#it's really not that deep (i say after writing an entire post about it)

[elysianymph]

🔥 anything about sirius because i am being a little hater towards some characterisations too

i've already talked your ears off about this on discord but i'm happy to talk to about it again bc i fucking HATE new sirius black with a burning passion. i hate him as much as i love my sirius black that marauderstok can pry from my cold dead hands bc i'm not letting him go. i don't know when it happened and why but marauders fans are particularly persistent on taking away any interesting traits sirius had and leaving behind a whimpering pathetic twink that cries when someone looks at him the wrong way. sirius has been scrubbed clean of any morally grey traits he might've had (he's not allowed to care for his family (unless it's regulus) or long for them bc they are bad, he's not allowed to have any prejudices even though he was literally raised with pureblood mentality and taught he was superior to everyone else from the day he was born, he's not allowed to be an asshole bc he's not like his family guys!! and when he is an asshole it's always used to victimize the character he's being an asshole to and sirius is painted as the villain with mommy issues that can only be fixed by getting dicked down apparently)

i cannot stress this enough: LET THIS MAN BE A COMPLEX CHARACTER!! and no, giving him mental illnesses that miraculously disappear when he gets together with remus and making him attempt to kill himself post prank because he feels bad is NOT making him complex! you're just weird. you're just romanticizing mental illnesses and i can't believe you don't see anything wrong with it. giving him bipolar to justify his actions is?? not??? representation??? it's offensive to people who actually have to deal with these issues in their day to day lives and yet here you are using something that will impact their life forever as a plot device for your uwu sadboy mlm fanfic.

and that's what new sirius boils down to. he's a plot device, an accessory to everyone else's story that's never given much depth other than "oh his mom used the cruciatus on him and now he's traumatized". no hate to jegulus but hate to specific jegulus fics that turn sirius into an overdramatic caricature of his former self for the sake of drama and angst.

also, some of these wolfstar shippers... wtf are you guys on?? idk when and why (that's a lie i do but i'm not gonna say it) remus became sirius black in a werewolf costume but here we are. oh sirius was cool and effortlessly smart and handsome and girls wanted him? well guess what? snatches all of those character traits and throws them onto remus they're his character traits now. ignore how it doesn't make any sense for the werewolf child who was isolated from the rest of the world to be a smooth talking alpha casanova who plays basketball actually. while we're at it, ignore how unrealistic it is for a boy who was raised in a family that believed they were superior to everyone else based on blood status, who was raised to be the perfect heir and checked off all the traits needed to be one to be insecure?? and unsure of himself?? and stupid??? and a loser??? i don't understand what the point of flipping the wolfstar dynamic was when you're left with a shallow copy of the original but ok. you do you ig.

to summarize, my sirius is cool and effortlessly smart and egotistical and a complete asshole who thinks he's the best thing ever. is it an act to cover up how damaged he thinks he is because of his family? possibly. but i also fully believe sirius thought he was a god amongst men and everyone should be glad to be in his presence. he talked down to other people because he considered himself smarter, he rolled his eyes when students asked stupid questions and made fun of them when they got an answer wrong. he's a teenage boy let him be a dick with no excuses.

(also i find it funny when people write about sirius getting into a fight with james or remus and crying because they said something mean. as if sirius wouldn't throw hands the moment someone started criticizing him. he's toxic and that's what makes him interesting. that's his purpose! characters exist to make stories interesting, to start drama, not to be your moral guide on how to act. stories become so much more fun once you let go of the need to make every character a good person. also liking a character doesn't equal liking them as a person. i love sirius but i would hate his guts irl)

#i feel like i can never fully write what i want to say and i hate it #wish i could take you guys on a tour of my brain. it's crazy up in here #thank you for letting me talk zandra it's almost like you knew what was bothering me znjzjzj #it's really not that deep (i say after writing an entire post about it) #(it's not i just like to talk to myself and hope someone will listen bc i am very very passionate can you tell?) #sirius black #mwpp #marauders #marauders era #nymph answers #hating hours 🔥 #just to be safe #tw mental illness #tw sui attempt

[ellemj]

Off-Limits: Ch. 2

Bucky Barnes x Reader: Mafia AU

Read Ch. 1 here.

Summary: Bucky Barnes took the one thing he couldn't have: you. The only thing is...you didn't even know he'd done it.

Warnings: profanity, possessive!Bucky, mentions of firearms, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Idk what to say about this chapter so on a more personal note...I had a birthday recently and I'm treating myself by writing more smut, getting pampered, and going to bed on time.

            James Bucky Barnes isn’t used to having to ask for what he wants. Negotiating is something he’ll only put a very limited amount of effort into, and when it becomes more trouble than it’s worth, he stops negotiating. That’s why he snapped two nights ago in your father’s home office. Well, he won’t admit it to himself or anyone else, but seeing how pretty you looked on your knees was what really made him snap. The pain of negotiating was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

            You’re definitely worth negotiating for, more so than anything else he’s ever negotiated for in his lifetime. He gave it a try, but hearing your father once again label you as off-limits would be enough to set anyone off. So, as the man sits quite comfortably in his desk chair, studying his own clean yet metaphorically blood-stained hands, he feels justified in his actions. He fired a couple of rounds, pressed the barrel of his gun to your father’s temple, and took what was his. Well, maybe that’s overstating it a bit.

            If he’d really taken what was his in the way that he wanted to, he wouldn’t be so on edge right now. He wouldn’t have had to fuck his hand both last night and this morning just to get you off of his mind long enough to make it into his office today. He knows he could’ve avoided feeling like this if he’d just told your father that he was taking you that night, that he had no say in the matter whatsoever. But no, after maiming two of your father’s men, Bucky pressed his gun to your father’s head and a pen into his hand and he proposed a deal that would keep you from resenting him for the rest of your life. Your father signed whatever he needed to in order to spare his own life, even at the expense of sending his only child into the arms of the city’s most feared man.

            You’re the last thing Bucky should be focusing on right now. His eyes flit over to the security monitor on his desk, where he sees his expected guests stepping out of a black SUV one by one and coming to stand near the entrance of his currently closed nightclub. It’s going to be another evening of negotiating. Heaving a deep sigh, Bucky shifts his gaze to the bottom right corner of the screen, where he sees his new assistant sitting just outside of his office. His new assistant who, while so attentive and polite at work, looks at him with the vilest disdain every evening when he escorts her out to the car that carries her home. One would think she’d be nothing but grateful for him, having first spared her father’s life and then taken her on as an assistant with no work experience whatsoever. You really should be grateful.

            Unless James Bucky Barnes is so far past pissed that he can barely see straight, it’s hard to tell that he’s feeling anything other than relaxed and calm. For the most part, he’s a very level-headed man. He gives people chances, he understands and accepts small mistakes and mishaps as they occur. Even now, as the three men seated in front of his desk bicker on amongst themselves, taking up entirely too much of his time, Bucky looks almost bored. His gaze routinely darts from the faces of the men in front of him, down to the golden crevices of his vibranium hand as he traces them with his flesh index finger, and then to the watch on his right wrist.

            3:58 pm.

            Two more minutes, he tells himself.

            “This is going to keep happening if we don’t post more men at the docks when a shipment is coming in, and if the men who are supposed to be there keep showing up late.” The first red-faced man snaps, unintentionally hurling a light mist of saliva at the man to his right.

            “That’s not on me, I don’t know why you’re looking at me when you say that. I’m doing the best I can with the numbers I have, we’ve lost a few good men lately and I can’t do anything about that.” The man on the right retorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

            3:59 pm. Bucky’s eyes roam over to the heavy wooden doors that maintain the privacy of his office. He can hear you standing on the other side of it, taking a deep breath and pushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear before wrapping your little hand around the big metal doorknob. God, he can’t help but imagine your little hand wrapping around something else.

            The volume of the argument reaches an all-time high just as you’re tugging the heavy door open. It isn’t surprising that the quiet sound of the door sliding open doesn’t break the men out of their tiff, that only Bucky hears it.

            As soon as you’ve stepped into the office and realize what you’ve walked into, you freeze by the door. Your eyes dance over the backs of the three men who sit in front of the desk, watching as they engage with each other but none of them turn around to take notice of you. The only person who looks at you is Bucky, with his steely blue eyes and focused gaze. He watches intently as your own focus shifts to him. You’re fully expecting him to tell you to leave, that your presence isn’t needed at the moment, not when something so important is obviously going down. But he doesn’t. Bucky only stares at you, waiting to see if you’ll do your job and approach his desk.

            You take small steps toward the desk, toward the angry men that sit between you and your new boss. It isn’t until you’re halfway across the office that the man in the middle hears the sound of your heels clicking against the hardwood floor and he glances over his shoulder at you. The up-and-down look that he gives you sends a nauseating shiver down your spine while simultaneously making Bucky’s trigger finger itch.

            “You let bitches walk in here without knocking?” The middle man asks abruptly, effectively silencing the room with the way he’s just addressed Bucky. As is the norm, not a soul in the room can tell that Bucky’s seething on the inside. He keeps his cool, he remains level-headed as he makes eye contact with the burly man. He offers no words in response, and instead simply chooses to tilt his head slightly to the side as if he’s daring the man to say more. “Run along, little girls shouldn’t be privy to a man’s business. This is no place for you.”

            The man’s dark eyes are on you again, sizing you up as he waits to see how long it’ll take for you to listen to his bold command. Again, you freeze, unsure of whether to obey the piece of shit who’s just spoken or to obey Bucky’s rules. You’re too check in with him in his office every evening at four to see if he needs anything else before you leave for the night. It’s why you’re here now, in your tight black skirt, tights, heels, and black knitted sweater. It’s why you’re frozen in place, searching his eyes for any clue as to what you should be doing. Bucky says nothing, he doesn’t even so much as raise an eyebrow at you. So, you turn to head right back out the door.

            “Sit.” His tone is commanding and authoritative, ten times more so than the flushed, angry man who tried to tell you what to do only a moment ago. When James Bucky Barnes speaks, everyone listens. You turn around slowly, coming to face the desk again, but you don’t take any steps forward to do as you’ve been asked.

            Bucky would like for you to do as you’re told after only being told once. Though, he has to remind himself, you’re new to this. He can give you a little grace. If it takes being told twice for you to listen, he can work with that. But if it takes much more than that? He may have underestimated just how much trouble you’d be for him. As you hold his gaze, he fights the urge to speak again. He told you to sit, you should already be sitting. He narrows his eyes at you in one last effort to get through to you without words. That’s what spurs you into action. He watches as your legs carry you forward slowly. He watches as your eyes coast over the three men, who are staring at you with varied amounts of attraction, annoyance, and shock on their faces. You’re realizing that there isn’t a free chair anywhere in the office. Your first thought is to sit on the corner of Bucky’s mahogany desk, because where the hell else does he want you to sit? You’re making your move to perch there when you meet Bucky’s gaze again.

            The harsh, offended look on his face clears things up for you quickly. He most definitely doesn’t want you sitting on his desk. The way he pushes his chair back a few inches and spreads his legs to make room leaves a mix of anger and excitement swirling around within you. You stand there beside his desk, staring at him with a cold expression of your own. With a little tilt of his head to the side and another narrowed look, you find your legs carrying you forward once more, toward the man you’ve always been inexplicably drawn to.

            “Who is she to you? We’re not going to sit here and talk business in front of one of your little playthings. She has no part in this.” The bold middle man barks out, directing his anger at Bucky now. Bucky’s in his own world for the moment. The soft curve of your ass is pressing against the junction of his hip and his thigh, the sweet scent of your perfume is making his head spin, and the way your cheeks are turning a gentle shade of pink is making him question every illegal thing he’s ever done. It’s as if he has an actual angel in front of him right now. He’s quiet for a bit too long after the man’s harsh question, and you turn your head to look at your boss. You notice the way his normally hardened gaze softens when you make eye contact with him, the way his pupils dilate in the slightest and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smooth out. You’re lost in him for a moment, lost in the sea of blue that rims his widened pupils, lost in the way your anger seems to be dissipating more and more with every second that you look at him.

            Bucky likes that you hold eye contact with him even as he reaches up to his desk with his right hand, even as he wraps his fingers around the gun that he laid there before the meeting began. Even when he aims the gun between the eyes of the man in the middle chair, you’re still lost in his gaze. It isn’t until he pulls the trigger and ends the man’s life right there that your eyes snap shut and your body tenses up. Instinctively, Bucky’s vibranium hand moves to the small of your back to steady you, to make you feel safer.

            “Does anyone else have anything to say about my wife?”

            That’s the moment you find out that somehow, without your knowledge or agreement, you’re married to James Bucky Barnes.

TAG LIST:

@vicmc624 @emerald-writes @skulliecadaver-blog @globetrotter28 @b3llair3 @steeph-aniie @spiffylittlebug @raging-panda @dozcan123 @sapphirebarnes @sarah1barnes @sunnyhummingbee @gyokujyn @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @ordelixx @crist1216 @twlkdead @claireelizabeth85 @charmedbysarge @blackhawkfanatic @kentokaze @eecummingsandgoings @nyashonality @h2oaffirmations @sadeyes61 @aka-tua-braindump @immortalfangirl @valenftcrush @andrometda

#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier #winter soldier #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky x you

[captainfern]

okay soooo i’m expanding on this post about cuck!price and his mrs, as well as my tags that basically say they’re both obsessed with you

@bleuu-moon is truly the orchestrator behind this and actually went into my dms to manipulate me into writing (i’m joking ofc lol blu i luv you and your brain)

uhh yeah this is really short and basic and unedited

18+, fem!reader — price and his wife fuck while dirty talking about you, etc (i don’t have a description or name for price’s wife just yet so bear with me 😭)

You, John and his wife had been involved with one another for months now.

It started as a mutual friendship— both Mr. and Mrs. Price being so warm and kind to you, always so inviting and generous. But throughout the friendship, you couldn’t help but notice John’s lingering stares and the way his wife would let her lips linger against your cheek after a friendly kiss goodbye.

Then, you began a tryst, of sorts, with them. A drunken night out led to you and Mrs. Price tangled together, John sitting nearby with his cock in his hand and his eyes glazed over. Then, he’d fucked you hard while his wife cradled your face, petting you gently while guiding your mouth to her slick pussy.

That was months ago.

And the Price’s hardly ever fucked without you, now. It seemed too empty, the bed too cold and the room too quiet without you. It was like you were a missing piece of their puzzle, hidden just out of reach when they needed you the most.

So, when both John and his wife found themselves worked up behind belief, whiskey warming their blood, they found they missed you.

You had been with them, in all your beauty, just three days prior— an entire night of being fucked into the mattress with a real cock down your throat and a fake one splitting you open from behind. You gave yourself to them, every bare, gorgeous inch of you. And they loved it.

They craved it.

Now, with his wife’s knees pushed up near her ears, John held her steady as he pumped his achingly hard cock in and out of her. The tight warmth of her cunt sucked him in, drawing ragged breaths from his lungs, forehead beading with sweat.

She moaned, hands scraping down his hairy back, gripping and groping at the soft muscle there. He grunted in return, snapping his hips harder, driving himself deeper. So much deeper.

Before you, their dirty talk was exceptional and always focused on praising (or degrading) one another. But you… you changed their dynamic completely— flipped it on its head entirely.

“Fuckin’ hell, she’d love this, wouldn’t she?” John moaned, cock driving up against the base of his wife’s cervix, her walls slick and tight around him. He was talking about you, of course.

His wife moaned, tossing her head back and scraping her manicured nails down her husband’s back. “Yeah— yes, fuck—! Yeah, she would. She’d— she’d love it, John.”

John grumbled something low in his chest, a growl of approval as he continued rutting his fat cock into his wife, who was mewling and keening below him.

“Mhm, she’d take it like such a good girl,” his wife moaned, one hand gripping the back of John’s neck. “She’s such a good girl for us, isn’t she, darling?”

John nodded, grunting in agreement. He was envisioning that it was your pussy that he was rutting into with deep thrusts and obscene wet squelches.

“Our good girl,” John whispered. “Fuck, miss her so much. I fuckin’ need her, love. Need her tight little pussy an’ that pretty mouth of hers.”

His wife moaned in agreement, the head of John’s cock driving her towards release. It was coming a lot quicker— her body tingling, heat blooming in her lower belly— thanks to the thought of you in her head.

She moaned again. “Oh fuck— fuck she’s such a pretty girl, John. She— oh my god— she makes me feel so good.”

“Yeah?” John implored, almost teasingly. But not too teasingly, considering you made him feel the exact same way too. John was many things, but he wasn’t a hypocrite.

“Yeah…” His wife whined. “Mmm…”

Then, Mrs. Price came with another loud moan, her orgasm ripping through her body. It made her keen and arch against her husband, still fucking her, her legs shaking as she gushed around John’s cock.

She came moaning your name.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Price cooed, eyes glazed over. “Moan her name, darling. Let me hear her name falling from those pretty lips.”

His wife nearly cried your name that time, and John bent down to kiss her. They kissed, licking their tongues together and swapping too much spit— but they didn’t care. They were too busy thinking about you.

“M’comin’—” Price moaned, and then whined out your name. “Baby, fuck, m’gonna come inside you.”

He called you baby.

Playing pretend. It’ll have to do.

His wife gasped out in pleasure when he buried himself to the hilt inside her and came hard. He filled her with a shudder of his bulky body, your name dribbling from his lips, tasting of whiskey and need.

God, they wanted you so bad.

#captainfern #cuck!price lmao #but uh yeah the original post has be going insane so thanks for that blu <3 #captain john price smut #john price call of duty #captain john price x female reader #captain john price x you #captain price smut #john price smut #price smut #call of duty

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. III)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: After so many years of being closed off from the idea of love, you finally allow yourself to feel it freely with Minho.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, smut

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), oral sex (female receiving), protected sex, swearing

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: A part of this chapter was almost shamelessly inspired by the song that inspired the plot in the first place, Invisible String by Taylor Swift. Also really inspired by my favorite Minho vlog, Lee Know Log 4 🩷

To those who have asked to be tagged in this story: would any of you be interested in being tagged in any new work I post later? Let me know! And thank you for reading and giving me such a great experience posting my writing here for the first time 🩷

← part II ♡ ⟳ part I

You spend the entire flight home processing everything that had happened during the trip; from Minho’s words, to your kisses and touches, to you ultimately acknowledging your own romantic feelings for him. Although it all felt sudden, it had been a long time coming.

As his car stops at the front of your house, Minho steps out and walks with you, your backpack in hand.

“I know you’re scared. I understand that even more now that I know about your past relationships,” he speaks softly as the two of you stop at the front door, “And I want you to know that I’m gonna be patient.”

You nod slowly, although the desire to answer him is still so prevalent in your mind, the words lodged in your throat and yearning to spill out. But you’ve made the mistake of jumping into relationships far too often, always driven by your emotions, and every time, the outcome has been disastrous. You don’t want that to happen with Minho.

So, you settle on a question that has been eating away at you.

“Why do you like me, Minho?”

His face twists into a deep frown before ultimately softening. Carefully placing your backpack on the step leading to the front door, he sighs.

“You shouldn’t have to ask me that,” he assures you, his rough hands touching your shoulders before moving down your arms to entwine with your own. “You don’t even realize how fucking amazing you are, do you? I’d move mountains, fight anyone and do anything if it meant I’d have the privilege to see you smile.”

And, just like that, you feel your lips stretch out into a small smile at his words. He grins at you.

“Just like that. I’d do anything to see that,” he says. “And you take care of your friends simply because you love them, never asking for anything in return. You collect plushies like me, you appreciate the criminally underrated flavor of lemon cake, and you worked at the same convenience store as me, and spilled coffee all over my notebook on the day we met. That’s why I like you; because you’re you.”

Tears threaten to well up in your eyes, so you quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your shoes. With a nod, you wrap your arms around Minho, taking in his scent and reveling in the comforting warmth of his body. Little did he know, you were just as willing to do whatever it took to keep him near you. He plants a chaste kiss on your forehead as you break away from his embrace.

“I’ll call you later, okay? Thank you for the trip.”

 

As soon as you step inside your house, Eunha is quick to come running towards you, her hands dirty with flour as she abandons her unbaked cookies on the counter and pulls you into a hug.

“I missed you so much,” she whines, “How will I survive living without you next year?”

You chuckle, watching as her lips turn into a pout.

“I’m sure we’ll suffer equally, if that makes you feel better.”

She fakes a sob, turning on her heels and heading toward the kitchen.

“Oh, Hyunjin is in a crisis, apparently,” she tells you, wiping her hands on her apron. “He called me three times just today to ask if you were back already.”

You let out a sigh. Hyunjin was more often than not either glum or vexed due to his trials and mishaps in finding love. He once joked that you two would end up having to marry each other with how things were going. You dreaded his reaction to the news of Minho soon entering your life in a new way.

“The hotel’s Wi-Fi was a joke, but I honestly didn’t even think to check my phone,” you tell Eunha, who giggles as she cuts her cookies into heart shapes. “What? Why are you giggling like that?” You ask her with a grin, approaching the counter.

She shrugs. “Nothing. I didn’t even think to check my phone,” she playfully mimics your voice, looking up at you, “I’m guessing you had fun, then?”

“I did,” you beam, “It was everything I thought it would be and even more.”

She raises an eyebrow at you. “Even more?”

“Even more,” you reiterate. “I had so much fun with Minho. I forgot how good it feels to just let go and allow myself to feel what I want to feel.”

Eunha’s lips curl into a small smile. She hums, lowering her head in a feeble attempt at pretending to focus on the cookies in front of her. “And what did you want to feel this weekend?”

“Like maybe I can finally fall in love again.”

Your friend lifts her head, her eyes wide. “Love?” she exclaims, “You, the girl who has spent every day since I met you talking about how love isn’t important, is wanting to fall in love?”

You chuckle at her reaction, shrugging dismissively. “In my defense, I had my reasons. Plus, some things made me change my mind.”

“More like someone,” Eunha teases, and you roll your eyes at her, but a smile spreads on your lips unwittingly. “I’m happy for you,” she beams, “and I think you should definitely fall in love again — not maybe.”

You sprint across the small kitchen space, circling around the counter to wrap your arms around Eunha and squeezing her as she lightly pushes you away, warning you about flour getting all over your clothes, but you don’t mind.

Because you love her, as you’ve learned this past weekend, and you don’t mind the mess when it comes to someone you love.

It’s only as you enter your room that you check your phone, which is filled with notifications from Hyunjin, much like Eunha had said. After ten missed calls, it seems he resorted to simply texting you.

Hyune: hey I know you’re in japan but can you answer the phone? Hyune: I promise I’ll be quick. just wanna talk to you Hyune: hear your voice idk I feel really alone rn and really bad idk lol Hyune: mingyu has his girlfriend over. can you believe they’re still together? Hyune: can you believe he has a girlfriend and I can’t even find someone to give me the time of day lol Hyune: can you believe every date I go to ends with me crying lol Hyune: sorry I’m being annoying and the messages aren’t even being delivered, you’re clearly having fun sorry Hyune: sorry Hyune: guess that’s why nobody can endure me for more than two dates Hyune: have fun 🤍 I love you

You feel your heart ache as you read his messages, answering with an apology. But before you can hit send on your second message, Hyunjin has already replied. 

Hyune: it’s okay. I’m sorry I even sent those in the first place

Me: Stop apologizing Me: You know I love you and I’ll always be here for you Me: Where are you?

Hyune: at my dorm Hyune: staring at the ceiling

Me: I’m coming over

True to his words, Hyunjin is lying on the floor of his dorm’s cramped living room once you open the door. There’s a small canvas propped up against the wall, a myriad of shades of blue forming the shape of a face. Your best friend’s talent never ceases to amaze you, and you have to fight the urge to stand still by the front door for a few seconds simply admiring his new painting.

“Look at this sulking Pisces,” you click your tongue as you approach Hyunjin, who only opens one eye to shoot you a glance.

“I’m in a fragile state and this is how you greet me,” he all but pouts before sitting up as you sit cross-legged beside him on the floor. “How was the trip?”

You shrug. “It was fun. We only had one day to explore the city, so we didn’t do much,” you say simply, tapping your fingers on your thigh.

You don’t want to sit and talk about how much fun you had during a trip when Hyunjin’s puffy, bloodshot eyes are staring directly at you. He was sad, and his sadness was palpable throughout the entire living room — his bitten lips, his painting, his hands covered in dried-up blue paint; everything was dripping in sadness. This was a constant with Hyunjin, but lately it had become even worse. He has an overwhelming desire to love and be loved, but his every attempt at fulfilling this desire is futile for reasons you cannot wrap your head around.

“I like the new painting,” you smile, focusing on the saddened blue face. Hyunjin scoffs beside you.

“It’s fucking terrible,” His hand shoves the canvas face down on the floor. You bite your lip. “Can’t even paint shit I like anymore. Every time I try, it always turns out muddy and sad.”

“What happened?”

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Well I’m pathetic, so it’s still the same old reason. I had a date with this girl on Saturday, but she canceled at the last minute. Texted me something about me being too clingy after she agreed to go out with me, about how she knows she would feel suffocated if we dated.”

You furrow your brows together, anger bubbling up inside your chest. “What the fuck?”

“Oh, but don’t worry!” Hyunjin gave you a forced smile. “She made sure to remind me that it was her, not me, and that lots of women out there like guys like me. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, turning his attention toward his hands before scratching some of the dried paint off. You sigh.

“Hyunjin, she isn’t wrong about that. You know that, right? You’re not the one at fault.”

He scoffs. “Sure seems like it when every date I’ve gone to since starting university has ended up with me being rejected for the same fucking reasons. It’s always me. Too clingy, too sentimental, too emotional,” his voice is almost a whisper as he speaks. He turns to face you again. “Remember how I would stop sleeping with you whenever I liked someone? Wanna know why I stopped doing that? ‘Cause I know it’s not gonna go anywhere anyway, so what’s the point? It never goes anywhere, and then I’m left alone again. Maybe I should just accept it, y’know? Some people are just meant to be alone, and clearly I’m one of them.”

Your anger has now morphed into sadness. You hate the way Hyunjin talks about himself, hate it even more how it seems nobody can appreciate the amazing person he is. Being caring and sentimental is not a flaw, and you pray that he never allows other people’s opinions to sway him into thinking that way. You pray he finds someone who can appreciate these qualities in him the same way you do.

“You’re not alone, Hyune,” you assure him, taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re surrounded by friends who love you so much, and while I know that’s not the type of love you yearn for, it’s still love.”

Hyunjin smiles softly at you before pulling you closer and pressing his lips to yours. It’s sudden but not entirely unexpected; the way you and Hyunjin dealt with shitty things in life and unpleasant feelings together had always been through sex, and you knew it always made him feel at least a little better afterward. And so you let him, returning the kiss even as part of you felt wrong doing it when your entire being was consumed with thoughts of only Minho.

As soon as he kisses you, he swiftly pushes you down onto the hardwood floor and hovers over you. Hyunjin’s fingers undo the buttons of your cardigan before slipping under your shirt, caressing your skin as his lips trail kisses down your neck. Soon enough, his body is pressed up against your spread thighs, and you know where this is going — but as much as you want to make your best friend feel better, you cannot bring yourself to do it.

“Hyune,” you softly call out, and he hums against your throat. “We can’t do this.”

He chuckles, squeezing your waist. “Mingyu always comes home late when he goes out with his girlfriend. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that, Hyunjin. I just—”

“Do you not wanna fuck on the floor?” He asks, coming up to look at you. He cocks his head to the side. “We can just do it on the couch then, I really don’t wanna have sex with all those pictures of Mingyu and his friends staring at us in our room.”

“Hyunjin, no—”

“It’s not like we never did it on a couch before, stop being dramatic—”

“I’m in love with Minho.”

It comes out before you can fully comprehend what you’re saying, the word love slipping past your lips effortlessly. Hyunjin stills on top of you, his body rigid and tense. 

“Oh,” is all he offers you. You nod slowly, fingers picking at a drop of paint that stained the collar of his shirt.

You whisper, “I really am just as surprised as you are, believe me.”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I’m not surprised. I just— now you’re leaving me, too.”

You shake your head. It’s ludicrous to you that Hyunjin could imagine that you would ever even entertain the thought of leaving him. Running a hand through his messy hair, you pull him in and press a kiss to his nose. Hyunjin hides his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

“Sorry, that was pathetic. I shouldn’t have said that,” he apologizes. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I just love you so much. I thought we would…”

You furrow your brows as he trails off his words. You thread your fingers through his long hair. “We would…?”

“End up together somehow,” he speaks slowly, his voice muffled, and your heart drops.

Hyunjin harboring these feelings about you was something you would never have imagined. You were certain he was content being your friend and having sex with you only until he found the right person. He went on several dates, after all. Your heart feels like it’s been shattered into a million tiny pieces upon learning about his hidden desire for the future he used to so often joke about: you two ending up together simply because you were each other’s only choices.

“Hyunjin,” you start carefully, “I love you, too. So much. You’re my best friend, and that’s never going to change. We don’t have to be together romantically for us to be in love, y’know? I realized that just recently.”

You feel him nod his head, his hand finding yours and intertwining your fingers.

“I’m just sad I won’t have you anymore. I’m gonna miss us so much,” he places a small kiss on your collarbone. “Whenever I felt like I was in a dark pit with no way out, every single time you were there to bring me out of it and make me feel okay again. I love you so much for that.”

And you can only softly smile at his words before your heart shatters all over again as you hear him quietly begin to sob in your skin.

“Hyunjin,” you call out, although you know he won’t reply. “You’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. My love for you goes beyond us having sex — that wasn’t even important to me in our relationship. It was just something good on top of something already amazing.” With a slow nod, he lifts his head and gazes at you with red, teary eyes, causing your heart to ache even more. “I’ll never leave you. Ever. I’ll still answer your four hundred three a.m. texts, still let you hide away in my house, still happily listen to you complain about your days, and still hold you when you cry.”

