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moonjxsung · 6 months

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Lost in Translation

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: accidental nudity, hospital visit, mention of masturbation, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, bulge kink, sexual asphyxiation, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), brief mention of pregnancy

Synopsis: The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and you’re determined to figure him out.

[this work was based off a request by @antoniorhinothethird - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

The idea of babysitting isn’t some brilliant proposal you conjured up in a day- but it’s not exactly a choice, either. The idea isn’t even yours, in fact, the advertisements you published on the colorful inquiry site at your mother’s behest. But “college courses are virtual these days” and “you’ll be a mother at some point in your life,” according to her. So two months into the semester, you’ll now spend the majority of your time in a new place you’ll call home, just 30 minutes out at the Lee Household.

The Lee household is considerably larger than you’d originally anticipated it to be, spanning a sizable amount of grassland and standing nobly tall at 2 stories high. The exterior of the flashy home is surrounded by paved gravel driveways, lining the neat rows of bushels and vines that surround the off-white architectural build. Giant glass windows reflect sunlight in nearly every room of the house, with the exception of the dimly-lit library on the second floor, which flaunts colossal cherry wooden bookshelves that line the walls and cover most of the smaller windows.

“Joon is usually very mellow in the daytime,” Mrs. Lee tells you as she walks you through a tour of the garden. “You’ll only have to worry about his feeding schedules, which I’ve already written and posted on the refrigerator.”

She pivots in front of you, stopping for a moment and gesturing to the stone fountain by the rose bushes. “Do you like it? It was a gift from my husband. When he’s not running the furniture business, he works in restoration a lot. This was his first project.”

“Wow,” you say, your lips parted at the sight of the koi fish and the cascading waterfall from its lips. “It’s very beautiful.”

Mrs. Lee smiles at you in response, turning on her heel and continuing to the iron gates in the front.

“Do you have any other questions?” She asks, clasping her hands together and shooting you a saccharine smile. She’s intimating, not because of her personality, which you quickly clock as rather warm and inviting. But rather, because she’s so elegant, her navy silk dress perfectly complementing the chunky pearl earrings she wears, making her look like a character from an old film. You’re not sure you’ve ever crossed paths with such an interesting woman before.

“I think that covers everything,” you say finally, giving her a small bow. “I’ll be sure to provide updates throughout the day.”

“Oh, no need,” she says quickly. “Unless it’s an emergency, l know you’ll have your hands full doing your work while watching Joon. Feel free to just give us a little summary when we’re home for the evening.”

She shoots you a little wink when she finishes speaking, clasping her hands together again and smiling down at you.

“We’ll see you tomorrow for your first day!” She exclaims warmly, opening gate doors as you make your exit out of the garden. When you begin down the paved road, Mrs. Lee suddenly gasps, calling out to you again in a frantic manner.

“Oh! Y/n, wait please!” She calls, pulling the skirt of her dress up to her ankles to jog over to where you’re standing.

“My other son will be home from school in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t be alarmed if you hear him moving about the house. He’ll just keep to himself.”

You ponder the words for a moment, a little frustrated when you realize there will be two kids in the household instead of one, like she’d previously mentioned. But you just nod and smile at her, seeing yourself out of the driveway once again and beginning the journey back home to prepare for your first day here tomorrow.

This castle-at-end-of-the-road is eerily quiet when no one’s home, a once lively sight of rose bushes and marble statues appearing like something out of a horror movie when you’re by yourself. At every corner you turn, your brain runs rampant with paranoia, placing shadowy figures and silhouettes of people where there are none- except for when you’re in the presence of Joon.

At just a year old, Joon is considered one of the cutest ages, only being able to babble incoherent noises and flail his little hands around when he wants something. His closet is full of matching neutral tones, per his mother’s styling, and his sparse black hair is combed neatly to one side.

Mrs. Lee is right about him- he doesn’t cry. Nor does he ever make a fuss, really. He simply sits quietly, in the comfort of his crib, or his high chair, and he curiously peers at the world around him. You’re certain he’s taken a liking to you already, judging at how he smiles when you spoon-feed him mashed carrots and mimic airplane noises. And he only cries briefly once in the day, stopping almost immediately when you put him down for his nap.

This may be an easier gig than you thought.

While Joon naps, you take the opportunity to get some work done in the library, settling comfortably on the velvet armchair in the corner and running through a few of your online class assignments for the week.

Although you’ll be babysitting here for the next few weeks, you’re also completing your final year at university this year, your last semester being completely remote. Which gives you time to take on the babysitting task as a side hustle, and hopefully save enough money to travel a bit after university like you’ve always dreamt of.

At half past noon, Joon is still peacefully asleep in his crib where you’ve left him, the ambient sound of waves echoing softly from his baby monitor as little snores emit from his curled lips. He looks like an angel when he sleeps, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell to twice its size at the sight of him.

The gentle breeze of the October wind travels through the open windows of the library, sending chills up your spine when you sit down to work again. You get up from where you’re sitting on the armchair to latch the windows shut, making sure to lock them, before turning around to take your seat again- quickly startled by the figure standing in the doorway.

“Jesus,” you yelp, one hand clutching your chest in fear as you nearly drop your laptop.

The figure- or man, rather, says nothing, scanning the room like he’s searching for something, before turning on his heel and exiting the room once again.

He’s tall, with a slim yet muscular build, honey tanned skin complementing his chocolate brown tresses. He’s also dressed rather casually in a pair of light-wash jeans and a black top, a black leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders and left unzipped.

“Sorry, did you need something?” You call out, perplexed by his demeanor. You can’t remember if the Lees warned you of potential visitors, but you’re suddenly panicked for Joon, remembering you left his door open.

“Nope,” the man calls out over his shoulder, not turning around to face you. And then you see it- a black backpack, slung over one shoulder and seemingly filled to the brim with textbooks.

Their other son.

This must be the son Mrs. Lee warned you would be making appearances in the afternoon. But you had assumed him to be much younger, especially considering he’s definitely old enough to be watching over his own brother.

Before you can gather your thoughts to introduce yourself, he’s gone again, disappearing down the hall the same way he so mysteriously appeared. And you wonder, briefly, how he can be so much colder than his own mother.

The first day of your new job is a success. When Mrs. Lee returns home for the evening, she pays you in cash, true to her traditional style, and sends you home with a tin of shortbread cookies as another ‘thank you’, though she’s already voiced it a million times. But the second day is rougher than the first, reminding you of why babysitting isn’t always an easy task despite what it may seem.

Joon is particularly antsy today, flailing his arms around when you try to spoon feed him and whining relentlessly when you pick him up. He needs several diaper changes in just your first few hours of working, and when you finally do get him clean, he’s a crying, screaming mess.

Fortunately, he still goes down for his nap at noon, which means you have a narrow window of time to complete your work for the day and get freshened up. The windows in the library are propped wide open again, a cold breeze coming through as you settle in your new favorite spot and open your laptop.

There are a myriad of assignments to complete today, and you’re briefly panicked that you won’t be able to complete the necessary few pieces if Joon suddenly wakes again. But still, you try, skimming through textbooks and typing away as much as you can to make steady progress. And at the hour mark, Joon begins to cry. Rather he wails, loudly, from the other room, startling you when you’re already in deep concentration working through a practice quiz.

You make your way down the hallway and to the right, where Joon’s room is, approaching the crib and catching a glimpse of his anguished state. His face is a robust shade of red as he wails loudly, bubbles of saliva forming at his nostrils and his eyes squeezed shut. You guide him out of the crib and into the safety of your arms, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth the way Mrs. Lee taught you. And Joon calms instantly, hiccuping through tears as he locks his gaze on yours and fists at strands of your hair.

“That’s okay,” you coo at him, grazing your finger along his chin and cleaning some of the drool that dribbles from the corners of his lips. “I’m here. Look at you! You’re okay,” you continue, giggling at him when his quivering lips pull into a small smile. He softens in your arms, smiling and babbling with hushed sounds, clutching tightly on strands of your hair as you balance him in your arms.

“You want to come do some work?” You ask, nodding your head as if to coax an answer out of him. “That’s a good baby, huh? Let’s go do some work.”

And you travel back to the library with Joon in your arms, giving him gentle pats on his back as you hoist him tighter into your embrace and balance your laptop with one arm.

When you’re starting on your last task of the evening, you’re interrupted again today by Mrs. Lee’s eldest son, who pokes his head in the doorway and observes as you coo down at Joon’s sleeping figure while working on your computer with one hand.

“Do you want me to take him?” You hear from the doorway, and you crane your neck to look where he’s standing, his hands shoved in his pockets and his backpack slung lazily over one arm.

“I’m okay,” you respond, typing out a word with one hand. He furrows his eyebrows at your failed attempt, approaching you and reaching out his arms to take Joon from your embrace.

“You can’t work like this,” he says, as he peacefully transfers Joon to his own arms. “He won’t wake up if I put him back, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you reply, taking note of his features now that he’s at a closer proximity to you for the first time. He has large round eyes, and long eyelashes that make even you jealous. His nose bridge is sharp and straight, and when he chuckles softly at Joon, you notice his skewed front teeth, ones that make his smile seem sweeter- softer.

As he begins out the doorway, you try to think of what to say to him, not wanting to have another awkward run-in with him like your last one. But nothing comes to mind that won’t be just as awkward as the encounter itself, and you settle on painful silence once again.

As you unlock your laptop, continuing on to your last assignment, you hear the faint noise of Mrs. Lee’s elder son putting Joon back to sleep.

Except he sounds different than he has during your two previous encounters. He’s laughing, babbling, even cooing at Joon as he puts him back to sleep. And though you really shouldn’t intrude, you make your way to the doorway again, where you peer down the hall to listen in on the endearing noises he makes.

“Are you sleepy?” He asks, his voice two octaves higher than usual. “Let’s sleep now, okay? No, you can’t have my shirt. That’s mine, remember? Let’s have good dreams now. I love you!”

You hear Joon giggling from the end of the corridor and you smile to yourself, wholly moved by the tender little moment he shares with his baby brother. He might not be his full-time caregiver, but he certainly knows what he’s doing. As you stay pondering his behavior for a moment, you don’t even notice when he exits the room again, turning to watch you standing around the doorway. Your ear is still leaned into the corridor, clearly having listened in on the private moment.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening your posture, a wave of embarrassment quickly washing over you. “I was making sure Joon got to bed okay.”

He just nods once, looking you over briefly before meeting your gaze again.

“Minho,” he then practically mutters, averting your gaze as he waits for you to speak.

It’s his name, you realize, barely even having registered what he said to you. He’s telling you his name.

“Y/n,” you respond quickly, giving him a small bow and smiling nervously.

And Minho says nothing, pivoting on his heel to exit the corridor and disappear all over again.

For two weeks, your job runs smoothly, no glaring problems or hangups. Joon remains fond of you, obedient at mealtimes and when he’s put to bed. And the system of completing your college coursework goes smoothly, being able to get through several assignments a day while Joon takes his afternoon nap. If anything, you might be more productive than you were before this job, despite balancing it between university.

It’s an overcast Tuesday afternoon, and you’ve spent most of your day working in Joon’s nursery on the rocking chair next to his crib. He’s been a little fussy today, but you find that he calms down a little at the repetitive clicking noises of your laptop keyboard. Once you’ve confirmed he’s asleep, little snores emitting from his lips, you gather your belongings and sneak away to the library again. Only this time, it’s not vacant.

Minho sits in your usual spot today, his legs propped up on the footrest in front of him and a book in his lap. He doesn’t even notice you in the doorway, strands of hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he scans the page of his book. He also looks significantly more casual than other days you’ve seen him around, wearing a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of round wireframe glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

He feels your gaze on him, shuffling about suddenly and closing his book.

“Sorry,” Minho says. “I was just… reading.”

He realizes how awkward he sounds, verbally conveying his actions to you like this, but he’s too caught off guard to form a more coherent string of words.

“It’s okay,” you say politely, setting your bag down on the floor and occupying the chair across from him.

“What book?” You ask, cocking your head at the small red novel he clutches in his lap.

“Hm? Oh, uh… it’s Love and Limerence. By Dorothy Tennov.”

You nod in response, studying the cherub painted on the cover, wielding a bow and arrow.

“Big romance fan?”

“No,” Minho says, chuckling at your words. “It’s a required read for my class.”

“How neat,” you reply. “What class requires romance novels these days?”

“My philosophy course,” Minho says, running the pads of his fingers over the raised text on the cover. “The psychology of emotion.”

“PHIL 105,” you say, knowing very well the course he speaks of.

“Yeah- you’ve taken it?”

“No, but I had a friend who did in freshman year. I’m in my last semester now- my remaining classes are virtual, though.”

“It’s my last semester, too,” Minho says with a little smile, fiddling with the lobe of his ear as he talks.

“Well best of luck to you in the final stretch,” you reply, shooting him a small smile back. “I hope it all goes smoothly.”

Minho gives a half nod, and then furrows his eyebrows together, like he’s just remembered something.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says suddenly, sitting up and gathering his belongings.

“Oh, I really don’t mind-”

“Catch you later,” He interrupts with a nervous tone, almost jogging out of the library and back down the corridor.

And just like the first day you met him, you maintain the same idea of him- he’s such an enigma. Appearing in and out of the household, not one to voice his thoughts or his opinions, no eagerness to know the stranger sitting in his house watching over his baby brother. But somehow, like the rest of the household, you can’t help but have a lingering curiosity for Minho, too.

“My husband and I might be late getting back today,” Mrs. Lee says one morning as you feed Joon his breakfast. His tongue dodges the plastic spoon, dribbling mashed food out from the corners of his lips and laughing when you go to dab his face clean with a napkin.

“That’s alright,” you reply, loading up the spoon with more food. “I can wait until you’ve arrived.”

“You will?” Mrs. Lee asks, a kind of sparkle in her eyes as she speaks. “That would mean the world to us. It’s just that my husband has an auction to attend today. And sometimes these events run longer than they’re meant to.”

“No problem at all,” you say, smiling at her as you turn your attention back to Joon. “Joon and I will just hang out a little longer today. Isn’t that right?”

He babbles something in response, a string of saliva trailing from his lips, and Mrs. Lee laughs at the sight.

“He’s really taken a liking to you!”

As she fixes Joon’s hair, Minho enters the kitchen, dressed for the day with his backpack already slung over his shoulder.

“Minho,” his mother says in a scolding tone. “No gum for breakfast. Have a fruit.”

“Can’t,” he replies curtly. “My philosophy exam is today.”

“What does that have to do with depriving yourself of food?”

“It’s bad luck to eat before an exam,” Minho retorts, coming around the granite island to kiss her on the cheek. “Besides,” Minho continues. “I’m ditching my second class, so I’ll be home a little earlier.”

When he turns around, his gaze meets yours, and he instantly stiffens.

His gaze turns cold again, his hands shoving in his jacket pockets as he says nothing to you. He just bows, once, and then turns to exit like he’s suddenly in some rush.

“Bye,” he calls out, and you’re not even sure who he’s addressing it to at this point.

“I should get going, too,” Mrs. Lee says to you. “I’ll call you when we leave the event tonight. And please, feel free to make yourself comfortable after Joon gets put to bed. There’s cash on the table if you want to order something for dinner, and extra blankets are in the upstairs closet if you get sleepy.”

“Thank you,” you say to Mrs. Lee as she gathers her car keys and handbag. And the house is quiet again when you’re all alone, with the exception of Joon’s heavy breathing as he stares at you curiously.

“It’s like a mansion here,” you say to your best friend as you balance Joon in your arms and crane your neck on your shoulder to hold the phone against your ear. “Mrs. Lee is so nice. I thought she’d be stuck up or something, but she’s like a second mother.”

“You hit the jackpot,” your friend voices on the other end of the line. “Any idea how long they need you around?”

“Not sure,” you reply, wiping the granite counter with a rag as you finish up the dishes. “Probably until their son is done with the semester.”

“Son?” She says excitedly. “Is he cute?”

“Please,” you echo, rolling your eyes. “His looks mean nothing considering he doesn’t say a word.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. He just doesn’t talk. We go to the same university and it’s like pulling teeth trying to figure out something as simple as what his major is. I think he despises having me around.”

“I mean, to be fair, I wouldn’t love someone in my space 24/7. It’s probably a territorial thing.”

“He’s not a cat,” you respond, laughing lightly. “He’s a grown man. I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

“Well I highly doubt that,” she says, and you can hear her shuffling about on her end of the line.

“Hey, I have to go,” she chimes in. “But I’ll talk to you later. Good luck with baby Joon and the cat man.”

“Thanks,” you reply, chuckling to yourself.

As you hang up the phone, you turn around to gather the last of the dishes, stopping in your tracks when you’re met with Minho himself.

He’s standing in the kitchen, popping a bubble of gum with his teeth, his gaze locked coldly on yours as he observes the place.

That’s right- he did say he would be home a bit earlier after his exam today. Was he standing there for the entirety of your conversation? You can’t recall how long the phone call lasted, or even the specifics of what you said. But you do know it certainly wasn’t good.

“Hi,” you say nervously, scanning his expression for a hint of what he’s thinking. But he provides you none, kicking off his boots and making his way up the stairs again.

The guilt is still eating away at you two hours later- Minho hasn’t descended the staircase once since the incident, and you can hardly focus on your school work at the thought of what he’s thinking of you.

Here you are, complaining about him seeming “cold” or “off”- the whole time you’re the one talking about him behind his back and stirring up drama. If he hated you before, he definitely despises you now. And if he's as close with his mother as he seemed this morning, you could be out of a job by tomorrow.

In reluctant steps, you ascend the wooden staircase, clutching a small mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. You remember Minho saying he’d have breakfast after his exam, a task he wasn’t able to complete due to your impolite conversation earlier. And while you’re not even sure he’s going to give you the time of day anymore, it’s worth a shot to try.

At the top of the staircase, you realize you’re unsure of which room even belongs to Minho. There are rows of doors down the corridor, which you peer into, looking for any sign of him.

A closet, another closet, the laundry room… it feels like a futile task at this point- not to mention, the sinking feeling that you’re intruding, poking into every room in the house like this.

But at the end of the hallway, just across the staircase from Joon’s room, lies one more closed door you haven’t tried yet, and you’re sure this one has to be his.

With a deep breath, you balance the mug of coffee on the plate you’re carrying, bringing your free hand up to knock, just once.

No answer.

You pause for a moment, debating whether to just leave and drop the idea of an apology altogether. But you don’t, instead forcing yourself to knock once more this time, a little harder than the first.

And after muffled sounds of shuffling about, the door finally opens again, Minho standing with a confused expression on his face. He has a pair of earphones in, one side pulled out to hear you, his glasses sat on his face and a number of textbooks on the bed behind him.

“Is Joon okay?” He asks, looking down the hall in panic as you meet his gaze.

“What? Oh! Yes, he’s fine. He’s sleeping.”

“Oh. What are you…”

“I… made you some breakfast. I know you didn’t have any before your exam this morning. And no, gum isn’t a breakfast food.” You chuckle lightly as you hold the items out to him, and Minho looks down at them, blinking a few times before speaking.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. Should I leave them with you?”

“Oh, you can put them on the desk over there,” Minho replies, and it’s then that you notice his hands are full with papers. He steps aside to let you in, gesturing to the desk with a piece of paper, and you oblige, clearing the space of a few scattered items and setting down his breakfast.

When you turn around to look at the place, your lips part in awe at the sight of the grandiosity of it. Minho’s room has bigger windows than any of the others you’ve seen, concave around a crescent-shaped seating area that boasts tall ceilings and large glass windows. There are books lining the floors, the desk space and even the window sills, many of them left bookmarked or lying open where they sit.

His giant wooden bed frame is almost hidden behind a hanging curtain, and his desk is nearly inhabitable at the amount of university paraphernalia that lives on its surface.

“Wow,” you say, craning your neck to look around the room. “It’s really nice in here.”

“Thanks,” Minho says awkwardly, toying with a loose hem on his pants.

“You really like reading,” you comment, taking note of the books he has lying around. When you say this, Minho seems to stiffen a bit, shutting some of the books and lining them on their spines along his shelves.

“Yeah,” he mutters, dropping a few books and kicking them away from him.

You nod at him, pursing your lips, well aware that you’re in the midst of yet another awkward interaction with him, but wanting to fulfill the reason you came up here all the same.

“Listen,” you begin. “I wanted to apologize. I don’t know how much you heard of that, but I assume it was enough to be hurt by it. And you’re justified in being hurt. It was totally uncalled for of me to say those things- and sure, you might be a quiet person. But that doesn’t make it okay for me to go around airing it out like it’s my business. In fact I shouldn’t even be on my phone on the job. I’m here to watch your brother, and I get paid for that service, and it’s completely unprofessional-”

“It’s cool,” Minho says, an unchanging expression on his face.

“Oh, um… I mean, if you want to fire me I totally understand.”

Minho chuckles softly, and then shakes his head. “I’m not going to fire you. I am quiet. It’s cool. Really.”

“I mean, I totally get that-”

“Unless you want to be fired?” He inquires with a half-smile, and you chuckle softly in response.

“I really don’t. I love watching your brother.”

“Good,” he replies. “Then we’re all good.”

And although you want to say something else to him, you don’t, feeling as though you should be satisfied with the state of the conversation. You apologized, he forgave you, and you haven’t lost your job. And he’s still quiet, but that’s just who he is.

When Joon wakes from his afternoon nap, it’s nearly 3pm. He’s a crying mess when he’s up again, flailing his arms around to beg for a bottle, which you promptly prepare for him after a diaper change.

With Joon in your arms, you get some chores around the house finished, including vacuuming the rugs, dusting off the furniture and tidying Joon’s toys that are usually scattered about his nursery.

Doing chores wasn’t an agreement between you and Mrs. Lee- in fact, she usually urges you to focus on your schoolwork and take breaks when you’re not caring for Joon. But you want to, feeling compelled to take care of the space as much as you care for Joon. Although tensions are still somewhat present between you and Minho, the Lee household feels comfortable to you by this point, almost like a second home now.

After chores, the library calls out to you again, evening beginning to fall over the neighborhood and painting the sky with vibrant hues of an autumnal sunset.

The windows are still rolled open from earlier, and your velvet couch looks particularly inviting at this hour, beams of sunset setting it aglow and luring you to choose a book from the cherry wood shelves around you.

So you do, selecting a children’s book about animals, comfortably sprawling out on the chair with Joon in your arms. He eyes the book curiously, spreading his short, chubby fingers over the cover and tapping repeatedly, as if asking you to read to him.

And you do, setting the book on your knee to angle the pages toward him, as you begin to vocalize the choppy sentences to him.

“A is for apple, hanging from a tree,” you say, caressing his stubby fingers as he pouts in focus. “B is for buzzing bumblebee.”

Joon’s lips curl into a smile, making his best attempt to clap as you point out the colorful images to him.

“C is for crab, walking in the sand… D is for dolphin, swimming toward the land!”

Joon laughs hysterically now, clapping his little hands and rocking back and forth in your lap. You laugh, too, at his darling reaction, and give him a little kiss on the head as he fiddles with the cover of the book.

It’s moments like this that reaffirm the notion for you that this job was the right idea, after all. You’re inexplicably happy alongside him like this, seeing the world through his eyes and rediscovering things you would otherwise take for granted, like silly picture books or doing chores with him in your arms. You feel so protective of him, eager to make his mom proud and provide a safe, nurturing environment for him as his babysitter- not because you’re paid to do it, but because he now holds a special place in your heart.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you from the doorway, and you look up to find Minho standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you… want something to eat? I was going to order takeout, unless you wanted something else.”

“Sure,” you reply, propping Joon up a little closer to your chest. “Anything’s fine with me.”

“I’ll get Chinese, then,” Minho says nodding. He averts your gaze a little, but you can tell he’s just a little awkward when he’s face-to-face with you like this. And perhaps your best friend is right- perhaps it’s not unusual of him to feel territorial over his household. After all, you are here almost every hour of the day, making yourself comfortable in almost every room, tending to the chores here and eating food from their kitchen. You suppose you would be irritated at the thought of it, too.

As Minho leaves to place an order, you take Joon back to the nursery, where you gently put him to sleep for the evening and program his baby monitor to play calm ocean noises again. It’s like clockwork- he’s out like a light, and the minute he leaves your arms, you’re exhausted, too. The stress of watching over him while balancing your school work might finally be getting to you now- you’re undoubtedly tired, your limbs aching from sauntering about this big house all day with Joon in your arms. And although you’re on a good track, you can hardly remember which assignment pertains to each of your classes these days.

When Minho returns almost an hour later, he holds a thin plastic bag in hand, his other one clutching a fistful of cutlery and two plates. He gives you a small nod when he enters the library, and you put away your laptop to join him on the floor in front of the coffee table.

For a moment, he says nothing as he prepares a plate for you, sliding a cup of wonton soup toward you and dividing portions of chow mein and tofu with wooden chopsticks.

You watch as he breaks a spring roll in half, holding both sides up and comparing to make sure they’re even.

“You’re very precise,” you say with a soft laugh, and a breathy chuckle emits from his lips, too.

“I’m trying to make sure it’s even.”

“However you cut it is fine,” you respond, pleasantly surprised at how polite he is.

When he’s finished dividing your portions, he slides a plate to you, setting a plastic fork down on the napkin beside you and ushering to the food.

“Enjoy,” he says, shooting you a small smile.

And the two of you eat in silence, the room quiet, aside from the sounds of slurping soup present between you two. Although it’s quiet, it feels comfortable, having him keep you company like this. It’s a change of pace from your usual days babysitting in the Lee household.

“How is your school work?” Minho interrupts your thoughts, and you’re momentarily taken aback by him initiating the conversation first.

“It’s good,” you respond, poking at the vegetables on your plate with a chopstick. “It’s on my own time, so I mostly just have to make sure I’m staying on track. But I’m finding it easy to get through despite watching Joon in the daytime.”

Minho nods in response, keeping his gaze set on the bowl of soup in front of him.

“How did your exam go?” you ask, and Minho cocks his head a little. “I got full marks,” he responds after a moment of silence.

“That’s great! I guess you were right about skipping breakfast having something to do with your academic success, then.”

And Minho laughs for the first time- not a chuckle or a giggle, but a laugh, holding one hand up to his mouth as he does. His laugh is gentle and melodic, filling the room around him with its sound, and you can’t help but laugh, too.

“I suppose,” he responds. “I also go nowhere without those philosophy books, so I have them memorized like the back of my hand.”

“Philosophy major?” you voice back, and Minho nods.

“So Love and Limerence is like second nature to you at this point.”

Minho gets a little awkward at this, his smile fading a little as he pokes around his chow mein. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You could say that.”

And fearing you’ve somehow offended him, you change the subject again.

“Well I’m a business major,” you chime in. “So we don’t get interesting reads at all. And I’m not lugging around a six-pound textbook about returns on investments in my backpack.”

He laughs again, and you feel satisfied at the motion. Making him laugh feels like an exciting feat, like you’ve succeeded at something after trying so hard to. And considering how hard you’ve been trying to break down his walls these days, maybe it is an exciting feat, getting to know the stranger you’ve been sharing a home with for one month now.

“Business is a great field,” Minho says, slurping down the remainder of his soup. “Your parents must be really proud of the direction you’re headed.”

You shrug in response. “They’re indifferent. I don’t have a great relationship with them. They mostly just want me out of their hair once I graduate.”

“You have any post-college plans?” Minho inquires.

“I finished an internship before this whole babysitting gig, actually. I want to travel a bit after graduation, and then I’ll really settle down for the whole 9-5 working life.”

“Where are you hoping to travel to?”

There’s a glint in Minho’s eyes as he presses you for answers, like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. It makes you feel all warm inside- not many people usually care what you’re up to these days, your family trying their hardest to send you away to work another job and your most of your friends having drifted apart when you began university. Even the friends you do have are more distant these days, considering their classes are still in person, and you don’t have a need to be back on campus anymore. It’s a bit of a lonely life you lead, so being here beside Minho feels different, but pleasant.

“I’m not sure,” you say with a smile. “I’m not really sure where I belong yet.”

“Hey, I don’t know where I belong, either,” Minho echoes. “So that makes two of us.”

When the two of you are finished with dinner, Minho takes your plates downstairs, despite you offering, and you’re briefly left alone in the library. It’s much later than usual now, nearing 9:00, when you’re usually home by 7. The house also has a different vibe to it this hour, many of the rooms feeling much dimmer despite the same lamps being on, and the corridors feeling much quieter and more haunting. You feel a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and though you don’t want to be asleep when Mrs. Lee arrives, you can’t help but shut your eyes for a few minutes. You can still make out the shape of the bookshelves behind your heavy eyelashes, trying your best not to close your eyes completely, but your mind has already wandered off to slumber, and inevitably, your body follows shortly after.

You’re somewhere between sleep and consciousness when you feel Minho enter the room once again, looming over you like he wants to ask you something. But he says nothing- instead, he unfolds a knit blanket above you, sprawling it out over your legs and pulling it up to your torso. And you hadn’t realized how cold you were before he did, because you’re almost instantly with a wave of warmth and comfort over your listless body.

It feels almost uncharacteristic or Minho to carry out an action this polite- but as he takes his seat across from you, watching as you doze off peacefully, you think he may finally be coming around to you.

“I’m ditching my second class again today,” Minho announces the next morning at breakfast. He doesn’t eat much, you notice, as he bites into a single apple and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders.

“I’ll be home a bit earlier,” he then continues, eyeing you a little, and you give him a little nod.

“Then help with lunch,” Mrs. Lee says, gathering her own briefcase for work. “Y/n shouldn’t do it all by herself when you’re here.”

“Oh, it’s no worry at all,” you quickly chime in, not wanting to be the reason Minho refutes his mother’s words. “It’s what I’m here to do, after all.”

“No worries,” Minho says back to you. “I’ll be home around noon and we can prepare something together.”

For some reason, your heart flutters a little at the implication of doing something alongside Minho- something so planned and seemingly intimate. You normally just take the days as they come, so having a commitment hanging over your head like this is a little nerve-racking. And in all your worrying, you don’t respond to Minho, realizing only as he’s exiting the house with his apple in hand.

“I might be late again today,” Mrs. Lee turns to you, snapping you out of your trance. “But Minho can stay for the remainder of the time. I’ll still pay you the full amount like I did yesterday-”

“I’m happy to stay again,” you reply to her. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here to do.”

She smiles in return, clasping her hands and gesturing to the food on the table.

“I can’t get Minho to eat for the life of me, but help yourself to whatever you’d like. And thank you again, for staying.”

You’re reading to Joon in the living room when Minho arrives home from school. He kicks off his shoes dramatically, tossing his bag on the floor and breathing out a heavy sigh while you thumb through the pages of a new picture book.

“Hi,” Minho says first, his expression remaining stoic and unchanging.

“Hey,” you reply, hoisting Joon a little further up in your arms. “How was school?”

“Terrible,” he responds, making his way around the granite island to collect another apple.

“Why’s that?”

“Professor Kim,” he says curtly, polishing the apple on his button down shirt before taking a generous bite. “A three hour lecture on a Friday really wasn’t a smart choice. ”

You chuckle a little to yourself, adjusting your position on the floor and trying to balance Joon in your embrace. Minho takes notice of your struggle, abandoning his apple on the counter to come take Joon from your arms.

“Thanks,” you say, dusting off your legs as you stand again. “I’m going to get started on something for Joon to eat if you want to wait around. Unless you’re sticking to this exclusively-apple diet.”

Minho chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ll help. We don’t have much prepared right now and I really need to go grocery shopping.” He secures Joon in his high chair, cocking his head toward the fridge.

“Could you just grab his orange juice? It should be the blue bottle on the right.”

And you comply with his request, promptly locating the blue sippy cup and handing it to Minho.

“Thank you,” he says, setting it down on the white tray in front of Joon and twisting it open. “This should be enough to hold him off until we can whip something up with the few ingredients we have. I want to do something with those sweet potatoes, they’re reaching the end of their time.”

Joon is a little fussy as he reaches for his sippy cup, flailing his arms around and sliding the cup across the tray to the edge. The cap seems to loosen as he does, tilting dangerously to one side.

“I got it,” you say to Minho, as you approach Joon. You retrieve the cup from the edge of the tray, twisting off the cap again to secure it properly. And as you do, Joon lets out a particularly loud yelp, knocking his hand toward you and letting the bottle fall off the tray entirely.

As you realize what’s happening, you bring two hands up to push it away from you, but you’re too late- the entirety of the bottle’s contents are spilt onto your shirt, completely soaking you and dripping onto the floor with loud, wet noises.

Minho doesn’t see what happened, but he turns around at the sound of your loud gasp, his eyes widening at the sight of you. Even your hair’s gotten wet, stringy pieces falling into your face, damp with the tangy scent of orange juice and dripping down your shirt. His mind races with guilty thoughts, feeling as though he should have stayed watching Joon, being the one to have been caught in the crossfire of his tantrum instead. Joon’s always fussy before meals- he knows this very well. As his mind races with the urgency to grab a towel, a rag- something, his eyes graze to your t-shirt, and he practically freezes.

Your thin white t-shirt is soaked like the rest of you, painting a clear outline of your black bra as the cold contents drip down your chest and torso. The see-through fabric sticks to your body like a cellophane wrapping, outlining every inch of you, every curve and every raised goosebump as you shudder at the sensation. Minho’s eyes remain locked on your dampened breasts for an embarrassing amount of time, taking careful note of the way your hardened nipples practically protrude through the thin white fabric, almost appearing increasingly noticeable with every passing second. The delicate curves of your stomach are accentuated with your skin-tight shirt, even your navel now visible.

A shake of your hands finally snaps him out of his trance, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a futile effort to cover yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you utter to him, at a loss for words at the notion of being so exposed to him. And Minho is quick to shake his head, now scrambling for a towel.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, pulling a towel off the oven handle and sliding it to you. “Here, use this and I’ll go get a larger towel from upstairs and a change of clothes.”

You want to deny the offer, feeling shameful for having already intruded this much on the Lee household and still needing more from them. But as you look down at your t-shirt, you know you don’t have a choice, the fabric now feeling cold and uncomfortable as it sticks to your flesh.

“Thanks,” you say to him, giving a small nod and not moving your hands from your chest.

And Minho retreats upstairs quickly, trying his best to avert his gaze as you remain in the kitchen.

As Joon babbles incoherently next to you, you can’t help but feel stupid, a sense of shame and embarrassment replacing the excitement you had to be preparing lunch alongside Minho for the afternoon. You’re in disbelief he’s practically seen you half naked like this, and you feel inadequate at not being able to stop Joon from committing the incident in the first place. As you run your hands up and down the raised goosebumps on your arms, you do your best to hold back tears, hoping Minho won’t think less of you for being caught in such a humiliating accident.

Minho is gone for a little while, and you blot at the wet patches on your shirt as you wait, Joon now laughing at your messy state. You can’t help but laugh a little, too, admittedly amused at what a disaster the afternoon has been- and you haven’t even begun the cooking part of it yet.

When he returns, he tosses you a large white bath towel and a gray t-shirt, still keeping his gaze on the floor instead of on yours.

“Here,” he says simply, his veiny arm scratching the back of his head. “I can also get a sweater if you’re cold.”

As you observe the t-shirt, you realize it’s one of his, not one of Mrs. Lee’s. For some reason, you’d assumed Minho would opt for a woman’s clothes as your change, but the t-shirt has clearly been pulled from his closet, and you blush a little at the idea of wearing his clothes.

“This is fine,” you reply, wrapping the bath towel around your body and excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You peel the sticky clothes off your body, crumpling them into a pile and changing into Minho’s t-shirt. It’s a bit large on you, but it’s much more comfortable, hanging loosely off your body and covering every bit of you that was previously exposed. His shirt smells like him, too, a pleasant scent of laundry detergent and his musky cologne.

When you exit the bathroom, you gesture to the change of clothes, your wet crumpled clothes balled in your hand. “I kinda look like you now,” you say, and Minho chuckles.

“You can keep it,” he responds, giving you another once-over and nodding shyly. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

He holds his hand out to you for the wet clothes, which he kindly takes from you to put in the wash. As he does, you go to the fridge to retrieve more orange juice for Joon- except there is none. You desperately search for milk, orange juice- any form of a snack that will keep him busy until his mealtime. But the kitchen is void of anything he can consume, and you begin to panic a little, knowing Joon hasn’t eaten in a good while now.

“That was the last of his orange juice,” you say to Minho when he returns. “And there’s not much else for him to snack on.”

Minho searches the kitchen too, digging through cabinets and moving around jars in the fridge to check for expiration dates. But he quickly realizes you’re right- the fridge is even more sparse than he’d assumed it to be.

“I guess we’ll have to make a trip to the store, then. How do you feel about strapping him into a car seat?”

“I’ve never done it,” you reply nervously.

“I can show you,” Minho says, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and spinning them around his index finger. “We can do it together.”

The nearest grocery store is just 20 minutes out from the Lee household. Minho drives a fancy black SUV, and he guides you through how to strap Joon into his car seat, which you carry out with no issues. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console as you chat with him about your university courses. For the first time, you notice how Minho seems much more comfortable around you now, cracking jokes occasionally and smiling at your stories about your afternoons alone with Joon. When Joon chimes in from the back seat with his excited babbling, you and Minho babble equally in response, sharing laughter at the ridiculous exchanges among the three of you.

You opt to carry Joon inside the grocery store while Minho walks alongside you, checking off a list he routinely uses to stock up on all of Joon’s favorite foods. And the atmosphere around you is homely, instilling the same sense of comfort in you as your afternoons alone with Joon. One that reminds you why you’re doing this job in the first place- you feel respected here, like your efforts don’t go unnoticed, and like you belong. It fills the lonely void inside of you with the sounds of Joon’s laughter, Minho’s tales of his classes and the trivial tasks of grocery store runs and learning to maneuver a baby car seat.

“I think that’s it,” Minho says as he checks the list one last time. “Milk, juice, bread…” he reads the items one by one again, and then nods affirmatively when he’s ensured they’re in the basket.

“That’s it,” he repeats, shooting you a small smile. “Let’s go pay.”

An older cashier gestures you to her lane at the registers, beginning to scan your items as Minho places them down on the conveyor belt. And then she gives a little wave to Joon, who curiously stares back at her.

“What a beautiful baby,” she says, pausing from scanning with a jar of mashed carrots in her hand.

Joon smiles in response, a trickle of drool escaping his lips.

“And what a beautiful family,” she continues, looking back and forth between you and Minho. “It’s not easy being young parents, but I can tell the two of you are doing a fine job at it.”

“Oh,” you say, chuckling lightly. “We’re not-”

“Thank you,” Minho interrupts, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him.

“We don’t get told that very often.”

You almost freeze at the contact, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he keeps his hand on the small of your back. This woman thinks the two of you are a couple- and worse, Minho is playing along with it. You can’t figure out why he’d entertain such a blatant lie, but you don’t interrupt him either, curious to see where he’s taking this little bit.

“People can be so unfair,” the cashier replies, shaking her head. “As long as the child is cared for, your status shouldn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Minho replies, throwing his hand in the air like she’s making a point that pertains to him. “You know, when we got married, everyone told us it would never work. And now look at us- our child just turned 1 and we’re already making plans for a second honeymoon.”

“That’s amazing!” The woman says, clasping her hand over her heart like she’s touched by the bogus story.

“It is, isn’t it honey?” Minho says, turning to you.

Thoughts swirl your mind about this performance he’s putting on, but you’re undoubtedly entertained by the whole thing, stifling laughter as you nod in response.

“It is amazing,” you say finally. “We eloped and had a shotgun wedding- booked it to Italy right after and now we’re thinking of taking the little one to Paris for a real ceremony.”

The older woman removes her glasses now, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. You can’t help but feel bad for her, seeing how easily she’s falling for your blatant lies, but Minho shows no remorse, grinning ear to ear and keeping his hand on the small of your back.

“Well I’ll tell you what,” the woman says, putting her glasses back on and shifting her eyes around the store.

“Since you guys just made my day, I’m going to provide you with our senior discount. It’s not everyday I see a young couple so beautiful raising such a darling little child.”

“Oh, you really don’t-” you start to say, and Minho interrupts you before you can finish.

“That would mean the world to us,” he says in an exaggerated voice, giving the cashier a little bow. “It would help us out a ton.”

You want to protest, to slap Minho in his pretty little face and ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing lying for a discount like this, but you’re afraid the cashier will see right through your whole stunt and reprimand both of you. So you just nod and let Minho take the lead again.

“Thank you,” you echo back to her,” holding Joon’s stubby little fingers as the woman types a lengthy code into the computer.

And Minho smiles at you, shooting you a little wink as he gathers boxes of cereal and jars of food in his arms.

“What was that?” You practically yell as you exit the store, balancing Joon in one arm and a bag of groceries in another. “You totally lied to her.”

“I didn’t lie,” Minho says. “I told her a different reality.”

“That is literally what a lie is,” you echo back to him, securing Joon in his car seat and lining grocery bags on the floor. Minho slides into the driver's seat again, putting his keys in the ignition but not yet starting the car as he waits for you to get in, too.

“I mean, that was like a 10% discount,” you continue, huffing frustratedly as you wait for him to speak. “How is that worth telling someone a whole list of lies?”

“You know, there’s this really cool theory called the anthropic principle,” Minho begins, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Suggests the existence of a multitude of universes.”

“What?”

“So,” he continues. “Philosophically speaking, maybe in one of those we're married, and we have a child, and our honeymoon was in Italy.”

You stay quiet for a moment, pondering his words, completely unsure of if he’s flirting with you or teasing you right now.

“And maybe,” he chimes in again. “In one of them, we robbed the store and killed the cashier. And in another, we don’t even know each other.”

“What are you getting at?” You say, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“It’s not lying,” Minho says with a smile as he finally starts up the car. “We just told her about a different reality.”

“So it’s lying,” you say with a smile, unable to hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.

“A little,” he finally says. “But it was fun, right?”

And you start to say no, but you can’t get the words out, aware you’ll be lying twice today if you do.

Minho takes your silence as confirmation, a grin plastered on his face as he rests one arm behind your headrest to pull out of the parking lot. And you can’t help but smile, too, the spontaneous thrill of lying to the cashier admittedly being some of the most fun you’ve had all week. And the conclusion stands- Minho’s a little odd. But he’s great company.

