . .

Harry's known this girl for all of two hours, and he's never felt panic ravish his body the way it did when she passed out a few minutes ago. 

Thankfully, she comes to less than two minutes later (he counted), but he remains by her side the entire time, gently stroking her hair back. As a professional tattoo artist and piercer, he's of course had people faint under the needle, but it's never happened from just a standard ear piercing. 

He supposes he maybe should've prepared himself for this. The sweet girl who accompanied Mai didn't look like she belonged at St. Mark's Social Club, but the moment his eyes zeroed in on her, he felt pulled to her. From the pastel pink top that stretched over her chest to the white ribbon tied in her hair, she was the opposite of any girl he's ever been attracted to — and yet, all he wanted was to tuck her under his arm, pull her into his chest, and spend the rest of his life protecting her.

Harry tells himself he's being stupid; some lovesick nerd that just needs to get his cock touched, but as he watches her slowly nurse a cup of water, warmth returning to her complexion, every doubt is thrown out the window. 

"I'm so sorry," Y/N pouts, lifting a hand to run through her hair, "I'm... I feel so stupid, I'm so sorry, Harry."

"Why are you apologizing?" he asks through furrowed brows. "It's not your fault. People pass out all the time here, you have nothing to be sorry about."

"Y-yeah, but this is annoying... you probably have another appointment coming up and—"

"I don't."

"Yeah, but—"

"Y/N?"

"What?"

"Stop it."

She huffs, but the apologies stop after that. With his arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the wall, he watches to make sure she finishes her water. He can tell she's still feeling embarrassed and it bothers him that she thinks of herself as something to feel sorry about.

"Y'know, kinda looked like some kind of badass Sleeping Beauty while you were passed out," Harry says with a smirk, making her eyes widen, "Pretty cute, if you ask me."

Y/N's face warms and he chuckles, deciding that making this girl blush is his new favorite past time. 

"You're being silly." she mumbles, finishing off the water with a final swig. He shakes his head and takes the empty cup from her hand, tossing it in the garbage can behind her. 

"Would never lie to you, dove. We're going on what, three hours of knowing each other? I wouldn't even dream of it."

"Harry," she whines and it makes him immediately grin, especially as she pushes her bottom lip out in a slight pout, "Shush, stop it."

"Think I should just call you princess from now on, hm? Such a pretty face coming in here, think I got lucky having you pass out on me."

He laughs loudly when her lips part, her jaw slack from the compliment. She doesn't have a comeback for that one, but he assumed as much. He turns to face the cabinets behind him and grabs a paper towel and a pen, quickly scrawling out his number on it before handing it to her.

"This is my number. I'm not gonna do your second piercing today 'cos that sounds like a recipe for disaster, but I want you to text me when you wanna come in and get it done," he explains, "I only work here on the weekend, but I'll come by any day you're free, princess."

She shuffles her feet before nodding her head, stuffing the paper towel in her bag. "O-okay. That sounds good."

"Good," Harry breathes, reaching out to for her hand to help her up, "Do you need a ride home?"

"No!" her eyes dart away from his face, blinking quickly as she focuses on the dark green walls. "Um, no, thank you. You've done enough for me today. I appreciate it, Harry."

"Sure," he says slowly, narrowing his eyes at her, "Okay, well... get home safe for me, alright?"

"I will." she nods and punctuates her sentence with a harsh swallow. "Can I... is it okay if I text you when I get home?" 

A gentle smile wiggles its way onto Harry's face, warmth filling his body once again. 

"You took the words right out of my mouth, princess."

. . .

To: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

hi, im home!! im so sorry again for what happened but thank you sm for making sure i was okay. hope it wasn't too inconvenient! 

Y/N's never texted a boy she has a crush on (well, except for Jason Saunders in the 8th grade, but her dad found out within the hour and made her delete his number as he watched). She thinks she must still be lightheaded from fainting because there's no way she can seriously have a crush on someone she barely knows, but nonetheless, she pushes herself to message him to at least thank him for everything he did for her. 

She sighs as she throws her phone in her purse and climbs out of her Range Rover. Locking the doors, she crosses her fingers as she walks up the stairs and to the elevator of the luxury garage, pressing the penthouse button on the panel. She hopes her parents are still out — if they're home, she'll be on the receiving end of their badgering for the rest of the evening, and she still wants to work on a paper she has due later next week.

When the sleek elevator doors open, she's met with silence — the only telltale sign that she's alone, with the exception of her parents' private chef and maid. Relief floods her body as she steps out and into the apartment, toeing her shoes off in the entryway and taking quiet steps to her bedroom. 

She's exhausted from the day, flopping down on her bed with a sigh. Mindlessly, she feels for her phone in her bag, pulling it out to scroll through Instagram before she commits to doing work for the rest of the night. Instead, she's met with not one, but two texts from Harry.

Remember what I said about apologizing, princess?

Glad you made it home safely. Don't forget to text me about your second piercing — just name the day and I'm there. xx

She wants to let out a squeal, even if there's a large part of her brain that's constantly reminding her to limit her excitement. He's probably just being polite, she says to herself. 

Still, it doesn't stop her from replying a mere moment later, promising to restrain her apologies and message him when she's ready to get her other ear pierced. 

. . .

"Where were you yesterday?" 

Y/N blinks at her father as she sets down the spatula, shifting her attention from the buckwheat pancakes she's currently cooking. 

"Studying on campus," she replies easily, even if she had to coach herself all night to lie. She's never one to fib, let alone to her parents — she's always felt some type of fear when it comes to her father, but she knows he never would have approved if she gave him some vague answer about taking a friend to an appointment. 

He lets out a noncommittal humph. "You know there's no reason for you to be getting a masters degree when you'll just work at the company when you graduate."

Her stomach tightens. It's a frequent area of contention between she and her parents — their dream for her has always been to work at their jewelry company as soon as she graduated college, but she somehow managed to convince them to entertain her wish to go to graduate school for an English degree. They told her she could do it as long as she starts at their office as soon as graduation comes around.

She hasn't quite yet figured out how she's getting out of that one. If she even can.

"I know, father," Y/N forces out, redirecting her attention to flipping the pancakes on the pan. "It's just important that I get good grades."

"I can't imagine it's very difficult. You speak the language."

She bites her tongue. Her parents have never understood her love for books, always scolding her for having her head in the clouds from a young age. If she's being honest, books have served as a way for her to escape, always wishing she could be the girl getting whisked away by her romantic interest. 

Things always worked out in her books. Potentially having a happy ending like the ones she reads about is the only thing that keeps her going sometimes. 

Her mother, looking pristine as always even at 9 in the morning, enters the kitchen just as Y/N's sitting down to her eat. Turning stiffly, her eyes narrow at her daughter. 

"Those better not be full fat, Y/N." she says, jabbing her pointer finger at her plate. 

"They're not." Y/N says softly.

In response, she simply hums. "I don't understand why you don't just have Freya make you food. She's there for a reason."

Y/N quickly stuffs a bite of pancake into her mouth, shrugging her shoulders as she slowly chews. She's never felt comfortable requesting their chef make her anything to eat when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. 

"Don't shrug. It's not ladylike," she scolds, Y/N's posture immediately straightening, "We have a lunch meeting with the Franklin family today. If you're available, you should come. You need to start learning the business."

"I have to work on a paper," the lie rolls off her tongue, knowing full well that she nearly finished it last night, "Finals are coming up. School is getting very busy."

"You know, Y/N, you're lucky we grant you all this freedom." her mother spits, the high heels of her Louboutin shoes clacking against the marbled flooring. "One day, you're not going to have this much of a choice in how you spend your time."