Hyunjin pouts like a child, and your heart swells with fondness.

“Really?” He asks, and you chuckle with a nod.

“Really,” you assure him. “Me being with someone will never change our friendship, or my love for you. I mean, we won’t have sex anymore, of course, but I’ll still talk shit about your roommate with you so I’m sure you’ll forgive me.”

Hyunjin’s tearful expression vanishes, replaced by a small teasing grin. “I am gonna have to jerk off significantly more, so I don’t know about forgiveness,” he jokes.

You push him off you with a chuckle, sitting up as he tries to regain his balance.

“When did this whole thing with Minho even happen?” Hyunjin asks, setting his painting back against the wall. You shrug, buttoning up your cardigan. He hums. “So, are you already together?”

“Not yet,” you say, “but I’m gonna answer him after our class this week. If he fucking lets me, that is. He says he wants to be patient, but I don’t want to be patient. The only thing I wanna be is with him.”

Hyunjin’s whole body contorts as he groans. “Ew, what the fuck? When did you become such a sap?”

As you shove him back once more, you both burst into laughter while Hyunjin stumbles back and spills a mug filled with dirty paint water all over his floor.

The rest of the day goes by with you and Hyunjin painting together, a much broader array of colors and a much happier end result on the canvas: beautiful flowers painted by him standing alongside clumsily drawn hearts, stars, and other doodles painted by you. After signing your name above his elegant signature, you inform him the painting is leaving with you — it’s hanging up on your wall as soon as you arrive home.

Hyunjin is your best friend; it’s been this way for the last two years, and it’s indisputable to you that this fact will remain no matter what happens. As you watch him hunched over your painting, insisting that his flowers could be more detailed — even after you assured him a thousand times that they were perfect — you curse yourself for not realizing how beautiful this love between you two is. You hope he cherishes this love as well, in spite of his desire for the two of you to be together in the future. You know deep down this idea stemmed from his fear of solitude.

You’re not worried about him at all, though. He’s a precious soul, and anyone who fails to recognize that doesn’t deserve him. He’s simply getting rid of the wrong people in order to find the right person, someone who sees him as you do.

The love you feel for Hyunjin is unchanging, and if you had any say in it, it would be everlasting.

Your next Japanese class with Minho comes too soon, and you find yourself unprepared. Every trace of resolve you had after returning from your trip dissipated bit by bit every time you saw or talked to him. As soon as you saw his figure step into the coffee shop on Monday to pick up his usual order, you realized that every single scenario your mind had conjured up fell flat. Minho was beautiful, amazing, breathtaking — he deserved something grand and earth-shattering, not a simple answer from a girl who wasn’t even half as good as he was.

It certainly did not help that he, always true to his words, respected your time. Not once during his coffee trips or your never-ending talks through the phone did he mention the topic. And it was slowly but surely driving you insane.

You bite your lips so much on your way to university you’re sure your lipstick is gone by the time you enter the building, and you’re surprised your poor bag isn’t riddled with holes in the cloth from your insistent picking. You shouldn’t feel this nervous — Minho is the one waiting for an answer, after all. For all he knows, you could be simply building up the courage to let him down gently. But you are nervous. You’re terrified he will listen to your clumsy words and decide he deserves someone better. Or, worse yet, will only realize how undeserving of his love you are once you’re in a relationship.

And you don’t think you can face another heartbreak where you’re left to mend your gashes all alone.

You enter the building with shaky hands, fiddling with the strap of your bag and walking toward your classroom on autopilot as your mind is too busy running over all the ways in which this could go wrong.

All faded, however, once you saw Minho waiting for you in front of your classroom. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he looked down at his phone, his body wrapped in a cozy-looking black sweater and sweatpants, a keychain of a cat plushie hanging from his backpack matching his phone case. You stop a few feet away from him. He deserves the world, and that terrifies you. Still, his presence alone melts away every ugly word of doubt and every piece of worry inside your body until the only thing you can feel is the swirling of that familiar pinwheel spinning inside your chest.

You greet him with a long hug, hoping he can’t feel your heart beating through your own sweater.

After class, he walks you to work, enthusiastically telling you about the progress he, Chan and Seungmin have made on their game. You nod and hum along to his words, but you can’t, for the life of you, focus on a word he’s saying. All you want to do is tell him you like him — god, you like him so much — but every time you’re close to doing it, the ugly words return and scream that he deserves more than an underwhelming confession on a gloomy, empty street.

You stop walking as you two reach the bench located just far away enough from the hustle and bustle of students on campus, the one where no one bothered you when you sat here by yourself for three years, the one that had oddly become your favorite bench among all the other identical ones scattered throughout your university.

Because it was here that you and Minho had your first real conversation, it was here where you two laughed and gasped at all the little coincidences between your lives, and it was here where you began to build a friendship with this wonderful guy who would unknowingly change you for the better.

It was the perfect place, and you berated yourself for not realizing that sooner.

Minho’s voice calling out your name pulls you away from your thoughts, his hand wrapping around yours and pulling you gently toward his body. You hum before colliding against his chest as he chuckles.

“You just stopped walking,” he says, a lilt of confusion in his voice. “I know you hate work, but I didn’t think it was this serious.”

And when you properly turn to look at him, Minho is smiling so beautifully under the somber sky of winter, as if he is the embodiment of sunshine — always glistening and radiating such a comforting warmth no matter how glum the world around him is. And, at the sight of him, you just can’t stop your words. Never mind how gloomy this campus seems or how lackluster your words are — Minho’s presence alone makes everything become golden.

“I like you because you’re you,” you mirror his words at you, “Because you laughed in my face for spilling coffee all over your notebook when I didn’t even know you, because you love coffee just as much as I hate it, and because you believe in silly myths about riding paddle boats together,” You blurt out, words completely unbidden by your brain. Minho’s eyes widened for a beat before slowly turning into crescent moons as a smile spread across his lips. You take a deep breath before continuing, the words flowing out of you so quickly you’re worried he won’t be able to understand you, “And you opened my eyes to the love I feel for my friends, which I was so fucking stupid and blinded to. But, most importantly, you taught me that love isn’t bad. It can never be bad because you’re love, Minho. You’re full of love, and there’s not an ounce of anything bad in you. And you make me feel deserving of this love, even though I still don’t understand how I can be deserving of something so beautiful.”

Minho’s arms are pulling you into an embrace before you can process everything you said, and by the time you seem to come to your senses, you realize tears have welled up in your eyes. He holds you close to him silently for a while, his left hand delicately massaging your scalp as you clutch onto the fabric of his sweater as if he might be taken away from you if you let go.

“I like you, too,” he whispers against your hair, and you feel your lips contort into a pout.

“You already told me that,” you grumble. “I just word-vomited my feelings to you and this is all you have to say?”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. “What else is there to say? I like you so much I don’t think I can put it into words. I might just say something stupid if I talk about it too much.”

You furrow your brows, pulling away from his embrace to face him. “Something stupid like what?”

“Like saying I love you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. Yet again, Minho has rendered you speechless. He shakes his head dismissively, a smile still etched onto his lips.

“No need to say anything. I told you it was stupid,” his eyes drift over to the bench beside you two, and his smile grows. “Guess this has to become my favorite bench too.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s cut short by your tears spilling out again. Minho quickly turns to look at you again, his expression shifting into a mixture of happiness and worry for you as he wipes your tears away with his thumbs.

And as the sun begins to set, the street lights flicker on, casting a warm, yellow glow over everything around you. You cup Minho’s face and press a chaste kiss to his lips, then to his nose, before wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into an embrace once again.

“I don’t think I’m ready to love you yet. I’m sorry,” you apologize, both to him and yourself.

Minho simply hums, kissing your cheek. “I told you I’m patient, because love is patient. I would wait an eternity for the privilege of hearing you say you love me.”

You and Minho have officially been together for almost two months by the time winter break arrives. You’ve done everything couples do, except for two things: say I love you and go all the way. You’ve done every other possible thing — well, Minho has done every other possible thing to you, with you discovering that Minho particularly loves eating you out, often laying on your lap on your couch after work and rubbing his head against your thighs like a cat, humming and sighing until he has your attention before all but begging you to let him go down on you. Whenever you offer to do the same to him, in any way, he immediately turns the offer down, saying he’s satisfied just pleasuring you. It always leaves you with a million questions, as you notice him have to adjust himself in his pants or coincidently go to the bathroom, but you don’t question it.

The two of you also found ways to get around the whole L-word situation. I missed you becoming your go-to phrase for when you want to scream out that you love him, but are still unable to, while he usually just makes you swallow both your words and his own that are lingering inside your mouth with a kiss.

You had fallen into a routine quickly, with you visiting Minho most evenings after your shift to just lay on Chan’s stiff leather couch and watch him work. You two always hang out with his co-workers slash friends for a while before leaving for the night — Seungmin becoming like the pestering but loveable little brother you never had — and you head to your house in Minho’s car before you sneak him into your home so Mrs. Choi remains none the wiser.

Her ‘no boyfriends spending over two days at the house’ rule can’t possibly apply if she doesn’t even know Minho is there in the first place.

And so, he’s been basically living alongside you and your housemates. This outcome was almost inevitable since Minho hates his roommates while you love each other’s company.

You’re now packing your things with Hyunjin, who’s been sitting on your bed for the last half-hour rather than helping you as he’d promised. In the past month, he’s been able to come to terms with the fact that his ideal future with you was nothing but a coping mechanism after a month of sulking every time Minho was around. He deleted every shitty dating app on his phone and now focuses on finding love naturally, recently going out with a girl he met in one of his classes. The first time they met was the epitome of a meet-cute, with her accidentally bumping into him and spilling black paint all over his shirt. It brought back memories of when you first met Minho, and you had high hopes that this time things would work out differently for him. But, judging by the scowl on Hyunjin’s face and his nonstop complaining, you were wrong.

“But, be for real, why did it take her six dates to realize she doesn’t think we’ll work out?” He grumbles, spinning one of your necklaces around his finger like it’s a toy. “I paid for every meal, made sure she got at least two orgasms every time we went out, and she just suddenly decides we won’t work out? Fuck off.’’

You chuckle, closing your suitcase after triple-checking that you packed Minho’s Christmas present and walking over to where Hyunjin is sitting, snatching your necklace from his hand.

“Maybe she liked the free food and orgasms too much to let them go.”

Hyunjin scowls. “You’re saying that’s the only reason she went out with me?” He feigns offense, shaking his head. “I hope Minho’s parents hate your guts.”

“Hyunjin!” You exclaim, watching as he bursts out laughing. “Don’t even joke about that. You know how nervous I am.”

“There’s no way they won’t like you,” He assures you, “You’re fucking amazing, not to mention their son loves you. That’s more than enough reason to love you too.”

You clutch the necklace in your hand, humming before turning on your heels to check your drawers for anything you might have missed. Hyunjin using the word love makes you a bit anxious, an unwelcome reminder that you still haven’t been able to overcome this stupid emotional blockage preventing you from telling Minho you love him. The first and only time you’d ever said you loved Minho was that evening at Hyunjin’s dorm, and it hadn’t even been directed at him. Without saying a word, you both understand the love that exists between you — it’s unspoken, but deeply felt — and you’re aware of that, but the fear that one day he’ll grow tired of waiting is painfully tangible inside your mind.

When Minho invited you to spend Christmas with his family, you hesitated at first. Meeting your ex-boyfriends’ families had never been so significant. You were a teenager at the time, the implications were different and the stakes didn’t seem as high. This time, it feels as if getting Minho’s parents to like you is indispensable. How will he go on dating a woman his parents deem unfit for him? Especially with how highly he speaks of his mother, you’re sure her opinion of you will weigh on his mind.

You can only hope they love you half as much as you love their son.

The car ride to Minho’s parents’ house was around half an hour.

Half an hour you spent picking at a loose thread on your skirt and overthinking so much your head ached by the time he parked the car. You hated how nervous you were, but Minho’s parents liking you was a non-negotiable. 

After insisting on carrying your own suitcase — just in case his parents might think you’re an overbearing girlfriend if they see Minho carrying your bag for you — the two of you walk up the stairs and into his home. The first thing you notice is how cozy-looking everything is; from the family pictures neatly placed on coffee tables and on the walls, cat furniture and toys mixed in with their actual furniture, down to the fuzzy blankets thrown over the couches.

The second thing that catches your attention is the quietude permeating throughout the house, as well as the fact that the first family member to greet you two is an orange cat.

“Oh, did you miss me this much?” Minho asks in a sweet, singsong voice, similar to how you would speak to a baby. He crouches down to pet the cat, who is now entangling himself between his legs. He introduces you by your name, because Soonie is truly just another family member to him. You chuckle, kneeling next to him and carefully extending your hand toward the orange ball of fur.

“Hello, Soonie,” you speak quietly, afraid you’ll spook him. He eyes you carefully before sniffing your fingers and, ultimately, rubbing his head on your hand. You sigh in relief, petting his fur with a smile.

Minho’s cats liking you was also a non-negotiable.

You place your suitcases in Minho’s childhood bedroom, his parents letting him know they will arrive a little late after going Christmas shopping. Looking around his small room, you smile at all the small things that scream Lee Minho. The pictures of him and his friends back in high school are the first thing you notice, glued to the wall in front of his door lopsided. His thick-rimmed glasses and bowl cut make you smile as you analyze one of the pictures, where he and four other boys hug and smile widely in a karaoke room. Then, of course, his extensive plushie collection sat against a wall to your left — all stacked on top of each other like a mountain — which he proudly shows off to you.

“Y’know, I had to basically fight a little girl at the Sanrio store for this one,” he says, a bit too smugly, while holding a plush of Kuromi dressed in a ladybug costume. “I was sixteen, though, so I think that excuses my behavior. I would never do that nowadays.”

You narrow your eyes, humming skeptically. “Sure you wouldn’t.”

Minho just chuckles, meticulously placing the doll back in its place beside the cherry on top of a rather large Pusheen pudding plushie.

“Oh! You have to see my books.” He takes your hand in his, dragging you toward the wall facing his bed. A bookshelf expanding from the floor to the ceiling makes your mouth drop. You hadn’t noticed it before, with it being hidden away in the corner of the room. The bookshelf is decorated with fairy lights — which Minho promptly switches on — and filled with beautiful books, from intricately designed hard covers to intricate sprayed edges, every single book in his collection has something special about it.

He uses a small metal ladder to reach the top of the shelves before handing you a book so thick your wrist almost bends upon grabbing it. It’s a collection of seven Jane Austen novels, all in a gorgeous blue and golden hardcover. You eye the book like it’s a precious jewel, carefully running your fingers over the details engraved on the cover. Beside you, Minho lets out a breathy laugh, stepping down from the ladder and bumping your shoulder lightly.

“You can open it,” he tells you, but you’re still too mesmerized by the book to look at him. “It’s what books are for, whether they’re pretty or not. You have to open it and read it, otherwise they lose their purpose.”

You nod slowly, but remain unmoving. Minho’s hand suddenly rests on top of yours, and he opens the book for you. The page is entirely annotated, with highlighters and thoughts jotted down on pencil in messy handwriting. Looking up at him, you are met by his smile.

“See? The book is fine, the world didn’t end. I have these special editions because I enjoy collecting pretty things, but I always read them,” he explains, “I like when books reflect the emotions I felt while reading them. I annotate, scribble, highlight — I once threw a special edition Stephen King book across the living room and into a wall. There’s an indentation on it till this day.”

You gasp. “Minho, what the fuck?”

He shrugs dismissively. “I know, I know. All book sins in the eyes of many people. But, like I said, that just reflects the emotions I felt while reading that book. I look through any of these pages and I know exactly what I felt at that time of my life.”

You nod, your lips absentmindedly curling into a smile. Minho truly is something else. You skim the page opened before you, reading some of his annotations and laughing quietly to yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

As you close the book, he speaks again, “They’re a bit like people, aren’t they? Pretty and put-together on the outside, but once you really dig in, it’s all a mess and cluster of feelings and passion.”

 

You and Minho spend an hour lounging around the living room, with you meeting his other two cats during that time. Soonie and Doongie’s adoration toward Minho is clear, with both orange cats always rubbing against his leg or tangling themselves in his sneakers by the door as you two cuddle on the couch. Dori, however, remains laid on his cat tree, barely sparing the two of you a glance. Minho jokes that Dori hates him after he left his first mom, even showing you further proof in the form of a video where the gray cat bites his nose while he sleeps.

Upon hearing the key turn on the front door, your heart is quick to jump. Minho’s parents have arrived.

Sitting up on the couch, you gently push Minho away from you. He shoots you a questioning look.

“What? I don’t want them to think we were doing something indecent.”

“Indecent?” Minho repeats with a chuckle. “We were cuddling, not consummating a marriage on this couch.”

You grumble incoherent words under your breath, shrugging. “I know. I just want them to like me.”

“They were more than okay with seeing me cuddle my ex when I was a teen. We’re both adults, I’m pretty sure they won’t think you’re a filthy harlot.”

You gasp, hitting his chest and hissing through your teeth. “A harlot?”

Minho lets out a long, hearty laugh just as his parents walk through the door.

“Oh, there you are!” You hear his mother’s voice call out as soon as she steps inside the living room. You turn to face her and you’re greeted by the same smile you see on Minho’s face every day — they look so similar you have to hold back a gasp. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

You stand up from the couch and smooth down your long skirt, smiling while she walks toward you. You’re caught off guard when she pulls you into a hug as soon as she’s in front of you, her arms squeezing you as she sighs happily into your hair.

“Mom,” Minho calls out, “You’re scaring her.”

His mom pulls away with a chuckle, her left hand pinching her son’s cheek before resting on your shoulder again. “He’s the one who’s scared I’ll embarrass him,” she refutes. “And, god, you’re so pretty! Minho told me you were beautiful, but I just assumed it was the infatuation speaking.”

You feel your cheeks flush at her words, biting back a smile. Minho had talked to his mother about you — had said you were beautiful. You swear if you died tonight, you would die a happy woman.

As his mother steps away from you and into the kitchen, rambling on about how crowded the shopping mall had been, a man comes into your field of vision. He nods courtly before extending his hand, which you shake a bit awkwardly.

“I’m Minho’s dad,” he simply says. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Minho has been very happy on the phone since meeting you.”

And with that, he’s off into the kitchen, following his wife. You’re left a bit dazed. Minho truly was a perfect blend of his mother’s appearance and his father’s calm personality. 

Beside you, Minho pulls you into a side hug, his chilly hands caressing your arms. “See? It’s impossible not to love you.”

You freeze for a moment, before relaxing as you realize he’s talking about his parents loving you. You curse yourself inwardly for being so damn emotionally constipated, but let out a sigh of relief nonetheless.

You were worried for so many different reasons — that you wouldn’t measure up to Minho’s first girlfriend, that your personality would be scrutinized until your flaws finally emerged, and that this would be the catalyst for Minho to realize you’re not worth it. Not worth waiting until you can tell him you love him, not worth waiting until you feel like sex isn’t going to just ruin everything between you, not worth the hassle and the chore that is loving someone like you.

But as he walks into the kitchen with you, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist, like he’s proud to show you off to his parents, the level of reliability he radiates is enough to melt away all the annoying little worries you had inside your head.

Christmas eve comes two days later, and you’re rudely woken up in the morning by the sound of Minho’s voice cursing under his breath as he drops something on the floor by his bed. You groan, rubbing your eyes, and he turns to face you with an apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry,” he whispers, kneeling down next to the bed and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Good morning.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight, I think.” His fingers brush your hair away from your face. “I didn’t set an alarm ‘cause I didn’t wanna wake you up, but guess my inability to be quiet did that anyway.”

You chuckle lightly, scrunching up your nose. “Why are you up so early?”

“Gotta start cooking dinner soon,” he explains.

“Already?” You ask, perplexed. You knew he cooked Christmas dinner all by himself every year for his family, but you never conceived just how much work that would be for a single person.

Minho is unyielding despite your best efforts at persuading him to stay and cuddle you for a few more hours, and watching him cook is always oddly attractive to you, so you find yourself joining him in the kitchen, wrapped up in one of his many cat print sweaters.

At first, you simply sit up at one of the counters and watch him, mesmerized and all but drooling at the way he rolls up his sleeves, the prominent veins making his arms look so sexy while doing such a mundane thing like chopping fucking vegetables. Not to mention his hands, so beautiful and big as he rubs the seasoning on something you don’t even care to identify because you’re just too busy thinking about those hands all over your body. Only now do you notice how no real sex for almost two months has really taken a toll on you, what with the way you have to cross your legs just to try and relieve some tension because your mind won’t stop thinking about Minho’s veiny arms caging you against this counter and his big hands—

Minho calls out your name, and you snap out of your fantasies, humming as you reluctantly turn your attention toward his face with a dazed expression. He seems to find it funny, as he chuckles before repeating himself, “I asked if you would like to help. I can teach you some of the easy stuff. Must be boring just sitting there and watching.”

Oh, but it isn’t boring at all.

But you’d never tell him that, so you nod before hopping off the counter and awaiting further instructions. Turns out you’re worse at cooking than you had thought, so you’re relegated to chopping duty, which you hate for two reasons — firstly, chopping vegetables is boring, and secondly, you’re now deprived of your view of Minho as you stand with your back turned to him while he cooks.

It’s around five p.m. when Minho’s mom joins you two in the kitchen, and by that time you’ve done all you could, so you’re back to your spot on the counter. She smiles at you before ruffling Minho’s hair as he closes the oven.

“My baby is such a wonderful cook, isn’t he?” she praises, and he shrugs with a smirk.

“I am very boyfriend material, aren’t I?”

You chuckle as you watch his mom carefully fixing his hair which she had messed up, Minho scrunching up his face as she then fixes his wire-frame glasses on his nose.

“I’m so glad you’re wearing your glasses again,” she comments, cupping his cheeks and squeezing before letting go. “You look so handsome.”

“You should thank her,” Minho smiles, turning to look at you, and you shoot him a puzzling look. “Remember on your birthday, when you told me I looked good wearing glasses?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “That’s why I stopped wearing contacts.”

Your mouth opens, but you can’t find the words to answer him. You can feel your cheeks dusting pink as his mom coos at the two of you, saying something about young love that has you gnawing on your lips to hold back the silly smile you want to let out.

Minho’s mom leaves the kitchen shortly after, his father calling her from the living room. He takes this as his chance to approach where you’re sitting, hands resting on your thighs before he presses his lips against yours.

“I wanted to look handsome for you. It’s kinda pathetic, isn’t it?” He chuckles against your lips, and you simply shake your head, tangling your fingers in his black hair that has now grown past his eyes.

“It’s actually fucking adorable,” you assure him, pulling him into another kiss, one much deeper than the last.

He quickly uses his hands to spread your thighs apart, pressing his body into yours as you wrap your legs around his waist. The effect this man has on you is mindboggling; the mere slide of his tongue against your lips has you shivering. It certainly doesn’t help that you are now in the exact position from your imagination earlier today.

Minho always tasted like your own personal favorite flavor, always deliciously swirling on your tongue whenever you kissed him. He always renders your mind fuzzy and silly as bliss consumes the entirety of your being. You can only imagine how sex with him will feel like, and you don’t think you can wait any longer. Your worries be damned. You needed him more than you could handle.

But just as Minho pulls you closer to his body — your core dangerously close to his crotch, and sucking on your tongue in a way that has you mewling against his lips — his mother calls out your names, and you two quickly separate, startled as if you were burned. She informs you his grandmother has arrived and you two walk to the living room to greet her. You silently thank the universe for her not walking into the kitchen; the last thing you want is for Minho’s poor grandmother to catch you two making out on the counter like two teenagers.

She is a sweet lady, certainly not as old as you expected her to be, and she always has a smile etched onto her lips stained with red lipstick. You don’t even have to ask to know she is his mother’s mom, as the three of them share the exact same smile you grew to love so much.

You find yourself even more comfortable today, as you help both women set up the table for dinner — his grandma meticulously placing a beautiful lace cloth over the table while telling you about how this was one of her late husband’s first gifts to her when they first moved in together. 

It felt as if you were part of the family.

And as you turn on your heels to grab the fancy silverware from a cabinet, your eyes meet Minho’s gaze. With a smile on his face, he stands by the kitchen door, watching you, and your heart swells with joy.

This was everything you never thought love could be.

Christmas dinner was amazing — as you knew it would be. Minho’s cooking is always fantastic, and pure happiness is written all over his face whenever he was complimented. The way he offers to serve everyone, watching intently as each of you took the first bite before he finally allowed himself to eat as well, his lips upturned into a grin and his ears red as you all hummed and gasped at how tasty everything was. It’s his love language; from the way he carefully and methodically prepares the food, to the way he enjoys watching other people eat more than eating himself. He shows his love through his cooking, you realize, and you smile as you think back to numerous times you woke up in the morning with a beautiful table set with breakfast for you after he spent the night at your house.

You haven’t put it into words yet, but he has unquestionably been showing his love for you through his little actions.

And that’s what you want to do tonight as well.

After watching a cliche Christmas movie with his family, you two are now the only ones awake with you drying off the dishes Minho’s washing. He looks beautiful even now, with his hands clad in neon green dishwashing gloves.

“Minho,” you call out, poking his rib with the plate he just handed you. He squirms with a giggle, warning you to not tickle him. You simply hum, continuing as nonchalantly as you can. “Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

His hand stills, dropping a knife on the sink as his head turns abruptly to look at you, eyes bewildered. “What? What, and you ask me this now? While we’re doing the dishes?” He sputters, and you grin with a shrug.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, placing the plate on top of the counter. “I just… really wanna do it. Really want you.”

Minho turns off the tap — at least five knives left ignored at the bottom of the sink — removes his gloves and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Okay, not what I expected to happen on Christmas night, but I’ll take it.”

You both stare at each other for a beat, before inexplicably bursting out laughing. Maybe it’s the sheer suddenness of your request, or the absurdity of the situation you were in when it happened, but you can’t help it.

As you both calm down, Minho pulls you into his arms and informs you that he will have to go out and buy condoms, since he truly wasn’t expecting anything to happen. You don’t fault him, the two months you’ve been together were filled with you all but running away from sex. You couldn’t help it, your brain always dragging you back to that night in Japan, and the way he avoided your gaze in the morning. Although you knew it was irrational, and that he was simply shy, your self-sabotaging skills were too great, and your mind insisted that if you had sex with Minho too soon he would think you were nothing but a slut. That’s what you were told most of your life, anyway, so you couldn’t be blamed for the way your brain was almost conditioned into assuming the same.

But Minho had proved time and time again that he was not like the awful guys before him, and that all your worrying was unwarranted and foolish. You were depriving yourself of something you wanted badly out of sheer insecurity and attachment to experiences so far in the past it was almost masochistic at this point.

You insist on joining him on his impromptu trip to the convenience store, only throwing one of his sweaters over the dress and tights you wore for Christmas dinner.

Minho holds your hand as you two walk down the empty street, Christmas lights from the houses and stores making everything seem almost like a movie. You spot the familiar logo from across the street, and Minho bumps his shoulder with you while you head toward the convenience store chain where you both once worked.

“This is actually the exact one I used to work at,” He tells you as you look through a fridge hidden away in the back of the store. “I loved working the graveyard shift. I rang up so many couples awkwardly buying condoms like they were buying hard drugs.”

You chuckle, settling for some pudding you two could share later. “Will that be us tonight?”

He shrugs. “We’re adults, it’s normal to buy these things. Unless you want me to act like I’m buying crack cocaine, then I’d be happy to indulge you.”

You stick your tongue out at him with a light shove, turning to look through the rather lacking options on the condom shelf.

“Grape flavor?” Minho makes a face as he eyes one of the boxes. “Who the fuck would want the artificial taste of grapes when fucking?”

You shrug. “Could be worse, imagine banana-flavored condoms. I think I’d throw up all over your dick.”

“That’s sexy,” He jokes, and you let out a loud chuckle, earning you a look from the only other person at the store this time of night on Christmas eve.

Among your other options are a green glow-in-the-dark condom — which would only make you think of Shrek while Minho fucks you — and a strawberry-flavored one. You decide to play it safe, grabbing a box of plain, thin condoms and placing them in the basket Minho’s carrying.

“Let’s just go for the safest option,” you tell him, “We’ll have plenty of time to play around later if you want, though I’ll go on birth control once we’re back home so we won’t even need them anyway.”

You watch as Minho’s eyes widen for a second, his eyebrows shooting up almost comically.

“Sure, yeah.”

“Don’t short-circuit now. I need you functioning to fuck me.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I’ll be broken before we even make it back to my house,” he states matter-of-factly, and you chuckle, shaking your head at his words. But Minho’s expression remains unchanged. “I mean it. It’s been over a year since I’ve had proper sex. I’m surprised I didn’t combust the second you said those words to me in the kitchen.”

With a chuckle, you pull him to your side and walk toward the cashier. It’s a poor teenage boy, no older than eighteen, clearly bored out of his mind and wishing to be anywhere but here. As he rings up your items, Minho points to his phone that’s resting on the counter.

“That’s Ahri from League of Legends, right?” He asks, and the boy looks up, his eyes sparking with interest. He nods. “I don’t play, but I’m a game programmer, so I know a little bit about it. What’s your rank?”

“Grandmaster,” the boy answers proudly, his face lighting up with a hint of joy, probably for the first time since his shift started.

“Oohh,” Minho gasps loudly, basically hyping up this random boy at the convenience store. You watch the interaction with a silly smile on your face. “And you’re still young, wouldn’t be surprised to see you at World’s someday.”

The boy shakes his head dismissively as Minho hands him his card, but smiles nonetheless. Once he hands you your things, he speaks again, “Are you from around here, hyung? Let me know when you have a game out, I’d love to try it. See if you’re any good.”

Minho raises his brows at the obvious teasing lilt in his voice, lips upturning into a grin. “How about this? I’ll give you the beta code and you can start your career of testing games for money.”