Mrs. Lee is late again tonight, the second hand on the clock ticking in slow intervals as it nears 10pm. You yawn for the umpteenth time tonight, exhausted from having done so much today, wanting nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of your own bed at home and mentally recharge for another day of this tomorrow. But you’ve promised to wait for her, always eager to wait it out until the last second, because Mrs. Lee always expresses her sincerest gratitude when you wait for her.

“Sorry, she’s really late today,” Minho says as he lowers the volume on the television. You completed a few more chores around the house after dinner while Minho powered through his schoolwork, putting Joon to bed before settling on the sofa and watching old cartoon reruns. Now you’ve been in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour, Minho remaining close by watching infomercials again, peering at your tired figure and feeling guilty that you’ve been here so long.

“It’s okay,” you reply quietly, letting out another yawn. You cross your arms over yourself, still dressed comfortably in Minho’s t-shirt, and do your best to keep your gaze on the television.

Tonight Minho is stuck on an infomercial for artificial plants, the dull narration lulling you to sleep even further as he checks the time on his watch and glances nervously at the front door.

Minho cranes his neck at your figure again, not missing the way gray bags hang heavy below your eyes, your lashes half-lidded as you feign sleep and force your gaze onto the infomercial.

“Don’t you have an early exam tomorrow?” You say to Minho, another yawn escaping your lips as you speak. “Don’t wait up on my account. You should get some sleep.”

Minho shuts off the television, standing up from where he’s sitting and dusting off his pants.

“I’ll take you home,” he announces, fishing around on the table for his car keys.

“It’s okay,” you reply, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore than you already have today. “I can walk to the bus stop.”

“You’re not walking,” Minho retorts, scoffing as you sit up and rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s pitch black outside.”

“It’s fine,” you say, gathering your book bag and rushing to put your shoes on. It’s a race between the two of you now, Minho scrambling to locate his car keys while you get ready to leave for the evening.

“It’s really not a problem- where are my keys?” Minho mutters to himself, patting the pockets on his jacket and rearranging stacks of papers on the coffee table.

“I’m fine, really.”

“No, I’ll drive you,” Minho says, still tossing aside the mess he’s made to locate his keys.

“I’ll walk,” you reiterate again, and Minho finally exhales frustratedly.

“Then I’ll walk with you,” he finally announces, ditching the car keys altogether and stopping to look at you. He looks tired, too, evident bags under his eyes and his hair tousled from running his hands through it frustratedly.

“Minho, I really don’t want to burden you-”

“It’s not a burden.”

As he speaks, you hear Joon’s baby monitor alerting you that he’s awake for the evening, wailing loudly when he realizes that he’s alone. It’s perfect timing, too, Minho already having planned to wake him up so he can walk you back.

“Wait here,” Minho says to you as he begins toward the stairs. “I’ll get his harness.”

The dim street lights illuminate the dark paved roads, a crisp chill in the air as you walk alongside Minho with your hands in your pockets.

Joon sits comfortably in his harness against Minho’s chest, curiously taking in the atmosphere around him as you walk in silence to your bus stop. It’s not a long walk, only 20 minutes from Minho’s, but you feel admittedly much safer with Minho by your side, his and Joon’s presence feeling homely even at this hour. For nearly the entirety of the walk, the two of you say nothing, too tired to engage in conversation, but still comfortable in the presence of each other, and not needing to say anything. Joon babbles saliva every now and then, Minho bringing a finger up to wipe his chin, and the only other sounds are that of crickets and the gentle sway of the trees.

“This is me,” you say to Minho when you reach the familiar blue bench of your stop.

You sit on one side of the bench, slinging your book bag over beside you and crossing your legs. And to your surprise, Minho occupies the other side, one hand resting gently on the back of Joon’s head while the other pats his back gently.

“You don’t have to wait,” you tell Minho quickly, and he just shakes his head silently in response.

The silence between you remains, Joon toying with the collar of Minho’s shirt as you wait for the bus. There’s so much you want to ask Minho, so much you still want to find out from him. You’re well aware that you haven’t quite figured him out yet, but you’re undoubtedly sure that he is a nice guy, after all. From lending you his t-shirt, waiting up for you on late nights, even walking you to your bus stop and waiting for the bus with you. You think briefly back to his little joke at the grocery store, smiling to yourself when you remember he’d chosen to pretend you were a married couple for no other reason than to make you laugh after having had such a rough day. And his innate fascination with looking at everything through a philosophical lens, the passion for his favorite subject so robustly present wherever he goes.

“What’s that theory again?” You ask Minho as your thoughts verbalize amidst the silence.

“Hm?”

“The one about the universe.”

“The anthropic principle?” He questions, and you hum in response.

“Yeah, that one. Do you think there are like, a million versions of us right now, just…sitting here?”

“Sure,” Minho replies. “But the conditions would have to be just right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the theory states that conditions have to be just right for us to coexist in the universe we’re in right now. It’s sort of like a coincidence that this one evolved so that we could thrive in it. So there might be other versions of us, just not as definitive. We might be rocks, or bugs. Or maybe there’s a more advanced version, where we’re still on our honeymoon in Italy.”

“Or the one where we killed that cashier,” you chime in.

“Exactly,” Minho replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You ponder his words for a moment.

“Do they all follow the same timeline?” You ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“Do they all last forever? What if we got divorced? Would we part ways in every universe?”

Minho stays quiet for a moment, thinking back to the philosophical theories tucked in the back of his mind.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “I’d like to think some versions have a happy ending, but maybe some of them don’t.”

As silence falls over you again, your bus finally turns the corner, making its way down the street toward your stop.

“That’s me,” you say, getting up and gathering your belongings again.

Minho stands up, too, saying nothing as the bus finally halts in front of you, the brakes screeching to a stop with the loud exhaust of the doors as they open.

“Thanks,” you say to Minho before getting on. “For walking me.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies, shooting you a tired smile.

Minho watches as you board the bus, taking your seat toward the back. He scans the aisles momentarily, making sure you’re sat somewhere safe, away from anyone he might deem sketchy at this hour. And when he feels confident you’ll make it home okay, he brings Joon’s hand up in front of him, giving you a little wave as he watches you smile back through the tinted windows, sending him off with a wave back.

From then on, things shift between the two of you. Minho is a constant, always offering to walk you home on late nights to engage in discussions about your university work or his favorite theories. When he’s home early from his classes, the two of you enjoy cooking for Joon together, making trips to the grocery store where the cashiers are now fully convinced you’re a married couple. On late nights, the two of you often engage in lighthearted philosophical debates while you wait for Mrs. Lee to get home for the evening. When he’s walking you home for the night, doing homework alongside you or just passing by, Minho indulges you in all his favorite philosophical questions, and you entertain them, using the opportunity to get a better glimpse into his mind and how he thinks.

It’s exactly this that tears down Minho’s walls, you find- he, in all his philosophically-educated glory, sharing his perspective while you poke holes in his arguments and reach a conclusion together. Sometimes you’ll reach a stalemate, the argument fizzling out with no clear answer. And sometimes he can change your mind almost instantly, the arguments leaving his lips like second nature, always quick to persuade you in the opposite direction and provide clear reasoning. He’s very skilled at his work, and you quickly realize why he’s so passionate about philosophy in the first place.

It’s not something Minho’s used to yet- having a companion like this, one who actually cares about anything he has to say. Someone to come home to, somebody to bask in the simplicities of life with and affirm that he’s not completely incapable of making real human connections. And admittedly, maybe he loves playing house with you, coming home to your home-cooked meals and caring for the baby together.

Maybe this version of the universe deems you a babysitter, and he, just an outcast. But sometimes Minho swears he can see different versions where you’re so much more than that to each other.

In late November, you take your first week off, leaving on a small family trip to a city just a few hours out to go see extended family.

You tell Minho of your little excursion the week prior, and he pretends to be disheartened, but you know deep down he must be relieved to have some space to himself again. Of course you’re not able to watch Joon, and Mrs. Lee has a friend watch him in your absence, but you’re surprised at how much you miss the Lee household when you’re not there. The trip to the city is filled with repetitive questions from family about your major, your internship, your potential salary in an entry-level position and general university questions. And yet all you catch yourself thinking about is Joon, and Mrs. Lee and especially Minho.

You wonder what he’s doing in the comfort of his grand room all by himself, surrounded by books and tall windows. Minho once told you that he can go a whole day without talking when he’s not having philosophical debates with you over coffee. You wonder if he’s talked today, or if he attended his classes or how his exam on Tuesday went. Thoughts of him plague your mind every waking second- whether Minho would like a certain food, if Minho would agree with this statement, even what the people around you would think if you dragged him along and played house with him like you do back home. In this version of the universe, maybe he’s reading a book or watching a movie, but in another, he could be right here, telling his string of lies to your extended family.

On the last day of your family vacation, you find yourself in an old bookstore, and all you can think about is Minho. He’d love it here, you think, grazing your fingertips along the old cracked spines and yellowing pages. And as you scan through the philosophy section, several of the books already piquing your interest, you spot it.

The small familiar crimson book, just barely larger than your hand, delicate to the touch and painted with the same Cupid depiction as the one you know so well. A first edition copy of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence. You can’t help but smile to yourself, scanning the book’s contents briefly before closing it again and bringing it up to the counter. It’s not like you’re trying to worsen this little developing crush you have on Minho, but he seems to be everywhere you go- and candidly, you just want to have him figured out.

When you return to the Lee household from your vacation, the atmosphere is calm, sunbeams shining through the large glass windows and illuminating the house with a romantic glow. Joon eats his breakfast well, downing his orange juice and causing you little trouble throughout the day. And Minho arrives just after 3, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in hand.

Your heart beats erratically to see him again, trying your best to avert his gaze as he enters through the front door and kicks off his shoes. When he makes his way through the kitchen, you attempt to look busy, wiping down the counters with a kitchen rag and balancing Joon in your arms.

“Hi,” Minho says, a little shyly as you keep your eyesight on the granite counter below you.

“Hey,” you respond, pretending like you hadn’t noticed him enter the room, when in reality, you’ve been well aware of his arrival since he parked his car out front.

“How was your trip?” Minho asks, setting down his backpack and loosening the collar of his sweater.

He’s dressed for the chilly weather outside, a simple black knit sweater paired with blue jeans.

“It was good,” you reply, folding the rag with one hand and setting it aside. “I kinda missed it here.”

Minho smiles at you nervously, toying with the hem of his sweater as he hears you speak.

“It was pretty quiet without you here. I think Joon missed you.”

“Did he?” You question excitedly, poking at Joon with your finger and cooing at him. “Is that right? You missed me?” And Joon giggles excitedly, smiling between the two of you.

When the room falls quiet again, Minho clears his throat like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, instead keeping his gaze fixed on yours. The room is teeming with awkward tension between the two of you, two hearts clouded in desire to act on this conflicting emotion of fleeting lust and a mutual understanding of each other, but neither one of you say anything, letting it die with your silence and circle your minds aimlessly again.

“I got you something,” you say suddenly, and Minho’s heart quickens a little.

“Me?” He questions, pointing to himself as if you need clarity of who he speaks of.

“Yes, you. It’s in my bag upstairs.”

And you begin your ascent to the staircase, motioning for Minho to follow you as you bring Joon with you.

“Close your eyes,” you tell Minho when you‘ve entered the library again.

“Should I be scared?” He asks, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Close them!” You exclaim, and he finally puts his hands out in front of him, shutting his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. You place the book in Minho’s palms gently, making sure to position it so that the cover is facing him properly.

“Now open.”

When Minho opens his eyes again, he doesn’t even need to read the words before knowing what it is. He’s immediately familiar with the first edition of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence he holds in his hands, uniquely characterized by the contrasting art style to his, and the much older, yellowing pages.

“My book,” Minho says, biting his lip as he holds back a bigger smile, one that will most definitely point to the incriminating fact that he’s smitten.

“Your book,” you echo, leaning on the wall across from him. “It’s a first edition. The bookkeeper said they’re pretty rare to come by.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, fixing Joon’s hair and averting Minho’s gaze. You’re afraid if you make eye contact with him, this whole nonchalant front will crumble down in front of you, because you’re embarrassingly smitten with him, too.

“Thank you,” Minho says, thumbing the raised gold-foiled cover outline of Cupid. “I’ll go put it with the rest of them.”

And he disappears down the corridor, his book tucked in the endeared clutch of his hands.

While Minho adds his book to the rest of his collection, you put Joon down for his nap, gently placing him on the soft blanket in his crib and adjusting the baby monitor. He blinks up at you a few times, his lips pulling into a shaky smile as his lashes finally flutter shut and a wave of sleepiness washes over him. You exit the room quietly, closing the door just halfway like you always do, and then make your way down the corridor to Minho’s room. The door is left ajar, but you hear him shuffling about, and you enter after giving a gentle knock.

Minho seems startled at this, jumping up from where he’s standing, in front of his bookshelf with Love and Limerence held open in the palms of his hands. He shuts it quickly, shoving it on the top with another stack of books, and then almost shields his bookshelf as he turns to face you.

“I didn't hear you come in,” he says, nervously shifting his eyes to more stacks of books on his window sill and nightstand.

“I put Joon down for his nap,” you reply, cocking an eyebrow as he stands there awkwardly. “Is… everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, blinking nervously when he sees you peer over his torso at the bookshelf.

“Where’d you put it?”

“Can’t remember,” Minho says, a breathy chuckle emitting from his lips as he tries his best to avoid talking about it. But you catch on- and you’re certainly not going to let him evade the subject.

“What are you hiding?” You finally ask, eyeing him with a small smile. Minho’s face drops a little, sighing once as he steps aside and grants you full visibility of his bookshelf. There’s nothing out of the ordinary- books of all colors and sizes lined neatly on the shelves, some of them left open or bookmarked. A good amount of them appear to be philosophy books, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you.

“It’s just your books,” you say flatly, and Minho scratches the back of his head before he speaks again.

“Love and Limerence isn’t a required read for university.” He says in a low voice.

“Oh,” you reply, unsure of why it should really matter to you.

“None of them are,” he continues. “It’s just my personal… collection. Of romance novels.”

And then you finally understand.

Minho- the stoic, otherwise quiet being, in all his philosophical studiousness and awkwardness, is a sucker for romance. Once the cogs begin turning in your head, they don’t stop, everything about him now making a little more sense to you. Why he stays locked up in his little tower all day reading book after book, why he’s so hopeful when he speaks of the human condition and of love, why he loves taking care of people so much. He’s just a big softie underneath it all.

“There’s nothing weird about that,” you chime in. “In fact, it’s really cool.”

“Yeah right,” he retorts.

“I’m dead serious. I’ve never met someone with so many copies of Thorns and Roses before.”

Minho shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed with his palms tucked under his legs. His gaze remains locked on the floor, an expression of shame still visible on his face. And when you see him exhale deeply, like he’s been nervously holding his breath all this time, you feel bad for him. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him since meeting him, it’s that he’s really a bit of a dork. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable before.

“Which one’s your favorite?” You ask, skimming your finger along the neat row of spines.

He shrugs. “Pride and Prejudice, maybe. But these days it’s Love and Limerence.”

Minho’s voice is trembling, just above a whisper as he reads off his list of favorite novels to you. And you chuckle softly in reply, pulling the little red book out of its respective home on the shelf and tossing it to him.

“Read me your favorite passage.”

He furrows his brows a little, like he thinks you might be making fun of him. But when you take a seat next to him on the bed, wide-eyed and gesturing to the book in his hands, he realizes you’re genuinely asking him to.

“Go on,” you say, gesturing to the book once more.

Minho opens the book to the middle, flipping through yellowing pages with small font. Most of the pages are littered generously with blue sticky notes, Minho’s messy handwriting annotating all his favorite passages. When he finds the page he’s searching for, he eyes you cautiously, as if waiting for permission to begin reading. And with a deep breath, he begins, his voice shaking a little as he finds his footing.

“Now by these presents let me assure you that you are not only in my heart, but my veins, this morning. I turn from you half abashed--yet you haunt me, and some look, word or touch thrills through my whole frame--yes, at the very moment when I am labouring to think of something, if not somebody else.”

At the last words, his gaze meets yours again, eyelashes trembling as he waits for your reaction. He waits for you to laugh, or to dismiss the words, or leave altogether. But you just stare back at him, your heart beating erratically at the poetry he utters, completely in awe with him.

He feels otherworldly at this distance, this intricate fascination with love and human connection. The way his brown tresses fall loosely in front of his big eyes as he speaks, his plump lips pulling into a nervous smile to reveal the row of skewed teeth you find a home in every time. He’s like the passage reads- thrilling your whole frame, consuming you whole and filling your mind with thoughts of him, and his poetry and his kind demeanor. You find yourself a little closer to him, your eyes darting to his lips and then back to his curious eyes, fantasies of him running rampant in your mind.

And Minho keeps his gaze locked on yours, too, leaning in a little closer to you, the book closing on its own as his hand slips away from holding it open and onto the bed beside you. The implications are there, the atmosphere around you heavy with desire and uncertainty, and just as you wield the courage to bring your lips a little closer to his, you’re promptly interrupted.

“Minho-ah!” A voice calls from downstairs. You quickly clock it as Mrs. Lee’s, who must be home early from work.

“I’m home early!” She calls again, confirming your theory, her footsteps getting louder as she makes her way up the stairs.

You sit up promptly, smoothing down your shirt and standing to bow when Mrs. Lee pokes her head in the doorway. Minho stands up too, making the whole situation look unbearably obvious, and you pray she can’t tell what’s going on between the two of you.

“Y/n,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I would be home a little earlier today. Joon has a doctor’s appointment.”

“No worries at all!” You voice back, bowing again as she smiles. “I was actually going to leave early today. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, do you want a cup of tea?” She asks, heavy concern present in her voice.

“No thanks, I think I just need some sleep.”

You turn to Minho, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking a little disappointed as you give him a small bow.

“Take care,” you say to him, pivoting to head back to the library and gather your things.

Minho hears his mom see you out of the front door, chatting briefly with you about your trip and sending you off with a little wave.

He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, sprawling out on the duvet of his bed and running his hands over the book still beside him.

He’s not sure what happened- whether you were about to kiss him, or whether it was just wishful thinking. But every way he interprets the encounter, Minho swears he can feel your yearning for him, too. Is he crazy to think you might feel the same? Maybe he, too, finds it laboring to think of something- if not, someone else, besides you.

Joon is a particularly picky eater in afternoons, making a big fuss of foods he usually devours in the mornings and evenings. He skillfully dodges every spoon, every bite and feigns his interest in even his favorite snacks and desserts. And while you’re usually patient with him, today you’re frustrated, having mentally scolded yourself several times since yesterday’s events.

A part of you wants to ditch all of this, reminding yourself that you’re here to work a job, not lust after the son of the person who hired you. But the other part of you can’t help but imagine how things would be different if you just let yourself fall gracefully into him- he’s so much more than a fleeting thought to you. You want to understand him, having challenged yourself to figuring him out from the moment you came across him. But maybe you want him to understand you, too. You want him to understand that you feel at home whenever he’s around, his philosophical discussions and this game of house you play making you feel like you belong here. You want him to understand that although you know he feels like an outcast, none of his odd quirks matter to you when he’s reading his favorite love stories across from you in the library, catching glimpses of you when he thinks you’re not looking. And that maybe this universe conditioned itself just right so that you took up this job and crossed paths- and that has to mean something bigger.

There’s nothing different about the afternoon following yesterday’s, except for you spending a considerable amount of time on your hair and makeup, the anticipation bubbling inside you at the idea of seeing Minho again. You have no definitive plan, no script of how it’s going to go when he arrives from school. But you also know there’s something in your throat that wants so desperately to get out, and you won’t let it. As Joon toys with the cereal in his bowl, he looks up at you with big, curious eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if anything. He doesn't know anything beyond the simple tasks of eating and sleeping, living with the comfortable knowledge that he’s being cared for. And although it seems much easier, you can’t help but sympathize. What a gift it is to feel- what a gift it is to carry emotions so deeply they eat away at you like this.

You’re infatuated with Minho- that fact stands true. And whether or not it benefits you to do anything about it, you’re determined to do something with all of this feeling, lest it slips through your fingers like he almost did.

You don’t hear Minho come home when he does, busy in the garden tending to Mrs. Lee’s plants when the usual alert of his car pulling into the driveway passes you by. So when he wanders the corridors searching everywhere for you, you don’t take notice.

Minho’s desperate, hoping to ask you to stay just a little bit longer tonight, having also had the epiphany that he’s completely fallen for you, too. And what he hopes to do with it, he’s unsure- but he does know that every romance novel on his shelf would refute the idea of letting this feeling dissipate. Kiss her, tell her, do something. Anything.

He strides down the halls with purpose and vigor, a nervous smile pulling at his face at the thought of seeing you again. It’s all he’s thought about today, having had just two hours of sleep as he sorted out what to say to you. And while he’s not well-versed in the practice of confessing his love, he feels his whole life has been devoted to the very purpose of being here and finding you. The debates you share, midnight walks to the bus stop, the book- he’d be a fool not to reciprocate what you yearn for. And when he doesn’t find you, Minho feels the familiar pit of worry form in his stomach. He’s not accounted for a change of plans, or even what might happen if you reject his admission. He wants to believe so badly that the answer is yes, risking everything just to say something.

20 minutes after he’s been home, Minho receives a phone call, answering in a rush while he checks the upstairs rooms for you.

“Hello?”

“It’s Sujin from class,” the phone at the other end says plainly. “I’m here for our project.”

And Minho freezes, remembering very well that he has a project due very soon, and his partner is here tonight to work on it with him. He sighs heavily into the line at the change in plans, knowing he’ll have to bottle his emotions another day and act on them tomorrow when he can get you alone.

“Oh, right,” Minho responds, making his way to the stairs and jogging down them. “The door should be unlocked.”

He stuffs his phone in his back pocket, making his way to the door to meet Sujin, and as he passes the sliding door to the backyard, he finally sees you. Knelt on the ground in a white sundress, your hands tainted with soil as you tend to the tomato plants and hum to yourself. Minho smiles at the sight of you, the urge to tell you right now stronger than ever. But before he can call out to you, Sujin’s already made her way inside, peering curiously around the place and clutching her purse in hand.

“Wow,” she says, chuckling lightly. “You didn’t tell me you were rich.”

Minho scratches the back of his head awkwardly as she grazes a marble sculpture with her fingers. His eyes remain on you through the glass door, transfixed by the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and pat your dress as you stand up again. Sujin takes note of Minho’s evident distraction, briefly glancing out the window and back to him.

“Where are we working?” She asks, pursing her lips together.

“We can work upstairs,” Minho explains, as you finally make your way inside.

At first you’re confused at the sight, Minho looming over a girl much prettier than you, her long hair styled neatly over one shoulder and a matching formal two-piece hugging her curves beautifully. And then as you see her begin up the stairs in the direction of Minho’s room, you finally understand.

Of course there’s another woman.

Of course there was a catch to all of this, because why else would things condition themselves so perfectly that you’d win him over?

And suddenly everything feels pointless- confessing to him, feeling any ounce of emotion regarding all of this, even working this job. He has a girlfriend, and she’s much prettier than you are. And he's trailing behind her after giving you a shy nod, likely embarrassed at the fact that you’ll be here tending to his household while he fucks her in his upstairs bedroom.

You can’t help but think that perhaps something got lost in translation, because Minho evidently never liked you, and unless this version of the universe magically conditions to work in your favor just once, it’s going to remain that way.

When the tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, they don’t stop. You can’t feed Joon without hiccuping through a hot rush of tears that fall from your cheeks onto his tray below him. Joon seems to sense something is wrong, pausing the task of dodging his food to observe the way your face contorts as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. And when you do stop to look at him, all you can see is Minho, his eyes and lips resembling exactly that of his elder brother’s.

The chores feel like a futile task now, and you let them sit there for the remainder of the evening you’re working for. In fact, the only thing you do complete is the task of getting Joon to bed when the sun begins to set, marching carefully upstairs to not interrupt Minho’s time with his girlfriend. And the word makes you sick, to think that he’s been stringing you along all while having a girlfriend- a fact he so conveniently left out.

Joon goes down without a fuss, and when he’s finally asleep, you escape the confines of the second story to lock yourself in the downstairs living room and complete your school work. How much of that is spent crying instead, you can’t quite remember.

It’s just after 9 when Sujin leaves for the evening, but you’re not awake to take notice when she does. You wake to the familiar sound of infomercials playing quietly on the television in front of you, Minho sitting on the floor in front of the sofa you occupy. His head hangs as he holds a book in his lap, probably some cheesy romance he projects onto him and his girlfriend, and his thin wireframe glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.

The dull narration on the television advertises jewelry tonight, and you let out a sigh as you feel your swollen eyes adjust to the bright screen in front of you. At this, Minho turns around, giving you a sheepish smile as you try to shut your eyes again. But it’s too late- he’s already seen you awake for the evening.

“Hi,” Minho says for the first time today, bookmarking his page and lowering the volume on the television. “She’s late again today, but I saved you some takeout.”

“I’m not hungry,” you reply quickly, sitting up and reaching for your bag. “In fact, I need to go home.”

“Oh, sure,” Minho replies, a little hurt at your rushed tone. “I can walk you-”

“No need,” you say to him, pulling on your sneakers and doing everything in your power to avert his gaze. He furrows his brows a little, knowing you never reject his offers to walk you home.

“Is everything-”

“Fine. I just need to get home,” you reiterate, finally sitting down and smoothing down your wrinkled dress.

Every part of him is annoying you right now, your mind teeming with the reminder that you’ve been wasting your time trying to know him better while he’s been entertaining a whole girlfriend these past few months.

“Y/n, wait,” Minho calls, still intent on telling you tonight, while the feelings remain stronger than ever. But you’ve already crossed the room to the front door, where you avert his gaze so he won’t see you begin to cry again.

“Bye,” you call to him, not even looking back before you’re turning the knob and seeing yourself out. “Tell Mrs. Lee it was an emergency.”

And he wants to ask if it was, but he can’t, staring at your rushed figure jogging down the street as you distance yourself from him before he can string you along any further.

Thus begins the game of avoidance.

It starts through keeping your conversations with Minho as short as possible, not engaging him when he tells you about theories he’s studied this week or what his days on campus were like. When he asks about your day, you give him one-word responses, muttering a simple “fine” before turning your attention to Joon again.

When Minho asks to go to the grocery store, you pretend you have a headache- for three days straight. So he makes the trips solo, balancing bags on one arm and telling you about how the cashiers have begun to ask where his pretend wife’s been. You give him no reaction, nodding as you feed Joon his dinner and glance at the clock for the umpteeth time, desperate to get away from him.

And the mystery woman remains, marching into the Lee household in afternoons like she owns the place, already having memorized the path to Minho’s room as she makes her way up the stairs and doesn’t acknowledge you. She’s beautiful everyday that she’s here, short skirts and long ponytails you can’t seem to look away from. And she’s even more hypnotic when she’s in the presence of Minho, the two of them as a couple certainly a sight for sore eyes. If they were a married couple, you’d reckon they'd be much more distinguished than you and Minho would.

“Do you want a coffee?” Minho peers into the library one night to ask you. You keep your gaze locked on the computer in front of you, trying your best to keep your guard up as he waits for a response.

“No, thank you,” you say coldly, continuing to work on your essay.

When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, Minho enters the room reluctantly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe and gives you a once-over. You say nothing, still, holding back your emotions so as not to cause a scene. And Minho can tell something’s wrong in the way that you shift your eyes to him briefly and shake your head as if scolding yourself for doing so.

“Did I do something?” Minho finally asks, his voice a little shaky.

“No,” you say quickly, skimming the same sentence on your laptop screen over and over again.

“Are you… sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He fiddles with a loose thread in the pocket of his pants, keeping his gaze on the floor and thinking about your differing behavior toward him the past week.

“We just haven’t talked much. And you never really leave here anymore. I wanted to make sure I didn’t overstep any boundaries-”

“Overstep?” You interrupt, scanning your eyes over the screen of your computer. “There’s nothing to overstep. I get paid to watch your brother, not hang out with you.”

You feel guilty the minute the words leave your mouth, but you feel even worse knowing he’s just been stringing you along with a girlfriend this whole time. The atmosphere feels akin to when you first met him, awkward and cold, and with tensions high like this, you don’t feel at home in the Lee household anymore.

“Sorry,” Minho says, nodding. “You’re right. I guess I’m overstepping by asking.”

You only look up at him when he leaves, his shoulders sagging as he leaves you alone once again- only this time, you have a feeling he’s going to stop making an attempt to rekindle things anymore.

And you’re right- Minho stops trying entirely. There are no more offers to walk you home, no philosophical debates over coffee or grocery store trips where you act as a married couple. You’re still covered in knit blankets when you fall asleep accidentally on the couch, but Minho doesn’t stick around watching his infomercials to wait up for you anymore. And he still saves you his takeout when he orders, but he leaves it neatly packaged for you in the fridge instead of bringing it up to you like he used to.

You’ve gone from a mutual infatuation for each other to complete strangers once again. The house feels lonely and cold like it once did, your only real human interaction occurring in the few minutes you have with Mrs. Lee at the start and end of the day.

Minho doesn’t talk to you at all, locking himself away in his room like he did when you first started caring for Joon. And when you see him in passing at late hours of the night, he looks indifferent, sagging his shoulders as he averts your gaze with a book in hand and disappears down the corridors again. At some point, you begin to see his girlfriend less- in fact, his stoic composure makes you wonder if something’s happened between them. But as time goes on, you start to realize this is less about his girlfriend- and more about you.

What a gift it is to feel- but also what a curse. To let something consume you so entirely you can barely breathe without it. It’s laboring to think of anything else, of anyone else besides Minho and what he means to you. And as you replay your last interaction in your head for the nth time this evening, you think back to the day you started here. You knew the fundamentals of caring for a baby, having trained just enough to land a job doing it. All you wanted was to be liked by Mrs. Lee, and by baby Joon- and by extension, Minho. This household quickly became someplace you felt like you actually belonged in. But your purpose here has completely diverted from its original path, having prioritized Minho’s complexities and his feelings toward you above what you were hired here to do. You’ve experienced a roller coaster of emotions trying to understand him, and just when you thought you’d cracked him, you realized his heart belongs to someone else. So with the comfortable knowledge in mind that perhaps the universe isn’t, in fact, conditioned for you to mean anything more to him than just a babysitter, you understand it’s time to stop forcing any other version of it.

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary two weeks into your avoidance of Minho.

You still haven’t talked, he still keeps his distance and you get paid to perform the job you’re here to do. But one afternoon before Minho’s even home from school, Joon refuses to eat. It starts with a tantrum he throws at breakfast time, which you consider typical as he knocks his cereal onto the floor and waves his hands around restlessly. You can only spoon feed him a couple spoons of yogurt before he’s put down for his afternoon nap. And when you wake him for his post-nap meal, he’s just as fussy. He seems to be bothered by something, crying loudly as you offer him different snacks and try your best to calm him down. But nothing seems to work, and when he begins refusing his bottles late into the afternoon, you start to panic.

Mrs. Lee isn’t home for a few hours, you’re unsure of when Minho gets home and you don’t have any way of getting to a hospital right now. The guilt and the fear eat away at you as Joon cries loudly, his face turning a bright shade of red as snot dribbles from his nose onto his shirt. He must be hungry, and clearly uncomfortable by something, only you’re entirely unsure what. His pacifier doesn’t calm him, nor does his favorite stuffed animal or his favorite television program. When his crying reaches the 10-minute mark, you feel hopeless, well prepared to drag him onto the bus to the nearest hospital yourself, fully convinced you’re going to lose your job. And as you begin to cry, too, the front door opens, Minho walking in with his backpack clutched casually in one hand and his car keys in the other. His girlfriend is with him this time, her head hanging as she uses her phone, completely oblivious to the atmosphere around her.

“Minho,” you call helplessly from the kitchen, and his head snaps instantly to look at you. Your eyes are nearly bloodshot from crying, your sleeves drenched in tears from wiping your eyes and your voice shaky as you speak. It’s the first time you’ve said his name in weeks, you realize, feeling your heart race as you call for him.

“What happened?” Minho asks when he turns the corner, throwing off his backpack and approaching a very fussy Joon.

“He won’t eat,” you reply through hiccups, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater again. “I’ve tried everything. He won’t stop crying.”

Minho takes Joon in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth, to no avail; Joon starts crying even harder now, dribbling snot onto Minho’s sweatshirt and hitting his chest repeatedly.

“I’ll have to take him to the clinic,” Minho says in a rushed tone, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and making his way toward the door.

His girlfriend finally turns the corner into the kitchen, putting down her cellphone and huffing frustratedly.

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Minho replies, shoving past her with Joon in his arms. “I have to go. We can work on our project another time.”

Your heart drops at the words- project. Project, as in a project for his university. With a classmate.

You want to cry more now, for being so stupidly angry with him over nothing, but you still have to help Minho take Joon to the clinic. Sujin doesn’t protest, quick to exit without so much as a goodbye as Minho scrambles to fetch Joon’s car seat.

“I’ll get him in the car seat,” you say, pulling your sneakers on as he balances Joon in his arms.

“You’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming,” you scoff, already taking Joon from his arms and ushering him outside. “Go start the car.”

“Lee?” A nurse calls, holding a clipboard close to her chest as she scans the waiting room.

You and Minho both stand up, Minho balancing Joon in his arms as the nurse gestures you to the door.

“Please, follow me.”

Both of you walk side-by-side down the corridor as she double-checks papers on her clipboard, making a sharp right and leading you into a private room.

Minho sets Joon down on the examination table, holding his arms to steady him, and you stand beside him as you wait for the doctor.

“She’s just reviewing the results,” the nurse says, referring to the x-rays Joon took earlier. “She’ll be in shortly to discuss them.”

Minho nods silently as the nurse leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone once again. You say nothing, unsure of how to break the awkward silence as Minho wipes a string of drool from Joon’s mouth and avoids eye contact with you.

You feel awkward, embarrassed and so, so stupid, for having treated Minho like absolute scum because you assumed the worst of him. It breaks you to see him avert your gaze like this, treating you the same way he did when you first crossed paths. He has his guard completely up again, and you’re not sure he’s ever going to let it down around you. As you lose yourself in doubtful thoughts, the door opens, Joon’s doctor sauntering inside and wiping her hands with the strong scent of hand sanitizer.

“Hi there,” she says cheerfully, giving you both a warm smile. “Are we here for baby Joon today?”

“Yes,” you both say in unison, and she laughs a little.

“You two are very synced. They say it happens in the first year of marriage.”

“We’re not married,” Minho chimes in quickly, and you turn to look at him, feeling a pit in your stomach all over again.

“No?” She questions. “My apologies. Is mom here today?”

“I’m just his babysitter,” you say quietly. “This is his brother.”

“I see,” the doctor says, eyeing you both. “Well you may notice I’m fairly calm, and that’s because there’s no terrible news I have to share. Baby Joon is just suffering from a little mucus buildup. He’s probably feeling the impaction, and the discomfort has caused a loss of appetite.”

You feel a weight off your shoulders instantly, relieved that this isn’t a more serious matter. He’s going to be fine, you think to yourself. He’s going to be his normal self as soon as this is over.

“… Just be sure to use a syringe to drain the mucus a couple times per day, and make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”

As the doctor writes Joon a prescription for his saline syringe, you catch Minho’s gaze briefly, shooting him a relieved look. He gives you a small nod in response, as if to say he’s glad you came along. And he is, he just can’t say it out loud.

“I think he’s finally sleeping,” Minho says, patting Joon’s back gently as he stands up from his chair. The two of you have been sat in the library for nearly two hours since getting back home, in complete silence as you read your books and wait for Joon to fall asleep. You take breaks every now and then to drain Joon’s mucus, alternating roles between holding his face still and using the syringe on him. And when he’s finally comfortable again, he dozes back off to sleep, little snores escaping his lips.

Minho leaves the room to put Joon to bed, and while he’s gone, you take the opportunity to pack your stuff and prepare to leave for the night. You feel guilty, not having said much to Minho this evening, especially with the newfound knowledge that this mystery woman was just a partner for his project. But you’re not sure what to say, well aware that he’s probably already decided you hate him, and there’s not much else you can do to fix things.

“He’s down,” Minho says as he re-enters the library.

“That’s good,” you reply with a solemn smile, packing your laptop in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“I should get going.”

“Do you… need me to walk you?” Minho asks a little shyly, and although the offer is tempting, you shake your head no.

“I’ll be fine. It’s really not as unsafe as you’d think.”

Minho just nods, understanding that you still don’t want to be close to him. And he gives you a little bow, before he exits the room and makes his way up the stairs to his own.

As you begin to leave, an object left on the chair across from you catches your eye.

It’s Minho’s book- the first edition copy of Love and Limerence you gifted him. You take the small book in your hands, scanning its contents briefly and examining the pages. He’s already annotated several of them, despite having read the book numerous times now, and you can’t help but smile at his scribbled notes circling all his favorite quotes and underlining them twice. You know it’s valuable to him, despite coming from somebody he probably despises right now, but you decide to take it up to him anyway, not wanting him to lose it.

When you’re outside his door, you give a small knock as it’s left ajar, and Minho hums in response.

You enter quietly, holding the book out to him and shooting him a small smile.

“You left this downstairs,” you say, and Minho reaches for it quickly, embarrassed you might’ve seen some of his annotations.

“Thanks,” he replies, setting it back on his bookshelf of romance novels.

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him, and you join him at a comfortable distance as he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor.

For a moment, no one says anything. And then he sighs deeply, before finally speaking.

“I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you’re quick to reply.

“I clearly did,” Minho retorts. “And I know I’m quiet, and I kind of shut myself off from the rest of the world. But I never meant for it to affect you.”

“It didn’t affect me,” you reiterate.

He scoffs lightly in response.

“Why won’t you just say it? You haven’t talked to me in weeks. You don’t even look at me. I clearly did something to push you away.”

You don’t reply immediately, pondering what to say. And ultimately, you let your emotions speak for themselves.

“I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of the girl. The one who’s been here almost every night.”

“Sujin?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know who she is or what she is to you-”

“My project partner,” Minho interrupts. “One who hates my guts.”

“Project partner,” you continue. “It doesn’t matter who she is- I like you, Minho,” you finally emphasize, turning to meet his gaze. His lips are parted in shock, his eyebrows furrowed as he hears you speak.

“I’m fucking infatuated with you, and it drives me crazy. I can’t go on vacation without seeing you in the books at the stores, I can’t sleep at night without your stupid theories replaying in my head. And I jump to the worst possible conclusions when you’re even near another girl. I’m going crazy trying to be liked by you- trying to look at everything through the lens of your romance theories or your book quotes, or whatever. But it’s so scary to like someone this much.”

Minho says nothing for a minute, collecting his thoughts as you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. He’s not used to people liking him- let alone being this intrigued by him. And especially when it’s in the form of reciprocation, from the one person he’s infatuated with, too.

“Why is it scary?” Minho questions, facing you now, his eyes darting briefly over your lips and then back up to your worried gaze.

“Because I’m here for a job. I’m not supposed to be feeling all this. You’re not supposed to be part of this.”

“How do you know that?” Minho retorts, leaning in a little closer to you now.

“I just…”

“You’re allowed to feel, y/n. You’re allowed to want this.”

And before you can protest his words, his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately like he’s pacifying the arguments before they can come to fruition. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, your mind racing with a million thoughts about what you’re doing, and what this whole thing even implies, but you shut them out with the rest of your concerns, pressing your thighs together as he brings two hands to your face and cups your chin gently. His lips work against yours so beautifully, so effortlessly, like the two of you have done this several times before. And maybe you have, in all his alternate universe theories- on your honeymoon, on the run from the police- right here in the comfort of his grand bedroom, his hands snaking up to pull off your cardigan as you tug desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. Minho says nothing between passionate kisses, afraid if he talks you might realize what’s happening and leave. But you won’t leave, especially not when you’ve been dreaming of this, too.

When your cardigan is off, Minho moves a little closer to you on the bed, letting one hand guide itself onto your waist and trace the gentle curve of your body there. He’s delicate with his movements, careful not to startle you with his touches, but he’s also admittedly thought about this for weeks. The thought of you confessing was never something that crossed his mind- he was so sure he’d driven you away after that night. Never in his wildest fantasies had Minho considered the possibility that you were this smitten with him, too. But he did have thoughts of your lips on his, thoughts of your hands intertwined with his and ungodly visions of you under him, right here in his bed. Visions of his mouth on your breasts after you’d accidentally exposed yourself to him in the kitchen and he was forced to give attention to the massive erection that grew in his pants. And after you’d gifted him his favorite book, attentive to the details he’d indulged you in which he never otherwise shared with people, visions of making love to you ran rampant in his mind, filling you up over and over again with remnants of him as a form of saying I’m infatuated with you, too.

Minho’s kisses become needier as your words replay in his head, darting his tongue out to dance against yours with the sounds of exchanging saliva present between your plump, eager lips. He pushes you back gently so that you’re now lying on his pillow, the angle so intimate, the view of his room from here like something you’re not supposed to see. The ceilings appear even larger when you’re flat against his bed, the curtains that drape over his bedpost seemingly miles high.

Minho’s kisses trail down to your neck now, eagerly peppering your flesh in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer to you and letting him graze his lips wherever he desires. You can’t help but feel guilty having him all over you like this when you remember how you’ve treated him these past couple months- criticizing his tendencies to be quiet, intruding on his space and pushing him away because of a girl you’d assumed to be his girlfriend. But you also know most of it has been because you want him to mean more to you- perhaps you’ve just been trying to change things so that in this version of the universe, he’s not just an enigma to you. You want all of this- his lips on yours, his body pressed into you and to give yourself completely to him.

“Just so we’re clear,” Minho says suddenly, pulling away from you to hold eye contact with you. “I’m crazy about you, too. I really like you.”

And you can’t help but smile back in response, pulling him in again to press his lips on yours. He smiles into the kiss, too, satisfied you’re both on the same page. And although your now eager movements imply something more is about to happen, you don’t have to verbalize anything, his fingers snaking up your shirt serving as answer enough.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, grazing your flesh with his big hands as he toys with the hem of your shirt.