Despite only eating half a pancake, Y/N no longer feels hungry. Instead, she just nods her head and rolls her lips into her mouth. 

"You're right. Thank you for everything you do for me." 

She clears her dishes and goes back to her bedroom before her parents have a chance to see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

. . .

Y/N spends the better part of Sunday crying in her bedroom. 

She's so exhausted of this cycle. Her parents work so hard to tear her down all the time, never once taking into account what her dreams and aspirations are. She feels like she can't do anything right, as if nothing she'll do will ever please them. 

In her fit of anger and sadness, she decides she needs to leave Harry behind. He's just a pipe dream, a tiny little sliver of what her life could be if she had less restrictive parents. That night, when she's laying awake in bed, she decides that in the morning, she'll take the fresh piercing out and throw the earring away, delete his number, apologize to Mai, and pretend like this weekend never even happened.

That is the plan, anyway.

Until she wakes up to her alarm at 8 am and she has an unopened text from him, and her heart beats in a way that she's never truly felt before. She doesn't think she's ever smiled this wide after just waking up, the mere appearance of his name on her screen sending waves of hope and happiness throughout her body. 

From: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

How's the piercing holding up? 

After getting home on Saturday, he texted her a series of care instructions for the piercing, instructing her to clean it twice a day, twist the earring, and let him know if anything felt off. She wasn't sure what it was, but she felt particularly giddy when he told her what to do. 

To: Harry (St. Mark's Social Club)

good!! no pain or anything and ive been doing what you told me to :)

She has a class at 10 this morning and she knows she should follow her typical routine of a shower, breakfast, and getting ready, but instead, she just lays back in the fluffy tufts of her bedding, smiling to herself as she waits for Harry to text back. A minute or so later, her phone vibrates.

Good girl.

Think you'll come in for your second anytime soon?

Her stomach twists in a delicious way but she's not sure why. There's nothing inherently sexual about what he's messaged her, but it has her craving more, a steady heartbeat forming somewhere deep in her core. 

Her eyes read over his question and she bites her lip. She knows that less than 10 hours ago, she was planning to forget Harry, but the feeling he gives her is addictive. She doesn't want to stay away — so she won't.

yeah, if you don't mind doing it :)) maybe today? 

In reality, she doesn't want to go under the needle again so soon, but she's craving to see him. He did say he'd come in any day for her.

Harry: I'd love to. What time are you free?

Y/N: i have classes from 10 to 1 today.. would 1:30 work? i can come by on my way home from campus

Harry: How about I meet you at your last class and we walk to the shop together?

Y/N swears her heart is going to beat right out of her chest. Her parents have never allowed her to hang out with a guy outside of anyone they approved of — over the years, they've attempted setting her up with other men of their same financial and social stature, but Y/N was never interested. As a result, they all grew bored of her by the second date, and her parents would yell at her for not being appealing enough. 

She doesn't know if Harry will be bothered by the same thing, but she wants — no, she needs — to find out.

Y/N: okay:) 

Harry: Great. Can't wait to see you. x

. . .

Harry knows he's pushing it.

This girl may as well have wealthy virgin tattooed across her forehead, but he just can't get himself to stay away. It doesn't seem like she wants him to either, which just makes it harder. And as he's waiting for her outside of her lecture hall on a campus he's never even step foot on, he realizes that they're from very, very different universes. 

That doesn't really bother him. He can see the obvious differences — he wears all black, has over 70 tattoos (most of which were impulsive or practice while he was apprenticing), and gives people tattoos and piercings for a living. Y/N is smart and soft; an English major in graduate school, lives with her parents, and drives a car that costs more than his yearly rent. 

He's not blind. Although, if he was blind to pretty, innocent girls, he probably could stop walking around with a permanent boner from thinking about how gorgeous she'd look in his bed.

The only thing that can tear him from his thoughts is the sight of her. He watches as she walks through the doors of the building, a slight pep in her step when she notices him, waving her hand with a smile. He licks his lips absently, willing the arousal pooling deep in his stomach to go away. 

"Hi," she greets as she approaches him, "How're you?"

"I'm good." he answers, trying his best not to let his eyes wander over her outfit, "How was class?"

"'s okay. Kind of boring. Almost fell asleep once or twice."

"Yeah?" Harry chuckles as they begin to walk towards the nearest campus exit. "Gotta stay awake in those smarty pants classes of yours, princess."

He already knows she's blushing before he turns his head to see the familiar flush flower over her skin. He points to the bag over her shoulder, pausing his steps. "Lemme carry that for you."

"Oh— no, you don't have to, I don't want to be annoying—"

"Why would that be annoying?" he asks with a quirked brow. She swallows, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable."

"N-no, it wouldn't," she shakes her head and he nods, keeping his arm stretched out. She pushes the strap down her shoulder and hands the bag to him. "Thank you. That's very kind of you, Harry."

"What d'you have in here, a ton of bricks?" he asks teasingly as he slips the pink tote over his own shoulder. 

"No! I have to bring books to campus every day so we can discuss certain passages and stuff. I guess I've been doing it for so long I didn't notice how heavy it is."

"It's very heavy, Y/N," Harry says, stuffing his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, "No wonder you're falling asleep in class, you're basically doing an upper body workout on your way there."

"It's not that big a deal," she replies nonchalantly. "It's just— it's what my professors want, so."

He continues grumbling, annoyed that anyone would ask this girl to shuttle all this weight to campus every day. 

"Can you start parking closer to your lecture halls, then? I don't wanna find out you dislocated your shoulder one day."

She shakes her head. "I don't drive to campus."

"Oh, is parking that bad?"

Y/N begins to fidget, wringing her hands out in front of her as they walk. Harry glances at her from his peripherals, soaking in the nervousness written all over her face. 

"No... my parents don't let me drive to campus, that's all."

He hums, attempting to stay unbiased, even if everything he's learned about her so-called parents has only made anger rise in his chest. 

"Do they have a lot of limits on things you can and can't do?" 

"Kind of. I don't know."

"Is... is that something that bothers you?"

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as they stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn. He shifts his body to face her. 

"I've never really told anyone about how they are, but... well, they take care of me. They always have. They just have a very clear vision of what they want for me."

"Right," Harry nods, "Just because they care for you or pay for certain things doesn't mean they're good, though. I'm not saying they aren't— I just don't want you to confuse the two."

"I guess."

He decides to leave it at that, mainly because he can she's growing uncomfortable, but also because they're approaching the shop. He pushes the door open and holds it for Y/N, who sheepishly walks in, Harry close behind. 

He doesn't acknowledge anyone as she follows him to his station, but she supposes it's not out of the ordinary for him to do these things since he's the owner. Once they're safely sheltered by the walls of his space, Y/N lets out a breath, sitting down in the chair she was in on Saturday.

After setting her bag down, he washes his hands at the sink. A long-haired guy pops his head in, grinning when he sees Y/N. 

"Hey, H," he greets, "Didn't know you'd be here today."

Harry's tone is gruffer towards the man, even though he seems friendly. "Yeah. What's up?"

"I need a favor. I have an appointment that looks like it's gonna take a little longer than anticipated — last minute changes and all that to the design, but Jude is coming in to pickup at 2. You mind dealing with him?"

He glares at the man before assuming what Y/N is starting to call his signature pose — arms crossed over his broad chest, leaning back against some surface in his station (today, it's the tattoo bed).

"None of the other idiots can do it? Kinda busy."

"It's your off day, figured you could handle him," he shrugs, "Unless you'd like to introduce me—"

"Shut up." Harry replies, clenching his jaw. A spark zips up Y/N's body, though she's not sure why he seems to take offense to the man's words. "Yeah, I'll deal with it. What does he want?"

"Just some edibles and a few grams of bud. Nothing crazy."