“You’ll pay me?” The cashier marvels at the words, and Minho simply nods. He jots down a code from his phone into a scrap piece of paper on the counter, the boy’s face now a complete shift from the expression he wore when you first walked in, all because of Minho and his ability to be kind and sweet no matter the person or circumstance.

As you head back to his house, only the two of walk along the shy streets as the clock hands turn past midnight. Among all the bad people in this world, you’re indescribably happy that a man as good as him is the one walking beside you down this street, firmly holding your hand.

You arrive home and quietly head straight into Minho’s room. You thank any higher power that might exist for the fact that his room is the only one on the first floor, as you would have to endure your desperate need and desire for him until you got home if it wasn’t. Any of Minho’s family members walking in or hearing you two have sex would make you want to flee the country and change your name.

He joins you after storing your puddings in the fridge, making you jump with his arms wrapped around your waist while you were blankly staring at the pictures on his wall. You sigh, the realization of what was going to happen only really dawning on you now that you stand in Minho’s bedroom, and your mind starts to wander and doubt everything all over again.

“I kind of ruined the mood by asking to have sex, didn’t I?” You ask as Minho places a chaste kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“There was really no mood in the first place,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “We were washing the dishes.”

You roll your eyes, once again more annoyed at yourself than at him. You could only hope that your awful propensity of bringing up these irritating thoughts of yours at the worst possible moments didn’t drive Minho away from you. Could only hope you were worth it in the end.

“I know, it’s just…” You trail off with another heavy sigh. “This guy I dated hated that. Said I should just initiate it instead of asking like it was a business transaction.”

You feel Minho shake his head. “That’s stupid. Why would I think that?” He sounds incredulous, and hearing him say it makes you realize just how asinine that thought really was. “We had to buy condoms, anyway. It’s also good that you’re comfortable asking me that. It’s as it should be.”

And you can only smile, biting back a giggle because of course he thinks that. It’s as if Jane Austen came back from the dead simply to write Lee Minho.

His arms tighten around your waist, and you turn your head to look at him. “You should really stop thinking about… them,” He hesitates, “Your exes, I mean. Stop comparing, assuming everything will be the same and have the same sad ending. You need to let go of that in order to truly heal. I hate how every time I’m good to you, or do the bare fucking minimum, your mind spins it into something being your fault. I hate what they did to you so much.”

You feel your breath get caught in your throat, tears threatening to spill much like they do every time you are faced with this topic. But you hold them in. You don’t want to cry, not right now, not when everything is so perfect with Minho. So, instead, you take in his words. He’s undoubtedly right, and you must force yourself to face this uncomfortable truth.

Slowly, you promise yourself. You smile at him, a silent promise to him, and you know he understands you when he smiles back, his lips pressing a kiss to your lips.

He lets go of you and rummages through his drawers, and you look around once more. His plushie mountain, the pictures of his childhood and high school days. You scrunch up your nose.

“Will it be too weird to have sex in your childhood bedroom?”

From where you’re standing, his back turned to you, you can faintly make out the tip of his ears turning red as he runs a finger through his hair.

“Well, not really…” He trails off, “I had sex with my ex-girlfriend here all the time when we skipped school together.”

You let out a gasp. “Lee Minho skipped school?”

He chuckles, closing his drawers and immediately wrapping his arms around you. He’s a lot more touchy since you brought this whole topic up, you notice.

“My parents were always at work, though, so this is my first time doing it while they’re right upstairs,” He explains, bringing his finger up to your lips and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “So we’ll have to be quiet.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, nodding. You know all too well you’ll probably be too quiet. Once again your trauma playing a part in this, the words an old boyfriend harshly spilled about you being too loud and vocal have always been present in your head. Now that you think about it, all these moments and words are like post-it notes stuck to your mind, and you skim through like a student cramming for an exam every day in search of one that applies to your current situation. It was excruciating.

Hyunjin tried his best to change this about you, always assuring you he liked to hear you during sex when he noticed your pursed and bitten lips, and that you should be vocal about what you want and like. But you always settled for nods and quiet hums instead.

Minho presses a quick kiss on your forehead then. “I’m gonna shower ‘cause my hands still smell like onions and garlic after washing them a thousand times,” he tells you. “I’ll be right back.”

As you’re busying yourself looking through Minho’s extensive collection of books, a meow pulls your attention toward the door. It’s Dori, the gray cat you’ve decided is your favorite since it’s the only one you can easily recognize. He stares for a beat before approaching you, and you kneel carefully to stroke his soft fur. You soon find yourself sitting down by the bed with Dori on your lap, purring away as your mind travels to a future in which you and Minho adopt cats of your own, all while living together and making plans for the rest of your lives. It terrifies you slightly to allow yourself to have these thoughts because if things were to go wrong with Minho, this would only be another ‘what if’ that would haunt you.

Another post-it note to your already cluttered-up mind.

But his words from earlier come back to you just as you begin to panic. You have to let go of the past and stop assuming only the worst outcomes are attainable. And so you simply smile at the imagination, letting your mind run wild while Dori falls asleep on your lap, his gray fur all over your red dress.

You and Dori both jump as Minho all but slams the door when he returns, a towel in his hand drying his damp hair. He cringes at the sound, cursing under his breath. Dori leaves your lap, and you stand up with a pout. He definitely is your favorite cat among the three.

“Sorry,” Minho whispers, as if that will compensate for the loud noise. You take in his appearance; a green Christmas sweater and bright red sweatpants. You bite back a smile, because that’s so him.

“Your outfit is doing a great job of seducing me,” you jest, and he shrugs with a cocky grin.

“I know no woman can resist a Christmas sweater.”

He pulls you into him with a hand around your waist, his lips crashing into yours in a deep kiss. You notice he’s more frantic, less careful than he usually is, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as his hands slide up your back. He pulls away, breathless and flushed, and just looks at you for a moment. You can see the shift in his eyes, yearning swimming all over his brown orbs.

Clumsily, he shuts off the lights behind him then switches on the fairy lights adorning his bookshelf, his left hand still firmly clutching your body. Until it suddenly loosens, and you cock your head to the side.

“Okay, you gotta leave,” he says, and you follow his gaze, landing on Dori, who stares up at him almost defiantly. Minho lets out a sigh, opening his door before walking toward the cat and motioning toward the exit as if he will understand him. “Come on, I’ll give you treats later, hm? But you need to leave now, Dori.”

You fail to hold back a chuckle. “Why does the poor baby have to leave? He looks so comfortable snuggled up on the floor.”

“I can’t have sex while Dori watches,” he deadpans as if it were an obvious answer. “It’ll be weird.”

“Minho, it’s a cat. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s still weird! And I…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. He’s still facing the door when he blurts out, “I told you, I’m already really fucking nervous ‘cause it’s been a while since I’ve had sex. I might not be the best.”

You shake your head with a smile, crossing your arms over your chest. “Minho, that’s not possible.”

“Yes, it is!” He finally turns to face you. “Remember back in Japan? I came too fast, it was embarrassing. That’s why I never let you touch me.”

You jokingly pout at him. “Thought you just liked eating me out.”

“I fucking love eating you out, but I’m not exactly refusing that you do the same because I want to,” he explains, “I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it.”

You furrow your brows. “Bad at… getting a blowjob?”

Minho’s ears are dusted a light pink, and he throws his hands up. “Well, yes! Back in Japan I didn’t even know what to do with my hands. I don’t know what you like, and I haven’t been with anyone else to know what most people like so…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fuck, I was so nervous that night, you have no idea.”

“You were nervous?” You let out a huff, recalling Minho’s clear shift in demeanor that night. “Looking into my eyes the entire time and pinning me down to the bed, that’s you being nervous?”

His entire face now flushes red, and he returns his gaze toward the door, where Dori paddles out of the room graciously. He promptly shuts the door, locking it this time.

“I was nervous,” He tells you, taking a step toward you. “I kept looking at you ‘cause I couldn’t believe that was actually happening. Felt like you were gonna disappear if I looked away,” His hands cup your face gently, and your lips unknowingly curl into a smile. “And when you looked at me in the morning, all I could think about was how awful I was the night before.”

You have to fight the strong urge to laugh because god, that’s why he was acting shy and avoiding your gaze. You berate yourself for even thinking otherwise, for ever assuming Minho could be like your ex-boyfriends. His words ring even more true than before.

You let out a groan, realizing you two have been putting off having sex for such mindless reasons. When he shoots you a questioning gaze, you simply say, “Minho, we’re both fucking idiots, d’you know that?”

And before he can say anything else or even entertain the idea of overthinking any more, you pull him into a kiss. With a surprised hum, Minho gently pushes you back, and your knees meet the softness of the mattress causing you to fall back into his bed. He climbs on top of you, pulling away from the kiss.

“You still gotta tell me what you like,” he repeats, his lips all but pouting at you. You smile up at him.

“No,” you say simply, pushing his hair back with your fingers as it fell into his eyes. “It’s better if we figure that out together, isn’t it?”

Minho chuckles, promptly pressing his lips to yours, your hand tugging at his hair gently as his tongue glides across your lips, causing a soft whine to slip from your throat before you can stop it.

“I like that,” he says between kisses, “When you make these pretty noises.”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his words and take that as your chance to take the first small step in healing, adding a post-it to your mind, reminding you not to suppress any noise that Minho coaxes out of you tonight.

The atmosphere in his room feels perfect — like heaven, as he would say. The soft yellow glow emanating from his bookshelf made everything seem dreamy; his honey skin looked stunning, and his eyes gleamed like the stars in the sky every time they met yours.

It was undoubtedly so much more intimate and passionate than any other time you had sex before, and you were both still fully clothed.

It was just like what Minho had told you many months ago.

His hands travel through your body until they rest on your back, finding the buttons of your dress, slowly opening each one as his lips trail down your neck, softly sucking on the skin. As he gingerly slides your dress down your torso, you realize that this will be the first time you two see each other naked. Yet, you don’t feel nervous. You want nothing more than to be close to him, with no barriers between you, to finally be tangled with him like the roots on the ground.

Minho unclasps your bra, his gaze unmoving from your chest as he slips the garment off of your skin and drops it on the floor. It’s almost as if you can feel his gaze burning you, your chest tightening and your breath hitching in your throat. He licks his lips, leaning down to wrap them around your nipple, his hand promptly finding your other breast and softly massaging it. You let out a choked gasp, tugging at his hair.

You feel his lips stretch into a smile before he softly bites the bud.

“So you like this,” He mumbles, pressing a wet kiss to your nipple. “Duly noted.”

You giggle at his words, your hands tangling in his hair once more. His kisses travel up again, from your chest to your neck, until he’s back to kissing your lips. Both of his hands now massage your breasts, alternating between rolling your nipples between his rough fingers and pinching them lightly, causing a rush to spread across your entire body. You feel your arousal trickle down your slit as you grow more desperate.

“Minho,” you call out between kisses, and he hums against your lips. “Do something,” you all but beg him, yearning for some release as you feel the small, unrelenting pulse between your thighs grow stronger with each stroke of his finger across your chest. Your hands now grasp at his sweater, tugging it over his head, the fabric also discarded somewhere on the floor of his room.

Your hands travel over the expanse of his chest, fingertips taking in every inch of his soft skin. Breaking away from his lips, you push him back softly so you can revel in the sight of him; his delicate collar bones, his strong arms, and soft stomach. He’s beautiful, breathtakingly so, and you don’t know what you did to be deserving of him.

“Enjoying the view?” He jokes, and you breathe out a laugh, your gaze flying up toward his face — his lips swollen, and his cheeks flushed a pretty red.

“Minho, you’re so beautiful,” you whisper absentmindedly, and he smiles at you, softly pressing his lips to yours.

“You should see how you look,” he whispers.

His left hand soon slips underneath your dress skirt, fingertips grazing your skin over your tights. You feel goosebumps trickle along your thighs following his every touch, so eager to feel his hands on your skin you’re sure you’ll rip your tights in half yourself if Minho doesn’t get rid of them soon.

He seems to grow as impatient as you, lifting your hips with a strong grip to slide down your dress, tights, and panties off of you all in one go. In no time, you are now laid bare before him, and Minho is swift to trail kisses down your stomach, sloppy and messy, painting your skin with his saliva as his mouth waters at the mere prospect of tasting you.

With a heavy sigh, he stares at your glistening wetness before promptly wrapping his lips around your clit without a warning and sucking, ardently, vulgar sounds filling his small room much like they do every time he eats you out. Always messy, always eager, humming against your pussy and sighing as his eyes glaze over with pure want.

You squirm like lighting has shocked through your entire body. No matter how often you experience the satisfaction of Minho’s lips on you, it always leaves you trembling like it’s the first time. His right hand slides up the expanse of your stomach until it reaches your breast again, his thumb lazily circling your nipple. You purse your lips as his fingers tentatively trail across your folds, spreading your wetness up to your clit before lapping at it slowly, the small bud swollen and aching.

You’re quick to remember to open your mouth, letting out the heavy sigh that had stuck to your throat as his finger enters you, Minho still licking and sucking your sensitive clit, nipping harshly and making your sigh fade into a whine. Hand tangling in his hair and tugging, you elicit a low groan from his throat, which you feel reverberate through your slick folds.

Your thighs shake as he adds a second finger, and soon a third, thrusting them inside of you and stroking your walls more vigorously than he usually does, as if he somehow also feels your pleasure and needs to lead you to your high as quickly as possible.

Minho’s hand leaves your chest, and you bite back a pout, his fingers now gripping your hips before pushing them up so he can reach deeper. It isn’t long before his fingers drag across the spot inside of you that has your muscles tensing up, a strangled moan falling from your lips at the sensations coupled with the unrelenting feeling of his tongue on your clit. You come undone around his fingers and lips with a harsh tug of his black hair, rutting your hips against his face desperately, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as you do.

He laps up your juices as you slowly come down from your high, tongue flicking inside of you and sucking hard before he presses a long kiss to your cunt. Your entire body jerks in response to the overstimulation.

His kisses travel toward your inner thigh, your lower stomach and breasts until he reaches your neck, where his teeth nip at the soft skin, sucking harshly before his tongue soothingly licks at the spot. As Minho positions himself between your thighs again, you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. Your mind goes hazy for a beat as you feel the thick outline of his cock press against your bare core.

“Minho,” you call out again, your voice significantly more whiny this time around, shaky and breathless, “Wanna taste you.”

He groans against your skin, pressing small kisses up your neck until he ultimately stops against your open lips. He breathes out a heavy sigh.

“Really want that, too,” he rasps out, voice hoarse as his dark eyes travel across your face. “But I really wanna fuck you. Shit, I need to fuck you so badly you have no idea,” He groans. You feel his length jump at his words as he presses your foreheads together and locks his gaze with you. “That’ll be hard to do if your pretty lips go anywhere near my cock.”

You breathe out a chuckle, pressing a small kiss to his lips. “Then get to it,” you simply say.

Minho’s lips curl into a grin. “Will you remember to be quiet for me this time? My baby sounded so pretty coming around my fingers.”

Your cheeks flush, just how loud you were before only now dawning on you. Fuck. Your words get stuck to your throat, your mouth opening but making no sound, so you settle for a nod.

He chuckles. “Good,” he replies with a kiss to your agape lips.

Minho sits up, detangling himself from your body briefly. He reaches for the box on his bedside table, scrambling with the cardboard before clumsily tearing it open and retrieving a condom. It’s only then you notice how his hands are trembling, from nervousness or pure lust. Either way, you find yourself smiling at the sight.

You reach out to run a hand along his arm soothingly, watching with hungry eyes as he tugs at his drawstrings before freeing his cock from the confines of his sweatpants. Minho hisses as he rolls the rubber over his length, shaky hands stroking himself one, two, three times, all while you eye him, watching greedily as if you were his own personal captive audience.

He lowers himself once again, hand now sliding across the length of your thigh before gripping the flesh, nails digging into your skin as he eyes you with an almost pleading gaze.

“Can I—”

“Please do,” you answer, almost frantically, before he even has the time to assume you might say no. You inch your thighs apart even more so Minho can slot himself perfectly between them.

Your mouth waters as you catch sight of him gripping his cock once more, tapping it against your swollen clit and eliciting a whine from your lips as your hands scramble to find purchase in his strong arms. Minho’s eyes then find yours much like they did back in Japan, and you know you are done for. His dark gaze once again felt all-consuming — desire and adoration swimming along his brown eyes, looking at you as if he were in a daze. Your grip on his arms tightens as he lazily slides his cock up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your arousal. Minho’s lips fall open as he continues his movements, the blunt head of his cock gliding along your folds almost painfully slow.

He leans in to close the small gap between your lips, before whispering something you can’t quite understand against them.

“I fucking love you,” he repeats himself more clearly, and finally pushes forward, his girth pushing into you as you gasp, feeling as if all the air has been stolen from you.

You aren’t sure if your reaction is due to his words, or the way his cock is working you open so good, or maybe it was a delicious blend of the two. All you know at the moment is Minho, Minho, Minho, your mind foggy as his name rings inside your head like a mantra.

“Don’t gotta say anything back,” he tells you in a breathy voice, “Just want you to know I love— Fuck,” he groans as he is now fully sheathed inside of you, and you clench at both the feeling and the words spilling from his lips. Of course he would choose now to tell you he loved you. “Love you so much, so much I’d do anything for you. Would wage a war with the world if you asked me to…” He babbles, words slipping past his lips like they were the easiest thing for him to say. Like he meant it so deeply, he didn’t have to put any thought into it. His words only die as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

Minho pulls his hips back in one swift motion, hands lifting your thighs around his body as he thrusts into you, evoking a rather loud noise from the back of your throat which is smothered by his kiss.

“You take me so well,” he growls against your lips, “We fit perfectly.” He breaks the kiss to look down at where your two bodies are connected. It felt as if you were one, melting into each other little by little the more Minho thrust his cock inside of you. You simply nod, mind even more dizzy with the way he’s already pulling out again before slamming back into you, his pace quickening as he presses you into the mattress.

Your nails dig into his skin, crescent moon shapes blooming over the expanse of his honey skin. His eyes still bore into you, hips now thrusting at an unrelenting pace, his small room filled with a cacophony of wet sounds, whines tumbling from your parted lips and curses that almost silently fell from his.

“Gonna come soon,” Minho chokes out, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’m sorry, I—”

You silence him with a press of your lips, hands now tangling in his messy hair.

“You’re always so good to me,” you tell him, feeling his cock pulse inside of your walls. “Wanna be good to you too, make you feel good.”

And he simply leans down before kissing you reverently. The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixed with the creaking of his bed likely much too loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. At least not at the moment. Not with the way his hand snakes along your hips, rough fingers now rolling delicious circles around your clit while his other palm presses down onto your abdomen, and his cock continuously hits a spot inside of you that has you all but crumbling apart underneath him.

Your mouth falls open, breaking the kiss, his cock twitching inside of you as his body stills on top of you. With furrowed brows and agape lips, Minho comes mere seconds before you reach your high as well, toes curling against his back as you melt onto his cock.

You stay that way for a while — a few seconds, maybe minutes — simply looking at each other as your labored breaths intertwine.

You finally reach up, brushing his dampened hair away from his beautiful eyes that now look at you as if you were the sole reason why the stars sparkle. Minho’s fingers soon find yours, tangling together as he brings your hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to your knuckles.

You smile.

You love him.

It’s not a realization but rather a confirmation of something you’ve already known all too well and for far too long. You still can’t put it into words, but somehow, you are certain that he knows just as well.

Minho accidentally awoke you in the morning with his habit of slamming his door shut, apologizing as you grumbled at him and insisted you would only accept his apology if he let you give him a blowjob. He laughed, simply pulling you closer to him on the bed as he sat up and you finally gave the most beautiful man you had ever met the head he deserved.

Minho’s parents and grandmother had left to eat at a fancy restaurant, and after lying through his teeth and telling his very distraught mother that you were feeling too sick to leave the bed, you two stayed behind. They didn’t have to know the real reason you couldn’t leave the bed — Minho and his apparent insatiable hunger for you. It was as if something had been awoken inside him now that he had a taste of you, and he had to make up for all the lost time.

You two only leave his room late in the afternoon, the sun setting on the pale winter sky outside his bedroom window. His family would arrive soon, and you needed to get ready for their tradition of opening Christmas presents while watching bad holiday movies.

When Minho followed you when you headed toward the bathroom, you thought little of it. It was only when he began undressing alongside you that panic truly set in.

“We literally had sex, why do you sound so horrified?” Was all he offered you when you asked what he was doing before entering the steamy shower with you.

It was your first time showering with someone, and the fact that it made you so nervous felt almost pathetic. Minho was right; you had sex, and you saw each other naked and sweaty and vulnerable. This shouldn’t be any different.

Except it was.

You found yourself too awkward to wash yourself, doing a terrible job at pretending to scrub at your arms as you watched Minho shower like a normal person. He let out a chuckle after rinsing his hair, shaking his head.

“Are you seriously shy? Seriously?” He asked, turning your body around so your back faced him. “The girl who begged to suck my cock just this morning is too shy to shower in front of me?”

You opened your lips to refute him, but your words died in your mouth as you felt Minho’s hand spread shampoo all over your hair. His fingers gently massaged your scalp before placing his hand over your eyes to shield them from the foam as he rinsed your hair. He repeated the process with conditioner, then moved on to wash your body with his almost sickly sweet watermelon body wash. He did it all while humming, making you so relaxed and comfortable that all your silly insecurities dissipated in the air along with the steam from the hot water.

Suffice to say, showering without Minho would now be a sad affair.

You are now sitting on the floor before the television, his family exchanging gifts. Dori purred on your lap, and Soonie bit Minho’s socks, trying his best to remove the fabric from his feet. It’s finally time for you two to exchange gifts, and you’re a bit glad his family seemed to be so immersed in the movie because you know you would combust if you had to explain your gift to them.

“Here,” you hand him an orange box with a black bow. “It’s stupid. Now that I think about it, it’s probably such a fucking dumb gift. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and Eunha even made one for her sister. I almost stole hers ‘cause it turned out much better than mine—”

“My god,” Minho interrupts you with a hearty laugh, taking the box in his hands and inspecting it. “It’s been a while since you word vomited so much. What the hell did you get me that made you so nervous?”

He pulls on the bow, unraveling it before taking the black fabric in his hands and tying it around your head. He laughs once more, and you roll your eyes.

“Minho, just get to it before I snatch this box from you.”

With one last chuckle, he finally opens the box. He stills as he takes in the notebook, sitting on top of far too much wrapping tissue paper. The cat print cardstock paper was a pain to find, but it’s worth it now as you watch Minho’s lips curl into a smile as his fingers gingerly travel through the cover. It was crooked, a bit too small, and still reeked of bookbinding glue, but it reminds you of the day you met Minho, and that was all you thought about when you decided on this gift.

“You fucking bound me a notebook,” he says, still bewildered.

“Took me a while, but I did say I was gonna do it. I’m a woman of my word.”

Minho looks up at you, his smile reaching his eyes and turning them into the pretty crescent moons you love so much. “I love it,” he beams, hands now squeezing your cheeks as he pulls you into a small kiss. “This and that coffee stained notebook are going on my bookshelf back in my dorm, displayed in all their glory.”

Minho pulls away and reaches toward two small boxes on the coffee table. He clears his throat, handing you one box as he settles the other on his lap.

“I thought of you when I saw this on my Instagram feed,” he simply says, fingers toying with the misshaped bow on top of the box — one very similar to the one on your birthday gift many months ago. “Thought about what we talked about in Japan, y’know, about soulmates.”

You raise a brow at him, quickly undoing the bow on your box as curiosity washes over you. You pick up a bracelet made only of red thread, eyeing it curiously.

Minho retrieves the same bracelet from his own box, putting it on before asking, “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”

“That myth that a thread connects two people meant to be together?” You question.

He nods. “Exactly. I feel like that was us,” He explains, taking the red bracelet from your hands and slipping it around your wrist before gently tightening the thread. “Feel like all our little coincidences were little threads tying us together until we met.”

You feel the tears well up in your eyes, but you don’t bother trying to hide or stop them this time. Grabbing Minho’s hand that stilled around your wrist, you lace your fingers together, admiring your matching bracelets. It could only be fate. Every small detail that aligned and every road you two crossed to reach the place where you are now could only have come to be because fate wanted it to be that way.

Out of every city you could have lived in, every different university you could have chosen to attend, down to every other seat that could have been empty on the day you met Minho — everything fell into place like a puzzle piece, exactly as if a long, invisible string tied you to him and finally decided it was time to pull you together.

Minho’s gentle touch brushes against your cheek as he silently wipes your tears — no words are needed between you two at that moment as he smiles softly at you while you feel your eyes burn from the cry you had held back for so long. And, as if you’re his mirror, you feel yourself smile as his lips upturn into a grin when his gaze shifts to the open window.

“It’s snowing,” he beams. “It’s the first snow of the year, and our first snow together.”

 

You stand in front of Minho’s house, the light snow falling softly and covering your heads in white as he kisses you, only stopping to grumble against your lips.

“Your phone’s going crazy in my pocket,” He pouts, and you furrow your brows. You had already sent your family holiday messages, and your friends were all busy with their own Christmas celebrations, so you were clueless about who it could be.

“Can you check it for me?”

Minho nods, untangling himself from your embrace just enough to reach into his pocket and grab your phone to unlock it.

“There’s like fifty new messages from a group chat. Best Fucking Five?” He chuckles lightly at the name, his chilly breath tickling your cheek.

You, on the other hand, immediately frowned as you heard the name. It’s a long-forgotten group chat with your old friend group from high school. You had all stopped talking a little before graduation, with you especially distancing yourself from them upon realizing their toxic words and reactions to your relationships only served to make you feel worse about yourself. No one bothered to leave or delete the group since it quietly died and had stayed that way for over three years now.

Minho hands you the phone, and you click another notification that pops up as soon as you unlock the device.

The conversation began with your former friend sending a screenshot of one of your ex-boyfriend’s newest Instagram post. You skim through the caption and blanch at the words accompanied by a sonogram picture. His girlfriend is pregnant, and he’s over the moon about it.

And you, for some reason, find yourself laughing so much you have to clutch onto Minho’s shoulder as your stomach starts to hurt.

He shoots you an understandably puzzled look, but you can’t stop the giggles that spill from your lips, so you settle on showing him the screenshot. 

“I got the best Christmas gift tonight,” Minho reads from the screen. “I'm going to be a dad, and the most wonderful woman I’ve ever known is the mother,” he trails off with a questioning lilt, brows furrowing as that had only confused him more.

“It’s one of my exes,” you manage to tell him after catching your breath.

Minho hums, taking your hands and shoving them in his overcoat pocket along with your phone.

“And why did that make you lose your mind laughing?” He asks with a small smile.

“I guess it was the shock, really. It also made me realize just how little I care about him now. All of them, actually. Every time I was broken up with or had my heart broken in some way, it honestly felt like the end of the world,” you explain, “Like my heart would never recover and like I would hate them for the rest of my life. For years I had such a strong ax to grind with them, and that hatred and grudge only caused me harm. It made me hate love, and it made me blame myself.”

Minho nods, pressing his forehead to yours. Around you two, the snow got thicker, and only the distant sounds of children laughing from neighboring houses could be heard throughout the quiet street.

“But it’s different now?”

You smile up at him. “It’s different now, and I only just realized that. These people are no longer people I hate. They’re simply their words and their actions toward me, but they, as people, mean nothing to me.”

Minho smiles and wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace. This realization makes you feel lighter, like a small part of the weight of healing has been removed from the equation. It’s only you and yourself now; none of them has any power over your emotions anymore.

“Maybe we should send the baby a present,” you joke, and Minho buries his head in the crook of your neck with a chuckle, and you jump as his cold nose brushes against your skin.

“Maybe we should.”

At that moment, in the arms of this amazing man who has helped you more than he will ever know, you realize that love truly isn’t bad. People can be bad, circumstances can be catastrophic, and wrong timing can destroy nearly everything. But love is, at the core of it all, good.

“Minho,” you call out, feeling him hum against your skin before lifting his head to look at you. “I love you,” you say simply.

His smile rivals every pretty thing around you. The first snow, the gleaming Christmas decorations, and even the moon herself pale in comparison to the smile that Minho gives you.

“I love you, too,” he replies, a tangible sense of bliss in his voice, as if he has yearned for a lifetime to finally be able to say those words to you.

You wrap your arms tighter around Minho, and your fingers brush against the red thread that adorns your wrist. It truly feels as if fate had led you to Minho, leaving little clues along the way to make sure you both knew when you finally met. His journey to you had been relatively easy, while yours had been heart-wrenching, but in the end, it had brought you heaven.

If soulmates really are a thing, there is not an ounce of doubt in your being that Minho is yours. More than anything, he taught you that love is present in everything around you. Love is being kind to others like Minho is kind to his family and strangers in convenience stores at midnight. Love is staying up with your best friend while she cries on the couch, not expecting anything in return. Love is the laughter of little kids on Christmas night echoing throughout a neighborhood. Love is also going out on your own, doing something simply because it will make you happy, and being kind to yourself. All this time, you held onto the belief that love is destructive and only leads to sadness, oblivious to the fact that it has surrounded you every step of the way.

Love is everywhere and in everything.

In the end, Minho had always been right.

Love is the most amazing thing in life.

♡ taglist: @notevenheretbh1, @malunar28replies, @jazziwritesthings, @finchyyy, @bloom-ings, @linocz, @minhochaos, @lastgreatamericandynasty1, @missminhoe, @jungkookies1002, @meanergreener

#stray kids #stray kids fic #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fic #lee know fluff #lee know #lee know smut #lee know scenarios #stray kids x you #skz #fanfic #lee know x you #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee minho #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut

[carolmunson]

let's go, don't wait (e.m. x f!reader)

inspired by this prompt by @edsforehead - it's not exactly the same but i did my best! summary: modern!eddie's been single since 2020 and aside from getting his dick wet after weekend shows at the hideout, he hasn't been going out of his way for love until his friends make him. cw: 18+ for adult themes. alcohol use, swearing, some sexual themes. some discussions of bad parents. eddie had some sad parts of his childhood. all around this is a fluff piece so nothing too bad. (11k) eddie is 32, reader is 30. so older!reader i guess, idk. i already started writing the part two which is almost entirely smut.

