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#I’m actually gonna use it longer than a month this time...
yandere-daydreams · 2 months
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Title: Ferine.
Pairing: Yandere!Toji x Reader (JJK).
Word Count: 4.1k.
TW: Hybrid AU, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Slight Manipulation, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Knotting, Mentions of Blood + Violence, Slight Breeding, and Biting.
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Toji was, by far, the largest hybrid you’d ever taken care of.
Which, technically speaking, wasn’t that big of an accomplishment. This was barely your third month at the research facility, and you could count the number of hybrids you’d encountered before being hired here on a single hand. Still, even compared to the other wolves you currently looked after, Toji was beyond impressive. His long, pointed ears and stocky build set him well above six-foot, and even if he’d lacked height, he would’ve been able to make up for it with the planes of sculpted muscle circled around his biceps and thighs, laid over his chest and back. Top it all off with a set of claws each longer than your pointer finger and sharp enough to pierce reinforced steel, and he was practically fit for exhibit. Not that Toji could ever actually be a show dog, no – he’d tear the judges apart before they’d so much as heard his name. He was sweet, but he had a temper. You had to be careful not to set him off.
His fangs were impressive, too – perfectly in-tact despite years of less-than-adequate care, only a touch duller than a real wolf’s. You were careful not to let your hand stray from where it cupped his cheek as you looked for signs of damage or rot only to, of course, come up empty. The longer you spent with him, the more convinced you were that nothing could actually hurt Toji, even if the faded scar stitched into the corner of his mouth suggested otherwise.
“All done,” you started, letting go of his cheek. Immediately, Toji’s jaw snapped shut with enough strength to take off a finger, had you given him the chance. “Perfect as always, Toji. I think you might be my best patient.”
A cocky smile found its way to his lips, and you could hear his tail beating lazily against the dirt floor of his enclosure. The facility was committed to replicating the natural environments of their more exotic hybrids as closely as possible, even if Toji claimed he’d trade it all for a punching bag, or better yet, something ‘real’ to dig his teeth into, whatever that meant. “Do I get a treat, doc?”
It was asked playfully, but still, you hummed by way of confirmation, pulling your duffle bag into your lap and fishing Toji’s well-earned rewards – a generic chocolate bar and a can of some painfully acidic, sickeningly sweet brand of soda your hybrid patients couldn’t seem to get enough of. It was a meager prize, but it was as much as you were able to spare considering how strict his caretakers were when it came to his diet. You’d probably save yourself a few dirty looks if you didn’t give him anything at all, but it didn’t feel right to leave him empty-handed.
He accepted your humble offering greedily. While the chocolate bar was stowed away for later consumption, the can was pierced with a clawed thumb and emptied in one long, unpleasantly audible swig. You’d only started to push yourself to your feet when Tojj finished, letting the now empty can fall to the ground before turning his attention back to you. “It hurts my feelings, knowing you’re just gonna run off and put your hands on another animal.” His ear pressed flat against his scalp, as if he was trying (and failing) to feign disappointment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d start to think you didn’t really care about all the time we’ve spent together.”
“You’re not exactly in desperate need of medical attention,” you chided, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “And I’m on a schedule. Not all of us can sit around, grooming ourselves all day.”
That earned a breathy laugh, a coy lilt to his smile. “Well, if you wanted to take a shot at it, I wouldn’t—”
“Save it. I get enough of that with the cats.” Just thinking about it made you grimace. It was one thing to think that Toji might bite you. Knowing Satoru and Suguru – the bonded leopard and panther pair who shared a check-up date with Toji – would insist on licking any exposed skin raw before letting you do your job was a much more tangible reality. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. You’ll be good until then, right?”
“I’m gonna gut those fucking strays.” His answer was blunt, immediate, but he cracked as soon you shot him a purse-lipped frown. “Kidding, kidding. I’ll just rough ‘em up a little – make ‘em regret putting their paws on you, y’know?”
You couldn’t help but soften. Toji was rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad dog. He just had a protective streak and that, paired with his brash personality and tendency to bite before he barked, was enough for most people to write him off.
You really did have a long, long list of other appointments you had to get to before the end of the day, but against your better judgement, you paused as you passed him, reaching down to rake your fingers through sleek black hair. He was stoic, especially for a hybrid, but even his cool, dark eyes and wry smile couldn’t hide the way his tail moved just a little faster at the feeling of your nails raking over his scalp, his ears immediately perking up. It only took a second for him to bat your hand away, but you only laughed as you started towards the staff exit, waving to Toji over your shoulder.
Maybe, for his next check-up, you’d see if you could sneak in something special.
~
“Your mutt’s been unruly, lately.”
You glanced up from your clipboard, turning your full attention to Nanami and quickly finding that he hadn’t paid you the same courtesy. He was one of the senior researchers and, so far, the only one you could stand to be around for any longer than a few minutes. Since the higher-ups expected you to fill out your reports with one hand while you took a four-hundred-pound tiger’s temperature with the other, you tended to camp out in Nanami’s office when you had paperwork to file. “Toji?” Nanami nodded, and you rolled your eyes. “I’m just the vet, Kento. If his handlers aren’t doing their—”
“The problem isn’t his handlers, it’s him.”
His voice was flat, his tone icy. You laid your clipboard over your lap, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s an animal. It’d be more out of character if he didn’t lash out occasionally.”
Nanami opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly. After a lengthy pause, he leaned back in his seat, bringing a hand to his temples and massaging absentmindedly. “Do you know why he hasn’t been released back into the wild, yet?”
Obviously. Working with hybrids – let alone exotic hybrids – was dangerous, and your debriefing had drilled the face, name, and background of every animal in the facility into your memory. “He was born in captivity. He’s too acclimated to human society to adjust to the wilderness.”
Nanami pressed his lips into a thin line – an expression you’d learned to read as ‘you’re right, but I’m not going to say that’. Still, a degree of satisfaction accompanied his silent confirmation. “He was found in a dog fighting ring – or, what was left of one, at least. It took three rounds of sedation and two broken muzzles before our recovery team was able to get him under control.”
A knot formed at the base of your throat. Fuck chocolate, Toji deserved a blanket and as many hugs as he would let you give him. “That’s terrible, Kento. Were the organizers arrested?”
“The organizers—” Nanami straightened. “—were found mauled and stuffed into a kennel. Their bodies were so thoroughly mutilated, we had to rely on blood samples to identify them.”
“Wolves aren’t known for attacking unprovoked. It could’ve been another—”
“One of his handlers is currently hospitalized,” Nanami went on, as if you hadn’t cut in. “And two have already turned in their resignations – a resounding fear for their welfare in the workplace, supposedly.”
Your eyes fell to the floor, and that knot in your throat tightened until only the barest whisper could find its way out. “He’s not a bad dog,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “He just— He loses his temper, sometimes. He doesn’t mean to hurt anymore.”
“He’s never tried to hurt you?”
You didn’t have to think before shaking your head. “Never.”
That, of all things, seemed to catch Nanami’s attention. For the first time, his eyes flickered briefly to you before falling back to his desk, his paperwork. “Good,” he said, marking down something on a piece of scrap paper in front of him. If he felt the need to elaborate, he clearly didn’t deem it worth the effort.
Later that day, you were informed that you were being transferred to the reptile wing indefinitely. If you’d been there for a few more months, if you’d had a little more experience to throw around, if you’d had a little more authority, you might’ve protested, but it was all you could do to nod and set to memorizing your new schedule.
~
It took exactly three weeks for you to see Toji again.
One of his handlers – a woman in her early twenties sporting a pressed scowl and a gauze-padded bandage on her cheek – met you at the facility’s gates and flatly told you that Toji was injured. You’d never been in the facilities (much less with a hybrid) after sundown, and in the simulated wilderness of his enclosure, it was easy to forget that you were never more than twenty feet away from a security camera, that there was only one apex predator you had to be afraid of. After checking your usual meeting spot (clear spot near the center of his enclosure – neutral territory, safe territory) and finding it vacant, you reluctantly stumbled your way to his den, dragging your feet despite the urgency of the situation. Toji wouldn’t deliberately attack you, but any animal could react if provoked. You didn’t want to set him off. More importantly, you didn’t want to prove Nanami right.
You’d never ventured far enough to see his den, but you knew what to expect. A square shell of cement occupied the deepest corner of Toji’s enclosure, bracketed off by a metal door tucked inside of a deep entryway meant to give the illusion of privacy. You approached it slowly, stepping underneath the shadowed overhang with no small amount of caution, but you didn’t get the chance to knock before a hand manifested on your shoulder and shoved you against the cold steel.
Claws bit into to the dip of your shoulder, then your wrist, too, as he caught your hand and shoved it into the small of your back. You felt hot air on the nape of your neck, heard heavy panting laced with the barest trace of a throaty growl, and it took everything you had not to panic, not to struggle, not to give him a reason to dig his teeth into your neck and tear. Toji wasn’t a bad dog, but he was still a dog. He’d still bite, if given an excuse.
“Toji,” you started, slowly, taking care to soften each harsh syllable of his name. “I’m here to help you.”
He didn’t respond, his hold only tightening. His check pressed into your back, and there was a short, airy noise – sniffing, as little as you wanted to put a name to it. “Toji,” you repeated, with more urgency. “I heard you were hurt. Will you let me help you?”
A second passed in silence, then another. Finally, he pulled away from you, releasing your wrist first, then your shoulder. He remained where he was – a little too close, a little too looming – as you shuffled to face him, forcing yourself not to consciously acknowledge that you were in a very big cage with a very poorly behaved animal. His handlers hadn’t mentioned why they’d needed you, but you didn’t have to wonder for very long. Even in the pitch dark, you could see the dark blood covering his jaw, washed over his throat and chest. It was on his hands, too, coating the white bone of his claws, and matted into his dark hair. Your waning self-control faltered then shattered altogether, your hands shooting to his head, his face, searching for bruising or swelling or broken bones, but surprisingly, all your worry earned was an airy laugh. “It’s not mine, doc.” He laid a hand over yours. “I’m doin’ just fine. Even better, now that you’re here.”
But he wasn’t. Twin sets of puncture marks were littered across his throat, his face, his arms. Something had taken a chunk out of his left bicep, and five matching scratch marks had been etched deep into the skin of his chest. The wounds looked feline, but you couldn’t bring yourself to linger on the implications. “You’re hurt,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your hands fell to his shoulders, pushing him downward gently. “I— I’ve got bandages, and sutures—” You let your bag fall from your shoulder to your elbow, already reaching for the zipper. “Find somewhere to sit. We should get you cleaned up before something worse sets in.”
Panic was quickly overshadowing your better judgement, but Toji didn’t move, didn’t look away from you. He was still wearing that coy, sardonic grin – almost teasing, given your anxiety. “I already told you, I’m just fine.” His smile widened, until his pointed fangs caught in the dim light. “I didn’t think you’d actually come. They said I could ask for whatever I wanted, but—” He paused, sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”
“Toji, you’re not making any sense. You need help.” Again, you pushed gently on his shoulders, and again, he didn’t seem to notice. This time, though, he shifted, leaned toward you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You scowled, shoving a little less gently on his chest, but Toji didn’t move. “Toji, please, just let me help—”
“You’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” You felt his hands on your waist, then your ass. His chest was slotted against yours, and his tongue ran unabashedly over the curve of your neck once, then twice before he went on. “Keep sayin’ my name like that, and I won’t be able to control myself.”
Something pressed into your thigh – hot and hard and, like the rest of Toji, fucking huge. Your heart fell into your stomach, the air flooding out of your lungs and leaving you dazed, breathless.
Fuck. Fuck.
You should’ve stuck with the fucking reptiles.
Toji was panting audibly, again; his tongue lapping over your neck, your cheek. You were still cursing yourself for ever applying for this shitty job in the first place when Toji fell to his knees, forcing your thighs onto his shoulders as his claws caught on the fabric of your pants, decimating the thin material in an instant. His teeth tore away your panties just as quickly, leaving you exposed, splayed out on a silver platter in front of him. You reacted reflectively – knotting your fingers in his hair and doing your best to pry him away from you, but your strength was nothing compared to his and in the end, all you earned was a throaty groan, a tight squeeze to your ass before he buried his face in your cunt. His teeth grazed against the tender insides of your thighs, his claws biting into your now-unprotected skin, but the feeling of his tongue laving over the length of your slit replaced every other sensation with pure heat.
Predictably, he was near animalistic – his thick tongue fucking into you as the bridge of his nose ground shamelessly into your clit. From a distance, it would’ve been hard to tell if he was trying to eat you out or eat you alive; every noise he made feral and wet, punctuated with rough growls and little, uncharacteristic whines. It would’ve been impossible not to feel anything, but still, you couldn’t help but hate yourself when it started to feel good. His tongue was thick and textured, long enough to fill your pussy and flexible enough to curl inside of you, abusing the walls of your cunt without mercy. It was difficult to tell how much of the gloss staining his chin and the inside of your thighs was his drool and how much of it was your arousal, but even if your mind was disgusted by every slick noise and sharp flick of his tongue, there was nothing your body could do to block out the sudden pang of heat in your core, to fight the way your legs ached to clench around his head and pull the source of your revulsion that much closer.
“To—Toji, no, st—” you tried to say, like you were scolding a normal dog, like any part of you still thought he was listening. A cracked moan cut you off prematurely, and even if it hadn’t, Toji’s only response was a bruising squeeze to your ass, a low moan just loud enough to reverberate against your sensitive clit. Blinding white flashed across your vision, and before you could stop, before you could bring yourself back from that edge, you were coming undone on his tongue, your hips bucking against his face as he nursed you through your mind-numbing climax. Rather than pull away, he forced his tongue that much deeper into your pussy – taking advantage of your hypersensitivity to drag another unwilling orgasm out of you, then another, until the dried blood smeared across his lips was tacky and dripping onto your skin. He only pulled away when your little, pained sounds began to die into half-choked pleas and your limited strength failed, leaning you limp and boneless on top of him, and even then, he took the time to drag his tongue over your slit, to lap up what would’ve been wasted slick. You would’ve given anything for him to just leave you like that – messy and covered in your own arousal, but unfortunately, Toji had never been a bad dog.
His gaze flitted up to meet yours. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, when he saw the misery knitted into your expression. The broad grin he wore was anything but apologetic, though. “Might’ve gotten carried away after all. Can’t help it – you always come to me, smellin’ like other men, and nobody ever lets me do anything about it.” He nuzzled into the inside of your thigh, nipping at the tender flesh with just enough force to break the skin. There was a tight pinch, of bright spark of pain, but Toji tended to the minimal wound lovingly, running his tongue over the thin stream of blood. “Gonna have you nice n’ scented by the end of the night.” A sharp whimper slipped past your grit teeth as the points of his fangs grazed over your skin, and Toji sighed. “Gonna have you nice n’ bred, too, if you keep making those sounds.”
Bred. Bred. Bred. You turned the offensive word over in your mind, unable to grasp what it possibly could’ve meant, as Toji carefully lowered you onto the ground – never so much as toying with the idea of fucking you into anything other than the cold, raw earth. It wasn’t until his clawed hand fell to the hard, pulsing cock standing stiffly between his legs that you were able to fully process what he’d said, what he was threatening to do to you. Your thoughts went blank, your years of veterinary school and countless hours of animal-handling training and common sense all dissolving into total nonexistence in an instant. It didn’t matter that he was taller than you, stronger than you – you were already throwing your full weight against him, scratching at his chest with your blunt nails, doing everything in your so incredibly limited power just to get away from him. Your latest wave of resistance wasn’t enough to overwhelm him, but it earned a frustrated rumble at the base of his throat, a downward quirk to his cocky smile. Your nails caught one of the puncture marks on his cheek and, reflexively, he straightened his back, brought his hand to his face, left just enough space between your body and his for you to roll onto your chest and scramble desperately towards freedom. You’d barely gotten your knees underneath you when his hand lashed out, catching you by the collar and forcing your cheek into the soil. His chest pressed into your back, his legs caging yours in on either side, and worst of all, his cock throbbed against your ass – somehow, impossibly, harder than it’d been a few seconds ago. You might’ve jotted it down as an impressive display of canine resilience, if you hadn’t felt so desolated.
“Shoulda figured you wouldn’t make this easy on yourself.” His voice was rougher than it had been, but no less self-satisfied. That made sense. Wolves were endurance predators. He would’ve come into this expecting there to be a struggle. “I thought you’d be more of a mate than a bitch, but—” He paused, his mouth settling against the nape of your neck. “—either’s fine by me.”
You clenched your eyes shut. “Please, Toji, don’t do—”
But, it was already too late. He rutted your ass once, then twice, before his tip caught on the entrance to your abused pussy and he was inside of you, fully sheathed without a trace of resistance.
Toji was big, even for a hybrid. He was a hunter, tried and true, all muscle and agility and pure, unfaltering strength. Even with his generous (albeit, unwelcomed) prep, it was all you could do to convince yourself that his cock wouldn’t tear you apart. He was thick enough to press against every soft and sensitive spot inside of you, long enough to leave a tight knot of pressure sitting in the pit of your stomach, and when he started to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, the force alone was enough to scatter little black spots in the corner of your vision and leave you hazy, light-headed. The way he was fucking into you didn’t help anything, either. Keening whines slipped out of some deep, feral pocket of his chest as he took advantage of your vulnerable cunt, alternating between grinding into you with a desperate sort of clinginess and trying to bully his way that much deeper with bruising, brutal thrusts. One arm wrapped around your midriff, dragging you even close to him, while a groping hand found the delicate buttons of your top and tore, ridding you of what was left of your protection against him. He kneaded half-consciously at your chest as he fucked into you; his own pleasure suddenly his only priority.
His selfishness should’ve been a welcome change, but you were too far gone, your body too eager to find a silver lining to his rough affection. Your hands clawed mindlessly at the ground as he pumped into you, the heat of his body against yours clouding your senses and making the feeling of cock stretching you open, his dull head pounding against your cervix all the more unbearable. You doubted he’d be able to talk, even if he’d had anything left to say, but he was still vocal enough. Raspy groans and harsh grunts rung distantly in your ears, his calloused hands groping mercilessly at your chest, your stomach, your waist. Finally, his thumb found its way to your neglected clit, and with less than a full second of stimulation, you were buckling into yourself, clamping down around his cock with a fractured whimper. As humiliated as you were, Toji wasn’t far behind. With something between a moan and a howl, he was cumming inside of you – predictably making no attempt to pull out. Something hot and vile flooded into you, but it was hard to focus on that when you could feel something hard and bloated and wrong press into your entrance. Toji’s breath hitched as he forced his knot into your tight cunt, and whatever hope you had for coming out of this unscathed curled up and died inside of you.
You could feel him slacken on top of you. You almost thought he would collapse like that, leave you locked to him and trapped under his weight, but instead, he nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his fangs ghosting over your throat before sinking into the soft flesh just underneath your jugular. He stayed like that, his knot splitting open your pussy and his teeth buried in your neck, until you lost any hope of him ever pulling away.
Exhausted, you shut your eyes, sinking into yourself. You’d been right, in a way. Toji wasn’t a bad dog.
He was just a terrible terrible man.
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asbealthgn · 9 months
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wrote this goofy thing as an expansion of this post
It’s very surprising when the door to Eddie’s trailer opens and Eddie is standing there with flowers.
It’s even more surprising when he says, “Happy one month!” with a big grin.
Steve looks back and forth between Eddie and the flowers—wildflowers by the look of them, probably picked around the edges of the trailer park. “Uh, one month of what?”
Eddie gives him an uncertain smile like he’s not sure if Steve’s being serious or not. “Of our relationship,” he says, the last syllable tilting up almost like a question.
Huh. Kind of weird, but at the start of summer Steve and Robin had an ice cream party to celebrate the year anniversary of when they started at Scoops together. So it’s not like this is completely unheard of. Except—
“You and I have been friends for longer than a month,” Steve says, “It’s been like—” he tries to count the months since spring break in his head “—at least four? Unless you don’t count when you were unconscious in the hospital, but that was only a couple weeks, so—”
“I mean one month of our relationship,” Eddie says, putting emphasis on the word. And now his eyebrows are drawn together. Face concerned. And Steve is clearly missing something here.
Did something significant happen a month ago? Some moment where they moved from friends to best friends or something? It was probably about a month or so ago the first time Steve spent the night at Eddie’s trailer, but that wasn’t a huge deal. Steve has spent the night at the Byers’ house before and it’s not like he and Jonathan are breaking out the balloons to commemorate it. 
Steve feels guilty, because clearly there’s something that Eddie thinks he should know that he doesn’t. He doesn’t like this nervous look on Eddie’s face. Steve tries to think like Nancy, tries to put the clues together. But he’s not Nancy. So he’s lost. 
“I’m sorry, dude,” Steve says, “I don’t get what you mean.”
Eddie deflates.
“I know we haven’t necessarily defined it.” His voice is wavering, eyes getting watery. Shit shit shit, what did Steve do? This is so completely out of nowhere and Steve doesn’t know how to fix it. “But I didn’t realize it was actually that insignificant to you.”
Steve shoots his arm out to stop Eddie from closing the door on him. He needs to figure out what’s going on so he can make it right, and that’s not gonna happen if Eddie shuts him out. “Eds, seriously, you’re gonna have to fill me in,” he says, “‘Cause I honestly don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Seriously?” Eddie asks, anger over taking the sadness in his voice, “You’re gonna act like you don’t know?”
“I don’t!” Steve nearly shouts, desperate. “Please, man, I’m not trying to piss you off here. Whatever it is, I wanna make it right. You just have to tell me what you mean.”
“You and I,” Eddie says. Looking at him like it should be obvious. When it’s so, so not. It makes Steve want to scream. “We’re—I thought we were together.”
“Together? Like…together how?”
Steve doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie look this pissed off. “Use your goddamned brain, Harrington,” he spits, “Like together.”
Oh. Okay. That’s…something. It’s not that Steve would necessarily be opposed, or even that he hasn’t thought of it. It’s just not true. They’re not together. And he’s not sure why Eddie thinks they are. Yeah, they’re close, but it’s not like they’re closer than Steve and Robin. It’s not like they’re closer than Steve was to Tommy back in the day. He and Eddie haven’t done anything that feels outside the realm of friendship to him. And he definitely didn’t realize that Eddie saw it any differently.
“Um,” Steve says, aware that he’s standing like an idiot on Eddie’s doorstep and needs to answer. “Why?”
“Oh my God,” Eddie says, making as if to close the door again. Steve barely catches it in time. It makes Eddie glare at him. “There’s no way you’re being serious,” he says.
Keeping one hand on the door, Steve throws up the other one in a gesture he stole from Robin. “I really am,” he says, “You know what the kids say. I’m an idiot. You really have to lay things out for me.”
That at least makes Eddie soften a few degrees. “You’re not an idiot, Steve,” he says, “You’re just—oblivious, apparently.”
“Yeah, that too.”
Eddie sighs. “Just come in. We can talk about it.” He steps back and lets Steve come inside. The flowers are still clutched in Eddie’s hand, starting to wilt. Eddie sets them on the table before joining Steve on the couch. 