Again, Y/N doesn't miss the way Harry shoots a glare at him, who simply raises his hands in mock defense. As if speaking through some sort of secret language, he backs out of the room, his Adidas sneakers sounding crisply against the wooden floors as he walks away.

"Sorry," Harry mumbles.

"Oh. It's okay."

He turns back around to look at Y/N, who somehow looks even smaller in the chair since they arrived.

"You have no idea what that was about, do you?"

She shrugs, though it's clear that Harry's right. She doesn't often like showcasing her naive nature, like it's some sort of party trick for people to laugh at. It makes her feel sad, a reminder of the "normal" years she could have had if not for her parents.

He sighs and lifts a hand to run through his messy hair. "A few of us sell weed on the side here. It's not really a big deal, but we just do it for some extra cash on the side. I would've rather told you on my own time, though."

Y/N's palms find her thighs, plucking at the hem of her skirt as she swallows, digesting the information. Weed? Her parents had always taught her that all drugs were bad. In their minds, weed was just as bad as heroin, but when Y/N read about states legalizing the former, she didn't quite understand how that made sense. 

"I hope that doesn't make you think any differently of me," he continues. "I'm sorry."

She keeps her eyes set in her lap, "Is weed... bad?"

She's expecting him to laugh at her but instead, when she looks up, she's met with a small, adoring smile on his lips. His eyes twinkle just a bit as he shakes his head.

"No, it's not bad, dove. What do you know about it?"

"Nothing, really. I know it's legal in some places but my parents always told me to stay away from any drugs."

"I think a lot of parents do that," Harry replies with a nod, "But it can actually be really helpful for people. Mentally, physically. And others just like it, they enjoy the feeling of being high."

She swallows before biting her lip. "Do you... do you like it?"

"I do." he says. "Is that okay?"

She thinks he could tell her he's a serial killer and she would be okay with it.

"Yeah. 's okay."

His grin widens. "Alright. Lemme get you settled with this other piercing. I'll have to step out to sell to Jude at 2, but after that, do you wanna grab something to eat?"

She nods so fast she feels like a bobblehead. A chuckle — the warmest, most melodic thing Y/N thinks she's ever heard — sounds from his mouth.

"Just don't pass out again on me, Sleeping Beauty."

. . .

Y/N takes her second piercing much better than her first. 

(And by that, she means she only teared up a little bit, and no fainting occurred.) 

She's actually more nervous about the whole weed... thing. She feels torn. There's a half of her that feels intimidated by it; the part that still has a foot stuck in her parents' world, she supposes, where they taught her to never even look at people like Harry. The other half of her is intrigued to see what happens. Fascinated by him, maybe, and the way she feels when she's around him, and she doesn't know whether that's a good thing or not.

"Harry!" 

Someone calls his name from the main room as he's cleaning up and he peeks his head out. 

"Yeah?"

"Jude's here!"

He looks a lot less flighty about it than she assumes he would. Instead, he simply walks back into his station and unlocks a bottom cabinet to reveal a safe inside. 

"Know you're watching, princess," he says, turning his head to flash a toothy smirk in her direction. She looks away, blinking nervously. "Don't reveal any of my grand weed secrets to anyone, hm?"

"I'm not," she huffs, making him chuckle, "I'm just... curious."

Harry hums, pulling contents out from the safe. When he's done, he doesn't even bother concealing any of the weed he's just taken out, instead just rising to his feet. 

"I'll be right back. We can talk about the curiosity in a second."

Y/N's not snappy enough to come up with a response so she simply watches him walk away. She's only seen drug deals go down in movies and TV shows, where they're dramatic and part of the mob and guns are a necessity. She doesn't think this is one of those drug deals, but who is she to assume?

Surprisingly, Harry returns less than two minutes later with a small wad of cash in his hand. He pockets it, smiling at her when he sees she's still sitting there, the same perplexed look on her face. 

"Steal any of my bud while I was gone?"

"Harry!" 

He cackles and shakes his head. "Alright, dovie, c'mere."

Hesitantly, she stands, shuffling over to where Harry is back to kneeling on the floor. He looks up at her with an expectant expression, a wordless command to do the same. She does.

"Okay. You said you were curious?"

She nods.

"I've always found that the best solution to curiosity is knowledge. This doesn't mean you have to do anything, but it's good to know about things that may intimidate you," he explains. "So, weed can be found in a few different forms. I only sell flower, which are these little buds," he pulls out a container, showing her the small green nuggets. "And edibles, which is just candy or chocolate, stuff like that, with different levels of potency." 

"Oh." Y/N furrows her eyebrows, a small wrinkle forming between them. "That's it?"

He chuckles, "Mhm. That's it."

"And what does it do?"

"Like how does it make me feel?"

She nods.

"It's different for everyone and strains — like, the types of weed — will affect people differently, too. For me, it just makes me a little more relaxed and giggly, more touchy and less in my head. It's nice."

"That does sound nice." she says softly. He hums as he pushes the container back into the safe, locking it back up in the cabinet. "Do you think I would like it?"

It's a question that kind of blurts out without thinking about it. When he turns to look at her, eyes serious and thoughtful, she feels small; the way everyone her age or older has always made her feel. She swallows harshly, immediately regretting it.

"I don't know the answer to that, but if you ever want to try, you can tell me. I'll make sure you have a safe experience."

It's not the answer she's expecting, but instead maybe the one that only exists in her wildest dreams. She looks down to hide her blush and he smiles to himself, ducking down to catch her eyes. 

"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a blushy little thing."

Her jaw snaps closed, wiggling uncomfortably at his blatant call out. Her mother always told her that her emotions were easy to read — she said it made her weak, though. 

"I like it," Harry quickly amends, throat bobbing, "I like it a lot." 

She thinks she notices his eyes zip to her lips, but just as quickly as they dart down, they're back up to her eyes. She swallows when she realizes they've somehow gotten closer, the distance slowly closing between them in millimeters. She doesn't know who's moving in — if it's him or her or both — but suddenly, she's looking up and his face is hovering over hers, blinking in silent permission. When she doesn't grant it because she's too nervous to speak, his tongue peeks out, licking over his raspberry lips. 

"Is this okay?" He asks, minty breath ghosting over her mouth. "Can I do this?"

She nods, because she thinks any noise that would come out of her mouth would be just that — a sad excuse of a squeal. Her heart is pulsing in her ears, her hands trembling over her thighs, and then it happens — he presses his lips to hers, so gently it's almost like they aren't even there. The last time Y/N kissed someone, it was in ninth grade in the locker room after school, and she doubts it even qualified as a real kiss. This is different, though. This is Harry. 

He feels the nervousness radiating off of her so he breaks away, despite the already addictive taste of her mouth. He's gone too quickly and it makes Y/N's heart rate quicken even faster. 

"Need you to relax, princess." He says with his forehead pressed against hers. "Just follow my lead, okay? Promise it's not hard."

Embarrassed, she nods again, willing him to close the gap for a second time. This time, his lips are quick to move against hers, and it initially takes her by surprise. But she does what he told her to, mimicking his movements in tentative paces. With each passing moment, he's kissing her more and more breathless, and she lifts a shaking hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. It's a bold move for her and she swears she feels his signature smirk form into their kiss. 

Time doesn't feel like it moves much when Y/N's mouth is on Harry's, but she knows it is because she needs a break to breathe. With panting lungs, she pulls away, watching as Harry's eyes flicker open. His lips are pinker somehow and swollen with spit. The image makes her core throb. 

"Y'okay?" He asks. Y/N notices his pupils are darkened and he shifts from his seat on the floor, adjusting his lower half. 

"Y-yeah," she nods, "Needed to, um, breathe."