Jingle. Click. Creak. “Mmmm.” Eddie knows that groan anywhere, the deep primal urging of a one Gareth Emerson and the giggles of his girlfriend, Tatianna Edwards. They stumble into the apartment, lips attached, hands grabbing and fisting each other’s layers from the cold. 

“Hi guys,” he calls out, his tone was as bored and annoyed as he hoped it would be. His eyes don’t leave the TV, transfixed on the screen while he watches another YouTube compilation of the best guitar solos of all time. He disagrees with most of them, but it’s enough to drone on in the background while he scrolls through his Twitter feed. He’s never even posted. Not once. Not even a picture on his profile. 

“Hi Ed,” Tati chirps, clicking the side table lights on. He can smell her Chloe perfume when she comes to give him a hug hello. Her arms wrap around him from behind the couch, cheeks touching, a few of her butterfly twists falling forward over his shoulder. 

“Did you stay in tonight?” she asks, pressing a glossy smooch to his cheek. “Sure did,” he huffs, arms crossing over hers in a semblance of an embrace. Her gold bracelets are cool against his skin, her gold rings match his silver ones. He thought when Tati entered the picture that he and Gareth would’ve started to drift apart. Instead, Tati became Eddie’s new best friend – Gare really took ‘date the girl version of Eddie’ to heart. They were two peas in a pod. “You should’ve come out, there were a lot of single girls there – you’re a good dancer, you coulda snagged one,” she sounds like a mother trying to set him up. Eddie tilts his head up and looks at her from below, her deep skin shimmering with the glitter fallout from her eye makeup. She always looks pretty with ease, even with her makeup smudged – like she meant to do that. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” he smiles tightly, but the look falls to something soft when Tati lets go and her almond shaped manicured nails rake gently over his scalp through his conditioned curls.  “You can’t just keep picking up girls from shows, dude,” Gareth chides playfully, coming around the couch to sit next to him, “They’re starting to get waaaay too young for you at the bars.”

“Yeah, perv,” Tatianna teases, ruffling his hair before curling up on the recliner closer to the TV.

“Can we please not talk about this again,” Eddie sighs, sinking further into the cushions. He presses on his eyes with the heels of his hands, “You do this every time you guys come back from a date.”

“We gotta get you on Hinge, or something,” Gareth says.

“Tinder at the very least,” Tatianna follows.

“Okay, I’m going to bed,” Eddie grunts when he gets up, a little dizzy at the speed before he finds his footing, “Don’t be too loud tonight.”

“Just trying to help!” Tati calls out, “You deserve to be too loud at night, too!”

Eddie sucks his teeth before he turns the corner to the hallway, disappearing for the night while his friends fell more in love. 

It feels like they’re disassembling a bomb. Eddie sulks in a seat at the kitchen table while Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Gareth chatter behind him. Jeff and his wife sit across from him with just as much excitement as the group opposite them. Eddie frowns, bangs too long over his eyes, hands sweating onto the back of his banged up stickered phone case.

“I think you should put the picture of the guitar last, it doesn’t have your face in it. I’d swipe past you,” Robin points at the screen in front of him while he tries to make sense of his Hinge profile. 

“Well you’re a whole lesbian Rob, so you’d swipe past me anyway,” Eddie’s clipped words make the group laugh instead of making them back off. His shoulders sink immediately. This was mortifying.

“She’s right though,” Steve pipes up, “They’ll think you’re some weirdo who's obsessed with his guitar if you — well, actually then maybe it’s fine…” 

“Why don’t you—” Jeff starts.

“You’re married and you’ve been with Alycia since 2014. Your opinions are void,” Eddie interrupts with a sigh. 

Jeff lets out a laugh from his broad smile, “Look, I’m just saying. Why don’t you focus on your answers to the questions rather than the pictures? Girls love stuff like that. You’re smart, you’re a good writer.” 

“Babe, they’re not gonna care about his answers if the first picture they see is of an out of focus guitar taken on an iPhone 4S,” Alycia cocks her head at Jeff, “Like, at least be honest with him.” 

“I know you’re squinting in that picture from Jeff’s wedding but maybe you can put that one first,” Nancy points to the screen and then scrolls down a little. It lands on a photo of Jeff and Eddie, both sweating from the night's activities. His dress shirt is unbuttoned half way down his chest, silver chains and tattoos on full display, tie tied around Jeff’s forehead like a makeshift Rambo. 

“Yeah, you look really good in it,” Robin agrees. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” Tati shuffles into the kitchen, “I got in touch with the photographer from the show two weeks ago at Wraith Bar and he’s sending me some pictures.” 

“You can use the six pictures you’re tagged in from the last three years,” Tatianna scolds, “You look like a bum in them.” 

The group frowns and tosses glances at each other, it’s true. The more recent pictures they had of Eddie were far and few between. He was either blinking or off to the side, blurry or ducking out of frame. Every picture where he looks like himself was either from a show or had Chrissy in it, and he deleted all of those three years ago.

“Stop, you look so fine in these,” Tatianna squeals, “The girls are gonna love you.” Everyone but Eddie huddles around Tatianna to scroll through the pictures. Some of him mid shred with sweat pouring down his chest. Some of him screaming into the mic, hair wild and wet around his face. There was one, that he begrudgingly really liked, where his head leaned back into the light with a winning Munson smile. It was when he heard the opening drums to cover ‘The Immigrant Song’ as a gag – but not really a gag ‘cause he loves that song. It gets everyone at the bar pretty excited – even if they only know the song from School of Rock. 

Eventually, Eddie isn’t even holding his phone, it’s being passed between Tati, Steve, and Robin while he dictates his answers to stupid questions. By the time his profile is finished, his head is hidden in his mass of curls, resting his forehead on his forearms at the table. 

“Are we done now?” he asks into the space between his face and the woodgrain. Despite the winter air flowing through the kitchen window, he’s overheated with embarrassment. There are suddenly too many people around, too much talking, too much giggling at his expense. He tilts his head back up and takes a full breath through his nose and out through his mouth – “Oh shit! You matched with someone!” “How? I didn’t even look at anyone yet,” Eddie’s brows furrow while his head slowly comes to center. “Don’t worry about it, dingus,” Robin chides, “Just talk to her.” Eddie takes the phone and looks at her profile. Rachel, 27, Vet tech. She’s pretty, soft eyes, great smile. He swallows thickly before he goes to his ‘Matches’ and types three letters that felt like they took ten years to write: Hey.

The chats start fast and die faster, some flirty banter here and there before he’s too nervous or quickly bored. His heart squeezes every time he gets a notification, a buzz in his pocket, a reminder of a message. Some girls don’t want a relationship and that’s fine, that’s just not what he’s looking for. Some girls ask the big questions first and he can’t answer right away. Some girls just aren’t his type and he isn’t theirs either. 

The first date he goes on ends with her excusing herself to the bathroom before they even get to order dinner. She doesn’t come back — he’s not even sure what he did. It started off fine, she was pretty with blonde hair and blue eyes. Fun and easy conversation, a voice that sounded like powder puffs and sugar scented perfume. If he blurred his vision a little, she could’ve been Chris. But she wasn’t Chris. 

Maybe that’s why she left. Maybe she got the vibe that he was preoccupied with her looking like his ex. 

Maybe it was because he said, ‘You remind me so much of my ex-wife,’ before they got to order dinner. 

His second date wasn’t much better. He was proud of himself for not going for another Chrissy look alike, but it was clear that this new girl was on a hunt for a husband. 

“So are you planning on getting the tattoos removed?” she had asked, pursing her red lips. He was surprised at how well her lipstick stayed on after eating a pasta dish. Whenever he wears makeup for a show, it smudges before the lights come up. 

“Uh, no why?” he asked.

“Just y’know, thinking ahead — family photos and whatever,” she shrugged. His mouth had never run so dry in his life. The chicken alfredo turned in his stomach. 

The third ended up being a quickie in the bar bathroom only for her to leave right after and unmatch him without as much as a ‘Thanks for a good night!’ He at least wanted to be a gentleman about it. 

The fourth fizzled out and neither of them felt the connection. 

The fifth felt weird because they had talked so much on the app that they didn’t have anything left to talk about when they went out for drinks. 

A month had gone by and all he had to show for it was five bad dates and dozens of unanswered chats. Eddie was found sitting in his bed in the dark, only the light on his phone keeping him illuminated while he thumbs through Instagram. Another app that he has for no reason, he never posts, he never shares anything. He just scrolls.

He wonders if Chrissy’s on Hinge. Eddie’s stomach lurches at the thought of coming across her profile. All blonde and blue eyes, all sweet and spunky, all the right answers to her curated questions. Photos of her in the Maldives, in her friend’s weddings, of her in Chicago after she moved. His heart hammers, sweat collects on his bare chest, heating up the chain lying flat against it until it sticks. He quickly swipes out of Instagram to his home screen, a photo of Robin and Steve flipping him off from the stage after a Corroded Show during load out. He holds his thumb on the app until all the apps shake, thumb hovering over the ‘x’ on the corner to delete the Hinge for good. 

What’s another three years of being single? 

“Ed?” he hears Tati on the other side of the door, her soft knock following her voice, “I got Indian and I’m not gonna eat it all. Gare doesn’t want it, you want it?” 

“Yeah, sure,” he hums. She opens the door and sighs at the darkness. He squints as the light pools in from the hallway and sees her lean her shoulder against the door frame.

“Are you in here sulking?” she asks, one brow raising.

“Yeah, Tat, I’m in here sulking,” he groans, laying flat on his mattress, “I like to sulk. Let me sulk.” 

“Don’t sulk,” she puts on a pout and flicks his light on, leaving the containers of rice and chicken saag. He groans when the light stings his eyes, tossing a forearm over his face. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice falling into kindergarten teacher territory. She never realized her profession would come so handy living with two grown men, “Why’re you being such a baby in here?” 

“I think I’m gonna delete the app,” he murmurs, still hiding under the protection of his tattooed arm. The pressure feels good on his face, releasing the tension starting to brew behind his eyes. He hadn’t eaten since his lunch period at work, the hunger was starting to catch up to him. 

“Don’t delete it,” she shakes her head, crawling onto the end of his bed. She takes her twists out of her jumbo claw clip and readjusts to pull them all back away from her face. Tati eases his phone out of his hand and slides her glasses on, flinging his dead arm off his face to use his Face ID. He whines, face scrunching is disapproval.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Eddie complains, sitting up against his pillows before crawling out of bed to get the food waiting on his dresser, “Do you have any naan or…?” 

“Do I look like a food bank, Munson? Damn,” she tilts her head and he raises his brows in a silent ‘Well, do you?’

She sighs deeply, “Yes, I have extra naan but you can only have it if you don’t delete the app and eat with us in the living room.” 

“Those are two totally different asks, Tati,” Eddie huffs. 

“I don’t make the rules,” she shrugs before starting to laugh, “Actually, I totally do.” 

The phone buzzes in her hand and Tatianna’s grin only widens when she sees the notification, “You have a new like.” 

“Whatever,” he shrugs, face laced with disappointment and frustration, “It’s gonna be another dud. Why bother if there’s no point? Like, this can’t actually be how people meet each other —“ 

Tatianna opens her mouth to protest but Eddie interrupts his own thought before she can speak, “You and Gareth are the anomaly.” 

“What if the sixth time’s a charm? She looks really cute,” She smiles, teeth bright against her smile, cheekbones glistening where her moisturized skin hits the light. 

He rolls his neck and sighs while Tatianna continues to encourage him, “Just try. You owe yourself that. Chrissy wouldn’t—.”

“Fuck Chrissy, Tat,” Eddie’s voice raises slightly, suddenly defensive. His chest burns at the sound of her name, heat rising up through his neck to his face,  “I don’t really give a fuck what Chrissy would and wouldn’t want. ‘Cause if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have to be on these stupid fucking apps.” 

“Whew, tell me how you really feel Ed,” she says while she stands up off the bed to walk towards him.

“Look, I get you’re still mad about how things went down with Chris. I know you’re still hurting, but you’re denying yourself a chance to start over — just shoot this girl a message. She seems cool,” Tati speaks so gently to him that he soothes instantly. She offers his phone, still open on the new profile — he’s hesitant at first but he takes it from her to look at the screen. 

There you are. You are cute. Your profile is simple: your name, age thirty, your opening tagline ‘idk i’m just out here i guess’. He lets a puff of air out of his nose at the sentiment — ‘Same,’ he thinks. 

“Fine,” he says finally, “I’ll look through her stuff and I’ll message her. Are you happy?” 

“Thrilled,” she smiles, “So thrilled that I’ll even let you have the extra samosa.” 

He follows her out of the room with his phone and food in hand, looking at her fondly when she passes him a tinfoil covered piece of naan in the kitchen, “You’re my best fucking friend, dude.” 

“I thought I was your best friend?” Gareth pouts from the kitchen table, D&D notes littered in front of him. 

Eddie scrunches his nose, tilting his head while he considers, “You’re alright I guess.” 

When the food is done and he’s gotten a proper look at your profile he decides to bite the bullet — fingers shaking while he matches back with you. He doesn’t start with ‘hey’ this time because Robin and Steve said that was boring, so he tries something new: 

wild that you’re just ‘out here’, me too. 

…

…

…

lol, twin behavior. how’s your night?

Eddie’s heart hammers at the response. He’s surprised at the reaction, he hadn’t had that with any of his other chats, normally expecting them to die off after the first ‘Hey, how are you?’ pleasantry. But maybe this could be different, maybe this could be fun. 

scored some indian food from one of my roommates so it’s one of my better nights. 

ooh, i’m so jealous. i have buyers remorse from some baked ziti i ordered. should’ve just made it.

what did you get?

chicken saag, still jealous?

i’m more of a saag paneer girl but consider me over here seething.

Eddie grins into the phone, cheeks hot while he thinks about what to say back. He skims over your profile again, eyes stilling at a photo of you laughing on what looks like a cruise deck. The sun hits you like a golden streak across your eyes. The caption reads ‘the last time i felt a single shred of genuine happiness’, he huffs an airy giggle before going back to the chat. 

you’re funny, did you know that?

um ya, i’m the funniest person i know, actually. 🥰

that's crazy cause i’m the funniest person i know. and since now i know you, it’s looking like we gotta battle for who the funniest is.

Jesus fucking Christ Munson, why can’t you just be normal? Why can you just say ‘lol’ and call it a night? He frets. His leg bounces while he waits for your reply, food rolling in his stomach. The cool metal of his rings is welcomed on his warm cheeks while he leans against his hand on the arm of the couch. The few minutes he waits for the buzz of his phone feel like eternities. But there you are to save him from his embarrassment:

lmao okay. where did you wanna battle?

there’s a bar in the city that i think could host. you around tomornight?

tommorow night* sorry, fuck, i was trying so hard to be smooth with it.

TOMORROW***** FUCK. LET ME LOG OFF FOR ETERNITY REAL QUICK.

yiiiiikes! embarrassing. but this proves you actually might be funnier than me. i’m not a sore loser so i’ll go on a date with you if that’s what you’re asking.

do you drink? it doesn’t have to be a bar.

i do! where did you have in mind?

there’s a spot called little spoon saloon in the city if you’re familiar. sorta cozy.

oh yeah sounds great for a battle 🙄

but yeah i know it, that’s not too far from my place. maybe we’ve seen each other before and never known it. two ships passing in the night~*

does seven work for you? i know it’s a monday, so we can do earlier if you gotta be up early or something.

sevens fine :)

okay :)

:)

:)

see ya tomorrow! Eddie bites his lower lip, breathing steadily through his nose while he sends over his number. Anything to get out of looking at the app for at least another day, anything to spare him from potentially running into Chrissy’s profile despite her being in a different state. It was getting close to the holidays, she could be around at any moment. 

Before he can spiral, his phone buzzes again – this time a text from an unknown number. His grin widens, too caught up in the excitement bubbling in his chest to feel Tatianna’s stare from the recliner. hi, it's me. jsyk if you don't reach out by like, two tomorrow -- i'm considering it a cancellation and i do have a 50% cancellation fee. sorry! 

50%? stop selling yourself so short, kid. but don’t worry, i won’t cancel. no? you’re not scared to battle? i’m never scared of a battle. :) (A lie.) see you tomorrow. 

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Tatianna smiles, cheeks tight from being unable to hide her excitement. “Are you talking to a girrrrrl?” Gareth teases. Eddie let’s out a ‘tssss’ while he stands up and stretches, quirking a brow at his best friend. “Is it a girl? You takin’ her out?” he asks again. “Yeah G, it’s your mom,” he shrugs, “Night y’all.” “Ed,” Tati whines, “Come on.” Pink floats across his cheeks, itching his nose to hide his goofy smile behind his hand. “Yeah, it’s a girl. And yeah, I’m taking her on a date tomorrow,” he groans. Tatianna squeals, shimmying with giddiness while the recliner rocks with her. Eddie’s too caught up in hiding his face, “Ugh, she’s cuuuute, Tati, what am I supposed to do?” 

“Show her what she’s been missing,” Tati shrugs, “Everyone needs an Eddie.” 

Last night, Eddie fell asleep caught in a memory that became a dream. He’s eight years old at the YMCA, Wayne sitting in the stands watching him – this is maybe two weeks after his dad dropped him off before he got sent to prison. Wayne wanted to make sure his schedule stayed the same as it could, so Saturday swim lessons it was – today was diving off the block. Eddie had been dreading this lesson for a month, knowing that level 2.5 meant you had to at least try. In level two, they had you stand on the block just to get used to it. He could barely breathe for the ten seconds it was up there, tears stinging his eyes while his teacher encouraged him to come closer to the edge. Three of his classmates had already asked if they were allowed to jump off. It looked fun but it was just so high up. What if it hurts? What if he landed the wrong way? He was up soon, standing behind the block with the rest of the kids, shivering from being out of the water. He could dive off the edge of the pool just fine – in fact, his teacher said he was a great diver, especially for an eight year old. So it should be no problem to dive off the block, he just had to do the same thing he always does. Just higher. 

Gareth, before Gareth was his best friend, climbs up the block and puts his feet at the edge of the white plastic and metal. His teacher, Miss Tiffany, tells him to put his arms up and bend his knees and to dive at the whistle. The whistle blows and Gareth leaps – but he doesn’t dive smoothly into the water. 

“BELLY FLOP!” Jason Carver yells from the edge of the pool where all the kids who already dove sat. They start teasing him relentlessly, Miss Tiffany helping him out of the water to inspect his red belly. Tears well up in Gareth’s eyes, his mom leaning over the bannister from the seating area. “Are you okay, baby?” she asks. Gareth burns red with embarrassment, only encouraging the cackling kids to get crueler. 

Miss Tiffany puffs her whistle three times, “If you tease again, you’re not allowed to go to free swim. Do you understand me?” 

The group quiets, slowly kicking their feet in the water. “Alright Eddie, you’re up next!” 

He gulps, climbing up on the block slowly before standing to full height with his eyes closed. He takes a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, like his Uncle Wayne taught him to do when he was feeling nervous. When Eddie’s eyes opened, a chill ran through his chest – for some reason the block seemed higher than ever. 

“Ready Freddie?” Miss Tiffany asked, treading water in her red bathing suit. She grinned up at him, knowing that the phrase always made him giggle – but not today. 

“Arms up, knees bent,” she continues. Ed looks down at the water and the room spins, he can hear Jason and the class giggling. Hear the splashes from the kicks of their feet. 

The whistle blows. He doesn’t move. The whistle blows, again. He puts his arms down. “You okay, Eddie? You can do it! You’re a great diver!” she cheers. 

Eddie chews on his lower lip, thinking about the smack of the water when it hit Gareth’s stomach. The laughter. The teasing. The potential of the pain. The whistle blows again. Eddie climbs down off the block, sniffling when he makes it back to the pool deck, “I don’t want to Miss Tiffany.”  

“C’mon Ed, I know you can do it! Do you want me to save you for last?” she asks, her smile still bright and encouraging. Eddie sniffles again, eyes burning with tears while Jason and his friends start to tease him, too. “Swimming sucks,” he bites, stomping towards the boys room, grabbing his ratty towel off one of the benches on the way in. He’s only in the locker room for a few minutes before he hears the door open and Wayne’s apologetic voice talking to Miss Tiffany from the deck floor.

“He’s just goin’ through a lot right now,” Wayne says, his gruff voice rattling off the metal of the room. 

“Eddie?” Tiffany’s voice calls. 

“Come out here, son,” Wayne calls, “Y’know, if your decent.”  

Eddie sniffles back his tears again, shuffling over to the door while Miss Tiffany waits with his Uncle.

“Do you maybe wanna stay a little late today and we can practice diving off the block when class is over?” she offers, “I know it can be scary to do it in front of your classmates, but I want you to pass to level three!” 

“No thanks Miss Tiffany,” he mumbles to the tiles on the floor. 

“That’s okay Eddie, maybe we can try again next week. How’s that sound? I know you can do it,” she says softly. 

“Okay,” he murmurs before turning on his heel and moping back into the locker room. Wayne was waiting by the check in desk when Eddie emerged after changing, his ratty towel slung off his shoulder. 

“You okay?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah, can we just go home?” 

“Sure kid, was gonna stop and get us some lunch if you wanted,” Wayne’s eyes crinkle with his smile, “Wanna go to McDonalds?” 

Eddie returns the smile half heartedly, “Yeah.”

They walk to Wayne’s pick-up hand in hand, despite some parents thinking he’s ‘too old’ to be doing that. He needed the support, and his uncle was never one to make him feel like he didn’t have it. 

“So d’you wanna try again next week? Your starting form was great, buddy,” Wayne asks while Eddie puts his seatbelt on. Eddie considers it. Getting to the edge of the block and making Jason Carver eat his own words. Making him look like a loser for a change. 

But the words ring in his ear ‘BELLY FLOP!’ The relentless teasing if he didn’t do it this week and then messed up next week. He’d be a baby and a joke. 

“I don’t wanna do swimming anymore, Uncle Wayne,” he huffs.

“You sure?” his uncle frowns, putting the car into gear, “You’re really good, Ed. Y’could be on the swim team.” 

“I don’t wanna come back. I quit,” he repeats. He crosses his arms while they pull out of the parking lot, watching the rest of the kids pool out of the doors with smiles on.

Eddie wakes up to his alarm blaring, back in his 32 year old body. He swears that the air of his bedroom smells like chlorine.

Eddie made sure to text you at 1:59 PM like an asshole. 

still on for tonight? :)

so close to having to pay my cancellation fee. 

but yes, still on for tonight :) 

sorry, work’s been wild today. would’ve texted you sooner!

you’re off the hook…

for now. 😡

He likes your little attitude, he decides. That little hint of sass in your messages keeps him on his toes and it’s not lost on him that this is probably how you flirt. He wonders, selfishly, how easy you are to fluster. You both exchange a few back and forths before he’s finishing up work for the day and heading to Wheeler’s for a campaign chat. 

The texts completely drop off while he gets ready to see you. He takes an extra long time in the shower, using the tiniest squeeze of Tati’s curl cream when he comes out because it makes his hair look good. He scrubs his face raw before shaving, following up with the skin care routine he kept up with, even though Chrissy curated it for him. 

Once dressed, he stepped quietly out to the living room to grab his jacket in the closet and pull out his boots. 

“You used my curl cream, I see,” Tatianna crosses her arms. He blushes. 

“Don’t be mad, I just wanna look good,” he puts on a faux pout, eyes rounding while he slides the leather over arms.

“You look really good,” she smiles, “It’s gonna be great.” 

Eddie shoves his socked feet in his Docs, worn in from years of wear, and looks up at her, “I’m kind of excited.” 

“You should be! I don’t know, I just have a really good feeling about this one,” she smirks, “Text me at some point, let me know how it goes.” 

“It’s a better indicator if he doesn’t text you, Tati,” Gareth says, coming up behind her, “You look sharp, dude.” 

“Sharp?” Eddie rolls his eyes, “What’re you? Eighty?” 

Tatianna clicks on her phone to look at the time, “Can you get the fuck outta here? You’re gonna be late!” 

“I’m going, I’m going!” he laughs, arms up while he grabs his keys from the hook by the door, “Wish me luck, bye!” 

Eddie felt sick. Suddenly feeling like he was standing at the edge of the pool in ‘98.

When he got his keys in the ignition of his Honda Civic, a text came through immediately. He swallowed tightly, in some way expecting it to be you. In some way, expecting you to be canceling on him. 

Instead, it was Tatianna in the big group chat: 

here, we made a playlist for you

Eddie clicks on the Spotify link and laughs. First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182

First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182 First Date - Blink 182

And so on. The music automatically connects, the opening guitar ripping through his speakers. Eddie quickly types up a response on his phone before pulling out into the street. 

very creative, edwards.

someone in this house has to be. ‘In the car, I just can't wait, to pick you up on our very first date. Is it cool if I hold your hand? Is it wrong if I think it's lame to dance?’ He rolls his eyes as Mark and Tom serenade him in the car, laughing at the lyrics. It’d been a while since he’d listened to this album, let alone this song. While he won’t admit it to Gareth or his girlfriend, it was exactly what he needed before he got to the bar. 

‘Do you like my stupid hair? Would you guess that I didn't know what to wear? I'm just scared of what you think, you make me nervous so I really can't eat.’ “Let’s go, don’t wait, this night’s almost over,” he sings along, fingers tapping on his steering wheel while he waits at a red light. He’s on the fourth replay of the song by the time he pulls up. The ignition cuts off the lyrics before the chorus, he takes a big breath before opening the door. Just a couple minutes past seven, but he told you he was running a little late, so you wouldn’t be mad. His phone buzzes to Robin, Steve, and Jeff reacting to the playlist Tati sent. Alicia, Jeff, and Nancy sent him sweet good luck messages. Robin and Steve sent them a picture from a bar they were at, flipping him off. ‘Break a leg, dingus,’ came in her follow up voice memo. Eddie considers making this new picture his phone background. 

He swallows hard when he gets to the door, his bottom lip getting pulled between his teeth in apprehension. He nods to himself, “You got this, Munson.”  Another deep breath, he’s still ten, he’s still afraid to dive off the diving block. What if it hurts? What if he belly flops? 

‘What if you don’t? What if you dive this time?’ He thinks to himself. He opens the door to the bar, his ten year old self puts one foot on the diving block. The chatter of a few conversations at once is disorienting, so is the low light of the bar in comparison to the neon outside. The man at the entrance asks for his ID and he awkwardly fumbles for his wallet as if it’s not obvious he’s been old enough to drink for eleven years. “Here, man,” he says, somehow nervous he’ll get caught with a fake like he’s nineteen again. The security’s light flashes over his birthdate and he passes it back with a short and gruff thank you. Eddie takes a few steps before checking his phone to remind him what you said you’d be wearing.

in a red cut off sweatshirt, jeans that look like dickies – hard to miss! white airforces! i’m here, looking for you if you can’t spot me just approach the most off putting girl at the bar, it’s probably me :) 

He smiles into the light of his phone. You’re are funny. His phone lights up again, another text bubble added to your previous one. Eddie’s heart hammers in his chest when he looks at it, knowing you’re really only moments away. got you a guinness cause that’s what you said you liked on your profile. it looks like battery acid tbh. there’s a couple seats by the end of the bar, i’ll grab them. He looks up from his phone finally to see a blur of red start maneuvering over to the end of the bar. That’s you. Oh shit, that’s you. Oh shit, you’re – fuck. You have a fat fucking ass in those jeans. He swallows again, shaking the horny thoughts out of his head through the tendrils of his hair. Another deep breath through the nose, out of the water to the diving block just to dive again. He walks the length of the bar and hears his name, your voice in real life – not through a voice note or on your profile. “Ed?” 

Eddie catches your eye and his heart sinks and leaps so quickly he thinks he’s going into cardiac arrest. You’re real pretty, even more so when you grin at him from a few feet away. You wave him over and he does his best to walk confidently towards you, taking his jacket off while he does. He doesn’t know it, but the other girls at the bar are looking. He’s all broad shoulders and dark tattoos, two silver chains and understated rings. Full lips and doe eyes. Tatianna never told a lie, he was unmistakably handsome – he just didn’t know what to do with it. You toss your hair when you speak to the bartender from the end of the bar with a bright smile. The man puts two drinks in front of you and you leave cash in their wake. Eddie winces when he sees you pay, but tries to ignore the sting. In a way, it feels like he’s already losing – like he’s playing Sims with Robin and he’s not on track to get a gold reward on date night. You’re hot and you know it, but he can tell it’s like you just found out. Your eyes are flirty no matter what you’re looking at, you’re full bodied and it’s like you know it’s making him salivate. Eddie can’t help but be nervous when he takes a seat next to you, fingers immediately drumming on the bar top in front of him. “Guinness for you,” you say, sliding the pint glass in front of him. “Thanks,” he smiles, “You didn’t have to do that. I asked you out, you’re not supposed to be paying for me.” 

“I know, but – why don’t you get the next one and we’ll call it even?” you offer. He nods while he takes a sip, eyeing the lighter orangey liquid in your glass. “Did you get a cider?” he teases. 

“It’s a grapefruit beer, thank you,” your brows furrow at him while you take a sip. You have a good face, part of him wants to say that but it seems like a weird compliment. ‘Nice face.’ Like, what does that even mean? His tongue feels heavy, he can feel the sweat building under his curly bangs. “Weaksauce,” he laughs, scrunching his nose, “Grapefruit beer? Not for me, toots.” 