“A month ago is when you stayed over for the first time,” Eddie says. Steve nods. “And you kissed me.” Steve nods again. Eddie lifts his eyebrows significantly. “You’re not seeing the connection?”
Steve shrugs. “I mean, I guess there’s other ways you could construe that,” he says, “But I thought it was, like, a friend kiss. A goodnight kiss.”
“A friend kiss,” Eddie says flatly. “You kiss a lot of your friends?”
“Sure,” Steve says, “Well, Robin prefers forehead kisses and Jonathan’s more of a hug guy, but I used to kiss Tommy and Carol all the time.”
Disbelief is the main emotion on Eddie’s face. And a whole lot of other ones that Steve can’t quite parse out. “So—everything we’ve done,” Eddie says, slowly, like he’s trying to come to terms with it. “It’s all just…been normal friend shit to you?”
Steve thinks back over the last month, trying to think if anything stands out in his head as non-platonic. Maybe there’s been a time or two when he was kissing Eddie or cuddling up to him in bed or sitting on his lap during D&D where Steve’s felt a sort of stirring deep in his belly. But he figured that was one-sided. His body’s reaction to whatever was happening and not a manifestation of, like, feelings or something. After all, the same thing used to happen with Tommy when they’d do similar stuff. And clearly they were just friends.
After a full twenty seconds of Steve not answering, Eddie drops his head in his hands. “Holy shit,” he mutters. Then he lifts his head. “This—you—the other day. You slept over. We made out. You—you took my fucking shirt off, Steve.”
Yeah, that did happen. And Steve doesn’t have a great explanation for it. “I don’t know,” he says, “It was the heat of the moment or whatever.”
“The heat of the moment,” Eddie repeats, and Steve can’t tell if he’s on the verge of tears or the verge of laughing. Eddie puts his arm on the back of the couch and leans toward Steve. “Can you honestly say that you’re not attracted to me at all?”
Annoyingly, Steve can feel his face start to heat. “I never said that,” he mutters.
For the first time, Eddie looks triumphant. “So you are attracted to me?”
“Yeah, man,” Steve says, squirming uncomfortably. Of course he’s attracted to Eddie. What’s not to be attracted to? He’s smart, funny, hot, good with the kids, good on the guitar, good at kissing. Helped save the world. “You’re, like, it for me. I definitely think about you that way. I just didn’t think you thought about me that way.”
Eddie laughs, the sound containing more disbelief than humor, but still overall a good thing. “I can’t believe the guy who’s been sharing my bed for the past month didn’t think I was into him.”
“Hey, you’re not the only person whose bed I’ve shared.” Shit, that was a bad way to put it. “Platonically.”
Shaking his head, Eddie laughs again. “Clearly, your idea of platonic does not line up with mine,” he says. “But you mean it? You’re into me?”
“Yeah, Eds,” Steve says, “I’m into you.”
“So, does that mean you’d want to be my boyfriend?”
“Apparently I already have been for the past month,” Steve says, grinning.
Eddie grins back. “Doesn’t count if you didn’t know.”
“Then we can count from today,” Steve says, “Starting now, I’m your boyfriend.”
He hasn’t finished saying the last word before Eddie is surging forward and taking Steve’s face in his hands. He shifts onto Steve’s lap, kissing him deeply. 
And it doesn’t feel platonic at all.
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prozach27 · 1 year
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secretly-dum · 1 year
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Could I get a Joel miller x reader fic where the reader gets her period and her past partners always made her sleep on the couch bc they thought it was gross and Joel is just like wtf at someone treating his daeling like that?
Come Back to Bed, Please?
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pairing: joel miller x AFAB!reader
genre: romantic fluff <3
summary: you get your period and freak out over what Joel’s reaction could be.
warning/contents: reader has a period, blood mentions(obv), Y/N is used, AFAB reader, mentions of past relationships, it gets a tad bit angsty.
additional notes: ty for the request!! Im actually AFAB(I identify as agender btw) so I can relate to this 😭
«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»
Your stomach starts to hurt and you immediately realize what time of the month it is. You rush to the bathroom and grab your stash of pads underneath the cold sink.
Knock, knock.
You completely forgot about Joel..
“Uh..Y/N? You..you alright…?” Joel questions worryingly, thinking the worst that could possibly happen to you.
“I’m alright…I’m just on period!” You yell out nervously, hoping that he wouldn’t make a snarky remark or say you’re disgusting.
“Alright, just tell me if you need anything.” He says and you hear him walk away. Fear washes off of you, but confusion starts to settle in when he didn’t give you the reaction you thought we was going to give you. Cleaning yourself up, a cold darkness settles outside, indicating that you should start to go to rest.
“Took Ellie to sleep, she told me to tell you ‘goodnight’” Joel says chuckling softly and you smile.
“Well, I’m tired too. Think I’m gonna head to bed now.” You say as you pick up your pillow and a blanket from you and Joel’s shared bed.
“Woah woah woah! The hell are ya’ doing?”
“Picking up my stuff…?”
“Why?”
“‘Cause I’m on my period, dummy.” You nonchalantly reply, and lay down on the couch. Joel looks at you with the most confused expression ever and realization hits you like a truck.
“That don’t mean you have to sleep on the couch.” His southern deep accent breaks the short silence between the two of you. Opening your mouth, your voice seemingly disappears from your throat, and now you’re the one confused.
“But that doesn’t…that doesn’t make you disgusted? Or something? Doesn’t that bother you?” You say, barely above a whisper.
“No…? Y/N…god dammit.” He pinches the bridge of his nose making you even more confused.
“Wha-“
“I’ve dealt with all sorts of blood before. I’ve seen clickers in front of me, and those shits are nasty. You really think blood like that is gonna bother me?”
Now that he says it, that really doesn’t make sense. His statement lingers in your head for a while before you say something.
“Well- I guess that’s just a reaction I get a lot. My past partners didn’t like the fact that I naturally bled, so they usually made me sleep on the couch.” You admit, looking down at the floor to avoid looking at Joel’s face. He stays silent longer than usual and you look up to see him being shocked.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” You giggle.
“That’s fucking absurd? No one should treat you like that, ever. They’re lucky I don’t know who they are.” He says walking to you and pressing his forehead against yours, pinning you down on the couch. A warm, fuzzy feeling enters your heart and you let your left hand trail up to his cheek. Moonlight hits the floor, brightening the living room.
“It’s not that serious Joel.” You say, playfully rolling your eyes.
“It’s that serious to me, you’re…you’re human. It’s something that happens naturally, if they don’t like that then you should’ve left them.”
Your gaze at him starts to turn blurry as tears show up in your eyes, you kiss him and he unexpectedly picks you up bridal-style. You squeal out his name and he tells you to ‘shush up’. He gently places you down on the bed.
“Get yourself comfortable, I’ll be back in a minute.” The covers of the bed get on top of you and Joel leaves the room.
A few minutes passed, where is this man? you thought, and he walks in the moment you stop thinking.
“U-Uh..H-Here..” you grab a mug out of his hands and embrace the warmth of it.
“What is it?”
“Tea…it’s from a uh..tip that Tess told me that would help with cramps..” Red tints his face, but luckily from the darkness it’s not visible.
“Aww Joel, you didn’t have to do that!” You say as he steps in bed, you take a few sips from the tea and place it down on the table next to the bed. Joel slips more under the bed and fully gets comfortable, and you position to be the big spoon. You arm wraps around his back and you feel Joel kissing your shoulder.
“I love you, don’t let anybody tell you different.”
“Joel…
I love you too.”
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rafesmuse · 5 months
Text
treat you better — r.c.
pairing: best friend!rafe cameron x fem!reader
warnings: smut 18+, vaginal sex, fingering, mentions of cheating (on reader), actual cheating, creampie, toxic relationship, lots of praising
word count: 2k
summary: your best friend is eager to show you that he can fuck you better than your shitty boyfriend.
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“Fuck him!” you cursed, tears streaming down your face and your mascara smeared all over your eyes as you made your way to your best friend’s house, like every other week. Today wasn’t any different, after yet another fight with your boyfriend. Going to Rafe's house and bawling your eyes out became a routine at this point. He was always there for you, taking care of you when you desperately needed someone.
You had known Rafe for years now through mutual friends. It immediately clicked between you two and he would do anything for you now. You ultimately met your boyfriend through Rafe, since both of them belonged to the same friend group. Rafe had warned you about him at first, knowing that he’d always been a player but you reassured him that it was fine and that you were happy— which lasted only a few months. Now you’re a crying mess every week, pouring your heart out to Rafe.
“It’s fine. You’re fine” you muttered to yourself as you rang Rafe’s doorbell, wiping the tears from your face with the sleeve of your sweater, your eyes red and swollen. You heard footsteps nearing before the door swung open. Rafe stood in the doorway, not seeming surprised whatsoever, as you eyed him with a blurry vision.
“Another fight?” he asked, his brows slightly furrowed in concern. You nodded while fidgeting with your hands, unable to look him in the eye. He let out a sigh and moved aside, “Come in.”
As usual, you entered the house, went straight upstairs, and headed for Rafe's bedroom, while he went to the kitchen to get you a glass of water. You went into his room and sat on the bed before kicking your shoes off and getting more comfortable. Rafe entered right after you, placing the glass of water on the bedside table next to you.
Rafe sighed and moved to sit next to you, taking your hand in his as he drew slow circles on your skin with his thumb, the scent of his expensive cologne filling your nose.
“What did he do this time?” he asked, glaring at you with a stern face, clearly furious at your boyfriend. Breathing deeply, you went over today’s fight in your head as you attempted to sort out your thoughts. “I think… I think he’s cheating on me, Rafe” you sniffed, your voice soft and vulnerable.
“What?” Rafe yelled, the grip on your hand tightening as he waited impatiently for you to continue. “He was showering and notifications popped up on his phone so I looked and-“ you took a deep breath while you felt the tears prickling in your eyes, “It was from some girl that I’d never heard of before, saying that she had a great night with him and asking to hang out again.” Your voice cracked slightly at the end of your sentence, unable to control your emotions. Rafe shook his head in disapproval as he rolled his eyes, not understanding how he could treat you this way, “Fucking idiot”.
You dabbed the tears from your face using a tissue that he gave you before continuing, “And… we never, you know, he never wants to have sex with me anymore. It just… it makes me feel so unattractive and unwanted” you added, which made Rafe stand up in an instant, unable to contain his frustration and fury any longer.
“Listen, you really need to fucking leave him, alright?” he insisted, his voice filled with rage as he gazed down at you. “But-“ “No buts. He isn’t treating you well and you deserve better, fuck!” he snapped, pacing around the room while rubbing his temples with the palm of his hands in frustration, anger taking over. He felt so protective over you, he always did. He beat up every single guy who talked bad about you without hesitation, even when you’re not there.
“I’m gonna fucking kill that asshole first thing tomorrow, got it? Gonna teach him a lesson. I will make sure he won’t ever fucking hurt you again. What the fuck is wrong with him?” “Rafe-“ “God, I bet I could fuck you so much better than that fucking idiot”.
Rafe stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening as you snapped your head towards him, not sure if you heard him correctly. “W-what?” you stammered, as you stared at him dumbfounded. No… no, no, you couldn’t have heard that right. You must’ve misheard him.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I- uh, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” He let out a small chuckle, baffled at his own words, then walked cautiously over to sit beside you on the bed. It was quiet for a moment as Rafe thought about what to say to you, his leg nervously bouncing up and down before turning towards you.
“I’m sor-“ he started, trying to apologise, worried about ruining the friendship while his heart beat out of his chest— but he was quickly interrupted by you grabbing his head and kissing him passionately, your body completely taking over control. You didn’t know what was happening to you, you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing— all you knew is that you needed him. You needed your best friend. Now.
He gave no resistance. Feeling just as hungry for you, one hand moved slowly to your waist and the other rested on your thigh, sliding his tongue inside your mouth. You eventually pulled away before slowly bringing your lips towards his neck, whispering in his ear, “Then show me.”
His hand squeezed your thigh as he let out a groan, goosebumps forming all over his body, “Oh fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this moment” he growled, then pushed you onto your back and leaned over you, hungrily placing sloppy kisses on your neck with one hand massaging your tits, causing you to moan as you melted under his touch.
“Gonna show you how fucking special you are. Give you the best sex you’ve ever fucking had. Make you cum harder than he ever could. You want that, pretty girl?” he asked as he stared deep into your eyes, faces mere inches away from each other as his hands explored your entire body, finally being able to do so after fantasising about it for a long time. “P-please Rafe. Need you” you pleaded, letting him undress you as he took off your sweater and skirt before tossing them on the floor, leaving you in the prettiest red lingerie set you own which you wore for your boyfriend.
He moved back a bit, eyes scanning over every part of your body, fully admiring your stunning figure as he shook his head and laughed in disbelief. “Fucking hell, you are the sexiest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. What a fucking idiot, holy shit.” He smirked before kissing every inch of your body, truly showing you how beautiful you were to him as he moved his palm over your clothed core, feeling the wet spot that formed over your underwear. “So fucking wet already. Guess you haven’t been fucked good for a long time.” he remarked as he pulled your panties to the side and ran his fingers over your core. “Let me change that, hmm?”
You moaned into his mouth when he slid two fingers inside you while kissing you eagerly. His fingers moved so skilfully inside you, effortlessly finding your g-spot as he spread your legs farther apart with his other hand. “Can’t wait to be inside you. Bet your pussy feels so fucking good” he growled as he gazed at you with dark eyes as he bit his lip, almost drooling just thinking about it. “Please fuck me, Rafe. I can’t wait any longer” you begged, feeling desperate to feel him deep inside of you. He groaned at your pleas, your words alone nearly making him cum on the spot.
“Whatever you need, princess” he smirked before removing his clothes, leaving him just his boxers. Your eyes began to widen as his crotch caught your attention, noticing that he was definitely bigger than your boyfriend.
“My eyes are up here.” he joked, gesturing towards his eyes as he watched you stare at him. “I…I know…” you murmured with your eyes still fixed on his crotch and your mouth slightly agape as your cheeks heated up. He chuckled as he slowly removed his boxers, his erection springing free against his stomach with precum leaking from the tip. Your cunt throbbed at the sight before you, and your mind went blank—all you could think about was how much you needed his cock inside of you.
He moved towards you, kissing your collarbones and neck as he gently removed your bra with one hand before sliding your underwear down your legs, flinging them across the room. He gazed down at your naked body before taking one of your tits in his mouth, moaning around it. “Best tits I’ve ever fucking seen” he growled as his tongue slid over your hard nipple. Clearly not buying it, you rolled your eyes at him. “Oh shut up, you’ve fucked like a hundred girls. There ain’t no way” He chuckled, sucking your nipple more aggressively, “And none of them can compare to you. So fucking beautiful.” His words made you even more wet as you were aching for him, unable to wait any longer.
Rafe moved back and pumped his cock a few times, growing impatient as well before he positioned himself between your legs and pushed into you cautiously, his arms caging you under him as he hissed at the feeling. He gave you a moment to let you adjust to his size, his cock completely filling you up as he was buried balls deep inside of you.
“You feel so fucking good” he praised as he kissed you, moaning into your mouth as he began to move. You felt better than he ever could’ve imagined— so tight and warm, perfectly wrapped around him, as if you were made for him. “So big, oh my god” you moaned as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you.
“Who fucks you better, hmm? Me or him?” he asked as he increased his speed, pounding into you at a relentless pace. “Fuck! You, Rafe, you!” “Good girl.” You wrapped your legs around his muscular torso, giving him an angle to go even deeper as his cock hit your g-spot repeatedly. Rafe clutched the sheets with his head buried in the crook of your neck as he tried his hardest to not cum right there and then, but fuck you felt so good. His hand slowly travelled to your core, rubbing fast circles on your swollen clit to help you in getting closer to your orgasm. “Yes, yes, yes, right there!” you cried out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Taking my cock so well, fuck” he growled, his voice strained and his pace brutal. 
A few more thrusts and your orgasm struck you, your nails dragging down his back as you arched your back, moaning Rafe’s name over and over again. “That’s it, baby. Gonna cum so fucking deep inside of you. You will be leaking my cum when he sees you again” he hissed before emptying himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his cum as he groaned at the feeling. He slowed down before pulling out and lied down next to you, handing you a towel from beside him.
“And?” he asked with his chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath, raising his eyebrows in anticipation of your response. “Best sex I’ve ever fucking had” you replied, causing him to chuckle cockily after getting the answer he expected. “Gonna fuck you in front of that motherfucker next time, show him how to properly fuck a special girl like you.”
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2K notes · View notes
susiephone · 11 months
Text
wtf is dracula daily?
i’ve seen a couple people ask this question on my posts about it, so i thought i’d go ahead and clear it up here!
ok so, the classic horror novel “dracula” is an epistolary novel - that means it’s told via letters, diary entries, ship logs, and news articles. (technically the term “epistolary novel” refers to works told solely through letters or emails, but many have expanded it to mean any work that is told via in-universe documents, hence why diaries and logs often get included as well. “frankenstein” is another classic example; the whole framing device is robert walton is recounting the story he heard from victor to his sister via letter. a modern example would be “several people are typing,” which is told via slack messages, or “the perks of being a wallflower,” which is told via letters from charlie to his anonymous pen pal, which is functionally more like you’re reading his diary.)
because of the nature of the narrative, we actually know the exact day nearly everything in dracula happens - the letters, news articles, diary entries, etc. are all dated.
“dracula daily” is a substack project where the novel is broken up into parts, with people who are subscribed to the project getting emails every day something in dracula happens - for example, the novel opens with jonathan harker’s journal entry on may 3, so on may 3, subscribers are emailed that entry. the action of dracula takes place from may 3 - november 6, plus an epilogue set some years later. the project started in 2021 (i think), but fucking BLEW UP in 2022, and they’re doing it again this year! lots of us are very excited - especially people like me who fell behind last time.
why not just read the book?
valid! due to some parts of dracula being told out of chronological order, dracula daily does reorder some things. for example, the first section of dracula is told entirely from jonathan harker’s pov, then the second section switches the pov to mina murray. their sections have some overlap in the timeline, so dracula daily jumps back and forth between their perspectives.
if you want to read the book as bram stoker intended, dracula daily may not be for you. but for a lot of people (myself included!), it breaks up a very long text into easily digestible chunks (....mostly. there is one entry that is 10k words), and the fact that it’s a big project means there are a lot of people reading along with you.
i think there’s also something valuable about experience the slow revelation of wtf is going on along with the characters. the book which you might otherwise get through in a few days is stretched out into months of suspense and agony as you wait for the other shoe to drop, and it’s great.
plus, the whiplash between “jonathan harker’s neverending horror” vs “lucy is basically on the bachelorette” that you get in dracula daily is very very funny.
how do i sign up?
right here! and if you sign up and fall behind in the emails, no worries - the dracula daily website posts past entries so you can catch up.
what if i prefer audiobooks?
have i got great news for you!
like i mentioned before, i couldn’t keep up with the emails last year. part of it is that it is much easier for me to focus on an audiobook or keep up with a podcast than it is for me to sit down and read, especially with longer entries.
this year, there is going to be a podcast titled “re: dracula” that was inspired by dracula daily. every episode will be a dracula daily entry, with a full voice cast! (seriously, if you listen to british podcasts, you will recognize some of these names. the magnus archives and wooden overcoats girlies are WINNING.) you can find that here.
there is also a podcast called “cryptic canticles” that has an already-completed audiodrama of dracula that i’m told is also extremely good, and was also broken up by date. you can find that here.
why do i keep hearing about paprika/the boyfriend squad/lizard fashion/cowboys?
you’ll see.
oh god am i gonna hear about this nerd shit for the rest of the year
yes. sorry.
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j-0ne25 · 7 months
Text
KIWI — [18+!]
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“Can you… cuddle me to sleep, please?”
His head snaps up to you, “Y/N… I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m gonna sleep outside, okay?”
You’re the one to wrap their fingers around his wrist now, pulling him towards the van. “Nooo, it’s too cold. You’re gonna get sick. Stay a little longer?”
He sighs, “Okay.”
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🥝 SYNOPSIS: After graduating from college, you decide to travel around New Zealand and celebrate your freedom. But when you buy a van for the journey, the salesman scams you, selling the exact same car to both you and another person who’s no other than your childhood best friend you haven’t seen in years—and still have a huge crush on…
This is my entry for @skzwritingcafe 's July/August event “Summertime Confessions”! (I am a little over the deadline but still wanted to post this since the event inspired me to pick up this WIP again)
🌴 CONTENT INFO: chan x afab reader, dj chan, childhood friends to enemies to lovers, travel au, only one bed trope, fluff/angst/smut, mutual pining, based on a dream I had about my childhood best friend whose name happens to be felix but I changed this story to chan lmao, prices for cars might be unrealistic but a) i don’t own a car and b) i don’t know that much about new zealand’s economy (i did research tho!!), warnings and smut tags under the cut
🛻 WORD COUNT: 12.0K
🗺️ CONTENT WARNING: alcohol consumption (also includes excessive consumption once as well as mention of underage drinking in the past), short mention of breakup, scam/fraud, jealousy (both chan and reader), reader once calls chan daddy but sarcastically and non-sexually lmao
🧩 SMUT: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), semi-protected sex, choking, spanking, creampie, name calling (doll, dear, slut, good girl)
The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Minors do not interact, this post contains mature topics. By reading you consent to nsfw content and agree that you have read all the warnings above carefully.
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Well. That’s a bumpy journey so far. What a start.
A drink spilled all over your shirt, crumbs of crisps in your hair and a bruise on your knee. And if this isn’t already too much for your stressed out and anxious heart—the man you’ve never ever expected to see again stands right in front of you.
But let’s start again from the beginning and how you ended up here. A quick recap, shall we?
Exactly one week and three days ago you finally graduated from college. Hard work pays off—more or less—and since your new full time job will start in a month, you finally have a little bit of vacation in what feels like years. 
So, that’s how you found yourself spontaneously booking a flight to Auckland, ready to spend some time and money traveling through New Zealand’s nature and taking in all the landscapes you’ve dreamt about. You just need this—need to do something different before you will actually start being an adult and drown in boring everyday life.
The flight went quite well but the airport you arrived at was a disaster—due to many delays of other connections you had to wait for your huge backpack for a few hours, totally exhausted and tired from the trip. The hostel you have reserved a bed in for your first night is overbooked and now you have to share the room with ten other people. Well, that is a normal hostel situation but you're just too sleepy to deal with anyone right now.
Which is why it’s ironic that you’re out of all places at a club instead. But no matter how tired you are, it was too noisy in the bedroom so you decided to go out again, hoping to get a little more tired so that you will be able to pass out due to exhaustion and fall into a deep slumber once you’re back.
And then the snowball effect hits you—the people in here are already drunk, too drunk, and possibly on other substances and you arrived sober. Spontaneous ideas aren’t your thing and maybe that's why you underestimated that whole scenario.