He chuckles. "Yeah? Get a little dizzy there?"

"A little bit." 

"Cute," he murmurs, lifting his thumb to swipe a bit of spit away from her bottom lip. Instinctively, her mouth opens, and she watches as his eyes flicker to hers. Through labored breath, he slowly moves his thumb along her plushy lip, resisting the urge to sink it inside. She's not sure why something as small as this is stirring her insides, but her eyes widen when he breaks away, pushing the finger into his own mouth. 

"Oh." She breathes out. 

"I don't wanna scare you," Harry whispers, "But I'm completely fucked when it comes to you, dove. If you don't want this... want me, I need you to go now." 

She swallows. Slowly, she rises to her knees and inches towards him, closing the small gap that formed between their bodies. She's hesitant in her movements but pushes herself to straddle him, gently sinking her ass down into his lap. His eyes widen. 

"I want this. I want you." She says. 

"Good," Harry mumbles, brushing his lips against hers for the third time that afternoon, "Good." 

. . .

Y/N thinks she could go pro at lying to her parents.

A month ago, she had to spend hours preparing the perfect fib, coaching herself on how to articulate it just casually enough so it didn't seem fabricated. These days, they come out like nothing. 

I'll be home late, I have a group project to work on in the library.

I'm going to a tutoring session for one of my classes, I probably won't be home until dinnertime.

I'm spending some extra time on campus today so I can get a head start on a paper.

In all truthfulness, school couldn't be the furthest thing on her mind right now. Harry is.

Ever since that day they kissed at his shop, they haven't been able to spend more than a day apart. Mostly, they follow the same routine from that very afternoon, where he'll pick her up from her last class of the day and they'll walk back to St. Mark's together. Sometimes, Harry will have deals to do so they sit and talk in the downtime. Other days, he'll have actual work to tend to, accounting and whatever it is he does as a business owner, so she'll do some homework, enjoying the silent companionship. Y/N never stays too late into the evening, not wanting to push her luck with her parents, but Harry always sends her off with a kiss that leaves her breathless, making her promise to text him when she gets home.

And the kissing... yeah. 

Y/N likes to think she's gotten better at it from all the practicing they've been doing. She still gets a bit flustered, but it's one of her favorite things to do with him. The second they shuffle into his station, Harry closes the door so they're finally in private, and it's like a switch is turned on. Within seconds, they're wrapped up in each others arms, mouths wet and hot against one another. She's discovered that her favorite place to be is seated in his lap while his tongue explores her mouth, breathy pants parting her lips. He loves to squeeze her ass over the pleats of her skirt, knowing that it riles her up in the smallest forms of contact — tiny rolls of her hips, nails being pressed into his skin, a slight pull of his hair. 

She doesn't think things could get much better with Harry until today, during their typical makeout-and-grinding session, when he ducks beneath her jaw, pressing messy kisses to her soft skin. It's then that the words leave his lips. 

"Can I feel you under here, dove?"

His hand is fisting the hem of her skirt and the low tone of his voice makes lightning zip through her body. She doesn't know how to reply — she wants to say yes, but her mouth is dry from immediate anxiety. 

"N-no one's ever touched me there," she whispers, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Harry hums, unbothered, kissing her jaw once more before backing away slightly.

"Don't have to do if you don't want to. We can just keep doing what we've been doing if you'd prefer." he replies nonchalantly, his lips swollen. She swallows nervously, perturbed by his frank nature.

"I— I do want you to feel me," Y/N mumbles. It's not a lie — yes, she's a virgin who knows next to nothing about her body besides its reproductive process, but sometimes, when she goes home in the evening, she thinks about what it would like to keep going. She's seen movies and TV shows, but those have only made her even more curious. Sometimes the guy takes it slow and makes it romantic, other times it's painful and uncomfortable. She can only hope Harry would take care of her.

"Where, princess?"

Well, she can only hope that Harry would take care of her in his typical teasing ways.

Huffing, she shakes her head. "I can't say that, H."

"Can't touch you if I don't know where you want it," he murmurs, kissing her cheek lightly. "Wanna hear you say it. Ask me."

"Harry," she whines. "Please? You know... where."

"Here?" he asks, pressing his the warmth of his hand to her thigh. "This where you want me?"

"No."

"Hmm, how about here?" he moves his hand up just a bit further, inching underneath the fabric of her mini skirt to the crease of her thigh. Again, she shakes her head. 

"Dunno where you want me then, dove. Thought you were my good girl."

"H-higher." she mumbles, attempting to push her body closer so he gets the hint.

"Higher?" he echoes with a smirk, "Here?"

This time, his fingertips have found the waistband of her panties. It immediately feels wrong, but not because of who's touching her, but rather the act of it. She takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the voice in her head. Slowly, in an act of false confidence, she bunches the fabric of her skirt up at her hips, watching as Harry's eyes widen. They instantly dart down to the small wet patch between her thighs and it makes him groan softly.

"Jesus," he mutters, forgetting about his little game. He gently thumbs at her clit through the material and she jumps. Using his other hand to squeeze her hip, he tries to keep her steady, mumbling out an apology. "Am I allowed to see this cute little pussy?"

She clenches at his question, surprising herself with how turned on she feels from just a few words. 

"Yes," she nods, "Please."

"'Please'? Aren't you just the sweetest wet dream, hm?" Harry murmurs. He pushes the width of the fabric to the side, making Y/N shiver from the sudden exposure and being under his gaze. "Are you always this polite or is this just for me, princess?"

She licks over her lips when he parts her pussy with his ring and middle fingers. He hums, dipping a fingertip into her crease and lifting it to his mouth. He looks at her expectantly and she realizes she hasn't answered him yet.

"J-just for you." 

"Pretty, swollen pussy just begging for attention. Do you always get this needy when we kiss?" 

She nods, her eyelashes fluttering as he runs the tip of his pointer finger through her wetness. 

A poor excuse for an answer sounds through her lips, the affirmative tone being the only thing that gives him an idea of what she said. He snickers boyishly, Y/N's jaw dropping when they both feel her pussy pulsate. 

"I think my girl is a bit naughtier than I thought," he breathes, moving his finger back up to her clit to form slow, small circles. She gasps from the intensity, a new sensation of overwhelming pleasure that she's never received before. "Is that the truth, dovie? Do you wanna be my naughty girl instead of my polite one? Tell me." 

"Harry," she mewls, arching her back to press deeper into his touch, "P-please— feels really good."

"Yeah?" he smirks, a mocking tone to his voice that makes Y/N squeeze her eyes shut. "Yeah, does it feel really good?"

"You're— you're being mean—"

"Oh, I don't think so, dove. I think I'm letting you use my fingers to get off, petting this pretty little clit until you cum all over my hand. I don't think that's mean, do you?"

He stops stroking at her and her eyes snap open. She can feel how warm her face has gotten under his touch, quiet puffs of breath ghosting over his lips as his eyes twinkle, knowing what he's done.

"Why'd you stop?" she asks in a small voice.

"You said I was being mean," Harry replies with a shrug, "If I were really mean, I'd leave you here high and dry. Do you want to learn about edging today, Y/N?"

She shakes her head, her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. He hums and lifts his hand to his mouth, his pink tongue darting out to swirl around the fingers that were just caressing her. She watches him with wide eyes. She doesn't think she's ever been this turned on in her life.

"Do you like when I tease you?" he asks lowly. They both know the answer — her body couldn't lie even if she wanted to, and Harry noticed it the second he felt her pussy clench against nothing at his mocking tone.

"Y-yes." she whispers.