“Yeah, because you drink battery acid!” you tease back, “You’re a stout snob, huh?”

“Nah, just never heard of grapefruit beer. I always drink Guinness – or like, Miller light. Never really stray,” he shrugs. 

“You wanna try mine?” you ask, sliding the glass to him. 

“You sure?” he watches you nod and brings the beer to his lips. It’s tart, a little bubbly, hitting his tongue on the off beat from the stout before. It settles and then it’s sweet, he wonders if you’re the same. Eddie smacks his lips, “I don’t hate it.” 

“That’s such a stout snob thing for you to say,” you pull a face, bringing your drink back to sit in front of you. “I’d offer you a sip of mine but I know you don’t like it,” he smiles, “Wouldn’t want to ruin the taste of your dessert beer.” “Fuck off,” you shake your head and smile, taking another sip of your drink. The Guinness in his hand makes him feel less nervous, but not all the way – toeing the line of the end of the diving block but not scared to look down into the water. He can tell you’re nervous too by the way you pick at a hangnail on your thumb absentmindedly, the way you cross and uncross your legs. Eddie’s eyes linger for a moment at the way they spill over each other, squishing flat on the seat of the stool when you keep them uncrossed. He tries to discreetly follow the line of your thighs to your hips, up to your waist before getting ahead of himself and pulling his eyes away. 

“How was your day?” you ask. Not the question he was expecting. “My day?” he asks, brows raised while he tries to recollect anything before getting ready to see you. “Uh, my day was good. Yours?” You fucking dumbass, you couldn’t just spare one detail? She’s gonna think you’re an asshole. “It was fine,” you answer quietly. Your smile fades a little and he feels a panicked chill rush in his chest. “S-sorry, I should’ve elaborated. I sound like such a dick, sorry,” Eddie feels the heat creeping up on his cheeks, a clamminess starting up at his hairline, “I um, I went to work. Came home, went to a friend’s house for a minute and we talked about a campaign we’re putting together next weekend. I had some dinner, and then I started getting ready to see you and um – uh, now I’m here.” “Campaign? Are you a politician or somethin’?” you quirk a brow while you look him over. He feels insecure under your gaze, he hopes you like his tattoos.  

“No, no, it’s for Dungeons and Dragons.” Saying it outloud makes him feel like a loser, even though you don’t react like you think so. 

“Cool,” you smile. 

“Do you like, even know what that is?” Defensive already, waiting for you to make fun of him. Waiting for this to end up another mistake. Waiting to belly flop. 

“Yeah, I know what it is,” you answer quietly again, this time your shoulders, “Have some friends that play.” 

“Oh, cool. Cool,” Eddie nods, chest tightening, toying with his rings while you reach for your drink, “Um, I’m — yeah, sorry if that came off like, dickish. I didn’t mean to—.” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you shake your head when you say it, almost like it’s rehearsed. Like you’re always ‘okay’-ing something. 

“Sometimes people think it’s weird when I tell them, I dunno,” he shrugs, still looking down at his rings, “If I’m being honest I haven’t been so great at this whole dating thing.” 

You smile again and he looks up in time to see it, his breath hitches. You’re very pretty. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I learned how to play Magic the Gathering twice to impress a boy. Two different ones,” you grimace, scrunching your nose, “Gross right?” 

“Oof, that’s rough,” he jokes, “Magic the Gathering? That’s like, way worse than D&D.”

“Well the difference between you and me, is that I don’t still play,” you bite back, cocking your head while you take another drink. “Didn’t impress those boys after all, huh?” he raises a brow and your mouth falls open in faux offense. 

“You’re so mean,” you gasp.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he drawls, “Should’ve put that in my profile.” 

“Oh, so you are mean?” you grin. 

“The meanest,” he grins back, teeth straight and shiny. Full lips pulled tight against them, “How was your day?” “I worked,” you shrug, “Not as exciting.” 

“What do you do?” he asks, turning towards you on the stool, leaning one arm on the bar. He relaxes into the seat, legs spreading wide while his free hand runs nervously over his thigh.

“I’m a personal assistant to a jewelry maker,” you let out a half chuckle through your nose, “It sounds fake when I say it out loud. But basically, I just keep her schedule and run errands and keep her shit in order. She’s an older woman and she’s not the most tech savvy in the world — great at what she does though, really eccentric but I feel like you gotta be when you work in the arts like that.” 

“That’s cool,” he says softly, watching you talk, “What kind of jewelry does she make?” 

“Oh you’ll love this, since you like D&D and stuff,” you start, your excitement is infectious, his heart thrums, “She makes fine jewelry for the most part, but also makes anodized chain mail jewelry and wearable pieces for theater and ren fairs on the side. I told you, eccentric.” 

“Oh, so she’s a little alchemist, huh?” he smirks. 

“Kinda, yeah,” you shrug, heat hitting your cheeks while he keeps his gaze on you, “It’s cool to watch the first few times, and then you get bored.” 

“I’m sure it’s the same for people who watch my band,” he laughs. You shake your head, a curve pulling from the corners of your lips while you finish your beer. 

“Alchemist,” you repeat with a playful roll of your eyes, “You’re such a nerd.” 

“What do you do for work?” he notices you fully turn when you ask, your knees toward him. He remembers Steve telling him once that it was always a good sign when they do that. Like Steve knows anything about body language and dating these days, he’s been platonically attached to Robin for years. His little guard dog. 

“I’m a teacher,” he replies, knocking back the remainder of the Guinness in his glass.  

“Hm,” you hum, looking him over suspiciously, “That’s surprising.” 

“I work at a performing arts school,” he rolls his eyes, “It’s 2023, I’m allowed to have tattoos.” “What do you teach?” you squint when you look him over a second time, “Actually, let me guess – drama?” 

“Music theory,” he corrects. 

“Ooh, big brain,” you joke, “That’s cool.” 

“Big brain? I don’t know about that, I just like music,” he shrugs, “It makes sense to me.” “When I was in high school everyone always talked about how hard music theory was – like, all the band kids,” you explain, there’s a sparkle starting to glint in your eye when you talk to him. “You were hanging out with the band kids?” he tosses a sarcastic knowing look before taking his glass in his hands, “And I’m a nerd? I dunno girl, it’s not looking good for you here...” “Even worse, I was dating one,” you grimace back. “Fuuuuck, you were really fighting for your life in 2009 huh?” Eddie laughs low, lower lip tucking in between his teeth to run his tongue over it. 

“2007, 2008 all the way to like, 2016,” you hide your face in one hand and he wishes you wouldn’t. 

“Damn, that’s a long time,” he observes, “You didn’t marry that guy?” 

You lift your head back up, and shake your head, “It was on and off for a long time, he’s not a fan favorite. It’s uh – it’s why I normally don’t date musicians. I almost didn’t match with you ‘cause of your first picture.” 

Fucking Tatianna. 

“Eek, sorry,” Eddie puts his hands up, “Should I go?” “Do you play bass?” you wince.

“I play a lot of instruments,” he chuckles, “I can play the bass. But I’m not like…a bass player, if you know what I mean.” 

“Oh, I know what you mean,” you breathe out a sigh of relief, “Made that mistake more than once.” “What’s your favorite instrument that you play?” you ask, it’s almost girlish. He ponders it while you cross your legs, the toe of your shoe barely brushing the back of his calf but he knows it's there. You rest your chin on your fist while you watch him think about it. His brown eyes glint in the reflection of the light overhead, plush lips parted while he runs his hands over his stubble. “I think I’d have to say…electric guitar? I’ve been playing that the longest,” he hopes you think that’s cool. “Is it the same one that’s in your pictures?” 

“The Warlock?” he asks with a grin, “Yeah, that’s my girl. Best relationship of my life, prob’ly the only lady who talks more than me.” 

“It’s really nice. I like the color.” 

“Thank you,” he says quietly, eyes darting to your knees where they sit between his, “Um, can I get you another drink? Do you want a beer or…?” 

“If I get a real drink will you stop making fun of my beer?” 

“I promise.” He slides off the stool, sad to see your close proximity to him fade away when he stands up. 

“They have food here, right? I’m sort of hungry, if that’s okay,” your voice gets sheepish when you ask. 

“Yeah, that’s okay. Did you eat dinner?” The words fall out of him too fondly. 

“I had like, a huge spinach salad,” you explain, “Might not have been enough.” 

Something tells him to press further before he buys you more liquor, lest this date go to the wayside too quickly, “Did you eat lunch?” 

“I worked through lunch.” 

“Did you eat breakfast?” 

“I had a smoothie,” you confess. 

“Okay, so before I get you a drink, why don’t I get you some chicken fingers or something?” he insists. You’re shy in your smile back to him, nodding along at his advice. Yes, you should eat more before you keep drinking with him. He doesn’t want you to think he’s just trying to get you tipsy, he’s never been that kind of guy – even when he’d bring home girls from the bar. (They’d at least be the same level of totally obliterated as he was.)

He beams back at you when you nod, “Atta girl.” 

He doesn’t notice when your thighs clench. 

The last chicken finger is eaten, the last fry of the basket he got for you to split crunched through. The conversation had lulled, not because you weren’t interesting – the nerves were getting to him, creeping up like vines along his chest. The look over the diving block at the water, it’s slow waves teasing him to jump. 

���So um,” you began, swallowing your final fry and wiping your hands on a napkin, “Since you’re a teacher, how was school today?” 

Eddie’s so used to this question that his response doesn’t change, always the same quote from the same movie. Forgetting he doesn’t know you like that, his mouth moves quicker than his desire to play things off cool.

“The worst day of my life, what do you think? Gosh!” Eddie sounds more like John Heder in 2004 than John Heder does now – but when he hears himself say it, he’s immediately embarrassed. Eddie opens his mouth to apologize, nervous you won’t understand but instead – you laugh. And what a sound that is for him to hear. 

“Oh, shit. I haven’t watched Napoleon Dynamite in years. Like, not since grade school.” Eddie laughs with you, “Sorry, sorry, that’s like my go-to reaction at home when my roommates ask me that. I should’ve said something more normal like, ‘It was fine. The kids can’t stop trying to take TikTok fancams of me.”

“Roommates? Fancams? You’re so hip, tell me more,” you enthuse. He puts a finger up to stop you at first, locking eyes with the bartender so he can finally order another round of drinks. 

“What kind of real drink do you want?” he asks. 

“Just a marg on the rocks, salt,” you shrug. 

“Psh, I said a real drink,” Eddie teases with a roll of the eyes, but they soften when you go to argue back, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” 

His toes inch towards the middle of the diving block.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he flirts. Eddie can see the heat hit your cheeks, the creep of a smile slowly curving upwards, you’re embarrassed. Nervous like he is. Maybe this is going just fine. 

When the drinks arrive he slides the margarita towards you and sips his own Jack and Coke slowly through the tiny bar straw. 

“Okay, so. I have two roommates. Gareth, who’s been my best friend since I was nine; and Tatianna who has been my best friend since I was twenty-nine,” he explains. 

“So why aren’t you dating Tatianna?” you challenge. You miss the straw when you reach for it with your mouth, it slides over to the other side of the cup. You try again and miss, cheeks burning while Eddie looks at you continue to fuck up. His eyes glint mischievously while you hold in your frustrated laughter, “Stop looking at me.” 

“It’s fine, I’ll wait while you get your life figured out over there,” he jokes, checking ‘the time’ on his wrist, “Shouldn’t be too long until you finally get it.” 

“You’re so annoying,” you grit out playfully while you capture the straw between your teeth, “Should’ve put that on your profile, too.”

“Anyway,” he continues, “I’m not dating Tatianna because Gare’s going to propose to her when they go on vacation in a few weeks.”

 “Oh! Yeah, that makes sense,” you nod, “Probably not a good idea to date your best friend’s almost wife.” 

“Yeah, definitely not well advised,” he shakes his head, pulling his hair up off of his neck for a minute before dropping it down, “Plus, her last name is Edwards and I dunno…don’t think I could live with myself if I was ‘Eddie Edwards’.”

You laugh again and he hoped you would. It’s a goofy laugh, you don’t try to sound cute when you do it. He knows you must be a loud laugher, if your small ones are any preview to what you could really do. You don’t sound like Chrissy. Her laugh was dainty, feathery. Like how they teach you to giggle in an etiquette class – all soft edges, all smooth lines. 

“You wanna take the girl’s last name?” you raise your brows, “Very forward thinking. Progressive.” 

“I don’t know, something about it’s kinda hot right?” he asks cock of his head, “Plus, my dad sucks so I don’t want to keep repping him by having his last name.” 

“Oh wow, my dad sucks, too,” you reply cheerily, “We have so much in common!” 

“What was it you said before? ‘Twin behavior’?” 

“Twin behavior, yes!” your hands meet both of his knees where he sits across from you, your tone is light and earnest, “You get me.”

Eddie takes in a hitch of breath, desperate to keep his cool when he feels your hands on him. It’s not even sexy but he could shoot straight to the moon if you asked him to. You use his knees as leverage to hop down from your stool, grabbing your drink before nudging him with your hip. 

“If we’re still battling though, there’s an air hockey table in the back room if you wanna play,” you offer. 

“Are you any good?” he wonders, hopping off the stool to follow you to the back. 

“I’m amazing,” you grin, “Actually won seventeen first place trophies in the intergalactic air hockey competition – of course I’m fucking bad at it, that’s why it’s fun to play.” 

Eddie laughs this time, it’s gruff and nicotine soaked. You’re already winning the battle for funniest person – you’re sharp with him and he’s starting to like it. He runs his hand over the side of the air hockey table in the empty back room, more and more pleased that he put this date together on a Monday. He slides a dollar into the machine so it whirs to life, the neon lights flicking on with a stutter. 

“This reminds me of birthday parties when I was a kid,” you muse to yourself, reaching for the hockey disc trapped in your goal, “Can you help me?” 

He nods, hand grazing your back to get you out of the way – you’re warm to the touch. If he was a braver man he would’ve pulled you into him but he’s not, instead squatting down to reach further into the goal where your game piece was. 

“Hm,” he murmurs, reaching further back and barely touching the top of it, “It’s in here, it’s just back there. I can get it, just –” he sucks his teeth like he did the night before, getting to his knees to try. Music plays over head, stuff the new crop of bar goers would consider oldies. You smile at the opening ‘Damn, shawty snappin’...’ of T-Pain’s ‘Buy U A Drank’, but even more surprised when you hear Eddie sing along softly to himself. 

“Snap ya fingers, do yuh step, you can do it all by yourself. Babygirl, what’s your name?” “Not you knowing the lyrics,” you laugh. 

“I was in highschool in 2007 of course, I know the lyrics,” he huffs, standing up, “I think it’s a bust for air hockey.” 

“That’s fine,” you shrug, “We tried.” 

“I know the club, close at three,” he lip syncs to himself before, turning his attention to you, “What’s the chances of you rollin’ with me?” 

You back and forth to each other in time with the lyrics before settling back down in your spot at bar. 

“You even know the Yung Joc part? Damn,” you laugh again, he loves it. 

“Why’re you so surprised? Is it the tattoos?” he asks. 

“Well yeah, you definitely give off a ‘loved Avenged Sevenfold’ in high school vibe,” you scooch your stool closer to his, your knees slotting between his open ones like a perfect puzzle. It’s not enough though, and he’s not sure if it’s himself or the Jack and Coke that encourages him, but he reaches for one of the legs of your stool to pull you closer. 

“Hey,” he says, your faces only a few inches apart. 

“Hey,” you respond. You catch his eyes flick briefly to your lips before they meet yours again. You can see the light smatter of freckles over his nose, long faded from the summer. 

“You’re right, I was really into Avenged Sevenfold when I was in highschool.” 

“I figured. I was into that whole scene thing, back then. All those singers that are mad at their dad’s and like, in retrospect, all hate women I guess,” you realize it as you speak. 

“I probably would’ve thought you were cute,” he guesses. 

“No, you would’ve called me a poser,” you correct, “Don’t lie.” 

He hesitates before nodding, “No, no, you’re right I definitely would’ve called you a poser. Did you like Fall Out Boy and all of that shit?” 

“Don’t shit on the music I liked,” you frown, “That’s not cool.” 

“I’m not, I’m not,” he assures, pulse speeding, “I promise, I’m not. I’m sorry.” You continue talking about music, high school, college, some ins and outs. Nothing too serious. Nothing too intense. But by now, Eddie’s feeling nice and if one thing’s for certain:

He wants to fucking kiss you. Toes at the edge of the diving block, Miss Tiffany’s whistle caught between her teeth. 

“So now that we’re three drinks in, can I ask you a personal question?” you ask, your eyes a little glassy. You’ve confessed that you’re tipsy, but aware, that if you have one more drink you won’t be – so Eddie already paid the tab. 

“What do you wanna know?” he asks.

“Why’re you,” you enunciate, implying he’s something, “On the apps? It’s hard to believe that someone like you would be single. Unless you have like, something deeply wrong with you, but you’ve been all green flags so far.” 

Your hand falls back to his knee and he eyes it before sliding his own hand down his thigh to lace your fingers with his. 

“You want the real story?” he asks, lifting your hand up of his knee to play with your fingers in both of his hands while he talks. His hands are warm and calloused on the fingertips, but the rest are soft. Lacing and unlacing, running his thumb up the lengths of your fingers, tracing your palm. 

“The real story.” 

“You gonna tell me why you’re on the apps after?” 

“Sure,” you nod. You look gentle, at ease. He eases in, too. 

“I got divorced in 2020,” he confesses. It feels like a weight off his chest to tell you, “Married my high school sweetheart, things were great for a long time, but y’know. People grow and – the pandemic was not kind to us.”

“Oh, I’m…I’m sorry to hear that,” you offer softly. 

“It’s okay,” he smiles tightly. “I guess I was both surprised and not surprised at all when she broke up with me. Almost relieved, I guess – that I didn’t have to play the part of her husband anymore. Not that she was a bad wife or anything, she was great she just – I don’t know,” he rambles, “And I don’t know, I just threw myself into work and my friends after. Girls after shows. Was too scared to like – go on dates incase it ended up like my marriage and –” 

He laughs, “My friends were tired of seeing me be so sad, I guess.” 

“You have such a solid support system,” you comment, “You mention your friends, like, every other sentence.” 

A beat. “I like that,” you nod and smile. He can’t get over how you look when you do that. 

“Why’re you on the apps?” he asks, your hand now cradled between the two of his, his fingers grazing your wrist. 

“I’m six months out of a six year long relationship,” you let out a breath through your nose and drop your shoulders a little, “Figured it was time to get back out there – enter my slut era.” 

“Oh yeah, you’re super slutty,” he teases, “That’s actually the first thing I thought when I saw you. ‘She’s in her slut era.’” “God, fuck offfff,” you giggle again. 

“But yeah, I ended it. I figure I should make that clear,” you say, “Just in case that’s like, a red flag for you. But I don’t know, we just weren’t growing in the same directions. Things felt done way before I left and I – I don’t know. I think I was just scared. I took some time for myself and now, here I am.” 

“It’s okay that you ended your relationship, it’s not a red flag,” Eddie’s voice soothes you when he says it, “If you told me you like, cheated on him and then hit him with your car then maybe yeah, I’d be a little concerned. But you’re an adult, you just know what you want better this time around.”

“Yeah,” you agree. Your eyes meet in a silent confirmation. His eyes flick to your lips for a second time before tucking his lower lip between his teeth again. 

BELLY FLOP! 

“You wanna head out? It’s getting a little late,” he offers. 

Your brows raise in surprise, “Uh, sure, yeah.” 

“Not that I don’t like spending time with you,” he assures, letting his fingers linger over your hand while he stands up, not wanting to lose contact just yet, “Just don’t want to keep you out too late.” 

“Oh yes!” you start with an old southern twang, “My daddy’ll be out there with his pistol if I don’t get home ‘fore sundown.”

“You’re funny,” he laughs, letting go over your hand to reach up and squeeze your cheeks affectionately. You both put on your jackets and head outside, both of you wincing in the cold of the winter air. 

“I’d really like to do this again, if you want,” a shy blush reaches his cheeks, meeting the pink from the cold. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you’re just as shy in your response, “This was fun. You’re fun.” 

“Thank you,” he flushes deeper, trying to prolong the inevitable. What if he belly flops? What if it hurts? What if the kids make fun of him? 

“I’d offer to drive you home but I’ve had a few,” he says, hand reaching out to fall on your shoulder, “I feel good to drive but like, god forbid anything happens so – I’m happy to get you a car or pay for it for you.” 

“That’s really sweet, thanks. Let me just um,” you pull out your phone to get in Uber with a speed that impresses him, “It’s really not that pricey, I’m close-ish by.” 

“Still,” he says, “Just wanna be a gentleman y’know?” 

“You’re very gentlemanly,” you flirt. Eddie stiffens, nervous, palms clammy. 

“So um, I’ll see you soon?” he asks, opening his arms to give you a hug. 

“Yeah, for sure,” you nod while you let him engulf you. His scent is warm and spicy, mixed with tobacco. You guess either still smokes, or he used to, but he never got up to have a cigarette in the hours you were at the bar. Eddie let’s go and cups your cheek briefly before giving you a gentle but winning smile. His warm brown eyes linger for the last time on your lips, now they’re slightly parted, waiting for him. His toes curl over the edge of the diving block, his knees are bent, arms up over his head...I don’t want to Miss Tiffany. 

Swimming sucks.

“See ya.” 

You quirk your brow for a moment, having expected much more than a hug, “Oh, um…see ya.” 

He walks half way down the street to his car, heart thrumming in his chest in embarrassment. He should’ve just done it. FUCK. He should’ve just kissed you. 

But what if it hurts? What if she leaves? What if you can’t make it to level three? What if they laugh at you? 

He breathes heavily through his nose while tears threaten to well up in his eyes, staining his eyelashes. What if you don’t want to see him again after this? What if you change your mind? He sighs audibly when he turns the key, phone auto connecting to the speakers. He turns up the radio while the car revs to life, pulling on his seatbelt and putting the wheels into gear. He leans back in his seat to pull out of his spot only to see you still waiting for the car outside of the bar. 

Blink-182 blares through his speakers, hitting him straight in the chest.

‘Let’s go, don’t wait, this night’s almost over. Honest, let’s make,this night last forever. Forever. And ever. Let’s make this last forever.’ 

What if he did stay a little later after class? What if he got the chance to move on to level three? 

Fuck it, he thinks. He turns off the ignition, shaking out the sounds of Jason Carver and the kids laughing, the sounds of their feet kicking in the water. Just Miss Tiffany and her whistle. He gets out of the car, determined. You’re still there, head whipping around to see him coming towards you while you bounce on the balls of your feet in the cold. 

Arms up. Knees bent. “Ed? My car’s gonna be here in a sec–” Whistle. His hands reach out to your cold cheeks to pull you in before his full lips capture yours. His eyes flutter close at the contact, feeling your mouth react to his in time. Soft and needy, hydrated. You immediately know how to keep his pace while he separates and goes back in for more. Wet but not messy, passionate but not feverish. The smoothest dive he’d ever done in his life. Your hands escape your pockets, fingers sliding behind his neck to pull him closer, sliding through the nape of his hair. He breaks away for a moment to delicately push your hair out of your face and really look at you before pressing his lips to yours again. You only stop when your Uber beeps from across the street. 

“I wanted to do that all night,” he mumbles sheepishly. 

“I wanted you to do that all night, too,” you giggle, breathless and blushing, “Thank you.” 

“Thank you,” he says, running a hand over his face, “Let me know when you get home, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, hurrying across the street as the car honks again,  “Bye!” 

“I’ll put something together for next time!” he calls out. ‘Cause there will be a next time. 

Tatianna is leaning over the back of the couch with her chin in her hands when Eddie opens the door. Her cheshire cat grin matches his own. 

“So I didn’t hear from you all night,” she starts, her voice syrupy smooth, “So that means it must’ve went really well.” 

Eddie sighs dreamily, kicking off his boots at the entryway and hanging his jacket on one of the hooks by the door. 

“Ooh, you like herrrr! I can tell! Look at your stupid face!” she laughs, pointing at him, bouncing on the cushions. 

“Tati she’s…fuck,” he shakes his head in disbelief while he walks towards her, “There’s either two ways this could go.” 

“Yeah?” she asks, looking up at him, “And those are?” 

“I’m gonna marry her, or she’s gonna absolutely fuckin’ ruin my life.” 

“I like her already,” Tati grins, “Sit down, tell me everything.” 

“Yeah, yeah, give me a sec,” he grumbles, his phone buzzing in his pocket. He plops down onto the couch while Tati grabs two cups of tea from the kitchen that she made especially for the recap of his night. Gareth had been long asleep for an early morning at work tomorrow. 

Eddie takes out his phone, two unread text alerts lingering on his home page. He opens them, smiling stupidly into the screen.

i’m home :) you’re a really good kisser by the way. 

glad you made it home safe. you are too. :) but you started off pretty kissable so, that’s probably why. you’re making me blush over here, stop it. 

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle through his nose, clicking out of your text conversation to go back to his home screen. 

He deletes the apps.

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson

[l4long-winded]

i really wanna see carmy groveling 🤭 might be fun, after a fight or something

how cruel... i like the way you think! i tried to write him as close to his character here while still adding in that groveling element. i hope i've done it justice!

o.s. a guilty heart's plea(s)

summary: carmen's said some unforgivable things to you. and yet here he is at your doorstep, pleading for you to forgive him (carmen berzatto x afab!reader)

reflection: as much as i pride myself in my ability to write scenes and descriptions, i still struggle a lot with making dialogue sound good while flowing with my writing. i think this has been good practice for me to really get inside this character's head and see what he could possibly say with a prompt as heavy as this. this took me about a week to write so i really hope i gave it the time and energy it deserves. thank you all for reading and feedback is always welcomed, appreciated, and encouraged!

warnings: cursing, angst, established relationship, implied smut, reminiscing, they're on a break, inner monologue, carmen's pov, rambling, self-loathing, carmen pleading, inability to express feelings, apologies, missed calls, insecurities, acts of service, sydney sweeney mention, smoking, somewhat happy ending (please let me know if there are other warnings i need to add)

word count: 2,132

( this work has been cross-posted to ao3 )

Carmen knocks on the screen door ahead of him. It’s his seventh time doing so, the clattering and aggravating sound of metal reverberating against the second door behind that one. Dust coats his knuckles because it transferred from the opaque metal, a small spot shinier than the rest of the door because he continued to rap at the same area. Maybe he should clean it for you later if you actually decide to speak to him again. His hands fidget at his sides, clenching and releasing, staring blankly as he thinks of all the times he’s come over. For his first initial visit, you unlocked the door, gave him a cautious glance over your shoulder, and then led him inside. During the second time, you held his hand as you stepped past the threshold, squeezing it in reassurance.

On Valentine’s Day, when he surprised you with an assortment of flowers from the farmer’s market, you greeted him with a deep kiss, tugging the collar of his shirt to pull him inside of your house. He didn’t show any resistance, blindly following your lead, dropping off the flowers onto your couch as your hands lifted his shirt, and your mouths departed from one another for a smidgen of a second before they found each other again, more impassioned and desperate.

“Open the door, come on, I’m sorry,” he says, more so to himself than your screen door. He’s been close to shouting at it this entire time, making his pleas, encouraging you to open it for him so he can have a discussion with you face-to-face.

He’s called you plenty of times. Each one has either rang for as long as the line allowed or went straight to voicemail. Two weeks have passed without seeing each other. Two long weeks of unanswered text messages he’s sent day by day and missed calls clogging up your phone’s notifications. You’re ignoring him and he knows he deserves it, guilty as the hand in the cookie jar, but he still can’t shake this overwhelming feeling inside of him to see you again. The albums dedicated to you in his gallery are not enough to satisfy this. His fingers twitch every time he swipes at an image and relives the sensation of running them along your skin. That’s when his nose begins to miss the scent that clings to your neck. That’s when his ears long to hear the lilt of your laughter and that particular way you say his name. That’s when his tongue rejects the nicotine and implores him for a taste of your chapstick, or the bubblegum flavor lingering in your mouth greeting him after a shift at work, or the giggles you fall into as he chases the subtle pecks you graciously feed him.

The door behind the one he’s attending to opens. There you are. He can’t see you since the sun is positioned right behind him, warming his back as it sets into the background. At most, he makes out the silhouette of your frame, recognizable to his eyes as he’s acquainted himself with every curve and slope of you, but he’s aware you fully see him on the other side. He wonders if you’re able to tell how little he’s slept since a look in the mirror this morning painted the picture of an exhausted man through dark rings under his eyes and a slackened jaw.

“What do you want, Carmen?” You ask. Not Carmy. Not Bear. Not any of that cheesy shit Richie pokes fun at him for. Carmen. He’s not sure whether he’s relieved to hear the sound of your voice or offended he’s lost every sweet moniker you’ve bestowed upon him.

“To talk,” he explains quickly, “I just want to talk. If you want me to fuck off, then,” he inhales sharply. It would kill him if you told him to fuck off, but he’s also not about to make you uncomfortable for an issue he caused. “Then I’ll fuck off.”

Unlike Carmen, you’re not rapidly firing away sentences in response to him. You’re quiet for a beat and it’s rather agonizing for him because even though there’s only a door separating the two of you, you’re still so far out of his reach. He’s tempted to cup his hands over his eyes and look past the individual holes of the door to check if you’re still there.

“Go ahead,” you say, interrupting his thoughts and refuting his fear you’ve stalked back inside your living room.

“Talk.”

He gulps. He was hoping to at least do this without a barrier in the way, but he’s not about to fumble the one opportunity and chance you’ve given him after two weeks of nothing. He’d be a fool to.

“Fuck… I…” Well, this is off to a great start. He tries to think about the texts he’s sent. He had time to sit down and write out apologies and yet none of them are splurging onto his tongue to save him the awkward discomfort currently stirring in his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I said,” Can you let me figure this shit out without breathing down my fucking neck ringing in his ears, haunting him like a phantom stuck on his shadow because it’s one of the last things he said to you before you took off and rightfully gave him the cold shoulder.