You nod in response, sitting up a little and completing the task of pulling it off over your head and discarding it beside you. You waste no time on your bra, either, reaching around to unclasp it and rid yourself of the fabric without him having to ask. His eyes widen again at the sight, having remembered every curve of your body since that incident in the kitchen. But now in front of him again, he feels his cock swell in his pants, desperate to act on the urge. In nimble movements, his hand cups the mound of your breast, kneading it gently and sighing at the sensation of your soft skin against his. His mouth finds yours again, indulging you in a slow, passionate kiss, and then he trails down until he meets his hand at the mound of your breast, pressing a chaste kiss to your flesh before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

He starts with gentle kisses while your nipple rests between his lips, a string of saliva dribbling down to coat your hardened bud. And then he takes it between his lips with more force, beginning a gentle sucking motion as he gives your other nipple attention with his free hand, circling the tip with his thumb in tender movements.

You sigh beneath him, the sensation sending a shiver up your core, your nipples hardening even more in his touch, now eager for him to give your soaking core some attention. But he takes his time stimulating you, moving to your other breast to take your nipple in his mouth and leave a trail of saliva. Your body shivers when the cool air grazes your wet nipples as he pulls away, and he meets your lips again to kiss you passionately.

While he kisses you, your hands now toy with the hem of his shirt too, signifying for him to take it off. And Minho reciprocates with a little nod, finally pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare chest to you. It’s a marvelous sight to see more of his honey-tanned skin, his toned muscles and his broad pectorals practically begging for you to touch them. And just above his stomach, a horizontal pale pink scar, one that he eyes momentarily and then gives you a shy shrug.

You run your fingers along the scar briefly, tracing it in its entirety and bringing your hand up to caress his face.

“I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you,” you say to him sheepishly, tracing the scar again. “You look like the poetry you’re so obsessed with.”

Minho feels an involuntary smile pulling at his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time intent on giving himself fully to you the way you deserve.

Your kisses both grow hungrier, needier, as your bodies tangle into each other, and Minho loops a finger into the hem of your panties, tugging them down so that he has access to your sopping cunt. As your hands tangle further into his soft brown hair, his finger traces down the length of your stomach, dipping into every curve and over every inch of flesh he only got a brief sight of. And when he finds your mound, you arch up into him, parting your legs slightly to give him access. Minho doesn’t waste another second, attaching the pads of his fingers to your clit and working you in circular motions as he kisses you. Little gasps escape your mouth as he does, breathing heavily into his kisses and grinding your core closer to him as he quickens his pace, smearing your arousal around your aching clit and circling two fingers around to massage you gently. His cock is now fully erect against his abdomen, prodding into your upper thigh as he trails his kisses down your neck again, but he’s patient, forgiving with his movements, eager to pleasure you first.

As his kisses graze your neck, you tug his boxers over his cock, pulling them down so you’re equal parts undressed. Minho winces a little at the sensation, a bead of precum already dripping down the head of his cock, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at just the sight of him hard for you.

When he takes note of your anticipation, he glances down at his own erection, locking his gaze with yours again as if to confirm again that this is okay. You nod in response, reaching your hands around to loop them behind his neck and pull him a little closer. And then your gaze falls to his cock again, waiting for him to make the next move.

The two of you say nothing as Minho’s hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself gently before leaning in to kiss you. He lets himself hover closer over you, until his cock is kissing your entrance in the same gentle, wet movements as your lips. You lift your leg up slightly to grant him access, and then in gentle movements as your eyes remain shut, you feel him push his tip inside of you, stretching you out around his girth and causing you to gasp. He’s bigger than you anticipated, even the dripping arousal of your cunt having trouble taking him wholly. But he brings his fingers down to your clit again, massaging you slowly to ease the pain. And it works, your body relaxing around him as he pulls back a little and thrusts in again, this time pushing further until he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, his cock pulsating inside of you as he holds it there, feeling every inch of you clench around him and take him so well now. And then with a gentle kiss to your lips, he begins to move, his hips pulling back slowly to thrust back inside of you.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly as you’d always imagined him- circling your thoughts, hovering over you and finally inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix so delicately with every thrust. Your labored breaths become one as you pant into each other’s mouths with overwhelming pleasure. Minho steadies himself with one hand on the mattress beside you, quickening his pace a little as he feels his cock twitch inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as he continues to slip in and out of your soaking cunt. “You’re so full of me, aren’t you?”

He brings his lips to your neck again, nibbling the flesh between his teeth and letting it bruise as you moan beneath him.

“I’ve thought about you everyday,” you respond, angling his lips to yours again as he fucks you. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

“Yeah?” Minho says with a satisfied smile, working circles back onto your clit.

“Yes,” you breathe back, toying with his hair as your arms wrap around his neck. “I wanted you to fuck me like the characters in your romance novels.”

Minho feels his cock twitch again, wincing and slowing his pace so as not to finish just yet.

“I can’t help it,” you whimper underneath him. “I think about you all the time. I think about you fucking me all the time.”

Minho intertwines his hand with yours, pressing it down on your abdomen and letting yourself feel when his bulge fills you up at every thrust, the motion visible beneath your palms.

“Feel that, baby?” He asks between kisses to your drooly lips. “Feel how good I fuck you? Is this what you imagined?”

You gasp at the sensation once you feel it, the bulge of his cock protruding against your palm with every pump inside of you. You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words now.

“I imagined it, too,” he says, picking up his pace now. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you right there the moment I met you.”

He groans a little as you clench around him and moan in response.

“Minho,” you say breathlessly, not missing the way his cock twitches inside of you once again. “Will you finish inside of me?”

He pauses for a moment, scanning your expression for a sign of whether or not you’re being serious.

“Please,” you beg, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m on birth control. Just want to feel your seed inside of me.”

He shuts his eyes briefly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in a little closer.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Minho asks, locking his gaze on yours again. “I want to, but I want you to be sure about it.”

“I’m sure,” you say quickly, the last syllable hitching in the back of your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Please, just wanna feel you fill me up.”

He thrusts harder into you now, the room teeming with the squelching noises of your pussy taking him so effortlessly.

“You like it when we play house like this, huh?” He says, wrapping a hand gently around your throat. “You like imagining me as your husband, don’t you? Fucking you like we’re married?”

And it doesn’t take you more than a second to think before you’re nodding desperately at his words. You do love it, this sense of belonging when you’re in the Lee household. But you also get aroused at this second life you lead alongside him, caring for the baby like it’s one of yours and being fucked by Minho when no one else is around to hear your lewd moans.

“Yes,” you reply, your response muffled by his grasp on your throat. “You make such a good dad.”

“We’d make such good parents,” he emphasizes, kissing you breathlessly. “What do you say I fuck a baby into you and we find out for real?”

You feel yourself contract around his girth at the words, not having considered it seriously, but turned on at the idea of carrying a child just for him.

“Is that what you want?” Minho asks, nearing his orgasm as he thrusts even faster into you now, panting into your mouth above you.

“Yes,” you reply with a whimper. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, pressing your abdomen harder with his hand. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Want you to feel it.”

Your senses hone in on the feeling of your palm over his bulge, pulsating rhythmically as he nears his orgasm.

“I’m cumming, fuck, I’m gonna finish,” Minho says, shutting his eyes in pleasure as he moves at his fastest pace now, his grip around your throat holding you steady as you lose yourself underneath him. He’s never finished inside someone before, but he has no intention of pulling out now, the conversation of impregnating you sending him over the edge as he reaches the cusp of his release.

You contract around his breathlessly now, eager to take his load, never having taken someone’s either, but desperate for Minho to be your first.

And with a few more harsh thrusts, Minho’s cock twitches once inside of you, finally letting out a generous load of his cum inside of you, the gush of his release filling you up so fully, the warm sensation of his milky white release thrusting deep inside of your pussy as he fucks the rest into you.

He feels his head spin, his eyes shutting instinctively at the sensation as he lets go fully inside of you, no urgency to pull out or stave off his release like he usually has to. And it takes a while before he’s begun to soften again, the knowledge of giving you his cum almost rousing him again and lengthening the period of his release inside of you. Minho already knows he’s going to be addicted to finishing inside of you from here on out- and he doesn’t want it any other way.

The warm feeling is all it takes for you to finish in mere seconds, contracting around him as he fucks you through his orgasm, your release mixing with his and dribbling down the side of your thighs as he begins to slow down. Minho doesn’t pull out immediately, instead caressing your face to gauge your reaction as he softens inside of you.

“Was it okay?” Minho queries, tucking sweaty strands of hair behind your ears and loosening his grasp on your throat.

“It was more than okay,” you say breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he smiles down at you. “I feel so full of you.”

Minho kisses you sweetly, rubbing his thumb along your hand soothingly as he pulls out of you, a string of his cum connecting to you still and dribbling onto the sheets as he rolls over to lay on his side.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath and ponder the day’s events. It’s not what you expected was going to happen when you saw yourself up to his room again, but it is what you’d hoped would happen eventually. And the atmosphere feels much lighter around you now, completely void of the lingering sexual and emotional tension that’s plagued you for so long.

“Minho?” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Philosophically speaking, how many versions of us do you think are lying next to each other like this, right now?”

Minho thinks over your words for a moment, and then he chuckles lightly.

“Well if the universe was conditioned right, I’d hope for an infinite amount. But considering how long it took us to get here in this version, I’d say just one.”

And he sits up, leaning in for another kiss as two fingers tuck his arousal further into you, holding his release inside of your still-sensitive body.

“Have some bacon, honey,” Mrs. Lee says to you as she scrambles to get her things together for the day. “I made a lot, so help yourself.”

“Thanks,” you reply, strapping Joon into his high chair and smoothing down your skirt.

Ever since that evening, you and Minho have been inseparable. The two of you wait until Mrs. Lee is gone for the morning, desperately grabbing at each other and giggling between kisses until Minho has to leave for his classes. And when he returns, it’s much of the same, the two of you helping put Joon down for his afternoon nap before escaping up to his bedroom and making love until Joon wakes again.

Minho is completely and utterly obsessed with you, the same way you are with him, but you both know this game of house you play can’t go on forever. Mostly because you feel the guilt eating away at you day by day, every waking minute you’re tending to your duties as a babysitter or conversing with Mrs. Lee. It’s hard to be in the same room as Minho when she’s around, the urge to just confess even more present when she attempts to facilitate conversation between the two of you and you’re forced to act like he’s still a mystery.

But you have him more figured out than you ever have before, memorizing the freckles on his body like the back of your hand, reciting his favorite quotes like prayers and replaying the melodic giggles that escape his lips. You don’t want to be apart from him, but the point still stands- it’s scary to like someone this much. He consumes you more than he ever has before, filling every waking second of your life with remnants of him. You love when he reads romantic philosophical theories to you, or when he cooks you and Joon dinner after a long day. But you feel guilty when you’re alone with Joon again, hoping he can’t somehow tell that you’re only thinking of his brother when you’re preparing his bottles or feeding him. You hope Mrs. Lee doesn’t notice when your hair is a little too tousled to have just been from a nap, or the time you had to cross your legs to keep Minho’s release inside of you when the two of you had finished just in time for her to make it home. It’s selfish, and it’s unfair. And with no sign of this fling stopping anytime soon, you don’t see any other option to be fit.

“I’m leaving,” Mrs. Lee finally says, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen table and pulling her heels on. “Make sure to get Joon his medicine!”

The two of you watch as she shuts the front door behind her, and then you wait until her car starts, holding your breath as she pulls out of the driveway and begins down the street in what feels like an agonizing amount of time.

The minute she’s gone, Minho turns to you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean back against the counter.

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile. He wastes no time leaning in for a romantic kiss, which you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling into him.

When he pulls away, the two of you say nothing, holding each other in a comfortable embrace as he rubs little circles into the small of your back.

“I guess it’s just mom and dad home right now,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. “I’ll ditch class right now if you want me to fill you up again.”

And his offer is tempting as he presses his erection into you, working more kisses down the nape of your neck and trailing his hands up your skirt.

“No,” you finally say, pushing him away and collecting your thoughts. “You need to get to class. I have a lot of stuff to do. I’m working, in case you forgot.”

“Okay, okay,” Minho says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I digress.”

He pulls back to caress your face with a visible smirk as your eyes graze his thighs, so beautifully sculpted under the fabric of his jeans. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so sinfully tempted by somebody before, like Eve to the apple, like a moth to a flame- he’s intoxicating, but you know you shouldn’t be indulging this while you’re here to fulfill your role as a babysitter.

“You should go,” you say to him, swallowing nervously as his hands trace the outline of your lips.

“Yeah,” Minho replies, a hint of disappointment present in his voice.

And without another word, he gathers his car keys off the table, sending you off with a little wave as he disappears for the day.

You may have Minho mostly figured out now- his fascination with romance and philosophy, his soft interior under the stoic exterior he presents everyone else with, his astounding levels of emotional intelligence and unwavering kindness for the people he loves. But now that things have become a little more complicated between the two of you, you fear all of this will come to an end as fortuitously as it all began.

The reality is, this isn’t one of Minho’s romance novels- you’re both real people, with emotions and convictions and reservations. And though you want this fleeting thing to last forever, you’re well aware that things don’t work that way, especially when you’re just a babysitter at the end of it all. Sure, Minho sees you as much more than that- but you were hired to be here in the Lee household, paid to fulfill your role here, and once this comes to an end, your relationship with Minho likely will, too.

… and thus, the decision to quit your job isn’t one you take lightly. It succeeds hours of thinking, weighing your options and planning out exactly what you’re going to tell Mrs. Lee when she asks why you’re leaving so suddenly. You want to do another internship, you decide on telling her, hoping she doesn’t poke enough holes to get the truth out of you- “I think far too much about your eldest son and it’s eating me alive.”

All day long, you try your best to shut Minho out of your thoughts, focusing on your online courses and caring for Joon like you used to. But it feels futile, this task of pretending things are the way they used to be. They’re not- you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back and hooking up with her eldest son. When all’s said and done, you’ll be right back in your own home, with your parents desperate to send you elsewhere once again, and your own life to tend to. This double life you romanticize isn’t real, nor is it attainable anymore.

Your phone call with Mrs. Lee to announce your decision doesn’t set anything in stone yet, her words urging you to speak with her later this week when she has some free time. But you know once you do speak with her, you’ll only have a few evenings left with Minho until this is all over. And you don’t have the heart to tell him just yet, but if things go anything the way they did when you first brought it up to him, you know he’s going to be heartbroken.

When Minho arrives home that evening, he can already sense something is wrong. You’re sat in the garden, where you typically don’t go, your legs crossed neatly over one of the sunlounger chairs as you let your thoughts consume you. Mrs. Lee’s koi fish fountain stands nobly in front of you, a robust stream of water trickling from its lips and into the concrete bowl below. You’re mesmerized by it as you always are, the steady sound of water coupled with the birds chirping in the sunny greenery around you as peaceful as ever.

“Hey,” Minho says, sliding open the screen door and stepping outside to meet you.

“Hi,” you reply, holding a hand up over you to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten how divine he looked today, his white button up now folded up at the sleeves and exposing his veiny forearms to you.

“How was your day?” Minho asks, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he occupies the spot beside you and stares at the fountain.

“Okay,” you respond, though you’re lying through your teeth. “Joon went down about an hour ago.”

Minho nods, and then he furrows his brows together as he speaks again.

“Why are you out here?”

You shrug in response, keeping short with your words as he pushes you for answers. And you want to tell him it’s because you made the most painful decision to call Mrs. Lee and forfeit all of this, but you know it’ll only hurt more, so you divert from the truth.

“It was stuffy inside,” you voice back, shooting him a small smile.

Minho seems to relax beside you, his shoulders sagging a little as he takes notice of your calm demeanor. He doesn’t have reason to believe anything’s wrong, judging by the way you converse so casually.

“You want me to cook you something?” Minho asks, placing his palm up next to you, and you let your hand intertwine with his.

“Will you read to me?” You ask, eager to indulge in your favorite activity alongside him.

“I can read to you,” Minho echoes back, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. “Which book?”

You’re both in the cozy atmosphere of the library later that evening, Minho sat on his favorite velvet armchair as you occupy a spot in his lap with his arms wrapped around you. The book is positioned in front of him so you can both see, his fingers holding open the thin pages as the poetry leaves his lips, pausing in between lines to press kisses to the crook of your neck when he’s reminded of you in his favorite characters.

And you hold back tears in the moment, wanting so badly to tell Minho that you’ll be letting go of all of this, running back to the monotony of your old life, one where Minho doesn’t exist and you don’t have to balance the complicated feelings of liking someone to this degree. But you bite back your words, careful not to ruin the intimate moment you share while he loves you in an ignorant state of bliss.

“The pleasures of love are always in proportion to the fear,” Minho begins a new chapter, grazing your neck with his lips.

He trails a bit lower to graze your shoulder now, pressing a small trail of kisses as he pauses his reading. You giggle softly in response, feeling his fingers find the strap of your tank top to pull it down your shoulder so he can pepper kisses there, too.

“Minho,” you say softly, writhing in his embrace as he tickles every inch of your skin with his kisses, now shutting the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.

“Can’t help it,” Minho responds, shutting his eyes as he snakes his hands up the back of your tank top. “You look so beautiful right now.”

As you adjust in his lap, you can feel he’s now rock-hard in his jeans below you, his thighs flexing underneath you as he wraps two hands around your waist and runs them up and down your sides. You take the hint, turning around in his lap to face him, and let your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asks, bringing his lips to yours as he feels his hardened cock graze against the fabric of his jeans, eager to pleasure you.

You want to express your fears, your doubts, to tell him the truth about what you spoke about on the phone with Mrs. Lee earlier today. But you can’t, not when he looks so tantalizing in front of you like this, his bulge perfectly outlined in his tight jeans and his veiny arms flexing below the fabric of his collared button-up. You’ve been roused for him since he left in the morning, his offer swirling your mind coupled with his appearance, like something out of a wet dream.

“You,” you voice back, whimpering pathetically into another kiss and rocking your hips gently over him so that he’s practically whimpering for you, too.

Neither of you have to say much, knowing already where the evening is headed, as you unzip his pants and palm his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Minho watches as you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him and tugging the fabric of his jeans. He complies with your urges, pulling them down to his knees and freeing his erection from his boxers, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze of the room grazes his leaking tip.

Without a second to waste, you take him in your mouth, letting your saliva coat his shaft as you kiss his tip tenderly and then guide him down your throat, the base of his cock just barely meeting your lips as you struggle to take him fully. Minho groans at the contact, bucking his hips off the chair to guide himself further into you, feeling his cock twitch when you gag a little at the contact. You stay like that for a good while, bobbing your head in rhythmic motions up and down his hardened length, your saliva allowing you to graze his shaft with ease.

Minho’s thighs contract desperately below him, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s been longing for since the moment he saw you this morning. His hands find your hair, pulling your locks into a makeshift ponytail and gasping as you take him a bit deeper now, pulling back again to pepper the tip of his wettened cock in drooly kisses.

“Fuck,” Minho breathes out, clutching the arm of the chair so desperately. “Baby, stop, I don’t want to finish yet,”

And you release him with a gentle pop, knowing exactly what it is he wants so badly. You never deny it, sitting back up again to position yourself over his cock you intertwine his hands with yours. He uses one hand to tug your panties to the side, and then in one swift motion, you guide his cock inside of you, sliding down the slick of his length and bottoming out with ease. You take him so well now, always able to adjust to his girth instantly as your cunt is always dripping in anticipation when he’s near.

Minho’s hand moves to push your tank top up, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly as you begin to bounce on him with gentle movements. The room fills with sounds of panting, sucking and desperate moans as his cock fills you fully with every thrust, brushing against your cervix as he moves to your other nipple and kneads your breast desperately.

“What was that quote again?” You ask in labored breaths as he comes back up to kiss your lips.

“The pleasures of love,” he begins, breathlessly working his lips against yours as you clench around his length. “Are always in proportion to the fear.”

Minho feels his cock twitch inside of you, always nearing his finish much faster when you make him recite all his favorite quotes and book excerpts to you.

Except this one speaks much louder to you, directly aligning with your present-day emotions, circling your mind relentlessly as he fills you. Maybe this is what his book speaks of- the pleasures of love, being filled so fully and lovingly by Minho, two pieces of one whole like you’re both made for this, to make love into the late hours of the night while he recites poetry to you.

And all of this in proportion to the fear- this constant fear that he’s just a fleeting entity, that you’re both naive to play house like this and pretend it’s anything more. The fear present while you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back, letting him fuck you like he’s married to you and indulge you in all of his deepest secrets, as though you’re the only one allowed to know him this intimately.

The love and fear and indeed in proportion to one another- you love him as much as you’re afraid of loving him.

“I love you,” you say suddenly, bringing him in for another kiss before he can respond. But the way his kisses work against yours, hungry and passionate, there’s not a hint of reluctance in his response when he pulls away to speak again.

“I love you,” Minho breathes back, working his kisses against yours as his cock pulsates inside of you, desperate for release. “And I hope every version of the universe is conditioned for us to be right here.”

You smile into him, slowing your movements as you feel him contract inside of you, and then his thighs flex as he finally finishes inside of you, shooting hot white ropes of his cum into your still-clenching cunt, his release already beginning to dribble back down his length as he feels you slow down over him.

You bring a hand between the two of you, gathering his cum on the pads of your fingers to circle your clit in gentle movements, stimulating yourself to your release, too, as you contract desperately around him and breathe labored kisses back into his mouth. Your juices mix with his as you catch your breath, keeping him inside of you as your chest rises and falls with gentle movements. But the two of you say nothing, pressing your lips together to indulge in more passionate kisses for the few minutes you have left before Mrs. Lee makes it home for the evening.

The garden is particularly beautiful the next afternoon, teeming with the sounds of birds chirping and trees swaying in the gentle autumn breeze. Mrs. Lee let you know she’d be home a little earlier to have a chat about your decision to leave, and when Joon is put down for his afternoon nap, you receive the call that she’s in the garden waiting for you. You enter hesitantly, worried Minho might catch you and question what you’re doing out here. But he’s not home from school yet, you remind yourself, glancing around the tall grass and neat rows of potted plants for Mrs. Lee.

“Y/n!” A voice calls from one of the patio chairs. “Come, sit!”

Mrs. Lee sits with her back facing you, a large white sun hat atop her neatly styled hair and complementing her matching white jumpsuit. Her gaze remains locked on the koi fountain you’re always transfixed by, too.

“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you say, giving her a small bow as you take the seat next to her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She nods with a smile. “So good to see you when we have a little more time. I’m sorry I’m always such a mess in the mornings.”

You shake your head quickly, brushing off her words. “Not at all! It’s always nice to greet the family before I start my day.”

She just smiles in response, turning to nod at you, and then she turns back to the fountain.

“I was a little surprised when you called the other day. I hope things are going okay.”

“They are,” you interrupt quickly. “They absolutely are. Joon is so pleasant, and the job is great. I really love it here.”

“I hope everything at home is okay,” she moves on to say, and you quickly reassure her.

“Yes, everything is fine! Everyone is doing great.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Lee says, eyeing the ground before turning to face you now. “You’ve done so much for us, I’d be lying if I said I’m not going to miss having you around here in the mornings.”

You shoot her a sympathetic look, feeling a pit form in your stomach, too. You feel the same, probably tenfold, at the idea of leaving behind the household you’ve called home for so many days.

“I’m going to miss it here, too.”

“And I know Joon is going to be heartbroken,” Mrs. Lee says with a chuckle.

You chuckle too, giving her an understanding nod.

She pauses briefly, furrowing her brows together, before continuing her speech.

“You’re such a bright young woman, and I know you’re destined to do amazing things. If there’s a way I can help in this transition, please don’t hesitate to let me know, okay?”

You nod at her words, and watch as she smooths down her top before standing up. She seems to wait for a moment, as if hoping for you to say something, and when you don’t, she begins to make her way back inside.

“Well, I’ll let you go for the evening. Thank you again, for everything. And you have my phone number if-”

“Mrs. Lee?” You call out suddenly, catching her before she can get much further. She turns around at the worry present in your voice, her face shifting into that of concern.

Without having to voice anything else, Mrs. Lee sits down again, waiting for you to continue. But you can’t, your heart beating wildly in your chest at the thought of even bringing up the topic of Minho. I’m in love with your son, you want to say to her. I’m so in love with Minho and I hope you understand I don’t have a choice but to leave this all behind me.

“You know,” Mrs. Lee interrupts your thoughts, breaking the silence that fills the air. “This koi fountain was my first gift from Mr. Lee.”

You nod at her, remembering when she introduced it to you on your first day here.

“We weren’t married yet. It was his first restoration project, and my dad hated him. So he had a lot of trouble getting it over to me.”

You chuckle lightly, amused at her story which seems to calm you down a little.

“Luckily his parents adored me,” she continues. “And they offered to house it in their backyard until we married. For the 15 years we dated, my koi fish lived in their garden. And when we did marry, they rented a big truck to help haul it over. It was such a project! But it’s my favorite part of the garden.”

You shoot her a saccharine smile, well endeared at the way she speaks of Mr. Lee. You can tell she’s in love with him, even this many years later.

“Sometimes I wondered why they would do something so nice for me. But as I grew closer to them, I learned not to question what was meant for me. They loved me, as did Mr. Lee. And I wasn’t going to run from any of that, no matter what I felt I deserved.”

Your head snaps in her direction at her last words, realizing how they apply to you. But she doesn’t know about Minho- at least not to your knowledge, or Minho’s. She gives you a sheepish smile as you furrow your brows, and then she takes your hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.

“I hope you won't run from what you deserve, either.”

You nod a little bit at her words, finally understanding the weight of them, and then you look back at her with a confused expression.

“Mrs. Lee, are you talking about…”

“Minho?” She finally says, with a warm smile. She takes your other hand in hers, too, tilting her face to yours so that she’s making proper eye contact as she speaks.

“I had wondered why he was so happy these days. Minho’s always been a bit of an outcast. But I haven’t seen this spark in him since he started his obsession with all those romance novels and philosophy studies of his.”

You chuckle lightly, a weight off your shoulders as she finally speaks of what circles your mind so heavily.

“But how did you…”

“I knew it when I saw it,” she says. “I knew it, because he had the same look in his eyes as when I met his father.”

You feel your heart swell in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as she continues to speak.

“He speaks of you like poetry,” she tells you. “And for that alone, I’m thankful for you. Now what you choose to do is your decision- but I hope you know you will always have a home here with us. Not just as a babysitter, but as family.”

When Mrs. Lee finishes her speech, she gives your hands a little squeeze, smiling at you and back at the koi fish fountain. It feels much more sentimental to you even now, the beautiful waterfall that cascades serving as a reminder of its permanent restoration rooted in the infatuation Mr. Lee had for Mrs. Lee. And watching it stand so beautifully like it did all those years ago, you’re reminded that love can be a lasting thing, no matter the circumstances. The universe can condition itself to make things last, affirming the philosophical notions Minho’s always told you. And that perhaps you do deserve this, a sense of belonging here in the Lee household, right here alongside Mrs. Lee and Minho, and even baby Joon.

As you watch the fountain together, the sound of the sliding door makes itself known behind you, and you turn around to find Minho entering the garden, baby Joon sitting comfortably in his arms as he makes his way over.

“Hi,” Minho says, coming around to give Mrs. Lee a kiss on her cheek. “What’s going on here?”

He looks visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Mrs. Lee, as if to silently ask you what she’s told you.

But Mrs. Lee just smiles at him, as she gets up from where she’s sitting and smooths down her jumpsuit.

“We were just having a girl chat. I’ll leave you two alone.”

And she disappears behind the screen door again, shooting you a little wink as she does, her anecdote circling your mind, still.

“What happened?” Minho asks, settling down next to you and balancing baby Joon on his knee. Joon fists at the fabric of his shirt, babbling incoherently as you smile down at him.

“Nothing,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. You refrain from saying anything about leaving, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment you share with Minho and Joon in the sunlight of the garden.

“You have a really cool mom,” you settle on saying, smiling at Minho as he chuckles softly in response.

The afternoon sun beams through the glass windows of the library as you lie comfortably in Minho’s lap, his book positioned in front of you as he presses a small kiss to the back of your hand before turning the page.

Outside, the birds chirp songs of early spring, the steady stream of Mrs. Lee’s koi fountain audible as you peer down at the garden.

Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit in the tall grass, fiddling with a box of tools as Mr. Lee repairs a new project for Mrs. Lee. This one’s a much larger fountain, one he’d told you would take several months, perhaps even years. But Mrs. Lee sits beside him, relishing in stories of his restoration process and laughing with him as he works. You can’t help but smile at the sight, her stories about him playing in your mind whenever you catch a glimpse of them together.

“Do you think they could be us in another universe?” You ask Minho, turning to face him as he peers out the window, too.

“I hope so,” he says with a smile.

You settle closer to him in his lap, pressing a small kiss to his hand as he continues reading.

“And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”

At his words, you hear baby Joon cry out, having woken from his afternoon nap.

“I’ll get him,” Minho says, shutting the book and setting it aside to go tend to the baby.

And as you peer back out the window, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s laughter filling your ears, baby Joon’s voice calling to you, Minho’s philosophy book perched on the chair beside you and the sun beams shining their light through the windows, you know that this is belonging, this is love.

#stray kids #skz smut #Lee Minho #Lee know #stray kids hard hours #Lee know smut #lee know scenarios #skz x reader #skz hard hours #stray kids x you #skz #fanfic #request #requests open #Spotify

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nonasuch · 1 year

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here is a concept: time travel cop, fish & wildlife division

most of their job is dealing with the kinds of assholes who think black market tiger cubs are a great idea right up until someone gets mauled, except these are even bigger assholes with black market Smilodon cubs that they are even less equipped to care for

this is the most straightforward and therefore relatively headache-free part of their job, because it’s the same “put that thing back where it came from or so help me” song and dance every time

it’s also significantly less depressing than the trophy hunters who don’t even want an alive extinct animal. those are extra annoying because you have to undo the time travel that let them kill that poor Megatherium or thylacine or anklyosaur or whatever, and it’s always so much extra paperwork.

and those people suck, definitely, and have fully earned a stint in Time Jail. no question. but they still do not create anywhere near as much work as the obsessive hobbyists with their exhaustively careful best practices and worryingly good track-covering. also, weirdly, it’s almost always birds with them?

like. the guys who will flagrantly abuse Time Law to bird-nap breeding pairs just long enough to raise one clutch of eggs apiece, and return them seamlessly to their spots on the timeline. who are so determined to keep their pet (ha) projects going that no one even realizes what they’re doing until they have an entire stable breeding population of passenger pigeons up and running. who are now the reason that reps from six different zoos are about to start throwing hands right in front of you over who gets dibs.

those guys cause the most paperwork. and half the time they’re snapped up by the same zoo or wildlife preserve that gets their colony of ivory-billed woodpeckers or Carolina parakeets or — once, very memorably — giant fucking South Island moa, and they never even spend a day in Time Jail.

#purely notional fiction #time travel #actually the tropical fish guys are probably even worse than the bird guys #but they keep a lower profile so they’re harder to catch #time cops: fish & wildlife

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chrollohearttags · 8 months

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fuck me like you hate me • eren jaeger x black fem reader

I know I said I hate seeing my babies fight but I’m tweaking over the idea of some nasty ass, filthy hate sex between eren and (y/n). Like imagine they’ve just moved in together, adjusting to living with another person and they have been walking around mad as hell at each other over dumb shit around the house and from work (him ignoring her for recording sessions and her on Instagram showing a lil too much for his liking). The tension is CRAZY. It explodes into a huge argument..they think about breaking up but instead, fuck their frustrations out, I—😫😫

content warning: very ROUGH sex, name calling, use of N-word (by reader obv) degradation, hitting, spit play, oral sex, fingering, backshots, slapping, choking, hair pulling, overstimulation, implied dacryphilia,breeding, marking and spanking, riding, .2 seconds of switch eren, bunch of other shit omg just proceed with caution, does have a really happy ending and lots of aftercare 🥹

word count: 8.3K

📝: and forewarning before anybody can come leave a dumbass comment, this isn’t in support or condoning of toxic relationships, fighting, domestic altercations/violence, etc. and this will be my very first and last time writing something of this degree. Also, this is purely fiction and all of these aforementioned topics will only be slightly touched on without graphic detail, as they can be extremely triggering and sensitive. Again, read this at your own discretion! (And keep it very cute)

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰──── ───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡

“Shit! Oh my God—fuck! Moveeee..gimme my phone.”

“Shut the fuck up..you want to post everything, let’s post this.”

the words spewed like venom from between your boyfriend’s lips. Much like the many times that he called you baby, princess..or said ‘I love you’. But lately, things had been a little less affectionate around the Jaeger household. It had only been six months since the two of you had moved in together. Taking your newly public relationship to the next level and committing to one another. It was supposed to be a joyous time yet it was the exact opposite! As of late, particularly in the past few weeks, the two of you had been at odds and each other’s throats to say the least. The anger constantly building and only becoming worse by the minute. So much so, the both of you had questioned if living under the same roof was a wise option and even more so, contemplated splitting up..but alas, it seems you found a better solution:

“Show all your little followers how you take this dick. Let ‘em see you getting fucked like a slut. Since you wanna act like one.”

“Maybe I’ll show them how weak this lil’ stroke game is. Ain’t shut me up yet, baby.”

“But you can’t stop fucking up my sheets. Stop lying.”

the whole situation arose not too long ago, stemming from the fact that he had been working nonstop on new projects. As happy as you were that he was back into his groove, you were sick of being ignored and neglected for a damn album. Shelved and discarded like nothing more than a toy. It was infuriating, especially when you went out of your way after your own gigs and busy schedule to cook him dinner and make him snacks; even trying to surprise the man with a few little..outtakes and teasers from your photo shoots. Preferably the ones where you were nude or playing with yourself. Did he pay them any attention? Hell no. In retaliation, you decided you’d give him a taste of his own medicine..by blocking him on Instagram and purposely posting some rather wild shit. Such as you practically tongue kissing your homegirl as you guys took shots at the pool. Or twerking in a new fit normally worn by dancers and sex workers…it didn’t help matters any when he had to see the sultry posts by proxy from one of his friends, who shared it with him while at the studio one night and when he confronted you about it, you could care less. Saying that maybe someone else would appreciate it if he didn’t. Which had him completely irate and the situation escalated further than it ever should have. But this festering fire of resentment didn’t just boil over today. This had been due to weeks worth of rising frustrations. Eren felt as if he had worked to curate his sanctuary and you were destroying that and you were pissed that he agreed to you living together when he obviously didn’t even want you there. But it all came to a head only a couple hours ago..

flashback

the two of you standing in the bedroom, arguing and going at each other’s throats. Shouting and screaming..it was a situation you promised you’d never find yourself in after your ex and today, you’d had enough. You were ready to leave..call it quits on this entire thing because you refused to be in another toxic relationship. Especially when you cared so deeply for this man. But no amount of love could make you stay in this.

“You won’t even tell me why the fuck you’re so mad! Walking around with a fucking attitude and I’m supposed to read your goddamn mind?! Be serious!”

“Nigga, I shouldn’t have to tell you shit! I waited on you for three hours, Eren! Three motherfucking hours..got dressed, done my hair and everything and you fucking stand me up like my time ain’t worth shit. You don’t give a damn about anybody or anything except that stupid ass music.”

needless to say, tensions were high…you were both angry and it was probably best if you guys stepped away and gave yourselves time to reevaluate the situation but instead, you were running on fumes and pure fire. Only making matters worse. Thank goodness no housekeeping staff was around to hear this altercation because you guys would probably be on the front page of TMZ. Either way, neither of you cared. Right now, you just wanted to vent and get your peace out before the other could. “You mean the same music that’s paying your bills? That’s buying you those fucking purses and hair? Surely, you’re not complaining about that. You damn sure don’t when you wanna spend the money.”

making your blood boil with rage and your eyes well with tears. “You know what? Fuck you, I don’t need your money or nobody else’s. The fuck you think this is? I got my own shit. While you were laid up in the motherfucking suburbs, I was getting to this shit long before I got famous and damn sure before I met you..if you don’t want me here then say that.” But he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot and neither were you…no one wanted to admit they were in the wrong. “No (y/n). I want you to understand that I got business to handle. That I have obligations and if my boys gotta come tell me you’re out here kissing on bitches and entertaining other guys while I’m working then you go wherever you want. I’ve never chased anybody in my life and I damn sure won’t start now. Especially somebody who runs to the internet when they’re mad. Childish as fuck and no woman of mine is gonna have me out here looking stupid. Go be with whoever’s making you happy because it’s obviously not me. Hell, maybe you can work things out with your fuck ass ex since he won’t stop talking about you in his songs. I told you it was a bad idea for us to move in together right now but you just had to. Now look.” The words cutting like a knife clean through butter. Stabbing you in the heart with his hurtful words…you thought this was what he wanted as well and to find out that yet again, you were just another chore like everything else in his life, you were gutted. Not only that, he’d bring up your ex as if that relationship didn’t come along with emotional damage and physical scars. He knew how much of a sensitive topic that was for you and yet, when Eren got angry, he had a tendency to hit below the belt and do so without the slightest bit of hesitation in his voice. With tears in your eyes, unable to hold them back, you’d begin screaming all over again, hitting his chest and trying to take out all your anger on him. Even as you slammed your fists against him, screaming that you hated him and slapping his cheek, he stood there unfazed. He knew your words were from a place of hurt and your actions were not the real you. You’d never raise your hand at him because you knew what that felt like. But feeling as if he didn’t care, you were distraught! So much so, you’d become blind with rage and act out of a place you promised to never go to.

“I fucking hate you, Eren! Swear to fucking God, bro!—all you do is make me feel like shit. If you didn’t want me, all you had to do was leave me alone!” Shouting as you swing your closed fists at his chest, banging on him and wailing as you cry. Screaming and shouting to the top of your lungs.

it was by that point, he’d had enough of being your punching bag. Looking away from you, he’d grasp your wrists, stopping you in your tracks and that only enraged you more. “Let me go, Eren! I’m not playing with you!” Alas, he didn’t say a word though. He didn’t even so much as look at you..staring through you like glass; just holding your hands in place to avoid your hits. Instead, he’d push you to the mattress and pin you back by your wrists. “Don’t put your fucking hands on me, I’m not repeating myself..I don’t play that shit, (y/n). Do it again and we’re done.” grimacing his teeth and leaning down against your face. He was a firm believer that if a relationship ever got physical, it was time to end it. He could never bring himself to put his hands on you, even entertain the thought of it so he wasn’t about to let you disrespect him and do the same. But your rage could not be quelled and instead, you’d start to kick around until he’d bolt your legs down as well. Staring at him like this…hair down, beard and mustache forming on his face, you could tell he hadn’t been himself either and right now, there was a far more primal energy about him. Energy that seemed like it could devour your ass alive if you pushed one more button. “Or what? The fuck you gon’ do? Pussy.” And in that moment, you’d find out just what he had in mind when you decided to spit at his face and in retaliation, he’d only laugh..much more than he should've..right before putting his hand around your throat, clutching it so tight that it causes you to gasp. Restricting your breathing in the process. Which forced your mouth open and allowed him to return it with his own saliva, seeping onto your tongue. With his knee placed between your thigh, brushing against that thinly clothed cunt, he knew you were wet..getting turned on for him even now. “You liked that, didn’t you?” Feeding you a couple slaps to your cheek as you begin to realize the gravity of the situation. “Answer me, bitch. You like spitting so much, I got something for you to use it on.” Suddenly, he’d begin to lean up, tugging at the top of your head next to adjust to eye level with his erection. With one fell swoop from his thumb, he’d tug his sweats down and right before you was his thick cock, standing at full attention. He didn’t want to feel your hands..nothing but straight mouth and throat and right now, he’d guide you as he saw fit. You were his toy right now…shoving that dick between your lips, he’d start to fuck that pretty, tear stained face like it was nothing more than a sleeve. He could hear the gurgling in the back of your throat and feel how hard you were trying but since you had so much to say, he was going to make sure you ate those words.

“What’s that, baby? Can’t hear you..” mocking you as he used your mouth to his heart's content. Balls slapping your chin and jaws suctioned around his shaft. You’d attempt to put your hands up to his hips but he’d slap you and make certain you’d never do so again. Sucking his teeth, Eren laughed as he watched you struggle to engulf all eight and a half inches of that thick girth. “Can’t pop all that shit with my dick in your throat, can you?” Asking rhetorically but he wasn’t done rubbing salt in the wound..you had truly and utterly pissed him off and for the last time. In haste timing, he’d retract from your mouth only momentarily to the sound of you taking sharp gasps and drooling all over yourself. He’d force your head to the edge of the bed, where he’d crawl over and continue his brutal face fucking. But not before he spat in that oral cavity once more, looking at you as if you were nothing more than an object. Bucking his hips and thrusting as if it were an inanimate toy lying in front of him. Your insides were matching the sensation of that of a flesh light, maybe even better. By the time he got into it, a bulge began to form in the center of your esophagus. And try as you might to swat at him, he’d tell you to place your arms by your side and not move them until he stated otherwise.

“I think you’ve forgotten who you’re messing with, princess. I don’t know which bum you’re used to fucking but don’t you ever try that shit with me again. There’s a reason I said I don’t chase anyone. Why would I when I know I’ll have you crawling right back?” and he was right! This man had done things to you that would have any woman stalking him and sitting in his bushes. Even so, you were still pissed off and not much in the way of taking his shit lying down. So as he twitched slightly in your throat, you’d begin to gurgle and gag on his dick, doing tricks to inevitably make him tap out. Grasping the top of your head, he’d tug his shaft from between your lips and spin you around until you were flat on your stomach, and glaring up at his face as he gripped your chin. “You can fuck half the guys in the game and not one of them would ever make you feel the way I would. That pussy will always belong to me. Stop pretending you don’t know that.” His words were so condescending, it made you want to scream but you couldn’t disagree either. Eren always had a nasty habit of playing on people’s psyche and getting under their skin with his words. He was the type to read someone down and not miss a beat. When he was angry, nothing or no one was off limits. Tears were already streaming from your eyes and throat already sore from his brutal handling but he didn’t care. “So I’ve got a great idea…” looking straight past you, he’d extend an arm and lay a heavy handed slap across your backside, still tugging at your hair without any sort of regard for it. “We’re not leaving this room until you and I fix this.” He’d take a moment to clutch his other fist around his cock; tapping it against your tongue, which was hanging out. “Until I fuck you so stupid, you forget what you were so mad about. How’s that sound?” Patting your cheek and inflicting sharp slaps to your ass, causing stinging pain. Along with sensations to your pussy. Proving his words to be true.