The music is quite good though and the drinks aren’t expensive as you would have thought—although they are still ridiculously high in alcohol percentage. So, you stick to sipping on one beer throughout your first hour of being here.
Every man inside here seems to pretend he’s in a zoo, hunting for the next woman that accidentally looks in his direction. It’s disgusting, really.
God. This is a very touristy place. Yes, you are a tourist, too. It doesn’t make any sense but you’re not here to make any sense. You’re here to forget about your exhausting travel to Auckland and you’re here to forget about the past two months or rather your whole life.
It’s a shame he’s still under your skin. That stupid ex boyfriend that decided to break up with you during the last week of you writing your thesis. You still managed to finish on time but you’ve been an emotional wreck ever since.
That was a lie. You’ve always been an emotional wreck but you developed to a whole new level.
However—that’s why you’re here now. Ready for a fresh start. Ready to possibly get a little tipsy and enjoy the music. At least the DJ is doing a good job. You seriously would have expected them to play some shitty cheap produced rap music or whatever young people listen to these days.
All those kids from far away that search for the meaning of life after highschool graduation by exploring either New Zealand or Australia—of course, far away from home, thinking they will come back with a whole new personality.
Well… the longer you think about that harsh thesis, the more you realise the irony layered in your thoughts. This might, partly, apply to you too.
Nevertheless, you didn’t come all the way to New Zealand and crossed the Tasman Sea to worry until your last brain cell melts.
You’re here to forget.
You’re here for a fresh start.
Far away from the troubles. Far away from your past. Far away from Sydney.
And everything that connects with this.
Maybe, the best thing is probably to get another drink—which is more than beer—one or two will be enough. After all, you don’t want to get shitfaced on the first night and the hot temperatures will do the rest anyway. You’ve got an important appointment tomorrow and need to appear at your best.
Heading towards the bar, you ignore the comments of the men that get a little annoyed about you pushing them to the side to get to your destination. Maybe they would react differently, if you gently shoved them aside, placing your hand on their lower back or—accidentally, of course—even a little more south.
After all, that’s what they usually do when the roles are reversed, right?
You manage to get to the bar, a little furious and still way too sober, someone’s drink spilled over your shirt and some crisps in your hair, but you waste no time and order your favourite drink.
You rummage around in your little purse, fishing out your wallet. Opening the pocket in which you stow away your coins, your fingers stumble across a shimmering object.
You’re not surprised. Yes, even after all these years you still have that necklace, carrying it with you wherever you go. You wonder if the magnet still works, if the charm would connect to its opposite one—the one that is owned by someone else. Of course, in case that person hasn’t thrown their necklace away yet. Which you’re convinced they have.
An hour and two drinks in, you’re hovering over the dance floor, still very much enjoying the great choice of music until the unexpected happens.
You take a closer look at the DJ, deeply mesmerised by his skills—when it clicks.
It’s him.
It’s really him.
The one and only Christopher Bang.
He looks so different but he also looks the same. His dimples are visible even in the dim light of the club. He wears his hair curly and black again—he used to straighten it a lot back then and occasionally get it bleached with your help. His face is filled with some piercings, his arms are decorated with tattoos.
His… wow. His arms.
Going to the gym and swimming must pay off.
But the worst part is…
You believe you’re gonna fall for him all over again.
And then his gaze meets yours.
Fuck.
You should have been more careful. Pretending this didn’t happen, you focus on the drink in your hand, watching the ice cubes swirl around when you stir the straw.
Until the unexpected happens once again.
He plays your favourite song.
Kiwi. Yes, you were a Harry Styles girl back then and even though eighteen year old Chan was too cool to admit it, he liked his music too.
What you don’t know is that Kiwi is still number one of his most listened songs on Spotify of all time until this day.
2017. Your last year of highschool. You listened to it all the time.
When Chan and you were cramming for your finals. When that guy from your chemistry class broke your heart. When you realised that you’re in love with your best friend.
You’ve always thought the both of you would end up together. Everyone thought so.
It’s an absolute cliché. You met when you were only one year old in kindergarten. Your mothers were best friends, glad about the fact the two of you could grow up together. Of course, they’ve always made some sort of joke about it—how Chan would marry you once you would be older.
For a long time you thought so, too.
He was your first kiss. Rather an experimental one when you were sixteen and just wanted to get it over with.
You had already had a small crush on him at that time and wondered, if he would return those feelings after making out with you. For a second you were so sure about it. You will never forget about the sparkles in his eyes when he let go of you again, lips even puffier than before from all the kissing.
Then he went on a date with Maya and everything went downhill.
That was in eleventh grade. They dated until your last year of highschool while you throughout that time… well, made zero experiences.
However, in eleventh grade as well, Chan started bringing you to Friday evening parties at the nearby beach. The people with you were other students from your year but they were Chan’s friends and not really yours. Those meetings basically only consisted of getting drunk in the sun and moonlight.
Maya was always there, too. For two years. Jealousy was basically eating you alive at that point but you obviously didn’t want to destroy Chan’s relationship. He seemed so happy. He really was. But you weren’t the one responsible for that.
One night at the beach, one of your classmates—Minho—and you got a little closer than planned. He used to be popular for being the typical high school fuckboy, quite known for changing his girlfriends every other week.
Of course, you fell for it, too. You’ve never regretted it. Although losing your virginity to him a week before graduating, right in the open, in the woods near the beach wasn’t the most romantic experience. But he was gentle. He made you feel wanted and loved although he was far from having any serious feelings for you.
But that was okay. You were still in love with Chan anyway.
This whole thing went on until the start of college and during that summer, your back then still best friend caught Minho and you one night.
Maya and him broke up some weeks after graduation since she was about to start studying in Japan and the relationship was basically doomed. There was another reason that you’ve never known about that also caused their bond to crumble.
Chan’s feelings for you.
But, well, it was too late now anyway. Even if there wasn’t Minho, Chan was still about to go to another country as well, leaving you in Sydney.
You get dragged back into reality when the song ends. However, your former best friend is still looking at you—a huge smirk decorating his beautiful face.
It’s an instinct kicking in. Survival mode, if you will. You turn around, almost bumping into a group of guys.
Downing the rest of your drink, you place the empty glass on some random table before making your way out of the building.
The way back to the hostel is a blur. You realise a little late that your eyes are stained with tears, ready to flood down like a waterfall.
You’ve never expected to see him again.
Well, you probably won’t another time after tonight. There’s no way you’re gonna go back into that club again.
🥝
You’ve underestimated the impact of seeing Chan again for a quick second. Your dreams were wild—partly in a bad way, partly in an embarrassing way that you don’t want to think about.
However, the fact that there’s a superstition that says that whatever you dream about when sleeping in a bed for the first time turns into reality, lets the spiral of worrying wander further.
Fuck. All these years in college you thought you were finally over him.
But Chan was your first love. The older you’ve grown, the more you have realised he has always been more than just a crush. 
But well—you missed that chance.
You’re torn between regretting leaving the club so impulsive and being convinced it was the right decision. You could spend the whole day wondering what would have happened if you stayed.
But well—you missed that chance once again.
After putting all your stuff into your huge backpack, you get ready for the day—taking an unfortunate ice cold shower in the shared bathroom and choosing a comfortable outfit—and leave the hostel once you’re ready.
The next bus brings you to a car dealership you made an appointment with online for today.
Because—you of course can’t start a van tour experience without a van, right?
You usually listen to your gut feeling and in at least nine out of ten cases it’s very dependable. However, with all the overthinking going on, your brain decides to ignore the fact that something about this store and the owner in specific feels… off. Quite oddinary.
The vans all look good, especially the emerald coloured one he is currently showing and presenting to you but you really should have spent at least a minute to look into the Google reviews… because they are either bad or fake. But you’re not aware of that.
You need a car anyway, it’ll be fine.
As long as the car functions and doesn’t cost you your whole year’s income, it’ll be okay.
“What do you say?” the salesman asks you, pointing at another vehicle in a similar shade to the previous one.
“Oh, I love the colour. What a beautiful green,” you tell him.
“It is! And it’s pretty spacious although it doesn’t look like it,” he exclaims.
The man walks around the car and opens it with the keys—he realised you seem to prefer this colour and luckily he’s got a few pieces to offer with it.
“What does it include in the price? It seems pretty cheap,” you ask, realising after speaking how negative your words come off.
But you saw a sign that read $ 2750 and fairly speaking—that is not a lot for a vehicle like that. Not even if you consider that it’s secondhand.
“That’s just because of the vehicle’s age,” the man starts explaining. He opens the door on the side completely, showing off the inside. “It has all the necessities. A mattress, enough storage space, a built-in table that you can let down when you open the trunk and it comes with free camping chairs.”
You take your time to examine all the details, checking if everything works fine.
But there doesn’t seem to be a single issue. He allows you to drive for a few minutes, take a short trip through the parking lot and everything is indeed absolutely fine.
There will probably never be a chance like this. You should definitely purchase it.
Or at least your very sad bank account is whispering that to you.
“I’d like to buy this one.”
The salesman brings you back to his little office which takes you at least a five minute walk but you don’t mind. You get that he wants to sell the car first before handing the keys to you.
“$ 2500 and it’s yours,” he offers once you arrive at the destination, lowering the price a little.
And you’re not here to complain.
Oh, Y/N. You should see all those red flags but apparently you’re a little colour blind. Not a surprise, considering that car you’re about to buy is green.
Or is it?
You pick out your wallet to grab your credit card, when you stumble across the magnet necklace again.
After seeing Chan for a brief moment, you start wondering again, if he still owns that necklace or—possibly—even wears it.
Okay. Slow down, Y/N. It’s getting ridiculous and delusional.
The beeping sound of the payment terminal wakes you up again. The salesman hands you the receipt, before grabbing a metallic object that is hanging on the wall behind him.
“Here. The keys for you.”
“Thanks,” you say, giving him a kind smile.
“I have to thank you,” he replies. “I’m off work now, have a safe trip.”
Oh.
Well, you’re probably gonna find your way back to the car, right?
In a parking lot filled with what feels like thousands of vehicles.
The walk back takes you at least fifteen minutes but there’s no need to hurry anyway.
You’ve got your car. You’ve still got enough money. You’ve got a great journey ahead of you. Everything paid off for this moment. You manifested it and now you’re luck is within reach.
Arriving back at near car, you place your huge backpack on the ground for a second in order to grab a thin jacket—it’s gotten a little chilly and you have to adjust things in the new van first, prepare Google Maps and make a general plan before you’re ready to start the adventure.
You close the bag again, before you walk towards the green vehicle.
You walk closer. And even closer.
Until you spot someone behind the car, hovering a big backpack—that isn’t yours—into the trunk.
You check again if it’s indeed your car but from what you can tell it is the one that the salesman showed and—most importantly—sold to you. It’s the same shade of sage, the little lanterns are hanging inside and the mattress has the washed out grey colour from earlier.
It is your car. The keys fit and you remember all the details from half an hour ago.
You unlock the door on the driver’s side and place down your bottle of water, before you carefully lean the huge backpack against the car. The waist bag stays on, the little keychain with the kiwi dangling around.
“Oh, what a surprise.”
Oh, God.
No.
That is impossible.
The odds are basically zero. Minus one hundred, if you will.
But of all people who could have been here, doing something to the car you just bought, it’s none other than Christopher Bang.
“Hell, no,” you let out.
Your former best friend walks around the corner until he fills your vision completely. It allows you to take in his full figure. He is wearing a black tank top, showing off his ridiculously muscular arms and—of course—fucking grey sweatpants.
“Hell, yes,” he giggles.
But why the fuck did he just put his backpack into the trunk of your car.
How did he even get it in there? How did he open the door?
You keep wondering until two objects cross your gaze.
A key.
And a receipt.
For that exact pastel green vehicle that you just bought.
“He sold that car to the both of us?!”
“Seems like it,” Chan says, shrugging his shoulders.
“Aren’t you… annoyed?! He fucking scammed us!”
Your childhood friend is so different. It’s not just that he looks older, even more tired than he used to in his teenage years but he is behaving so strangely.
Chan used to be the dad of the group, the one who took care of everyone, the one that made sure to pack enough water, tissues, sunscreen and plasters—just in case. He was the first person you came to after a fight with your parents or after getting back a test you failed.
He used to be your anchor. He used to hold you close when the waves hit the shore, clinging onto you.
But from the short conversation you can tell that five years can do a lot to a person. It feels as if there’s someone standing in front of you that looks a little like Chan but isn’t actually him.
“We can go back, if that’s what you want. But I’m not leaving the car to you. I spent four grand on it,” he says.
Your former best friend crosses his arms in front of his chest—just like he used to when you were children. At least this gives you a bit of comfort and familiarity, although it’s pretty stupid.
Then another thing clicks and you giggle.
“What’s so funny, huh?”
Chan’s words come off way more annoyed than he intended. This is not how he imagined to meet you again. He’s dreamt about this day for such a long time now—both wanting to see you and to avoid you for the rest of his life.
After all, you were the one who didn’t show up at the airport when he went to Seoul five years ago. Sure, you weren’t on great terms back then—although you never got into a fight, simply stopped speaking as regularly as you used to—but he expected you, his oldest friend, to at least say goodbye.
He’s still convinced it was because of Minho. Even though it didn’t seem that serious in the beginning, Chan has been wondering throughout all these years if that guy turned into your boyfriend.
But seeing you here alone lets those chances shrink.
Similar to his patience.
Opposite to those feelings that are reborn inside his heart.
“I only paid $ 2500,” you tell him.
Yeah, Chan definitely made a very bad deal here, for sure.
“Then you should leave it to me,” he replies with a smirk.
“Oh, no. Forget that.”
You turn around on your feet, yanking the door open to reach for your water bottle. Downing most of the liquid, you throw it back onto the seat.
Chan is still standing there, watching every move with a smile that turns into a smug whenever your vision crosses his.
“Then we should talk to him,” he offers.
Chan isn’t an asshole. He won’t take the car away from you. Besides that, he got scammed, too.
“He left the lot… said his work day is over,” you share, letting your gaze meet the dirty floor you’re standing on.
“What a coincidence… not.”
Chan lets his head sink down as well, feeling defeated. It could be such a great, almost romantic, reunion but something seems off.
You’re so different.
It feels as if there’s someone standing in front of him that looks a little like you but isn’t actually you.
“What do you want us to do?” he asks, his voice turning a little smaller.
“I’m not gonna be in a car together with you,” you immediately let out.
Chan wants to be respectful. That’s just how he is or, well, how he used to be. Five years can do a lot to a person, being left without a goodbye can break a heart—even of those who seem to be the strongest.
He won’t let you go. Hit two birds with a stone. He could tease you for two reasons—revenge and regret.
Of course, Chan was the one who used to be in an almost two year long relationship with another girl but that was before his feelings. At least that’s what he’s telling himself, up until this day, secretly knowing it’s not the truth.
It’s not entirely your fault. Even though Chan is convinced that you have never reciprocated those feelings at some point, he still feels awful for kind of ignoring you as his best friend once Maya and him became a couple.
He dragged you to all those bad parties at the beach and then complained that you decided to have your own fun with Minho.
Chan is such an idiot. He knows that.
That’s why he decides to take his chance this time instead of letting it slip.
“It doesn’t seem like you have another option, doll.”
Doll.
That’s new.
Chan used to have many nicknames for you.
Angel. Dear. Honey. Darling.
All platonic—of course.
Something tells you he’s only using it to tease you and you might be right about that.
“Let’s just drive together for the first—I don’t know—few days, we’ll get some money and then we’ll buy a second car, okay?”
His offer is the most rational option.
You don’t have enough money to buy another car and even if you were able to, you wouldn’t. The both of you got scammed and the salesman is nowhere to be found. So, just make the best of it and pray that you’ll get a second vehicle as soon as possible.
Or well—let him get the money for that. This isn't how you envisioned your trip, after all.
“I’m on vacation here. I wasn’t planning on getting a job and even if I was, I doubt I will find something that pays well,” you say.
Chan sighs, getting a little closer to you, mainly out of habit. Your heart skips a beat, nevertheless.
“I’m working as a DJ tonight again. In a club by the coast in Tauranga. I heard they hire for other jobs as well,” he informs you.
Shit. Unfortunately—or fortunately, however you view it—that is your next stop on your route anyway.
“What jobs?” you ask then.
He chuckles, a little embarrassed this time, while he simultaneously scratches the back of his head.
“Uhm… dancers.”
His voice is so quiet, almost inaudible, as if he’s hiding something.
“Dancers?”
“Well, yeah… more like… strippers but not exactly,” he replies with a shy smile.
“Yeah—no. I am not doing that,” you instantly shoot back.
Chan sighs again, looking up to the blue sky until his eyes meet yours.
“Well, either that or you have to spend additional days with me. The choice is yours.”
That fucking smirk.
He is already getting on your last nerve.
How the fuck are you supposed to survive this?
Maybe you should indeed drive a little with him—just for a few kilometres until you stop at a gas station and accidentally leave him there when he goes into the store to pay.
That sounds like a plan.
“Get in the car, then.”
🥝
You haven’t abandoned Chan yet as if he’s some dumb little puppy—although that isn’t far from reality, considering how he follows you everywhere and seems to constantly crave your attention.
The only hour of the day that he didn’t spend annoying the shit out of you was when you made a stop at the Hobbiton Movie Set to participate in a tour that he booked. He paid for your ticket since it was his idea and wish to join the journey but you would have rather had him save the money for the second car you need to buy.
However, it reminded you of your childhood—when Chan and you used to do Lord Of The Rings movie marathons. It had always been a tradition, an annual celebration, if you will. Until your paths separated.
You’ve spent a lot of time suppressing those thoughts, pushing away your guilty conscience that told you it was your fault how things ended. After all, you were the one who didn’t say goodbye. Something tells you this is why Chan has been teasing you since yesterday.
But in your opinion this isn’t the full story. Sure, you were the one to cut things off—or rather ghosted him—but he was the main responsible part of why your friendship started to crumble.
God, you were so dumb back then. Well, you were teenagers and they tend to be a little dense and stupid.
You keep wondering how things would be if the both of you would have been able to communicate.
But then again—you believe a little too much in destiny and it can’t be a coincidence that Chan and you met again. Twice. Just when you’re entering a new stage, when you’re finally at a point in your life that isn’t the most satisfying and happiest but you can say that you’re the truest form of yourself that you have ever been.
Maybe it’s meant to be.
However, you’re not ready yet to fully grasp that idea.
“Kiwi juice?”
Your head snaps towards Chan, who is sitting in the driver’s seat. You switched after the Hobbit adventure, currently on your way to the beach in Tauranga.
“Hm?”
He offers you the paper carton in his hands.
Fuck. Those pretty hands. You could get lost at the sight.
Pull yourself together, it’s getting embarrassing.
“You want some? It’s the brand from… when we were younger,” he says, taking a little pause in between the words.
He’s nostalgic, he can’t deny it.
Chan has been wondering if it can really be a coincidence that the both of you met again.
Twice within twelve hours.
“Oh, sure,” you say, reaching for the juice. Your hand brushes his for a second in the process and your heart skips a beat, synchronising with Chan’s a second later.
When his gaze switches back to the road ahead of him, yours stays fixated on his face. You think he doesn’t notice but he does. However, this time he holds back that teasing comment that is tingling his tongue.
Happiness erupts on your face, when you taste the kiwi juice again for the first time. They’ve always been your favourite fruit—of course—and it would be a lie if you said this didn’t have an impact on you for choosing New Zealand as your travel destination after graduation.
“Is good?”
You nod, smiling at Chan and he gives you the same expression. It feels so natural—you look back into those same beautiful brown eyes from five years ago.
A thin pink layer appears on his cheeks and Chan is fast to bring his attention back to the street.
You can’t hold back the enormous smirk that is decorating your face now.
The journey flies by, until you reach the campsite and search for a nice spot to stop the car. Just when he’s about to turn off the engine, no other song that Harry Styles’ Kiwi is playing again. The both of you chuckle, suddenly feeling some kind of connection again.
Oh, Lord. That is gonna be an interesting evening.
Especially, once you remember the job Chan mentioned.
“Wait–“ you say, when you have gotten dressed and join Chan again who is currently busy preparing some dinner.
“What is it? You don’t like pasta anymore?”
You take a closer look at the dish he is currently cooking, as the delicious scents start entering your nostrils. Nostalgia hits you like a fucking train on highspeed once more.
“I– I do, that’s not what I meant.” Sinking down on the seat next to Chan, you help him place down the plates and cutlery. “I am… I don’t think I can do this… dancing job. I know it’s unfair if only you are working, especially since you spent the most on this car but I just can’t–“
“Woah, slow down,” Chan says. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t know what has gotten into me earlier, I just wanted to… tease you, I guess. The club does hire dancers but you seriously don’t have to do this.”
“Okay,” you let out with a small voice and relief washing down your spine.
The pasta is finally ready and served. Chan’s cooking skills seem to have improved by at least ten levels since high school and you compliment him, causing the blush to come back to his cheeks again.
“Do you still want to come to the club with me, though?” he asks or rather offers.
You’re unsure. If you’re honest, you’re not in the mood right now for partying, you would rather have some introvert time and maybe you can get that once Chan leaves to work.
“I… I think I’m gonna lay down for a bit, I’m still tired from yesterday, the flight to Auckland was kinda exhausting.”
What a pity. He would have loved to have you there. Now that Chan has finally gained some confidence and feels the chemistry between the both of you come back to what it used to be—although so many things are still left unspoken—it would have been a great chance to at least build some trust again.
He kind of regrets annoying you in the beginning, pretending to be some douchebag although you deserved the initial teasing. But he rather wants to get closer to you all naturally and he does still believe that the both of you meeting is a sign. A fucking obvious neon sign.
It is ridiculous that after all these years, his feelings haven’t changed in the slightest for you.
He hopes that he won’t make that much money tonight so that you have to travel around together for a little longer.
“Sure. The club is straight this way, like two hundred meters, in case you change your mind.”
🥝
You did change your mind. A nap later and the clock hitting half past midnight, you decide to at least check out the venue. Getting ready takes you a little longer than expected but this can mainly be blamed on the way you packed your things in the huge bag.
You decide to go for a dark shirt combined with a skirt that has pockets—yes, pockets! Your favourite sneakers complete the look and transport you to the club. You follow the sandy path until you reach your destination.
Considering the night is already in full swing, it doesn’t take the employees long to check your ID and sell you a ticket. The venue is partly in the open—turning this into a party by the coast. A lot of people got rid of their initial outfit, deciding to stay in their swimwear. You’re glad you did the same, choosing a bikini over a bra and panties as if you already expected it.
The atmosphere is phenomenal—you’re glad you came here. You missed being at the beach. It’s where you belong. It’s where you truly feel at home.
A beautiful melody fills your surroundings, immediately pulling you closer to the bar that is located near the stage. You order a drink, before you head back into the crowd of people.
Chan—busy showing off his skills—spotted you right away. Even in a gallery filled with the most beautiful art pieces, he’d still be staring at you.