"Dirty girl," he murmurs, moving both his hands down to her hips to give them a squeeze. He tightens his hold on her and gently moves her up to the tattoo bed, helping her lay down. "We have all the time in the world to learn about what makes your pussy wet, but right now, I wanna make her cum. Can I do that, dovie?"

Y/N nods, allowing him to adjust her body however he wants. He smiles at how pliant she is for him, sticking to her good girl demeanor. 

"Need you to tell me if I go too far or if something doesn't feel right, okay?" he reminds her as he fits himself between her thighs, "At any point, you say stop and we do, no questions asked." 

"Yeah. Okay."

It's apparent to her that Harry is experienced, because it takes no time for him to wiggle his fingers back to their initial position. His thumb is applying the smallest bit of pressure to her clit, still sensitive from when he was playing with it before, but now he's circling over her hole with one of his larger fingers. She gasps at the slight intrusion. 

"Have you ever put your finger in here, princess?" 

She shakes her head. "N-no."

"Do you want me to?" he asks, though he can already feel the way her hole is all but sucking him in, "It won't hurt. Promise."

She trusts him — maybe foolishly, because she knows her parents would disown her if they knew the position she was in right now — but she pushes the thought to the back of her head, instead simply answering his question with a nod. He keeps his eyes on hers as he slowly pushes in, a gasp instantly falling from her plushy lips. Her immediate reaction is discomfort, but as he starts to stroke at something towards the back of her walls, it feels... good. Overwhelmingly good. So good that a loud moan frees itself from deep in her chest and he jumps up, gently pressing his other hand over her mouth. He ducks down and presses a kiss to the shell of her ear.

"Know I'm making your little hole feel so good, but there's other people here. I wanna keep those moans just for myself, okay?" 

Her eyes roll back as he continues to pump his finger inside of her, the assault on the magic little spot never stopping. She can sense the smirk that's likely formed on his face but she can't find it in her to care because she's never, ever felt this good before. She whimpers against his palm and he groans quietly, the sight of his gorgeous girl writhing beneath him nearly too much to handle. He wills his own raging hard-on away, instead focusing on Y/N's need to cum before he can even consider getting himself off. 

"H-harry," she sounds beautiful mewling his name even when it's muffled by his hand, "I feel— I'm—"

"I know, dove, I know," he coos, quickening the loops around her clit. She's growing increasingly sensitive from his touch as her hole throbs around his finger. "Let go for me. Let go for daddy, lemme see that pretty pussy soak me."

Realistically, he would've preferred introducing her to the whole daddy kink thing on different terms, but he's instantly reminded of how insanely lucky he is when those are the words that push her over the edge. His jaw drops as he watches her squirm underneath his hands, riding out her orgasm and squeezing him in the most delicious way. 

"Fuck, you're so fuckin' beautiful," he groans, unable to stop himself from lightly grinding his covered cock against her inner thigh. He can feel the warmth radiating off of her core and his desperation to feel her grows by the second. 

When her orgasm finally subsides, she's panting heavily and he swallows, palming himself over his pants. 

"Is this okay?" he asks breathily. Y/N raises up onto her elbows, her eyes growing a bit wide when she sees what he's doing. Despite how exhausted she is, she still nods, the curiosity of what he looks like when he comes steadily building inside her. "'s not gonna take me long — that was the prettiest thing I've ever fuckin' see. Jesus."

She blushes but he doesn't notice as he pulls his cock out from under his pants and boxers. He spits into his palm and starts to stroke himself, his gaze glued to the swollen mess between her legs. 

In college, Y/N watched porn once. It was with her roommate and her friends, who found out she was a virgin and asked if she knew anything about sex. She didn't, so they had some sort of debauched education night for her, which was really just an excuse to giggle and make fun of the way guys moan in porn. It made her feel weird, watching this couple have sex on camera, but what she does remember is the girl encouraging him to cum. Once she started begging, it pushed him to her orgasm, and Y/N was pretty impressed with that.

So, she swallows her self-conscious nature and gazes up at Harry as the slick pumps over his length grow clumsy. She can see the pre-cum bubbling at the tip and the way he gathers it with each stroke, using it to further lubricate himself. 

"Want you to cum for me," she breathes out, the words sounding foreign when they leave her lungs, "Please. Wanna see it."

Harry's eyes nearly bulge out of his head and she assumes she's done something right by the way he quickly squeezes them shut, a quiet fuck falling from his lips. 

"Please cum for me, daddy."

Much like it was for her, the use of his honorific is what finally pushes him to his finish. His jaw goes slack and his chest vibrates with muffled groans as spurts of cum rain down on Y/N's mound, eliciting a small gasp as the feeling. It's messy, but she's enamored by how gorgeous Harry looks when he comes: swollen lips, clenched abs, flushed cheeks, his large hand fisted around his length. 

"Shit," he mutters, reaching up with his clean hand to push his curls out of his face, "Are you alright? Was that okay?"

She nods far too quickly for her own good. She'd be lying if she says she isn't slightly overwhelmed, but she wouldn't take any of it back. She never wants to forget how good he made her feel, while the knowledge that she's the one that turned him on like that is a boost to her confidence. 

"Lemme clean you up, hold on," he says breathily, reaching over to grab one of the folded hand towels in the cabinet. Gently, he runs the fabric over her sensitive bottom half, shushing her softly. He does the same thing for himself and then helps her shimmy her panties back up. "You sure you feel alright, dove? You're being quiet." 

"'m okay. Just tired." She replies truthfully, sitting up to lean back against the wall. 

"Yeah? One little orgasm and you're ready for a nap?" 

She giggles and buries her head into his shoulder,  her limbs feeling particularly jelly-like. He wraps a loose arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, chuckling as he presses a kiss to her hair. 

"That's alright. I'm happy to take care of you however you need, princess." 

. . .

"When were you planning on telling me the bookstore is hiring?"

Harry's eyes widen at Y/N's unusually bold demeanor. He glances down at her, following her gaze to where she's staring at the small bookstore across the street. Sure enough, there's a help wanted sign in the window. 

"I didn't know you were looking for a job, dove," he replies with a shrug. In all honesty, he's never really paid attention to the business across the street from his own. 

"Well... I'm not really, but I do want to start making my own money." she says softly, biting her lip. 

He raises his eyebrows, "Yeah? You wanna go see if you can fill out an application?"

Despite her nerves, she still nods her head. Harry smiles and intertwines their fingers together, guiding her across the way to the bookstore. He holds the door open for her and she swallows anxiously, stepping inside the quaint store. With his hand pressed to the small of her back, he gently ushers her to the cashier. 

"Hi," she says shakily, "I saw you're hiring people and I was wondering if I could apply." 

The woman at the front grins, immediately launching into a conversation with Y/N about how excited she is that someone's interested in working for them. As she pulls a paper application out from a drawer on the side, Harry smoothes his hand over her back, rubbing it gently. He's so proud of her, his heart feels like it could burst. 

It's only when she's finishing up filling out her information that someone says her name. They both turn, Y/N's eyebrows instantly furrowing in confusion. 

"Y/N," the woman hisses, and Harry glances down to watch his girl's face crumble, "What are you doing?"

"Y/N... who is this?" Harry asks, his possessive instincts immediately taking over. 

She swallows harshly, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater. 

"Um... this is my mom."

read part two here!

#writing #tattoo artist h #I hope this met everyone's expectations! #y'all came through w sooo many good ideas so im a little nervy lol #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #one direction #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles one direction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fic recs

[murdrdocs]

picturing billy teasing you a little, telling you that you’re so bad at horse riding, that maybe you should try to ride something easier first. something more familiar to work your way up.

and almost foolishly, a little naively in a way that makes billy feel a little bad, you ask if he has a pony waiting for you. but billy only laughs under his breath.