Trails of saliva pooled..dribbling from your mouth. Gagging noises constantly arising and filling the room as he relentlessly and disrespectfully fucked that pretty face. At the same time, he’d reach forward so that he could slide two digits inside of inviting heat. Pushing those fingers in and out at an intermediate pace. He’d rub on the sensitive bud with his thumb and pump the other two profusely. You’d slowly start to rut yourself on them, unable to resist him for much longer. “There you go…good girl. I swear, you’re so much prettier like this. Sucking my dick instead of bitching…” he couldn’t help but to fling one more insult in there but trust, he preferred this to arguing any day. Any frustrations the two of you had could be left right here! Continuing to relentlessly fuck your face, Eren teased your little cunt for two reasons: one, because you couldn’t help but to whimper and the sensations caused your throat to spasm and two, he was preparing you for how bad he was going to beat that pussy up. When he finished, you wouldn’t have the energy to move, less known scream at him. He was tired of being at odds with the woman he loved. All too well did he know the pain of practically living with a stranger he felt nothing for and he refused for you guys to turn out the same way. Too many laughs, so much love had been shared between you two for it to end now..

amid disassociating, EJ withdrew his fingers and fat cock from between your lips before telling you to lie on your back. “Spread those legs..” Earning him a side eye from you as those thighs parted to reveal that dripping center. “Bet you’re wet as fuck, aren’t you? Admit it.” Plump lips that were freshly waxed and soaking wet, just for him. There was no one else in this world that could get you so undeniably aroused and you both knew it. Raking his fingers through those long, thick locks, he’d crawl on to the bed; knees pushing through the mattress as he grasped your ankle and tugged you towards him. In that same, swift motion..you’d find your legs pinned back to the covers and feet practically behind your head. “She missed me, didn’t she?” That smug look on his features as he so casually stroked the hood of your clit. He wanted nothing else from you than to wet that beard up. He could tell by the look in your eyes that you weren’t as infuriated as you once were and that fiery spark had dwindled to a twinkle of adoration. But if he knew one thing about you..it was that you’d play coy until you couldn’t any longer. You’d fake an orgasm, pretend to not be turned on. Anything to make him feel inferior. Because you’d try everything to deny him that satisfaction of pleasuring you. You were stubborn, yes but far more aroused..too much to hide it, in fact.

“No, and I didn’t eith—ahh fuck!” Your mouth left agape as he shoved a digit inside and let one rest dormantly on the clit. “Exactly as I thought. Shut the fuck up.” Sitting down entirely, he’d keep your legs pinned back in one hand, as it was nothing with his strength. With all his pent up energy and frustration he’d normally use to fuck you dumb, he had been putting towards intense workouts the past few weeks. Trying to find a way to channel that anger in a healthy way to avoid doing something dumb. Working those two fingers in and out, pumping slowly..Eren made certain you were looking him in the eyes as he maneuvered that little cunt with the delicacy of his hand. Pumping and rubbing in a fluid motion as if it were second nature. Taking you gently by the back of the head, he’d hold you up and let you watch him work. “Shit—I’m not gonna come. If that’s what you want.” “You’re so cute, thinking you have a choice in the matter. Like I said, we’re not leaving until we fix this. So you can drop the fucking act.” Amid his declaration, he’d look you dead in the eye, peering right about your stomach and spit onto your pussy. Disrespectful and raunchy about it as well. He had no regard for you as his girl or even a person right now. You were an object..his little slut he was going to break and mold as he saw fit. “Take your eyes off of me again and I swear to God, you won’t get to come at all. You really don’t want to test me right now.” And something told you, every word seeping from his mouth was a pure fact. This man’s forms of punishment were hellish. One time, you made him so mad, that he fucked you for an hour straight, using a combination of various toys and his cock until you were in tears and refused to let you climax once. No matter how many times he stuffed you or nutted himself. By the time he granted you permission, it was like releasing the pressure on a tightly coiled spring and you nearly collapsed from the intense pressure.

so reluctantly, you’d bat those big brown eyes and fluttery lashes as you watched your man devour that tasty little center. Those jade eyes fixated on you; akin to a shark lying in wait just above sea level..stalking its prey. All you could hear were smacking, slurping and faint moans but what you felt were sensations of pure bliss. Slick had begun to coat the tip of his nose as he nuzzled it between your slit. His tongue lapped up every remnant of those syrup like fluids..sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted. This man ate pussy like his life was on the line and it’d only be a matter of time before he had you as putty in his hands once more. Eventually, Eren would snake his palms up to your own and clasp them together, intertwining those fingers once he removed them, so that you two were holding hands. A level of intimacy that he only showed to someone he cared about. It was blatantly obvious that he still loved you..regardless of how angry you were. Especially when you heard him moaning and sucking on your clit, which inevitably made you melt in his grasp. “Mmmmph..fuck.” Whimpering so softly and slowly rutting yourself against his tongue. “That’s it..fuck my face, baby. Real slow.” The deep rumble in his voice makes you melt even now. Even when you were just screaming at him. Suddenly, your breath would hitch and he’d cause another pang of pleasure to rip through your body. His tongue flickered all throughout your folds and he’d leave gentle kisses on those lower lips. That’s when you felt more saliva on your quivering cunt, combining with your own sweet juices. Those eyes were beginning to cross, toes curling as they rested on his shoulders and that little hole, leaking like a faucet. “You taste so good…and I know it feels even better. Look at the way that shit’s leaking f’r me. Can’t even deny it..” As enjoyable as it was eating you out and normally, he’d stay down there forever, taking in your essence and flavor but for right now..he had to fuck the shit out of you!

suddenly, you’d feel that incredible oral come to an abrupt halt and Eren rising to his feet. Keeping that grasp on your thighs, he’d land a heavy handed smack to your ass and tell you to take hold of your legs now..as he had plans. “Keep that shit open. Hold them.” Demanding as he hovered above you..hand wrapped around his shaft; slowly pumping up from the base. Between using your throat earlier and eating you out, that dick was throbbing and thumping. He needed to be inside of you immediately or he was going to burst. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. You were a puddle of dripping sex and arousal for him. With your panties dangling around your ankles and tank top pulled down, he tugged them off and stuffed the thin material into your mouth. He couldn’t lie..it looked so hot seeing you in such a vulnerable state. But you were going to need it for how hard he was about to pound your pussy. Glaring at you with a smug smirk, he’d place a hand into the center of your belly before easing his cock inside of you..which elicited a heavy grunt arising from his throat.

staring into your eyes, he’d start out with sharp, deep strokes. Ones that didn’t even allow you to adjust to before that cock began to curve up and kiss the inner corner of your cervix. His pace was already rough and somewhat sped up. He didn’t care about your feelings or how it felt. The only thing he wanted to see was a mess made of him. Whimpering through muffled lips, your head would slightly tilt back, along with those watering eyes as your skin collided; sounds of clapping flesh filling the room. It was then that you’d feel his hand creep up to the center of your scalp, tugging you down so that you were forced to see him bulging through your skin so early on.

“Take this dick. C’mon..” never breaking eye contact as he continued thrusting. His hips bucking and moving in a rhythmic motion. He had no regard for any part of you right now..you were merely a hole, a vessel for his pleasure and that was it. That smug grin on his face gave it away.. “fuck!..so deep—g’ahh..why are you fucking me like this? Shit!“ belting out in a shaky whimper through the gag of those panties as you clawed through your own skin with your fingers and palms planted to the backs of your thighs. You’d bite down on them in an attempt to quell that sensation. Feeding you yet another slap, Eren proceeded to take that comfort away by pulling it out and shoving those same fingers into your mouth. “Fucking shame it had to be like this, baby. But you asked for it. Shouldn’t have pissed me off.” Even with sweat trickling down his forehead and very obvious moans escaping his lips, he was still cocky and arrogant to a fault. Even if the grip of that fat cunt swallowing him as he slid in and out had him faltering, he’d never be so weak as to show it..not at a time like this at least. Slamming that cock balls deep; your pelvises clashing with a sheath of creamy fluid molding them together, Eren leaned all the way forward and pressed his entire body weight against you..as some sort of makeshift mating press. Your eyes locked and his lips pressing to yours.

“But imma make sure you don’t have shit else to say when I’m done.” Laughing with all faith and confidence that he could magically make this all go away. However, you were still in a bit of a confrontational mood and decided to challenge him.

“Is that right? Well shut me the fuck up then. Make me be quiet.” With that all too familiar glare in those gorgeous brown eyes of yours. The one that you gave him when you needed some act right..the one that screamed for him to do his worst. “You think your dick’s that good? Please, you don’t know what to do wi—“ Luckily, he was up for the task and you had a rude awakening coming. Snickering, Eren pulled himself up by only an inch, still letting you pop your shit and all; just enough to allow him the room to place his hand around your throat and squeeze until your tongue was hanging out. Meanwhile, his stroke had slowed to a more sporadic pace; thrusts becoming far more uneven and short, yet everyone hit your spot with precision. All the while, his jade eyes never left your own. Suddenly, he’d make good on your declaration and before you knew it…

“Well that was easy enough..what’s the matter, princess? Cat got that tongue? You were so loud earlier..cussing and yelling at me like you’ve lost your fucking mind. Where’s all that energy now? Hmm?”

suddenly, the bed would begin to jolt around..headboard slamming against the wall and the entire frame shifting under the weight of his hard thrusting. Taunting and fucking as if he were attempting to put you through the mattress! Couldn’t support your own legs anymore? No problem because all one hundred ninety five pounds of him kept you in place whilst that third leg of his drilled into your tightness, facing zero regard for the way you were shaking underneath him. The way you pawed at his six pack only to be slapped away so viciously and your jaws to be squeezed in his clutch. “Move your hand!” You couldn’t get so much as a gasp out as he continued pounding your little sex with all of his might. Cream was profusely leaking..practically dripping down that dick and sack as he kept going. Your titties were swaying around outside of that tank top, bouncing everywhere and looking so good, all for his viewing pleasure. In addition to that expression on your face as you were obviously nearing your climatic peak. He found it so funny how quickly that shift came once he got up in it.

“That’s fine. I don’t need you to do shit else but nut on this fucking dick. You can handle that, can’t you?”

you didn’t want to cave..give him the sheer satisfaction of seeing you submit but you’d be a bold face liar if you said that shit didn’t feel amazing. Especially with that hand around your neck and that thumb on your clit..stroking so gently that the minute bundle of sensitive nerves were already overstimulated. That swollen little bud twitching underneath the touch. It didn’t help matters any when he allowed a slow string of saliva to trickle down onto it either. It was blatantly obvious that you were trying to deny him that orgasm and in turn, prompt him to come instead by clamping down on his shaft but in that same breath, it was clear that his resolve was a little stronger than yours. You always had a habit of nutting quickly which would be your downfall right now.

“You can try to hold back all you want, baby but you will come f’r me. I don’t give a damn how long it takes…stubborn ass always wants to make things difficult, I swear.”

so casually pointing out one of your character flaws as he resides in your guts..something only he would do.

“Ah!—haaaaaa..fuck! Fuck you..still a pussy.”

blurting out with all the strength you could muster, along with still attempting to push him away which was, again, of no use! Instead, it only fueled him further and lengthened your punishment. Reaching down for those panties you had spat out previously, he’d rope them around your wrists and bind your hands together. It was obvious he wasn’t fond of your disrespectful outbursts or foul mouth. It was going to make it all the more fun to wreck you however!

“Yeah and you're still a dumb slut. ‘Fuck did you think this was?”

still impaling you on that cock and feeding you more slaps in the process. You were folding and fast but you’d try to maintain the little semblance of control you had but sadly, it was dwindling and before long, you’d be unable to hold back. And that moment came a tad bit too soon for your liking because only a minute later, you were gasping for breath, wrinkling around in the sheets..a stream of sticky fluids squirting all over those abs as if you had sprang a leak. It went everywhere; wetting up his six pack and pelvis, absolutely flooding the bed but he didn’t care. That’s exactly what he wanted. To see you shaking and convulsing, so needy and dependent on his cock that you couldn’t function without him. And he was well on his way to achieving that with the way he just fucked the shit out of you. It was such a powerful orgasm that you’d begin to shed tears; overstimulated from attempting to edge yourself and failing miserably. You lacked the restraint for that sort of thing but it presented the perfect teaching opportunity as he was in the mood to train you anyways on what being disobedient got you. Pulling out for a split second, he’d allow that swollen shaft and seeping mushroom tip to flap against your folds and drum out more. You were inconsolable but the worst was yet to come. Grabbing you by your hair, he’d grasp it tightly whilst hissing and chuckling in your ear.

“I break brats like you for fun, baby. Remember that.”

before kissing your temple in the most condescending way; it was true, he was the literal definition of a brat tamer and done so with pride. In another sudden movement, he’d tug you by that freshly done hair that wasn’t so fresh anymore and pull you down until he had flipped you over onto your stomach. Keeping you reigned in with that fistful of 613 wavy; dyed and toned to a deeper blonde, Eren planted a heavy hand smack to your ass as he flayed you across his lap. Demanding that you arch your back and put your ass up in the air. It was in your best interest to follow instructions but you were dead set on being defiant. If for nothing else, get the treatment you had been so desperately craving. For him to fuck that attitude out of you!

“Lemme ask you something, baby. What did you really think was going to happen when you decided to pull that little stunt? Trying to embarrass me?…”

ensuring that you had no other choice but to look him in the eye with those fingers still intertwined between your locks as he tugged your head back. You were practically panting, drooling like the fucked out little whore you were. Mouth agape and eyes glazed over whilst he stared at you.

“What? You thought I was going to ignore that shit? Or maybe you thought I’d get jealous enough to hop online and clear it up. You thought I was the rest of these lame ass dudes. You’re as stupid as you are pretty.”

Uttering the last line with vitriol before landing the hardest slap to your backside he could muster. Spanking you a couple times with the same force until you were flailing around and more tears had fallen. You were gritting your teeth, trying to maintain that mean glare you were trying so desperately to portray to make it seem as if you were not enjoying yourself. But he knew that was a lie. His heavy hands colliding with your flesh eventually began to form a burgundy blip and quite the sting. In addition to being choked, you were starting to feel it. That pleasurable pain that came with rough sex. It was the only way he could get his frustrations out on you at this point because actual harm would never be an option for him. He just wanted to teach you a lesson..

“And you’re still acting like a bitch. Mad about a lil’ instagram story—“

blurting out before he began to spank you again and clutch your throat as well. This time with enough force to make you squirm and cry some more. Making sure you didn’t talk out of turn again. “Shut the fuck up.”

he could tell you were still angry with him, still wanting to get your point across but that was all of no concern to him. He didn’t care about your bratty ass attitude. It barely even phased him. That was until he saw those pretty little streaks coming down your face and those eyes all puffy. That jaw clenched so tight, it’d probably shatter your teeth. “Ooh..don’t look at me like that. Makes my dick hard when you cry for me.” Like a true goddamn sadist…of course, those tears weren’t enough and he had plans to drum out more. Continuing to paddle you with his hand; releasing primal grunts as he spread your ass apart, kneading his fingers into your flesh and even shove his fingers back into your pussy. Meanwhile, he was still filling your mouth with sloppy kisses and more saliva. Spitting into your oral cavity with no regard. “Get up..arch that back and spread that ass open. Now.” And this time, too sore and weak to do anything else, you’d follow suit and place both hands on that round bottom, letting your acrylic nails display across that dark skin as you opened up for him. He damn near lost his composure when he saw that asshole flexing and puckering on instinct. But he had to regroup, get back into his zone and keep going.

mounting behind you, Eren hooked his fingers together, kept them around your throat and pulled you back on him once again..impaling you.

“Haaa! Fuck!—“ yelping in a high pitched cry as he fed you heavy backshots. The fat of that round, plump ass bouncing against him. Ricocheting in a haze of thunderous claps. Your legs trembled profusely, gripping on the pillows in front of you and biting down in an attempt to quell the brunt of those brutal strokes but it was no use. The curvature of your spine fluctuated as he kept going until you eventually collapsed underneath the weight and he’d bog down, planking over your entire frame as he drilled deeper. Those balls colliding with your ass and smacking against the sticky folds between your thighs. He’d place a hand to the small of your back just to keep you planted firmly whilst the other rested palm down in the memory foam material in front of you. “Oh my gosh, right there!” You’d grasp for Eren’s wrist as some sort of leverage and a sign of comfort. But he wasn’t much in the business of coddling you right now. Instead, you’d watch that opposite hand snake around for a split second to retrieve your phone that was lying next to you..set ablaze with thousands of notifications from this app and that contact. None of which were important at the moment. But he had other plans and ways to use that cellular device right now.

“You love taking pictures so much, right baby? Always showing off..”

just then, you’d see the flash of your rear camera beaming down above you and hear the sound of your video starting. He’d record each movement of your clashing skin..tugging you back, spanking your cheeks with each thrust and even when he decided to slide his thumb into your puckering hole. You’d release a shrill cry, whimpering and moaning. It didn’t take long to realize what he was doing and you immediately tried to stop him.

“Shit! Oh my God—fuck! Moveeee..gimme my phone.”

“Shut up..you want to post everything, post this.”

taunting you with that lens pointed at your face as he began fiercely fucking up into you. So much so, that your face meshed into the pillows. Trying to look away from the camera. Drool spilling from your mouth and your eyes completely dazed..not the most aesthetically pleasing position you’ve found yourself in nor did you want the rest of the world seeing..

“Show all your little followers how you take this dick. Let ‘em see you getting fucked like a slut. Since you wanna act like one.”

“Maybe I’ll show them how weak this lil’ stroke game is. Ain’t shut me up yet.”

“But you can’t stop fucking up my sheets. Stop lying.”

causing the two of you to begin laughing at the obvious truth. Which was far better than what was transpiring before.. “…shit..you got me.” eventually though, he’d save you from further embarrassment and let this sight be all for his own pleasure by tossing the phone aside. With your nails clawing into the sheets, (y/n) felt some semblance of control..somewhat able to gain leverage but soon, he’d take that away as well. Pulling your arms behind your back, he’d tug you up and continue drilling you from behind. Those sharp strokes were consistently hitting your core and soon enough, you were in the midst of another orgasm. Fluids puddling underneath you yet he gave you no leeway and just kept going. “Fuck..ion wanna fight with you anymore, princess. Your shit feels way too good for me to leave you alone.” Laughing as he reached underneath and massaged your clit to further increase that pressure. “Mmmph! Erennnn…I—“

it would seem that your pathetic moans had softened him just a bit because next thing you knew, he was leaning down to place kisses onto your shoulder blades and spine. “I know, baby..I know.” By now, he had you hooked into somewhat of a headlock position..almost as if he couldn’t make up his mind as to what he wanted to do with you. Perhaps that had something to do with him nearing his own climatic peak. You could feel that hard cock pulsating inside of you and soon, he wouldn’t be able to hold back. Sweat began to trickle down his forehead, his tongue out and his chest heaving..he was close. So close that he couldn’t even pretend that he was angry with you any longer. There was no more of keeping up this silly charade that you were mad. You couldn’t give up so easily..not when there was no man on this earth you wanted more. But he did have one thing to say to you, something that he was determined to drill into your head. Grasping your hair, he’d grunt into your ear..

“You’re mine, baby..you can’t leave me, alright? Promise me you’re not going anywhere..”

“I—ahh! I’m not…I’m sorry—“

“I’m sorry too, mama. Fuck!”

gasping with all that you could muster. And only seconds later, you felt him halt in his tracks and that warm fluid flowing into your womb. Letting out an ear shattering grunt, Eren pumped that nut into you and didn’t miss a beat. That hot, white load dripping from your battered cunt for the brief moment that he pulled out to switch positions..the mood had obviously shifted and the two of you were no longer at each other's throats and were instead shoving your tongues in each other’s mouths. “C’mere..give me a kiss.” Moaning and practically yearning for the other’s touch. Those hard pulls and smacks had slowed to tender grasps and Eren so lovingly brushed your face before pulling your hand along to climb on top of him. You didn’t even have time to exchange words, just tangled limb in limb as you made out in a passionate haze…feeling up your skin with his hands roaming your back and yours caressing his face. Leaving tender, warm kisses that made him melt for you all over again. With his lip quivering and eyes all glossed over, he’d glare up at you..begging for you to slide it back in as he was becoming far more spent than he hoped to admit. Even so, you’d do exactly that and place your hands on his chest in the process. “Oh my God…” “Oooh, baby..yes.” the cries leaving your mouths simultaneously as you impaled yourself on that throbbing erection. That mushroom tip splitting open your puffy folds yet again and emitting droplets of cum as it slid in. You were already full but he was hoping to stuff you to the brim. Hell, maybe he would get you pregnant tonight because that was the type of mood he was in. “This dick feels so good..I need all of it..” so desperately admitting as your ass slowly collided with his pelvis. “Take it then, baby. It’s yours.” Rocking back and forth, slowly grinding..going up and down on that cock. It took a moment to center yourself; to gain your balance but once you did, you were riding him to kingdom come. Fucking every bit of those frustrations out of him. Leaving a puddle of creamy, pearlescent fluid all over the base of his pelvis. And needless to say, he was loving every second!

“Ride that shit..oh fuck..” grunting with his arms folded behind his head as he casually enjoyed your ‘talents’. Including making circular motions..bouncing up and down as you propel yourself on his cock. His thick girth stretches you out with each one. Eventually, your head would fall backwards and you’d find yourself practically howling his name whilst still clawing at his chest. You were making an absolute mess of him and Eren was losing his mind! It was as if you were a completely different woman right now. One determined to drain him dry and milk him for every last remnant of his nut. He couldn’t slow you down, stop or even halt you right now. All he could do was toss his own head back and knead his fingers into the flesh of your ass. He’d leave a few light smacks to serve as encouragement but you needed no help whatsoever. You were in control now…

“Fuck me! Fuck me! Baby..yes.” crying out with his legs trembling and toes curling underneath you. The grip that tight little cunt had on him was about to drive this man insane and into another nut. Panting and wailing with his hands clutching your waist. Just then, he’d prompt you to sit still and let him fuck up into you..each sharp thrust hitting that sensitive core and causing yet another stream of sweet juices to come trickling down your thighs and onto his lap. But before you even had a chance to recover, he’d pull you back down and continue drilling until..

“Eren! Fuck!..”

“I’m coming, baby! Let me come in it—“

and before the sentence was completed, you were all but stuffed yet again. Letting him throb and pulsate inside of you as he emptied his seed in your womb. The two of you were clearly spent and quite honestly possessed no more energy to be angry. It was blatantly obvious that you had obviously forgiven one another as well. He ever so gently touched the side of your face yet again and glared into those gorgeous eyes. You’d lay flat against his chest and let him massage your back as well. And it’s then that he noticed a warm, dampened spot on his pecs and he’d tilt your chin up to see you sobbing. The intensity of the orgasms and the moment itself had seemed to overwhelm you quite a bit..

“Hey, princess..c’mere.” Coddling you in his grasp and hugging you tightly. He’d even cradle a palmful of your hair in his fingers and kiss your temple once more. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

and the response to his question nearly broke his heart in half. “I’m sorry..I just realized I don’t want to lose you. Do you really hate me? I know I did some stupid shit but I didn’t mean it.” And Eren nearly burst into tears himself but instead cradled you close and murmured into your ear. “..(y/n)..baby no. I could never hate you, even if I tried my hardest. I love you so much. That’s why I get so crazy behind you. Because I know there’s no one I want more.” Suddenly, he’d cup your face between his palms and plant a loving kiss on your forehead. No matter how mad you may have been at one another before or even if you screamed your lungs out, there wasn’t anything in this world that could break you apart. He had spent his entire life searching for a woman like you and there was no way that he could give it up so easily. Taking your fingers into his own, he’d clasp your fingers together..

“Do you mean that?”

“Never meant anything more in my entire life. Listen, if you ever feel neglected by me..like I’m not doing right, tell me. Please..I just wanna be the best man I can for you. I’m so sorry I ever made you feel less than your worth, princess.”

which is all it took for you to fall apart. Sniffling into his chest, you’d let Eren rub your back until he was able to console you. The two of you would just lie there; soaking in the moment and reveling in each other’s essence. Darkness had set over the room, as nighttime har set and you realized just how long you had been at it. Breaking into a soft giggle, you’d turn your face back towards him and for a few minutes, you’d just slowly let your tongues clash..exchanging sloppy kisses and practically wanting to live in one another’s skin.

“Hey, why don’t we get up from here, go take a bath and order some food? How’s that sound for you?” All of it sounded absolutely perfect to you and without question, you’d accept. He just wanted to spend all the time getting close, holding and keeping you by his side. He’d take however long you two needed to get back to the way it was. No amount of albums, Instagram posts or anything else mattered more in this world.

than the love you two shared.

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diejager · 6 months

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wondering how doesn't reader get pregnant after a lot of action with both horangi and könig, especially when König prefers to breed reader rather than his wife.

also do they have breeding kink? and what would be reader's reaction if there's a possibility of pregnancy, that would be so dramatic ig coming from reader's mom.

I hope this answered your question! cw: breeding kink, drug replacement?, mention of abortion, forced pregnancy, mention of stalkholm syndrome, tell me if I missed any.

The answer is simple: you either take pills, or got an IUD installed (honestly, that’s what I have since I have so many friends who’ve told me that pills have bothersome side effects and I’m forgetful so I won’t be able to remember to take them every day.).

A) If you take pills, König will replace them with a placebo, he has his ways, relationships built on years of work and alliance. So it wouldn’t be hard for him to find someone who can produce placebos for your birth control. Since he’s made a habit of staying near you whenever he can, seeing as he’s retired, it would be weird if he went out for so long. He has Horangi pick it up, meeting with the agent who’s sent to give them a year worth of box.

B) If you had an IUD installed, he’ll search your room for that little card it comes with when you’re not home, look at the date and he has two options. 1) if he doesn’t want to wait the time, be it a year or two, anything between one and five, he’ll talk to you about taking it out. 2) if he can wait, he’ll use the time to break you in, let you settle with this relationship and get you used to the dynamic they have in mind. Patience is a virtue after all, like a little pet project of theirs.

They definitely have a breeding kink. Ironically enough, they’re family men, a bit rough on the edges and tactile in their ways, very touchy-feely. They like to be hands on, holding you down as they fill you up, fingers bruising your skin with brands, to let people - and you - that you belong to them. König might be fidgety, never being one to sit still and do nothing, but he is patient, like a predator in hiding. Horangi’s a tiger in a hunt, slow and steady steps, certainty exhuming from every decision he takes. They don’t make a decision without telling the other, Horangi and König are a team, they were and always will.

Whichever contraceptive you took, it wouldn’t mater much in the end, you’d end up with morning nausea and a positive on your test. You’re in tears, balling your eyes out and panicking, breathe rapid and shallow, near hysteric as your mind goes through all the different scenarios of what ifs. You might’ve laughed at the ridiculousness of your situation, pregnant with the child of your stepfather or your neighbour. What would your family think? Your mother who’s oblivious and ignores your cries for help; your father who didn’t know where wen after your mom indefinitely cut your contact; or your living grandparents that lives God knows where.

Unlike you, hysteric and frantically searching for a solution to your problem, König is excited, calling Horangi to tell him the great news of your pregnancy. He has a smile on his lips when he finds you, shushing your tears and cooing soft praises. König tells you what a good mother you’d be, what a responsible Stay-at-home mother, with gentle hands and loving lips. When Horangi’s here, he picks you up, holding you in his arms and peppers you in kisses, a few deep, feverish ones, full of passion, and a few wild ones on the corner of yours lips and your cheeks.

Your mother is less frantic than you, worried, but not panicking. As a mother, she’ll ask about the pregnancy, who the father is (knowing you weren’t one to sleep around), and help you. You’re embarrassed at yourself, unable to tell her that the two men in the room are the kid’s father. You’re silent, head bowed down in shame and fidgeting, anxious and terrified, you were in your army 20’s, still in University to finish your bachelor’s degrees and now you’re pregnant. Horangi steps up, telling her that you’ve been having relationships with him - excluding the fact that her husband had a hand in everything as well - in occasions. She’s seen how close you are with Horangi, nearly sitting on his lap at times and often seen in his company.

She’s supportive, ignorent of all the mess in your life. Granted, she’s a bit disappointed, but you’re an adult, she can’t dictate your life like her parents did to her. So all she can do is support you, take l’ombre time off to walk you through the basics of parenthood and the nausea and emotional rollercoaster a pregnancy brought. You want to tear your hair out from the roots down at how oblivious your mother is, but you’re scared of getting an abortion, or if it’s legal at all.

Your angry, stressed and panicked, emotions flaring up with your unfortunate situation with no one to talk to, to turn to, all you want to do is cry. What can you do when you have an ignorant mother and two possessive and criminally wrong men with bloody hands and unrestrained connections.

Tag list: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

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last-on-your-lips · 1 year

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Windscorn

A year ago, bit longer maybe, I started the project for my book. A novel, I was going to do. I have almost 200k down between worldbuilding notation and actual story. The map for the world is three weeks of meticulous work, there’s religions I’ve come up with. I am no where close to done and haven’t lost my steam, but if anyone is wondering why I haven’t put a chapter into the AO3 version uh.... it’s evolved into a much larger project since that drabble I was doing there.

#I made a decision and it was a questionable one #Recently a friend that was very involved with the project died and I've been struggling to get moving with it.#Honestly this entire year has been wild and I have two drafts following two different character leads #Third draft starts after I'm done redesigning the character races from mostly human into actual original fantasy breeds.#Things on this project are coming together but I'm not going to pretend that it's even half to where I want it to be #Gonna be 40 and still tinkering

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rillian4e · 6 months

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{Missing you}

ft& Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Alhaitham, Scaramouche

a/n: been so looong since my last post, I'm overwhelmed with exams and having to study😭🫠 trying to become more active as best as I can, so here's a little scenarios of various genshin men missing you and your body.

summary: your lover has been awfully busy these past weeks and you as well which resulted in you two rarely seeing the other, much less spending time with one another. it's late and your boyfriend finds himself desperate for you but you aren't there to help him.

sw: nsfw, fem!reader, afab, jerking off, humping for alhaitham, needy men, a little bit of size kink for wrio's part, slight pet names, lowercase writing etc.

neuvillette who finds himself buried in paperwork in his office inside the palais mermonia but he still cannot get his mind off you, how he wished he had you here with him, cockwarming him on his lap while he worked—simply imagining it makes his pants feel tight, he misses having your warm folds around his shaft, the way you'd always let out the prettiest sounds when he even slightly touched you or raised his hips... he doesn't even realize that he has long forgotten his work, his hand around his cock, spreading the pre over his length as he gave a few pumps making him groan. "hnngh...so hard and you're not here to help me, I am acting in such a vulgar way, it's embarrassing yet...yet I can't get you out of my mind..." he mumbled to himself, fantasizing that it was your lips wrapped around him, sucking him in while playing with his balls while he only fucked himself deeper in your throat, when he came, he opened his eyes to see his hand coated with his cum, "...ah, what a mess, if only you were here to clean it up." finally returning to his senses after he relieved himself, he heard a knock on the door, "monsiuer neuvillette, is everything alright?" he was caught off guard by the question of the melusine behind the door, quickly he composed himself, hoping no one would come in and see him in such an embarrassing situation. "yes, of course. there is nothing to worry about, everything is alright." now he knew he needed to take a break and have you on his lap for real, not just fantasizing about it.

—★°•☆

being the duke meant wriothesley had a lot of responsibilities and he always fulfilled them accordingly but sometimes he was tired of it, spending so many nights here without seeing his pretty angel was unbearable. he missed having you in his arms, your small body pressed against his much bigger one—not to mention having you bent over his desk while he fucked you from behind, squeezing your tits while he rubbed tight circles on your swollen clit. the way you'd always tremble and cry tears of pleasure at him being so big and mean...archons, his cock is already rock hard at the thought of having your little pussy around his length. he is quick to free his cock from his pants, teasing the slit and stroking himself as he imagined everything he'd to you when he and you finally met again. "f-fuck...gonna breed you s' much when i see you...fuck you till you can't think about anything except this dick." he growled as he looked down at his erection, letting out a groan as he reached his climax.

—☆°○★

the ever so stoic and composed alhaitham never thought he'd feel this way, he wasn't the type to be affected by such things yet he couldn't seem to stop finding himself drift his thoughts onto you, he's preoccupied with a big project and the akademiya has only gotten more hectic, so his work hours have increased which is why you two didn't have any time together. when he came home, he felt exhausted but he was so sexually pent up and his cock was already dripping pre-cum. he tried ignoring it but couldn't, so he caved in—calculative as usual, alhaitham knew you had left a pair of panties at his place, it was bad habit of yours to leave your belongings at his house, he'd surely scold you before but now he was glad that you were so careless. sitting himself down he wrapped your panties around his cock, thinking of you and getting off on your smell. the panties did little to soothe his ache for your warm cunt but he'd have to do with what he had. "miss you...miss you so much...wish it was your pussy instead of your panties," he let out little pants alongside groans, his breathing heavy and warm as he came on your underwear.

—★•°☆

who would have thought that the former sixth of the fatui harbingers, the ever so arrogant and prideful, scaramouche, would have such vulgar lewd and dirty fantasies of you, his lover while you're away in another nation. he certainly would never tell you how badly he wants you when you're away, he thinks it's humiliating but doesn't care when he knows you probably feel the same way, when you get back, he will make up for having you not be there for him to fuck and ravage as his possession. his cock hardens at the thought of having you submit to him, cry and lay there helpless as you take what he gives you. even as he pumped his hard erection, his focus went over to you—how would you react if you were here? would you get aroused to see him jerking off so shamelessly? "s-shit...shit, close," he let out a needy whine as his cum spurted out, scaramouche felt better but it wasn't nowhere near as enough, "haa...if only you were here, my pretty and obedient slut..." he sighed as he closed his eyes, thinking of you and when you will be back, hopefully soon because he cannot handle not having you there to relieve his needs.

#genshin smut #neuvillette smut #genshin impact imagine #wriothesley smut #genshin x reader #wanderer smut #scaramouche smut #alhaitham smut #alhaitham x reader #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x you #genshin imagines

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teamatsumu · 6 months

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kinktober 2023 -> day 31

breeding kink - miya osamu x reader

word count: 1512

A/N: so this is it! thank you so much for everyone who stuck around for this kinktober event. 31 fics in 31 days, its the biggest project i have ever done. thank u for all the love and support ❤️

kinktober masterlist

What is stopping you?

Your mind repeated the question in your head every day, and it felt like your brain was yelling at you in frustration and confusion, wanting to know why exactly you were tongue tied in this situation. It made no sense to wait anymore. The time was ideal.

Truly, there couldn't be a better time to bring it up. You were happy with your job, Osamu’s business was flourishing; he had just opened another Onigiri Miya in Tokyo. He had a good staff now, an organized system on how to manage it all. He didn’t have to be the only person worrying for the business anymore, since he had hired experienced managers. It allowed him enough breathing room to come home early, cook a nice, hearty dinner for you both that you enjoyed while sprawled on the couch in front of the TV. Money wasn’t a worry anymore.

So really, what was stopping you from bringing up the topic of kids?

You seemed to have become lost in the same thoughts again because you only came to when Osamu nudged you, making you blink and tear your eyes away from the TV screen. He was looking at you questioningly, and you could see a hint of worry behind his dark eyes.

“What’s on yer mind, doll?”

You shook your head and smiled, shrugging a bit. “It’s no big deal ‘Samu. Just a project at work.”

He hummed a little, shoving more noodles into his mouth and sparing you little glances as he did so. You knew he didn’t believe you. Your husband knew you too well to fall for such an obvious lie. But you couldn’t, for the life of you, figure out how to broach the topic that was itching in the back of your mind for the last few days.

What do I even say? Put a baby in me?

You swallowed down the little knot that formed in your throat at the thought. Fuck. Was this turning you on? You grit your teeth tight enough that it hurt your jaw, scolding the little voice in your head to not do anything stupid.

When has your brain and lack of filter ever listened to you, though?

The next night, when Osamu had you sprawled on his lap, your back against his front, two fingers buried knuckles deep inside you and having pulled an orgasm out of you already, you babbled out the thought that had been plaguing you for many, many days.

“‘Sa- Samu,” you whined, long and desperate, dragging out his name. “Need your cock. Need your cum. Please.”

Osamu groaned in reply, pulling out his drenched fingers from your core and laying you on the bed. You pulled your legs up on instinct, spreading them wide, knees brought up to your sides. Osamu’s responding moan was sinful.

“S-shit, baby,” he breathed, clumsy hands quickly discarding his shirt and sweatpants. “Ya want it that bad? So ready to take me?”

You nodded your head frantically, back arching when he finally sunk his big, throbbing cock into you. The slide was comfortable and easy, considering how long you had spent spread apart on his fingers. Osamu wasted no time in immediately picking up speed, knowing exactly what spots to hit that had you reduced to a weepy mess.

You fumbled around until you had grabbed Osamu’s hands, hooking both of them under your knees and applying pressure. Osamu stared at you in realization before he shifted a bit and used his weight to hold your legs apart. You wanted him to put you in a mating press.

“This what ya want, sweetheart?” His voice was so hoarse you felt like you could cum just at the sound of it. “Fuck, ya look so sexy. All spread out fer me.”

Osamu was big on dirty talk, you knew. He loved speaking during sex and he loved when you spoke during sex. Over the years, you two had tried any and every thing in the bedroom that you possibly could, and you had lost all shame when it came to voicing your desires. The filthier, the better actually. Osamu could easily cum if you talked him through it.

Pair that with your days-old ruminating thoughts, and everything spilled out of you like word vomit.

“‘Samu,” you gasped. “Fuck me hard and deep, please. Please. Need to- need to be filled up with your cum, daddy. Need it.”

Osamu’s thrusts sped up and he cursed under his breath. “You’ll get it, babygirl. You’ll get daddy’s cum. Every last drop.”

You nodded frantically, crying out at a particularly well aimed thrust. “Yes! I- Osamu!” You wailed when his thumb made contact with your clit. Your nails dug into his back as you scrambled to pull him close. “Gimme. ‘Samu, gimme.”

Osamu was moaning into the skin of your neck, your legs over his shoulders and your body bent in half. “What’s gotten into ya today, baby? So greedy.”

You wound a hand through his hair, feeling the knot in your stomach pull tighter and tighter. You were seconds away from an orgasm. You pulled his head up by the hair until he was looking into your eyes. Your tears-coated, weepy eyes.

“Get me pregnant, Osamu. I want your kids.”

You didn’t have the time or the mental coherence to look at his reaction, because your orgasm washed over you like a freight train. Osamu’s movements stuttered, as a result of your words or you reaching your peak, you didn’t know. All you could do was feel the waves of electricity wash over you as you tried to breathe through the overwhelming feeling.

It was only when Osamu slowed to a stop in you, still twitching and throbbing, that you opened your wet eyes. He was looking down at you with mouth slightly open in shock, breathing still labored from his previous exertion. His dark hair was messy, stuck to the sweat on his forehead. All was silent between you.

“Are you serious?” He breathed, trying to see through your post-orgasm face. You nodded slowly.

“Thought about it a lot.” You admitted, tightening your legs around his waist a bit. “I’m ready if you are.”

A few more seconds, before Osamu bit his bottom lip and groaned, eyes falling to half mast again. He breathed deep, shaking his head. The corner of his mouth twitched up a bit.

“Do ya know how long I’ve waited fer this?” His voice was husky. He pulled himself up and unwound your legs from his waist. Then he bent you in half again, before setting a fast, bruising, brutal pace.

You gasped and threw your head back at the sudden change, pussy still sensitive from your orgasm, jaw going slack. His cock pounded into you with all the ferocity he could summon, one of the roughest sessions you two had had for a while, burning through you like embers crawling under your skin.

“Thought ‘bout it so much.” He continued choking out words, not slowing in the slightest. “The thought of ya all fat an’ swollen with ma kids. Fuck. Yer gonna look radiant.”

You moaned with him, picturing your pregnant belly, glowing face. Picturing a little human that you will birth. A human that Osamu could potentially put in you now.

“Daddy,” you whined. “Need…. I need- please.”

“Need what, baby?” Osamu had a little smirk on his face. His skin was flushed and damp, a drop of sweat rolling down the side of his face. His eyes were so dark you couldn’t make out his pupils. He looked feral.

“Need my load in ya? That it? Need ta take every last drop, yeah? Can’t risk wastin’ it.”

His hand came up, winding into your hair and tugging hard until you yelped.

“Take it, doll. Take it-”

His voice broke into a long moan as his hips stuttered and you felt warmth flood your insides, his bulging biceps trembling as he tried to hold his weight up through his orgasm. He was loud through it, coaxing you with rough words and even rougher fingers pinching your clit until you came one last time with a heaving cry, eyes rolling up into your head.

You had barely caught your breath when Osamu reached up to grip your face tightly with one hand, your cheeks squishing together. You stared at him with zoned out, misty eyes.

“Don’t ya dare waste a single drop.” He whispered so close that his lips brushed your puckered ones. “Keep it inside yer pussy like a grateful slut, ya hear me?”

You moaned in response, nodding weakly against his grip. He pulled out then and you clenched tightly, but you could feel it as a little bit trailed down your crack. Osamu hummed in disappointment, holding your legs open and watching as his cum leaked out.

“Poor baby. Couldn’t do it, could ya?” You felt him lean forward and brush a surprisingly soft kiss below your ear.

“I guess I’ll just have ta keep goin’ until I know yer pregnant fer sure.”