You catch him observing you, allowing your eyes to connect with his and he gives you a soft smile. It’s when your two drinks into the night, that you notice a shift in the situation.
Of course, you aren’t the only person having alcohol and some fun and it’s a club at a very touristy place after all. So, you shouldn’t be surprised that a lot of people, especially women, are approaching Chan, probably asking for certain songs, complimenting him, flirting with him.
It’s mainly groups that try to start a conversation with him, giggling along whenever he replies to one of their questions. That’s fine. You’re fine.
He's a DJ. He is at work and just doing his job, maybe hoping to get tipped or something.
It’s alright. Really. Until those groups turn into individual women that gather up enough courage to talk to him alone. The conversations—despite the insane noise—become longer and he gets closer to them.
An hour passes and another hour follows, filled with girl after girl flirting with your former best friend.
Another one approaches him. She’s even more beautiful looking than the previous one and your stomach turns when you realise she looks a little like Maya.
It’s not her—without a doubt. But when you see the smile on Chan’s face and how he leans closer to her to catch what song she’s suggesting, you know he must have a type.
That type being quite the opposite of you. 
You try to not read too much into his mimics, concentrating on the sound of the music roaming around and the taste of the alcohol on the tip of your tongue instead. 
Then you see him reach for her phone, definitely typing down his number.
That’s it. You’ve had enough.
Why the fuck did you have to meet him again?
Why the fuck is he flirting with all these women?
Why the fuck is he flirting with you too?
And most importantly—why are you jealous?
You spin around on your feet, storming towards the bar. With your back turned to Chan, you don’t see the enormous smirk he has on his face once again. He’s not oblivious—he noticed you staring at him for literal hours and he would be lying if the very obvious jealousy that you are carrying isn’t the main reason for his flirting in the first place.
He enjoys seeing you like this. Chan would have never believed to be such a tease with someone but you seem to provoke a side of him that has been slumbering inside him, waiting to be woken up.
The women that approach him from now on finally become transparent—it’s not as if he’s seriously been interested in any of them, flirting is sometimes part of his job and you shouldn’t read too much into it. However, Chan will use whatever to his advantage when it comes to getting a reaction out of you.
In the meantime, you order a vodka shot at the bar, downing it in one go before you immediately get another one. And another one. In this angle, Chan can’t tell what and how much you’re drinking but when he sees you come back, dangerously confident, heading towards the dancing stage, he knows it’s more than you’re possibly able to handle.
There are other guests on the stage as well, having some fun, letting out their inner desires, getting loose. The paid dancers are somewhere else but it’s still ironic that you’re becoming the spotlight of the whole club now—after being all shy with dancing.
Chan is a bit worried, if that’s really what you want to do or just the alcohol speaking. But you seem to feel comfortable and you really enjoy what you’re doing, you can’t deny that. He still keeps an eye on you—both for caring but also absolutely selfish reasons.
It’s alluring, how you sway your hips to the melody of the songs he’s playing, how your body moves to the beat so perfectly. Chan knows you’ve always been into dancing and music but unfortunately were too insecure to show it.
You’re having the time of your life, you really are.
Until you feel that last shot kicking in, realising it was one too many.
Leaving the stage, you sit down on some sofa for a bit, feeling your head spin like a carousel. When Chan has chosen the following song and switches his gaze back to the dancers, he can’t find you anymore. Hastily, his eyes roam through the club and he feels his chest tighten in anxiety. Possibly, you just went to the bathroom but you are also extremely intoxicated.
Searching for a nearby colleague, he informs them that there is an emergency that he has to take care of. Not quite pleased, the person tells him that if he leaves now, he will be fired from the job.
But Chan doesn’t care. All he cares about is you and your well-being. 
He knows you enough to know that you tend to underestimate the effect alcohol has on your body, at least it’s been like this when you were teenagers. Leaving his own stage, he starts searching for you.
You’re not sitting on the sofa anymore. A kind girl gave you a bottle of tap water and offered to comfort you, however, your emotions washed over you, making you rush towards the beach. She follows you, wanting to know you’re okay.
That’s where Chan finds you, lying in the sand, absolutely shit-faced. The girl next to you immediately senses him approaching you and enters defending mode.
“Who are you?”
He realises now how weird the situation for her must be. He’s a man she hasn’t seen with you before, so of course, hesitation is the right option.
“I’m her friend, just wanted to make sure she’s okay,” he explains.
Chan feels awful for not grasping it sooner. Sure, it was comforting seeing you have fun but he underestimated it. But then again—how was he supposed to help you while being at work?
He’s here now. That’s what counts.
“You really think I would believe that, hm? Any guy could just say that, you better leave her alone,” the girl says, severely annoyed by Chan and worried about you.
“Yeji… it’s good,” you tell her, “I know him. We are on vacation together, we’re childhood friends.”
She lets out a relieved sigh, giving Chan a small smile and telling him to sit down next to you as well.
Unfortunately, in your drunken state you don’t notice him getting closer because, if you did, you wouldn’t say those following words at such a high volume, when you lean towards Yeji.
“I have a huuuge crush on him but he doesn’t seem to notice.”
Chan’s heart stops beating.
What?
This can’t be. His pulse is running at the speed of light and he feels himself getting dizzy now, despite not having even a single drop of alcohol in his system.
“Okay, so you’re good?” Yeji asks.
You nod and pull her into a hug.
“You’ve got my number, just in case, okay?” she says, before saying goodbye and leaving you alone with your friend.
Chan makes sure you drink the rest of the water until the bottle is empty, as he watches the shimmer of the night sky reflect in your eyes.
“Y/N,” he begins.
“Huh?”
You look at him with big eyes, almost like a deer that stops in the middle of the street when a car approaches the animal.
“Let’s go back,” he says, getting up from the ground. Chan offers you his hand and helps you stand on your feet again. You’re stumbling a little but he makes sure to help you gain back your balance, holding your figure.
“Dancing? Sure, but my head it– spin-spinning and–“
“No, to the van,” he says.
You pout, letting your shoulders sink.
“But I wanna daaance, pleeeaaase…”
Chan seems frustrated.
“Party’s over, come on.”
His fingers wrap around your wrist, dragging you after him, as he guides you towards the campsite.
“You’re so mean!”
Chan sighs, deciding to not pay too much attention to your childish behaviour. After all, you’re pretty drunk and he’s glad you’re fine. Going back to the club is the worst idea.
First, you’re not in the right state of mind to be dancing again. Let alone drink something.
Second, the security will probably tell you to leave anyway, once they notice how intoxicated you are.
And third, it would be embarrassing for Chan to go back there, after he basically got fired.
“We’re gonna get you sober and ready for bed, yeah?”
You pout again, letting a whimper follow, as you obediently walk next to Chan.
“Okay, daddy,” you reply sarcastically.
He ignores your teasing now—and the way this dumb name makes him feel flustered—instead helping you brush your teeth which turns out to be a lot more complicated. You’re so absolutely stubborn and not able anymore to control your body and balance. However, he manages to take off the rest of your makeup and put your hair in a comfortable style for sleeping.
There’s one thing that’s still on the list. You can’t go to sleep with your outside-clothes.
“Pyjamas?” he asks you.
“In the backpack.”
Chan gets up from his seat, making you drink another glass of water, as he walks towards your bag. You’re carrying so much stuff with you that it seems impossible for him to find what he’s looking for. His fingers accidentally brush over a pile of panties, feeling the lace material against his skin. Your childhood friend is glad that the blush on his cheeks isn’t visible in the dim moonlight.
“I can’t find your sleepwear,” he says, giving up.
“Then I’m gonna just stay in my party outfit.”
“Oh, no,” he says, “you’re not wearing this worn stuff from outside on the mattress.”
You remember now. Chan has always been like this. When you used to visit him as a child, he made you change your “outside clothing” in case you wanted to sit or lie down on any type of furniture in his parents’ house. 
Your pants came in contact with the bus seats, that’s yikes, Y/N, he used to say. As a teenager you didn’t care but the older you got, the more you adapted to this philosophy.
“Fine,” you groan.
Chan decides to just grab something to wear from his backpack, it’ll do. He finds a nice oversized shirt and some boxers that he hands to you.
“I… you want me to wear your underwear?”
He sighs. Once again. “It’s clean, oh my God. Just change your clothes already.”
The curly haired turns around then out of respect, while you slip into the baggy fabrics.
“Done.”
“Good,” he says.
You crawl into the van, sinking down on the bed sheet, as you feel the weight of the mattress shift underneath you.
Chan gets ready for bed, too. In the meantime, you plug your phone to the power bank and send Yeji a quick text.
She answers within a few seconds.
[Yeji 04:57]: Sleep well, darling. Thanks for texting me. Goodnight 💕
It doesn’t take your phone long to receive another message from her.
[Yeji 04:58]: Also, get that man. He seems to like you back ;)
You chuckle, still way too tipsy to fully grasp what she says. How is she supposed to tell? She spent like three minutes with him and doesn’t even know you that well, either. Yeji is just a random but very kind girl you met while waiting in line in the bathroom.
Chan drags you out of your thoughts when he walks around the car, stopping in front of you to place his toothbrush back into his bag. He’s changed into some sweatpants, not bothering to wear a shirt to sleep.
Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s still swimming in your veins.
Maybe it’s the light of the lanterns tinting his naked chest in the prettiest glimmer.
Maybe it’s the pent up feelings and all those unspoken words.
Or it’s all of those things combined that make you speak the following words, “Can you… cuddle me to sleep, please?”
His head snaps up to you.
“Y/N… I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m gonna sleep outside, okay?”
You’re the one to wrap their fingers around his wrist now, pulling him towards the van.
“Nooo, it’s too cold. You’re gonna get sick.” Chan can’t resist that annoying pout on your face. “Stay a little longer?”
He sighs, crawling into the van as well, as he takes the space next to the door.
“Okay.”
It doesn’t take you long to fall into a deep slumber, while Chan holds you close—you being the small spoon and him being the big one. Whereas you are already deeply occupied in your dreams, insomnia seems to take the best of him again.
He can’t believe he’s got you back in his life.
He can’t believe that you’re getting along again, especially compared to eighteen hours ago after buying the van.
He can’t believe you told your new friend that you have a crush on him.
If that’s really the truth that would mean… that would mean you have had that crush for some time, right? Considering you only met one and a half days ago, you must have already had feelings for him before that.
Fuck. Chan is possibly the luckiest guy on this earth. He dearly hopes this isn’t that dream he’s dreamt a thousand times before.
Just when he’s about to finally get some rest, too, you stir around and change positions, before your eyes open and in your half asleep state, you start speaking,  “You left, Channie…”
His own eyes widen, pulling you closer. Maybe you’ve got some of those nightmares again that you used to have when you guys were younger.
“But I’m here, darling,” he reassures you, using that nickname again for the first time.
“No,” you mumble, “you left and went to Seoul five years ago. You left me.”
His heart stops and then breaks into a thousand tiny pieces.
That might be true but you were the one to literally ghost your lifetime best friend.
“And you didn’t say goodbye, Y/N,” Chan spits back.
He can tell you’re not fully awake. Maybe that’s what gives him enough confidence to speak what’s on his mind. It feels so good to finally let that out.
God, he’s such a coward.
Your eyes open a little more, although you’re still not really awake.
“Is that why you’re mad at me? Why you were teasing me?” you ask him.
He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, “Yes.”
You roll onto your back, hiding your eyes behind the palms of your hands.
“Chan…”
He interrupts you, already regretting that he told you about his feelings, “Just forget it–“
“I couldn’t say goodbye…”
“Just… cut it–“
“My heart couldn’t handle it,” you say, “I was, well, I still am too much… too much in love with you to let you go.”
That’s when you doze off back into sleep.
It’s real. You’re real. Your feelings for him are real.
All these years. All the time waiting pays off—just for you to confess in your sleep. Well, better than nothing. Chan will see what the next day holds for you.
He knows you won’t hear him. However, he still speaks his words out loud, when he says, “I love you too, Y/N.”
🥝
You wake up around two in the afternoon the next day, feeling your pulse pumping inside your head.
Chugging down the rest that’s inside your metallic water bottle, you come to the realisation that you have no idea how you made it back to the van last night.
Speaking of—you find yourself alone in here, the space beside you still a little warm but that could also be caused by the sunbeams that are making their way inside the vehicle.
When you push the blanket away, you observe yourself in clothes that aren’t yours. Looking down at the bottoms, you notice you’re wearing boxers, probably Chan’s.
Why are you wearing his clothes? You guys weren’t so drunk that you… no, Chan wouldn’t do something like that.
However, you were indeed drunk. That is a fact. Otherwise you wouldn’t have a mental blackout about yesterday’s night.
“Morning,” Chan says, appearing in front of the van’s door. “I made some tea for you.” He hands you the beverage, painfully obviously trying to avoid your gaze.
What the hell happened?
“How are you?” 
Chan takes a seat beside you, leaving respectful space between the both of you.
“I’ve been better before. I feel very tired and sore. I also don’t remember much… my mind is blank after… getting up that stage– oh God, I probably embarrassed myself and–“
“You didn’t,” he reassures you. “You were the life of the party.”
You roll your eyes, “That sounds even worse.”
He chuckles and you join him. It feels good and so familiar to be with him.
Chan feels like comfort. He feels like home.
“Do you feel good enough to go on a two and a half hour trip to Cathedral Cove?”
Wow. Your plans once again seem to match.
“That was my next stop on my route, too,” you tell him with a smile.
“I know. I saw the little sheet of paper you pinned to your backpack. Sorry, I hope it’s okay I read–“
“Of course,” you say.
“Then, take your time to get ready. I have a job again at a club tonight but only for the first few hours.”
After taking a shower—a cold one again—in the public bathroom of the campsite and changing into some comfortable shorts and a baggy shirt, you head back to the van. Chan hands you a bowl, filled with your comfort breakfast.
“You made porridge?”
He nods, “Yeah. We didn’t have fresh fruits and the little market over there was already closed, so I used canned tangarines. It tastes good, though.”
And it really does. The citrus fruits and sugar give you a lot of energy and fight against your hangover, the oats fill your stomach and awaken you.
“Did you make enough money yesterday?” you ask Chan, once you’re done with eating and washing the dishes, before packing everything.
“About that,” he starts, scratching the back of his head.
“What happened?”
“They kinda fired me… because I took a break to look if you were alright,” he explains.
Shit. That’s all your fault. You feel like a helpless child that he has to look after. The fact you drank so much because of your jealousy, lets your guilty conscience wash all over you.
“Chan, I– fuck, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have drunk that much I am so dumb–“
“Hey, it’s fine,” he says. “I don’t care. I don’t want money from a company like this, anyway.”
He waits until you give him a little nod. Chan hovers your backpacks into the trunk again, before you take the passenger’s seat.
The door to your right opens, as Chan sinks down next to you, starting the engine.
“Shall we?”
🥝
You got a little more sleep while Chan drove the two of you to the new destination. Dinner was on you tonight—your speciality, instant ramen, homemade by you. Maybe not the most nutritious meal, but a good and greasy base for possibly drinking alcohol again.
However, when entering the venue—well, it’s really just four neon lanters creating a makeshift square at the beach—you decide to ditch the drinks tonight, instead going for lemonade and water. Once again, Chan isn’t drinking either, knowing he is more focused on his work when he’s sober.
His talent is insane. He even makes you enjoy songs that you don’t like at all, solely by the remix versions he creates. You’ve always known that he’s a virtuoso. 
You’re feeling freedom rush through your veins, letting go of all the worries, as you dance along to the beautiful music.
Until you take a look at Chan and once again find a group of women surrounding him.
That’s when it clicks.
You got drunk yesterday, after watching the exact same scene that is turning into a déja-vu now. He flirted with them and as immature as you were, you decided to drown your jealousy in vodka.
Yeji, the kind girl from the bathroom, comes back to your mind. How she took care of you until Chan was–
Oh, no. 
You also remember now how he got you ready for bed—which explains the shirt and boxers—and how you begged him to cuddle you to sleep.
There’s another distant memory in the back of your head that you can’t quite grasp yet. You can’t differentiate if it was a dream or not, but something tells you, you poured your heart out to Chan and accused him of leaving.
You don’t remember your exact words. You do remember, though, how you told Yeji about your crush on Chan, while he was literally next to you.
Fuck. You’re so embarrassing. This year’s world wide loser award goes to none other than Y/N Y/L/N.
“Fancy a drink?”
The male voice startles you at first, however, you still turn around to search for its owner. In front of you is standing a beautiful man, a bit taller, his long black hair almost reaches his shoulders.
You said you didn’t want to drink. You want to be mature. But when you catch a glimpse of a girl whispering something into Chan’s ear, you know you’ve had enough. He doesn’t like you back, give up already. You confessed having a crush on him and he doesn’t do anything about it, time to live your life and show Chan what he is missing.
“Hm, one drink won’t do much harm,” you tell the guy.
He pays for the beverage and every water and lemonade you order after. It’s fun spending time with him. He’s without a doubt the best dancer you’ve ever seen, encouraging you in your own moves.
You didn’t get his name when he introduced himself due to the noise inside—you don’t know if he’s called Hyunjin or Hyungmin but it doesn’t really matter anyway. He’ll help you get your mind off all the mess nonetheless.
He’s dancing behind you, his crotch pressed against your ass, only a few layers of fabric separating you from him. His lips land on your neck, destined to draw a pretty pattern on your skin.
The clock hits two. Chan’s shift is over.
And you can be sure he will waste no time to do what he’s wanted to do since that prick laid his hands on your hips.
A minute later, Hyunjin feels someone touching his shoulder, making him pull away a little from you.
“Sorry, but the party’s over.”
Why is Chan always ruining the fun? You aren’t even tipsy. What’s his fucking problem?
“What do you want, dude?” Hyunjin says, clearly annoyed.
You stay in his hold, but your gaze finds Chan’s.
“I want you to let go of my girl and piss off, to be honest,” he answers, clicking his tongue.
What?
Your head starts spinning like yesterday, but this time you’re drunk on emotions.
“Man– I didn’t know–“
Hyunjin doesn’t get to finish his sentence, when Chan is already dragging you out of the club and towards the empty campsite.
The curly haired doesn’t say a word, but the tense atmosphere fills the whole beach even until you get closer and closer to your car.
Chan is furious. Sure, those girls talked to him as well, flirted a little but that’s what all there was. But when he saw Hyunjin’s lips on your neck, that straw broke the camel’s back.
Meanwhile, you feel like you’re in trance. You’re obediently following him just until Chan spins you around and watches your back meet the side of the green car.
He cages you between his firm body and the vehicle. The sight makes your knees go weak, makes you lose even the last molecule of sanity. You know you won’t have to say much, it’s obvious what it is.
Maybe it’s the fact you’re thinking clearly, no alcohol in your system this time.
Maybe it’s the way the moonlight covers Chan’s muscular arms and how the stars reflect in those beautiful brown eyes.
Maybe it’s the pent up feelings and all those unspoken words.
Or it’s all of those things combined that make you speak the following words.
“Just kiss me already.”
Chan may be an idiot from time to time, but he won’t let this chance slip. His lips smash into yours, making time stand still, letting the earth and the whole fucking universe stop for a minute.
Every cell in your body wants him. 
And you show him exactly that, when you invite his tongue in to explore the insides of your mouth. Your heartbeat starts echoing in your ears and a moment later, it synchronises with Chan’s.
His hands find their way to your hips, wandering a little further until they meet your ass. He squeezes the soft flesh through the fabric of your skirt, listening to the beautiful moan you let out.
It’s only now that you get aware that you put on the metallic necklace tonight—your friendship accessory that connects you, literally, with Chan. You wanted to get some reaction out of him. But he doesn’t seem to have noticed yet.
He’s too busy placing one kiss after another on your lips anyway, until he decides to change the course and wanders down with his artwork. Your cheeks, your jaw, your neck, back to your lips, right in that order. He wants to make sure that every centimetre Hyunjin touched, will be drawn over.
He’s driving you insane. You already feel yourself getting absolutely lightheaded. Maybe that’s how you justify that next whimper that spills from your lips, when his hand travels between your legs. He wonders if you put on a skirt on purpose but, nevertheless, this will make his mission a lot easier.
“Chan– stop teasing–“ you let out, knowing you won’t be able to withstand any anticipation.
But Chan isn’t done yet with provoking you. Not after you danced with that guy in the club, not after you let him kiss you like that.
“Don’t complain too much or I’ll fuck you against the van, here outside, for everyone to see.”
Oh, God. In the state you're in, you’d probably even allow him that. However, after falling asleep in his arms on the bed inside the van, you should finish what you’ve started exactly there.
And Chan seems to read your mind, as it seems.
“Get your pretty ass on the mattress, doll.”
But you decide to change plans a little, for the sole reason to tease him now. Beating him with his own weapons sounds like the most entertaining thing you can imagine.
Your lips land on his neck, rough bites leaving an astonishing memory of tonight. Chan’s the one to let out a moan now, as he feels his boxers tighten, his growing erection brushing against the fabric.
But he won’t let you defeat him so easily.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he warns you. Chan catches your face, squishing your cheeks together in an attempt to make you look at him, which you immediately do.
“I’ve had enough of your behaviour.”
His other hand is back between your thighs, disappearing under your skirt, wandering up to your very much soaked panties. Of course, he has to chuckle out loud, when the tips of his fingers brush over that embarrassingly wet spot.
“For me, baby?”
But you won’t let him defeat you so easily.
Chan finds it hilarious that you’re getting shy now but your body speaks what your mouth doesn’t want to—especially, once he carefully pushes the laces aside, grazing over your wetness.
“Fuck– please–“ you let out.
Well, it seems as if you let him defeat you easily. But you don’t care.
“Get inside, doll.”
He yanks the door of the car open, making you crawl inside.
And he wouldn’t be Chan if he didn’t tell you to take off the skirt before sitting down on the bed sheets. After all, you’re wearing outside clothes. Or maybe it’s just a cheap trick. However, when he takes off his jeans as well, leaving him in his underwear and the view of the pretty outline of his hard dick, you giggle a little.
When lying down on the soft cushion, the pendant that’s attached to the chain somehow wanders underneath your shirt, hiding it from Chan completely. But you don’t even notice. Not when the man above you is ready to devour you like a five star meal.
“Maybe I should fuck the brat out of you, make you come to your senses again,” he says, making you scoot a little more upwards.
He places your legs over his shoulders, before he starts kissing the inner sides of your thighs, gradually wandering towards your clothed core. A long stripe meets your panties, as you desperately hold back another moan.
“You’re all talk but no doing, Chan,” you let out.
He just chuckles and wastes no time to pull down your underwear, getting right back to his task. 
“Weird way of begging, but if that’s what you’re asking for…”
As if you’re on autopilot, you spread your legs even further, allowing your friend better access. His tongue comes back into play, as his fingers help him push your pussy lips apart.
Then your mind turns off.
“I– Fuck–“
It feels like heaven. The kitten licks. The vibrations his moans send through your whole body. His fingertips that circle around your throbbing hole.