“no, honey.” he doesn’t correct you outright. he cups your chin and lifts you head to get you to look up at him. he takes a step closer and even quirks his eyebrows when you’re not getting it. and then, when your lips push out into an ‘O’ and then twist to a pout, he laughs fully. he lets you slap his arm, not even pretending to be hurt before he pulls you flush to him and presses his lips to yours.

he might’ve brought it up as a joke, but he meant it. he slides his hands down from your waist to your ass, pressing his hands against the flesh through your layers. he kisses you like he usually does, full of both desperation and appreciation. but there’s just a little more desperation this time.

it doesn’t take much coaxing you get you where billy had wanted you in the first place. you look pretty atop him, bare tits sitting perfectly against your chest, gravity encouraging them in their natural stage and not contorted to the side or in any other direction for once.

just the look of your tits alone makes billy want you on him like this more often. but he promised to teach you something. so he does.

“and move your hips like this.” he uses his big hands to push them forward and back, dragging your bare pussy over his clothed cock. he stifles his groan, but you let yours ring out. he pretends to be unaffected enough to tease you. “you paying attention, sweetheart?”

it takes you a second, one you spend with your eyes closed and your nails digging into billy’s thighs behind you, but you eventually nod.

“yeah, i’m paying attention, billy.” your eyes are open and you look determined, euebrows pushed together in the center and your lips parted.

it’s cute.

billy can’t help but kiss you before he continues his lesson.

though, it’s not much of a lesson as it is billy watching you fuck yourself on his cock. you both know this doesn’t have much to do with horseback riding, but while he watches your tits bounce, billy figures you could be getting used to the motions. they are quite similar: the bounce of your tits while you ride billy would surely be similar to the bounce of your tits while you ride his horse. the way you push and pull your hips every so often resembles the way you’ll have to move on the back of a horse.

but the pleasure you’re giving yourself stays here in this room with this moment. that’s where the similarities quickly end in a harsh cut.

billy continues to let you pleasure yourself, no longer caring about the lesson while he watches you apply the motions you’d gotten used to. his hand stay encouragingly on your hips, rough and calloused on your soft skin. the skin that had been untouched before billy came along.

he’s already taught you so much. and this is just another thing to add to the list, with actual horseback riding hopefully soon to join.

#billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #billy the kid smut #billy the kid fluff #billy the kid #william h bonney x reader #billy bonney x reader #celeste writes misc

[existentialterror]

Fellas, if your story has...

Way too many narrators

Self-aware weird formatting

A metanarrative

Courier font

Meaningful colored text

The story existing as a piece of media within the story itself

A fucked up house

An unreliable narrator

Just way too much about the romantic lives of people who suck

That's not your story, that's

#homestuck #house of leaves #light writes #long post #h/t regicidaloptimism for help crafting this bespoke homestuck house of leaves shitpost #homestuck spoilers // #<- uh I think not major ones but I'm only partway through act 6 act 6 #EDITED: wasn't actually courier in the screenshot switched it with a correct one

[supertrainstationh]

Later on today (11-2-22) I'll be playing the original "Mario Party" for the first time in twenty-two years, and I can't wait.

The first time I played it, it was a Friday night Blockbuster rental after my homework was done for the weekend, and my parents would take me and my brother out to rent some games and movies and get a pizza to take home.

I remember spending that Saturday enduring a 60 turn long round of Peach's Birthday Cake so I could get enough coins to unlock some of my favorite minigames for free-play, especially Bobsled Run, which I would play repeatedly, grinding for the best times.

It sounds odd in hindsight, but as I think of it as being odd, I also remember how many happy hours I had already spent improving my times on the Princess's Secret Slide in Mario 64 by the time I was renting Mario Party.

Around that time I was eating a lot of instant ramen, the "oriental" flavored ramen, which I thought seemed like an odd flavor description even at the time, was my favorite to eat while playing Mario Party.

I also used to eat instant ramen while reading gaming magazines, and I have specific memories of eating noodles while reading Mario Party coverage in Nintendo Power and XpertGamer.

I very vividly remember the XpertGamer coverage, but it wasn't until looking for archives of the Nintendo Power issue covering the launch of Mario Party that I remembered that I did in fact have that issue back in the day, though for some reason the Letters to the Editor section left more of an impression on me than the coverage of the actual games that month.

In spite of how much I enjoyed Mario Party and rented it regularly, the sequel, with all its polish and improvements, instantly replaced it, and I never looked back until years later.

The jump from Mario Party to  Mario Party 2 was one of the earlier cases of me being "aware" of game design without things being specifically pointed out to me by an outside source like a magazine or website.

For example, I noticed how Mario Party 2 didn't award players with 10 coins for completing a lap around the board, which was more necessary in Mario Party 1 due to its mechanic of players losing coins for failing to emerge victorious in minigames, and the emphasis on players being able to steal coins from each other within the minigames themselves.

In Mario Party 2, I noticed when the coin-theft minigames that returned from the first game were reworked to no longer involve pilfering from other players, and how while the winners in normal end-of-turn minigames still earned coins, the losers were no longer penalized by having coins deducted.

I also took note of the absence of the first game's single player minigames, with those being reworked into much faster paced item minigames, and generally more cut-throat and unforgiving nature of the first game, and lack of certain elements of polish in terms of the graphics and presentation.

But I didn't love Mario Party 1 less, its differences from later games in the series made me love it even more, though I never rented it again after some time around summer 2000, with the better and more polished Mario Party 2 becoming my Friday night rental mainstay.

Mario Party, was always on that "gotta buy it some day" list in my early college days when N64 games were obsolete, but not yet vintage enough to attract any widespread collector’s appeal and associated prices, which made it a period in which I went back and got many of my late 90's favorite rentals that were now affordable.

Mario Party slipped through the cracks of my campaign to purchase all my old favorites, and as much as a nostalgia trip it was to play Mario Party 2 when it re-released on Wii's Virtual Console service, I accepted it as a given that Nintendo was unlikely to ever re-release Mario Party 1, due to its infamous history of blistering the hands of children and college age gamers with its stick rotation minigames which forced Nintendo to provide fingerless gloves to players.

When a few stick rotation games from Mario Party 1 made their way into Mario Party Superstars, I was genuinely surprised that Nintendo even permitted that, although they did include an on-screen warning not to rotate the stick with your palm.

Even with the inclusion of stick rotation Mario Party 1 minigames into Superstars, I didn't dare dream that this would lead to Nintendo releasing Mario Party 1 as part of Nintendo Switch online.

So finally, the game is out on Switch Online, and after opening it briefly to do some audio checks, I'm ready to make a show of my first experience playing it since 2000, as well as reading the manual and magazines related to it for the first time since back then.

It's gonna happen around 5:00  PM on twitch.tv/SuperTrainStationH, and I look forward to seeing some of you there, if you're interested and able to.

Thanks for reading and watching.

#stsh streams #h writes #blog #written on pomera #mario party #switch online #nintendo

[obscurecurse]

Because I just looooove the "trying to protect you from something by keeping you in the dark about it only led you directly into it - I have created a monster" trope.... CONCEPT: AU where Porchay gets involved in minor organized crime elsewhere in the city as a way to get back at both Porsche (for not telling him the truth about his line of work) and also to get back at Kim (for lying to him/breaking his heart)? Chay is pretending to be all tough and bad but barely knows how to hold a gun at first. He's smarter than his brother though, so he works his way up the evil crime ladder pretty easily. Kim finds out first. He's furious, obvs. The potential for angst is crazy here - and not that far from the canon angst - because Kim only pushed Chay away to protect him, but now, if Chay is like this, maybe he doesn't need to? But Kim also fought so hard to extract himself from the family business - it took him a lot of hard work - and here Chay is doing the fucking opposite and messing everything up for himself.