“I was stressed and frustrated and, and I wasn’t thinking. Those aren’t excuses for being shitty,” he shakes his head so hard that his hair untucks from his hat and grazes his eyelashes, “If anything, they make me more shitty because only assholes do that and that’s what I am. I’m a fucking asshole and and and and…” He’s rambling, losing the point of this. He’s got a talent for berating himself. He falls into it naturally if he’s not careful.

“And I fucked up. I really, really fucked up. I didn’t mean any of it. I never wanted to hurt you.” But you did. “I don’t know why I do that. I don’t know why I ruin shit, I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but something is and you, you, you always… you’re always there and and and then you weren’t and…”

This is hard. He’s never been good at articulating his feelings. He wants nothing more than to just tell you how he’s fucked up and you’re one of the only people who doesn’t think he is, but after his true colors have splintered out of him and sliced at you as they have other people in his life he cares for, your perception’s possibly changed from that. He believes he’s confirmed every horrible thing he’s ever thought and said about himself and usually, he can handle that self-loathing and dissonance on his own, but consternation bubbles in his ribcage and sparks embers licking at the lining of his stomach at the very idea of you becoming desensitized to the version of himself you’ve fallen for. He wants to shove the curtains back into place, pretend you never stumbled upon the man behind them, and continue walking hand in hand with you in the reverie he knew wouldn’t last. But damn it. He wants it to last longer than this. It wasn’t enough time. He craves more of it, grasping for the seconds in his hands despite how much they’re attempting to evade him as the clock ticks and ticks. 

“Fucking fuck,” he bellows, “Man, fuck me, fucking fuck me.” Vulnerability is so fucking repulsive. Who the hell invented it? He can’t finish a keynote to save his life.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he settles on.

“I can’t fucking sleep, I can’t fucking eat, Richie keeps calling me a dumb shit like I’m not already thinking that. I-I-I need you. I’m sorry for making you feel like I don’t, but I do. I don’t blame you for leaving and I don’t blame you for ghosting me, but please, I can’t fucking do this anymore. I know I’m being a selfish fuck, but I can’t shake what you make me feel and I won’t leave until you talk to me.”

He stares hard at the door. The sun’s lower in the sky, making it more difficult to see if you’re still standing there listening to what he has to say, as jumbled of a mess that it is. His hands leave his sides, anxiously pressing palms first into the metal like it’ll ground him. An urge presents itself to rip it off its hinges and see it for himself rather than wait for verification, but he manages to remain steady where he stands. It’s about the same experience he’s had over the past two weeks of texting and calling to no avail. You’re not saying anything. You’re not denying his insecurities, you’re not soothing his temper, you’re not reflecting it, and you’re not engaging like he’s envisioned time and time again. You’re eluding him. You’re slipping past his fingers like liquid as he desperately grasps.

“Please, please, please say something.” His forehead leans into the surface, eyes shutting tight. “Tell me I’m not shit, tell me you never want to see me again, please talk to me.”

Please forgive me, he swallows. Please forgive me and take me back.

“Just… please… I… I want to fix this. I want to make it up to you. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Please don’t shut me out. I’ll make you something? Yeah? Your favorite? What about that place you wanted to go off Lake Shore? Or, or that movie you wanted to see with, uh, that Sweeney girl? What the fuck was it?” Carmen’s eyebrows knit together as he tries to remember the name. “We can go see it… we can go to dinner… I can make dinner. I can take time off work and we can travel somewhere, we can take a trip like you wanted, whatever—I want what you want. Please…? Hello?”

Carmen speaks your name a few times among his pleading. His forehead slowly detaches from the door, indents of the mesh left behind on his skin. He goes quiet to listen for any movement, but he can’t even hear your breathing like this. He can’t hear anything besides the wind picking up, blowing cold over the tips of his ears sticking out from his hat. He steps away from the door, a lump in his throat alongside all the affection he doesn’t know how to let out that he swallows with great difficulty. Instead of walking away from your house, he sits on the cement step leading up to the walkway. He meant it when he said he wouldn’t leave until you talked to him.

He camps outside your house. One hand fishes for his carton of Sapphires, plucking a cigarette from the box. He’s got about two left since he’s been chain-smoking to fill the void. Carmen greatly considers trying to make his plea again on his knees in front of the door if that’s what it’ll take as he lights the end away from his mouth. The pressure of the cement will be a motherfucker, but he’s concocting another game plan to gain your attention since he’s already here and the walk back to his apartment is too long for him to jump at it. If that doesn’t work, then he can leave and come back in the morning before work. He can afford to be slightly late as his normal is showing up early and Sydney and Tina know the prep work that needs to be done.

All his thoughts fade as he hears the door behind him creak. He glances back suddenly, catching it as it slowly swings open. He’s in the midst of standing to his feet and flicking his cigarette into a patch of dirt when you come into view. Your hair’s messy, a white tank top on your torso, and a pair of fleece pajama pants he knows are new. His hands yearn to become acquainted with them as he has your other bottoms. Carmen stares at how you’re hugging yourself, presumably because the cold air is filtering into your warm house. The goosebumps littered over your biceps and forearms confirm his theory.

He’s on you in an instant. His arms wrap firmly around your frame, sighing out as his stress undergoes the mitigation of your own arms embracing him back. Your hand finds his hair, incidentally causing his hat to fall off to the floor, but he doesn’t care. He’s far too busy stamping your temples, cheeks, jawline, and lips with kisses he has weeks of time to make up for.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles into your hairline, “so, so, so sorry. Missed you.”

#l4l.writes #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto angst #l4l.oneshot #the bear fic #carmy the bear #jeremy allen white #a guilty heart's plea(s)

[asakamasanobu]

(なんか、ずいぶん場違いな…)

that’s wataru’s first impression of asaka . there’s a paragraph or so describing asaka’s confident posture and the stylish clothing he has on before that, but this is essentially the first proper assessment of asaka and i feel like i got knocked off the road by a truck

i mean i already feel like i got knocked off the road by a truck when in the said para it was written that his movements were so beautiful that you’d fall in love in an instant but the implications of wataru’s first impression of asaka being that he’s out of place are making me REEL in a completely different way ..... like obviously it’s because he’s handsome man dressed so fashionably and behaving so assuredly in a dingy little coffee shop that no young people go to but as asakaoverthinker5000 i just feel so crazy because that’s exactly him ....... how his existence is so awkwardly out of place despite his beauty and gentleness and kindness (or maybe it’s precisely because of that? ha) and how he doesn’t fit in wherever he goes and is always standing out (even tho wataru caveats that he stands out in a good way and even tho he was out of place it’s not in a bad way)

but the very fact that your very first impression of asaka other than him being beautiful is that he doesn’t belong here is like ah ..... hold the fuck up satan i didn’t ask for all this ....!!!!! T_T

#literally 10 min ago i was crying bc of that line about how beautiful he was and now i’m crying for a whole new reason ! #like it’s not that deep ..... it’s really not that deep unless you’re asakaoverthinker5000 who specialises in overthinking literature #like i’m no longer studying lit but i already know how to write a graded asaka essay to get that A #the foreshadowing .... the intentional isolation of this character from the scene .... it’s all coming together #anyway normally i share my 感想 only after reading but i literally froze upon seeing that line and #and had to type all of this out bc i never reread this after being asaka stan so i get to capture my worst moments in real time! #jk i’m gonna try my best to continue bc if i’m already acting up in the scene where asaka FIRST APPEARS WITH ZERO LINES AT ALL ..... what #what will happen to me when he starts Doing shit and Saying shit ..... i’m gonna have breakdowns for days #update: took a one hour reading break and when i got back the following para said even tho he was out of place it felt like #it felt like he was being considerate of the environment with his air of gentleness and this is too much #i could go on a whole other tangent about how he’s always so observant and considerate and picks up on social cues to put others at ease #and the fact that so much of this comes out from his initial appearance JUST ENTIRELY FROM HOW HE PRESENTS HIMSELF and not his actual self #it’s vile ...... it’s so vile (also he was compared to the sun shining into the cafe and i Cried) #added the tags onto the wrong post at first everyone please point and laugh at me

[moonrisecoeur]

Ur the best sub Leon writer soooo… idk if you seen these but ppl treat las plagas parasite as sex pollen 😭 and I’m so here for it. Concept : re4 leon infected by the parasite OK but he starts out very agressive but ofc he’s a sub so he does whatever reader wants in order to yk… achieve the goal of the parasite (breeding 😔 who said that? Not me) And pls make the reader mean, I love mean femdoms sm, they are chefs kiss. If you need more clarification post it I’ll send another one idk but I’m just seeing what YOU come up with. LOVE UR WRITING btw I love how it’s pretty in character tbh cuz I read ur bully Leon one and I was like “yeah fr like he’s too caring to be a bully 💀”

OMG WAIT MY DUMBASS FORGOT TO ADD: you said smth so mean to him that he came too early. He was so sorry for coming early and the mess he made in you But then he continued to keep going trying to pump more- OK SORRY

the BEST?? idk about that but i shall take ur compliment and deliver to you only my best work so thank u bestie i appreciate it sm !! ^-^

las plagas is crazy cuz like the black veins, the loss of control with your physical body, the pain it causes… that’s literally so hot. leon was so fuckable all of re4 but especially in the scenes where his body is being controlled that man is SCRUMPTIOUS

also just so you know. the veins on his dick are black as well ♡

no pronouns mentioned, afab parts mentioned, plaga leon has to be a top im sorry (technically in straight relationships men are always topping unless u count pegging BUT in this context i mean he’s a top more like ‘he’s a sub but he’ll fuck u stupid’ like that’s the vibe)

you spot his blonde hair from across the hall, running over to him excitedly. thank god you found him.

“leon!” you call out, grabbing the attention of the man in question, as you catch up to him. finally finding him in this nightmarish place after getting separated was the best thing possible, “holy crap, i’m so- i’m so glad you’re okay— woah, what… what happened to you?”

he takes a cautious step back, still seemingly holding a little bit of control over his body, “they said it was a gift in my…. my blood… don’t know what the fuck that was about..”

you take a step forward, reaching out your hand to touch his face, fingers tracing the black lines that were once veins invisible to the naked eye. but he stops you, his hand roughly grabbing your wrist, “don’t.”

“don’t… what?” you ask nervously, shoulders slumped.

“you need to… stay away from me,” he groans from pain, and you’re too worried to listen to his words, “stop, get away from me, you— i could hurt you! i don’t want to hurt you…”

but you don’t listen to him, betraying his wishes by shaking off his grip and reaching your hand out again. he can’t try to stop you this time. he moans, actually moans, when your fingertips touch his face, caressing him softly.

“really? it’s that good?” you ask with a small smirk on your face. leon thinks he could die.

“f-fuck…” he mumbles, finally coming closer to you. his hands wrap around your waist as he leans in for a kiss that you’re not ready for, and you both stumble backwards while you try to ground yourself.

he’s getting rough, aggressive, and you need to push back a little or else he’ll consume you entirely. not that you’d mind.

“leon, ease up,” you whisper, pushing him back slightly, and when a growl escapes his throat, you know he’s clearly not in any state to listen, “leon.”

he annoyedly makes eye contact with you, trying his best to listen to what you’re about to say. he is trying, and that’s the worst part. this is him at his most gentle, most restrained.

“you need to listen to me, okay? can you do that?” you ask softly, hand against his chest to keep him from diving too deep into you, and pressing a kiss to his lips. it’s softer. he moans into your mouth needily, but you don’t let him get rough. instead you sweetly get the taste of him. sure, it’s not a delicious taste, but he’s a delicious experience.

you enjoy the way he’s trying so intensely to control and contain himself, for your sake. he knows what you want from him is not his full fledged desires out in the open, completely unchecked.

when you pull away, he looks wrecked already, “please, you can’t do this to me, not if you’re just going to walk away and leave me desperate.”

part of you wants to reassure him. i’m not going to leave you. i would never abandon you when you need me most. but the other part just wants to ravage him, take all of him for yourself, leave nothing of him left but the perfection you’ve created. perfection in your eyes. maybe he’s not the only one infected with some kind of tainted desire.

instead, to accomplish both, you kiss him again, letting your own intensity and desire take over, potentially overpowering his. he whimpers, his shaky hands holding your hips for stability. he’s not being grossly possessive and rough like before. he’s softer now, pliable.

when you pull away, you whisper, “we need to get somewhere safe.”

“wha… what?”

“i need to take my time with you, and we’re not safe out in the open like this…” you say, leaning in to press a kiss to that sweet spot right below his ear. it’s so cute how truly weak leon is right now. sure, that’s always been his weakness, but it’s elevated multiple times over by this parasite in his blood. you have half the mind to thank that weird cult.

when you find a safe room, you’re immediately back on him, pushing him against the wall, enjoying the way he whimpers as you kiss him, his need for you multiplying by the minute.

“please, please, i need you, i need you so fucking bad, please, i need to take you, need to make you mine, need to—”

“shut up,” you groan, fingers roughly grabbing his jaw, pushing his head back and away from you, “you’re going to be good, or you won’t get what you want. i don’t care how badly you fucking need me, you’re going to be patient. you’re going to be nice and obedient or you’ll get nothing from me. and that little parasite inside of you is horrified at the idea that you won’t get to fuck my pretty pussy, hm?”

he looks pathetic, moaning like a whore at just some words, but it’s the way you say them, the way you say them, that kills him. he eventually calms himself down enough to nod with his eyes shut tightly, “i’ll do whatever you say. you know that.”

“lay down on the floor,” you command, almost growling back at him, and he opens his eyes in surprise.

“what?”

“you heard me. on the ground, beneath me, right now, leon,” your eyes narrow at him, enjoying the way he weakly sinks to his knees before sitting down completely and laying back.

“like this..?” he asks, confused. he doesn’t know what’s about to happen, and that excites him immensely.

you take off your belt with all your utility tools and your jeans along with it. then finally, your underwear. he looks up at you with wide, delicious eyes.

he asks so sweetly, even though he knows the answer, “are you… are you gonna make me..?”

“yeah, you are. i’m going to sit down on your pretty, pretty face and you’re going to enjoy every second of being beneath me, where you belong, servicing me, and making me cum.”

his heart skips a beat at the thought of belonging beneath you, “yeah, fuck, okay—”

“—and you’re not going to fucking talk until i cum, got it?”

he nods, and once you sit down upon your throne, he gets right to work. he laps up the fluids of your cunt like a dog, working tirelessly, sucking on your clit and tongue fucking you. this is his place. he deserves nothing more than to be here with you, caving to your every desire even if all of his thoughts include breeding you and getting you pregnant with his babies. he’d do anything you asked if he could just have that.

he’d be at your service, at your mercy, until you chose to give him what he wanted.

but he makes you cum so fucking hard that it’s impossible to not give him what he wants, especially when rough hands grab onto your thighs as you’re cumming and he’s still giving you the head of your life through your orgasm. he grabs you just to stabilize you, but also to be possessive.

he can’t help how bad he’s gotten about jealousy and possessiveness with this parasite. he’s never been the jealous boyfriend, knowing you could hold your own and you’re loyal and stuff, but something about the way he looks at you now is different. it’s deep and primal. he looks at you like he needs to have you, and no one else can.

it’s insanely hot, but it’s also inconceivable how uncontrollable those urges are. leon has good self control, and you notice it in how he’s acting. again, this is him at his most restrained. he’s trying to keep himself from pouncing on you, taking everything he wants from you because he knows you don’t want that.

somewhere deep inside of him, he’s still himself, still that awkward and dorky guy that just wants to love you and give you everything you want. you wouldn’t want that.

when you roll off of him, laying down next to him to give yourself a moment to recover, you press a kiss to his shoulder, a sign that it’s an act, your harshness isn’t real. he returns the gesture by kissing the top of your head. a sign that he acknowledges your motives.

“please,” he whimpers suddenly, startling you out of your daze as his hand caresses your back softly, “i’ll let you control everything, you can do whatever you want with me, but fucking please, i’m so desperate to put my cock inside of your pussy, baby. i can’t think straight, and i’m trying so damn hard to control myself but i won’t be able to much longer…”

“yeah? you wanna put your cock inside of me? feel it throb inside the wetness and warmth of my cunt, fill me up with—”

he cuts you off with a loud moan, his hands grasping onto you and his eyes shutting tightly at the thought of such pleasure. he looks wrecked at the mere mention of cumming inside of you. you obviously have to capitalize on this fact.

“oh? so it’s the filling me up part, isn’t it? the ‘gift’ you have makes you really want to cum inside me, hm?” you say, smirking cruelly at him, watching his resolve crumble as he moans shamelessly, “do you want… breed me, leon?”

he gasps, breathing heavily. he’s incredibly wound up, and now you know the real reason he’s insatiable and uncontrollable, “f-fuck, i— it’s not that i want to, it’s that i need to… i need to fuck you and breed you so damn bad, i—”

you cover his mouth with the palm of your hand, enjoying the way he groan in pleasure when you straddle him. god, he’s not even inside of you, but he looks fucked out. he looks he’s about to burst already.

“god, you’re so fucking desperate,” you mumble to him, leaning in closer to whisper to him despite having him muzzled with your hand. not that he’d ever hurt you, he would never even imagine it, “you’re going to fuck me stupid, okay? you’re going to fuck me until my legs go numb and i can’t feel anything but you… and only when i tell you you can, you’ll breed me, fuck your cum even deeper into me and not let any of it escape. understood?”

he breathes shakily, not responding. obviously you forgot you have your hand over his mouth. when you take it off, he nervously says, “got it. i’ll… i’ll be good. i’ll make you feel so good.”

your voice is dark, cruel, full of malicious intent, “you fucking better, or i won’t let you cum. you’ll get to fuck me, sure, but i won’t ever give you the satisfying orgasm your body is desperately aching for. you won’t get to fill me up, and all you’ll have left to fuck for your little orgasm is your hand.”

his heart aches. the idea of disappointing you makes him feel a physical pit of nervousness in his stomach, the same ones he felt when he was more like himself. he just wants to feel like himself again.

“g-got it,” he whimpers. you get off of him, and he’s got you pinned immediately, gently resting you against the ground he was previously laying on. the image of you beneath him has him breathless. he feels like he’s worshipping a god with every move he makes.

he slides his cock into you, groaning at how easy it is, how wet you are. he bottoms out almost immediately, enjoying the way your body wraps around him in almost every sense. he silently adores you. he loves that you want him, crave him just like he craves you. that underneath all of your dominance, you’re his lover too.

fuck, he’s starting to feel possessive again. he beings to thrust into you, his body moving faster than either of you can handle, but you keep your cool better than he does.

“don’t let yourself start to think you’re in control,” you murmur, leaning up to press your lips to his shoulder, baring your teeth but not hard enough to draw blood. just enough to remind him of his place, “you belong to me. not the other way around, got it?” you growl into his ear.

he can’t even respond, too enraptured by your body and the feeling of your control over him leaving him a shuddering mess.

and you can’t even deny it. he’s putting in the work, thumb playing your with your clit just like how he knows you like, and clearly he’s getting the results he’s looking for. his body comes closer to the edge sooner than he’d like, but he tries to stave it off, for your sake.

still leaning into him, you whisper in your darkest voice, “maybe i should leave you like this, so you can stay this desperate… for me. i would try and cure you, but… not sure if i really care anymore.”

he shudders, voice giving out on him as he tries to plead with you. he cums without warning, obviously his body did it without the consent and go-ahead of his conscious mind. he already looks embarrassed at cumming without your permission. you don’t really have the mind to care right now, but you remember it for.. later.

“i’m gonna cum, fuck, leon, give it to me, give in to your cravings, your desires, your needs,” you moan in his ear, desperate for him, only him, and he’s yours, he’s all yours, it’s all he’s ever been and all he’ll ever be. he keep fucking you even after cumming, keeping you filled up, pushing it deeper, “make me yours.”

and he has no choice but to comply.

#sub leon kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s. kennedy #leon kennedy smut #sub leon kennedy smut #resident evil #leon kennedy resident evil #resident evil smut #reader insert #smut #sub!leon #re4 leon #re4r #re4 #re4 remake #re4r leon

[cherrymoon4]

hello ^^ ( thank you sososo much for the love on the other posts! send me requests if you want :P )

hiya!! <3333

honestly don't want to pressure you by requesting xxx

buttttt i love, love, love the way you write suguru xxx

so i'd be happy with anything with him <33333

whether it be a continuation of a similar dynamic with the curses aftertaste fic or something else entirely...

Roommate!Suguru would be so possessive and yummy.

Initially, when you first moved in the apartment, he didn't really care much about you. He knew you had a pretty face and were kinda shy, but that's all.

But as time went on and you opened yourself up to him, he began to get quite obsessed with you. He would be all over you as soon as he stepped foot in your apartment; and you would let him, after all he was just being friendly! right?

It didn't matter that anytime he would hug you from behind you would feel something hard pressing against the small of your back. It was probably just his phone in his pocket!

And you're sure that it's your mind doing tricks on you whenever you hear the bathroom door open while you take a shower. He would never ever spy on you, you were sure.

So when you come home from a terrible date, the first thing you do is rush over to him, your pretty eyes filled with tears, and throw yourself in his arms.

He was quite pissed off from the moment you told him you were going on a date. I mean, you have a perfectly good man at home! Why would you even consider seeing someone else?

Suguru always took good care of you. He always pampered and spoiled you, and every time you would think that he was just being generous.

I mean, he had a big reputation as a respectful and kind guy, especially among girls; his giving personality was what attracted them, his deep, soothing voice and his looks were a plus.

So obviously you thought he was just being his kind self when he took your teary eyed face in his hands and wrapped you up in his arms, engulfing your entire body as if protecting you.

But you couldn't deny the warmth in your belly as he whispered in your ear and rubbed your back, listening intently while you vented about how horrible your date was.

And the whole time he was just subtly smiling to himself, knowing that you would always come back to him; that even if you convinced yourself that you were just friends, deep down you knew that you were meant for him.

"It's not your fault, darling. He wouldn't be able to take care of you properly anyway, not like I do. But you know that, don't you baby? You know no one can compare to me, right?" he mumbled condescendingly, taking your puffy cheeks in his hands and tilting your head upwards to look at him in the eye.

God, you were so fucking precious. Especially like this, all pouty and teary-eyed, soft and pliant in his hands.

"Told you that you should've stayed home with your Sugu, but you just had to be a little brat and not listen to me, mh?"

And you know that if you had listened to him you wouldn't be in this position, you know that he's right.

So when his hands start to wander all over your body while he says that he "just wants to make ya feel better", you just nod and let him.

You don't know what you did to deserve him!

He's too kind, you think as his hands rub your waist and wander lower.

You think he's such a good friend when he pulls your panties down, his fingers rubbing your little clit to "make the sad go away".

And when your legs are over his shoulders, his cock nestled deep inside you and your tummy bulging, you think he's the best friend ever!

He smirks down at you, and he knows he's got you hooked when he sees your eyes crossing and your legs shaking.

"Look at you, already dumb on my cock. You love it, don't you baby? Yeah you do, f-fuck.." he plunges so hard in your little hole, biting his lip to stifle the moans coming out of his mouth.

He knows this is where you belong: your body pressed into the mattress, your pretty pussy stretching around his fat shaft, your wetness creating a pretty ring of cream coating the base of his cock, your pink nails (that he paid for) drawing red stripes across his back;

and maybe then he realizes that he's the one wrapped around your finger, when he fills your little cunt up to the brim with his hot cum, and a small part of him wishes that it takes. maybe then you would only think about him, you'll realize that he's all you truly need, and you for him <3

hiiii! thank u so much for the request (sorry for answering late) i don’t really love this but wtv! hope u do😚

#jjk #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk x you #smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto x you #getou suguru x you #suguru geto smut #jujutsu geto #geto smut #getou suguru x reader #jjk geto #getou suguru x y/n #getou x reader #jjk getou #getou smut #jujutsu suguru #jjk suguru #jujutsu kaisen suguru

[chuluoyi]

UNHOLY MATRIMONY — 13

✩°｡ ⋆ seize your happiness

- fushiguro megumi x oc/reader - oc/reader's character name is hara sena, pronouns still refer to “you” and i won’t mention it often—just for the sake of aesthetic rather than repeatedly writing "y/n"

in another life, in which fate is still screwing his life over, Fushiguro Megumi finds himself in an arranged marriage―with you.

genre/warnings: arranged marriage au, angst, hurt/comfort

notes: i know i said this chapter will be the last... but apparently i still have a lot to say so... :') don't worry. chapter 14 will be the last chapter for real. pls bear with the angst one more time! and this turned out as a whopping 5k too oops

✩°｡ ⋆ unholy matrimony (masterlist) | chapter twelve : the most twisted curse <- previous ✩ next -> last chapter : to the one i love

What does happiness mean to you now?

When you finally woke up from your long dream and saw Megumi, you thought you were the happiest because for so long, you defined being with him was enough to make you forget all the shit you had been through in this horrible life.

"Sena...?" You heard him before you saw him. His voice cut through the blur that veiled your vision and you could barely discern his figure.

Megumi immediately got a hold of your arm, eyes wildly focusing on yours as you fluttered your eyes open. And when you blinked, his voice almost broke― "Sena!"

You felt rigid, like a broken doll. Megumi grasped your left hand tightly in his, intertwining your fingers.

"You woke up..." he muttered with a strained, choked voice. He was still out of focus but you could hear him very well. "You really woke up... Thank god..."

And through his voice, you recognize pain. Several things ran through your mind then. Why is he here? Is he safe?

What about Kurusu Hana?

Yet then all of them didn't seem to matter. He is here. Whatever happened, he is really here. He didn't leave you after all.

Still, a part of you suddenly harbored suspicions that he might abandon you once again, and so you didn't dare to hope, and you were even convinced of it when you felt a lump in your throat—

You clawed on the skin of your neck in utter panic when you found that no sound came out of your vocal chords. Megumi obviously noticed your distress― "Hey, what is it? What do you feel―?"

But then you were gasping for air and Megumi didn't think anymore. He hit the nurses' call button and held you as you trashed on the bed. "Sena, hold on―hold on! I've called the doctor! You're going to be okay, you hear me?"

The heart monitor connected to you was blaring, your whole body was now shaking, and you turned to him helplessly like a fish out of water, mouth gaping to let out any sound but unable to. You couldn't speak― it felt as if someone had stolen your voice and tightened a vice around your throat.

In that moment, Megumi caught the sheer terror in your eyes, and he bent over to pull you in an embrace. "I'm here. I'm here. Focus on me. Let's take a deep breath together―"

He coached your breathing, and gradually, you started to calm down. The heart monitor in your room no longer blared like a siren, and your fingers clung to his shirt with a grip stronger than you intended.

"You're okay..." Megumi whispered in your ear, disregarding his own thundering heartbeat by reassuring you. "You hear me, Sena? You're going to be alright."

Right in this moment, nothing else mattered. You got him back. And he was here, with you. You were certain you had never felt such a profound mix of happiness and relief in your entire life.

The doctor and several nurses then swarmed the room and took over to check on you. Dizziness washed over you—their voices merging into a cacophony that made your feel exhausted, and before you knew it you fell back asleep.

. . .

"After experiencing trauma, it's not uncommon for a patient to develop a post-traumatic mutism," the doctor explained, and Megumi was listening intently. "In most cases, the patient will regain their ability to speak after attending several therapy sessions, so you don't need to worry, sir."

Megumi let out a long sigh. "Is there any long-term side effects from this?"

"No. If the patient made full recovery, then I'd say there's a low chance of any further complications."

Once the doctor left the room, Megumi resumed his post next to your bedside once again, observing your sleeping face.

His heart broke under the weight of the reality laid to him. You had endured a trauma so severe after your duel with Naoya it left you mute. Ultimately, he saw it as a reflection of his own failure to protect you too―he was supposed to be the one to go against him. And yet, you...

Seeing you struggle to breathe like that was terrifying. As your chest heaved with every breath, Megumi felt a slight relief wash over him.

At least you're now truly safe. At least... nothing more can harm you here.

Megumi is always here.

Days after you first regained consciousness were slow and idyllic, and Megumi was always ready to attend to your every need. Though you supposed that he had to, as your guardian, since you had no one left.

With your voice still not returning, communicating with him proved to be a little challenging.

"Do you want some water?" he inquired, approaching with a glass and the pitcher in hand. You shifted your gaze away from the boring magazine the hospital had supplied and nodded.

"Here." Megumi handed you the glass and you took slow sips, before fixing your eyes on him.

It's been days. But neither of you had talked about what happened. Before now, the last you'd seen Megumi was when he left you during Zen'in's last hearing, when every bit of your dirty secret was exposed before him.

The memory of that day still made you shiver. The absolute hopelessness you felt, the way Megumi looked at you, his cutting words―

"Hey, Sena―" Megumi's got a grip on your shoulders, face contorting in worry. "What's wrong?"

You looked right into his dark green eyes, and saw nothing but concern. None of the Megumi who was so ready to cut all ties with you back then.

You were flattered that he was here, but still, you needed answers.

Reaching out for the notebook and pen Megumi had gotten you for your temporary communication, you scribbled your burning question.

Why are you here?

Megumi wouldn't admit it, but his heart sank upon reading your inquiry. The fact that you felt the need to ask it was just heartbreaking.

"You were badly injured. How can I not be here?" he responded, shoulder sagged. "I should be the one asking you―how could you have gone to Zen'in Naoya in the first place?"

Then it dawned to you. Your letter. He dropped everything to get you.

I have to end him with my own hands.

"Still! That's not―!" Megumi almost raised his voice before he caught himself. "That's not any reason for you to face him in a duel!"

He would have gone after you if I didn't.