Taglist:

@bxbyyyjocelyn @thisbicc @lazuliquartz @dreamayy @kuroosluthoe @true-form-hoe @akumakitsune21 @cham0mil3-and-h0n3y @samisfunky @universal-s1ut @msbyomimi @dohwaesu @leothesquishy y @n0tmykays @tsukiran @reyofsunshinelol @bleach-your-panties @galaneiaeris @leyra-giovanni @erenspersonalwh0re @peachesncats @soapsoftheworld @iwannabecamiloshovel @vintagevict0ria @smithieandy @moonlit-mizukage @snazzyturtles @argwein

A/N: For those whose tags arent working, im sorry! I tried and for some reason, your names wont show up in the mentions :( another way of being notified is to turn on my blog notifs for @teamatsumufics . I only reblog my fics there so it serves almost like being in a taglist!

#miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu smut #osamu smut #haikyuu smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya osamu imagine #miya osamu fanfiction #miya osamu fic #haikyuu fic #hq fic #hq imagine #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fanfiction

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bimbosandbubbles · 7 months

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Truth or Dare?

Starring Bully Gojo and Geto

Synopsis- It’s freshmen year of college and for Gojo and Geto the year has been a little too boring—sure it’s only the first semester but c’mon it’s their first year being university students so why not make the year unforgettable? And for that reason they find themselves playing a dangerous game of truth or dare with their friends—a game that led them to YOU,their best form of oh so interesting entertainment.

Warning’s-noncon,dubcon,spitting,hair pulling,slapping,slight fingering,misogynistic behavior,filming noncon, double penetration,extreme humiliation,pussy eating,heavy degrading, creampie,breeding kink, multiple sexual scenes(not really sex happening),stalking,yandere,obsessive behaviors,thigh fucking, fatphobia,abuse of power(Gojo’s money and Geto’s connections),pussy slapping,emotional manipulation,blackmail,shoe licking,shoe fucking,extremely humiliating acts ,hairy pussy,stalking,rimming,loss of virginity,EXTREMELY SADISTIC BEHAVIOR!! TW THIS IS ALL FICTION! ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ CHUBBY READER!

Wc-7.8k(Guys I cut off 6k more words to shorten the fic😭)

“Truth or dare?”

A white haired man turns to a man with long raven black hair,"What do you think Sugu'? Truth or dare?"

The male hums in thought,"I think truth,after all it's only the beginning of the game." Snow like hair bobs in acknowledgment,"Okay,we pick truth."

A wide smirk grows on the integrators face,"How many bitches have you fucked together?" Geto chuckles,"Do you always have to be so uncouth Naoya?" The said man shrugs,"That doesn't matter,just answer the fuckin question."

Geto decides to humor the man,for his and his best friends entertainment mostly. "Gojo how many would you say?" Gojo sighs—lazily leaning his lanky yet muscled frame against the back of a beat up couch. "Since we get here...uhhh probably like four. In high school probably like six."

"You've ever filmed any of em?" Naoya asks. Geto raises a neatly done brow up,"Why are you asking?" Naoya rolls his eyes,"I'm just askin there's no real reason behind it." Gojo looks at Geto from the side of his eye,"Sugu' it's not that big of a deal to answer. Plus it's not like we have filmed any of them."

"I guess." Mutters Geto. Gojo loudly claps his hands and paints on a goofy smile onto his face. "Anyways...Naoya truth or dare?" The man sits back in wonder before answering,"Dare."

"Okay! I dare you to call the one girl in your phone that you'd have to be paid like a million dollars to ever fuck anddddd you have to ask her to send a pic of herself." Naoya voices annoyedly,"How the hell do I get her to send a pic of herself?"

Geto smartly suggests,"Lie.Make something up." The man with highlighted hair smirks,"That shouldn't be hard. She's a dumb bitch anyways."

Naoya scrolls through his contacts list and spots a contact dubbed "Piggy." Geto and Gojo lean over his shoulders to see the view and both of them wince once seeing the name. "She's fat?" Gojo asks. Naoya snickers,"Oh fuck yeah! She's fucking big as hell! I could never stick my dick in her."

Gojo chuckles,"I couldn't fuck a fat girl,seems like too much work." Geto adds on,"Yeah they're not really my type either....there's just too much everywhere for me." Naoya agrees as he presses on the contact,"They're all usually fucking ugly anyways. So it doesn't really matter."

Noaya's fingers press on the call symbol while he lets out one final chuckle. He presses one finger to his lips,signaling the pair of friends to shut up. The man finally calls and the phone rings three times before it finally picks up.Naoya makes sure to put the phone on speaker. "Hello?" A sleepy voice calls out. "Hello (Reader)."

"Naoya what're you calling me so late for? I thought we finished everything for the project?" Naoya rolls his eyes,"Yeah well our introduction project isn't finished yet,I still need you to do something." Geto and Gojo don't miss the biting tone he speaks to you in. "Oh um well..I'm sorry I didn't think I missed anything."

"She sounds cute." Gojo whispers in the ravenettes ear. "Mmm." Geto hums in agreement. "Yeah you should be sorry. But luckily for you I'm nice so I'll allow you to still do it."

"Thank you? But anyways what do you need me to do?" Naoya smiles while looking back at the men," I need a picture of you." For a moment there's static silence—a silence that's riddled with confusion. "Umm why do you need a picture of me? Our project has nothing to do with ourselves."

"It's to prove our teamwork to the professor uhh how well we got along and shit like that." It's quiet until Naoya receives a dinging notification. "There you go,bye." The phone loudly hangs up while Naoya's jaw clenches in anger. "Fucking bitch hung up before I could."

"That doesn't matter show us the pic." Gojo says impatiently. "Fineee." The male opens up his messages and soon as he does he snickers. "I don't know why she tried to send me cute a one,she looks fucking stupid." Wrong. Naoya was so fucking wrong.

You don't look fucking stupid...you look so fucking cute. Your have such a pretty face—a face that needs to be came on. Those adorable fucking pudgy cheeks are just begging to be decorated with cum. And fuck those pretty lips you got—both Geto and Gojo just wanted to stick their dicks in your mouth.

They can't even see your body in the picture but they just know it's so fuckable. What do you have a cute pudge hanging down—a pouch of flesh keeping your pussy warm? Do you have warm doughy thighs that their fingers will just sink into the moment they touch the flesh? You just look so...soft. So wonderfully soft—plenty of soft sweet palpable skin just begging to be marked by them.

But despite Gojo's and Geto's shared thoughts—the lustful and wanton thoughts they wouldn't say that they want to fuck the ever living life out of you. They wouldn't disagree with Naoya saying you look fucking stupid. They wouldn't even admit they think you're attractive. Why? Because admitting a mere few minutes ago that you wouldn't fuck a fat girl and then switching up isn't the best look.

So what do the pair say when Naoya says that? Do they disagree and defend you? Do they admit the pure desire they have to want to be inside you? No they say," You're right she looks weird,let's just move onto the next round."

━━━━

"I didn't just leave her on the frats lawn! I at least gave her some cash to get herself home." Naoya proudly states.

"Wow,Noaya thank you so much for not being the worlds biggest douche." Geto states sarcastically.

"Whatever, don't act like you two aren't assholes yourselves. You may fool a bunch of bitches but I know how you really are." Geto peers at Gojo,the man beside him. They both give each other a knowing look—a shared thought surging through the kept gaze. A gaze that screamed,"We're aware of what dicks we can be." Huge dicks who have left girls high and dry after telling them they love them—spewing lies straight from hell just to get their cocks wet a few times.

But are they really dicks if no one really cares to point out they are? Are they really assholes when women flock towards them even though it's known they'll only use them like a human fleshlight? They could thank their good looks,popularity,and Gojo's plentiful wealth for never being confronted for just how cruel they could really be.

Geto smirks,"I guess you could say we are assholes but at least we appear to be nice ones." Gojo hums,"Mhm but anyways it's your turn to ask us."

Naoya sits there,clutching his face in devious thought. "If you guys pick dare,you won't pussy out with anything I say,right?"

"Nah as long as it's nothing too illegal." Gojo answers. "Good cause I got something in mind. Truth or Dare?" The two best friends stare at each other once more,silently agreeing on an answer,"Dare."

Naoya laughs,acting like he just had the best idea in the whole world. "You fuckers set yourself up. This is going to be sooo funny." Gojo rolls his eyes,"Yeah,yeah,just get to the damn dare."

"I dare you to fuck with little miss piggy for me." Naoya cruelly states. "That girl you just showed us?" Gojo asks." The question had a little too much enthusiasm,too much excitement for some girl he said looked weird. Hopefully it went unnoticed by Naoya though. "Yes that bitch."

"We'll do it but lemme ask why you wanna bother her?" Geto questions. The male shrugs,"Do I need a reason? She's annoying." Geto hums,"Alright I guess that's a good enough answer. But what's on the table for fucking with her?" The white haired male perks up at that,"Ooo yeah? How much can we bother her?"

"I don't really give a shit about what you do to her. Just ruin her,make her miserable. The only thing I want is some evidence that you're doing at least something."

Make her miserable,huh? Ruin her? Does that include every part of you? Because Geto and Gojo had something wonderful in mind...just for lil ole you.

"Oh yeah,we can definitely do that." They both remark.

━━━━

"Okay,I think this is the last book I need." You whisper to yourself. See,today is a good day! Why? Because this is the day you're almost done researching for a extremely tedious paper. That means for just a few days you wouldn't have to shove countless information down your throat anymore.

So naturally your chubby hands reaches to grab the book that's placed on the fourth shelf. Just as your finger grazed the spine of the book a tall figure grabs it from behind you. Quickly you turn and see a raven haired man,staring at the book with faux interest.

"Umm, I'm sorry I was gonna grab that...it's really important that I have it." You say politely. The male raises a thin brow,"Is it not important for me too? I might need it even more than you do." Immediately you feel yourself heat up from embarrassment," Oh no no! I didn't mean it like that—I just really really need that book. Im so sorry if I came off uncaring."

Cute. Geto's just starting the fun with you and he already wants to stuff his dick in your mouth. You don't even need to worry about some dumb book,you could just warm his cock all day. Besides the way your dressed right now it's like you want him to tear your clothes off and fuck you. Those denim shorts that are showing off those thick thighs and that damn thin white tank top you got on really shows a lot he wants to see. The pudge of your tummy just clings to the fabric so deliciously—it's tempting so tempting for the man to just reach out and grip the pudge but he resists the urge.

But still despite how cute he finds you,he still needs to make your little life unbearable. So he says,"Well I need this book more." With that he "kindly" smiles and walks off. He leaves you there,mouth agape and eyes wide. Did he really just—DID HE JUST TAKE THE BOOK?

Angrily you call out,"Hey! I need that book." The man continues walking,ignoring you completely. With a mission you charge after the male,keeping his speedy pace until you bump right into someone. Broken from the determined haze you were just in you look and see the person you slammed into.

It's odd,you swear no one was in front of you before and then suddenly someone just came in front of you. No matter how weird it really is though,apologizing and catching up with the book thief is more important.

"Omg I'm so sorry! Are you okay! I was just in a rush—" The very tall man you just bumped into places a long finger on your lips. The sheer boldness of the action instantly shutting you up. "I don't wanna hear it. Ya know,you should definitely be more careful. People are not as nice as me."

He leans down,shortening his noticeable height ,"But since I'm sooo nice all I'm gonna ask if you to beg on your knees for my forgiveness." The hell? Who does this guys think he is? The president? You weren't gonna beg for forgiveness just for bumping into someone?! Hell no!

" Look I'm sorry, but I'm not doing all that just for bumping into you! Don't you hear how fucking crazy you sound?" You snatch his finger away from your lips and cross your arms angrily. He chuckles,"Oh so you wanna act all tough? Fine,I didn't wanna threaten you this early,that was gonna be some fun for later but since you're a lil stubborn I guess the hard way is for you."

Your brows pinch together in frustration and confusion. Who is this guy? Acting like he's all high and mighty? Can he even threaten you when he doesn't know you? Yeah,right. You're sick of this already.

You attempt to move past the male,too sick and tired of precious time being taken away from you. But you're stopped by a veiny large hand that's securely wrapped your wrist. He yanks you to his chest,"Ya know,it's not very nice to walk away while someone's talking to you.I thought you were a polite girl." His warm breath travels all the way to the back of your neck. It's oddly...intimate and sexual for someone you just encountered.

"Be a good girl and beg or else I'll get you out of this university so fucking fast and then I'll tell someone in every single university in the radius you're a fucking cheat. I can go even farther than that if that doesn't scare you enough." He mutters. Chills run across your spine—it's scary,the threat,it holds so much weight but no way some guy you just bumped into has the power to do that,right?

"Y-You can't do that!" The exclamation is a unsteady one,you yourself not even believing that. For some reason this stranger just oozes so much effortless authority—so much power that's unexplainable. It's confusing but still it instills some type of fear in you. "Oh can't I?" His tone is cocky—assured fully in just what exactly he's capable of. Scary—it's scary how confident he's in ruining your educational career.

"Are you taking me a little serious now,hmm? Do you think you should take my good grace and get on your knees already?" It's no big deal,right? If you just get on your knees now,you'd probably never see the man again. This university is big and no way the man would make an attempt to find you—a complete stranger.

Would a little humiliation be so bad if you never see him again? "Are you? Or are you gonna just stand there like an idiot?" Nervously you gulp before facing the man and sinking down to your knees. As you level yourself at his feet you can't help but stare at the rich brown leather that his shoes are made of.

You look up at him and instantly Gojo's glad he chose to his dark sunglasses today. He could feel his pupil dilate as soon so you kneeled for him. Everything about you looked sooo good on your knees—those pretty lips parted slightly because of nerves—your thick thighs squishing together and fuck those gorgeous tits that are just peeking out of your tank top,just begging to be fondled with his big hands.

"Are you gonna start begging or do I gotta force your mouth to move too?" You shake your head no and gulp down a lot of pride and self respect. "Please uhhh—" you pause to search for the man's name. "Gojo. It's Gojo."

"Gojo,please forgive me. It was a mistake and I'm so so sorry." You think your apology is good enough but what you think isn't always right. The man scoffs as a big hand completely palms the whole crown of your head—pushing your body to bend straight down. The tip of your nose kisses the carpeted floor of the library.

" Ah,ah, You're supposed to lean all the way down like a good girl,yeah? Now do it again." Your clammy and stubby hands angrily and tearfully grip the fine hair of the carpet. This is just so...humiliating it hurts every ounce of self respect you have contained in your body.

"Gojo,please forgive me. I'm so sorry." He hums and places his large hand on your head,"I forgive you...for now." With that the man removes his hand and quickly announces his exit. "Thank you for the apology,don't be so clumsy next time."

You watch as his long limber legs make their way farther and farther away from you. Your nose still kisses the carpet—a reminder of the humiliation that was just acted on by the man casually strolling away. The humiliation being so damn demeaning you no longe care for retrieving your much needed book back.

But it would be okay,right? It would be okay cause you'll never see Gojo again. You haven't seen him before and you won't see him again.

You could just move on from this right? Is the thought you have as your eye stay trained on his brown leather shoes.

━━━━

Have you ever been more more wrong before? So irritatingly wrong?

Because both the mysterious man who unfortunately learned is Geto, and Gojo from the library have not left you alone since.

Everywhere you go there they are! Always calling you mean names,like slut or whore. Always taking away your stuff away from you. Always threatening you. And worse—always finding you.

And that is the exact reason why you're stuck between the two—pushed against a random wall in a hallway. "You wanna runaway from me and Geto,some more? Huh,(Reader)?"

You shake your head rapidly and squeak as Gojo's large hand reaches out and grips your tucked pudge that's hidden well within the high waisted material. "D-Don't grip me like that!" You squeak. "Like what? Like a slut? Cause you are a little slut." Gojo remarks.

"I'm not a slut!" Your words are met with chuckles,true genuine laughter for something that wasn't even a joke. "Mmm then why are you always with those lil dorks after hours? You prolly let them cum in you. You prolly let them spit in your pussy and mouth,don't you slut?"

You start to tear up and resist Gojo's grip but it only gets tighter. "Maybe you wouldn't see me hanging out with my friends if you guys weren't always stalking me! Just leave me alone! You don't even know me! I've never even done anything to you!"

"You think we're stalking you? You think we're genuinely interested in someone like you?" Geto chuckles. "Yeah,we know you're a little slow but to think that is on another level of delusion." Gojo adds. Liars,the both of them know that they're watching you. Keeping tabs on every single move you make,every person you talk to,every time you go out,anything—just so they know when to strike. They told themselves it's not cause they like what they do to—they don't like seeing you beg and plead,they don't like humiliating to the brink of tears—absolutely not. Liars.

"Oh and you've never done anything to us? Hmm,I can remember you fighting for that book pretty hard. I think you may have pushed me,right Gojo? You saw her push me?" Gojo hums,"Hmmm,yeah I swear I saw her. She was so mean to you. And not to mention she didn't even wanna apologize to me for rudely bumping into me."

"What the fuck??! I didn't even push him! I know for a fact I didn't! And last time I checked you just randomly popped up and bumped into me!" You make sure to face backwards and points towards Gojo. "Ah,Ah she's got a little potty mouth,doesn't she Gojo?"

"Mhm,that's not very ladylike (Reader)." Gojo says. "We can't have that,can we?" Behind you the white haired male shakes his head. Gojo's lengthy fingers dig into your tummy even more,sinking the dull tips of his nails deeper.

"You should learn not to talk like that but don't worry Gojo and I will help you learn,m'kay?" How? How—can someone look so kind,so calm while plotting to do something humiliating to you? It doesn't' matter how or why because Geto is still standing over you—kind smile and welcoming eyes gently intimidating you.

"So,open your mouth like a good girl for me and say ahh!" Geto demands. You shake your head no and quickly tuck your lips together. He tuts—disapproving of your stubbornness. "You wanna make it hard for yourself—Fine be that way then. But you will open your mouth for me."

Geto's relative distance to you shortens as he walks closer and closer to you—pushing your body against Gojo's even more. "Gojo pull up her shirt."

"No—NO! D-Don't!" You thrash against Gojo but once more he tightens his grip on your pudge. "You should've listen to Sugu the first time." Gojo mutters as he lifts up your shirt revealing a pastel pink bra. The glasses adorning man whistles,"Is that lace? Who are you wearing that for? Hmm? Is it for me and Sugu,little slut?"

"N-No!" You whimper. "Oh so it's for somebody else?" Geto asks. "No." You reply back. "Mmm so you're wearing something"—Geto's large hand reaches to pinch the strap of the bra—"this pretty just for no one to see it? I don't believe that."

"I think just for her lying you should give her double punishment." Gojo encourages. "Yeah? I think so too. Lil slut won't learn if we aren't a little hard on her."

"Gojo make her open her mouth." Geto says as if they share the same brain—having the same thoughts riddling their in synced minds. Long fingers trace their way down your tummy,teasing the beginning of where your high waisted pants start until finally a loud gasp collapses off your tongue when they're pulled down—revealing the smooth fat that rests on your middle.

You think he's gonna start groping your boobs but instead the pale hands begin gripping your tummy—kneading the skin oh so well that his fingers mush into it. "Oh!" You gasp. And it's cute ,so cute that Gojo's dicks throbs in his loose fitting jeans. Would you make that noise when he puts it inside you? When he makes you swallow his spit? How about when he makes you hump his big thigh while in public?

Gojo's taken away from his thoughts once he hears Geto's familiar voice. "Mmm you got her to open her mouth." Geto hums in approval,"Look at how good her mouth looks open. I think she really is a little slut."

The black haired man pulls your cheeks apart and sticks his middle appendage in your mouth—your tongue crashing against the skin like a giant wave. "Mhmpp!" You move against Gojo once more,droplets of salty tears starting to pour out of you. "Shhh don't fight...take your punishment."

You watch in horror as Geto puckers his lips and translucent liquid drips down his lips—realizing that his lips start getting closer and closer to you.

Until finally you feel wet—degrading liquid coat your lax tongue. The cool saliva coats your mouth,traveling the whole expanse of your open cavern.

"Swallow." You know it's not a question or even a pushy request—it's a command. A reminder that you're under their thumbs like a mouse who's constantly running away from a cat. It's sickening so sickening—so beneath you to be treated like an object yet you find yourself swallowing your pride and gulping down the spit.

"Good whore." Geto mutters. His long finger pops against your inner cheek as he takes it out of your mouth. He pats your chubby cheek and wipes your saliva on your half exposed chest.

"Mmm this kinda bored me." Gojo remarks. Geto hums and backs away from you,"Yeah this pig is kinda not entertaining me anymore. Wanna get something to eat?" The tall man that was positioned behind you snakes his to way over to Geto.

Leaving you to watch as they casually saunter off but Gojo suddenly stops his big strides. "Oh and (Reader),"his tones lowers a bit—scarily so,"don't let us see you hanging out with those guys again. Or we'll actually do something to you."

You stand there in shock—shirt ridden up to your chest and pants flashing bits of your panties. Gojo smiles at you,but it's not a pleasant one—a smile that makes you want to run and hide. They both continue walking and you watch,counting and waiting the steps to see if they're far enough so you can quietly sob.

The moment they get far enough you slide down the cool wall and break out in a array of tears. All you can think is why you? What'd you ever do to anyone to have your life be meddled with so cruelly?

WHY YOU?

━━━━━━━━

"I regret not taking pics." The white haired man pouts. Geto chuckles," There's always next time."

"But she only looked like that awhile ago. Her bra looked so pretty that day. I wished I filmed her swallowing your spit. She looked so fucking cute Sugu...I just wanna stick my dick in her mouth. I wanna make her embarrassed like that again,so fucking bad."

The male smiles amusedly at his friends whines,however he feels the same,he wishes to see you like that all over again. "I think we should give her a visit soon. We haven't seen her in like what two weeks?" Geto and Gojo knows that's not true,they have seen you actually but you haven't seen them. They always check up on you at certain points during the day—making sure you're listening to them about the people you're hanging out and it makes them so damn proud when they see you alone and avoiding all your male friends. You're such a obedient girl.

"Oh thank God! This time I actually wanna do something with her,I've been thinking about what she feels like. And I want you to film it. "

Gojo says enthusiastically. "What do you have in mind?" The bright blue eyed man smiles widely,"You'll see."

━━━━━

"(Reader) are you sure you don't wanna come and watch a movie with us?" The kind voice halts your motions of packing up for the day.

"Nah,I'm sure. I'm gonna catch up on homework so I need the extra time." You explain with a smile. "Alright,but text me if you change your mind. The movie doesn't start for a few more hours."

You nod and wave as your kind classmate walks out the door. You're about done packing up until your trusty mechanical pencil begins rolling down the rows and isles of the seats.

"Dang it." You sigh and annoyedly crouch down—following the pencils straight arrow path. You take tiny steps in order for your bigger body to keep up with the quick pace of the rolling writing device.

Finally it stops at the third row—leaning against the leg of a mahogany chair. You bend down to get it with a smile etched on your face but as you reach to grab it a hauntingly familiar brown leather shoe is planted in front of you.

Suddenly you forget to breath—fear and anxiety grasping the natural function away from you. That same fear making you incapable of looking up to see intimidating bright blue irises.

It's quiet—too quiet and that's what makes it worse for you. You feel like prey—being teased,chased,stalked on, by two superior animals who are waiting to take the final kill.

"Do you wanna stay there on your knees for me or are you gonna greet me?" Jolly is the only way you can describe Gojo's voice—which makes his words only 10x times worse to hear. Ever since you encountered him in the library and attempted to forget him all you got was all too much of him. After the incident you've constantly been hearing about the "Great Gojo", the impossibly handsome trust fund baby of the university. The Gojo who's cute and loud and funny—it makes you wish you knew him due to different circumstances so you could admire him just like everyone else.

No,you had to remind yourself that this isn't the case. Instead you'd get bullied and assaulted by him and his friend Geto.

"Hello?? Is anyone there?" Gojo bends down and prods at your forehead,roughly poking it. "Do you think she heard me Sugu?" Gojo asks. "I dunno let's see." Geto's large hand suddenly rushes to your face and grips the warm flesh together. Both of the handsome men sneer at you and condescendingly share a glance with one another.

"I think someone is home but they're too shy to answer." Geto peers down at you before he whispers,"Shhh it's okay,me and Toru just missed you so much. We just need you to be good for us,m'kay?" You look up at him with wonder—confused by the oh so sweet tone of his voice. It almost makes you feel safe and cared for—almost is the keyword here. Because in only a few seconds your hair is suddenly yanked,having long fingers tangled in it. "I expect an answer when I say anything to you." Geto grunts into your ear.

"Y-Yes!" You whimper out. A warm wet kiss is placed on your chubby cheek as the black hair

man praisingly remarks,"Good job!"

"Since you're gonna be for good for Gojo and me I want you to do something, okay?" You nod and mumble a fearful okay. "Good,now take off your panties and give them to Gojo."

You gulp down a wad of spit as you nervously and shamefully stand up and start quickly sliding off your panties. By the time you get the plain white cotton undies to your ankles Gojo's expectant hand is waiting for you—and like he was expecting you hand the worn material to him.

He places the pair of panties into his pocket and grins at you happily.

Geto's voice rings out,"Now get on his shoe." Snapped out of your fearful daze you yell,"WHAT? I'm not doing that! That's so gross and unsanitary." Gojo pouts,"What's wrong with my shoe? It's not good enough for you?"

"No! That's so gross! No way in hell am I doing that!" You attempt to stand up right and walk away from the pair but a large hand pushes you back down. The force of the body part making you whimper by the sheer power. "Nu uh Geto already filmed you taking off your panties for me. If you walk away we'll have no choice but to show everyone at this university what a dirty slut you are. How would you like that,hmm?"

You mouth flaps open in shock,since when did Geto have a chance to do that?? When did he even take out his phone? You turn and there you see the cellular device pointed right at you. You thought you were screwed then but now...they actually have something way worse to use against you.

Gojo smiles at your realization," So now are you gonna put that pussy on my shoe?" You look up at him and defeatedly turn to still see that Geto's filming and you simply just give in.

You waddle closer to Gojo's foot and set your bare pussy on the rich material—the thick pubes on your mound making contact with the shoe. You can't help but gasp by how cool it feels,it feels new,almost good.

"Move." Gojo says. You look up at the man and gasp once you see and hear how different he looks. His voice sounds less high—lacking the usual teasing and playful tone he talks in. And his eyes—his normally bright blue eyes are now toned down,muddled with dark lust and eagerness.

Your clit bumps and grinds on the expensive laces as you try to set a pace on your own. You huff and whine at the oddly good sensation.

You lean your face on Gojo's pants,slightly biting into the material to hush down your pleasured noises. It feels good because it's so degrading and so wrong—yet you can't deny how wet begin to you feel the more you thrust against the man.

"Mmmf!" Is the noise you're making as you hide your face into his legs,teary eyes closed in hated bliss and ashamed mouth taut open in pleasure. How disgusting you are—enjoying fully how good this is making you feel. You're riding a man's shoe for gods sake, but you can't bring yourself to care anymore. Not when your poor hole is opening and closing for nothing. Not when you you can feel four eyes staring at you get yourself off.

"Look at you,such a fat slut. And you tried to act like you didn't want me and Sugu's attention. Dirty slut." You hear a wet noise of Gojo's mouth right before warm hot spit lands on your forehead. You go to wipe it away but Geto's hand grips your wrist,"Don't,you'll ruin your pretty face. Leave it."

You nod and silently gasp once you see the angry bulges of the two men. It makes you even wetter once you see how aroused this made them. Geto seems to noticed your focus gaze,"Aww do you wanna actually see some dicks in real life? Hmm,is that what you want whore?"

Your mouth almost forms the word yes until you remember these men aren't some friends with benefits or boyfriends—no they're bullies who enjoy seeing you struggle. So with that reminder you shake your head no and go to hide your face in Gojo's leg only to feel a hot sting run across your plump cheek. "Liar. Gojo get her off your foot. I'm gonna show her something."

"Aww but I was enjoying watching her! At least let her clean the mess up." Geto rolls his eyes,"Alright,make it quick." Gojo smiles happily before he peers down on you,"Lick." He's not specific because you already know what he wants you to place your tongue on. You stare down where you placed your cunt at and feel grossed out. However,you know one way or another you're going to have to lick his shoe. And you'd rather not get another burning slap from Geto.

So you prod your tongue out,lapping at your own juices placed on the man's costly shoe.

You taste yourself and the taste of oddly wood like leather. It taints your palate,making you scrunch your face in distain as you finish the task. You look up at Gojo and he seems so enthralled—his chest is heaving and his pink lips are slightly agape in surprise? You can't tell but he just looks so fascinated by you. "Wow,you really are a slut." He breathlessly chuckles.

"Mmm,she really is. Anyway take her to the desk Gojo,make sure she's bent over." Without warning Gojo pulls you by your underarms and walks you to the desk. He pushes you down onto it,his hand presses down on your roll adorned back to keep your stomach flat against the desk. You feel him move from behind you,changing his position to be in front of you.

Suddenly you feel a warm hand graze against your dimpled ass—long fingers sinking into the supple flesh. "Now since you wanna lie and act like a fucking prude Imma make you see how badly you want our dicks."

For a few seconds you're left waiting to see what happens. It's suspenseful so suspenseful that you're even staring at Gojo in anticipated wonder. THACK! Is all Gojo hears along with a pained cry.Hot tingles flows though out your pussy—burning sensation fleeting in the wet organ.

"That's what happens when you're not being honest. Your lil pussy gets punished. If you want it stop I just need you to be honest with me. Say you want our dicks inside you."

Your bottom lip trembles pathetically,"I want your dicks inside me." Another harsh slap rains down on your cunt. "Again! You're not saying it like you mean it." This time you force your voice to be louder,"I want your dicks inside me!" Geto leans forward until his warm breath can be felt on your face and his big hand yanks your head back. "Now look at the camera and say you want our dicks inside you."

You defeatedly look up at the iPhone camera held in Gojo's large hands,"I want your dicks inside me!" Geto let's go of your hair and stands straight,"Good cause we're gonna give it to you." Two hands spread your thighs open and something large and veiny fills the empty space between them. "But you don't deserve any dicks inside you yet. You should've been honest the first time."

Geto grabs your supple waist and grips your tummy from below—with a snap of his hips he's brushing his cock against your inner thighs. Each thrust his rough and fast paced,forcing your head to bob up and down the desk. The graze of his dick against your throbbing clit pulls occasional whimpers and whines from your lips.

On the other side of desk Gojo unbuttons his pants—pale fingers rubbing against the expanse of his tight briefs. "Touch it." Gojo demands. You look up at him as you reach and feel the constant pulse of his cock. It's warm,so warm that the heat is comforting to your whole body in the cool lecture room.

You cup the thick shape protruding from the pure white material and start moving up and down. Gojo pushes himself into your hand—his once opened eyes closed in pleasure. The camera continues to peer down at you as your lays lip on his covered cock."S-Shit pull em down." The camera continues to peer down at you as your lays lip on his covered cock.You obey the pleading man,gripping the beginning of his underwear until his oozing cock is revealed.

A gasp falls from your lips at the sheer beauty of it. You stare points blank at his pre cum ridden tip that's oh so rosy. Your thumb finger graces the slit—going up and down on it,feeling his dick get harder and harder. Though, before you can really get a good grip on it one hard thrust from Geto pulls you away from him.

"Aww Sugu...you messed her up." Gojo whines. "Calm down you can use another part of her in a little bit. Switch spots with me." Gojo huffs but obeys Geto. The white haired places his still filming phone onto the desk. The ravenette ends up in front of you,his girthy dick resting on the desk right next to your face. "Have you sucked dick before you?" Geto asks. "N-No." You quietly reply.

"Mmm,of course you haven't. What loser would wanna get sucked off by you?" Liar. Geto's been dreaming of having those pretty lips surround his cock—of slapping your face and cradling those chubby cheeks you have on you. Choking you with his dick while you're all teary eyed and begging for air. But he doesn't hate you,no not at all,this was just a dare that he's happening to be enjoying.

So since it's your first he's gonna go easy on you. "Wait does that mean you've never been fucked before?" Gojo says excitedly. "Mhm." The confirmation makes Gojo's and Geto's dick jump. This is great! No one's been inside before so that really means you're really all theirs,their personal fuck toy who's only been fucked by them. After months of planning how they're gonna pop up into your life and destroy what you've known before,they're finally getting award.

"But that means I gotta stretch you out first,huh?" Gojo dejectedly says. "I know just the way." Gojo sinks down go to his knees and pulls your waist closer to him. You feel cool air fan your warm pussy. Lanky fingers spread your lips apart,pulling the coarse pubes away from the another. The sheer slick of your pussy laying and slicking them down to the mound.

"You surprisingly have a real pretty pussy. It's perfect for taking dick. Too bad no one else is really gonna want it." Untrue,Gojo really wants it. He's been wanting it since Naoya showed that picture to him. He's been craving the feeling of sinking into you and fulling you up. Craving to grip your round tummy as he pounds into you,drilling every single last sperm into you.

A long wet tongue licks the expanse of it,the sensation draining a surprised whine from you. "Mmm, while he warms you up Imma give you a lesson on how to suck." Geto leans down so his face his leveled with yours. He grabs Gojo's phone and points it towards him and you. He points out his index and pointer finger,pressing the digits against your lips. "What I want you to do is ease these into your mouth,okay?"

You nod and your mouth drops open as you feel Gojo's long tongue dig into your cunt. "Mmmf!" You whine. You attempt to only take the tips of Geto's fingers but you rush them into your mouth as you feel more pleasure. Geto roughly taps your face,"I said ease,don't take it all in." You look up at him and just suck on the tips of his fingers. "Good girl,like that until I say so."

Gojo releases his tongue from your hole,instead prodding into your entrance with his fingers. He slips one in and then two,slowly scissoring you open with each curl of his fingers. Geto pushes more of his fingers into your mouth,almost reaching the back of your throat. You gag and attempt to move away from him only to have your head held in place. "Stay. Breath through your nose."

Taking his advice,you hurriedly stable your breathing. Your eyes bubble with tears and your face contorts in uncomfortableness. Finally you're full of relief once Geto slides his fingers out of your mouth. "Good. I think you're ready for the real thing now,huh?"

"Y-Yes." Geto smiles,"Good slut,you learn so fast. You're meant to be a whore for us." Gojo pulls his fingers from your entrance. Geto faces the camera directly on you,"Are you ready to be fucked?" You look up at the camera—flashes of all the treatment you've endure from these two,constant examples of cruelty for no reason course through your memory's, yet you want so badly to mutter the words yes please. You want to be fucked by them,want to know what it's like to have someone inside you.

"Please." Pathetic,weak but you don't care. You've given in one last time and your decision is rewarded with a almost loving kiss from Geto. Gojo practically mounts you as he rests his muscular chest on you,he plants a kiss on the back of your neck that could be seen as a sweet praise or an apology for what he does next.

Without a single warning Gojo sheaths himself in you. You scream and writhe against the wooden desk but Gojo grips your violent body. "It's okay,just take it. Take it."

"I think it's my turn now." Geto looks down at you right before he plunges his cock into your mouth. Your eyes widen and you don't have time to process what's even happening. All you can do it feel. Feel the slowly pleasurable feeling inside your pussy and feel Geto's thick dick go in and out of your mouth.

The more you begin to feel the better all the overstimulation is. Suddenly Gojo's downright stretch feels so fucking wonderful as thrusts in you. Geto grips onto your hair,guiding your face to go deeper on his dick. "F-Fuck,good slut. Good whore. Imma cum if you keep letting me fuck your face like this."

Minute after minute,you can't catch a break. Not when Gojo's snaps his hips into you like a animal. Like he's so desperate to stay in you—drowned in the utter wet and warmness you offer him. "Good girl,good girl! This pussy feels good! So good!" The blue eyed man babbles.

You feel your oxygen slowly leave you and you roughly tap on Geto’s legs. He frees himself of your mouth and instead busies himself with slapping his heavy cock onto your face as you catch your breath. You can’t even do that though because Gojo reaches from under you and rubs your clit with a passion.

Moan upon moan leaves your mouth,like a broken record playing over and over again. Your song is becomes muffled once Geto finds his cock in your slack mouth. You quiver underneath Gojo as you feel a hot feeling tingle with in you.

You were gonna cum,so soon. With three snaps of Gojo hips you come undone and you begin to lose feeling everywhere. You feel like a lifeless fuckdoll,just a cocksleeve for Gojo and Geto’s dicks.

Gojo feels you cum and groans,”Shitttt I’m close.” Although Geto doesn’t agree verbally his thrusts in your mouth become more hurried and desperate. In and out is all you can feel.

It feels like hours of tortuous pleasure. A sick sadistic game being toiled onto your body. But it ends once hot,warm fluid courses in your walls. “Mmmmmm!” Is all the men can hear from you. Gojo pulls out and Geto pulls one last thrust into your mouth before he cums all the way down into your throat.

He grips his dick and slides it out. You hurry to swallow his seed and almost choke due to the quickness.

It’s quiet throughout the big classroom,only heavy breathing being heard. Geto looks down at you having Gojo’s phone in hand and travels the entirety of your body. He finally tosses it to him and the man catches it quietly.

Geto bends down so he’s once again on your level,”I’m telling you this now and I want you to know I mean it. You,your body,everything that makes you a person belongs to us.” Each word is said with such powerful emphasis that all you can do is silently agree.

An agreement that leads you down a interesting path with the pair.

━━━━━━

From a game of truth and dare,to bullying,to becoming fond of you ,all the way to fucking you every single day,to adorning you with the proper title of their girl.

The two have learned some truth from a juvenile game. They learned that they’ve should’ve never met you,should’ve never crossed paths with you because now they’re completely and utterly infatuated with you. Even if they cover it up with insults and threats,they’d go crazy if other people had you like how they have.

Reblogs area greatly appreciated🫶🏽🫶🏽!!

3K notes · View notes

nouearth · 2 months

Text

a day at the office.

jim halpert x male reader.

summary: what happens when jim finds out that there's a secret place in the warehouse that's used for sleeping? hint: it's not used for sleeping.

wc: 6.6k. genre: smut. warnings: coworkers, top!jim, bottom!reader, bigdick!jim, spit as lube, fingering, milking, over-stimulation, spitting, kissing, lots of french kissing, breeding, public sex, established relationship, au where pam is with someone else, jim has a bi-awakening, seasons 1-4 jim!

It was a call-back that he’d been expecting. It didn’t take much of an utter of the familiar client’s voice, the principal of Dunmore High School, to assure Jim that he had already secured another renewal of paper supplies for the school; an impressive three-year loyalty from the school, but who was counting?

Jim held the phone and watched you at your desk, two sections diagonal of him. He looked pleased when the client began voicing out compliments because of his efficient service, smiled because you were absolutely terrible at playing computer Chess despite lowering the difficulty settings, and beamed when you caught his gaze, warm like the mug of coffee sitting by the small picture frame of your dog on your desk.

It was impossible to know if you could hear what Jim was saying, but the grin on his face told more than a thousand words and you bid him a thumbs up when he looked up from his notepad after scribbling the client’s purchase.

“All right, and before I let you go, our customer service representative will follow up with a short survey regarding our products and services.” A question followed after. “Yep, similar survey as last time—you got it. All right, it was a pleasure doing business with you. Take care.”

Despite originally feeling aversion for his job, he couldn’t lie about feeling some sense of accomplishment whenever he secured a huge order. Not to mention how much of an ego booster it was since he earned a commission out of the sale. Gradually over time, Jim found himself to be one of the top salesman at the office, convincing himself that his stay at Dunder Mifflin would only be temporary.

Then the gratification completely ceased, weakly fluttering like a limp balloon, when he looked at the time on his taskbar.

It was only 10 AM.

This is going to be a long day. Jim groaned, slouching in his seat because the negotiation felt like forever, sucked out all of the energy left in him during the half-of-an-hour call despite fueling himself with caffeine and random fruits he’d stolen from his roommate. They were nearing that gross, wrinkly stage anyway.

When he turned his attention back towards you, the phone was in your hand, the other typing on the keyboard what Jim presumed would be the client’s answers to the survey questions. There was always a smile on your face, even if the client couldn’t see you. And then tone in your voice. It was inviting and personable, a voice that made people feel safe and heard, as if that mattered at all because how could buying paper feel anywhere near dangerous?

Or maybe it was simply because Jim was too high on his own infatuation for you, that he was mostly projecting his appreciation.

A couple of hours had passed, 1 PM, and Jim managed to make a few sales here and there. A couple of clients hadn’t finalized their choice of supplier yet, but Dunder Mifflin was certainly being alluded as the option once he offered free deliveries on the count that they ordered a certain number of shipments of paper. That always sealed the deal.

To be honest, other than enduring many of Michael’s annoying antics with Dwight being his right-hand man, most days in the office were exactly as mundane as today was turning out to be. Usually, he would find himself passing time by hanging around your desk, catching you up on the weirdest news he discovered through a deep-dive in the internet.

And you wouldn’t believe what’s about to happen next…

What..? Don’t tell me they found the fing— Yep, they found the finger in the chicken tenders. Cooked. Medium-rare. Crisp to the bone. Blistering. Oh god—that’s horrifying! Jim—

And usually, they were lies that he made up on the way to your desk, mainly because he loved drawing a reaction out of you. And you were also extremely gullible, which made it all the easier to do so.

But as far as today was concerned, you were knees-deep into your responsibilities. Phone calls concerning shipment delays siphoned you into brief turmoil because—of course there were going to be delays, we’re in the middle of February where the earth was working in mysterious ways to conjure up snow days!

As much as Jim wanted to cut the phone line off when a client had suddenly erupted into an audibly loud one-sided yelling match—he was winning, of course—it always impressive how calm and composed you were under those circumstances.

Though, while he acted the same way regarding his approach to customers, he preferred to give people time and space to calm down. Whereas you accessed the situation and carefully structured how you sounded to hopefully pacify their anger. Your voice was gentler, but it never faltered into a frailness that made you a pushover for the client to rag on. Rather, it was stern, especially authoritative when you would assert, “Sir, I understand this situation is very frustrating for you, but I am here to help. And I cannot help you if you do not tell me your order number. And it would also be very much appreciated if you lowered your voice.”