Kim tries to blackmail Chay. He's like, "If you don't stop this right now, I'll tell your brother." and Chay is like, "I literally don't care what you do." Which is a total lie, but Kim believes it so he goes for plan B and just takes Chay as a hostage to get him out of there/put him in a time out. Chay is pissed, obvs. He's in the back of the van banging on the walls like, "You don't even like me, why the fuck do you care what I do?" etc. Kim does not realize how much power Chay has on the other end of the city so now Chay's gang is going after the Theerapanyakuns for taking their leader. Kinn calls Kim and is like, "For someone who claims to be uninterested in the family business you sure are making big fucking business decisions this evening. Where is Chay?" (Kinn, of course, already knew about all Chay's antics and didn't tell anyone but quietly kept an eye on things to protect Chay bc he is a good quasi-brother-in-law.) Kim is like, "What?" Kinn is like, "Bring him to me. I'll clean up your mess." Chay is still yelling at him from the back seat about how he's a shitty friend and a liar and a manipulator as Kim tries to decide what to do. He doesn't want to give Kinn the satisfaction of fixing this for him. Eventually Kim snaps he's like, "i LoVe YoU oKaY i HaVe AlWaYs LoVeD yOu pLeAsE sHuT tHe FuCk Up" and Chay is quiet for a minute and then he's like, "...Untie me right now."

#kimchay #kinnporsche the series #h writes #h conceptualizes #concepts Left and Right

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

the boy is mine (H's Version)

hi, no long no see in this fandom. but @carolmunson put out a call for writers and I wanted to dive in! see her prompt: here.

It's a romantic night in and that means that sometimes a lot of feelings come out.

Eddie Munson x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: This is a lot of fluff, but some minor heated moments. Post S4, cannon divergent.

______________

The day was boiling--no breeze to cut through the stiff air. But now, as the evening settles, the curtains from the open windows billow just a little. The air is a whisper on the back of your neck as you bring your knees up to your chest. The notebook slips down just a little on your thighs, but you push it back up to get the right angle. Eddie will undoubtedly have a snide remark about your position, but you know the moment he settles back down on the couch, he too will be curled up. Most likely around you, and you’re praying the night gets just a little bit cooler to withstand the walking furnace that is Eddie. 

“Fuck me,” Eddie groans. 

You look up from the work you’ve been doing in coloring in the drawing Eddie sketched out earlier in the day to find Eddie frantically swinging open cabinet doors. He opens another door, without closing the other. Disaster flashes before your eyes. Stitches, a bloody puddle on the floor, should Eddie not be careful and--

Thunk! “Son of a bitch!” Eddie howls, holding the back of his head. In all his hurry, he popped up from the cabinets at the bottom only to smack his head on the corner of one of the open cabinet doors. 

“How many fingers am I holding up?” you call out with a giggle. 

“Looks like 16,” Eddie calls out, eyes narrowed in a squint. There’s only four fingers up. 

“Hmm, I think you’re fine,” you laugh but push up off the couch. There’s the slight shuffle, the almost silent peel of feet off the tiled over kitchen floor. Part of it due to the whatever waxy cleaner you’ve convinced Wayne to use. “Let me see,” you command gently after your approach.

“Careful now, I’m fragile,” Eddie pouts but pulls hand away from the spot. 

“Gonna need a flashlight to get through this thicket,” you tease but gingerly touch at his scalp. There’s nothing damp so you don’t think there’s blood. Eddie tenses under your touch. “Sorry,” you whisper. It doesn’t stop the assessment, but you are more mindful of the pressure you’re using. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie returns his voice soft like yours. 

“What are you even looking for?” So far, you don’t think he broke skin. One good thing, but you are a little worried about something deeper too. 

“A cup. I could’ve sworn I did dishes,” Eddie huffs. “I’m running out of, like nice cups.” You watch Eddie point to the plastic cup on the counter--ones that you’re pretty sure were holding some sort of soda from a gas station in their first life. “Those are the only ones left.”

“Honey,” you coo, urging Eddie to turn around. He doesn't budge, but you press into his back, right above his hip and he turns then. “Those cups are fine.”

“No they’re not,” he sighs. 

“And what makes them not okay, huh?”

“You deserve your Coke in a chalice. Not the 7-11 trash.”

“Perhaps I consider 7-11 cups a chalice,” you return, pressing Eddie’s cheeks together. His lips bubble at the force and you plant a kiss on them. He tastes vaguely like vanilla. The frosting off the cupcakes you two shared earlier still paints his lips sweet even though it’s been a couple hours since they’ve been consumed. 

“You know you don’t and so do I,” Eddie whispers against your lips. His hands find your hips. 

“Hmm, I think I could be convinced.”

“You sure they’re okay?”

“Cups won’t ruin the night, I promise.” 

You don’t need anything fancy. You never have. But you get it. You know Eddie’s always going to want to give you the best. The thing you just wish you could convince himself off is that it’s his best that matters. Whatever Eddie gives you is the best because it’s him--it’s him giving it to you. But you don’t think the words will penetrate. Eddie’s hard headed in his own way, stubborn to his core when he wants to be so you hope that actions do speak louder than words. 

You seal your lips around his again and hum into the kiss when Eddie tugs you in closer. He’d promised a night in--dinner, movies, laughs, anything and everything as long as it was just the two of you. And he’d delivered thus far. Pizza had been called and delivered promptly. When you asked if he had any more Cokes from the case you brought over a week ago, he proudly declared he’d left the last two just for you. Your requests for a cup is what started this, but cups don’t mean a thing when all you’re thinking about is how the scent of Eddie presses against your nostrils and into your lungs like heaven. 

You’ve missed him--missed this. Your new job took more time than your old one. Not a bad thing considering that it was only an extra hour, but it meant having a new routine. It meant one hour less in your day for you to get through the slog of laundry, and dishes, and bills, and errands so that you could sit like a schoolgirl on the phone, twirling your fingers around the cord to talk to Eddie on the phone when you couldn’t visit him. Weekends now are more sacred than ever and you cherish the thought of being able to spend quality time with your boy. 

Eddie’s fingers press through the cotton of your shorts. He tugs you closer, and closer, and closer to his body. He’s warm--as always. But beyond that, beyond the wild curls that always call out to your fingers to be tugged on, or just caressed, Eddie is real beneath your fingers. Through the cotton of his t-shirt, you know what lies beneath. But you are grateful that the t-shirt is still warm. Arousal settles into your stomach, tightening your muscles as Eddie drags his fingers up your spine. But you pull back, the wet echoing smack of a broken kiss hanging between two of you as you both pant. 

“If you don’t stop, we’re going to have a problem,” you laugh as Eddie’s teasing touch moves further and further south on your body. 

“Maybe I’m looking for a problem,” he teases. 

“I am looking for a cup to put my Coke in to have pizza with my boyfriend while we watch movies we’ve seen a billion times. Because you are trouble.”

“You started it,” Eddie squawks indignantly. “You kissed first!”

His hand doesn’t stop traveling. He’s cupping you over the shorts and the ache hits you--bone deep but you don’t falter in your resolve. “Pizza. Movie.” It’s all you say before peeling yourself from Eddie’s hold. “Bring the chalices please,” you call out over your shoulder as you walk back to the couch. 

Eddie snorts but you hear his shuffled steps behind you and you know he is following. The lid to the pizza box is flipped back and the melted cheese greets you with a hefty waft. You grab a slice, the cheese pulling slowly away from its neighboring pieces. Eddie grabs a napkin and holds it just under the slice which you can only assume is threatening to drip grease onto the carpet or your lap. 