"That's what should have been. You should've let him gone after me." There was something inside him that was this close from bursting and he was trying his hardest so it wouldn't. "At any given chance, you should've prioritized your safety first. And back then, even I―!"

I've left you. Megumi let out a sharp breath and looked away. He couldn't bring himself to say it.

You blinked at him, getting a sense of what he meant, and reached for your pen again.

I also did it for myself. He murdered my mom. I just wanted to end it with him.

"What do you― why do you have to―?!"

In that moment, Megumi felt as if he had been slapped in the face. He made you think that way. It was dreadful that you chose that self-destructive path because these unfortunate chains of events.

He was still grappling with the overwhelming guilt when you presented him with your next question.

Aren't we getting a divorce?

"No." His response was swift and resolute, his gaze boring straight into you. "Never."

You looked at him questioningly because you could still vividly recall the divorce papers you tearfully signed and left with Kurusu Hana. And seeing your confusion, Megumi thought he had to set it straight.

"It's my fault," he began. "I shouldn't have― I shouldn't have left you back then. And I should've never left you with the divorce papers. I wasn't in the right mind."

You looked down, pondering his words. Sure, he wasn't in the right mind―but at one point, that was what he wanted.

It still made you a bit uncomfortable.

Megumi held your shoulders again, sincere eyes piercing into your heart. "I regret it all. I really do. If I could turn back the time, I wouldn't leave you as I did."

Your eyes widened, wonderstruck, when a tear trickled down his cheek.

"You stupid." He brought you into his arms then, voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry― I'm sorry for making you feel that you are alone. I'm sorry for leaving you. But even so, please, do not ever, ever put yourself in that kind of danger again. If something happens to you, I―"

His body was now trembling, and you put your hands around him. "How... could you scare me like that...? H-how could you just leave me with that letter... and tell me not to find you? Don't you know how frightened I was...?"

You didn't really know what you were feeling right now, feeling the dampness in your shoulder as he cried for you. Touched, sad, happy―all these emotions swirled within you at the same time. But still, the irrefutable truth was...

You are in love with this man. You were sure of it.

But...

"Me...gumi..."

Almost faint, but he heard it. Your voice that he had missed so much. Megumi pulled away from you, searching your face, and greeted by your soft smile.

You reached out for him and wiped his tears with your thumb. "Don't... cry..."

"Ah..." He pulled you into his embrace again, this time tighter. He buried his face in your neck, the ache in his chest almost made him burst as he shook with tears. "I'm so... so glad...! Sena, I―I'm really glad you're s-safe..."

And you are glad that he is too. That he is this concerned about you. That he loves you still.

. . .

And in the weeks that followed, you really thought you could sweep it under the rug and forget everything.

You thought that you wouldn't want nothing more now that he was back to you, as yours. You thought you'd be content with everything, even if you had to pick up the shattered remains.

But that wasn't the case. Not really.

Because every now and then, you still remembered how you betrayed him, and also the searing ache of heartbreak of when he left you.

...and so long as you still felt this way, you thought, it would be hard for you to be truly live the happy life your mother had wished for you.

Something about you had changed.

Megumi supposed it was the effect of the trauma you had experienced, and so he never brought it up―it wouldn't be fair to compare the current you with the you before the incident.

You two were back to living in his apartment after you were discharged. Your voice had come back, although sometimes you still experienced trouble in speaking. But despite it all, Megumi didn't really care, he was ready to weather it all with you.

His sense of guilt intensified whenever he caught you touching your throat. Thoughts like "I should've been there." or "I should have never let her so unprotected" popped up in his head more often than he would have liked.

Both of you had gone back to the way it was supposed to be. Neither of you should have any prolonged worries... After all, Zen'in fiasco, from the unethical mass massacre and Naoya's doing afterwards, had been sorted out by Gojo― both of you were essentially free of them now.

So... why do you still look like you are on edge?

"I'll make breakfast today," he said on one morning after waking up. "Stay on the bed longer. I'll call you when it's ready."

You still looked positively sleepy as you pulled up the covers to your face and it warmed his heart. You were adorable, yawning and mumbling, "Thank you, Megumi."

He openly smiled, and went to the kitchen. A simple breakfast of beef and bacon would do, he concluded, and that was what he did. Afterwards, he did call and lead you to have breakfast with him.

You were still rubbing sleep off your eyes when he said it―

"Look, it's done―"

Suddenly you stiffened. Perhaps you were hypersensitive because it was still morning, but the way he said it reminded you of his words from that day.

“It’s done. We’re done. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

You tried not to let it show, as you sat in front of him. You really did, because Megumi seemed particularly happy this morning, you couldn't bear to burst his bubble.

"I personally prefer scrambled eggs over sunny side up, so that's what I made," he explained, motioning towards the plate with two servings of scrambled eggs with hints of a grimace. "Are you okay with it? Do you want me to make something else for you?"

"Ah, no, no... it's fine," you replied almost instantly, forcing a smile. "Thank you."

His lips curved into a gentle smile as he said, "You're welcome. Let me get that for you."

And that was when it happened. His hand brushed against yours―and in response, you retracted your hand away too quickly as if scalded.

Megumi was stunned. "Sena...?"

He looked at you, and noticed the faint tremor that passed through your body. In that moment, everything around him crashed once again.

Why?

"Are you..." he was almost in disbelief saying it. "...afraid of me?"

"Megumi― sorry," you blurted out, not looking at him. "I―I don't feel too well. I'll have breakfast later... I'll go lie down for a bit."

Before Megumi could respond, you had already risen and exited the dining room. Adding to the weight on his already heavy heart, you didn't head to your shared bedroom but instead, to your old bedroom from before you moved in with him.

Suddenly he felt hollow. Memories of the past months flooded into his mind like a fast-paced train wreck.

Leaving you. No contact at all. Finding you in that pool of blood.

Everything that happened then, both of you couldn't possibly pretend that any of them didn't exist. At least, not anymore.

It has been awkward few days ever since then.

This gnawing feeling inside you― the ache, it's still there. The guilt. The nightmare. It's still there. You just want all of them to disappear.

You love Megumi and you want nothing more than being with him. But at the same time, you don't want to be with him― not like this.

They said let bygones be bygones, but it was impossible for you to pretend you were content and everything was fine while you were haunted by the nightmares of the day you made that deal with Gojo and Megumi leaving you with nothing to say for yourself.

To be happy, you need a clean slate. Or at least a time for yourself to think it over.

And so you reflected hard on yourself. What you wanted for yourself, what you thought was best for both of you.

You felt bad for Megumi too. He was visibly shaken ever since that day, and yet you were only there, feeling numb and at a loss for words, only able to mutter nothing more than apologies.

In the end, it boils down to this. You couldn't run from it any longer. Even though it'd most definitely bring both of you pain and sadness, you very well know that if you survived this, then...

"Megumi, I'm sorry for... the other day."

A week later, on that particular evening, he had just returned from headquarters and you met him at the living room.

Megumi looked startled, before flashing you a warm smile. "Ah, that again? Don't worry, Sena. It's fine." Glancing at the clock, he turned back to you. "Oh, have you eaten yet? I bought takeout on the way home."

His smile looked off. You tried to push the uncomfortable feeling in your chest away.

You steeled yourself and looked at him right in the eyes. "Megumi, I... I want to talk to you. Can you... sit here with me?"

It was hard to pull this on him. Really, really hard. But you swallowed the weight and bit down your lip when he took a seat in front of you.

"What is it?" he inquired with concern. "Don't be that tense... you can talk to me about it, alright?"

So be it then.

"I... think we should consider having a divorce."

Megumi never imagined he would find himself confronted with this very question a second time.

His first reaction was a blink. Then his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. And then a frown, before he exhaled sharply―

"Why?" his voice came out way harsher than he intended. For the life of him, he didn't understand why. He felt hurt. So hurt, in fact, you had no idea. "What is it that you're feeling this time? Why did you never tell me before this?"

"I―" Your voice faltered, caught off guard, yet your sincere eyes remained steady. "I'll tell you now."

Megumi could see how strained you were. You were clearly trying hard to keep yourself together. He wanted to hug you, but not before you explained yourself.

"Megumi, first of all... I want you to know that I love you." Your voice began to tremble. "I love you... and I'm sorry for using you and taking advantage of your feelings. And I'm happy being with you... That hasn't changed."

"I know it already." He clenched his fists tightly, wiling the pounding of his heart at bay. "Then why―"

"I feel like we've been avoiding this, I don't know―I'm sorry. In the end, it's more of a me thing―it's not your fault at all."

Megumi closed his eyes, suddenly he felt overwhelmed by it all.

"This guilt I've been carrying with me... and you..." you took a sharp intake of breath. "Maybe something is wrong with me― I kept telling myself that now you're with me and everything will be okay... I tried to convince myself, but then I can't forget the way you look on that day―"

"If it's that, then I'm sorry―"

"No," you quickly interjected. "You had every right to be angry. I don't blame you for that, Megumi. I'm not upset, not anymore... the problem is... it doesn't make it any less hurt."

Those words suddenly seemed to ring in his ears.

A sob broke finally through your lips. "And s-so long as I'm still not over all of this... then I-I don't think I... ―we... can be truly happy together."

God, why must your fate be this complicated?

Your unholy matrimony was not expected but falling in love was a blessing, and still, you ended up hurting each other. If you still feel hurt, then the same also goes for him―he too still carries the guilt for letting you face Naoya alone, regardless of how the circumstances justified his actions.

Megumi gritted his teeth in frustration. "And so, you suggest that we're better off having a divorce?"

You cried a little harder, unable to give him an answer.

“Can’t I do anything to make it better for you?” Megumi felt like a knife just lodged itself in his chest as he looked at your tear-streaked face. “I’ll do anything—everything you want me to do, just not this—Sena, please—”

“I… w-want to be happy, Megumi,” you managed to say amidst tears. “As much as I love you… I also want to love myself too… just the w-way my mother wanted me to.”

His heart was crushed, hearing you.

“I want us… to m-meet again in better circumstances,” you forced out the words. “With no one to force us or make us choose anything… a day w-when… we can freely choose each other…”

“I’ll always choose you.” Megumi’s voice wavered as he held back his own tears. “You don’t need to wait for that because I always will.”

A tearful smile formed in your lips in response. “Thank you, but I just… want more t-time… for myself, Megumi. To sort my life—my f-feelings... and everything else out.”

He let out a grunt, as the first of his tears slid down his cheek, before he squeezed his eyes shut and covered them with his hand. Pain throbbed in his head and chest. It was too much.

“Do you…” is this it? is this how it ends? “Can you… at least tell me… what you’re going to do from now on?”

Before, when he asked you this, you had no answer for yourself. But this time, you didn’t flinch.

“I want to go back to Kyoto,” you immediately replied. “I… want to start anew there. And honestly… I don't want to continue doing jujutsu any longer so... I think I’ll start a new business to get by.”

A new start. Leaving jujutsu sorcery behind. That life honestly sounds so nice to Megumi’s ears too he was tempted to follow your footsteps.

“That’s good.” His voice was thick and heavy, and you were on the verge of sobbing once again. “That’s… really neat..."

He didn't want this. He couldn't bear to let you go. He was desperate to find a way to make you stay with him.

"Is this... really, truly what you want, Sena?"

You sniffled. "...Yes."

It seemed as though the knife in his chest had been twisted and made his insides bleed. He still couldn't make sense of it. His vision kept blurring with tears.

But ultimately... you have to be happy. After all of shitshows in this screwed up life you two share... you deserve to be happy the most.

It was difficult for him, it pierced through the most tender part within him to utter these words—

"Then... let's do it. If it's want you want and you're sure of it... then I'm willing to let you go." Lies. All of them. "Just… —please just be well. Don’t get sick, don’t stay up too late, and don’t push yourself too hard—”

Your sniffles turned into sobs.

“And— know that…” Megumi willed himself so that he wouldn’t break down in front of you completely, taking a deep breath. “I want only the best for you. I love you— that’s why.”

You were sobbing again then, utterly heartbroken. You felt really bad, and yet you knew this was necessary.

As your parting words, you just wanted him to know—

"Megumi... f-for everything these past eight months… thank you," you managed to say, your voice choked with tears. "I’ve been happy with you… and I... I don’t regret meeting you even for a moment."

The knowledge that you did feel that way was like a consolation for him. Megumi was thankful too that he had met you.

. . .

. . .

. . .

And just like that, in that winter, your divorce was finalized, and you moved to Kyoto.

Six months later

The idea of a fresh start seemed appealing. Living in Tokyo had become suffocating. She reckoned it was finally time to move forward and put everything to rest.

“Oh, Hana-chan! Where are you going?”

Kurusu Hana put her duffel bag on the floor, looking back to find an elderly woman—her neighbor in this apartment building, as she locked the door to her unit one last time.

“Ah, granny,” she greeted with a friendly smile. “You aren’t usually awake this early.”

“Nevermind that— are you moving out, Hana-chan?”

“Oh yeah… Granny, haven’t you heard? The landlady is about to double the pay rent. It’s too much for this shabby place. I don’t want to live here anymore.”

“Really?! That conniving woman… I’ll talk to my husband and find another place soon too!”

“Hehe, please do.”

“Best of luck for you, Hana-chan.” The granny said. “I’ll miss having hotpots with you... You have been a really bright presence here.”

Something inside Hana lurched at her kind words. “Ah… me too, granny. Please take care of yourself too…”

Someone would miss her even when she was gone. This notion, simple as it was, once seemed impossible to Hana. Living all alone by herself all her life, she had grown accustomed to such thoughts.

And in her first time falling in love too… the man in question didn’t even return her feelings back.

But as they said… life goes on. Even when Megumi never looked at her way, then it just meant that they were never meant to be. She couldn’t wallow in this ridiculous one-sided love forever.

“Yosh! Hana, it’s okay! It’s going to be fine!”

As she stepped outside, she realized that summer was here already. And with that she was even convinced— with the new season came a new beginning, and this time, she was determined to find her own happiness.

“Ahh! It’s hot!”

Yuji stretched his arms in the air, scrunching up his face as he had a look around him. “Kugisaki, do you have any idea where we’re going next? Seriously, I can’t with all this temples.”

Nobara threw him a dirty look. “You are so useless. The very least you can do is look at the maps.”

“Well, it’s too hot here! And these view of temples and shrines are giving me goosebumps—”

“Hey! What you said counts as blasphemy you know! Kyoto is cultural heritage!”

Yuji then looked around. “Come to think about it… Where’s Fushiguro? Wasn’t he with us after checking in the hotel just now?”

“Ah, he said he wanted to go out a bit before we go to the exorcism site… He didn’t say where though.”

“Wha? Wait, we can’t go without him!”

[Nov 21] Megumi: Sena, have you arrived safely? I hope you’re not having a rough time. If you do, you can tell me

[Nov 23] You: hi megumi! sorry for not replying—i’ve been so busy with moving in here, it’s been hectic. and yes, i’m good here! :)

[Nov 24] Megumi: That’s good then. Well, take care

[Dec 10] Megumi: I’ve heard there’s an earthquake in Kyoto. Are you alright?

[Dec 10] Megumi: If you see this… Please answer me. I’m worried

[Dec 10] You got 8 missed calls from Megumi

[Dec 10] Megumi: Are you hurt? I’m trying to find a bullet train ticket to Kyoto but none are available

[Dec 13] You: gosh i’m so sorry for answering now! it’s been chaotic. internet and electricity are affected by the damage :(

[Dec 13] You: but no worries! you don’t have to come here, megumi! i’m fine! i evacuated safely and my building is still standing!

[Dec 13] Megumi: That’s a relief… Do you need anything? I can get you some things. Bullet trains to Kyoto will run again tomorrow, I can go there

[Dec 13] You: no no! really, thanks, i’m totally okay! most of buildings here are earthquake-resistant so don’t worry!

[Dec 13] You: still, thank you for worrying about me, i really… really appreciate it

[Mar 15] Megumi: It's been a while. Have you been well?

[Mar 16] You: hiii megumi! haha, you don’t have to be that formal, really. it’s been good here. cherry blossoms have bloomed, they’re so pretty!

[Mar 16] You: what about you? are you busy these days?

You had left everything behind in Tokyo—your life as jujutsu sorcerer, tears, nightmares, and sadness, or as much of it as you possibly could, at the very least.

Starting over was hard. You almost regretted it several times especially when the lonely nights were too much for you, or when earthquake shook Kyoto and left you reeling.

But at the same time, it brought you satisfaction. When you successfully opened your own small cafe just last week, it felt like all your efforts had finally paid off.

It felt good to stand on your own two feet. To do things you want. With no one to dictate what you should do. By all means, this is the dream life you've wanted... you just wished that your mother could’ve seen this too.

Spending time for yourself has been healing. And life is far better here, but still...

You miss Megumi. How could you not, especially when he occasionally sent you a text? You were touched that he was still trying to stay in touch at all, and also how he showed his concern for your well-being.

But it was now May... and he hadn't replied to your text since March.

You tried to brush it off. After all you got the divorce for this very reason. You wanted to regain your sense of normalcy again— "normal" as in before everything went down with Zen'in mess.

But perhaps someday, when you're ready, if he would still have you... then maybe...

Brushing off your thoughts and maybe, longing, you left your phone to attend new patrons when the bell to your cafe jingled.

Unbeknownst to you, after unconsciously waiting for him this long, your phone buzzed and its screen lit up with new notifications—

[May 3] Megumi: Today, I'm in Kyoto

[May 3] Megumi: I miss you, Sena. I really do

✩°｡ ⋆ next -> last chapter : to the one i love

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some of you can't be tagged bc of the settings! :(

i'm so sorry for repeated mentions, it's not showing in the tags and i'm trying to fix it :(

#fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x oc #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro megumi #jjk angst #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi angst #megumi fushiguro x reader #arranged marriage au #megumi x reader #jjk megumi #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #series: unholy matrimony

[livelaughlaios]

I think one of the things Dungeon Meshi is definitely about is how different people deal with being an outsider/marginalised/neurodivergent/what have you and basically what im getting at is that Kabru is TEXTBOOK "high functioning [insert diagnosis here]". Its that how they say it still? Don't care.

Basically. This man shows up and you listens to him talk and see how his party treats him and you think. Oh this is a cool guy who has his shit together. And then after like two pages you find out that he has constant flashbacks to Utaya that make him completely freeze, anxiety attacks, thought spirals, is incapable of analyzing his own feelings, is a stuttering mess when the stakes are high, has never done a chore in his life, keeps putting himself in triggering situations and re-traumatising himself, and the icing on the cake is when you read the extra material and it turns out he regularly forgets to eat and lives in a depression nest of dirty clothes and self-medicates insomnia with alcohol and also is 22. Which also kind of puts Misilril not wanting to let him go in another light - yeah for sure she's controlling and infantilising and also its not like she was really helping his issues but also she was not entirely wrong in her judgement. This man does NOT know how to take care of himself. He knows how to do the bare minimum so when he shows up at work the next day he can fool his coworkers into thinking hes got it together enough. For a bit.

He is DEEPLY unwell and he knows it but he is carried by the desperate wish to avoid another catastrophe. If he stops for a moment he KNOWS he'll collapse so he doesn't.

I also think this is why him acting nurse to Mithrun is such an important part of his arc. Its like. This person who has spent all of his adult life focused on a single objective disregarding everything else is faced with what happens when you do that for too long. And the result is a wet tissue of a creature who looks like he doesn't know where he is most of the time.

He is a man on the brink. I have no doubt he felt relieved when he decided he could trust Laios - not even in a Labru way, straight up because he knew he could not keep going like this.

But also like. Of all the characters in the manga, I think Senshi and Kabru are the most lonely ones. Except Senshi seems to be OK with solitude - for sure it's not entirely healthy to be alone for as long as he was but he definitely did well enough. He is very good at taking care of himself. Meanwhile Kabru *knows* a lot of people but can you really say he has friends? Rin, maybe, arguably, but even she does not seem to truly know him, you know? He keeps himself hidden from everyone. I think the only time we see him entirely honest is when he says to Laios that he wanted to be his friend, and hes so shocked when it comes out, you can tell he did not mean to say it. And differently from Senshi, he does NOT fare well alone. He likes people, he needs people. Again compare with Mithrun - he has like a squad of people taking care of him. If Kabru had a breakdown of that size can you say his party would go out of its way to help? Im not sure. Not because they're bad people, but because he's simply not that intimate with any of them.

Idk man it just struck me all of a sudden. Laios is weird and offputting and doesn't care about other humans the way Kabru does and YET he is infinitely more successful at building deep, meaningful relationships and taking care of himself as well. I think this is part of why Kabru is so fascinated with him as well. He can tell Laios has something he doesn't have. Wait this is turning into a whole another post I'll write this next time.

#kabru #dungeon meshi spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #meta #meowing to myself #this is why ive grown so attached to him i realised. i mean who said that. now if youll excuse me i have to go wash a week worth of dishes

[tkaulitzlvr]

hii I absolutely adore ur writing and I was wondering if maybe you could write something where like tom attempts to do no nut November but fails and it ends with smut??? Thank youuu💗

CAN’T RESIST - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: wierdly, tom is determined to get through the entire month of november with zero sex, having failed within the first few days for the past five years you have been together. you have other ideas, focused on getting him to crack, becoming desperate yourself.

content: smut

a/n: omg i loveeee this idea thanku sm for the request!! the way u sent this at like the start of november and i’m only just posting it i’m so sorry - i’ve had like the first paragraph written for a couple weeks😭also tom would def fail nnn on november 1st at 00:01am he is not lasting a second…

“oh my god.” tom pants, pulling out of me and climbing off of my limp frame, rolling to lay beside me, his chest heaving up and down as beads of sweat line the soft skin. “don’t know how i’m gonna last a whole month without this schatz.”

his confession doesn’t come as a surprise, in fact it is the exact opposite. tom is the horniest person i have ever met, and usually, he can’t go a day without sex - whether it be something rushed and desperate in public, or a long night of raw passion between the sheets, he can’t live without sex, which is why i am so surprised that he is attempting to go through with this whole ‘no nut november’ bullshit. he won’t last a second, and deep down i think he knows that too. though after the hours that he has spent inside of me, deciding to use the entirety of today - october 31st, the day before he had to give up his uncontrollable desires - fucking me just about anywhere he could, stating that it will ‘make up for the lost time’ and ‘make it a little easier for him’, i don’t see how he could even have the energy to do anything remotely sexual for the next month, his body spent and exhausted as it collapses beside me.

“i can’t believe you’re actually doing this.” a small giggle leaves my lips amidst the shaky breaths, hands pulling the sheets upward and over my naked body before snuggling into his frame, wrapping my arm loosely across his chest. “you know that you won’t even last a day, right?”

“this means no sex for you too you know.” his eyebrow raises, eyes tiredly meeting mine with a hint of mischief, thinking that he has caught me out, though he doesn’t realise that i can handle my needs in other ways, it is him that is totally restricted.

“i don’t need your help to cum baby. cute of you to assume i do.” i smirk, kissing his cheek lazily before rolling out of bed, grabbing my panties from the soft carpet, sensing his eyes burning into me from behind. i pay no attention, flashing him a teasing smile as a reminder that i have won, slowly walking into the bathroom to freshen up, his own steps soon following.

“the fuck do you mean you don’t need my help? i can still help you cum, i just can’t fuck you, which don’t get me wrong is the worst part, but nothing says that i can’t touch you. you know i’ll go insane if i can’t even do that.” he already sounds frustrated, a small smile tugging along my lips at the realisation that he really won’t last two seconds, his desperation embarrassingly clear despite the challenge not even starting yet.

“we’ll see. you just focus on getting yourself through this dumb challenge of yours baby.” i chuckle, that same knowing grin on my face once i palm him through his boxers, his mouth falling open at the sensation. though it doesn’t last long, my hand pulling away firmly to adjust the straps of my bra as i put it back on, leaving tom shocked as i walk away, the realisation that i don’t intend to make this easy for him soon becoming real.

and i stick to my plans - set on making this the most painful month of his life, certain that he will never consider doing this challenge again.

if only he knew what he was getting himself into.

“baby?” my voice sounds throughout the quiet house, loud enough for tom to pick up on it from downstairs. i smile to myself, turning to the mirror and adjusting the strap of the bra that i had bought earlier on, whilst tom had been at practice. the black lace - a colour which tom had never been able to control himself when ever i wore it - tightly cupped my breasts, pushing them upward and highlighting my cleavage in the most tempting way possible. small silver jewels line the lace of my thongs, matching perfectly with my upper half, leaving little to the imagination - though far too much that tom wouldn’t be able to touch, a task which would seem impossible the second he laid his eyes on mine.

“yeah?”

“can you come here for a second?” my question is nothing short of innocent, calm with a slight hint of mischief, though it is clearly not enough for him to pick up on as he shouts a quick ‘sure’, the rhythmic sound of his feet trudging up the stairs signalling that he is close, and clearly not expecting anything like this. but it has been two days- fourty eight hours of no sex, no touching, not even an implicit complaint of needing anything sexual from tom. he has been strangely okay with not fucking me, a task which any other time, would be next to impossible. and i feel it - i feel the difference in his actions. he is restricted, almost holding back just in case his impulses get the better of him. but right now, his mind has no choice, my own doing the thinking for him as he is walking blindly into my carefully calculated trap.

“is everything okay-” his calm question is soon cut off by the short curses that spill from his lips when his eyes make contact with my body, not bothering to hide the way they rake down my figure, drinking in the prominent cleavage, moving downward to my curves, finally landing on the slightly transparent panties.

“jesus christ schatz you’re gonna fucking kill me.” he mutters, walking toward me and attacking his hands to my waist, the pads of his fingers tracing the bare skin of my stomach, one slipping teasingly into my panties. his lips are inches away from my own, about to lean in and seal them in a heated kiss, though i pull away, leaving him dumbfounded.

“you like?” i ask innocently, doing a quick twirl as his eyes quickly glue to my ass, soon looking upward once i face him once again. he is in some sort of trance, mouth hanging open slightly, eyes dark and lustful, though the most noticeable difference is the tent that has formed through his sweatpants, a tinge of satisfaction in my veins at the realisation that my plan has worked. despite this, i keep the naive act up, acting as if i do not notice his change in demeanour. “i bought it from victoria’s secret today. it was on sale, and this was the last one in my size. what do you think?”

“you know what i think.” he states frustratedly, his hands doing the talking as they trail down to my ass, giving the bare flesh a rough squeeze, his lips ghosting over my own. “you’re so sexy schatz, so beautiful.”

his lips attach to my own, an indisputable hunger evident as he kisses me, his free hand latching onto the loose curls that fall to my upper waist, running through them harshly. he groans lowly into my mouth, pressing his hips against my own, silently drawing my attention to the hardness between his thighs.

“look what you’re doing to me baby.” he breathes out, seeming a little angry that i have managed to get to him so easily. though he doesn’t kiss me again, instead he holds back, pressing his forehead against mine whilst his hands continue to rest on my lower back, bringing our bodies closer together. “fuck you’re making this so hard…you know that?”

“you gonna give up already?” my voice is seductive, a torturous mix of sympathetic and lustful, lips moving to rest just below his ear, kissing the skin as his eyes flutter shut, a loud sigh leaving his parted mouth, the grip on my waist simultaneously becoming tighter when my kisses speed up. “if you want me…i’m right here.”

“jesus fucking christ.” he trails off, his eyes now squeezing shut as my lips work against his neck, his mind visibly contemplating on whether he should give in. i am right in front of him, my body a blank canvas, willing to give myself up, to allow myself to be used as he pleases, in exchange for the pathetic remainder of his pride - the two days that he has gone without me going down the drain if he decides to act on the desire that is so clearly eating him up.

his visible indecisiveness isn’t enough for me. i need him to give up, to no longer care about holding back anymore, my hand moving underneath his sweatpants as i run my fingers along his length through his boxers, a loud groan leaving his lips in response. he doesn’t object, instead he seems to lean into my touch, confirmation of his defeat on the tip of his tongue, just about to be uttered, my eyes wide open as i wait for him to finally say it.

a loud buzzing sound resonating from his pocket soon takes his attention, totally destroying the moment as i remove my hand from his pants, his eyes shooting open as he takes his phone, the source of the noise, eyes slightly widening once he sees the who is calling, their name lighting up the screen. bill.

“i have to take this baby. you look beautiful by the way, and, nice try.” he says, shooting me a wink and placing a quick kiss on my lips before adjusting himself, clearing his throat and disappearing out of the room. pretty fucking convenient.

i groan in frustration, collapsing backward onto the bed, completely infuriated at the fact that he was so close to letting go, knowing that right now he could be inside of me if it weren’t for that phone call - quickly realising that this is going to be much harder than i had thought.

my eyes make direct contact with the fresh towel folded neatly on the bathroom counter, scrambling quickly to hide it in the cupboard below as i step out of the shower, hands twisting the tap as the fast flow of water soon stops. i smile to myself when i hear the faint sound of a guitar from our bedroom, signalling that tom is in there, this key to my plan. nine days - nine whole days and he hadn’t cracked, not even close to wanting to fuck, the quick make out sessions and ability to still touch me as he pleases seeming to be sufficient. and whilst his mouth and fingers feel good, i need more, desperate to feel him inside of me, willing to go to any lengths to make him crack.

my fingers rake hurriedly through my freshly washed hair in an attempt to make it look somewhat neater, whilst my body remains completely naked, dripping with water. i take one final look at myself through the fogged up mirror, certain that my plan will work this time, figuring that if it doesn’t, then literally nothing else will.

i open the door that leads directly into our bedroom, acting totally nonchalant and squeezing any last droplets of water from my hair. i walk over to the closet, pretending to scan the shelves for towels, knowing that there aren’t any in here, my entire body on display for him. the gentle strumming of the guitar soon comes to a stop, signalling that i have gotten tom’s attention almost immediately, as i had expected.