You were fairly new to the company, a little over two years in your position, and every day, as a little more of you unfolded, you’d shown Jim why you were hired on the spot. You were practically the face of what Dunder Mifflin desired, of what any company expected really; friendly, collaborative, hard-working, efficient, all those cliché keywords on a résumé.

A golden boy, Jim liked to describe you as. He didn’t mean anything negative by it, simply by evidence of your personality at first. But when he mentioned that moniker for you one day, of course you laughed like it was the funniest thing Jim had told you since you’d introduced yourself, because you were a people-pleaser. Easy to get along. Charming. Handsome. Bright. Golden.

That was you.

Honestly, Jim never expected to cross ‘fall in love’ off his New Year’s resolutions right before the year even started. He also never thought he’d strike out ‘discover your bi-awakening’ in any timeline of the universe—only because he didn’t even know he had a type in men—but the future worked in wondrous, confusing ways. Though, if someone actually asked for him to describe his type, it would be indescribable because Jim doesn’t know exactly what made him fall in love with you, except for the fact that it was you. Your presence. Your personality. Your looks. You.

Jim liked how you would say greet everyone ‘good morning,’ but it was him that you held in high-regard. He liked how you were shorter, like many others in the office were compared to him, but you had a build, or maybe a presence, that made him want to take you in his arms and never let go. He liked how you would end up snorting at his jokes because he never found his jokes incredibly funny. It was mainly a tactic, or rather an invitation for you to know that he wanted to be friends. With every laugh that spilled out of your mouth, fortuitous snorts that would embarrass you when Jim kept the joking going, a mutual bond was shortly formed and it felt even better than scoring a huge sale.

He liked how you were generous, tossing a bag of chips on his desk after a visit to the vending machine, and he’d suspected that you’d been watching him too, because you always got his favorite flavor without Jim ever telling you the minor details of his insignificant life.

He also liked how confusing it was to like you, to suddenly develop a crush on a man like he had just discovered a new aspect of life. There was something exciting and new happening in his mundane world, giving him a newfound motivation to come to work other than to pay his bills. He thought he discovered everything about himself by his early 20s, but you’d shown him that life truly does throw you off-course, or in Jim’s case, on the right side of the path.

He casted doubts about his sexuality early on, pondering that loneliness had caught up to him and constructed an entirely different narrative as a last ditch effort to set him on an expedition to find love again.

But would loneliness really be influential enough to compel him to suddenly kiss you in the parking lot after having dinner together? He recalled you gasping, pulling away, thankfully not because you were repulsed by him, but because you were in complete shock that Jim was even into men in the first place.

Jim never realized how much he brought up his ex-girlfriends to overcompensate for this sudden attraction for the opposite gender until you brought it up.

I don’t know yet, about all of this… I’m still figuring things out, but I really like you, (M/N).

Jim, I think you had too much to drink.

All I had was a Sprite—

He pondered that night, then many more until it began weighing on his conscience.

But he oddly found himself kissing you again a month after, properly this time, in his Subaru when he took you home after your car broke down. He felt like a volcano erupting when his lips landed on yours, soft and delicate like the first time he kissed you. His breath rattled into your own hesitation with every exhale, but then you took him in, let him in, and Jim melted.

And then calmed, stilled, when you led, cupping his jaw to keep Jim from pulling away, and instead closer, leaning over the armrests of each respective seat and center console. The leather pressed uncomfortably into his body, but when you slipped your tongue inside of his mouth, he was spellbound, then purged of any feeling other than the ones you’d enthralled him with.

As you assured him on that night, with a late night conversation that refused to let you out of his car and Jim out of your neighborhood street, that was when he found himself.

Huh.

What?

Nothing… Usually my gay-dar is pretty spot on, so if I knew you rocked that way, I would’ve flirted with you early on.

Okay, one; never mention gay-dar to Michael or Dwight ever, because then they’ll go ‘I told you so’ on me. And two; you had a crush on me? Tell me more.

You’d be surprised how much height can make a gay man go feral, Jim.

Seems like you managed yourself pretty well, don’t you think? That you know of.

You animal…

Another hour passed by as Jim willingly let himself be sucked into a black hole of thoughts recalling those moments with you, those ‘firsts’ that could keep him distracted for another two hours or so. Alongside his first kiss with you, there was the first time he touched you; clumsiness took his hands to roam around your chest, stomach, then erection until you blew from Jim’s increasing interest, and then profound knowledge in your body.

He kissed you elsewhere other than your lips. It started off with your neck, then your shoulders, chest, and so-on, until his lips suddenly began wrapping around your own length without warning, sucking you off with cloddish, yet enticing attempts that made you laugh, because Jim was greedy, awkward with his tongue, but that didn’t stop you from wanting him to yourself.

You pulled him off and made him lean back on the couch instead, settling on your knees and then rewarding his service with your own mouth, to show him how to properly work a cock. Jim was never a man that was enticed by blowjobs, only because a mouth never felt gratifying enough, but with every swirl of your tongue, every spit that dripped off of his thick cock and back into your mouth, he was fully convinced that he was a changed man by the time he filled your mouth.

He then intruded deep inside of you because to fully have an understanding of your body, he needed to explore every inch, every surface, every crevice. It was on his bed, in his messy room that Jim tried to hurriedly clean before you came in, that could barely accommodate room for two, but it was you who made it work when you straddled on his lap and rode him instead. You’d never felt so full, you said it yourself he was balls-deep inside of you.

And jesus christ, Jim knew he was big considering the women he’d dated were apprehensive about taking him, barely taking his cock before surrendering. It gave him deja vu with the way you held your eyes shut, bracing your position by having one palms on his chest, and the other guiding his cock carefully into you, controlling the stagger of your breath to the best of your ability.

In the moment where he’d expect you to stop pushing yourself and tell him to settle for a blowjob instead, determination set you aflame like the painful stretch Jim had been providing you with, and with three more pulses to your breath, a brief break to apply more lube on Jim’s erection and your hole, you were entirely breached when Jim aided your hips and pushed you down until you were flushed against his body, flesh sticky and sweaty from your persistence.

You’re amazing… Jim, I’m close. Harder—

It was a memorable night, a messy one where you offered to change his sheets, and Jim swore he could’ve gone all-night if they hadn’t had work the very next day. Instead, he held you close, panting and continuing to fill you despite your protest to shower, gazing into your eyes while you held his stare with a warmth that might have rivaled his own infactuation for you, and smiled.

I really like you.

I really, really like you too, Halpert.

And now Jim was here, fantasizing in his seat with an aching hard-on, but absolutely guilt-free this time, because it’d been a few months since you two made it official.

It took several pings from Jim’s computer to put his musing to a halt. He leaned forward to view the unread messages, tending to his erection with a few gentle squeezes, then peeked over his monitor with a grin when he realized it was from you.

[M/N]: lunch? [M/N]: hellooooo

[M/N]: if you don’t answer i’m ordering ahead without you [M/N]: wow you’re really out of it [M/N]: stare deep into space if you hate me [M/N]: wow, jim.

“Hey,” A gentle kick to your shoe knocked your attention up to Jim, where he greeted you with a warm smile as soon as your gaze fell on him, a coat draped over his arm. “What are you feeling today?” The weather wasn’t too cold, the coat mainly providing an obstruction to the evident outline in his khakis.

Glistening, you returned his smile tenfold in brightness, sprouting from your seat to stretch your arms over your head, loosening the tuck of your shirt crinkle by crinkle until you felt a pleasing crack to your back and shoulders. “Anything’s fine. Sushi? Wait, no—we had that last week.”

“You have…” Jim rolled a sleeve up to check the time on his watch, and your eyes immediately pivoted towards the veins in his forearm, endearing and taunting. “…the two minutes it takes to get to my car to decide.”

“Wait, but that’s not even enough—“ He turned his body so you were complaining towards his back, broad and firm through his blue dress shirt. You’d never felt so envious of a piece of clothing hugging tight on his body when that could’ve been you.

“Up and at ‘em, a minute and twenty seconds now.” Jim began walking towards the entrance, chuckling as he could hear you scramble through your desk in search for something. “Gotta find my wallet first—“

“Seriously? It’s already been thirty seconds now!”

Turned out, all that rushing was for nothing as Jim had other plans when he pulled you past the exit to the parking lot, and instead another floor lower, and then another, until you and him reached the warehouse. He acted on impulse, his sudden thirst for you taking the reign of his actions that he didn’t exactly know what to do had the warehouse not been empty. Luckily, it was and Jim would keep that in mind for the future.

“Uh… Jim, why are we down here?” The warehouse was bigger than you last remembered from the brief introductory tour you were given. Though, to be fair, you were running on a half-mug of coffee, and the adrenaline rush of meeting everyone for the first time hadn’t worn off yet.

“You’ll see,” Jim shrugged, nonchalant in his demeanor as his gaze was seemingly in pursuit of something above him along the rows of storage shelves and units. “Don’t want to ruin the surprise for you.” The words rolled off of his tongue suspiciously, and beneath the growing smile on Jim’s face that was supposed to keep you calm and composed like it did on normal circumstances, was something that did the opposite, riling a wave of conflicting feelings within you.

Especially when Jim began to climb a ladder and step into a shelf space in the back of the warehouse that was hidden impressively well from the entrance.

“What—What are you doing?! Get down here!” Your eyes widened in panic, scanning the space from left to right multiple times in case any of the warehouse employees were within vicinity. “Jim!”

“It’s fine, come on up!” He waved you up once he got himself situated, head awkwardly bent and shoulders slant because of the shelf barely accommodated for his height and build.

“No way. We’re going to get fired if we get caught.” You frowned, crossing your arms as you stared up at him, baffled.

“You know, it would help your case if you weren’t standing where everyone could see you.” Jim reasoned and you huffed after. “I promise, we won’t get caught. I’ll keep an eye out. And if it helps, Darryl told me about this area. Toasty in here too.”

Apprehensively, you took ahold of the ladder railings and climbed your way to the shelf space where Jim awaited for your arrival, anticipated with a smug smile as he held out his hand to pull you in once you took his palm.

The shelf was in the darkest corner of the room. A few lights above had been burnt out for quite some time, and the large boxes of paper supplies that surrounded the perimeter casted shadows that ultimately provided an agreeable space despite your original complaints. In this case, as you cataloged the pillows and one throw blanket around you and Jim; a comfy place to rest your eyes.

“You took me here… to nap.” You stated matter-of-factly and stared at him disengaged, but nonetheless foraged a pillow behind your head and snuggled up to his left side when he opened his arm up.

“The things I do for you. Absolutely no appreciation whatsoever.” Jim joked, then pinched your nose with a chuckle. The gesture always managed to pull a smile out of you, and he already anticipated you mirroring it back at him, to which he keenly blocked with a strong hold of your wrist. Then another when you attempted sneak attack with a neck-chop with your other arm.

“You know…” Your voice wandered to a deepness, a slight hush as if anyone around you could hear. “You could’ve just told me you were horny.” You tugged your hands in resistance.

“What—How did you know?” Jim broke out into a toothy smile despite being caught red-handed.

“I mean, you weren’t exactly hiding your boner that well. A hand isn’t going to cover that.” You nodded your head towards the size of his bulge, the center of Jim’s khakis creasing when his erection greeted you with a throb. The boxes of paper supplies couldn’t shelter Jim had they tried.

“Hey, are you shaming me for having a big penis? Wow, (M/N). I thought you were different.” He loosened his hold on your wrists, but nonetheless kept them within his grasp to guide your right hand to his inner thigh, dropping the other after. He leaned in, his gaze pivoting to your wet lips when you licked your lips. The scent of his cologne, along with the way Jim’s eyes glazed over you like a piece of meat, stirred something inside of you. Your pants felt tighter than a couple seconds ago.

“If blowing you until you finish in my mouth is shaming, then…” Jim’s hand pressed on top of yours to move you upwards to his bulge, but you resisted, a teasing grin beamed towards the smug smile on his face before you enchanted his lips with a soft, languid kiss. “Call me a monster.”

Jim abandoned your hand to take ahold of your jaw, cupping the underside of it softly while his thumb caressed the structure with composed strokes. Your breath tasted like coffee, sweeter than how Jim preferred his own cup, but perfectly delectable when it came from your tongue.

“You stole my line.” He joked again, then kissed you harder; a stroke of his tongue parted your lips again in desperate need to take you, in a sloppy pursuit of some kind of reward for his terrific work this month. His tongue explored your mouth, panting among both parties, your own wet flesh gliding and slipping against and around his needy endeavors, prompted by the gentle squeezes and strokes on his erection, and it didn’t take very long before you were completely captivated by Jim and the way he took you, your body going limp except for the growing tent in your pants.

You palmed him through his khakis. Your hand barely moved up his thigh before you could feel a long and thick lump residing beneath the crinkle of his left pocket, and a moan slipped from your throat because you could never stop marveling over the size of Jim’s cock. “We only have twenty minutes.” It was a complaint rather than a reminder. The clock ticking in your head peeled you away from the captivating kiss, frowning because there was so much you wanted to do to Jim, for him.

“Better get to work then.” You felt his hands suddenly begin to work at your belt, unbuckling them with deft and efficiency. Impatience left the leather hang loose, flopping stiffly as Jim unzipped your pants, and then pushed them down to your ankles after turning you on your side, your back facing him.

Jim snapped your briefs below the smooth curve of your ass, plumping them with the help of the tight restraining digging into your skin and pushing your mounds of flesh upwards. It was a delicious invitation for him to spank your right ass cheek once to watch how his slap reverberated off your flesh in soft jiggles, then another because your hushed whimpers were the perfect accompaniment to the force of his palm.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about your ass today.” He confessed while the strong kneads to your ass, palms of thick flesh groped and spread, provided proof to his confession.

“Yeah? Is that why you couldn’t keep it in your pants today?” You groaned when something wet and lean slid nimbly inside of your hole without warning. Tight and warm, you squeezed around Jim’s lone finger as it thrusted inside of you. Whimpered when it curled, another finger joining after a couple of flicks of his wrist, with the intent to wreck vengeance on the source of his erection.

“You know it,” His voice ghosted over your ear, closer than you expected, and your head knowingly turned to meet his lips for a yearning, sloppy kiss that Jim mutually had been craving all day for. He pushed himself closer to you, your mouth and his parting open and lingering as tongues mingled for an open-mouthed kiss. It was wet and sickly, enough to get you high on the act alone, cock throbbing when Jim closed his mouth around your tongue and sucked the spit bubbles off your tongue. All of that simultaneously stirring butterflies in your stomach while he worked your hole open, presently stretching you out with three fingers barreled into your cavity.

Usually three fingers was enough to take Jim’s cock. It was uncomfortable, at times painful when you barely stretched yourself. But you liked that you could feel every inch of Jim’s muscly cock pushing you open. You likened it to rolling out a tight muscle after a tough workout. Painful, but incredibly satisfying once you felt him turning you out. Plus, it never failed to make Jim incredibly gratified, his cock somehow growing harder, thicker while he was shelved inside of you.

It wasn’t the most ideal position; you were facing boxes of copy paper that instantly evoked shame, the Dunder Mifflin logo plastered across the cardboard seemingly mortified by the lack of restraining when it came to your boyfriend. It wasn’t often that you two involved yourself in public sex, but when Jim was either too impatient to wait at his apartment, or you needed something to recharge you in the middle of the day, those circumstances mainly resided in his car. You bought extra blankets to cover up the windows too, though ultimately, they served no purpose because you were here—ass out, jerking yourself off to the hastened sound of Jim’s belt unbuckling, khakis and boxers shoved down to his ankles similar to yours in turn.

“Shoot,” Jim grunted irritably. You turned your head over your shoulder, curiously finding the source of his evident annoyance along with him as Jim began searching through his coat pockets, only after taking a long peek at the glorious throb of his cock.

“What? Having regrets already?” You grinned, and you discerned a vacant smile of his own, Jim’s mind occupied by a multitude of thoughts.

“I forgot the lube. I thought I put it in my pocket, guess not…” A sigh of disappointment came after Jim’s habit of clicking his tongue whenever he felt any kind of feeling. “Well, I guess we could try—“

You suddenly took Jim’s hand and spat in it, Jim watching wide-eyed, stunned, while you pushed a few more out with your tongue since saliva never had the ideal longevity and viscosity of lube. “Hurry before it dries.” You turned back calmly, beckoning for his cock with a push of your ass.

“I’m in love with you.” Jim breathed out, a toothy smile you could imagine from the giddy tone of his voice. The spit in his hand was then used to lube his thick cock, in a thick sheen you presumed from the sticky sounds that tingled the tips of your ears, then the base of your tightened balls.

“Prove it to me.” You folded the arm you were lain on behind your head, cushioning the weight of it while your other hand reached back to lather his cock in your saliva after spitting a few more times into your palm. You felt veins pulsing strong with every stroke, a weight of thick cock that made your wrist sore, and then as you pivoted towards the pink glans of Jim’s dick, a bulbous head that intimidatingly maintained the girth of his shaft.

“You’re going to regret it.” He said smugly, adjusting himself closer and lower to match your smaller build. His moans were bitten back, swallowed down with hard gulps while you were carried away in providing him a temporary relief that you were too impatient to ignore.

Your hand continued stroking him off, your saliva sticking on his cock and then eventually in between your ass as you guided him towards your entrance, immense warmth emanating from the blood surging through his cock veins. “Have I ever?”

“No,” Jim replaced your hand, making it return back to fondling your balls, and teased by running his cock over the crack of your ass. You felt his cock bolt with a spring, taunting when the plump head pressed its slick pre-cum to your pucker. He loved how he could see your ass clench in desperate efforts to lure him in, but it was futile as he’d return to sweeping over your hole with languid swipes, drawing out whimpers that signified that your impatience was running thin.

“And I love you even more for that.”

He suddenly pushed. Your breath got caught in your throat from the abruptness of it all, and your body immediately tensed in turn, frozen in place when a burning sensation from beneath alerted you to stay put and just breathe. Jim groaned, already feeling the swell of your pucker refusing to let the head in, so he pulled himself out and restarted. Harder, he pushed his cock inside of you again, persistent despite your body naturally arcing forward to escape the emerging pain, but his hand on your hip pulled you back, anchoring your withering body, until the thick inch of his cock slid in.

“Careful—F-fuck, Jim.” Your stomach was in knots as it always was when he would first push inside of you. Feelings, conflicting ones of need, want, and regret battling for the throne of your body, of your mind, as Jim kept pushing, sliding in and out, rough and impatient because he needed you to open yourself up for him.

He was so big, too big at times, and you felt so pathetic because you thought you’d get used to him by now; used to the way you felt so full even when only his head had penetrated you; used to how your hole stung as more of Jim sheathed inside of you, slowly with a couple of thrusts aiding its insertion.

“I know, I know…” He breathed with a rattle, the tightness in your cavity gripping pleasurably around him as he thrusted with only the first few inches in, absolutely riveting that he couldn’t help but let his desires dominant his methodical approach in letting you adjust to his large size and instead, making you to take it all at once with one long and deep push.

“J-Jim!” A scream abruptly left your throat and before you could let another slip out, his hand suddenly came up to cover your mouth, pressing his palm hard to your face and squeezing your cheeks. Your eyes shut, and your body writhed from how Jim’s cock roughly worked you opened. You felt uncomfortably full, beyond stretched to your limits as Jim was balls-deep inside of you now, but most importantly, you felt so wanted.

Bounded by the strong hold around you; his hand squeezing your cheeks in his palm to muffle your moans; his cock penetrating you deep and hard with fast and needy rhythms; his lips soft against your neck before they surprised with a painful suck to your jawbone; you were enraptured by Jim’s dominance over you, leaking from the tip of your cock in heavy drips while he fucked you from behind, the metal of his belt clacking with every precision of his thrusts.

“You’re so tight. Fuck. No one can take my dick like you.” Jim panted, embellishing your neck in hot breaths before climbing to kiss you on the lips again once you were prompted to turn your head.

It was the small sounds from you that drove Jim nuts. They spilled into his mouth without restraint, an open-mouthed kiss again as he licked into you, suckled on your tongue, and let drool join your own slick mess at your chin. Tiny whimpers and occasional gasps when he hit your prostate fed his thirst for you, knowing that only he could drive you this mad; fumbling over your begs and surrendering because his cock was too good for you to think properly and find your words again.

“Harder. Harder.” You gulped, your demands muffled as Jim had his thumb in your mouth now. After, you went back to sucking his thick thumb off, tongue laving him in circular motions, as best as one could as Jim sped his pace and fucked you into oblivion. “Harder.” You gritted your teeth, hustling through the burn as the saliva had dried off his dick by now. You were beating your cock, pumping it with an ample amount of strength that rivaled Jim’s hips against you, motivated by the ticking countdown of your lunch break coming to an end soon.

It still stung. You barely had time to adjust to him before you were completely taking Jim’s cock as if you were a cheap flashlight he bought online, a piece of silicon that he’d break. Your hair bounced, sweat-dripping down your forehead while you felt his own sweat dripping of his forehead and staining your dress shirt. The back of your shirt felt damp, heat building up at your back-side as Jim had enclosed around you with an embrace that thawed any ounce of pain and replaced it with intoxicating pleasure. An onslaught of thrusts kept you writhing by your toes, then curling into the blanket that had bundled beneath your feet.

Harder. Your demands were immediately met after Jim pulled himself out completely, as if he was recharging his strength, lubed his erection with a spit to the palm, then shoved himself back into you with one strong thrust, sending your body into an arc that he’d immediately restrained back with a push to your abdomen, forcing you to take his cock in full stride. Your ass rippled like the rattle in your moans, flesh clapping loud whenever Jim met his groin to your skin, and you couldn’t get enough of it, the sounds glorious in your ear. Your hole clenched in vain as Jim always managed to power through and forced you open again, hollowing you out until your pucker shaped itself to the exact size of his thick cock.

He would marvel at the gape when he pulled himself out again, for his own sake as he was nearing his climax, and spread your cheeks open. “Just for me?”

“Just for you.” You used the small break to catch up on your breath, wetting your parched throat with multiple gulps as you turned over your shoulder to catch him staring, finding it futile as your throat felt brittle again.

He clicked his tongue multiple times, that habit again whenever he felt something, when the rim of your hole tensed up at the multiple spanks he’d given you, seemingly swallowing at nothing but air, until he breached himself back in, angling his hips perfectly to press at your prostate.

It was nearing—your climax. You rarely touched your cock, abandoning it because your arms tend to be locked behind Jim’s warm embrace around you, but it sprouted strong in between your legs, aided by the repeated violation against your prostate. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head multiple times, Jim’s large cock knocking the breath out of you with every snap of his hips, pounding into the swelling of your insides.

“Oh god, Jim—“

That spot again, he never missed once in hitting your prostate, a storm of delight torpedoing the pit of your stomach as Jim impaled into you like lightning. Jim muttered something under his breath, striking on your skin as he bit into your neck, then pressed hard against your hip bone.

“I’m gonna—“ Jim gripped at your hips harder, a slur of words near your ear making goosebumps raise all over your body, beneath the layer of sweat that had dampened your clothes.

“Too, me too—“ You huffed, closing your eyes, but deftly finding Jim’s lips when you turned your head to kiss him one more time. An immediate tangle of tongues was enforced, your mouths mutually opening on impulse while he held your head comfortably to keep you from straining your neck. You moaned, reeled your tongue back from the slippery closure of his mouth, and cried out as your pucker clamped down on his large cock moving inside of you. Your hole throbbed around his girth with exquisite spurts that came from within, pulsated with the veins that had adorned Jim’s cock delectably, grasped him like a tight sleeve that refused to let him go.

When you opened your eyes, you were blinded by the lights that had donned over you instead of casted shadows, a heavenly choir celebrating with holy bells when your balls tightened once before loosening when your cock erupted thick cumshots onto the boxes in front of you, painting the cardboard in thick layers of yourself, of your desires, with the help of Jim’s cock, pounding strong ropes of cum out of you until they’ve hit every box like target practice.

“Fuck.” Jim let out a deep groan, pushing painfully into you, his hand reaching over to milk your cock until you were only spewing out the tiniest bits of cum left in your emptying sack. Your whimpering and the convulsion of your body, as he continued to milk your cock, triggered Jim to finally break within a couple more thrusts and a deep grunt, his cock exploding hot and thick in the confines of your ass, flooding your tender hole with his thick cum loads.

“Jim.” You whined, drawing out his name. His cum was dripping out of you, a few thick droplets rolling to the side of your ass as Jim’s thrusts were beginning to shallow, but never once pausing. “Fuck—“

“You feel so good like this.” Jim was creaming your insides, using your ass to ride out his orgasm and milk his hard cock inside of you, even when he was beginning to feel sore at the base of his balls. You whimpered quietly, knowing it was such a waste of cum dripping out of you like that, but also because you felt your cock hardening again despite just now recovering from Jim’s devious hold on you.

“We’re going to be late if you keep this up.” You should’ve known better. Any time you offered him a reason not to do something, Jim was motivated to do the opposite.

His thrusts remained the same, shallow yet deep against you, and right when you thought you felt soaked in your ass, Jim pressed another low grunt to your lips, snapping once into you and rattling another moan out of you, before the convulsions bound his body to your backside once again, and let him spill another load inside of your creamy hole.

Jim shuddered, feeling drained and especially aching as his cock went limp and slipped out of you, the only connection between you and him being the sticky cum that had webbed his cock and your ass together as you involuntarily pushed his cum out of your tender hole in a daze.

“Think you can work the rest of the day like this?” The pleasure subsided into exhaustion, a wave of drowsiness hitting you and Jim like a truck despite the uncomfortable pool of cum sitting beneath you two. Jim kissed your shoulder, then pulled your briefs back up, your pants following after.

“No way.” You laughed, lightly punching at his shoulder after buckling your belt because now all you wanted to do was use what the shelf was actually purposed for: sleeping. “You owe me a hot bath later.”

“Tch, the things I do for you. You're ungateful.”

"You love me for it."

"I do."

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#✰ : nou.fics #jim halpert x reader #jim halpert x male reader #jim halpert x y/n #jim halpert x you #jim halpert x m!reader #x you #x reader #male reader #x male reader #male reader smut #✰ : nou.tv #✰ : nou.theoffice #jim halpert fic #jim halpert fanfic

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novlr · 9 months

Note

Do you have any tips on how to write a character who’s being manipulated?

Your blog has been very helpful to me! :) thanks a lot

Quick Tips for Writing Manipulative Characters

To convincingly write a character who is being manipulated, you must first understand how to write a believable manipulator. Often hidden in plain sight, manipulators pull the strings, guiding the actions of those who are often unaware that they're dancing to someone else's tune.

Let’s look at manipulators as puppet masters, exploring how they function and how their actions echo throughout your story. By understanding the manipulator, you'll better equip yourself to create realistic characters who are unwittingly under their sway.

How do they behave?

Play the victim to garner sympathy

Charming and persuasive

Twist and distort the truth to suit their agenda

Play mind games

Are silver-tongued

Passive-aggressive when confronted

Use guilt to control others

Don’t hesitate to lie or deceive

Demonstrate a sense of entitlement.

Project their feelings onto others

How do they interact?

Play different roles with different people

Prefer indirect communication to direct confrontation

Gaslight others, making them doubt their own perceptions

Shift the blame onto others

Exploit others' vulnerabilities

Use people’s secrets against them

Make others feel obligated or in debt to them

Use flattery to get their way

Create conflict between other characters

Deliberately create confusion and chaos

Describe their body language

Maintain intense eye contact

Use touch to seem friendly and intimate

Facial expressions often don't match their words

Use large, expressive gestures to dramatise

Have a confident and exaggerated posture

Soften expression to look more trustworthy

Smile artificially or excessively

Lean in close, invading personal space

Mirror others’ behaviours to seem more likeable

Mimic emotions they may not feel

Describe their attitudes

Believe they are always right

Feel entitled and superior

Lack empathy

Highly competitive

Often impatient and intolerant

Controlling and like to be in charge

Rarely apologize sincerely

Often play the martyr, acting self-sacrificing

Can be sceptical of others’ intentions

Kindness is often an act

Positive narrative effects

Paradoxically, manipulative characters can have a positive narrative effect on those they manipulate. These characters can act as a catalyst for change, pushing others to unlock hidden potential and indirectly teaching them to be more cautious. In the face of manipulation, characters can mature and grow resilience.

Manipulative characters can also reveal people’s true natures by tricking them into revelations or by fostering unity as others band together against them. Furthermore, their actions can create dramatic plot twists, make people question their own perceptions and realities, and add intrigue.

Negative narrative effects

Manipulators can cause emotional and psychological distress, breed distrust and insecurity, and disrupt relationships and friendships. These characters often lead others to make damaging decisions, creating a toxic environment.

By exploiting and exposing others' vulnerabilities, manipulators make individuals question their self-worth. The extent of their manipulation can even cause physical harm and lead to the downfall of other characters. Their lasting legacy? Emotional scars that define their victims long after the manipulator has exited the narrative.

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kitten4sannie · 3 months

Text

ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴᴇᴛ

ᴛᴇɴᴛᴀᴄʟᴇꜱ/ᴛɪᴛꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ➠ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ

pairing: intergalactic alien idol! wooyoung x cyborg call girl! reader (fem) feat. ai! san

genre: futuristic au, idol au, smut

summary: your company pleasureplanet™ gets a call from the most sought after idol in your galaxy, requesting you for an evening. he shows you a side his fans have never seen before.

w.c: 2.5k

warnings: switch! wooyoung, reader adapts to whatever woo wants for her own pleasure ^^, alien heat cycles, woo’s got an big alien cock, implied voyeurism, praise, begging, tentacle sucking + fucking, deep-throating, titfucking, choking kink but not in the way you think, unprotected sex, just…so much cum and alien goo lol, breeding/impreg kink, actual impregnation (in this economic climate??), oviposition, creampie, cum inflation

a/n: i’m giving my lord and savior cthulhu all the credit for bestowing this idea upon me,, it’s not like i’ve been wanting to write something this heinous for months and months… where’d you even get that idea from?? haha…ha. but fr im so happy i finally got to write out something that’s akin to a hentai lol i’m living my best smut writer life rn. please heed the warnings and if you did so i hope you enjoy :3

Now Playing:

ᴘʟ4ʏɢ1ʀʟ ʙʏ ʟᴏʟᴏ ᴢᴏᴜᴀÏ

0:01 ❍─────── 4:28

Volume: ▁▂▃▄▅▆▇ 100%

ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

Wooyoung woke up from his sleep in a cold sweat, the flashing lights projecting from the room’s flatscreen making patterns on his glistening skin as he sat up, his body filled with an odd, though familiar heaviness that he knew he would have to take care of sooner than later.

“Shit, is it happening already?” he whispered to himself, groaning as pulled himself to the edge of the king-sized bed to sit comfortably. “San, do a body scan.” Wooyoung rubbed his tired eyes, waiting for his in-house AI system to kick in, a familiar ding suddenly ringing out inside the empty room.

A projection of a youthful man with sharp, feline-like features appeared on the wall closest to Wooyoung’s bed. He looked in Wooyoung’s general direction, giving him a cordial smile and a bow. “Good evening, Wooyoung.” Blue rings of light formed along the edges of San’s brown eyes, studying Wooyoung’s form. “It appears that your BPM is above normal range. Abnormal body temperature and cortisol production have been detected. Unusually high levels of arousal and semen production are recognized as well,” the AI stated matter-of-factly, blinking. “You seem to be exhibiting symptoms of an illness that members of your sector are susceptible to contracting during this time of year. Would you like to see an in-depth analysis?”

“Yes, San.” Wooyoung waited for a moment until a prompt appeared on the small computer built into his wrist, tapping a few options, until it projected various images to him. The application showed him what he was in denial about discovering, the bright red letters indicating that he was indeed smack dab in the middle of an intense heat, and to make things worse, he was carrying. To make matters even worse, he knew his kind was required to transfer his offspring to a willing partner, or else his own body would become a birthing ground.

Knowing that he had too many fans relying on him in the intergalactic entertainment world, it simply wasn’t an option for him to retire. He would have to find someone that could host them for him, but where? And so late in the night? Who could possibly–

“Hey, sexy, are you looking for a late-night lover?” an ample-chested member of the spider dimension with eight hooded eyes and fearsome mandibles questioned Wooyoung from the bright TV screen, bringing a bit of their web together into a pattern that formed a heart.

“Oh?” Wooyoung murmured, realizing that just perhaps his reluctant, desperate prayers to his galaxy’s god were in the process of being answered.

A curvy gray alien leaning seductively against a bar table continued the spiel, “Someone you can unload your deepest desires onto? Someone that can make your wildest dreams come true?”

“Well, look no further.” An enthusiastic, though automated voice took over this time, as the screen showcased the company’s shiny logo, while it flipped through a slew of optional playmates across the screen like pages of an open book, showcasing the wide range of choices Wooyoung had. “Our playmates at Pleasure Planet will take good care of you. For price options, call (XXX)-XXX.”

Wooyoung bit his lip, about to look away from the TV when you popped up on the screen, drawing his attention to you, your human-like beauty mixed with the metal intricacies of a robot standing out to him.

“Well, what are you waiting for, baby?” you asked Wooyoung through the screen, laying across a plush velvet couch in only a small black slip, your back arched, running your fingers up along your sleek body, until you brought them into your hair to push it behind your ears, your fingers brushing against the small lit-up chrome circle near your temple. “Give me a call~”

Wooyoung gulped so hard, he almost swallowed his Adam’s apple, knowing what he had to do. He rubbed at his sweaty neck, feeling more beads of sweat trickle down his neck to his chest, the loose sleep t-shirt that was hanging off his shoulders now tinted a darker color. “San, call Pleasure Planet and book me an appointment with the cyborg girl.”

“Right away, Wooyoung,” San obeyed, bowing at the waist, before his image dissipated, the wall returning to a blank state.

࿏࿏࿏

A soft ding sound filled the empty space of Wooyoung’s expansive cyber chamber after some time went by, finally distracting the overheated alien from his current predicament. He continued to lay in a fetal position on the side of his bed, too overwhelmed by the dizzying amount of arousal that was swirling around his insides like a shoal of fish. “Is…nnngh…she here, San?”

San’s form materialized onto the wall once more, scanning his Master’s crumpled up body, running a number of tests, finding that the situation was beginning to grow imminent. “Yes, she is, Wooyoung. Please begin the mating ritual as soon as possible, to prevent less favorable outcomes. I’m sure your company wouldn’t want you–”

“You think I don’t know that, San?” he snapped back, holding a hand to his disruptive abdomen, groaning in both pain and unexplainable pleasure, as what Wooyoung could only describe as molten-hot lava churning around inside his core, just aching to spill out of him. “Where the fuck is she? I need to–”

“I’m here for you, Wooyoung. Please, put your worries to rest,” you replied as you entered his room, Wooyoung’s eyes following your movements like a moth to a flame, taking slow steps up to his bed, shedding various articles of your clothing until you were bare for him.

“O-oh, hi,” Wooyoung croaked, doing his best to sit up in his bed with his head against his pillow, beads of sweat already soaking into it, strands of black hair sticking to his forehead. He watched you climb onto his bed and crawl towards him, his eyes shifting from your face to your body, trying to get his spinning mind to stop for a moment. “Wh-what’s your name?”

“Y/N, but you can call me whatever you want. I’m yours for tonight~” You mounted him, lowering yourself down to feel his aching length pressing into your heat through his boxers.

“Y/N…” he repeated softly, entranced by you.

Smiling down at him, you gently ran your hands up his rapidly rising abdomen, feeling up his soft body along the way, eventually slipping him out of the sweater he was in, eliciting a whine from the alien below you. You brought your lips near Wooyoung’s parted ones, whispering against them, “Oh, baby, you’re in bad shape, huh? Need me to take care of you?”

Wooyoung nodded weakly, his hands on your thighs, feeling your soft skin underneath his heated grasp. He squeezed into it, swallowing harshly, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing inside his throat. “Y-yes, please, it hurts so bad…”

San, who was still watching from the wall, cleared his throat, doing his duty and informing his Master of important information. “Master, please return to your body’s natural state soon. Your vitals are starting to worry me.”

“I got it, San,” Wooyoung grunted, glaring at the AI, before returning his attention to you. “Oh my god…” He groaned at the sight of you running your hands up and down your perfectly created body, your fingers slipping past the metal, glowing seams that sealed you together, until you got down to your glistening cunt, your fingers spreading yourself open for his viewing pleasure, all while grinding back and forth against his slippery, clothed length. “Y/N…fuck…I just…don’t want to scare you…”

“You won’t, trust me. Please, let yourself go, Wooyoung, it’s okay,” you reassured him softly, licking at your fingers before they returned to your perfect pussy, rubbing at your clit, feeling zaps of electricity course through your body, your artificial synapses firing off inside your brain. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

Inhaling sharply, Wooyoung closed his eyes for a moment to ground himself, knowing you wouldn’t judge every inch of him like people on the Universal Net did. Little by little, he let his body return to its natural state, small, ridged scales growing in patches along his skin, which exhibited an electric blue tint wherever his blood settled in the most, long, slick-covered tentacles emerging from his form, some of them idly curling around different parts of your body — the most notable change to his body being his cock, which tore out of his boxers from its size. It was no longer human-like, but instead resembled his wriggling appendages, had prominent ridges, leaked a steady flow of blue, viscous pre-cum, and had an obvious girth to it, thick, heavy-looking, and perhaps capable of stretching you open to your particular model’s max capacity for cock.

“Oh, Wooyoung,” you sighed, small digital hearts forming within your hooded eyes, cupping the alien’s flushed face, bringing your lips to his. “You're beautiful.”

Wooyoung melted into your kiss and body respectively, bringing his hands up to your own face, holding it, his tentacles exploring the rest of your form for him, a few curling around and in between your tits, others sliding along your thighs and hips, while his slippery cock idly rubbed back and forth along your cunt like it had a mind of its own, sending waves of pleasure into the both of you. “Fuck, I need you so bad, Y/N…”

A string of saliva broke your kiss as you pulled back, squeezing your tits together around the tentacle that was between them, licking at the wriggling tip. “How bad, baby? How bad do you want to fill me up with your cock?” you asked breathily, feeling the tentacle begin to thrust faster and faster, dripping blue pre-cum onto your slick skin. “You want to fuck your cum into me, Wooyoung? Fuck me so deep, it reaches my womb?”

“Y-esss, please, oh my god, please,” Wooyoung moaned out, grabbing at your hips, continuing to grind his large, ridged cock against your cunt, unable to stop gasping for air from how hard he was breathing.

“Then, come here,” you purred, reaching down to grab Wooyoung’s cock and pushing it inside you, feeling it fill you up inch by inch until your hungry cunt swallowed it in its entirety, your bodies essentially becoming one.

Any semblance of composure completely left Wooyoung’s burning body in that moment, encouraging him to grab onto your hips like handlebars and drive his cock deep into your cunt over and over, his tentacles still eagerly exploring the expanse of your skin, some rubbing into your clit, others still preoccupied with your now bouncing tits, an additional tentacle loosely wrapping around your neck, the tip of it sliding along your cheek like it was licking you. “Feels so fucking good being inside you, Y/N, I’m gonna melt.”

“Take me, Wooyoung, do whatever you want to me,” you told the alien in between pants, opening your mouth when Wooyoung’s tentacle rolled down your other cheek and across your lips, eventually slipping inside your mouth when you opened up, the small round disk built into your temple continually flashing blue the longer your body short-circuited with pleasure, your sensitive flesh squelching lewdly each time they joined together in slick, gooey harmony.

Wooyoung watched you with a fondness that bordered obsession, drooling at the sight of his appendage fucking itself into your bulging throat that it was wrapped tightly around, still bringing you down onto his cock at an unnerving speed, the heaviness swirling around inside his lower abdomen growing more and more prominent. “I’m going to breed you, Y/N, did you know that? I’m going to fill you to the fucking brim with my kids.”

You gurgled happily around the thrusting tentacle that was currently stretching out your lips and throat, your body shuddering with pleasure once load after load of blue goo spilled into your willing mouth, dripping down the sides of your chin and traveling along the rest of your slicked-up body. The tentacle left your mouth with a lewd pop and slowly wrapped around your waist instead. “Fill me up, Wooyoung, please, fuck it in me, deeper, I need it,” you begged him, desperately driving yourself down on his thick cock, cupping your own overheated cheeks, the hearts inside your eyes growing more and more bright each time the alien’s cock slipped deep inside your sloppy cunt.

“Gonna fuck you so full, Y/N, gonna plug you up with my cock so you have to be my breeding bitch again and again,” Wooyoung mindlessly moaned out, simply driven by his overwhelming lust and instinctual urge to procreate, the heaviness moving closer and closer to his pulsing cock.

“Yes, give it to me, please…!”

San, who had been silently observing the entire time, cleared his dry throat up to announce, “Delivery of offspring will be completed in…three…two..one…”

Neither you nor Wooyoung could tell who had came harder between the both of you, your joined moans and pants filling up the heavy air in the room. Wooyoung’s hands were cemented against your lower abdomen, able to feel as each warm, egg-like object had been deposited into your contracting cunt. “Feel them?” he asked under his breath, looking up into your barely open eyes.

“Yeah, I feel them,” you breathed, feeling dizzy just from the sensation of being filled to the absolute brim, Wooyoung’s cock acting as a dam until he knew that nothing except loads of his cum would come out afterwards, a small bulge present inside your stomach being the proof of what had been done to you.

Wooyoung let out a small whine, slowly pulling out of you, his cock flopping lifelessly onto his pelvis, his eyes focused on the way your used hole fluttered around nothing, dribbles of electric blue cum dripping out, until a flood of it came seeping out in between your sticky bodies. With a blissful smile on his face, Wooyoung rubbed your stomach with gentle circles, humming to himself. “Let me know when you’re ready for another round, okay, baby?”

You smiled softly down at him, placing your hand over his, ready to ask him for another round as soon as possible when San spoke instead.

“I hate to interrupt, but you have quite the schedule tomorrow, Wooyoung…practice at 9, vocals at 11, a fan meeting in the Twilight Quadrant at 3….” San slowly informed in a disheartened tone, a drop of sweat cascading down the side of his sleek face.

Wooyoung growled, grabbing a pillow and tossing it at the wall, the image of San blurring temporarily. “Shut off! Shut down, San!” He looked back at you, rubbing your hips gently, unable to stop smiling at your pretty cybernetic face.