Chan pushes two digits in at once, adoring the little whimper you let out. Your walls immediately clench around him, sucking him in, telling him how much you missed him.
It’s embarrassing how close you already are. But you’ve lost track of time—you can’t tell if it’s been seconds, minutes or hours that Chan’s head has been between your thighs.
You’ve never been with a guy that enjoys eating pussy that much. How you regret not doing this sooner with him…
“Chan– I–“
He just hums against you, enjoying every bit of your helplessness. You should have done this sooner. How he regrets not confessing to you earlier…
Squelching sounds are filling the car and in the back of your head you’re quite glad that Chan remembered to close and lock the door. His fingers already feel so absolutely amazing inside you, you wonder how great his cock is gonna fill you.
You get a taste of the idea, when he once again swirls his tongue around your clit and changes the angle of his fingers a little. He’s knuckles deep inside your aching hole, now hitting that certain spot just right.
Just a little later, your mind goes completely blank, the sight of the darkness inside Chan’s eyes hidden, when the white sparkles fill your vision instead. The feeling takes over your whole body, legs shaking, when you reach that sweet relief. You cry out his name, forgetting any other syllable you’ve ever known. Almost struggling to catch your breath, Chan helps you ride out your high.
Painfully slowly, he pulls his fingers out of you, watching you squirm at the loss of contact. He licks his fingers clean, making sure to let his eyes stay on your own.
You feel hypnotised.
You feel drunk.
“Hmm, still so confident that you don’t like me back, huh?” he teases you.
Like him back?
Well, you aren’t surprised he must at least find you attractive. Otherwise, Chan probably wouldn’t have eaten you out like a starving man. But you weren’t aware that there are feelings that are thrown into the mix.
“Like you back?”
“Don’t you remember what you said last night?”
Is this about the confession while Yeji was with you or did you…
Oh, the memories are slowly coming back now. You said something to him after accusing him of leaving, after pouring your heart out to him.
Did you, perhaps, tell him more?
“W-What?”
“Right before you fell asleep you confessed that you have romantic feelings for me, honey,” he says, shamelessly clicking his tongue.
“I…” 
You don’t know what to say, so the logical solution is to catch his lips in a heated kiss instead. You pull him closer, tasting yourself on his tongue but you don’t mind. He gives in for a solid minute, until he stops, knowing he has to speak further first.
“I told you before—well, you were asleep—but I return the feelings.”
You gasp. It’s now or never. There’s no reason to hold back anymore.
“Channie… I’m in love with you, have been all this time.”
There appears the brightest smile his face has ever experienced.
“I’m in love with you… have been even before that first kiss together,” he admits.
“You… what?”
Even in the weak light of the LED lanterns, you can still make out that cute pink curtain on his cheeks.
“I was scared… so I decided to hide my feelings but I’m done with hiding now.”
He kisses you then and you give in completely.
Fuck. You can’t believe this is happening.
He loves you back? He’s loved you all this time? You’re so happy that you don’t even care that it took you seven years to realise. 
Your childhood friend turned lover stops the kiss for a second, as he gets back in a seating position. Chan suddenly takes off his tank top, revealing his stunning chest to you.
As well as something else.
The necklace.
He’s wearing it.
That’s what makes you take off your shirt and your bra, too, revealing the metallic chain and pendant to him.
“You’re wearing the necklace?”
“I thought you would have noticed sooner.”
And he kisses you again, enjoying how beautiful you look underneath him, until a clicking sound startles you.
The magnets inside the pendants make the necklaces connect. You’ve expected them to not work anymore after storing the chain wherever for over five years.
“Fuck, I love you so much. I’m gonna show you, baby.”
And, oh God, that’s exactly what he does. His fingers are right between your legs again, playing sensually with your clit, as his tongue is attached to your tits, making out with one of the hardened buds.
But you need more and you need it now.
“Channie?”
He looks up for a second, “Yeah?”
“I need you… need you inside me.”
Chan wastes no time and takes off his remaining clothes, as you watch his length spring free. He’s pretty—maybe a bit above average but the girth is what basically makes you drool at the sight. The tip is already covered in precum, telling you to not wait any longer.
You ask him to come closer, but Chan still has something on his mind.
“I– I don’t have a condom with me right now… it’s in the trunk in my backpack but I can–“
“I have an IUD. If that’s okay with you,” you offer.
“Of course, dear.”
He’s positioning himself between your legs again, reaching for his length and stroking it a few times. Chan could get lost in the look you have on your face—desperately waiting for him to bury his cock inside you. Your fingers wander down to your heat, playing a little with your clit and that’s when he knows he won’t have you wait any longer.
The tip circles around your wet entrance, before he pushes only a few centimetres in first, watching you get used to the feeling. When you nod, he enters further, until he bottoms you out completely. You’re more than glad that he prepared you so well earlier.
After a quick kiss on your lips, he starts thrusting into you, observing every move and noise you make. You’re getting completely lost in the sensation, allowing him to take care of your body.
It doesn’t take long for the windows inside the car to gain a foggy layer from all the panting. Chan positions your legs over shoulders, similar to how he did earlier, as his hand wanders towards your chest.
He squeezes one of your breasts for a little, before his fingers travel further, circling around your throat, adding pressure to the sides. What a beautiful view—he’s dreamt about this so many times. Having you underneath him. Having full control over you and your body.
“Channie– fuck–“ you let out.
His cock is brushing that spot inside you again, it’s as if he’s fucked you a thousand times before.
And you feel so deliciously warm and tight around him, Chan for sure can’t get enough of your cunt.
He has to make sure you remember this. Even now that you’re finally his, he wants to hear those words coming from you.
“Who do you belong to, hm?” 
Fuck. That possessive side is something you sure can’t get enough of.
“I– fuck–“
Chan’s initial idea was to make pure love to you, although he sensed you enjoy him being less gentle, as well. So, the roughness takes over him then. Passion and desire are marking his words.
“Say it, baby. Whose good little slut are you?”
Slap. His hand collides with your ass, when you don’t answer within a second.
“Y-Yours, Channie– yours,” you then immediately let out. You could get used to this side of him.
“Good girl.”
It happens in the blink of an eye, it was inevitable. Waves of pleasure are traveling through your body, conquering your whole existence. Chan holds you close, helping you through the overstimulating sensation of your second orgasm.
After you’ve begged him to cum inside, he then paints your walls, all with the prettiest whimper spilling from his plump lips. 
The necklaces stay connected throughout the entire unholy scene, reminding you that this was indeed meant to be.
Once you’ve both come down from your high, Chan pulls out of you. He watches the mixture of his liquids spill out of your hole, before he brings two fingers right there, scooping up some of the droplets and guiding them towards your mouth.
You obediently lick them clean, before he places a gentle kiss on your lips.
“Y/N?”
“Hm?”
He takes a deep breath, “I’ve always wanted to be your first, to be honest.”
“Yeah… me, too,” you confess.
“But that doesn’t matter.” Another kiss on your forehead. “‘Cause I’ll be your last.”
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💚AUTHOR'S NOTE: *taps on mic* is this thing on? yeah, hi I'm back. This fic had been chilling in my drafts half-chilling for the past few months and I am a dramatic libra so that's the first thing I post. I hope you guys have been well and enjoying your summer (or winter for my beloveds who live on the southern hemisphere and yes I know it's ironic I post a New Zealand summer story in August pls don't cancel me). I hope you enjoyed this one, I feel a bit insecure this time, if I'm completely honest with you. Please consider reblogging and/or commenting, if you want to give something back to the author! Messages via asks are fine, too. Lots of love and take care!
© j-0ne25 2023 | copying, translating or stealing my work is prohibited
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hongism · 10 months
Text
THIS WORLD. - k. hongjoong (m)
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➼ genre; smut (some minor angst and fluff) ➼ pairing; hongjoong x fem!reader ➼ au; outlaw!hongjoong, dystopian futurism, lore accurate ateez ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 4.5k
What he’s given you is essentially one chance and night. Nothing more and nothing less.
part of the outlaw miniseries.
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➼ smut warnings; piv, unprotected sex, oral: f, creampie, light choking/asphyxiation, dirty talk, breast/nipple play
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Cool night air brushes across your cheeks as you set foot on the roof, eyes already scanning your surroundings in the hopes of finding what you’re looking for here. Of course, it doesn’t take much — Hongjoong is a hard man to miss unless the government officials are looking for him, in which case he has an uncanny ability to make himself totally invisible in a crowd.
There are no crowds up here though; just you, him, and the night to keep you company.
You see him clearly across the stretch of roof that’s accentuated by gaudy neon signs and other electrical components that keep the bar below powered.
“Closed up shop for the night,” you offer as a means of greeting the man. He’s donned his usual dramatic regalia tonight as well, complete with the patterned bandana pulled up over his nose and the ridiculous cowboy hat he fetched out of a dumpster several months back. It matches the vibe of the bar, he had told you and Mingi. While you weren’t on board, Mingi was more than a little eager to pull together a similar outfit for himself. “Everyone else went home.”
K-Hot Chilli Peppers. When you saw the job listing online, you had laughed at the name before realizing that it’s only half as ridiculous as many of the other bars in Night City, and you weren’t about to be picky given that you were desperate to find a place that lets you actually use your tender’s license on the daily. Upon being hired, you were promptly told to not ask questions when two rugged outlaws came through the doors and went up to the roof without pause. Answers came on their own, naturally and over time as you peeled back the seemingly endless layers to the two vigilantes who had set up shop in your new place of employment.
Whatever the circumstances and however the stars aligned that night you saw the job listing, it all boiled down to this: standing across from Hongjoong on the rooftop under the stars with this magnetic sort of pull towards the man. A pull you shouldn’t even think to entertain mostly because you’d like to keep your job and also a little bit because you’d like to keep your life.
Hongjoong got a message today. You know that much because you saw the small moped buzz by in front of the bar after all the customers left, and though you don’t know who that delivery driver is, you know he always brings something more than crappy takeout. The most convincing piece of evidence came in how Mingi promptly stormed out of the bar without so much as a goodbye twenty minutes later, and now here you stand up on the roof with the last man standing not long after. You aren’t here to ask questions as that wouldn’t be in your right (fairly so).
“I’m gonna close up and lock everything, if you’re done?” you continue pressing when Hongjoong fails to say anything back to you. He turns, gaze sharp as it finds you across the rooftop. The next moment, he pulls his bandana down to rest around his neck and exposes his handsome face to you.
“We’re not gonna be around much longer.”
You pull your lips together and do your best not to frown. “They won’t know you were ever here.”
“They’re gonna come looking here. And they’re gonna rip the place apart trying to find us.” Hongjoong takes slow steps in your direction as he speaks, tone low and quiet as though trying to either threaten or warn you. You don’t think he has a need for either. “When they come knocking, it’s not gonna matter what you do know or what you don’t know. Just being affiliated by name is enough of a crime.”
“Business is too good to be knocked down by a little police search.”
Hongjoong sinks his teeth into his lower lip. The light from the neon signs bounces off his face and casts crude little shadows across the roof. He looks far too worried for your liking, almost like there’s a semblance of care in the man, which was not part of the plan. You think you’re the one to blame for that, considering how you can’t simply leave well enough alone and have to express some modicum of care for those around you, including the vigilante outlaws that frequent your workplace and stay after hours. And well, all these months that have passed in this comfortable routine have made the heart grow fonder in many ways.
You’re quite fond of him, you think, and maybe those feelings are reciprocated to some extent.
The sky is clear tonight, free of clouds but the lights and pollution from the city obstruct the stars somewhat even now. Curfew is about to begin, but there’s no chance of you making it home before the drones start patrolling the streets. You could have left thirty minutes ago — should have most likely, but that chance is well and gone now.
“We leave tomorrow. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”
When is merely code for if, and you’re not dumb enough to think otherwise. If he survives whatever obscene plan he’s ready to deploy, you’re positive that Hongjoong won’t come back or set food near the bar again, even as a hideout. Men like him don’t stick to one place for long, especially not when their heads are full of grandiose plans of anarchy and destruction. You don’t blame him for it, but it does make your heart ache a little more than it should.
Your shoes skid across the stone of the roof as you cross the distance between you and him. It breaks the silence you’ve presented as an answer to him, and Hongjoong’s eyes grow wider as you turn the space into an afterthought. Shaky hands find their way around Hongjoong’s shoulders then come to clasp behind his neck.
“Tell me you’ll survive,” you plead to the night air between your lips.
“Of course I will,” he answers without hesitation, whether a lie or a truth he is willing to truly stand by and believe. You don’t ask that he tell you he’ll return here; some dreams are a bit too far-fetched.
When your hands begin to fall away from him, Hongjoong dips his chin and slots his lips over your parted ones. You scramble to regain your hold on him, fingers stretching up to tangle in the dark blue strands of hair on the back of his head just below where his hat sits. The pressure against your mouth is faint to begin with, something small and searching as he tests the waters and waits for your response. As though pulling him closer and nearly kissing him moments ago wasn’t enough of a confirmation for whatever this is.
“This is all I can give you,” he exhales into your mouth, and you press another heated kiss against his lips. I don’t need more than this. This is enough. This is all I could ask for from someone like you. It would be nice if you could ask for more but this is all the greed you can bear. His hands wander from your hips up to the hem of your shirt that sits against the loops of your jeans. The first contact of his fingertips on bare skin hits you like a bucket of ice water and sends goosebumps all across your body.
“Hongjoong,” you say against his mouth as he palms his way down to your thighs. He does well to quiet whatever thoughts are rushing through your head right now with his lips, breaking from yours to mouth along the line of your jaw. The force of his body moving against yours is enough to push you back, and you fall into step with him in an almost haphazard sort of way. Your back hits the wall soon after, right beside the door you just came out of minutes prior, and now Hongjoong has you pressed against the concrete with a knee slipping between your thighs. “Hongjoong.”
“You can’t stay here.” The blunt tips of his painted nails dig into the flesh above your jeans. A gasp tumbles from your lips as he licks over a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and it makes your knees buckle in turn. “I can have two of my men transport you to a different area of the city in the morning. Earlier the better. We won’t be enacting any plans under the sun’s gone down.” You busy yourself with the buttons keeping his shirt around his body.
“No.”
He pauses where he is, halfway to removing your shirt from your torso, and looks you in the eye. You abandon his shirt in favor of clasping both hands around his cheeks.
“I’m not going anywhere because you’re going to come back to me and get me yourself.” Rather than denying your wistfulness, Hongjoong offers a half-smile and a breathy laugh, one you share in yourself before pulling his face back up to your own. You taste his lips again, but this time you pay more attention to it, the hint of spice on his tongue as he pushes past the seam of your mouth and explores you further. Your hands are busy with his shirt once more under the urging of your eagerness to have him. He responds in kind by hiking your shirt up over your chest and dragging the blunts of his nails down over the exposed skin on his path to your pants.
“Let me go down on you?” Your chest tightens at the proposition and at the way his voice sounds inexplicably strained from the mere thought of tasting you.
“Take this stupid shirt off first, for fuck’s sa—” Frustration wins the battle against his clothing, and Hongjoong leans away from you with a clear, resounding laugh that makes your stomach turn to mush. You ought to kick yourself in the side of the head for not acting on the blatant chemistry dancing between the two of you before now. Still, if this truly is a one-and-done thing, you’re going to do the absolute most to make it worth it. And maybe a bit unforgettable for both of you. Hooking your fingers under the handkerchief still tied about his neck, you pull Hongjoong close once again. He rushes to brace his hands on either side of you, his shirt still dangling from where it remains tucked into his ridiculous faux leather pants. His mouth goes straight for your neck, pulling the skin between his teeth and sucking so harshly at it that you feel tingles rush up to your skull. Your whine is music in the distant noise of the city, softly exhaled against the side of his head and disturbing the hair behind his ear. His hat is beginning to get in your way now too, especially as he kisses a path down to where he left your shirt. You catch the brim just before he goes lower, stripping it off his head with the hand you have draped around his shoulders. When he looks up at you from between your breasts, you smile, close-lipped but with an arched brow meant to tease further.
“The amount of filthy, heinous jokes on my mind right now,” he groans, head dipping forward to rest against your chest.
“If you make any sort of cowboy joke I’ll make sure you finish in your hand and nowhere else.” The threat is halfhearted of course, but it makes Hongjoong laugh in that obscenely pretty way again and you revel in the sound as he frees your breasts just enough to have access to them. Your nipples are already hardened peaks thanks to the simple touches from earlier, but the cool air stiffens them even further before Hongjoong has the chance to pull one into his mouth. Your back curls up off the wall, Hongjoong pinches your right nipple, and at the same moment, he pushes you back to the wall with enough force to punch a moan out of you.
“F-Fuck, Hongjoong.” You’re suddenly rather grateful to have something to hold onto because otherwise you would be digging your nails into your palms and making yourself bleed. As it is, you might run the risk of ruining Hongjoong’s treasured hat with how tight you’re gripping it at present. Your other hand sits on his bicep, atop the black-lettered inking that dances across his arm and reminds you that this man in your arms is one of a kind. You wonder, far and away in the back of your brain, how many have had the pleasure of being in your current position. He disperses those runaway thoughts mere seconds later; his hand sneaks down from its perch cupping your breast and locks onto the button keeping your pants together. The resulting lewd and wet pop! that comes from him pulling his lips away from your nipple makes your neck heat up.
“Bet I could make you cream your panties without even getting in your pants,” he quips as the button comes loose. Deftly, he works the zipper down in the same smooth movement.
“Who are you trying to impress, cowboy? You’ve already got me for the night.”
The muscles in his neck strain as he laughs and tilts his chin to the side, and your breath hitches watching him sink to his knees between your legs. Hongjoong folds his fingers around your wrist — the hand that currently holds his hat by the brim — and slowly, he guides you to place it back where it belongs atop his head.
“There. Now you can call me that again.” You can’t hide the unsteadiness of your breaths from him like this, even though he’s currently occupying his focus with stripping you of both jeans and underwear in one go. You brace a hand over your heart just to make sure it's still part of you despite racing like you’ve just run a marathon. Hongjoong’s lips skate against the inside of your knee when he lifts your ankle and carefully pulls the boot from your foot. Fabric follows suit quickly, then he commits to the same routine for your other leg — complete with the ghosting kisses and soft drags of his nails over the bare skin of your thighs. The growing pit of arousal in your stomach is so heavy that you think it might simply drip out of you the moment he touches your folds.
“Hongjoong,” you whisper. His kisses climb to the inside of your thighs, close enough to exhale heated breath across your pussy, but he doesn’t push further than that. Content to sit between your legs in the lewdest of positions and stare up at you through fluttering lashes.
“That’s not what you called me.” Hongjoong grins, cheek brushing against your thigh so close to your sex that your muscles twitch. “Maybe I’ll consider it—” he enunciates the word particularly harshly “—and do whatever you’d like?”
“You’re so — ugh, I want you to eat me out,” you mumble into the cradle of your hands, hardly able to look down at the man and be expected to speak like a normal functioning human being in this sort of predicament. He’s silent in return. “Cowboy.”
The veil of seriousness drops at that, and you’re the first to laugh at the sheer absurdity of calling him such a thing right now. Hongjoong can’t seem to keep himself together either, huffed laughter spilling out of him in turn.
“I wasn’t serious about you calling me that, y/n, I was just teasing. But I guess you want it pretty damn bad, huh?”
“Shut up!” Your tone contorts into a cracked gasp as Hongjoong wraps a hand back and around your thigh and spreads your legs over his face. Your hand flies to cover your mouth — something done out of pure instinct — and the man beneath you is quick to tut his disapproval.
“Let me hear you, pretty. I don’t want you covering anything up.”
“I-It’s the middle of the night,” you argue through your fingers.
“And? Wake the whole damn city if you have to, I want you to cry on my cock.”
You let your hand fall away and come to rest atop Hongjoong’s head (his hat, rather). Your view of what he’s doing is entirely obscured except for the slightest glint of his eyes when he tilts his chin against your cunt. You can’t seem to tear your gaze off of him regardless, lips parted and quivering as he presses his tongue between your folds and takes his first taste of you. The tension in your gut is wound into a knot so tight that your eyes burn and sting at the corners. Hongjoong takes you into his palm, onto his tongue, and into his deft fingers, and unravels you gloriously.
Two fingers dip lower and press against your entrance. He teases you with the pad of his middle finger only, toying with your hole and pushing into you ever so slightly before retracting to circle your clit with his tongue. He can’t run his mouth as he very much loves to in this position, but you’re finding that he makes use of his mouth in other more devilish ways, another talent he keeps tucked under his belt that you’re reaping the benefits from.
You can’t think of the last time you got laid, and trying to think of the last good fuck you had would be an even taller order. To imagine when a man last ate you out with actual passion and not simply as a means to an end might be impossible, or perhaps Hongjoong is simply keen on blowing every last sexual experience you’ve had out of the water in one go. When his fingers finally, at long last, stretch you open, you cry out with a moan so loud that it would be a miracle if no one heard it.
“Gonna make you taste yourself on my lips, pretty. Make your little cunt cream all over my cock until I fill you up with cum.” You jerk Hongjoong’s head almost violently, a sharp response to the way his fingers curl against your walls, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest from the task at hand. He pulls your clit between his lips and sucks until your knees give out under you. It sends his fingers deeper into your cunt in the same motion, nearly making you come undone.
“T-Too much, too much, Hongjoong, it’s — fuck, fuck, ah!” You fold in on yourself, free hand moving to press against your stomach as the pressure in you reaches an unbearable degree. Hongjoong works his fingers in and out of you at a steadily increasing pace and almost seems to be making a game of the way he curls them each time he flicks his tongue against your clit just for another moan to climb out of your throat. Each sound is more broken than the last, sweat beads on your forehead, and you think there’s a euphoric end in sight just for him to pull away without warning. Your walls clench tight around nothing as his fingers are now gone from you and sucked between his own lips. Dazed and frustrated, you pass an incredulous stare his way just for him to grin back at you, tongue teasing the vee between his fingers.
“Hm? Did you want something?”
“I—” Hongjoong eases your body back against the stone wall and hoists one of your legs around his hips. Your cunt is still tense and pulsing to the rhythm he spent all that time building. “If you don’t get inside me right the fuck now, Kim Hongjoong, so help me—”
He makes good on his promise to have you taste yourself on his lips. His tongue shoves its way into your mouth as well, eager to tangle with yours and push your arousal onto your own taste buds. You delight in the fervor with which he kisses you, and in the sound of his belt jingling because it means more pleasure is on the horizon. You feel a hand against your hip, and that’s the only real warning you get before he’s pushing the length of his dick into your pussy and burying himself to the hilt in you. You scramble to grab hold of him somehow. It’s a slight miracle that you don’t bite both his and your own tongues in the process because you cry out into his mouth. Your moan remains unbroken even when he pulls your mouths apart and rushes to cradle the back of your head before you whack it harshly against the concrete behind you. There’s not a second to catch your breath in Hongjoong’s mind; his other hand is busy at work, and he presses the pad of his thumb into your clit. He rubs once, twice, three times before you unravel on his cock.