“baby have you seen the towels? i can’t find any fresh ones anywhere.” i sigh obliviously, eyes finally landing on his own, only his are fixed on my figure, clearly not paying attention to a word that i am saying. his lips are parted, eyes shifting downward as they slowly take in each inch of skin, nothing at all left to his imagination which, despite his silence, clearly offers him no thoughts deemed holy.

“hm?” he mutters, moving his guitar from where it had been resting in his lap and setting it beside him on the bed. he gets up quickly, walking toward me, the awestruck expression plastered on his face now replaced with one unable to be mistaken for anything else besides pure lust. and when his hands find my waist, running up and down it softly, tongue dipping in and out of his mouth to play with the piercing there whilst his lips are curved into a smirk, i know that i have him right where i want him.

“i said do you know where the towels are. i can’t find any and i need to get dry.” his eyes look everywhere but my face, the only thing i get in response being a subtle nod. instead, his hands move upward, cupping my breasts, whilst his head finally tilts, eyes tearing away from where his hands now roam, lips nearing closer and closer, until they roughly collide with my own.

and i waste no time kissing back, silently thanking his almost non-existent willpower, channelling my pent up sexual frustration into the kiss as my lips mould with his, sighing loudly when his teeth sink into the plush of my bottom lip. he presses himself against me, the tent in his jeans more obvious than ever, one that he won’t be able to ignore as easily as he had done last time - one that i know he has to fix, meaning that this time, he won’t leave me totally desperate. his tongue slips into my mouth when i moan slightly, the kiss more messier than before, totally unrecognisable to the soft ones we had shared up until this moment, because this time, they show that he wants this just as badly as i do.

“jump.” he mutters almost inaudibly against my lips, soon reconnecting them once he breathes in shakily, his hands grabbing the flesh under my thighs once i hoist myself upward, wrapping them around his waist. he guides us toward the bed, using the steady hold he has on my hips to grind me against his, the sensation making it harder for him to kiss back, soon reminding me that this is the first sexual contact he has had in over a week. my back collides harshly with the soft sheets as he climbs above me, reconnecting our lips and slowly spreading my legs apart. he hurriedly scrambles to take his shirt off, throwing the material carelessly across the room, revealing his bare torso.

my hands run down the skin, trailing the muscle of his abs, watching how his eyes fall shut as i move lower and lower, stopping just above the waistband of his jeans. his eyes open when i hesitate, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. he quickly places his hand on top of mine, now guiding my movements as he forces my fingers to slip below the denim, moving below the cotton of his boxers.

“what about your challenge?” i ask, just before my fingers make contact with his dick, eyes widening when he groans in frustration, rolling his eyes at my question.

“fuck the challenge.” he mumbles, forcing my hand to wrap around his dick, his head falling backward the second that the pads of my fingers trace his length, soon running up and down at a slow pace.

“oh jesus christ.” he whispers, eyes half-lidded as he fights to keep them open, desperate to watch my movements, no matter how lethargic they are. because though i have gotten what i wanted, managing to divert his attention from the ridiculous challenge onto me, i want him to be in control, opposed to me doing all the work. and somehow, he seems to read my mind, removing my hand from underneath his pants despite the unmistakable satisfaction etched upon his face. his movements are fast as he removes his jeans, boxers soon following in a messy heap of clothing on the floor.

being naked already works in my favour, allowing tom to line his tip at my entrance, hand pumping his dick lazily a few times before slowly sliding in. as he does so, the tip slips in and out of my folds ever so slightly as i whine in frustration, the stimulation not enough as it reminds me of everything that i have within arms reach, tom holding back only agitating me even more. he picks up on my impatience, my anger buying him time to savour this moment, to tease me just a little more, having me under his mercy just as i had him last time i had gotten close to making him surrender. and i am not willing to have him ripped away again, to be taunted beyond belief, instead willing to beg for him.

“stop playing around and just fuck me.” i sigh through pathetic moans, hands reaching to his neck, pulling it downward so our foreheads our inches apart. and surprisingly, he puts me out of my misery, slowly sliding into me in one smooth snap of his hips. my mouth falls open, a high-pitched moan leaving it when he bottoms out, his tip brushing against my g-spot perfectly, hands raking down his back.

and though my nails dig into the skin with enough force to draw blood, he uses the pain to build up the speed of his thrusts, teeth gritting together as he winces lowly, somewhat used to the feeling, knowing that his pace warranted the strength of my fingers dragging down his back. despite the stinging pain, he maintains a soft smirk, knowing that the soft red marks are nothing more than evidence of the pleasure that only he can provide me with. desperate to feel him just a little closer, my legs hook around his waist, drawing him even deeper inside me, so deep that i swear i can feel him in my stomach.

“you knew what you were doing.” he breathes out between soft groans, so quiet they are almost inaudible. “knew that i’d give in, didn’t you?”

whilst he can speak somewhat coherently, i had lost that ability the second his dick had entered me, any sound that i make an embarrassing mix of moans and whines - nowhere near a properly understandable sentence. though tom wants more, using one hand to grab hold of my cheeks firmly, though not enough to hurt me, forcing my eyes to make contact with his own, prompting me to answer his question.

“mhm…” i manage to mumble, eyes rolling to the back of my head when his tip repeatedly hits the soft spot inside of me, soft curses now pouring from tom’s lips as i clench around him, knowing the reaction that such movements usually encourage out of him, recognising that this time is no different.

“fuck- it’s worth it though schatz. you feel so good, taking me so well.” his words of encouragement are all i need to attach my lips to his neck, placing messy, open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin, noticing the way his lips part, quiet and almost restricted moans escaping them. it isn’t enough for me, feeling somewhat frustrated that he holds back, wanting nothing more for him to cry out in pleasure as i already am, craving for him to mirror my own ecstasy.

“i wanna hear you…” i whine quietly, clenching around him as he curses once again before mumbling a low ‘okay baby’, his lips falling open as rough moans now sound from the back of his throat, getting louder when he drills into me at a certain angle, far deeper than he has ever been before.

and when that familiar knot begins to build within my stomach, i don’t need to ask tom if he is close to, his dick beginning to twitch faintly inside of me. his teeth sink into his bottom lip, thrusts becoming slow and deep, no longer rough and fast as they had been moments ago. now i can really feel him, every inch of his dick slowly pushing inside of me, stopping for a second when he bottoms out, soft grunts leaving his lips as quiet moans escape my own, feeling him closer than i ever had before.

“gonna cum baby. do it with me, yeah?” he whispers, head dipping downward to place messy kisses across my face, starting at my forehead, trailing downward to my nose and cheeks, before ending at my lips, capturing them in yet another rough kiss, nothing like the slow and deep movements of his hips as he continues to push in and out of me.

when his lips falter, no longer able to kiss me with such force as they had when they had initiated it, i know that he can’t hold on anymore, his head tilting backward as a loud moan escapes his mouth, followed with hot spurts of cum that coat my walls, his hips rocking back and forth tiredly as he releases. the pressure of his own climax soon triggers my own, his name spilling from my lips over and over again, high off the feeling of his dick as it continues to thrust into me, fucking his seed deeper, riding both our highs.

his hold on my waist becomes softer, slight red marks in place of his fingers, our breathing loud and heavy as it envelops the room, thick with the smell of sex. he pulls out of me, sighing loudly as a mix of our juices seeps out, his hands lazily grabbing some tissue to wipe it away.

tiredly, he moves upward, his body collapsing on top of me, lips pecking my own a few times. my own arms wrap around his back, fingers tracing the skin softly in an attempt to ease the stinging pain my nails had left whilst his own hands run along my trembling frame, lips pressing sweet kisses into my hair.

“you okay?” his voice is hoarse as he speaks, attempting to appear as unbothered as possible, though i can tell he is totally worn out. i manage a quick ‘mhm’, lips turning to kiss just above his shoulder, noticing him smile weakly against me.

“are you upset about the challenge?” i ask tiredly, eyes on the verge of closing, ears barely picking up the soft chuckle that leaves his lips, his fingers squeezing the flesh of my hips as he kisses me softly, shaking his head.

“fuck the challenge.” he stretches out, bringing my body closer to his. “sex is just too good, plus it’s hard when my girlfriend walks around naked in front of me, what kind of guy ignores that shit? i don’t care if someone paid me, i’d never pass up on a chance like that. especially when you look this good.”

“you’re so romantic.” i scoff sarcastically, shaking my head at his impulsiveness, feeling him smile against me, his head lifting up to look into my eyes.

“what, i’m not allowed to say you’re beautiful?” he smirks, hands trailing my body once again, eyes visibly lighting up with that same look i had seen just minutes ago, knowing exactly what it means. “i mean, i could show you that you’re beautiful instead, if you want me to…”

though the grin on his face says otherwise, i know that he is serious about it, his actions proving so if my instincts weren’t enough. his hands trail upward knowingly, fingers running across my breasts as his lips makes content with them, placing harsh kisses onto the skin, his teeth digging in every few seconds. my head falls backward, back arching to allow him better access, silently accepting his proposal. he stops momentarily, looking into my eyes.

“we’ve got nine days of lost time to make up for schatz. i think now seems like a good time to start, don’t you?”

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

#tomkaulitz #tokiohotel #tom kaulitz x reader #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz smut #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #kaulitz #tom kaulitz angst #bill kaulitz

[lecsainz]

Kk! So I absolutely loved your last piece about Carlos and the heiress!reader, and I have to agree I really really love those blended fics. Something about them just hits different ya know? And then I saw this post https://www.tumblr.com/monzabee/729167936518012928 and was like god I wish someone still wrote for kimi. And then off I’m scrolling through your blog and I see that ask were apparently you do?? Like holy shit bestie! This is like the greatest day ever! So all of that to say will you please please right something that involves the video from that post?? Pretty please??

MELTING THE ICEMAN

parings: kimi räikkönen x wife!reader

author 🗒️’s: my heart melted writing this, I hope it turned out as you want, love

summary: the one where you see your husband taking care of your son and feel that you couldn’t be happier as you are.

✩. . . masterlist !

Kimi Räikkönen, the Iceman of Formula 1, had always been known for his stoic and unemotional demeanor on the race track. But at home, in the quiet moments, he transformed into a different person entirely. There was a side of him that very few people got to see, a side that was incredibly warm, loving, and tender.

One sunny afternoon, the two of you sat in the cozy living room, surrounded by the soft laughter and gurgles of your 6-month-old son, Jake. Kimi held the baby in his arms, cradling him gently as he made funny faces to elicit the most delightful giggles from your little one.

Kimi leaned down, his lips brushing against Jake's plump, rosy cheeks. "Who's the happiest baby in the world, huh?" he cooed, his Finnish accent making it all the more endearing.

Jake's response was a chorus of delighted baby laughter, a sound that could melt the coldest of hearts. You watched in awe as your husband continued to play with Jake, making silly noises and pretending to nibble on his tiny fingers. It was a side of Kimi that you fell in love with all over again, a side that he reserved for his family.

"Kimi," you whispered, unable to contain your fondness, "you are the best dad in the world."

Kimi looked up from Jake's little face, his azure eyes meeting yours. A small, warm smile graced his lips, a rare sight for the world but a daily occurrence in the privacy of your home. "I learned from the best," he said softly, referring to you.

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment. Kimi's transformation into a devoted father had surprised you, but it had also filled your heart with an indescribable joy. His dedication and love for Jake were unmistakable, and you couldn't have asked for a better partner to share parenthood with.

As the day continued, you both took turns caring for Jake, feeding him, changing his diapers, and watching him drift off to sleep in his crib. Every moment felt like a cherished memory in the making, and you couldn't help but daydream about the future.

When Kimi returned to the living room after putting Jake down for his nap, he found you deep in thought. You looked up at him with a dreamy smile, and he knew you were up to something.

"Darling, what's on your mind?" he asked, settling beside you on the couch.

You took his hand and interlaced your fingers. "Kimi, I was just thinking about how wonderful this is—our little family. I love watching you with Jake, and I can't help but wonder… I want more of these moments. I want more children with you."

Kimi's typically cool exterior cracked, and he looked at you with a mix of surprise and delight. "More children?" he repeated, as if the idea had never occurred to him before. But the spark of warmth in his eyes revealed that he was just as excited by the prospect.

You nodded, your heart pounding with anticipation. "Yes, more children. I want to see you as a father again and again, to have more of these beautiful moments with you."

A slow, genuine smile spread across Kimi's face, and he pulled you into a loving embrace. "I'd love that," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "I love you, and I love our family. Let's make more beautiful memories together."

The two of you sat there, lost in the prospect of a larger, even more joyful family. Kimi held you close, and you knew that your dreams were aligned. It was a beautiful day of laughter, love, and dreams for the future, all in the gentle embrace of your husband and your precious son, Jake. The Iceman had certainly melted, and you couldn't have been happier about it.

#kimi raikkonen x reader #kimi raikkonen x you #kimi raikkonen fic #kimi raikkonen #kimi raikkonen one shot #kimi raikkonen fanfic #kimi raikkonen x y/n #kimi raikkonen imagine #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 fics #formula 1 x reader #f1 x y/n #🏎️. — f1 works ⋆∴ #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 headcanons #f1 fluff #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

[katyusha454]

I think I've found the most tragic ship in BG3 and I need to rant about it

I've seen a decent number of people discuss and write about Dark Justiciar Shadowheart, but they always focus on what she's like post-game when she's fully committed to Shar. Which is a fine thing to focus on! Especially when you're writing smut where she's a mean domme. Post-game DJ Shadowheart is a fascinating character. But I feel like people neglect to consider what she's like during the transition phase of Act 3, where she's become Shar's Chosen but hasn't yet Done The Thing that caps off her personal questline. And there is SO MUCH potential for angst and drama during that time frame.

IMO the most important aspect of this stage of her development is that she is not evil yet. She simply made a single bad decision and now she feels like she's in too deep to do anything but double down on it. She's spent her whole life trying to "fake it 'till you make it" and she's only just now starting to transition out of that and into sincere belief. All the misgivings and insecurities she's shared with you are still there, just buried deeper. That desire to love others and do good hasn't yet been completely stamped out. In my Dark Justiciar Origin run, I try to do good things whenever possible as long as I can find a way to rationalize it as benefiting Shar. (but I still ended up saying enough evil-sounding things to make Minthara incredibly horny for me)

So where does Karlach fit in?

Well, turns out when you play as Origin Shadowheart, Shar doesn't make you break up with your partner. In fact, Shar says absolutely nothing to you about your romantic situation. This is really weird if you're romancing anyone other than Karlach, but I think it makes perfect sense for Shar to tolerate a relationship with Karlach for the time being. It's the ideal opportunity for Shar to prove a point. Karlach is dying, and no matter what Shadowheart does, this relationship is going to end in painful loss. Shar wants Shadowheart to fall in love with Karlach only to have that love abruptly ripped away from her. It perfectly demonstrates everything Shar believes about love: that it's fleeting and will always hurt you in the long run. Better to just avoid it entirely so you don't get hurt.

And Shadowheart knows all this. She's studied Sharran scripture extensively, after all. She knows that Shar is trying to teach her a lesson, she knows that the longer the relationship lasts and the more emotionally intimate it gets, the more the end is going to hurt. So why doesn't she break it off? Partly it's because she loves Karlach and doesn't want to end things; she's probably in denial at least a little bit. But I think it's also partly because she's a bit of a masochist. She thinks she deserves to suffer because she knows, at least subconsciously, that she's still not a very good Sharran. She can see the loss coming and she hopes the experience will bring her closer to Shar.

You'd think Karlach would be unwilling to put up with DJ Shadowheart's fanatical bullshit, but personally I think Karlach would stick it out for a whole mess of reasons. Number one, she can still see the good in Shadowheart and she refuses to give up on her partner. She's clinging tightly to the hope that Shadowheart can still be redeemed, even though she probably understands that it's a long shot at best.

Number two, she blames herself. When you play as Tav/Durge or another Origin, Shadowheart will have a conversation with you before deciding what to do in the Shadowfell. But if you play as Shadowheart, none of your companions says a word to you. In the context of this ship, I choose to interpret that as Karlach being too trusting. She's seen the good in Shadowheart, after all. She's so certain Shadowheart will do the right thing that she doesn't think she needs to speak up. It's not until too late that she realizes what Shadowheart needed was for someone to say "hey, are you sure about this?" So now she feels she needs to make up for that failure somehow by continuing to try and nudge Shadowheart in the right direction even though it seems impossible.

And number three, Karlach's just plain lonely. As fucked-up as this relationship is, she's still getting companionship and intimacy, and she doesn't think she has time to cultivate a new relationship if she breaks up with Shadowheart. She wants someone to be with her and hold her hand at the end, even if that someone is a brainwashed cultist.

In sum, both of them know that their relationship is extremely unhealthy; that it's hurting them now and will hurt them more in the future. But they both refuse to end it for their own reasons. And good gods, the ANGST. ARE YOU FEELING IT NOW, MISTER KRABS?

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #shadowheart #karlach #shadowlach #dark justiciar shadowheart

[zexapher]

Vacuan Nights, Like Vacuan Days

They’re just so great together! I’d love for Jaune and Weiss to get a little downtime in Vacuo to live out a moment like this. They really deserve it, and I’d love to see Jaune’s guitar make a reappearance.

The comic here was inspired by u/Silverstar1243’s excellent piece of art, A Serenade Under the Moonlight. Send some love to them on their twitter, commission some art if you’re willing and able, they’ve made some great stuff.

You folks may have noticed I threw in a couple of references for those in the know; the Golden Oreos behind Yang (double stuffed, I might add) for the trio’s ship, Weiss liking it rough for Mallobaude’s great fic, and of course I made a whole theme around the Arabian Nights Disney song. A song, along with its Aladdin compatriots, which I spent the better part of a day finding covers for just to listen to on repeat while I worked.

This one’s now officially my longest comic project, with 14 panels, two over the past record since I added the White Knight kiss at the end. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. Not sure I’d say it was more difficult than my Vanity of Vanities post, but for this one I actually knew how to use my editing software going into it (at least somewhat).

Put a lot of work into this one, been working on it on and off since February. Took a few breaks for vacation, to make my memorial post for Rooster Teeth, and another five meme edits or so, but I came back around to it. First half was pretty easy, relatively minor edits inserting characters into scenes and so on. The second half with Jaune and Weiss was tougher though, with color correcting, merging poses, redrawing features, drawing Jaune’s entire head to fix some lighting issues, etc. Really like how the edit to make Jaune strum his guitar turned out.

The time it took to make the whole comic got me down a little, until I did a bit of math. Including my side projects since starting this, all the scripting and editing and all, I’ve been pumping out a panel every two days. That seems pretty good to me, that kind of accomplishment makes me a little proud of myself.

Really need to get around to watching the second part of the Justice League Crossover movies. It’s got a few Vacuo scenes that might make things a little more authentic instead of me just using Saphron’s house and pretending it’s a suite in Vacuo. I do love taking yet more character stills from Jaune and friends experiencing deep trauma and turning it into something positive, been making that a bit of a personal habit. And I’ve got to say, the background for Jaune and Weiss’ scene is really beautiful, pulled it from when Sun and Neptune hear Ruby’s message about Salem. That’s just a really good shot all on its own, I even saved a copy for my computer’s wallpaper after editing out the two.

Posting a big RWBY White Knight edit, watching not one but two RWBY Beyond episodes, and all on the trail of the news that RWBY’s found partners that they’re negotiating with and that the creative team is expected to stay on. And I'm sipping bubble tea. Life is good.

Anyway, pardon the long write up. I’m invested in this one, and am quite pleased with how the comic turned out. I hope you all get a kick out of it as well!

#rwby #jaune arc #weiss schnee #rwby white knight #white knight #rwby whiteknight #whiteknight #jaune arc x weiss schnee #jaune x weiss #yang xiao long #golden oreo #yang x jaune #yang x weiss #yang x jaune x weiss #blake belladonna #ruby rose #qrow branwen #sort of #shipping #comics #rwby memes #memes #greenlightvolume10 #rwby volume 10 #rwby news #vacuo #jaune's guitar #needs a come back #disney #aladdin

[morelikeravenbore]

✨Sebastian Sallow fluff alphabet

My personal headcanons based on the way I imagine and write Sebastian in How to Make a Villain.

This template is from this post by snowluvs and is definitely worth a read and a reblog! I loooove reading Sebastian headcanons so feel free to write your own, too!

A - Attractive - what do they find attractive about their partner?

We all know that Sebastian has a bit of a savior complex, so he's attracted to a partner who trusts him with their vulnerability by letting him protect them, care for them and fuss over them. However, he also likes a challenge, so someone with a bit of backbone to go with their vulnerability would really pique his interest. It doesn't matter what form that backbone takes, be it academically-focused, impressive duelling prowess, or just someone whose not afraid to call him out when he's acting out of line, Sebastian is undeniably attracted to that spark.

Read on 👇

B - Body - what is their favourite part of their partner’s body?

Given that he craves deep and genuine emotional connection with a partner, he's very drawn to the face: stroking your cheeks, kissing the corners of your mouth, your eyelids, your brows. He finds any excuse to touch your face, whether it be brushing your hair back behind your ear or tenderly wiping food or smudges from your chin with his thumbs. When being intimate, he holds your face between his hands, pressing his forehead to yours, never breaking eye contact.

C - Cuddle - how do they like to cuddle?

Sebastian is a squasher. He needs to feel physically close to you and will often forget this own size and strength in his desperation to hold you closer, closer, closer. He hugs you so tightly you can't breathe, or else lays his entire body weight on top of you when you're lying down together or sharing a bed. You often have to remind him to back up a little lest he squeeze the life outta you with his love.

D - Dates - what does their ideal date look like?

Sebastian is spontaneous and impulsive, but beneath all that bravado and charm, he is also quite afraid of rejection, so he might not always straight out "ask" you on a date. Rather, you might find yourself accidentally having dinner together at the Three Broomsticks, or huddled for hours in a cozy bookshop he "stumbled upon" at random. Sebastian considers any time spent alone with you a date, and would later tease you about how many "dates" you've already been on without ever being asked.

E - Equal - are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Generally speaking, Sebastian has a hard time relinquishing control to another. Given his history, he is used to taking charge, solving problems on his own and shouldering the burdens of everyone he cares about — and it goes without saying that he can be incredibly stubborn about accepting help or support, even when he genuinely needs it. However, this does tend to lead to mental and physical overwhelm; decisions become impossible, his body aches with exhaustion, and sometimes the boy just needs you to baby him — while still giving him the illusion that he has everything under control ;)

F - Fight - would they find it easy to forgive their partner? how are they fighting?

My personal headcanon that Sebastian is a Virgo sun, Aries rising. His Aries means he's reactive and oftentimes at the mercy of his more intense emotions (such as anger, jealousy — being ruled by Mars). He doesn't always communicate in a healthy way, he lashes out, snaps, or jumps to wild conclusions that don't make any sense. However, being a Virgo sun means he's ultimately a caregiver with a deep need to fix things and look after you, so he's very quick to apologise and make things right again.

G - Gifts - how do they feel about gift giving? what are their habits when it comes to this?

His gifts are either very practical (something you'll use every day), or something very sentimental (something that once belonged to his mother).

When it comes to receiving gifts, he doesn't believe he deserves them, so giving him something uselful like an interesting book, a set of quills, or a planner is the best way to spoil him without making him uncomfortable. However, if you gift him something sentimental, or something you made especially for him, he'll treasure it for the rest of his life.

H - Holding Hands - when / how do they like to hold hands?

If this boy can hold your hand, he will hold your hand, and if he can't hold your hand, he'll play with your fingers, trace the lines of your palms, brush his pinky against yours. You're his anchor, and your hands are the easiest part to hold on to.

I - Injury - how would they act if their partner got hurt?

Given his history with his parents and his twin, he is completely overbearing any time you're sick or injured. He'll fuss, worry, devise a strict recovery regime, won't allow you to lift and finger, and make you stay in bed long after you're well again. He'll research cures, studies, information about whatever it is that ails you, and will likely tell you all about it in great detail. This is where that lovely backbone of yours will come in handy, because you'll definitely have to sit him down and tell him to relax.

J - Jealousy - do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?

For all his wonderful strengths, Sebastian suffers from insecurities born from a lifetime of losing those he loves. His jealousy stems not from your actions, but from a deep-seated fear that you're eventually going to realise that he's as rotten as he believes himself to be and leave him. He can be a bit much, but communication is key.

K - Kisses - how do they like to kiss their partner?

Sebastian loves to kiss your face aaaall over, but once he gets started, he finds it hard to stop. Boy is a kisser, and he can get messy.

L - Love Language - what’s their love language?

Acts of Service and physical affection. Being useful gives him a sense of purpose, and touching gives him a sense of peace, so expect to be well looked after and loved. When receiving love, he responds just as strongly to physical affection, as well as words of affirmation. Tell him he's appreciated and that he's done a good job, and he'll be yours forever.

M - Mornings - how are mornings spent with them?

If you manage to get him into bed before he falls asleep where ever he's been reading or studying, it's a hard job rousing him again. He likes to cuddle, and you'll usually wake up half squashed under his body or tangled up in his arms and legs. He speaks in grunts and groans rather than words, and has super adorable bed hair. He's also usually very hungry in the mornings, so the promise of breakfast will be the motivation for finally getting him up.

N - Nights - how are nights spent with them?

Sebastian loves staying up late and doesn't need much sleep to function. His brain is always running a million miles a minute, so winding down takes him quite a while. He tells you he does his best work at night when the rest of the world is asleep.

O - Open - when would they start revealing things about themselves? how would they do it?

Typically Slytherin, he's evasive about himself and prefers to know everything about you before he opens up. Further to that, theres a lot of pain in Sebastian's heart that he won't share with anyone unless he trusts them completely. But, as Slytherins go, once he does trust you, he'll trust you unconditionally; his secrets will become yours, and yours his, and nothing short of death or betrayal will ever break that bond.

P - PDA - how comfortable are they with pda?

He's a real cheeky little smart arse about it. He loves you so much that he wants everyone to know about. He'll pick you up and spin you around as a standard greeting, sit you in his lap, kiss you midway through a sentence. Sebastian doesn't do things by halves, and the same goes for being in love.

Q - Quirk - what is a random ability that helps the relationship?

His optimism, his adventurous spirit and unquenchable thirst for knowledge means there's never a dull moment in your relationship. Above all else, Sebastian likes to have fun, and your life together will be full of it.

R - Romance - how romantic are they? cliche or creative?

There is nothing conventional or cliche about Sebastian Sallow. In fact, he thrives on being just the opposite. He probably courted you by acting like he was your boyfriend until suddenly he just was, there was likely never any conversation about being official, and the first time he said he loved you was probably in the middle of a heated argument or else said in a way that implied it was already common knowledge to you. But despite his quirks, Sebastian is hopelessly, singularly and passionately devoted to you — just don't expect any grand or sappy gestures of love.

S - Security - how protective are they?

Sebastian is so overprotective that it borders on being overbearing. Truth is, he's terrified of losing you, the one person he loves more than any other, and is prone to bouts of severe anxiety about your health, your commitment to him, and your general safety. His inability to relax is a point of contention in your relationship, and one that you both need to continually work on overcoming together. Communication is key, even when Sebastian jumps to conclusions and assumes the worst. He's not perfect, but he's trying.

T - Talking - what do they like to talk about?

Being a highly intelligent Slytherin means Sebastian loves getting deep. Nothing excites him more than discussing magical ethics, or taboo subjects like the Dark Arts or the use of the Dementors kiss against prisoners. He's unafraid to argue his point and loves a lively debate, but he has mental capacity to respect all viewpoints — even if they conflict with his own. He yearns to understand the inner workings of the mind and takes great pleasure in trying to understand opinions and perspectives that differ to his own. Any subject that expands or challenges his understanding of the world is taken on with great enthusiasm.

U - Understanding - how well do they know their partner?

He's a fast learner, very observant, and madly in love with you (obviously), so he knows basically everything about you. But sometimes he likes to think he knows you better than you know yourself. He needs to be reminded every so often that you are capable of looking after yourself, and that he doesn't need to solve every little problem on his own without being asked.

V - Vaunt - what are they proud of? do they like to show their partner off?

Aside from his intelligence, his quick wit and his sense of humour, he is most proud of his innate optimism, which (thanks to your help) has remained in tact despite all the tragedies and hardships he's endured in his comparatively short life. But more than that, he's proud to have you by his side: the embodiment of goodness and love that he never believed he deserved.

His egotistical side enjoys showing you off — you are, after all, the most attractive person he's ever seen, and having you by his side gives his confidence a little boost — but he can become a bit possessive or jealous if he's feeling insecure.

W - Whole - would they feel incomplete without their partner?

Abandonment issues and childhood trauma means Sebastian holds his loved ones very, very dear to his heart. Without you, he'd still be the driven, intelligent and ambitious Sallow he was born to be, but he'd likely lose the motivation to reach his full potential. Having lost every important person in his life, his desire to better himself after all his past mistakes is soley inspired by you.

X - XOXO - are they affectionate?

Physical affection is both how he expresses love and how he feels love; physical touch grounds him in reality and reminds him that you are safe and near. Smooth back his hair, tenderly touch his face, or play with his fingers and watch how fast he melts.

Y - Yearning - how well do they cope when they’re separated from their partner?

Since you are his home, he feels incomplete and off-kilter when he's away from you. And though he tries to honour your individuality, if you're apart for too long, he'll start to have intrusive thoughts about every bad thing that might happen if he's not there to protect you. Needless to say, when you are finally reunited, he greets as you if several decades have kept you apart — like a big, needy puppy.

Z - Zzz - what are some sleeping habits of theirs?

This boys sleeping habits are a nightmare, precisely because he has a lot of them. In fact, he actively avoids sleep, preferring to stay up reading or researching until he's tired enough to fall into an immediate slumber. Usually, you'll find him slumped over on a table or still snoring on the couch, still fully clothed, but if you do happen to get him into bed, he can't sleep without some part of his body touching yours.

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