“Three good things,” Eddie commands as he reaches for his own slice, asking for the details of three good things that happened in your day. 

You hum around your bite, the pizza still hot just a little as you recount the day. “I’m no longer on the probationary period at work as of yesterday which is great. No one’s breathing down my back anymore. I finally got those jeans hemmed. And I get to enjoy pizza with my boyfriend. Three things--your turn.”

“I got the interview for the record shop,” Eddie starts. “I actually finished a drawing, speaking of which, I swear if you get grease on it,” he laughs pulling the notebook from your lap and tossing it floor away from the coffee table. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you rush out. “I’m still working on coloring it though. Forgot.”

“No harm, no foul. And lastly, I, too, am getting to enjoy pizza with my lovely partner, who did not do such a great job at making sure I wasn’t concussed.”

“I’m newly licensed to sell insurance. I am not licensed to make sure you’re not a walking threat to your own safety.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek--wet and greasy, but you don’t shy away from it. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Oh, I know,” you laugh, turning to look at Eddie. His gaze is soft, big eyes dripping with sincerity. You think you can feel the adoration radiating off him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I love you, you know.”

Your first inclination is to shove it off with a joke. But you can imagine how well that would go--not well at all. “You’re going to make me blush,” you huff, ducking your head. 

“Aw, no, don’t be like that. Let me see it. Let me see you blush,” Eddie laughs, reaching out to bring your head up by a gentle tug on your chin. 

Your face is hot; you can feel it warming the longer Eddie takes you in. His gaze is intense, eyes taking in everything from hairline to chin. You watch the flick of his gaze, as he stares down at your nose, back up to your eyes. His smile is soft and sweet, like the stroke of his thumb over your bottom lip. 

“I’m going to make you proud,” Eddie whispers unlike his normal bravado. Where you know Eddie carries himself with the mask, the loud and brash man unafraid, the quietest remarks are the ones that usually send you into a flatline. 

“You should make yourself proud,” you correct. You’d be a flimsy goal--something akin to trash billowing in a strong wind. It could change all in an instant.

“Making you proud makes me proud.”

“I’m already proud of you.” 

It’s Eddie’s turn to duck, hair falling into a wavy curtain around his face. You discard your crust--which you’re more than likely never going to fish--to a corner of the box and find Eddie’s face behind his hair. “No, you can’t hide either.” Your thumb strokes along his jaw and his eyes flutter close. “Tell me,” you return softly but it’s clear you want an answer, “Do you like that? Being told you’re making someone proud?”

“And you’re telling me you don’t?” Eddie scoffs. 

“Oh, no, I do. But I just want to hear you say it.”

“I like being told I’m making someone proud.” The sentence wavers at first, like Eddie might not be sure he can even get the words out. But the end is strong. Like the mere utterance is enough to solidify the truth within. 

“I’ll make sure I tell you more often then, okay?”

“Okay.”

His gaze drifts down and you know what he’s asking for, so you press in, lips sealing his again. A kiss soft enough that even you think twice if it’s real or not. Eddie hums this time, when you pull away, his head pressing into your shoulder. You can feel the smile on his face as his lips brush over your bicep. 

“Your slices are going to get cold,” you tease when Eddie stays buried in your shoulder for another minute. The third slice you’d been reaching for will go cold too, but that matters much less. 

“Let it,” he hums, burrowing now in your armpit. 

You grab the TV remote before you reach behind yourself to make sure the throw pillow is in place against the arm of the couch for an added layer of cushion. Once you’re sure that it’s in the position you want it, you recline back and open your arms for Eddie to crawl into. He wastes not a second to settle his head onto your chest. 

“Good thing we’ve got microwaves now, right?” you tease, pressing play for the VHS.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger thing imagine #h writes

[harringtons-cupid]

Eddie Munson

This is 18+ content do not continue if you are under 18, you will be blocked.

Imagines:

➻Perv!Eddie

➻I’ll keep you warm

➻ You’re in the kitchen humming

➻Eddie x Cheer!reader

➻ Bonus night

➻Coming out to Eddie

➻ Hellfire help Eddie set up a date with you

➻You have the attention of Steve and Billy but you choose Eddie

➻Eddie rewards you

➻A good morning to you

Fanfictions

➻I might be in love (complete)

➻The Bat

➻ Just wanna be yours

➻Holding out for you (complete)

➻Mary

#eddie munson #eddie #eddie munson vampire #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #me sorting out my masterlist #ignore this #my boyfriend is in a band #corroded coffin #eddie x fem reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x cheerleader!reader #cheerleader reader #Eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x y/n #h writes #christmas smut

[black-quadrant]

🔞 / vashwood

You don’t like it when he begs; for all he’s been through he shouldn’t have to beg for anything. But he’s not begging for anyone, or anything, just for you. There’s a guilty sweetness in knowing that that particular tone is reserved solely for these moments when you’ve got him flat down on the mattress (upon his own wings no less), teasing him if only to drag out each and every breath, gasp, and moan he’s got to give.

“Wolfwood–”

“No. Call for me,” not as your friend, but as your-- “Me.”

“Nicholas.” He slurs your name on his exhale, all drunk on sensation and desire. He aches, but not in pain. He thrashes, but not to escape. You grind your hips into his, demanding friction, demanding like you have any right. But he won’t let you balk, not with his legs wrapped so snugly around you. You’ve lured him out of the cage he’s put himself in by showing him how good he can feel, and Vash is thoroughly enjoying the freedom. He’s safe with you–well–not exactly, but you are safe to him as someone who he doesn’t have to worry about. Grim, but if you die it won’t be by association with Vash the Stampede. And it’s that notion that jimmies the locks on his inhibitions, turning Vash into the sensual creature you knew was buried, smothered and suffocated, underneath all those layers meant to keep others from digging.

“I… I’m–” He’s a beauty from head to toe, obnoxiously gentle, even at the edge of his self-control, fingers twitching in your hair, thighs shaking, he’s holding back.

You drive deep with such ferocity it nearly slams his head into the headboard. But that’s just what he needs to finally let the fuck go, and he’s now tearing at your hair, squeezing around you, biting your lip as he spills over.

He’s out of breath but still the precious thing begs you, please, come in me.

And good God, how can you refuse him.

#vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun #h writes #nsft #upcycling the old and bringing up new content stay tuned!

[trauma-factorie]

validated.

the way he destroyed my confidence for months

keeping me hanging on with occasional compliments

thrown between the attention he threw armfuls of for other girls

between the nights he spent swiping on dating apps

and meeting up with girls at 2 AM

joking about my appearance to create new insecurities

to use against me when he’s guilty

“you’re so insecure why are you always accusing me”

i’ve never experienced a relationship without abuse

because using my mental health against me counts too

when i’m crying because you don’t love me

and you say “i guess the medicine isn’t working”

and threaten to flush in down the drain

when you’re the only reason i’m this upset in the first place

my depression didn’t go away when you did

but it got a hell of a lot quieter

existing now only feels slightly painfully boring

when it used to feel like i was seconds away from losing my mind

pushed to the edge of my existence

and the end of my sanity by you’re incessant need for validation from everyone but me

#writing #h writes

[loopnoid]

more mash nonsense i've been accumulating. yes i can draw things that are not bj and hawkeye sometimes. that being said nsfw(?) beejhawk under the cut

#tho im not gonna lie most of these were requests for friends/thank you sketches etc. sorry for being beejhawkpilled 😔 #mash #m.a.s.h #m*a*s*h #beejhawk #bj hunnicutt #hawkeye pierce #trapper mcintyre #margaret houlihan #maxwell klinger #father mulcahy #NOT writing down his full name. we're not close like that. #henry blake #and his asscrack