“You’re so tight, fuck, if you could feel yourself, your cunt is so tight.” There are stars behind your eyelids, clearer than the ones in the sky, and Hongjoong begins to rock his hips up into yours as the weight of your orgasm barrels down on you. “You feel so good on me, pretty. Fuckin’ made for my cock, yeah?”
“Yeah, y-yes, yes, yes.” Your voice cracks at the tail end of your agreement. It turns into something more akin to a sob than a moan. Hongjoong’s pace is relentless in every regard. The lack of pause doesn’t let your body come totally undone or relax, still wound tight around your previous orgasm to the point where it feels like it won’t end.
“Keep taking it, lovely, I won’t be able to pull out with you squeezing around me like this.”
Whining, you drop your head to the side, chin coming all the way down to your shoulder. Hongjoong snakes his hand around to your neck and braces his index finger and thumb on either side of your jaw. Your head lolls in tune with the way he moves you and without resistance — every ounce of strength in your muscles has melted into goo in his hands. When he presses you back to the wall, your breath hitches. The sensation of his fingers at your neck has you feeling floaty and a bit detached from your body in the most pleasant way imaginable. His thrusts jerk your body enough to offer more pressure against your neck every so often but it’s not as persistent as you wish for it to be.
When you reach between your bodies and clasp your fingers around his wrist, Hongjoong seems to think that you want him to pull away because his grip loosens instantly.
“More,” you grit out, yanking his hand harder into the column of your neck. The steady rhythm he’s found falters momentarily for him to resituate his grip, but once he’s settled back into it, each thrust comes with a delightful headiness as your breath becomes shorter.
“’m close,” he announces. He shifts a hair to look down between your bodies and watches his length disappear into you a few more times before pulling his focus back up to your face with a groan. “Gonna cum in you, pretty, you’re still so tight.”
“Wanna cum with you, t-touch me again,” you pant, licking your lips between each phrase, “please.”
Despite his own shaky hands, Hongjoong reaches down to where his cock pumps in and out of you. He finds your clit with ease and rolls two fingers over it in a similar rhythm to his thrusts, pace only growing as he races towards his finish with you in tow. His motions fail as he orgasms, but the sudden feeling of his cock twitching inside your walls and pumping you full of hot cum pushes you over the edge with him. You almost don’t even feel it with all the sensations hitting you at once, and Hongjoong’s body falls against yours so harshly that your moan is positively unholy.
His hands keep roaming — tracing every inch of skin he can reach like he wants to commit it all to memory, and you simply let him do as he pleases because it feels good and it feels damn good to be wanted by this man. He pulls you towards a different section of the rooftop with your pants and underwear in hand. When he tugs you down to the messy pile of blankets that he and Mingi leave up here for particularly cold nights, you don’t even complain either. He lays himself down atop you, easing between your legs and caging you in with elbows pressed to concrete on either side of your head.
Hongjoong kisses you softly, and you smile against his lips. He finally settles down beside you after a few more exchanged kisses. His hat gets put aside with the other stray pieces of clothing — including his shirt that he’s finally decided to rid himself of far after the fact. The aftermath is peaceful, if a bit hazy as your brain still feels a jumbled mess of putty, and the stars above are bright.
“I’ll have someone pick you up in the morning to take you over to my men. The bar won’t be safe for a few weeks minimum. They can give you some cash to help cut your losses in the meantime too.”
“Okay,” you answer quietly. Beside you, his hand searches the blankets for your own. You let his fingers tangle with yours and squeeze until it hurts.
“Just don’t let Wooyoung try to convince you to buy into any scheme he might come up with.”
“Who?”
“Trust me, he’ll let you know who he is.” Hongjoong laughs at his own comment but falls into silence when he glances at you out of the corner of his eye.
“Come back for me please.”
Hongjoong is quiet beside you for several lingering seconds, then he leans across the empty space and kisses your temple.
“I’ll make sure of it.”
You believe him.
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this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.
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qierxing · 6 months
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A/N: An interpreted continuation of @shiny-jr wonderful fic. (checks calendar) Uhm, happy three month update to this series AND 1k notes on the first part! I would say sorry for the wait, but I really did need it LOL. Anyway, it's not super obvious, but the timeline is a bit all over the place in this part, because I'm jumping back and forth between past and present.
TW/CW: Immolation, violence, implied stalking+actual stalking, obsessive behavior, mild psychological and body horror, toxic relationships, Yuu uses it/its pronouns, we get a little meta in here, the boys are FIGHTINGGG I. II. | Isekai AU | Yan! Heartslabyul x Reader
“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, Sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”
“What do you mean by that?” said the Caterpillar, sternly. “Explain yourself!”
“I ca’n’t explain myself, I’m afraid, Sir,” said Alice, “because I am not myself, you see.”
— Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Caroll
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vi. Mourning
It is incredibly hard to get Yuu alone.
Whether it be by the forces of fate or just because so many vie for their attention, there is rarely, if ever, any time when someone is able to spend time personally alongside them. The only exception to this rule is Grim, who was practically the player's companion from the beginning.
So when Ace Trappola manages a rare chance to snag some one on one time with Yuu, he guns for it. Course, he had to time it perfectly. 
It was just another night like any other. Ace and Deuce decided to come over to hang out for a casual sleepover as usual. The four of them did initially start out studying, before the textbooks and worksheets were being abandoned in favor of more exciting things, such as the deck of cards that Ace brought with him.
Sending Deuce and Grim off to get snacks through a won bet over a card game was easy as pie.
"Hey Ace?" 
He hums in response, letting Yuu know he's listening. His nimble fingers shuffle the worn cards, flipping through them with practiced ease. Stacking them up quickly, he wonders if he should try to impress Yuu with another card trick to gain their enthralled praise.
"Do you…like…being my friend?"
The question makes him blink and look up in surprise at Yuu. It feels blasphemous to hear such doubt lingering in their words.
"Why? Scared I'm gonna ditch ya?" He teases.
Yuu doesn't respond, only giving a sheepish smile back. 
"I-It's not like I don't like being friends with you." He tries to keep his cool. "I just-"
Yuu's smile doesn't falter. "It's okay, Ace."
He's reminded of his previous girlfriend in middle school. It was more of a fling than a serious thing, but it's something he remembers vividly. Their breakup, after all, was rather dramatic.
"You're too much, Ace. Sometimes you just take it too far." 
What was even her name? Elizabeth? He could barely even remember, but for some reason, he still recalls the intense way her face was twisted in burning resentment. He tried to bury it in the past. He swore he would never fall in love or get into another relationship, preferring friendships over any kind of romantic trysts.
Now that he looks at Yuu, he already knows he's screwed up big time.
Yuu's gaze is no longer meeting his, instead staring into the fireplace that Grim had so generously set up earlier. The crackling blue flames reflect in their irises and in that moment, dread curls inside Ace's stomach. Yuu doesn't seem right.
"Hey…you okay?" He asks hesitantly, placing a hand on their shoulder.
Yuu doesn't move, still staring at the fire intently. He opens his mouth to ask again, but then they speak.
"If I wasn't acting like myself, would you still like me?" 
Another question out of left field. 
"Even if you somehow grow anemones on your head, Yuu's still Yuu, right?" His heart swells in pride at the way their lips quirk at his inside joke. 
"Yeah…" they murmur back. 
"Wanna see somethin' cool?" he says, holding out a card. Yuu tilts their head questioningly.
"It's the ace of hearts. What about it?"
"It's not just the ace of hearts!" Ace puffs out his cheeks. "Don't you know the meaning of this card?"
Yuu shakes their head.
"It means good news for yourself or someone close. Practically a lucky charm!" Ace waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "So how can things go wrong now that you have me?"
Yuu snorts and shoves him playfully. "Yeah, yeah, okay, Mr. Lucky Charm."
But it works. The foggy clouds clear from Yuu's eyes, finally returning them to the familiar luster he's used to. For the rest of the night, there is no hint of hollowness within them. And Ace hopes he will never see that sight again.
-
He should've known something was up since that night.
When Headmaster Crowley personally makes an appearance at their dorm, he should've realized it then. If there was anything that the old raven hated more, it was having to do more work than usual. 
"That person wasn't an imposter." Crowley says, coughing awkwardly into his fist.
The solemn words echo in his head on end. The rest of the Headmaster's words start to tune out for Ace. Automatically, his legs begin to move on their own. The calls of the others chase after him, but he ignores them, racing out of the lounge and towards the mirror portal.
Because if you didn't hurt Yuu-
-then what had he done?
When he first arrived in NRC, he didn't even know that Ramshackle dorm existed. Not until Yuu came to reside there; until he had to beg for shelter from them when he was chained with that damn collar. He knew that they didn't have to take him in. But they did, and maybe that's why Ace couldn't turn his back after that. 
The building before him is no longer the broken down hovel that he remembers back then. He remembers how the roof was almost caving in and wooden beams were always in danger of collapsing. Each knock on the entrance doors would send cascades of dust upon his head. Now, the walls are painted with a fresh coat of paint, the roof has new shingles, and the place actually looks like a house you could safely live in. 
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Prefect! Are you there?!" He yells, desperation leaking into his voice. "Please!"
Bang! Bang!
He's gotta be out of his damn mind, acting like some crazy person. But he can't help but be blinded by his fear. So he keeps hitting the door with his fists, praying, hoping, for…well that someone would open the door.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Yuu!!" He screams, and his voice echoes around him, mocking his helplessness. His fists are becoming numb from slamming the wood so hard, but he can't stop himself.
"Yuu–!"
"Oi! Ace!!!" A rough hand on his shoulder shoves him back and before he could knock the souvnabit-
"Ace, look at me!"
He's stopped by Deuce's fists meeting his in an even match of strength. Like an illusion broken, Ace stills and yanks his hands back.
There's only heavy breathing in between them for a long while. 
"...they're not here." Ace snaps to look at Deuce, who only closes his eyes in a painful grimace.
"What do you mean, 'not here'?" Ace asks.
Deuce doesn't say anything for a beat.
"What do you mean they're–"
"They're in the infirmary." Deuce's words flow out in a breathless rush. "The Headmaster said that after you ran."
Fuck, he just acted like an idiot then. No wonder no one was responding to his absolute earth shattering door banging and yelling. Then the meaning of Deuce's words begin to sink in. Oh Seven, no–
He turns and before he could even step in the direction of the main building, his arm is yanked back.
He snarls at Deuce. "Let me go! I have to see the prefect!"
"Housewarden is calling you back." Deuce forces out through gritted teeth and closed eyes. "The Headmaster said that…they don't want to see anyone."
And like a fire put out, Ace's anger chokes to flickering embers.
He lets Deuce guide him back, all the way from the Ramshackle dorm, to the mirror portal, and then back to Heartslabyul's lounge where the other three are grimly awaiting them.
Ace half expects to be yelled at once he passes the threshold. Or get some kind of lecture on how he should have better manners than to just run off like that. It would've been just like his housewarden to only care about weird, arbitrary rules when there were other arguably more important matters.
But his housewarden sits silently on his gilded velvet throne with glassy eyes. There's no anger burning behind them, and the freshmen are terrified to see their once proud and fearsome queen reduced to this husk. He almost would rather him back to the state where he was barking out orders for them. The silence in the lounge is deafening.
Ace swears they must be all thinking the same thing.
Please let this be a bad dream.
-
He tried calling you. Texting you. Hell, he even tried messaging you on Magicam! Magicam, of all things! 
Anxiety claws at his heart with each unread message and dial voice tone greeting. He has so much to say, to ask for-
Deuce wasn't faring well on his side either. He had also tried calling and texting you, to no avail. Grim, that traitor, hadn't come back to visit Heartslabyul at all since the incident. Never mind the fact he had only himself to blame for that—he thought at the very least the cat direbeast would have some sense of pity for their friendship and throw them a bone. 
Ace tried two more times to meet you. 
First, during your infirmary stay, when you were still unconscious.
The second time was when you returned to Ramshackle dorm with Grim.
Maybe the Seven were punishing him for his hubris. Or he supposes this is just karma. Because both times, he fails spectacularly at the front door of Heartslabyul. Because of this, he's the reason why Riddle had put them all on house arrest (with the exception of academic reasons, of course).
It's a declaration that would've been met with mutiny from all of them, if it weren't for the fact that even Headmaster Crowley had explicitly forbade anyone from showing up on Ramshackle's doorstep or trying to meet you. So he understands. Really! He does. He's seen how Riddle holes up in his room, muttering to himself while carrying out boxes upon boxes of crumpled paper. When he manages to snag a stray paper that flutters out on garbage day, Ace realizes that Riddle is also just as frenzied trying to reach out to you. Even if he is going about it in an old fashioned way.
He'll chip in to help. If his housewarden is left to his own devices, they’ll all be fossils by the time he sends what he deems a satisfactory letter. 
And the faster they do this, the faster they have a chance of reaching you.
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vii. Embalming
The most horrifying thing is that it doesn't seem to care about dying.
That cursed pile of ceramic shards had disappeared—no, pieced itself back together—and once again, it became the smiling face of Yuu, the being they all knew and used to adore.
Riddle Rosehearts immediately smashed it to pieces again under the weight of his magic.
No one had tried to stop their housewarden. Not even the faceless mobs. Even if they were all alarmed at the erratic behavior of their housewarden, they could not deny the fear of seeing something dead come back alive. With not so much as a dent or wound in them, for that matter.
The third time it happened, Riddle ordered for the remains to be dumped into the school’s incinerator at the highest heat level. Surely, that would be enough. 
He watched as the incinerator roared and shuddered, shaking as if the pits of hell had opened. After a few agonizing minutes, the rumbling stops, and before he can even breathe a sigh of relief, the iron hatches creak open, and out strolls Yuu, perfectly fine and pieced together again.
It's magic. Or some kind of century old curse. Of course it is. After all, it was at a higher power than even Draconia's comprehension. Why he didn't consider the possibility beforehand is something he berates himself now. 
What might be the most damning thing is that it has no fear or suspicion in its face; even after the multiple times it’s been maimed and torn apart. Not like you, who immediately closed themselves off at being hurt so thoroughly. 
The irony isn't lost on him. The temptation of letting the puppet take its place back in favor of just bringing everything back to how it was is something Riddle could not deny. But now that he's actually met you, Yuu just seems more of a shadow of what he remembers during your interactions together.
It has your face. It acts like you.
But it's not you.
When Ace asks after the commotion at the Unbirthday party on how he was able to figure out that it wasn’t [First], he had to take a moment to gather his thoughts. Ace’s face changes into something of disbelief when Riddle merely replies with: “[First] takes their tea with two sugars and a dash of milk.”
“You were so sure only because of that?”
He doesn’t want to think what Ace’s face would look like if he had explained his whole list of reasons how he realized that the puppet wasn’t you. How he soaked up as much as he could when you came over for the tea party. Your expressions, your little habits, the way you fidget…it was all filed away in Riddle's head and later, his private notebook.
But that doesn’t matter now. Now, there’s an even bigger problem than the puppet resurrecting itself.
Grim is missing again.
This alone should've been more worrying than anything for Yuu, but it merely shrugs and says it’s not sure where he scampered off to. He's more than suspicious, of course, but there is no proof, which is infuriating already.
But without Grim, they are missing the key to finding [First]. 
The others raise hell once they hear the news Riddle reports at the weekly housewarden meeting. A new wave of tension washes over NRC and with it, an unprecedented deep disdain for the puppet. It returns back to classes unannounced, making Ace and Deuce rant to him about how weird it is that it’s trying so hard to act like nothing had happened. It attends school events with their camera, drumming up conversations like normal between all of them; despite the fact it gets ignorance or violence in response (depending on the person it greets).
But none of them are really sure on how to interact with Yuu.
The nicer ones, like Trey or Deuce, entertain Yuu with frigidly civil responses, in hopes of boring the puppet and making it flit away to another victim. Meanwhile, he and Ace have finally come together on an agreed opinion: that they would rather die before letting the puppet even think it could take [First]’s place.
“Go away.”
Yuu merely smiles in response to Riddle’s annoyed voice. The puppet leisurely lounges in the chair across the table from him. The school library is vast but empty, his authoritative voice echoing down the long halls. Several floating books flit past above their heads and the chandeliers above flicker with bright candlelight.
“I just wanted to keep you company.” Riddle purses his mouth in disgust. It’s invasive, it’s gross, and most of all it feels wrong to hear those words coming from Yuu. 
“I didn’t ask for your company,” he replies coldly. “Shouldn’t you know that it’s bad manners to bother someone who wants to be left alone?”
“I don’t think you like being left alone, Riddle.” He flinches at the way Yuu’s eyes bore into him. “Well, then again, you sure like to pretend you’re fine, don’t you?”
His hand tightens around the textbook he’s reading about cursed dolls. There would be no point if he brought out his magical pen and reduced it to rubble. But he is tempted, if only to get some peace and quiet for just a few minutes.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Riddle says.
“Hmm…” Yuu hums into its hand, “...then I suppose I will just let you be. What a shame, I had something entertaining to tell.”
“What? What do you mean?” 
Yuu giggles and waves him off. “No, no! You said you didn’t want my company now. Why should I tell you anything?”
He resists the urge to incinerate the book in his hands. “Fine! I would like your company. What is this ‘entertaining’ thing you want to tell me so badly?”
“Hmm…how insincere,” Yuu tilts its head coyly with a smile more akin to a smirk. “But I guess that’s the most I can get.”
“Since you’ve all been driving yourselves crazy, [First] is safe.” The floor feels like it’s been yanked underneath him. The puppet is smiling still, as if it’s all some big joke rather than the revelation it delivered. He can hear his blood roaring through his ears.
“You…” Riddle snarls, face heating into a bright red rage. “What did you do to them?”
It bursts into laughter at his face. 
“Why, I only granted their wish!”
Its laughter is cut short by the sound of ceramic being crushed, and Riddle is left shakily breathing at the pile of shards that used to be Yuu. The puppet’s words churn over and over in his head.
What did you wish for? 
-
It is currently 3:20 on a Wednesday afternoon. 
In his planner, the bullet point neatly penned on the schedule shows ‘Studying for History Test’ in bold blue ink for the time slot. ‘History of the Queendom of Roses’ is laid open on his desk, to the chapter about the local mythos of the area, just as he intended. His notes from lecture are next to it, with several of his stationary needed to jot down annotations. 
And yet, Riddle has yet to touch any of these items or actually adhere to his daily schedule—he’s too distracted by what he should do in order to reach the player.
Riddle's already embarrassed enough, resorting to handwritten letters with the best calligraphy he can muster. He's sent only a couple that passed his satisfaction, and they have all been met with judgemental silence. He’s hunched over another crumpled letter near ripping his hair out when someone knocks on his bedroom door. He quickly shoves the envelope under some textbooks out of frantic instinct.
“Come in.”
A familiar bob of red orange hair pops out behind his door, and Riddle raises an eyebrow at the underclassman who enters.
“Ace? What is it?” Normally, Ace would never be in his room if he could help it. If he was in Riddle’s room, it most likely meant he was either being scolded or punished. And Ace’s eyes are shifting side to side, as if he was trying to sneak his way in. 
“Out with it, Ace.” He’s not in the mood for the underclassman’s shenanigans.
“Housewarden, you’re writing letters to the prefect, aren’t ya?” The question completely takes him off-guard sputtering.
“W-What does t-that have to do with you?” He tries to maintain his composure, but Ace is already giving him a smug smirk for the one up on him. Of all people, it had to be him finding out. 
"I had an idea, Housewarden. Why don't we send them something with the letter?" Riddle blinks in surprise.
“...How smart of you for once, Ace.” It was so simple, yet he marvels at the idea's brilliance. Perhaps there was merit in trying this proposal.
“Hey! What the hell does that mean?!” His underclassman snaps back in a huff. “Whatever, point being, maybe we should switch it up instead of letters all the time.”
He crosses his arms, “And what do you suggest? There’s not much we can really send that hasn't been sent already by other dorms.”
Ace winces. Clearly he didn’t think about the other dorms with more affluent people; people who had more than enough thaumarks and prestige to spend it to appeal to you. Riddle can't blame him either: although he is at the top of the school and his parents are well known mages, it's not like any of that could help him here. All of them, in a sense, were stuck in that situation. 
For once, he starts to resent not having more.
"Ugh, well…maybe it doesn't need to be so fancy, you know?" Ace rubs his neck, face scrunched in frustration. "Like…uh…you know-flowers! People send flowers all the time, yeah?"
This is true. And for Queendom of Roses’ residents, it has become custom to send bouquets with subtle messages left in petals and stems. Although he is a bit loath to admit that he isn’t as well versed in the language of flowers compared to hedgehogs.
"And what do you recommend, Ace?" He asks. "What would be the best flower to send to the prefect in our circumstance?"
"We got all these roses, why not send them that?" Ace responds, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Riddle coughs in annoyance. 
"Why not just procure some from Sam's shop? Today is Wednesday. Do you not remember rule 228?" He chides. Ace groans, rolling his eyes. 
"Not the weird rules again…"
"Ace."
"Yeeesss Housewarden…" The card soldier mock salutes with a deadpan expression. "I'll see if we can get some flowers at Sam's."
"You better, or else it's–" 
"-off with my head, I got it, I got it." Riddle seethes as Ace cuts him off and dashes out of his room before he could get another word in. So troublesome…
Still, there's nothing to do except wait for his card soldier to report back. He turns back to his desk, bringing out the crumpled letter from its hiding place. Running a hand over the crumpled pages, he attempts to pick up his pen again, but fails as his thoughts begin to wander. 
Riddle only manages to pen a couple legible sentences when his door slams open, banging against the wall. He almost falls out of his chair in shock from the loud noise. How was Ace back so quickly?
"Have you not heard of knocking?!" He scowls, turning around to see Ace panting and sweating as if he had run a marathon.
"Never mind that, Housewarden, I saw them!" Ace shouts. 
“What are you jabbering…” Riddle trails off in realization. “You better not be horsing around, Ace.”
“Do you think I would lie to you about this?” Ace retorts frantically. “I saw them at Sam’s shop working the cashier!”
For a moment, his mind races with this information. If you were working at Sam’s shop, it would explain why you weren’t showing up to classes, let alone in the hallways or rooms of NRC. It’s a clever ruse—classes may be over during this time of day, but nearly all of them were participating in mandatory club activities or study labs. No wonder no one else has caught on to this. Riddle rubs his chin in thought, settling back in his chair.
“What are you going to do now, Housewarden Riddle?” Ace asks hesitantly. His eyes are filled with some kind of anticipation and hope, no doubt wondering if he could get some leeway in his own agenda. Normally, he would go right away as there was no need to hesitate about these kinds of things.
But. Crowley’s stern announcement comes back to his mind and guilt starts to creep in. 
“First, we’ll go with your idea, Ace.” He responds. “The ban hasn’t been lifted, after all.” Ace opens his mouth to protest, but he holds a hand up to interrupt him.
“But if that doesn’t work, then I’m sure even Crowley can’t say anything about coincidences.”