San disappeared from the wall, but his voice remained. “Just so you know, I don’t actually have a shut-off button, Wooyoung. I’m sentient…”

Wooyoung’s fingers clenched into your hips, his eyebrows twitching downwards. “Oh my god, San, just wait till I fucking figure out how to hack your programming…”

San cleared his throat, shaking his head, though it wasn’t visible to either of you, especially since you were both too busy eye-fucking each other. “Again, I’m sentient. That’s out of the realm of possibility.”

“San!”

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munsons-curls · 1 year

Text

Black Dahlias

Pairing: Ghostface!Eddie Munson x F! Reader (18+)

Contains: 18+!! Heavy, graphic smut. Rough, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral sex (M/F receiving), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink if you squint, possessive!eddie, mean!eddie, slight innocence kink. Minor ghostface!steve. CANON DIVERGENT.

Trigger warnings: DUBCON, knife play, stalking, panty theft, drinking and drug consumption, emetophobia, allusions to sexual assault and child abuse, graphic depictions of murder, violence and gore. <-PLEASE HEED THESE TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!

A/N: happy All Hallows’ Eve!! 🎃 thank you so so so much to T @hotchs-bitch for leaving me 112 comments on this Google doc despite having her own 17k word WIP. I love u.

Somebody’s watching you.

Your eyes dart around the open courtyard, scanning the area for anything, anybody that stands out, but the unease rolling in your stomach dissipates as quickly as it arrives.

In the distance, you spot a tall figure lighting a cigarette under the awning of the drama block. His dark, curly hair sits at his leather and denim clad shoulders, ringed fingers bringing a cigarette to his mouth. He’s initially a cutting figure, intimidating and looming but you find yourself drawn to him in a magnetic way.

You meet his eyes briefly, your attention ripped away when a girl with short, dirty blonde hair rushes past you, splashing you with her converse. She windmills to a stop and begins apologising profusely, running back to you.

“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, I’m so sorry.” She rasps. “I totally didn’t even see that stupid puddle and now you’re soaking!”

“No harm done.” You smile, downcast. “I was already wet.”

She looks you up and down, her eyes widening at you soaking through your clothes. “I’m so sorry. Do you have, like. A ride or something? How long have you been waiting here?”

“Since class let out. I’m just waiting for the rain to clear to walk home.” You smile.

“Okay. Forget it. C’mon. You’re coming with me.” You’re being dragged away by a well-meaning hand before you can protest, leading you to a dark red BMW. “C’mon!” She insists when you drag your heels, pulling you down the hilly path to the car.

You curiously look back for the figure in the distance, but he’s gone by the time you manage to pull free of your new friend.

“I’m Robin. And that head of hair you see is Steve.” She says, motioning to the driver in a green uniform vest.

You greet Steve quickly and he mock-salutes you with two fingers, offering you a tight smile as Robin ferries you into the back of the car, quickly taking her place in the passenger side. She shakes out her hair, water droplets splattering Steve.

He squirms and wipes his face before starting the car. “I’ve been waiting here for ten minutes, Robin. I’ve told you—if you want rides from me, the least you can do is be on time.”

Evidently, Robin bringing in strays isn’t new to Steve, he doesn’t seem at all irritated by an unknown girl dripping rainwater in the back of his BMW. He’s more irritated by the wait.

“Vickie needed help with a special project! Besides, class actually let out fifteen minutes ago, so technically we’re both late.”

You stifle a laugh in the backseat, and your driver’s eyes flit up to yours through the rear view mirror. “Who’s your friend?”

“That. Is actually a great question.” She muses. “We just met and I couldn’t stand to leave her out in the rain. I didn’t get your name.” She turns around to face you. “Did I?”

She seems harmless enough, a little frazzled and chaotic, but rumours about this town put you on edge. The cult-like unsolved murder of Chrissy Cunningham two months ago still sits like a layer of smog over the town, a simultaneous refusal of the townspeople to acknowledge it—or let it go.

You know the guy accused was cleared. How or why—you’re not privy to yet.

You will be soon enough.

You smile and tell Robin your name.

“Are you new to town? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” Steve asks.

“Yeah, my dad took a job at that new state lab, so I transferred in.”

“I see. And where am I taking you lovely ladies today?”

Robin’s face crinkles and she rolls her eyes, a silent plea to ignore her friend and his overt-chivalry. “Do you have the video for Nance’s?” Steve nods. “Then we can go straight there.”

Your brows furrow. “I’m sorry. Where are we going?”

“Our friend Nancy hosts a movie marathon every Friday with a few other friends of ours.” She adds proudly, “Courtesy of Steve and I — we work at Family Video, over at the strip mall on Franklin and Marsh.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. You’re gonna love it, it’s great!”

“Oh, no. No, I really appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to intrude, I don’t think your friend would be too happy about somebody just, y’know. Waltzing in.” You chuckle.

“Oh, trust me. You don’t know Nancy. She loves playing hostess, and she’ll love you. Don’t worry.” Robin reassures you, pulling down her visor mirror.

Steve hums, agreeing with Robin. “She’s right. Half of Hawkins practically has a key to the Wheeler’s. Just, y’know. Don’t tell Ted.”

You smile awkwardly, settling in a little better in the backseat. You don’t interject in the conversation much, Robin thankfully takes care of that for you as she rambles to Steve about Vickie and her new boyfriend.

You’re content to let the heaters warm your skin, and to watch the rows of houses go by, cautiously relieved at the possibility of some new friends after two months of loneliness.

At the Wheeler’s, you introduce yourself politely to Mrs Wheeler, offering a smile to the distracted man in front of the TV. Steve looks at you, mouths, “Ted.” And you nod in understanding, suppressing a laugh.

Mrs Wheeler hands you a warm towel and ushers the three of you down into the basement.

“Nothing too scary.” She says pointedly, looking at Steve. “If I have to sleep in the same bed as my twelve year old son again, there will be hell to pay, Steven.”

“Yes, ma’am. I promise. Nothing too scary.”

You follow Robin and Steve down into the basement; cozily decorated with throw blankets, cushy rugs, a sofa and a loveseat bracketing a TV on the far edge. Sconces and low lamps light the space, illuminating the group huddled in front of the TV.

“Who’s ready for Halloween II?” Steve exclaims, fishing out a VHS from under his windbreaker.

“Ah, so he lives!” Says a theatric, but deep voice behind you. “You’re twenty minutes late, Harrington.”

You let the voice wash over you before you turn around. Your breath hitches when you match the voice to the same figure who was lighting a cigarette under the gym awning just a little while ago.

You study him now, up close. Shoulder length, curly hair, sharp bone structure. High cheekbones and an angular jawline, a strong neck, full, red lips and most disarmingly, big, brown eyes. He’s intense up close, but it’s not an intensity you necessarily have a desire to run from.

His brow raises at your inquisitive gaze—you’ve been staring. “This one of your strays, Harrington? Or is this Buck’s doing?”

Steve gestures vaguely before walking away, leaving Robin—Buck—to make your introduction before joining Steve too. You pull your towel closer to your body, goosebumps erupting on your skin under an intense gaze.

He extends a large hand, chain link bracelet falling around his wrist. “Hey. Eddie.”

You take his hand, warm and large, in yours, letting his fingers wrap around the back of your palm firmly. Your voice is hoarse when you tell him your name and he laughs. A throaty sound that emanates from his chest, a grin taking over his face.

He has dimples.

“Yeah, I know.”

Your heart skids to a stop. “You do?”

“Yeah? Buck just told me.” He replies, looking at you quizzically. He wraps his hands around your upper arms, manoeuvring you so he can slide past, his chest pressing against your back. His leathery, piney scent drifts to your nose. “You comin’?”

You nod meekly, watching him take a seat on the couch, legs spread apart as he adjusts his hips and sinks down in his seat. Fondness spreads through you at the awkward, oddly charismatic way he carries himself. He lays an arm over the back of the couch leisurely, opening himself up as Nancy winds the VHS.

Magnetic as he may be, there’s a shroud of something around him, something dark that extends past his appearance.

You make a resolution not to find out, to get through this year without mishap, but when Nancy takes the last viable seat, you’re left to take a seat next to the guy you promised to swear off.

Eddie stiffens when you take the seat next to him, awkwardly tensing and stealing looks. Robin offers you a comforting smile as the movie starts, and while you stay firm on wanting as much distance between you and Eddie as you can manage, the heat between you slowly builds, and the distance becomes smaller. The pull towards each other becomes heady until you’re pressed up against one another, your shoulder tucked into Eddie’s arm, your head under his chin.

You feel his heart rate spike at the jumpscares, matching yours, but where you wear fear and apprehension on your face—Eddie wears excitement.

——————————————————————————

Somebody’s watching you.

It’s a thought that crosses your mind multiple times a day, every day for around ten months now. It starts as a fleeting occurrence, something you can chalk up to anxiety, but as the days pass, the rolling unease in your stomach, and the pressure on the back of your neck becomes more insistent.

Somebody’s watching you.

It’s near constant; following you at home, through the school hallways, free periods, the mall. It’s worse at night. With fall on the horizon, the days are shorter, and in the dead of night, you feel as though there are eyes on you, crawling up your body like little fire ants.

Curtains and blinds don’t help. The feeling is heavier when you can’t see what lurks outside.

A heavy thump from downstairs tears you from a deep sleep, the sound grabbing you by the chest and slamming you into consciousness. You sit idly for a few seconds, allowing your brain to catch up and your heart to settle down before you brave breaching your covers.

You glance at the clock.

02:22.

It’s not until you’re several shaky steps towards your bedroom door that you realise what the sound was.

Somebody closed your front door.

Adrenaline courses through your veins, making sure you’re wide awake. You reach for the door with trembling hands and step outside into the lit hallway—you can’t sleep in a dark home when you’re alone.

“Dad?” You call out.

You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing for his voice to call back so badly, you almost imagine it. He’s not due back for another five days, and when you lean over the bannister to look at the entryway, and don’t miraculously see his shoes—your blood runs ice cold.

Somebody was in your house.

There’s an idiom associated with horror movies.

When you hear a strange noise, going to investigate is an almost sure fire way to get yourself killed and have your face plastered on the front page of tomorrow’s paper. But your feet carry you downstairs anyway, curiosity outweighing rational thought. You at least want to know if you need to get the hell out of your house, and with no escape upstairs, you’re safer downstairs.

The floorboards under the stairs creak with your weight as you pad down to the front door, double checking the lock. You slowly check the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen when a chilling thought occurs to you.

You freeze.

The door closing could have been a person going out.

Or a person coming in.

Ice freezes down your spine, cracking your resolve as your heart jumps to your mouth. Suddenly, the kitchen phone rings and you yelp, body recoiling at the sound.

“Hello?”

“You want to play a game?” A voice leers.

“What?”

“I’m just messin’,” replies a more familiar voice. “What are you doin’ up this late?”

“Eddie?”

“No, the fuckin’ Grim Reaper.” He deadpans. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. What are you doin’ up’?”

“Nothing. Just needed some water.” You reply absent-mindedly, filling up your glass.

You’re here, you might as well.

The water replenishing your dehydrated body kicks your brain into gear, a thought occurring to you. “Wait. Why did you call me if you didn’t know I’d be awake?”

“I saw your lights on.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean, you ‘saw my lights on’?”

“Relax, 21 Questions. I’m doin’ a run for one of my regulars and I was in your neighbourhood. Thought I’d drive by and see if you were all good since you were so tetchy about a week alone. Saw your lights on—gave you a call. That okay?”

You smile at his gruff gesture.

You’ve learned that about Eddie in the past ten months. He’s well-meaning, but every sweet gesture is undercut by a layer of sarcasm and gruffness. You don’t blame him for his coldness.

Despite moving to town two months after Chrissy’s death, you were quickly made privy to everything that happened, and the aftermath, you saw for yourself. Eddie, despite being cleared, still subjected to whispers and dirty looks, branded a devil worshipper and a cult worshipper and a murderer.

Graffiti on his locker, snide comments in the halls, even his business took a hit. His only saving graces were Hopper, who’d cleared him, his Uncle Wayne and your group of your friends—and to a lesser degree—you.

“Of course that’s okay.” You reply.

He makes a non-committal noise. “You doing okay, though?”

A part of you wants to tell him you’re scared, maybe have him blow off his weed run and come keep you company. There’s a safeness with Eddie, but you decide against it.

Your voice pinches when you speak. “Yeah. All good.”

A moment of silence stretches between you, almost like he doesn’t believe you. He breaks the silence finally.

“You sure?”

“Mhm.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.” You finish and slide the phone back into the hook.

You replenish your glass of water, content to explain the slamming sound away as yet another coincidence—maybe as a dream your brain confused with reality when you were coming to.

As you set the glass on the kitchen island, your eyes catch a glimpse of something behind the roll of tissue. You slowly reach forward, moving the tissue out of the way to reveal a single flower with thin, dark maroon petals and a pink centre.

A black dahlia.

You pluck it from the countertop with a shaky breath, examining it under the light, and drop it when you feel a pull at the back of your neck, the feeling of somebody’s eyes on you returning again, making you feel uneasy.

You don’t spare the flower, nor the window behind you a second look, the glass of water left on the marble as you grab a knife and walk firmly to the couch in the living room. You draw the curtains and switch on the TV, flick through until a rerun of a movie plays on mute in the background, lulling you into as deep of a sleep as you can manage in the circumstances.

But somebody’s watching you.

——————————————————————————

You drag your body through the hallways the next morning, eyes weighed down like dumbbells and head fuzzy from the lack of sleep. You let your head rest against the cool metal of your locker to offer you some relief as your eyes close, succumbing to your exhaustion.

“Hey!” Nancy’s voice chirps. She looks at you perplexed when you jump. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You blink heavily and pull your locker open. “No, it’s fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

“Did you stay up late studying for Mr Haskell’s?” She asks, propping her hardback textbooks against her hip.

Shit.

“God, I wish. I actually forgot.” You sigh, grabbing your binders.

Your peripheral registers something falling out of your locker and drifting to the floor as you take out your things. Nancy’s quicker than you, balances her books on her hip and bends to pick up the item, your heart skidding to a halt when you see it in her hand.

Another black dahlia.

You feel the blood drain from your face, your stomach dropping and fingers going numb.

He was here. You’re being followed.

You feel that ominous feeling return, the feeling that you’re being watched, the crowd in the hallways offering you no solace. It feels like walking through a group of people with an invisible stab wound, nobody any the wiser of your impending doom except for you.

Nancy spins the flower from the stem, a smile taking over her face as she extends it to you. “A dahlia… nice. Who’s the guy?” She asks in a sing-song voice.

Your voice feels far away when you answer her. “There’s no guy.”

“Sure. She says sardonically. “You have flowers in your locker but no secret admirer. I want details.” As she walks away, she nods as an acknowledgement to somebody behind you.

You squeeze the flower between your hand just as a strong pair of hands pat, or rather, jostle your shoulders.

“What’s this I hear about a secret admirer?”

“Christ, Eddie. You almost gave me a heart attack.” You mutter, stuffing the flower into your pocket.

His eyes narrow as he scans your face. His gaze is intense, but it offers you an odd kind of relief— his exuberance oddly cancelling out the nauseating fear clouding you.

Leaning against Nancy’s locker with his hands in his pockets, he asks, “Why so tetchy? You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He leans in, looks down at you with a gaze that makes your skin prickle, a feeling you’ve had often during your friendship.

He taps your shin with his foot. “You know, you’re cute when you lie.”

Your breath hitches. He smells like leather and pine, and he’s tall and broad and warm, and if you leaned into him just a little, you know that some of your tension would at least melt away.

“Really, Eddie. I’m okay.” You smile, squeezing his hand.

You retract it quickly, Eddie stiffening when Carol saunters past you, accidentally tripping over Tina’s leg to bump into you with a sickeningly sweet, “sorry, honey.”

Your first instinct is to push her right back. You’d love nothing more than to pull out a chunk of her hair after what she and her asshole friends did to you. You’re smarter than that, though—she’d paint herself as the victim and you’d end up in detention with a serious mark in your permanent record.

You roll your eyes, muttering a defiant, ‘bitch’, under your breath.

“What was that about?” Eddie asks, jerking his chin towards Carol and Tommy.

“Nothing.” You clip.

He narrows his eyes expectantly, giving you yet another opportunity to reveal to him what he already knows.

Around a month ago, after a fight at a party, Steve had ended up crashing at Eddie’s for a few days after being arrested—courtesy of his ex best friend Tommy crying over a busted lip. Hopper had reassured Steve it was for appearances, that he’d be free to go as soon as his dad picked him up, secretly knowing that Tommy had most likely deserved the right hook.

Mr. Harrington though, had kicked Steve out after making his bail. It was then Steve had told Eddie about the incident at the party, about how Robin had called him absolutely furious after Tommy had tried to force himself on you.

He’d gotten a knee to the balls from you, Robin and Nancy piling on, and a right hook from Steve, but the damage had been done. By the next morning, Tina and Carol had worked their magic, branding you as the whore who tried to steal Carol’s boyfriend.

Eddie watches Tommy and Carol keenly now, an expression on his face that you’ve come to see more often recently. It’s as though the warmth drains from his eyes, leaving behind an unfeeling presence before he snaps back.

The warmth returns to his eyes as quickly as it disappears, working its way to you as if by an invisible line. “You can tell me.” He says softly. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Your chest constricts. “Eh. Apparently, I’m a whore. It’s whatever.”

His jaw ticks again. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re about as pure as they come.” He marvels, gaze lingering on your lips. His hand absently brushes some hair behind your ear, and he freezes, letting it hang awkwardly.

You huff, slapping his wrist away. “Okay. Yoda? You sound like an idiot. This isn’t the 1800’s—women have and enjoy sex, you know?”

He snaps back into his detached ruse, leaning against the locker to play with his rings. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, suggestive lilt to his voice.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you tell me more about that?”

“Dude, you’re nasty.”

“Maybe.” His eyes darken before he inhales deeply. “Listen, I got a free period, so I’m gonna run. I have a business meeting that is most urgent and requires my utmost attention.”

“Eddie-“

He’s already walking away, his broad back heading for the doors at the end of the hall. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll be back by lunch, Sweetheart.”

You smile to yourself and reach back into your pocket, having temporarily forgotten about your present. You wish you could hold onto that feeling of safety and happiness that Eddie gives you a little longer, bottle it up and use it for when your anxiety reaches its peaks.

Being around Eddie always has that effect on you, try as you might to push it down.

——————————————————————————

“Turn on the news.” Nancy hisses through the crackly phone. “Now!”

“Christ, Nance. Do you even know what time it is? It’s barely light outside.” You grumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Forget about the time, just turn on your TV!”

“Okay! Okay, gimme a second.” You groan.

You rush downstairs for the TV remote and flick through the channels until you get to the news. On the screen, police and ambulance sirens paint the scene red and blue, police tape cordoning off a house just a few blocks from yours. You turn the volume up and catch the last few words from the reporter.

“—Tragedy rocks Hawkins once again, as the bodies of two teenagers, Carol Perkins, and her boyfriend Thomas Hagan were found butchered in the early hours of this morning.”

The words go off like a bomb in your ear, the floor giving out from under your feet as you slump down on the sofa, shakily clutching the remote.

“Holy shit. Holy shit, holy fucking shit.” You murmur.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.”

Your voice sounds tinny when you speak. “They were murdered?”

“Butchered.”

“God, I know I said I wanted to see her head on a spike but this is awful. I can’t believe somebody would do that.”

A shiver runs down your spine at your proximity to the victims—despite your vitriolic hatred for the both of them, Carol and Tommy are—were—people you saw everyday. You can’t say anybody deserves to be butchered.

“Can you meet Robin, Jonathan and me at my place in an hour? We’re gonna go get some answers.” Nancy asks.

“Isn’t that a reporter’s job? Or the PD?” You ask, alarmed.

“I wanna major in journalism, that basically makes me half a reporter already. Just meet at my place in an hour. Bring sensible shoes.”

Any room for negotiation goes out of the window as the line goes dead. You set the now clammy phone down on the hook and stay rooted in spot, staring blankly at the TV as the news reel plays out in the background.

“—Police and Fire were called to the scene at around 3:00am when Perkins’ parents arrived home to a fire. Upon their arrival, they found their home in disarray and the two teenagers dead. Hawkins PD are still combing the scene for evidence and are expected to make an announcement later this evening. One thing is for sure though, it seems that death and tragedy are never too far where Hawkins is concerned.”

You’d completely forgotten about the dark cloud that had been looming over Hawkins this past year. These new killings seem especially insidious with the anniversary of Chrissy Cunningham’s death approaching in just a few days.

Becoming cognizant of Chrissy, you want to reach out to Eddie to ask him how he’s doing following this news. You’ve no doubt that this time of year is likely to dredge up some horrific memories for him—it’s only been a year since he was labelled as the town pariah—ostracised through no fault of his own.

This won’t help.

He’ll be subjected to looks in the street again and whispers as he walks by, as though he’s a stain on the town. He’ll be scapegoated. Again.

You want to reach out to Eddie for him, sure. But there’s also a selfish undercurrent to your thoughts; Eddie’s an increasingly comforting figure in your life and you need him to knock you back on track, especially if Nancy’s going to be critiquing your journalism skills this morning.

A hit of something to get your head right.

You hit three on your speed dial, put the coffee on while the line rings and make your way upstairs.

His voice crackles through the phone and has the strangest effect by offering you almost-immediate relief. “Who the hell is this?” He grumbles, voice thick with sleep.

It makes your heart pick up pace.

You stifle a laugh. “Eddie, it’s me.”

He moans, and you picture him with mussed hair, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His voice is still thick when he talks; though, much less irritable this time. “Mornin’, sunshine. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m guessing you didn’t see the news?”

“Nah. Not yet at least. Late night. What’s going on?”

“It’s Carol and Tommy. They found their bodies this morning, they were killed.” You whisper the last part in a hushed tone, like verbalising it will somehow bring the curse to you.

“Wait, what did you just say? They were murdered?” You hear rustling on the other end and assume Eddie’s making a mad dash to the living room in his boxers to turn on the TV. “Do they know who did it?”

“No, I don’t think so. Not yet—“

“—Hey, man. Turn that up?”

You pause in your doorway, brows furrowing. “Who are you talking to?”

“Harrington—he got into another pissing match with his dad a few nights ago, told him he could have the couch while Wayne was at work.”

“Christ, dude. They’re saying they were butchered.” Steve says, muffled in the background.

You straighten the edges of your bedsheets and start to pick out the sensible shoes Nancy requested, zoning in on another pair you’ll inevitably have to loan to Robin.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, I thought you already knew. I just…wanted to check in.”

Eddie pauses before he speaks hesitantly. “Check in?”

“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s coming up to a year since all of that stuff happened, and I can’t imagine this is gonna be easy for you, y’know? I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A surge of warmth spreads inside him. Rarely does he feel truly content or peaceful, especially as of late; he has enough emotional baggage to last a lifetime. But he does feel blessed to have sporadic moments of lightness—short—but always with you.

“You sayin’ you care about me or something?” He murmurs, no doubt careful to avoid Steve’s ears but you can hear the smile in his voice.

You snicker, your eyes falling to your slightly open underwear drawer. You go to close it with an absent-minded push of your hips when your eyes catch something.

Your heart plummets like a lead weight, a shot of dread piercing your chest.

“Hello? You there?” Eddie calls out, but your hands are trembling.

Stuffed in your underwear drawer, deliberately wrapped inside a pair of white cotton panties, is another black dahlia.

“Eddie, I’m gonna have to call you back.” You squeak.

His voice shifts. “You okay? Something wrong?”

“Fine. I’ll talk to you later.” You clip, the phone landing with a thud against your mattress.

You reach for the flower, gingerly unwrapping it from the white cotton only to reveal a small note tucked under the stem. Nausea claws at your stomach and invades your throat, leaving your head tingly and eyes spotty.

Black sharpie against red paper reads;

“The things we do for love. Be seeing you soon, my flower. I have some business to take care of first.”

It's as direct a threat to you as you’ve had so far, but there’s an insinuation there too. An icy thought sends chills through your veins. You may be responsible for Carol and Tommy’s deaths which is in itself a steel weight, but this note doesn’t indicate any sign of the violence stopping.

If anything, it connotes the opposite.

You can’t explain the paranoia and the flowers away, can’t live in the content grey safety of denial anymore. He was here.

In your room. Rifling through your underwear drawer. Watching you sleep.

Could he have touched you?

Are you the business he has to take care of?

Your stomach rolls, and you run to the bathroom to empty your guts into the toilet, gagging until the remnants of last night’s barely-there-dinner are gone and you’re shivering and cold on the tiled floor.

You’re hit with the feeling of somebody watching you again, pressure tugging at the back of your neck like tiny threads under your skin. Your eyes dart out of the window but you don’t see anything.

Or anybody.

You never do.

——————————————————————————

Your investigation with Robin and Nancy turns up nothing except more disturbing information, which you grimly conclude could well predict your own demise. You’re running on fumes, paranoid and scared for your life, the walk up the stairs to get into school seeming like a chore.

“Tommy went first.” Robin tells Eddie the following morning.

“What?” He asks, dodging Robin’s attempt to snatch the cigarette out of his mouth. She tries again, but he dodges again, manoeuvring you to walk between them.

“Yeah. We overheard Hopper and Callahan over the radio. He was shot in both knees first, tied to a chair, gagged, then stabbed. His insides…on the outside.”

Eddie’s face contorts, not so much in horror, but in mild disgust as he exhales a cloud of smoke. It seems Tommy had enemies in just about every circle except for his own; and despite your best intentions not to think it, you conclude that somebody finally decided to take matters into their own hands.

“And Carol? Stabbed in the back, chest, and neck. Gutted and tied to a tree. Can you believe that shit? This guy is serious.” Robin continues.

She’s managed to dig up a rubber band from inside her pocket and snaps it against her wrist, each slap against her skin housing a migraine deeper in your temple.

You wince.

“Careful, Buck. Almost sounds like you admire him. Besides, how do you know it’s a guy?” Eddie asks, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Statistics.” Nancy interjects, clicking her locker shut. “Violent kills are almost always executed by men. That, and the fact that it would take a pretty huge guy to hog-tie Tommy, and then string Carol’s dead body up on a tree.”

“Alright.” You feel nausea rising in your stomach again. Slamming your locker shut, you squeeze your eyes closed. “Can we not? I feel sick.”

“You look it.” Robin deadpans, raising her hands in defence when you, Nancy and Eddie cut her a look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it in a you-look-awful way, I’m just saying you look like you haven’t been sleeping.”

Eddie’s hand cups your cheek, gently turning your face to his. “Yeah. Have you been sleeping?” He asks, cigarette tucked between his lips. His thumb runs over the delicate skin under your eyes. “You look so tired.”

You tense up at the sudden contact from Eddie, who, despite being notoriously tactile, isn't somebody you’d ever describe as affectionate except maybe with Dustin and the kids.

You allow yourself a moment of weakness to melt into his touch, his warm skin and icy rings, but your eyes dart to Robin and Nancy who share a wry look. You become aware of the droves of people staring and whispering as they go by too, and suddenly your throat feels tight.

“I’m fine.” You clip, prying yourself away from his tender touch and he reacts by awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets, hurt by the sudden change.

He knows it’s because people are staring, he just hadn’t expected you to care. You can’t handle the eyes on you—not when there’s somebody breathing down your neck.

The rational part of you knows that it’s because you’re in such close proximity to Eddie, who’s been re-subjected to dirty looks and hostile whispers since Tommy and Carol died yesterday. It seems that despite his name being cleared in good faith last year, the people of Hawkins merely needed a reason to scapegoat Eddie again, all too quick to spit the words devil worshipper and cult leader his way.

Eddie brushes the looks off, his jaw tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing, shoulders tight like a coil as he takes a deep drag of his cigarette.

“Fuckin’ morons.” He mutters under his breath. “A serial killer walks the streets of Hawkins but sure…” He mock lunges at a group of lowerclassmen who flinch and disperse down the hallway, earning more looks from passersby. “Let's all gather around to stare at the freak.”

“Mr. Munson,” Higgins’ voice booms, his eyes falling to the cigarette in Eddie’s mouth. “You can either put that out, or I can put it out for you—and while I do relish in giving you detention—I no longer wish to see you roam these halls for yet another year. I’m frankly sick of seeing your face.”

“Oh believe me. The feeling’s mutual, asshole.” Eddie grumbles, a begrudging appeasement on his face. He theatrically plucks the cigarette from his mouth and puts it out against the metal rim of the bin behind you. “Guy’s a pain in my sack.”

Robin’s cackle is cut short when a sudden buzz crawls over the student body. It takes over like a swarm of bees, students yelling and clamouring in the direction of the football field. In the distance, you see Argyle and a pale Jonathan cut through the crowd, right as Mr Higgins receives a radio transmission and pushes through the horde himself.

You narrow your eyes, your group pulling Jonathan and Argyle to the side of the stampede. “What’s going on?”

“Dudes, they found another body.” Argyle tells the group.

The news hits you with the subtlety of a crashing train, leaving the words ricocheting in your ear. You fight to keep your composure, doing the maths in your head to figure out where on your shadow’s roster you fall.

“What? Who? Where? How? How do you guys know?” Nancy asks in rapid succession, grabbing Jonathan and Argyle with a hand each.

“I was walking down to take pictures out on the football field for the yearbook, and saw what I thought was a doll or a scarecrow or something. Just hanging from the goalpost.” Jonathan pants weakly.

“Yeah. Got closer and realised it was a real person. A lady.” Argyle adds, shaking his head.

Eddie huffs, leaning against his locker. “A lady?”

“Tina.” Jonathan corrects. “Somebody already tipped off the cops—Hopper pulled up right as we saw her body. She was in her pyjamas, you guys. All covered in blood.” He runs a stressed hand through his hair, bending to put his hands on his knees. “I think I’m gonna throw up.” He wheezes.

Argyle rubs his back sympathetically, while Nancy kicks herself into high gear. Rifling through her locker, she grabs her school newspaper notebook and best ballpoint pen—the kind she reserves for sleuthing and writing speeches—and turns heel.

“I swear, if you want something done right…” she mutters and she’s a flash of a perm as she scurries away, joining the now well-informed student body of the attraction outside.

The gaggle eventually dies down and gets filtered into the gym, squashed together like sardines in a can; some taking up the bleachers, some using the benches, the lowerclassmen claiming the floor as their sitting space.

Eddie tucks you into his arm on the sidelines where the rest of your friends sit in an effort to conserve space. He balances his copy of Lord of The Rings on his knee, the spine snapped, edges frayed and tattered, various motor oil stains soaked into the paper with rows and rows of annotations littering the page.

At best, it's well-loved—at worst, it’s unreadable—but it’s one of Eddie’s prized possessions and it shows.

Higgins’ voice through the speaker silences the hustle of whispering students, rumours and gossip dying down almost immediately.

“All classes are henceforth suspended until further notice. When prompted, please collect all important belongings from your lockers and proceed to leave in an orderly fashion. Police Chief Hopper also has an announcement to make—please remain where you are for now.”

Cheers for class suspension are cut short when Hopper swiftly implements a strict citywide 9:00pm curfew.

“Any citizens reported to be out after this time will be brought in by an officer and questioned before release. It is vital you heed this curfew as it has been put in place for your own safety. Please report any concerns directly to the Police Department or call 9-1-1. Thank you.”

A resigned groan makes its way through the crowd as students filter out, Tommy’s old friend group uncharacteristically quiet; haunted by the news. It tracks—the only discernible pattern so far is that the killer has a vendetta against their group of friends.

It’s your own entanglement that doesn't track.

“So. What’s the rundown?” Robin asks Nancy as you make your way down to the parking lot.

Nancy looks pale. “Tina was cut from chin to stomach through her nightgown.” She says, shakily. “But there’s more.”

Your blood runs cold. “More?”

“Yeah. It’s not confirmed yet, but I overheard Hopper telling Higgins they found another body this morning on the other side of town. They said the description matched Fred Benson.”

“The guy who did the student paper with you?” Eddie asks.

Nancy bristles. Her relationship with Fred had soured last year after he insisted on covering Chrissy’s murder, putting Eddie at the forefront. Nancy had refused—then fired him.

“Yeah.” She goes on. “Parents didn’t even know he was missing.”

Nancy’s words only stand to remind you that you too could be murdered and strung up like a carcass for the town to see—and nobody would be any the wiser until it was too late.

You should tell somebody. Anybody. But your mind stops you, a terrifying thought crossing your mind. Telling your friends could put them in danger too. Taking out entire friendship groups seems like a day’s work for this killer, and if anything happened to your friends, you’d never forgive yourself.

“I’m gonna wait for Will and the rest of those guys, make sure they’re okay, but we’ll reconvene at Nance’s?” Jonathan asks.

“Wait—you heard Hopper. There’s a curfew.” You say.

Nancy shrugs. “Safety in numbers. C’mon.”

Eddie pats your shoulder as he lights another cigarette. “I’ll catch up with you guys later—I left my briefcase inside. I’ll bring the beer to Nance’s.”

“Somebody’s gotta tell Steve, does he even know what’s going on?” You ask.

“I’ll take care of it.” Eddie says, voice thick with smoke. “I gotta swing by Family Video anyhow, it appears Keith is in the market for my recreational sleeping aids.”

Argyle gestures to Eddie who gives him the affirmative—and you shake your head. A serial killer walks the streets and your friends are making sure there’s enough weed at an unmandated ‘gathering’.

“Be safe?” You call out to Eddie.

He kicks his leg, gives you a mock salute. “Always am. You too.”

——————————————————————————

“Well. I’m just saying, y’know. There are certain rules when it comes to slashers.” Jonathan mumbles through a mouthful of chips.

“Is that what this is? A slasher?” Steve asks, adjusting in his seat.

The basement air smells like weed and cheap beer, the sourness of the salsa that Robin opened twenty minutes ago cutting through the stench. Your stomach is already in pieces with worry, talk of a slasher movie and the dank air does little to quell your nerves.

“Yeah. I mean. Think about it.” He munches. “You got a guy in a mask goin’ around, killing a bunch of teenagers, hanging them up on goalposts?”

Argyle’s content to listen, offering a grunt of agreement here and there, but he pipes up. “Yeah. Plus, y’know the whole haunted past in a small town thing. No offence, my dude.” He says to Eddie.

Eddie raises his brows, shakes his head. No harm done.

“So, these rules then. Let’s have ‘em.” Steve says. “What do you got?”

“Well. The first is that everybody’s a suspect. Everybody. That’s a given.”

“Yeah. No shit.” Steve nods, huffing a laugh.

Jonathan stands up, his eyes wide. “Now the rules to surviving a slasher movie—well. That’s a whole different ball game.”

“Go on.”

“Rule number one: never have sex.”

You catch Eddie’s eye from across the room. It’s something you’d noticed pretty much the day you met; oftentimes you’d be engrossed in something, or just happen to look up at Eddie to find him already watching you. His gaze makes your skin prickle with intensity, blood warming under your skin.

Despite being in a room full of people, your looks always seem like they’re reserved just for the two of you, an invisible string tying you to him and pulling you closer despite the physical distance remaining the same.

“—Big no.” Jonathan continues. “Sex equals death. Slasher and horror symbolism in general relies heavily on the innocent virgin as a survivor trope. Promiscuity guarantees death.”

Eddie’s gaze lingers on yours, his elbows perched on his knees, chin tucked into his chest. He looks good in this light, full lips casting a shadow, his eyes transfixed on you. You lose your nerve and look away, but can’t fight the desire to glance at him again.

He’s still watching you with almost drunken eyes that you attribute to the beer, though you know he can handle his alcohol.

“Number two: no drinking or doing drugs. It’s an extension of number one—the sin factor. It’s a sin!”

“Oh great. Guess we’re all fucked.” Steve mutters, taking a swig of his beer. “It’s bullshit, man. This isn’t a slasher and no serial killer is going to know if you’re a boring, sober, virgin.”

Eddie finally averts his gaze, picking at the frayed denim on his jeans. “Byers, you know I make my living supplying recreational substances to those in need.”

“—And Steve has deflowered every legal girl who likes men, all the way up to like, Fort Wayne.” Robin snorts, raising her drink.

“Well—not exactly.” Steve squints. “But they both make a good point. By your so-called rules, Byers; Eddie and I would’ve been the first ones to go.”

You shake your head, feeling a massive tangent coming and decide to cut out while you can. The thought of going home to an empty house fills you with dread, especially with the recent uptick in dead bodies. You can’t sleep, not when your ears pick up the smallest noises and twist them into sinister scenarios.

The wind howling through the gaps in your windows sounds eerily like somebody screaming, the floorboards settling make you see an intruder out of the corner of your eye.

You’re exhausted.

Nancy follows you upstairs, turning you by your arm. “Hey, you doing okay?”

“Yeah. It’s a little much down there.” You inhale deeply now that the air is thinner and fresher.

“You know what they get like when they drink.” Nancy laughs. “Do you wanna stay over tonight? Robin was thinking about crashing and I don’t love the idea of you at home by yourself with everything going on. Just stay with me until your dad gets back.”

You feel a wave of relief wash over you. “Actually, would you mind? I don’t really wanna be by myself.”

“Yeah!” She laughs. “Of course. I can take you to grab your stuff in the morning.”

“Thanks, Nance. I gotta double check the alarm and locks anyway, so I’ll go grab my things now.” You smile, turning to grab your keys from the bowl on the credenza.

“You sure? It’s late.”

‘Rule number 3,’ Jonathan continues downstairs out of earshot, ’never, ever, under any circumstances, say you’ll be right back.’

“It’s a few blocks away.” You reassure her. “I’ll be right back.”

——————————————————————————

Somebody’s watching you.

You feel a tug on the back of your neck when you get to the top of the Wheeler’s cul-de-sac. It becomes more insistent as you turn left on to a densely tree-lined street, which, dimly lit as usual, is eerily silent. With the exception of you and your friends, it seems the residents of Hawkins are abiding by Hopper’s mandate.

You brush the feeling off and slide your keys between your fingers, picking up pace. By the time you get to your driveway, your heart is in your mouth and you’re almost at a full sprint, nearly slipping on the corner of a flowerbed.

You’d devised a plan on the way home.

Check the alarms, downstairs windows, upstairs windows, grab your bag from the closet in the hallway and pack as you go. Simple enough.

But somebody’s watching you.

Your trembling hands make you fumble and miss the lock a few times, the key bluntly jamming against the metal. You’re finally in, about to twist the lock when a hand aggressively swipes at your arm and drags you backwards.

You yelp, stomach swooping in pure terror, blood pounding in your ears.

He’s here.

You come face to face with a bloodshot Jason, whiskey heavy on his breath. He looks desperate and frenzied in just a pair of chinos and a white polo—it’s freezing out. His presence offers you an odd sense of relief, you can tell from his appearance he’s not about to hurt you and he doesn’t pose any immediate danger.

He seems scared.

He pulls you in close, his vice grip making your skin pinch.

“Let go, Jason. What the hell is wrong with you, why are you outside my house?”

“I came to warn you.”

“Warn me? About what?!” You snap.

“About the company you keep.” He slurs darkly. “You’re not new anymore, but you weren’t here when it went down. When Chrissy died.”

You squirm, attempting to free your arm, but Jason’s grip is vicious in his trance-like state. “What the hell does that have to do with me?”

He’s here physically, but his mind is elsewhere. “It’ll be a year tomorrow. And it’s like she was never here. Like she never existed.”

Your heart sinks for him, a loss so large, so young is sure to rock anybody. But you know the other side of him—the side that radicalised half the town into hunting down Eddie. That almost killed Lucas and Erica when they tried to help.

“Look. Jason. I’m sorry about what happened, but that doesn’t explain why you’re grabbing my arm.” You grunt, trying to break free. “What does this have to do with me?”

He jostles you, shaking you hard enough that the pain radiates up your arm like a vine. “Everything! This has everything to do with you! Your friend? Eddie? I know they cleared him, said that he had nothing to do with it, but I know the truth. I know what he is.” He says, words dripping with disdain.

In a surge of defensiveness, you drag the serrated edge of your keys across his skin, drawing a little blood.

“You bitch!” He sneers, snatching his hand away. “You’ll regret that. You’ll regret not listening to me. Don’t say I didn’t warn you; don’t say I didn’t tell you what he was!” He angrily stalks off, disappearing into the tree line.

When you’d first moved to Hawkins, rumours of golden girl Chrissy dying at the hands of a satanic cult had intrigued you. Dustin had filled you in on the rest and after meeting Eddie and the rest of his innocent D&D group, you knew those rumours were a work of fiction.

“Hey!” Eddie shouts from a few feet away. He gestures in the direction of the tree line. “Was that Jason?”

“Yeah.” You mutter, gingerly touching your arm.

Eddie closes the last few feet between you, jogging to you as you open your door. “What did he want?”

“Said he saw me walking home, wanted to make sure I was okay.”

Eddie looks at you incredulously as he steps inside. “Looked intense, you okay?”

“Yeah. All good.”

Eddie’s eyes fall to the raised welts on your forearm, your hands paler from the lack of blood flow. He gently holds your wrist and brings it up to the hallway light to examine the marks.

“Did Jason do that?” He asks. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” You sigh resignedly. “He was drinking, and he said some stuff about Chrissy’s death anniversary, I think he was just… a little out of it. Got a little overzealous.”

“Overzealous?” Eddie asks, getting closer to you. “He left a paw print. Y’know I swear, guys like him think they can get away with anything—“

“—Yeah. But I’m fine, Eddie. It looks worse than it is.” You place your hand around his and squeeze reassuringly. “Really. I’m okay.”

“You sure?“

“I swear, Eddie. I’m all good.”

Your peripheral suddenly plays a cruel trick on you, making you jump at the impression of somebody in the kitchen.

Eddie finally lets go of your hand, laughing at your reaction. “You okay? You’re really jumpy.” He asks, rubbing your shoulders as you walk into the kitchen.

“There’s a serial killer in town, Eddie. Why aren’t you jumpy?” You deadpan. “Is that why you’re here?”