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viii. Calling Hours
“I’m not joking around, you two.” 
There’s very few times that the vice housewarden of Heartslabyul gets truly mad. His patience seems boundless, honed by years of taking care of younger siblings at home and then dealing with rowdy underclassmen in NRC. But even his saint-like patience could only stretch so far.  
“I told you, we didn’t do it!” Ace scowls with furrowed eyebrows and crossed arms. Meanwhile, Deuce is silent by his side, face twisted with conflicting emotions. “You don’t even have proof! You just singled us out just because!”
“Who else was around the kitchen when I left it?” Trey asks, voice starting to rise in anger. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you two lurking around before?”
The two freshmen began to speak out, voices rambling over each other and cascading into a loud shouting match that was barely intelligible.
“We just wanted to see if we could get something from the fridge, how were we supposed to know someone would-”
“Me and Ace just wanted to bring something along when we deliver the Housewarden’s invitation to-”
"You dumbass, don't just say that out loud-!"
It’s at this moment that Cater Diamond strolls in, takes one look at the mess of the situation and does a 180 back round to the door. But it’s too late, because the interruption is just enough for Ace to sink his hooks into him.
“Cater-senpai, you believe us, right?” Ace shouts after the orange head, making him flinch in place. “You saw us get the order from Housewarden Riddle!”
Cater turns around slowly like a door on rusty hinges, with an expression that screams of not wanting to be involved. "Oh Acey! Uhm, you mean the letter Riddle gave you two-"
"Yes!" Deuce interrupts in earnest, already trying to barrel his way to proving his innocence. "Housewarden Riddle entrusted us to deliver the tea party invitation ourselves personally." 
Cater turns to Trey, who is rubbing the bridge of his nose, eyes closed with a tiredness that seems comically reminiscent of an old man. "Well, I'm not sure what this is all about, Trey, but maybe you should cut 'em some slack and let it go."
The other senior nods in reluctant agreement and the two freshmen all but nearly trample over each other trying to run from the tension filled room. But they're stopped in their tracks when Trey calls out again.
"Wait, you two." The duo slowly looks back with cautious eyes.
"You wanted to bring something to the prefect, didn't you?" Trey tilts his head to one of the many strange topsy turvey cabinets in the kitchen. "I have some leftover cookies that I made yesterday. Take them. I'm sorry for accusing you guys like that."
Ace and Deuce exchange confused glances, and although Ace looks away in denial, Deuce nods in gratitude. They leave the kitchen just as chaotically, this time with the aroma of lavender following them.
A brief silence follows their absence, while Cater raises an eyebrow at Trey.
"Sooo…care to spill the tea?"
"Don't even start." Trey groans.
Cater seats himself on one of the stools near the counter, waiting. Trey busies himself with cleaning the stoves and counter, trying not to meet Cater's eyes. Silence falls, but it's with none of the comfort that Cater is familiar with. Giving up, he turns to his phone, refreshing his Magicam dash mindlessly. This continues for a good while until finally—
A low sigh, then– "Somebody took my candied violets."
Cater looks up from his phone. Another beat passes, and he realizes it's not a passing statement. 
"It's not like you to get this bent out of shape over your ingredients going MIA." Cater shifts his face onto the elbow meeting pristine marble while shoving his phone away. "You sure that one of the froshes didn't just end up taking them thinking they were for everyone?"
Trey lets out a rough guffaw. "You know better than I do that the others don't touch our stuff."
Cater taps his fingers on the polished white granite, hands already itching to grab his phone and check for updates, but he restrains himself. "That's…mostly true."
"That can only mean one of you guys has taken it." The hairs on Cater's neck raise at Trey's tone.
"Hey now," Cater grins, raising his hands in mock surrender, "you heard it from those two. I was with Riddle when he gave them that invitation."
"I know." Cater's fingers twitch as Trey carelessly tossed aside the rag used to clean the counter into a bucket. The soggy fabric makes a hollow sound against the wood, echoing rather loudly in contrast. "But Riddle would never do such a thing either."
Cater resists the urge to roll his eyes. It's true that their cute housewarden would hardly dare to stoop to thievery, but Trey's blind faith in him can be annoying at times. After all, didn't their little teapot tyrant threaten to kill the prefect at one point?
He supposes that was his fault, though.
"Then it's back to square one." Cater shrugs. "Besides, what were you even planning to do with them if you weren't gonna eat it?"
The baker runs a hand through his mussed forest green hair and frowns. "I was going to bake a cake with them as a peace offering to the prefect."
Cater's mouth forms an 'o' shape in realization. "That's pretty big brain."
"Yeah, but look how that turned out."
"It's fine~you were able to at least send cookies this time round." Cater finally cracks, digging into his pocket for the familiar grooves of his phone case. "All's well that ends well, right?"
Trey doesn't respond and Cater is too engrossed in his phone to look up to see his expression. He slides off the stool naturally, tapping through recent posts and comments, eyes laser focused on recent posts on his dash. 
"Cater." 
There it is. It's the most recent story reel by Ace(according to the time stamp, about two minutes ago). It's an inconspicuous black out picture with several cute teapot and teacup stickers decorating the screen. The banner message is short and sweet: 'Dorm tea party bout to get real this month 🤔😶'
"Cater." Cater's attention snaps back and towards his friend, who gazes at him with dark eyes.
"Please don't lie to me next time."
With that, Cater watches as his long time friend finally leaves the kitchen. 
Thank the Seven he did. He might have been a decent actor, but Trey has been with him through thick and thin, and it's given him the annoying ability to see through his tells.
Really now. Trey knows that he hates sweets. Shouldn't that be enough of an alibi?
It's not fair that Trey already has everything to set him up for a good relationship with you. Even if they're all set back by their violent reaction to you arriving in this world, he's sure it would only take a couple tries with Trey offering genuine heartfelt food to get to you.
It's just not fair. 
Isn't he fun to hang out with? He consistently gets compliments online for his suave looks and easy personality. So why couldn't he compare to-
He shakes his head. There's no point in overthinking it now. Cay Cay #3 had easily taken the cutely decorated jar of violets and discarded it in the dorm dumpster. Like candy from a baby.
He knows it's petty. But for once, he feels much better, knowing that he upset Trey's original plans to ensnare you.
Now, he once again checks Ace's story reel and screenshots it, while quickly pulling up the search bar. He just needs to level the playing field.
-
There can only be one fake bitch in this house and Cater has had enough of the competition.
“I wasn’t aware that you were going to visit me, Cater.” 
The puppet tilts its head with a warm smile, but there’s a frosty undercurrent to the greeting. It’s clear that he’s not welcome, if the way it’s blocking the doorway of Ramshackle has anything to say.
“Yeah, I ended up losing something here. You mind if I look for it, Yuu-chan?” Cater asks innocently. “Promise it won’t take too long.”
“Hm, sure. But I don’t think you’ll find what you’re looking for.” Yuu's grin is sharp as a razor blade. It knows what he’s here for and it’s definitely taunting him. That little–
“Well, it doesn’t hurt to look~” He responds back airily. His fist curls around his phone in his pocket tightly. The puppet shrugs and walks off, leaving him standing in the doorway.
It’s been a while since he’s personally been at Ramshackle dorm. Cater remembers how Ace complained about the house being a real fixer upper, but then again, he doesn’t remember much of that, since Yuu always spent most of the time at Heartslabyul dorm. The renovations certainly made it much more pleasing to the eye and more importantly, livable by HOA standards.
There’s nothing to write home about the living room. The coffee table is bare and there’s no wrinkles in the sofa cushions at all. It’s a little eerie—as if no one even lived in the house in the first place. The only sign of living was perhaps the fact it is clean of dust or dirt. 
Nothing in the kitchen either. He gives a wayward glance to the second floor, searching for any signs of movement. Couldn’t hurt to be thorough. 
Rows of tall doors pass by as Cater opens each one of them. A storage closet, a spare room, an electric cabinet, another storage area–it all blurs by after the fourth door. There really is nothing, as if the whole house has been wiped of any trace of you. He's about to toss in the towel when an old, dusty memory crops up. His little freshman, Ace. Cater swears he had been making fun of Yuu for seeing strange things at night. Something about a mouse?
Right, their room! Why didn't he think of looking there?  
His feet take him rapidly from memory to the door that was the third from last in the hallway in the east wing. He manages to wrench the door open to see a regular bedroom, bed sheets barely stirred. Before he can even put one foot in, a throat clears behind him. 
"It's rather rude to go into other people's bedrooms, don't you think?"
You got to be kidding me. Cater turns around with the fakest smile plastered across his face. Yuu looks unamused, tapping its foot impatiently against the wooden floorboards. 
"Just wanted to make sure, y'know?" Cater replies. Yuu gives a tight smile back. It goes around him and shuts the door with a hard thunk.
"Ever heard about how curiosity killed the cat?" 
Cater shakes his head in surrender, "I guess I need to look elsewhere for my lost item."
The entrance doors slam shut behind him hard enough to startle several birds out the dead trees in the yard. Cater doesn't bother giving a look back as he strides out of the yard and past the gated fence surrounding the property. That glimpse was enough and much more. Cater smirks to himself, taking his phone out and sending a quick text message to the group chat. Yes, curiosity may have killed the poor kitty cat…
But satisfaction brought it back.
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viiii. Eulogy
It might surprise people to know that Trey Clover's first real friend is Che'nya Pinker.
That's not to say that Trey had trouble getting along with others as a kid, oh no. Everyone in his neighborhood agreed that he was a very sweet boy, who looked out for others around him. When he wasn’t taking care of his baby sister, he would be asked by other parents around the block to look after their own children, whether that be playing soccer games with the more energetic kids or patty cakes with the quiet ones. So it isn’t a stretch to say that he’s friends with nearly everyone. But Che’nya was a special case.
Their first meeting is still burned into Trey’s memory.
“You see it too, don’cha?” The boy had greeted him while swinging upside down on a low hanging tree branch. Trey had half a mind to scold him for the dangerous action before he actually looked at him. 
The first thing that takes Trey off guard is that he has eyes. They’re a shiny yellow, just a shade lighter than his. His pupils are long and thin, not round like his at all. He supposes it must be like a cat’s pupils—for he’s never seen anything like it. Then it’s his unique colorful hair, streaks of light pink intermingling with dark purple, making a strange striped pattern across the chopped uneven hair. Trey faintly recalls a certain cat from their local legends, whose fur boasted those very same colors. 
“...What are you talking about?” Trey eyes him warily. The cat boy gives a cheeky grin. He vanishes and then reappears in front of him, albeit with missing arms.
“The people around us who wear the faces of strangers.” Trey’s skin gets goosebumps at the way the boy observes him. He is not looking through Trey, but at him. Their eyes are directly making contact. “But you’re different. You have the face of a friend.”
“And what do you mean by that?” Trey furrows his eyebrows. The boy's grin stretches wider in response. (His teeth were rather blunter than expected, but his canines were pointed.)
“You’re strange. I’m stranger. Together, we can both be strange,” the cat boy chirps back lightheartedly. “The name’s Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker. But you can just call me Che’nya.”
Something in his mind had clicked then. It’s hard to explain the feeling–just that it felt like a puzzle piece put into place. He hadn’t known it then, but at that point, the hands of fate had moved. 
Whatever the case may be, Trey was grateful to have Che’nya. Because now he knows that he isn’t crazy; not when he couldn’t see his parent’s faces nor his baby sister’s or even his other friends'. Che’nya too, only shrugs his shoulders when Trey asks him about his grandfather.
“The old man? Yeah, they say I have his eyes, but I wouldn’t know.” The statement is so casually delivered that Trey can hardly believe he’s talking about his only living relative and guardian. “His face does not mirror mine in my mind.”
Staring down at you, shivering with cold and hunger, he feels something churn in him again, just like that fateful day. 
He has his orders from Riddle: bring in the imposter alive. Trey isn’t a violent sort and nor does he enjoy boasting his strength over others like a sadist. And he cannot deny the feeling of cold rage that day when Yuu shuts down, fear inundating him that he may never, ever, get an explanation for the world he was born in. Why he and Che’nya were special, why he had to witness Riddle suffer under his mother–what was it all for?
Your face. There is no blank stretched skin—he can see your wide open eyes, bloodshot and fixated on him. Your mouth too, shaped in a pained grimace, lips bruised and bloodied from previous skirmishes. Surely, surely, there must be a reason why you were here. Why you bear the same face as Yuu. You hold all the answers, if you would just cooperate.
“Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you,” Trey tries reaching out, but you scurry back into the hedges, squinted eyes wary and untrusting. You remind him of a frightened hedgehog, prickly spines bristled and body curled in to protect yourself. “I just wanna talk.”
“Go away, please,” the imposter quietly pleads. “Just pretend you never saw me! I swear I didn’t even know how I got here…”
Trey swallows hard. 
“Just come quietly. Please.” He is the one begging now. “It’ll be easier for all of us.”
“For who?” The imposter barks a sharp laugh. Trey doesn't miss the way they wince in pain from their wounds. “For me? Or for you?”
He doesn’t have an answer. The sound of running footsteps has him turning, and when he looks back, you’re already gone. The only traces that you were there at all were faint splotches of red blood and crushed grass.
Trey wonders if this, too, was meant to be fate.
Trey’s been lovingly dubbed as someone reliable. Some consider him to be an older brother figure due to his nagging and supportive care. It's ingrained in him at this point from the years he’s spent playing babysitter. Trey knows the students around him are not his younger siblings who need constant watching (although their actions say otherwise).
But he worries.
Just a bit. Trey knows better than anyone that you can take care of yourself just fine. He's seen how you carry yourself within those hedges. 
It's just that, he doesn't know if you're okay right now. How could he know? You've been silent even in the face of Riddle's unceasing letters. So of course he's just a bit unsure if you're actually okay, or if you don't trust them enough to say so.
Trey finds himself more frustrated with the ban they're under. Not because of the inability to see you, although that is part of it. No, it's because Riddle has managed to skirt around that rule to desperately grab onto you, and that was just enough to wear you down. 
He thinks if he was bold enough, he could've tried.
As if it wasn't enough, even Ace and Deuce find their own way to get to you, snatching up the chance to deliver the monthly tea party invitation. It takes everything in Trey to clench his teeth and let go—even when Cater ruins his plans. He can't get mad here because it won't get him any closer to you. He has to be the bigger person.
If there is one thing Trey knows about Cater, it's that he absolutely hates getting sweaty or dirty. If Cater wasn’t trying to get out of running those P.E laps, he would absolutely be shirking any extra work assigned. So he's more than suspicious when Cater bounces up to him with a grin saying he could help cover Trey's science club duty of watering plants. 
Trey likes to think he can tell when Cater’s lying. His close friend's happy go lucky demeanor often throws off others, but he’s been with him long enough to pick out his subtle tells. His eyebrow twitches when he’s particularly anxious and the corner of his mouth tends to perk up if he’s feeling particularly daring or desperate. Trey figures this must be something that even he can’t trust Trey with, if he’s going out of his way to take on extra work.
So Trey considers this repayment for letting him take his violets. He watches as Cater dashes off in labwear, waiting for a minute, before following after him. His duty was in the tropical zone of the botanical garden, so he has no worries even if he does lose him. 
He nearly does a double take when he sees you walking in the courtyard hallways by yourself. And before Trey could rethink his actions, he follows behind you, eyes not leaving your form for a minute. 
You look like you haven't slept well. There's dark circles under your eyes. He hopes you're brushing your teeth. There’s no signs of bandages or wounds that he remembers you in, which he supposes is one relief. Even if he so desperately wishes to cook you a proper meal—you look like you could fall over at any minute.
The realization your path is leading to the botanical garden comes just as Trey catches sight of the glass dome. He wants to rush in after you, but he stops himself just as the door swings close behind your form.
Cater is in there. It all makes sense now. Trey has to give it to him—Cater really does know every little happening in the school. But Trey knows him well too—and if he had to guess, even if Cater manages to talk to you, it won’t end pretty. His inability to be genuine will definitely only set you on edge and less likely to reciprocate. 
The waiting game he plays is nothing compared to the silence he had to endure before. Trey doesn’t have to look to know that you’re the one slamming open the doors to the botanical gardens, labwear dirtied and face twisted in a frustrated anger. He watches as you enter Professor Crewel’s office again and after some time, pop back out in completely different clothes. 
His chest tightens in longing as he continues to follow after (more from an instinctual drive now, rather than deliberate), trying to keep you in sight within the stone pillars. He wants to call out after you so badly and ask you what’s the matter, if you need help with anything. If there was anything he could do to make you forgive him for watching you bleed out on dewy grass. The sun is about to set, warm golden rays flickering between pillars and casting long shadows. Trey’s so enamored with following after you that he flinches back when the sun directly shines into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. 
He barely manages to get a hold of himself. By the time his eyes blink away the blurry blots, he realizes you’re looking back at him. His breath stops. Your eyes are wide and frightened as they are that day, and his heart drops to his stomach. Both of you don’t move, merely staring at each other. 
You finally break the connection, turning around and quickly walking away. Trey gasps, remembering to breathe, lungs screaming for air. 
What was that?
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x. Entombment
It's a nice sunny afternoon in the Heartslabyul domain. There weren't any track club activities nor dreaded remedial lessons. If anything, this free time would have been perfect for a nap. He hadn’t been up to any large shenanigans like this since the whole fiasco of [First] and Yuu. 
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” 
Ace scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You got a better one, loosey Deucy? If we don’t do this now, then all of us are stuck until Housewarden grows a pair of balls.” 
Deuce Spade bites his lips. “I just think there might be a better way around this.”
“Yeah? And the sky is blue. Keep going, we don't have much time." Ace cranes his neck to the side of the bush, eyes warily looking out to make sure the coast is clear. 
Deuce grumbles but continues plucking, some roses already tucked within his arms. They chose a bush the furthest away from the dorm, in a hidden corner where no arched windows could overlook them. It was necessary, because today was Wednesday, and the Housewarden would have their heads for plucking his beloved roses out of all the flora.
His fingers are bleeding already, finger pads torn from repetitive tugging on the thorns and stems. They couldn’t afford taking any of the gardening tools, lest they be questioned for what they were doing with them. Still, even he had his limits.  
“Why is it that you aren’t helping at all?” Deuce snipes at Ace, who scowls back. 
“You want to be caught by someone, genius?” Ace replies snarkily. “Someone has to keep look out.”
“Doesn’t explain why I have to do all the work.” 
Ace rolls his eyes, deigning not to bother engaging in another futile argument that would lead to nowhere. Deuce is about to cut off a particularly stubborn rose when Ace pipes up again.
“...Did they ever respond to your texts?” Deuce only deflates in response. Ace’s mouth slants crookedly in an annoyed grimace. The two of them know full well what the answer to that was.
“Damn that cat…” Ace mutters bitterly under his breath. Deuce doesn’t say anything. He too, is finding it hard to not feel petty towards Grim right now. Weren’t they friends? He could’ve afforded to help them out somehow. But it’s no use. Their texts went unanswered. Headmaster had banned them from stepping foot onto Ramshackle grounds. It’s like you had closed everything off from them.
It’s why he doesn’t protest this plan, as reckless as it is. He’s not any better than Ace—he needs to see you. He and Ace were your closest friends, your first friends! He loved you. That had to mean something. If it didn’t, then…
“I think this is enough.” Deuce adjusts the messy bouquet in his hands, attempting to hold them without crushing the delicate petals. Ace looks over and nods in approval. He takes out crimson ribbons and a silk handkerchief and begins tying it around the stems in a very artful way that has Deuce’s eyebrows raising.
“Where did you get that?” Ace smirks in response at the interrogative question.
“Don’t worry about it.” Ace snatches the bouquet from his hands and slips in an envelope with the housewarden’s seal. Deuce silences the questions on the tip of his tongue. For whatever Ace has planned, he’s rather not know anything more troublesome than necesscary. 
What he failed to account for was getting caught. Housewarden Riddle was beyond furious for what they did. It was only by Trey and Cater's gentle reminders that what they did was for all of them, that he only calmed down.
Deuce supposes three days with the collar is better than a week. Even if it is a heavy thing that weighs on his very soul.
He only hopes that you don't notice the thorns they forgot to trim.
It’s a given that although Trey is the right hand of Heartslabyul, Cater is considered the left hand of Housewarden Riddle. It’s been that way since Deuce himself enrolled in NRC, and possibly even further back. He hadn’t understood it quite then, but after some time, he realized something that he should’ve realized a long time ago. 
To never get on Cater’s bad side.
There are events where the five of them gather outside of Yuu’s influence. Administrative meetings, monthly tea parties, and the occasional casual hang out. When you’re aware of how much of your life is affected from being not like the others, it’s common to side with those who are like you. 
Cater had called the meeting this time. It was a bit out of the blue, at least for him and Ace. It’s only when they’re all gathered around the playing table in the lounge, not another soul in sight, when Deuce realizes Cater has that gleam in his eye. One that screams that he got a viral lead on a hot topic. His upperclassman must have been investigating.
"Remember how mirrors are considered to be portals?"
Deuce's neck prickles.
"Your point, Cater?" Their housewarden is impatient, not aware of what the question poses. His arms are crossed with his eyebrows furrowed in a frustrated glare. Deuce realizes that he must have been the one to send out Cater.
"There's a mirror in the prefect's bedroom." Deuce blurts out, and Riddle’s steely eyes snap over in surprise. Cater nods in affirmation.
"Yeah. I only managed a glimpse, but Yuu covered their mirror." Cater says. 
“Hold on, you went into the prefect’s bedroom? Scratch that, to Ramshackle?” Ace asks. “Why are we just getting this now?”
“Because I just came back Acey,” Cater flicks his forehead, causing Ace to exclaim in pain. Trey smiles faintly at the action. “Also Riddle told me to keep it confidential—you two would have ran straight out if we had told you.” 
Deuce sheepishly rubs his neck at Cater’s pointed sentence. Riddle rubs his chin in thoughtfulness, eyebrows still furrowed. 
“But there isn’t anything magical about that mirror, is there?” Riddle asks, skepticism coating his tone. “The puppet could have simply covered that mirror out of an odd preference.”
“Acey, didn’t you mention that Yuu always mentioned seeing things in that mirror?” Cater responds, deflecting the question upon his underclassmen. Ace straightens as he and Deuce both exchange a glance.
“Yeah…something about a mouse in their mirror,” Ace answers slowly, face scrunched in an effort to recall memories. “I always thought it was just crazy dreams but…”
“Yuu was always insisting about it,” Deuce chimes in. “Said the mouse speaks to them and everything—that there was another world it was in.”
Trey and Cater share a furtive glance together before looking at Riddle. Their housewarden seems to be taking in the new information, closing his eyes in thought. For a while, no one dares to speak. 
“What do you think, Riddle?” Trey finally breaks the heavy silence, and Deuce breathlessly releases a sigh. Leave it to Trey to speak for all of them.
“If the mirror in the bedroom is magical, then that changes things.” Riddle pronounces with conviction. “If that mirror potentially holds a dimension, then that would be the perfect place to trap someone.”