He chuckles self-effacingly, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah. Nancy told me you took off to grab your things and I didn’t want you to have to walk by yourself with all that stuff.” He stops you from reaching for the window with a hand on your hips, walking around you instead. “Here, I got it.”

He extends his lean body to twist the window handle, his t-shirt riding up to reveal his toned abs. Red welts—scratches—mark his stomach and a twinge of jealousy creeps up your chest when you think about how he may have gotten those marks.

“Hey!” Eddie says, snapping his fingers. “Where do you keep goin’, you good?”

Embarrassment warms your cheeks, snapping you back into reality. “Of course. I have my knight in shining armour, don’t I?” You say sardonically, rounding the island to go upstairs.

You’re halfway through the hallway before you realise you’re not being followed by Eddie; he’s since taken to standing in the doorway with a look that you can’t read.

“What is it?” You ask.

He slowly steps towards you. “I know you’re kidding, but for what it’s worth—you never have to worry about that stuff when you’re with me.” He says softly, his voice thick. “You’re always safe with me. I hope you know that.”

You share a look in the dimly lit hallway, and you don’t know what this thing is between you—the thing where you know each other best, and look out for one another, and make one another feel safe, but where touches and looks linger for longer than they should.

You don’t have a shadow of a doubt colouring your answer when you reply, knowing wholeheartedly that you believe it.

“I know.”

When you get back to Nancy’s though, the night has taken a turn for the worse. The kids sit in the living room with the rest of your friends, everybody huddled up together around the TV as the breaking news reel plays.

“What’s going on?” You ask, setting your bag by the door.

“They found another body.” Steve tells you in a hushed voice, mindful of the kids but it’s useless—they’re watching the same thing you all are.

“Higgins.” Nancy explains, approaching you and Eddie. Out of earshot of the kids, she says, “they found him tied to the same goal post they unhooked Tina off of today. His eyes were gouged out and he was stabbed in the neck. He bled to death.”

Three victims. Three victims in one day.

Nancy mirrors that thought, but all you can think about now is how much longer you can outrun the shadow breathing down your neck, seemingly getting closer every day.

——————————————————————————

Breakfast is a bleak affair.

Mrs. Wheeler does everything to make sure you eat, encouragingly puts out a spread that most people dream of, while Mr Wheeler grumbles under his breath. You watch the boys, El and Max stuff their faces with pancakes, syrup dripping down their chins, but after the morning news, you can barely stomach anything.

Youre realising after watching the morning news, that it’s becoming a twisted kind of routine to wake up and expect the news of another murder.

Today’s victim: Andy Clayton.

Jason’s best friend and yes-man; found hacked to pieces, fibres of his letterman jacket found in his stab wounds from the brutal kill. You stick close to Nancy and Robin for the rest of the day, but when you come back from investigating, you find a chilling surprise on the Wheeler’s doorstep.

Nancy giggles and ducks inside with Robin, leaving you with your gift. Four black dahlias tied together with a length of twine, a note folded in half between the stems.

“I promise it won’t be much longer until we’re together, my flower. See you soon.”

Your head instinctually whips around, your eyes scanning the street, but it’s dead silent save for the occasional passing car. You turn back to the house, ice flowing into your veins as you realise you’re a sitting duck, and staying here would put everybody else in danger too.

The Wheelers, the kids, Robin.

You tuck the note into your pocket along with the four flowers and grab your bags, lying to Nancy that you’ll be back. Your first stop is going to see Eddie to ask for some company at the police station. You make the walk to your house, drop your bags in the trunk of your car and make the seven mile journey to Eddie’s trailer.

The sun sets on your way there, casting the sky in blooms of oranges and pinks, the landscape so much more vibrant in Hawkins than anywhere else you’ve lived. Eddie’s beat up van isn’t anywhere to be seen, but the lights inside his trailer are on, you knock once out of politeness and come in anyway after finding the door unlocked.

Not that Eddie ever remembers to lock his doors.

Inside, he’s still nowhere to be seen, the only thing interrupting the silence is the hum of the energy saver light bulb in the background and the sound of a dog barking outside.

“Eddie?” You call out, clicking the door shut behind you. “You home?”

You’re met with more silence.

You glance at the small clock above the hat-lined wall.

5:30pm.

Tentatively, you take a seat on the pull out couch that Steve and Wayne have taken to sharing by now, using the time you have to contemplate how best to broach the subject of your stalker with Eddie; where to start, how much to say.

Your legs start to tingle from nerves and pent up anxiety, forcing you to your feet.

You pace the length of the living room and to the kitchen and back again. Your stomach knots and unknots, a surge of nervous energy lodging in your throat and dissipating throughout your chest.

Absently, you walk into Eddie’s room—a bomb site on a good day. As you close the door behind you, something large and black swooshes against the hook, a large coat or a cloak of some kind, probably for his Hellfire Club meetings.

You should talk to Eddie about rebranding that soon.

You smile fondly as your eyes travel over his poster lined walls, the acoustic guitar perched in the corner, the magazines on top of his nightstand. The second drawer of his nightstand catches your eye, ajar slightly because of something caught between the drawer and the frame.

You look closer, eyes narrowing when you pull a length of twine out from the drawer. You examine it curiously, holding it up to the light when a thought occurs to you.

With a hesitant hand, you reach into your back pocket to pull out the dahlias you’d received earlier that day, comparing the twine to the one in your hand. Your brows furrow as you bring both pieces of twine together, joining the two diagonal edges to fit perfectly.

It’s a dead match.

You pull out his drawer in a daze, head growing fuzzy as you rummage through his things. It’s a coincidence—it has to be. There has to be an explanation.

Ice flows into your veins when you find five black dahlias tucked neatly into a roll of newspaper, red square note paper next to it. Your head rushes with blood, the room spinning as you try to somehow refute what’s in front of you.

This can’t be what you think it is. It can’t be.

You gag and run to the kitchen to empty your stomach in the sink. It’s fruitless, your stomach turning up nothing, leaving you to dry heave and clutch the counter.

No. No, no, no.

Your hands tremble, blood rushing in your ears and pumping through your body to drive you into high gear, to get the hell out.

You dart for the door, grabbing your bag and keys, and slam face first into a black wall, your hands taking the brunt of the impact, the shock forcing you back a few steps. Your bags and keys fall on the floor, the blood draining from your body when you look up at a cloaked figure with a white mask.

You tense up, making peace with the fact that this may be your end but still hold out a small amount of hope that it isn’t who you think it is behind the mask.

Then the figure speaks, says your name in that familiar way that sends shivers up your spine.

Eddie.

Your knees buckle and you trip backwards, the pressure inside your head increasing until you can hear a high-pitched whine. Shakily holding out your hands in front of you, you see them stained crimson, an unknown person’s blood licking your skin.

It’s the last thing you see before you succumb to darkness.

——————————————————————————

A horrible weight surrounds your head and there’s a ringing in your ears when you come to. It takes a few seconds for your mind to catch up, but when it does, you jolt in your seat, your movement restricted by something binding your hands and mouth.

You start to hyperventilate.

“Hey. Hey. Calm down.” Eddie says, crouching in front of your chair, sporting a busted lip, a bruised eye and bloody knuckles. “Fuck—Calm down, I need you to breathe, okay?” He rips the tape off your mouth and you struggle against the ties, but he pulls the chair in by its arms.“Hey! Breathe. C’mon—just match my pace, alright, you’re gonna pass out again. Fucking breathe.”

He exaggerates his own breathing rhythm now that you can see his chest in just his t-shirt to let your breathing fall into tandem with his. You let yourself breathe, focusing on the air expanding in your lungs, but terror still grips you.

Eddie watches you carefully, like you’re a cornered animal, his mask pulled up, hair matted to his forehead. “I’m going to cut you loose so we can talk, okay? M’gonna explain everything, but you can’t run. Can you do that?”

Images of Carol and Tommy, Tina, and the rest of his victims flash before your eyes. Eviscerated. Bludgeoned. Gutted.

You nod, not daring to look down knowing that the rope, the chair and your skin are stained with fresh blood.

“Good.” He breathes.

He brings a bloody hunting knife to your wrists, lodges the flat edge between you and the rope, and cuts upwards, slicing you free. You plant your shaky feet to test the waters, and launch yourself forward into Eddie’s chest, knocking him out of the way to start running.

“Goddamnit!” He grunts.

You make it a grand total of two paces before Eddie easily whips you around, pinning you against the wall. His nostrils flared, he reaches into his back pocket, brandishing the knife again. A scream dies in your throat as he places the glinting silver’s blunt edge against your neck.

“I didn’t want to use this. But I told you not to run, didn’t I? Didn’t I?!” His voice thunders inside the trailer, and you flinch backwards, hyper-aware of the knife at your throat.

The change in his demeanour makes you feel insignificant, like you never mattered to him. That realisation makes a lump catch in your throat. “You’re… you’re—“

He nods slowly, wide grin splitting his face. “Yeah. I am.” He replies mockingly, flipping the mask back on. “What did Jonathan say? Ghostface?”

A part of you thought—hoped—that he would try to deny it. You’d believe any explanation he’d give you if you tried hard enough, because accepting anything else would be easier than this.

Than accepting that your best friend is a serial killer.

“Jason… man, the bastard knows how to fight,” Eddie laments, licking his busted lip behind the mask. He clenches and unclenches his bruised hands, silver rings stained with blood. “Pulled my fucking cloak off and everything—but what are you gonna do? I had a knife. He didn’t. Bled out on my clothes but he knew it was me.”

You don’t want to hear this. You can’t hear this.

You look desperately for an escape, eyes darting until you spot something that makes your stomach swoop violently, grief ripping through you at the prospect.

Steve’s white Nikes, covered in blood.

You turn to Eddie shakily, eyes wide. “Did you kill Steve?”

He softens, trailing the knife over your cheek. You’re as still as you can be despite your body feeling like it’s vibrating, knowing too well that the smallest of movements could kill you.

“So sweet. So naive. My flower.” He whispers. “You think I strung Tina and Higgins’ big ass up on those goalposts myself?”

“No…. He—Steve?” You blubber, another wave of grief washing over you. You’ve just lost two of your best friends in the space of five minutes and you don’t have the time to think about the implications. You just need to make it out alive. “Why? Why did you do this? Why did you kill those people, Eddie?”

“Because there’s only so much a person can take. I mean, a year passed since Jason sicced his merry brigade of uptight Catholics on me. They all got to move on, get college scholarships, access to trust funds and opportunities to get out of this shithole. Me? I was gonna stay here and rot.” He seethes. “I tried my best to keep it under control. To push my urges down. But then I saw Carol bump you in that hallway, and I remembered what Tommy did to you at that party. That’s when I decided to end it.”

“How do you know about that?” You shudder.

“Harrington told me everything. Y’know for someone who secretly loves killing, he protested far too much in the beginning. Though, in his defence, I think he was a little cooked after the whole Russian torture thing. It was a perfect plan, really. I killed the people on his list—he killed the people on mine. Solid alibis. No connection.”

“I never asked for this. For any of it. You don’t get to pin your sick little indulgences on me, Eddie.”

He flinches, recoils at your words. “But I did it for you. To keep you safe. Why don’t you get that?!”

Salt falls from your eyes, trails down your face until your cheeks and neck are wet, a lump in your throat. “Are you going to kill me?”

He stares in awe at the pulse visible under your neck, lightly traces his knife over it. He may not even dignify your question with a response; all he would have to do is press in and you’d bleed out right on Mr. Munson’s orange carpet.

“I told you that you’re always safe with me, do you remember that?” When you ignore his question, he uses the knife to tip your chin up and takes the mask off. “Answer me.”

His eyes soften when he waits for you to answer, as though hanging onto your words for desperate validation. You get a glimpse of the Eddie you know—knew.

Your Eddie.

“Yes.” You reply truthfully.

“So how can you ask that? How could you possibly think I’d kill you?”

“Then why stalk me? Why send me the flowers—the letters—if I wasn’t next on your list?” You sob. “You must’ve known what I’d think, that I was scared. Why did you do that?”

“Because I love you.” He whispers reverently, closing in on you. His eyes soften, and when he says those four words, it’s Eddie. Eddie, despite the blood spatter on his neck and arms. It’s why it takes your breath away, because you can’t disregard it as the ramblings of a madman.

There’s some truth to it—even if it is sick.

And you hate yourself more for wanting him.

He sheaths the knife in his back pocket, closing the distance between you. “Do you have any idea…how long I’ve wanted you? How I’ve had to keep tabs on you from afar because I was afraid of what you’d think about me? I’ve wanted you since the day you moved here, way before we ever even met.”

You hate him. You hate yourself. You hate this.

Your palm makes a cracking sound against his cheek, leaving a blooming red mark on his face. “I hate you.”

His lips brush against yours. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes. I fucking hate you, Eddie. You broke my trust.”

“I know.”

Your fists beat down on his chest and arms, throwing punches against a solid chest. He grunts and takes the brunt of your beat down silently, your palms picking up the blood from his soaked t-shirt. It’s only once you’re reduced to tears that he stops you, encircling both of your blood-stained wrists and pulls you close to his chest.

“I hate you.” You repeat in a small voice.

“Yeah?” He asks, looking down at you.

He looks more like himself now, the version that makes you laugh, and loves to read, and has a rich imagination. The Eddie who makes your breath catch in your throat. His gaze is heated, loaded with the challenge of your hatred for him, as though he’s waiting for you to prove it.

His lips are plump and red, the divot on his chin pronounced.

“You really hate me?” He whispers. “Because I’ll let you go. You can go to the police, have me arrested, I don’t care. I just want you.”

You launch yourself at him, crushing your lips against his for a burning, all-consuming kiss. Your knees buckle at the long-awaited contact, his lips full and soft, yet demanding when they slide over yours, capturing your mouth with a bruising intensity. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him so forcefully that it makes you mewl, the soft contours of your body moulding against his harder ones, blood soaking into your pale pink dress.

You pull away, panting for breath. “I hate you.” You chant. “I hate you. I hate you.”

He kisses you harder.

Your hands tangle in his hair as his lips devour you, hungry tongue meshing with yours. He moans in pain when you suckle his bruised bottom lip, the sound going straight to your core. He frantically reaches to touch as much of you as he can, presses his body against yours to make your chest heave with pleasure.

You pull away, looking at him hesitantly.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He pleads, voice cracking. “Don’t look at me like you’re scared of me.”

“I am scared, Eddie.” You whisper, a tear escaping your eye.

“I’m sorry, baby. I meant it when I said I’d never hurt you. I just wanna take care of you. Make you feel good the way you deserve. Will you let me do that? Can I show you? Please?”

Despite your fear, you’re warming to the idea that he’s still the Eddie that checks on you in the middle of the night, the Eddie that once drove an hour at 3:00am to pick you up from a party.

You swallow. “Yes.”

His warm eyes sparkle, capture your lips in another heated kiss. He moans desperately into your mouth as your lips slide over one another, panting as he firmly runs his hands up your hips, trailing up your ribcage and to your arms. He pins your hands above your head, stretching your body out and shoves his knee between your legs.

You break away from his mouth in pleasure, the coarse denim of his jeans rubbing against your panties. Your mouth falls open, head lolling back against the wall.

“Oh, you needed this, huh?” He says darkly, rocking his knee between your legs. “You like me. And you hate yourself for it.”

You chase his mouth but he dodges, a wicked look on his face. You fist your hands in his shirt collar and pull him down to capture his full lips between yours again, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Eddie groans, his mind immediately jumping to how you’re capable of drawing blood for him too, even if it is his own. His cock twiches. “That’s my fucking girl.” He murmurs, dragging his thumb against his lip to wipe the blood. “You’re not as innocent as you look, huh?”

You wrap your hand around his large wrist, bring his hand to your own mouth to smear his blood on your lips. His eyes gleam, cock painfully hard. Your gaze falls to his lips, bruised and bleeding, blood in his mouth and on his chin.

“Go ahead.” He smiles knowingly.

You let the tip of your tongue trace the blood on his chin and lick upward until you trace the seam of his lips. He swallows your next breath with a bruising kiss, your lips coming together in a frenzied, sick heat, the taste of copper and warm blood coating your tongue.

He squeezes your hip with a large hand, brings you down to grind against his knee, the act debasing but you don’t care. Eddie makes you crazy, his broad build, his possessiveness; his dark side.

“C’mon. Let me see that pretty face when you cum. Go ahead. Cum on my thigh like the sick little thing you are.” He murmurs, looking down at the mess you’re leaving on his jeans. He roughly forces you to look down, his hands framing your face. “Look at that. Look at the mess you’re leaving. Soaking fucking wet and I haven’t even touched you yet, do I make that cunt leak, baby? That all for me?”

“Yeah, Eddie. For you. For you.” You chant.

“Atta girl. Cum for me now. Cum on my thigh.” He coos, rocking his leg up into you. “Let go, c’mon.”

The coil in your stomach wraps tighter around itself, Eddie’s rough words making you throw your head back in a silent moan as you finally come undone. He holds you close to him, an arm around your waist to help you ride out your orgasm, your arms around his shoulders, held in a tight embrace as he continues to grind his knee into your pussy.

“Oh that’s it, that’s my pretty fucking girl. So good for me, doing exactly as I ask you. So fucking good, baby. Just breathe—you got it. Good girl.”

His words somehow prolong your orgasm, your pussy convulsing around nothing, until all you can do is dig your nails into Eddie’s shoulders and cry.

When you come down, you’re languid, but renewed, wanting more. Both of your eyes are blown, heady with lust, and Eddie brings your mouth back to his, unable to stay away.

Cradling the back of your head, he licks into your mouth and you angle your head to kiss him deeper, hungry for more as you mewl into his mouth, scrambling against the wall. You tug at his t-shirt, pull him closer by his belt loops, and he moans at your show of control.

Sinking to your knees, you keep your eyes up and on Eddie as you watch him register your movement, his brows furrowing with exertion. He plucks his blood-soaked t-shirt off his body, drops of crimson staining his abdomen and his hands now.

You look up at him with wide eyes. He’s intimidating from this angle, tall and broad, but still lithe; ink and blood covering his pale chest and arms. You trace the scratches on his lower abdomen, shivers erupting on your skin at the realisation of how he really got them.

You kiss the still-red marks, tonguing over his v-line and lower abdomen, bluntly scratching at the smattering of hair that leads below his jeans.

He cups your chin tenderly, leaving behind blood. “Tommy begged for his life. Begged me not to kill him, but I did anyway. Made him bleed out right by the pool while Carol watched. For what he did to you.”

You should hate this. You should get off your knees and leave. But you can’t. Not when you’re one orgasm deep and you’re wet between the legs. Not when you’re about to worship this man.

You kiss his hand, then his stomach, leaving a trail of wet kisses over his abs, tracing the tip of your tongue over the red scratches. You move over, scratching your nails down his stomach to mirror the other side, leaving angry red marks.

Why should Carol be the only one to get to mark him?

He hisses through his teeth, hands hovering over your head hesitantly as you lick over the fresh marks with more kisses. “What? You jealous?” He laughs.

You answer him with another swipe at his v-line, red claw marks imprinting on his skin. The tent in his pants begs to be touched, and when you rub over his hard cock through his jeans, his thighs tremble.

“Can I suck your cock, Eddie?” You ask innocently. “Please?”

“Jesus fuckin—“ He grits out, bracing against the wall in front of him. “Go ahead, baby. Take my cock out, lemme feel your mouth.”

You bite back a smile at his eagerness as you undo his belt, shakily pulling down his jeans and boxers together to free his cock. You swallow, your skin heating at the sight of his cock; average length but the girth takes you off guard, his tip red and leaking pre cum.

He looks at you knowingly, like he knows he’s going to destroy you when the time comes, but until then, he’s going to bide his time with your mouth. He groans breathily when you stroke the length of him, using both hands to twist and pull, goosebumps erupting on his skin.

“Shit, shit, shit. That’s it. Squeeze a little tighter there—ah—fuck. Oh, that’s it, baby.”

You sweetly suck on his tip, licking up his pre cum. Eddie’s abs twitch when your tongue swipes over the vein on the underside of his cock, and you make a mental note to tease him with that. His hips jerk forward on instinct, pushing his cock deeper into your mouth, his hands hovering over your head.

“Like that, Eddie? Am I doing a good job?” You ask, kissing his tip.

“Yeah, baby. Such a good job like I knew you would. Need a little more.”

You work way down the shaft, laying wet, open mouthed kisses on his heavy cock, languidly slapping his tip against your tongue. Eddie’s chest flushes with exertion. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his expression darkening when you take his hands and direct them to your head, silently asking him to take control.

“Show me what you want, Ed. Do it exactly how you wanna.” You murmur letting his cock slap your tongue.

You stay like that; mouth wide and tongue out for him to take the lead. A splitting grin takes over his face as he nods, gently gathering your hair on top of your head.

“My best girl.” He whispers.

He thrusts into your mouth slowly at first, tentatively testing the waters, but as your warm, wet mouth invites him in for more, his thrusts get deeper and more aggressive. Tears prick your eyes as his thick cock reaches the back of your throat with each rough thrust, his hands pulling your head forward.

“Fucking Christ, your mouth. So pretty with your lips stretched out around my cock, on your knees for me.”

You nod as he punctuates his sentence with a harsh thrust that makes you gag around him, and you feel him twitch in your mouth, spit and precum messily trailing down your chin, covering his balls and thighs in a slick sheen.

He wheezes, squeezing his eyes shut. “Yeah… you’re my filthy little girl, aren’t you? Love taking my cock any way I’ll give it to you, huh?” He lightly slaps your cheek, feels the vibration against his cock and throws his head back in pleasure, his hair a halo around his head.

“So pretty, so fucking pretty—my angel. My pretty little angel. A little wider—shit—just like that.” Eddie whines incoherently when you reach up and massage his balls, slick with your saliva while he holds you in place and fucks your mouth. “Thank you, baby—fuck. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Tears stream down your face, but you’re drunk on the taste of him, your pussy throbbing with his words and needy voice. You’re galvanised knowing that on your knees, you’re capable of reducing a man as powerful and terrifying as Eddie to this.

A whining, whimpering, mess.

He withdraws from your mouth with a drawn out groan, his cock twitching in front of your face. You glance up at him, a flush spreading from the centre of his chest to his neck, his ears and cheeks bright red, lips swollen from biting them.

“C’mere.” He murmurs, dragging you up by your throat—not even with enough force to reduce your airflow—but as a possessive gesture, a means of control.

He disregards the mess on your face and kisses you in a desperate clash of teeth and tongues and heavy breaths, his cock pressing against your tummy. He swallows your moans and whimpers with a light grip on your throat as he takes the breath from your lungs.

“Let's get you off your feet, what do you say?” He rasps.

You nod, hooking your arms around his neck as he sweeps you off your feet, dark gaze burning yours. He throws you on his creaky mattress, leaving you to crawl upward as he stalks towards you like you’re his prey.

Shoving your knees apart, he strokes your calves, laying gentle kisses on your now sore knees. “You trust me?”

You take a beat, making sure to run the scenarios through in your head. “Yes.”

He reaches for a knife from his bedside table, and your skin turns red hot, equal parts desire and terror mixing like a cocktail under your skin.

“Eyes on me, okay? Just relax.” He coos, kissing your forehead. “Not gonna hurt you.”

He settles between your legs, and despite you being the one fully clothed out of the two of you, you feel vulnerable but safely kept. He scrapes the blunt edge of the knife gently down your neck, circling your pulse point. It scratches against your collarbone as he continues its descent down in your skin.

You close your eyes as he hooks it around the neckline of your dress, and you feel him stall, remember his words.

Eyes on me.

“Good girl.” He breathes when you force yourself to look at him.

With a sharp tug of the knife, he cuts a jagged line down the centre of your dress, starting at your neckline and ending just above your belly button. You startle at the sudden movement and jump slightly but a hand on your hip holds you down. Slowly, he takes the two halves of the dress and rips with his bare hands all the way down until it falls open at your sides.

“Jesus Christ, you’re perfect.” Eddie rasps, trailing the knife back upwards.

“Don’t tease, Eddie.” You whine, shivering at the cold.

“Patience, my flower. I like to draw things out.”

You stiffen, the reminder of his extra curricular activities reminding you of who he is. He dips down and places a sweet kiss on your lips to absolve you of your worries, then with a tattooed hand, drags the knife between your breasts, then to the left. The sheets in your hands are the only traction you have as he circles your nipple with the knife, flicking the bud with the metal.

“One wrong move…” he reminds you. “One wrong move, and this could end terribly for you, couldn’t it?”

You whimper, nodding.

“Good thing you trust me. Better thing that I love you.”

He trails it down your stomach, watching the goosebumps appear on your skin as he travels south, the muscles under your skin jumping at the touch. The cold metal reaches your panties, scraping over your covered mound, and despite the imminent danger, you feel yourself dripping for him.

“You’re doing really good, baby. Proud of you.”

He goes further still, careful to always use the blunt edge of the knife, but with the weapon out of sight, you’re forced to hyper focus on the sensation, figure out which part is where. You cry out when the cold metal bumps against your puffy clit through your panties, your hips bucking.

Eddie laughs throatily, a wide grin on his face. “Oh, was that good? You liked that, didn’t you? My depraved little angel.”

“Yes, Eddie. Please, I need more.”

“That’s right, you do. Well done.”

You feel tension against the waistband of your panties before it snaps, your panties cut off at the legs. Eddie pulls you up roughly, dragging your panties off you and leaving you fully exposed and open to him. Gathering them in his hand, he brings them to his face, inhales deeply as his eyes roll back into his head.

”Fucked my hand over n’ over again with the panties I took from you. Wrapped around my cock pretending it was you, whispered your name when I came. You know that?”

His words make you squirm and he laughs knowingly. Gripping your chin gently, he tells you to open up so he can slip your panties into your mouth. The salty sweet taste of you floods your mouth, your slick coating your tongue and the cotton.

“You keep nice and quiet for me, I swear I’ll make it worth your while, baby. Can you be good for me?”

He’s in control and he knows it and it makes you writhe in pleasure. You nod eagerly, pussy fluttering at the prospect of what he has planned for you.

He slaps your cheek lightly again. “Good girl. Nice and quiet, yeah?”

He yanks you to the edge of the bed by your ankles and brings your legs to wrap around his waist, turning you as he lays on his back, moving up the bed.

“C’mon, baby. Come sit on my face, gimme that pretty pussy.”

You hesitate, feeling exposed and vulnerable, but he takes your hands in his, pulls you forward until you're straddling his waist. “C’mon. Let me taste you, baby. Please?” He coos.

Hooking two arms around you, he moves you up until you’re hovering above his face, the change in dynamic making your insides clench.

“Please, baby. Just wanna taste you. Please? Let me kiss that pretty pussy?” He whines, tugging on his cock.

You tentatively lower yourself onto his face, the only thing visible to you now, his upper face. He latches onto your pussy immediately, sucks your clit between his plump lips and your hips buck, trying to put some distance between you and the source of your pleasure. He moans loudly into your pussy, thick tongue and full mouth messily kissing your cunt, strong jaw anchoring you.

“Such a sweet fucking pussy, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me… could get drunk on the taste of you, so fucking wet, dripping down my face—my God.” He whines, hooking his arms around your legs to keep you flush to him.

Your legs tremble around his face—his face—blissed out and so full of concentration. You lean down and push the hair off his forehead, and he moans in pleasure, sucking your clit harder as you pull slightly on his scalp.

“That’s it, baby. Grind on my face, use my tongue. Make yourself cum for me, baby. Grind on me.”

Your heart beats erratically as you slowly work your hips in circles on Eddie’s face, moans and whimpers muffled by the panties in your mouth. His hands reach up to squeeze your tits, pinching your nipples almost painfully and pleasure sparks at the base of your spine.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Make me proud. Cum for me.” He encourages, flicking your clit with his tongue. The sound of Eddie’s mouth and your wet pussy fill the room as you chase your release, melting into him while pleasure washes over you in waves.

You cum with a silent scream, head thrown back and focus on the feeling of Eddie’s hands on your tits and mouth lapping at you. You come crashing down, electricity crackling at the base of your spine as you pull on Eddie’s hair.

You fall onto your hands with blood thrumming in every single nerve ending, your hair sticking to your neck with exertion. Eddie lays a messy kiss on your clit before lifting you off him and gathers you in his arms.

He checks your face for signs of concern, but you’re utterly blissed out. Unpicking the panties from your mouth, he wipes the saliva from your chin to kiss you. You’re boneless in his arms, trusting him to hold you up, sweaty body flush against his as his mouth moves over yours. He consumes your being, wanting you from the inside out, your entire body vibrating with need, more so when you feel his cock jump between your legs.

“You’re so hard, Eddie. So thick.”

He swears under his breath as you tug at his cock, heavy and warm in your hand. He grips your throat, a smile making its way onto your lips as he regards you with a knowing look.

A look that he knows you’re his. That you’re just as twisted as he is.

He spins you around, your back flush to his tattooed chest and grips your chin to make you look at yourself in the mirror in front of you. You stroke him languidly, feeling his sticky precum coat the tips of your fingers while his fingers spread your pussy lips.

“Look at yourself.” He urges, kissing your cheek. “Look at how wrecked you are, spread out and naked for me. Look at how good we look together, my flower. Look.”

The sight in front of you makes your knees buckle. Next to Eddie’s guitar, is your reflection, blissed out with your hair matted to your face, legs spread wide while Eddie’s ringed fingers rub your clit. Behind you, Eddie watches the reflection, his tattooed chest and abdomen littered with scratches and bruises.

Both of you are stained with blood, handprints marking your throat, your hips, your tits, actual remnants of a crime on your bodies, mixing with sex.

“Keep your eyes on that mirror, baby. Whatever you do, do not take your eyes off that mirror. You got that?”

“Yeah, Eddie. Anything you want.”

He lays a kiss under your ear to soothe the sting of two thick fingers plunging into your pussy, your head lolling back. The slick coating your thighs and pussy makes it easy for him to slide in, the sting soothed by the pleasure of him hooking his fingers inside you.

“Ohh, I know you like that, don’t you, my girl? That feels good inside my pretty baby’s pussy, huh? You wanna close your eyes but you can’t, can you?” He coos mockingly, lightly slapping your cheek. “No, you can’t. Because you said you’d do anything I want. So you’re gonna stay right here…and I’m gonna finger this pretty little cunt to get you ready for my cock.”

“Eddie…” you whine, palming his cock. “That feels so good, your fingers… so thick.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

He withdraws his fingers and plunges them deep inside you with each word, drawing out your pleasure like a length of elastic; tension building and building precariously close to a snap. The heel of his palm rubs against your clit as his pace increases, a furious work of his wrist leaving you hanging onto his arm for dear life.

“Cum, baby. Come on, gimme another one, I know you can do it. Do it for me, baby, let me feel you squeeze my fingers.”

“Gonna cum, Eddie…so close.” You whimper.

You watch his biceps flex and his shiny, slick covered fingers as you come undone. You’re decidedly full, but not full enough, fluttering around his fingers wildly as he talks you through your release. Your eyes go hazy with ecstasy as you fight to keep them open, to watch his onslaught like you promised you would.

“Good girl, good fucking girl. Pretty eyes on me, yeah? Just breathe baby, you’re doing so good. So fucking good squeezing me like that. So pretty.”

When your heartbeat comes down, he kisses your cheek, holding his ring and middle fingers up to the light, your slick stretching between his fingers.

He brings them to your mouth. “Suck.” He says simply, gasping when your tongue presses against his fingers to lick the taste of yourself off him.

“Sweet?” He asks.

You nod around his fingers.

“Well done, baby. We’re not finished yet, though.”

With a large hand on your upper back, he pushes you down into his pillows, the smell of him surrounding you like a haze. His sheets are rumpled, but a welcome reprieve, they smell like him and in a way, it’s like laying on him.

Eddie’s large hands angle your hips upwards just slightly, the rest of you still face down on the mattress. You feel the blunt head of his cock slide up and down your slit, your sloppy cunt making him slip.

A sharp crack lands on your ass, making you jump, the pain soothed by a cool relief as Eddie massages the skin, pulling at it posessively. He squeezes you hard enough to leave bruises but it only spurs you on, the sick thought of Eddie possessing you, marking you—owning you—makes you drip onto his sheets.

“Eyes on me, remember?” He rasps from the exertion of controlling himself. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.”

He braces himself over you with toned arms, his legs bracketing yours as he pushes the fat head of his cock inside you, agonisingly slow. His broad chest flushes a deep crimson.

You feel him slide right back out of you, and try again, his lips between his teeth. “God fuckin’ damn it, you’re so tight, pushing me right back out.” He pushes in again, and you watch him mesmerised. “Let me in, angel, c’mon. Let me inside you, gimme that sweet cunt. C’mon.” He grunts.

Every inch stretches you out, punching the air from between your lungs. You’re completely immobilised and at Eddie's mercy, trembling as he sheathes himself inside you.

You gasp when he buries himself to the hilt, impossibly full and dizzy with pleasure. “Oh my God, Eddie, that’s deep. You’re so fucking deep inside me—so fucking big.” You sob, fluttering around his cock.

He drops his entire body weight on you, pushing you further into the mattress, deliciously constricting your airflow. He pulls your arms out in front of you and interlocks his fingers with yours.

You feel his chest vibrate when he speaks, a deep, quiet rumble that kisses the shell of your ear. “Yeah? That deep enough for my baby’s pussy, hm? Stretch you nice and good?”

You watch the carnal expression on his face as he slowly starts to grind into you, the angle bumping that spot deep inside you that makes your clit jump. You’re sensitive and pliant under him but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in close and snapping his hips, muttering filthy words into your ear.

He pushes a thumb into your mouth. “Such a warm, wet, perfect cunt. The things I did for this pussy, to make you mine—God.” He grits. “You make me fucking crazy you know that? This pussy makes me crazy.”

Every inch of his body presses against yours, your skin moulding to his, sweat slicked and sticky, both of your thighs covered in your slick.

“Love your cock, Eddie. Love how you fuck me. Please, Eddie. Want more, please.” You whine, pulling his hair above you.

He builds his pace steadily, his hips snapping into your while he sets a brutal rhythm, pressing you further into the mattress. The hot friction of your nipples rubbing against his sheets and his cock set your skin on fire.

You barely register Eddie angle your hips up all the way before wrapping an arm around you and pulling you up—flush against him.

“That’s better. Look at you—fucking ruined on my cock, aren’t you? Who else can fuck you like this? Who else makes you this fucking pathetic and desperate?”

“Nobody, Eddie. Nobody. Just you, only you fuck me like this.” You choke out, legs trembling.

With an arm around your waist to keep you steady, he hooks the other around your neck, effectively putting you in a light headlock. You’re so close to your release, so dizzy with pleasure that you’re on the verge of passing out. Your head lolls against Eddie’s shoulder and your eyes roll back, your face a sight with fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

The lack of airflow increases the pressure inside of your body, fire pooling low in your stomach, making you drip .

“That’s it, that’s it, there you go, there you fucking go. You like it when I choke you don’t you, my filthy little girl. Gonna make you cream all over my cock, want it soaking my thighs and balls, baby. Give it to me.”

You can barely form words, settling for a litany of, “Yes, yes, yes. Right there, Eddie, don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

“Not gonna stop. Not until you’re crying. Now c’mon, gimme another one, let me feel this pretty pussy squeeze my cock, c’mon. Make me proud, pretty girl, cum for me.”

You hang on for dear life as he fucks you right into another orgasm, your legs trembling and pussy convulsing around him, but he doesn’t let up. Pounds you right through your orgasm, skin slapping against skin, finally letting go of your throat so you can breathe again.

“Good girl, good girl, good fucking girl, that’s it. There you go, just breathe—you got it. Just feel it, you got it, c’mon, keep going, keep going.”

White spots your vision as you ride out your orgasm and Eddie finally allows you to fall forward, draping his body over yours immediately. You pull at his hair to bring him closer, slowly grinding yourself against his cock as you come down, a panting, sweaty mess, drowning in bliss.

You angle your head to kiss him lazily, his lips leaving your mouth tingling, tongue licking into your mouth.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re really fucking intense, Ed?” You tease against his lips.

“Why? You hear somethin’?” He chuckles, kissing you deeply.

He pulls out of you, tugging at his slick cock as he turns you over onto your back. You’re both dishevelled, and desperate, chasing a higher and higher release.

You spread your legs and invite him to use your puffy, sensitive pussy, your thighs and hips covered in juices. He slides in easier this time, grinding all the way into the hilt so his pelvis bumps your clit, while his pick chain dangles in your face.

You whine, gripping the sheets for an anchor as he starts to drive into you with a rough snap of his hips.

“Eddie…” you whine. “Feel so good, so deep.” You whimper.

“Yeah?” He grins, dimple splitting his cheek. He presses his hand into your stomach, withdrawing his cock almost all the way out and slamming back inside again. “Right here? You feel me there? Nice and deep inside this pretty angel cunt, made for me to fuck, isn’t it?”

“Just for you, Eddie. Just for you.” You chant.

Your slick smears everywhere, coating Eddie’s lower stomach and happy trail, his pelvis and balls, everything a filthy, sticky mess and you’re in heaven.

You fist your hands into the pillow next to you, spot a flash of black and white. Pulling on the material, you reveal another mask, and your heart swoops nervously, your body stiffening.

“You’re okay, baby. Nothin’ to be scared of—here.” He reassures you, slipping the hood on. It takes your breath away, having to reconcile Eddie’s body with the mask, but when he grinds his cock deep inside you, you snap back. “Just me. Just Eddie.”

You reach for his shoulders and spread your legs to invite him closer, wanting to feel more of him. Eddie smiles behind the mask, knows the reaction you have to it—to him—to the implications. He hisses at the feel of your fingernails digging into his back, cock twitching at your possessiveness.

“You like that don’t you, baby? I know you like seeing me with the mask on, I can feel you fucking creaming on my cock. Makes you horny doesn’t it, knowing I killed for you? You’re twisted. Filthy.”

You whine for him incoherently, feeling the muscles in his back flex and contract as he fucks you deep and fast, his creaky bed matching his rhythm. The mask cuts off Eddie’s breathing, makes it hard to inhale properly but finally having you under him, writhing and moaning his name the way he’s dreamed of makes him whimper.

“Wanna see you, Eddie. Please. Wanna see your face.” You cry, reaching for his mask.

He dodges your hands, pins them above your head with his stronger ones. “Tell me you’re mine first.” He grunts. “Tell me you’re fucking mine.”

“I’m yours, Eddie. I’m fucking yours, I’m all yours.” You offer freely, squeezing his hands.

He slides the hood off, forehead shiny with sweat, bangs matted to his face as he drops his entire body weight on you, pinning your hands again.

“That’s right. Mine to touch. Mine to taste. Mine to fuck. All mine.”

You’re dizzy with pleasure, taking whatever he gives you, your pussy squelching with each brutal pass of Eddie’s thick cock. “All yours, Eddie.”

“Tell me I’m yours.” He pants needily, using his body to drive you forward.

“You’re mine, Eddie.” You sob, raking your nails violently down his back to prove it. “You’re mine. You’re mine, Eddie.”

His cock jumps inside you, both of you closer to your release. “That’s right. You could try to forget any of this happened. But we both know, baby. You love this too much.”

“God—Eddie. Please. Please, please…”

“Please what? You losin’ your words, now? So drunk on my cock filling you up, you can’t think straight?” He slaps your pussy lightly, clit puffy and sensitive.

He grips your throat, making your head fall back and tongue loll out of your mouth uselessly. In a moment of pure possession, he lets a trail of his saliva drip into your mouth, kisses you deeply and thoroughly until you’re seeing stars and on the precipice.

“Good thing I can think for the both of us, huh? Dunno what you’d do without me, my dumb little angel. Need me to protect you, don’t you? I know, baby, I know. I can give you what you need, don’t worry.”

You’re reduced to blissful silence as Eddie bridges the gap between you and your release, his own, right on the edge as well.

“Gonna come, Eddie. So close, please, please, make me cum. I love it, I love you. I love you. I love you—Eddie, fuck.” You sob, hanging onto his back, crescent shaped welts marking his skin.

“Gonna make you mine, baby. Gonna make all this worth it. All of it, just a little more, yeah?” He pants, rhythm turning sloppy.

“Yeah. Make me yours, Eddie. Please. Wanna be yours.”

He drops his entire body weight against you, your stomachs pressing together as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Gonna cum inside this pretty pussy, baby. Make you mine forever, yeah?”

You nod, biting down on Eddie’s shoulder as you cum, locking your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. You convulse around his cock, pulling him impossibly close. Eddie moans into your neck as he reaches his release, teeth sinking into the skin below your ear as he cums deep inside you, his balls nestled against your ass.

He thrusts shallowly inside you, shuddering as you both come down, sweating and entirely ruined. Brushing the sweaty hair off your face, he kisses you deeply, pulling away with dopey eyes.

“Proud of you, baby. You did really good. Thank you.”

Your eyes grow heavy, and you’re content to lean on him on the way to the cramped bathroom, have him wash the blood off both of your bodies. You register it against the white porcelain of the bathtub as it circles the drain.

It takes a few weeks and slowly but surely, Hawkins returns back to normal. A week-long procession of back-to-back funerals are grim, your guilty conscience making you sick, but the sicker part of you wonders what else you could have Eddie do.

Two weeks after Andy Clayton’s funeral, you sit in the backseat of Steve’s BMW and watch the houses go by. You narrow your eyes, tapping Eddie on the shoulder once the white house comes into view.

“That’s the house, Eddie.”

“You sure, Sweetheart?” He asks, squeezing your hand.

“Positive. Jenny told me she saw it happen, Father Elijah with that little boy.”

“Alright. You heard her, Harrington. Let’s go.” He inhales sharply, getting out of the car.

You join them outside, tugging on Eddie’s hands, stopping him as he goes to put his mask on. “You’ll be careful, won’t you, baby?”

“Always am.” He smiles, bending down to kiss you.

——————————————————————————

tags: @fezcoismypimp @urlocaltwink @cottoncandywings @stardancerluv @hoe-for-fictional-men @momsaysimpunkrock @southside-serpent-bae @umm-megan @cozyyellowcardigan @binanas @imasimptoowth @adamdrivershairfluffer @a-laura @rosecolorgardens

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson ff #eddie munson fics #ghostface eddie #amber writes

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