“Cater.” The orange head straightens to attention at the stern command. “Find a way to get the puppet out of the dorm for a while. We’ll need to look into this ourselves.”
Cater smirks and a chill runs down Deuce’s spine. While Cater still has an easy going look, his jade green eyes have darkened with a sadistic gleam. 
“Roger that, housewarden!” His upperclassman chirps, already taking out his phone. 
Riddle is already barking orders that each of them are to take up within this mission of theirs. But Deuce nearly misses his task, eyes stuck on Cater’s face as he scrolls his phone.
He catches a glimpse of a photo before it’s quickly clicked away. Deuce snaps back to Riddle just in time for Cater to shoot him a wary glare, checking to make sure no one else was looking. 
Deuce is very glad he is working together with Cater.
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estrellami-1 · 8 months
Text
If I Should Stay
Part 1 | . . . | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12
Just then Eddie walks in, raising his brows at the veritable mountain of food Steve and Eleven are putting together. “What’s all this?”
Steve smiles warmly at him. “Hey, Eds,” he says, which is certainly an experience. He’s spoken roughly twice with the guy—in his memory—but Steve’s three chapters—nay, three books ahead. Eddie is Frodo, about to embark on his first journey, and Steve is Bilbo, or even Gandalf: someone who’s done this all before, whose eyes carry the weight of worlds.
Speaking of, Steve’s eyes dim slightly the longer Eddie takes to answer, so he waves his fingers at Steve, trying to ignore the swoop in his stomach when Steve’s smile brightens again. “So… what’s this?”
“Dinner,” Eleven answers. “We are making sandwiches.”
Eddie nods, because sure. Why not. “Okay.”
“How’s the song coming?” Steve asks, and the swoop returns, because not only is Steve asking, but he’s asking about Metallica, and Eddie’s gay, metal little heart can’t take it.
“Holy shit,” he breathes out, grinning. “It’s so good, oh my god. I mean, it’s gonna take a bit to learn, but it’s gonna be the most metal solo I’ve ever done.”
Steve’s smile dims again. Probably because he’s remembering what happened last time, i.e., Eddie’s death. Eddie pushes down the queasy feeling.
“Eddie,” Eleven says.
“Yeah?”
She turns to face him. Her eyes are more serious than any twelve-year-old’s eyes have any right to be. “You will be okay,” she says. Then, apropos of nothing, “And I can move things with my mind.”
Eddie blinks at that. Apparently his face is doing something, because Steve chimes in. “She can.”
“I can show you,” she volunteers.
“Anything but the utensils,” Steve says in a distracted voice, like this isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation. Eddie wants to laugh hysterically, or maybe cry. Smoking a joint seems like the best third option, except all his stuff is at home. Fuck.
Then she does, lifts a whole cutting board—complete with tomatoes— and moves it over to him. He resists the impulse to snatch a piece and eat it. He doesn’t even like tomatoes, what the fuck, brain.
Steve’s watching with an amused little smile, like he can somehow read Eddie’s mind. That legitimately wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen today, so Eddie does his best to stop thinking about it, because he doesn’t think he can deal with more than one real-life superpower right now.
“I need that back, El,” Steve murmurs, and she grins at him before zipping it back over, stopping it just before it hits his face. He nods, brows raised, impressed. “Nice control. Put it down and go wipe your nose, please.”
She does, Steve watching her as she goes, fond little grin on his face. “She’s a good kid.”
“She can move things with her mind.”
“Yeah. Honestly, that’s one of the easier things to get used to. Y’know one of the craziest things, to me?”
“Do I want to know?” Eddie asks hesitantly.
Steve just grins at him. “Jonathan Byers has this baseball bat that he sticks a bunch of nails in.”
Eddie blinks at him. “What the actual fuck.”
Steve nods. “I took it, sometime back during the first year. Actually,” he thinks about it, “what month are we in?”
“Um. October.”
Steve winces. “Great. October…”
“Um. Twenty-fourth.”
Steve hums and thinks. “In about… less than a week, actually, I think—I don’t really know, the concussion messed up my days—oh, hey!” He suddenly says excitedly, then raises his voice. “Rob!”
Robin pops her head in a moment later. “What’s up?”
He grins at her. “No concussions!”
She stares. Slowly, a grin spreads across her face. “Holy shit!” She says. “No concussions!”
“No memory loss!”
“No hearing loss!”
“No eyesight problems!”
She freezes. “Steve. You were having vision issues?”
“Um. Not anymore?”
She groans. “Since when?”
“Um…” he thinks, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Billy, I think. At least that’s the first time I really noticed it.”
She sighs. “I’m going to murder you.”
“Are not.”
“In cold blood.”
“Are not.”
“Nancy’ll help.”
Steve considers this. “She might. She’d be good at it.”
They both pause for a moment, then Robin turns to leave. “I’m gonna go make sure Jon doesn’t give you a concussion this time.”
“Have him make the nail bat, too!” Steve calls as she leaves.
“What,” Eddie says desperately, “the fuck.”
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livwritesstuff · 27 days
Text
i’ve been very quiet so srry - my week started with my annual performance review (which went well) and ended with an emergency surgery (also went well) so…a lot going on to say the least
this is a deleted scene from the first chapter of plant a seed
When Robin called, Steve and Eddie were in the phase of newborn parenthood where they froze every single time the phone rang (because said newborn was napping more often than not and when she was, there was a 50% chance minimum the phone would wake her up).
So when Robin called and the ringing of the phone broke the otherwise peaceful silence, Steve froze and he waited. When the baby didn't wake up, Steve exhaled a sigh of relief and answered the call.
"This is Steve."
"Hey Steve-o!"
Steve immediately recognized the voice as Robin's – of course he did, even if he hadn't heard it since she and Nancy left for a work trip in Japan a little over a month ago.
“Oh shit,” Steve said, because this means that Robin and Nancy are finally home, finally back in their Boston apartment fifteen minutes away from his and Eddie's in Cambridge instead of the opposite side of the entire world, “You’re home!”
“Yep,” Robin replied, popping the P, “That plane was a million degrees, I’m pretty sure. No more August flights if I have any say in it. Anyways – wanted to let you know we made it back unscathed. What’s new with you guys?”
“Uh…” Steve began, not totally sure where to start, because Robin didn't know about the baby he and Eddie had been placed with two weeks ago and she certainly didn't know that they're going to adopt her (because they'd landed on that decision that very day – about two hours ago, to be specific), “Well–”
“Hey, do you still have those placements?" Robin interrupted, "The kids who like to read the Goosebumps books?”
“Oh,” Steve blinked, “No. They went back with their mom a couple days after you left.”
“Damn. Been a while. Forgot this trip was longer than usual – wait, so are you between placements now, then? Hey, we should finally make that trip to P-Town!”
"Might need a raincheck on that," Steve said with a laugh, because at the moment a trip to the goddamn grocery store required at least a day's worth of planning, "We've got another placement right now – a newborn. We've had her for, uh, for just under two weeks, pretty sure."
“Shit, a newborn?" Robin repeated.
Steve faintly heard Nancy's voice, though he couldn't make out exactly what she was saying. He listened as Robin recounted to her what he'd just said, then started to laugh.
"Nancy just said that if she misses out on a chance to hold a new baby, she'll kill you," Robin told him, "Any idea when she might move on?”
Steve paused for a second. He and Eddie had decided earlier that they wouldn’t be telling anyone about the baby until the adoption was finalized, but…it’s Robin. 
He doesn’t think he’s ever kept a secret from Robin before, certainly not something this big and certainly not for very long.
He has to tell her.
“We’re, uh, we’re actually adopting her.”
Robin was silent.
Then –
“Holy shit – Steve.”
And then –
“I’m coming over right now. Immediately. Wait–” Robin stopped, “Damn, I can’t be a dick and come over unannounced anymore, can I? Because you guys have a baby. A baby. And she’s gonna be yours? What the fuck? Wait, let me start over.”
Robin paused long enough to take a deep breath.
“Steve Harrington – my best friend who’s finally fulfilling a lifelong dream of becoming a dad – when will you allow us to come and be formally introduced to our niece?”
Truth be told, Steve wouldn’t say no to a visit from Robin and Nancy that day (especially after the our niece comment), but their case worker had just started faxing over all the paperwork to get the ball rolling on the adoption process and Steve has a feeling that he might catch Eddie trying to fill that shit out as it came out of the machine so tonight they might be a little occupied.
"Tomorrow?" he suggested.
"Morning?" Robin added.
Steve laughed, "Sure. Tomorrow morning."
"Bright and early, dad. Holy fuck, I can't believe you're a dad."
"You can't?"
"No, I totally can."
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darling-i-read-it · 8 months
Text
Frat Party
Dalton Lambert x fem!reader
Word Count: 2.2k
Warnings: borderline smut, basically just tension and making out for the whole fic lol, Chris cockblocking them smh
Author’s Note: I wrote this so quickly something possessed me and it just poured out i need to make out with him immediately 
Requested: by anon, abt y/n and dalton having ‘fun’- probably in the closet 🫢🫢 heavy make out and ykkk pleasure 😞🙏🏻 then someone open the broom closet 😟😟 such a cockblocker
I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator
(not my gif)
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“Do you remember the last time I went to a frat party,” Dalton asked, head tilted up to look at Chris. She looked down at him, pursing her lips in annoyance. 
“That was literally months ago and since then you haven’t seen a dead person once.” 
“She has a point,” you offered. You were sitting on Dalton’s desk, trying to peer pressure him into going to a stupid party. He had been far too cautious since his incident and it was about time he started to go out more. Chris found a flier laying around and declared that the three of you were going to go even if she had to drag you guys there. 
“You’re supposed to be on my side.” 
“I am on your side,” you said. “This is your side. You just don’t know it yet.” He rolled his eyes and looked between the two of you. He had never been sure how he ended up friends with the two of you. Usually he was grateful for it, knowing he wasn’t alone out here. Moments like these he wondered how worth it was, even when he glanced at you and his eyes lingered a little longer than they should have. You met his gaze, trying not to blush under it. Chris pretended not to notice your acts of persuasion. “C’mon D,” you pleaded. You sat up all the way and leaned forward to him. He was looking up at you, something he could get used to. 
“Fine.” 
“Yes!” “Sweet!” 
You hopped off the desk and offered him your hand to help him up. He took it without a second thought. The weight of his hand was relaxing and familiar. You briefly thought about how you wished you could remain holding his hand forever. 
“I’ll come get you guys at 8 alright?” Chris asked. You nodded. She backed away to the door, bringing two fingers to her eyes and then flipped them back around towards you. “Be ready or I’ll leave without you.” “Please do,” Dalton pleaded. 
“You’re stuck going,” she promised. She opened up the door, calling about something she had to do before you left. You turned to Dalton, a smile plastered on your face. It was a goofy one, half to taunt him, half to have a reason to smile at him. 
“It’ll be fun,” you promised. 
“If you say so.” -
It was loud before you even went in. Greek Row had a line of houses that all seemed too large to be real and too old to be nice. You could immediately tell which one was having a party from a distance. There were people hanging out on the curb, drinking beer, watching the stars, dancing in the grass and doing other weird things. Dalton scooted closer to you, trying not to show his disinterest. 
You nudged him. 
“Lighten up,” you said. 
“I’m trying,” he promised. You approached the door, slipping through the people making out on the porch. Once you got inside it was like a whole other world had opened up. There were people everywhere, against walls, chugging drinks, dancing against each other. The music was so loud you could hardly see yourself think. Dalton put a hesitant hand to one ear, clearly trying to get used to the overstimulation. 
“I’m gonna go upstairs and be nosy!” Chris called over the music. “Either of you want to come?” 
“I want a drink!” you yelled. She nodded.
“Dalton?” 
“I’ll go with her!” Even though you were practically screaming at each other, it was hard to hear. Chris saluted you both before snaking through the crowd to the stairs. 
You didn’t recognize anyone around. It was kind of humbling, realizing how big the school actually was. Dalton was walking close behind you as you made it to a table with snacks. You grabbed a solo cup and poured yourself some of the red liquid, not entirely sure what was in it. 
“You want some?!”
“You drink it first!” You rolled your eyes and took a sip. It was foul but not bad enough to make a face. You offered him a drink of yours, which he took. He made a disgusted face, shaking his head as he tried to rid himself of the flavor. You giggled, taking back your cup. 
“Want one?!”  He paused, swallowing hard. There were so many people that you were pressed against the table and practically against each other. 
“Sure?!” You nodded once, a bright smile on your face. You poured him some and handed it over. You grabbed his arm and weaved him through the crowd so you wouldn’t lose him. You ran into people dancing, narrowly avoiding the people making out on the stairs. 
Once you got further away from the living room you were able to hear yourself think a little bit more. Dalton was drinking quickly, despite his looks of distaste. You took a large swig to catch up to him. 
“Wanna dance?!” you asked. His eyes went wide as he took a large swallow. The scrunched face of disgust went over his face and then it was even again. He looked towards the crowd of people dancing, men's hands on girls hips, bodies pressed together. Just the thought of it made him blush furiously. “D?!” 
“Yeah!” He put down his cup, forgetting about it immediately. This time he grabbed your hand and led you back into the crowd. He didn’t like it but he forced himself to be in the middle so that less people paid attention to him. There was awful music playing but it had an aggressive base that was rocking the floors. You tossed your drink away far too early into a garbage can and started to dance to the music. Dalton wondered if he should put his hands on your sides as you started to move along to the music, looking too intoxicating for his already intoxicated mind. 
“C’mon D!” you yelled. You put your hands on his sides, moving him back and forth. He tried not to gasp at your hands. Instead he just put his palms on your hips as well, evening out the playing field. His grip was fiery and incredibly distracting. You were moving him but you weren’t thinking about it anymore. You were thinking about him and you were pulling him closer to you and your chests were flush. You looked him in the eye, not breaking eye contact. It felt like you were playing a game of who would break first. Your breathing was becoming ragged. Was it smokey in here? 
Your hands moved up towards his neck. You put your arms on his shoulders. His lips parted. Your torsos were fused together at this point and he was making every effort to hold you even closer to him. Everyone else seemed like a blur. 
You lifted your hand up a bit and then placed it on his neck. He would’ve flushed if he wasn’t knee deep in the moment. Your fingers were cool against his bare skin. 
“Dalton,” you said, voice too quiet for him to hear but he recognized the way your lips said his name. 
“Yeah?” 
You leaned forward, kissing him without thinking. His lips parted, breathing in the air you were giving him. He had never felt so euphoric. It briefly crossed his mind that this is what college was for. To make out with the girl he loved in the middle of a room after drinking something was probably too strong. Your hand went to his hair, tangling in his knots. 
“C’mon,” you whispered and he only caught it because his face was now so close to yours. Your hand was in his. You had never been in this house before but you were determined now, body on fire. His other hand found your hip. You ran up the stairs. People were staggering around but your mind was now occupied. You tried a door but it was locked. Dalton put both of his hands on your sides behind you. You were a girl on a mission now. 
You tried the next door. Locked. 
You tried the next one. It opened with a gentle nudge. It was a bathroom, clearly someone’s private one. There was a door attached to it on the side, probably to a bedroom. You grabbed Dalton’s hand off your side and pulled him inside, slamming the door shut. 
It was so tight that you were barely able to both get in there. A walk-in shower was shoved in the corner and a sink was beside it, a toilet on the other side. The sink was just barely jutting out of the wall yet you still managed to hoist yourself up to it. You grabbed Dalton, who was far too happy to oblige, and smashed his lips against yours. 
All of the tension that had been living within the two of you seemed to fuel the moment. He parted your legs with his hand so he could stand between them. His boldness only turned you on more. You wrapped a leg around his, both of his hands on your sides, gently hiking up your shirt so he could touch your bare skin. 
Your brain was muddled. There was nothing in the world anymore except Dalton and his lips and his hair and his body against yours, hot, flush, more toned than you would’ve thought. His lips left yours to trail down your neck. You moaned, which made him visibly react. 
Dalton had never felt better, he was convinced. He could live in this bathroom with you forever and never grow unhappy. You put the back of your head against the mirror. Though your torso moved back he didn’t let it stop him from being pressed against you. 
Right then, you would’ve done anything he asked. You were all too happy to melt down to your knees. In fact, you were thinking about it as his lips nipped your collar bone. You let out a sharp breath and was about to push him backwards so you could sink off the counter when the adjoining door flew open. 
You both jumped, suddenly broken out of the moment. Even though he was startled, his hands didn’t leave your side, he just backed up a bit. 
Chris stood in the doorway, her mouth open wide. Then she started to laugh. A hearty laughter, mixed with genuine surprise. 
“Sorry to interrupt!” You grabbed a towel that was on the rack and threw it at her. She dodged it. 
“We’re in the middle of something Chris,” Dalton said, voice dangerously low and borderline seductive. You glanced at him, chest still heaving. 
“I can tell. Maybe next time you guys should lock the doors. Anyone could walk in.” 
“Duly noted,” he said. You gestured for her to leave. She stayed put. 
“This must be much better than what happened in the bathroom at the last party you went to Dalton.” He rolled his eyes, not even able to bring himself to care. It crossed your mind to just go back to the dorms so you wouldn’t have to deal with interruptions. It felt so far away. You had only been here 20 minutes but it now felt like 20 minutes too long. 
Your hand was still lazily hanging off Dalton’s shoulder. 
“This door doesn’t lock,” she said, twisting it. 
“Alright,” you said. 
“You wanna give someone a free show?” Your knees hurt. Hurt wasn’t exactly the right word. Your knees ached. 
“Chris,” you said. 
“I’m warning you. Anything anyone sees could be recorded.” You pushed yourself off the counter. Dalton stumbled back. You grabbed his hand. 
“We’re going back to the dorms.” 
“We just got here!” she exclaimed. 
“Dorms,” you said. She laughed a bit, lips parted in pleasant surprise. 
“Yes ma’am. I’ll see you guys back there.” You pushed past her. 
“Knock when you get there!” Dalton called as you dragged him back down the stairs. Chris rolled her eyes. The things on the counter had been shoved to the ground, toothpaste in the sink, towel on the ground. 
“Damn guys.”
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xxblairexxss · 9 months
Text
Jibber-jabber
Pairing : Mason Mount x reader
Theme : Fluff
This was so so so cute I had a blast writing it!
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Your relationship with Mason wasn’t a secret amongst his fans. Two years ago, Mason asked you to be his girlfriend and a few months later, he uploaded a picture of you on his Instagram story which proved all those rumours that has been flying around to be true. His fans had found your social media way before Mason posted or confirmed anything and it was only because they saw Mason following you, a random girl with no more than 1000 followers and never missed to leave a like on every posts of yours though he never left any comments.
ynusername
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Liked by masonmount and others
ynusername 🥐☕️
ynbestfriend miss uuuu
masonmmupdate you are soooo pretty
footballwagssoon mason’s gf??
rebeccaa__19 are you mason’s girlfriend? 🥹
﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎
masonmount has added to their story
12th June
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ynusername has added to their story
2nd July
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Even though everyone knew you were together and that you were no longer an unfamiliar face amongst the fans, you chose to keep it as private as you can. There would be an occasional pictures of you guys holding hands together or showing off your matching socks or a 2 seconds view of him in your Instagram story to which the fanpages would cut the part of the 15 seconds video and reposted it with the slow motion effect. It wasn’t because you were trying to hide anything or trying to be mysterious but it was because you wanted to use the social media platforms as your personal diary and no one stayed on one topic in their diary.
You had been staying at Mason’s house a lot this month as he tried to sort out his contract which meant he wasn’t at home that much so you would occasionally treat yourself on a solo date where you would took a stroll near the park or got yourself a coffee at the new coffee shop you came across. It was therapeutic sometimes to spend time with yourself.
But today, it was different. Mason asked you out to buy some stuffs at a department store. You told Mason that you wanted to do a vlog and that he didn’t have to be in it. He didn’t mind, of course but what he didn’t knew was that it wasn’t actually a vlog.
You already had your phone recording when you did your makeup earlier so as you talked thorough all the products that you were using, you decided to talk about the plan as well but in a whispering tone now. Not that Mason could hear but just to be safe. “So, we’re going out and I wanted to prank him. I’m gonna chatter about 20 random topics I could think about at one time and none of it are gonna make any sense. I’m not sure how he’s gonna react because he never gets annoyed with me so…”
“Babe, you ready?”
“Yeah!”
﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎
“So, I went to this one bakery the other day, yeah?”
Mason had his hand on your thigh, like he always did whenever he drives and nodded to your question. Your phone was propped against something on the car dash to record both you and Mason. You had asked him once again if he wanted to be in the camera and he said of course he wanted to be seen in the camera with his girlfriend.
“And I asked the worker which one was the best-selling and she said it was pain au chocolat but they had a new menu that made them won the— Oh! Do you know the history of pain au chocolat?”
Mason blinked, trying to catch up with you before shaking his head. “No, I don’t know but babe, what about the new menu?”
“Mase, listen! So August Zang..”
“Wait, who’s Zang?”
“The one who brought pain au chocolat to France! This is why you should listen.”
“Okay, baby, I’m listening.”
“Oh! And there was this cute dog that passed by—”
“Was it Zang’s dog?”
“….what? Mase…” You gave in and cackled at his question. “That doesn’t even make any sense!”
“Oh, yeah, tell me about it, princess.” He pinched on his furrowed brows, didn’t find this whole thing funny, in fact, it was kinda stressing him out but were you gonna stop? Not yet, of course so you continued.
“Then I felt like getting a green tea but there was a stranger that walked past me and the smell of coffee from the one that she was holding— the new menu was something to do with cranberry I think.”
“Okay, babe, are you okay?” He teared his eyes away from the road as the traffic light turned red and placed his hand on the side of your face.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Do you…want me to stop talking?” You leaned into his touch and trailed off.
“No, no. Keep talking. The topics are kinda complicated but I’ll manage. So, you were talking about the dog, yeah? No? Was it the coffee? Cranberry? Zang? Which one do you want start with?”
“I want to talk about the street art I saw…” You forlornly returned his gaze.
“Okay, I don’t mind adding one more topic. Let’s take it slow, okay? What about the street art?” Mason stroked his thumb against your jawline and took your hand in his. To him, you looked the most adorable when you talked. He had a hard time catching up, sure but he didn’t mind. The sight of you blabbering, the way you bit your lips to think off the next topic, the way your hands moved randomly with every words you said. He sworn he wouldn’t trade this moment with anything else. He was listening attentively but he also couldn’t stop gazing at you full of admiration. His precious girl.
To you, he didn’t look annoyed, didn’t look irritated. Of course, you wouldn’t be able to read his mind but the public could be the one to decide on that when you posted the video on your Tiktok.
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chelseeebe · 3 months
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stevie doesn’t know.
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sorry stevie boy.. it had to happen at some point. obviously based on scotty doesn’t know which i have listened to repeatedly while writing this
18+. smut. cheating. eddie is rlly quite mean to poor stevie. no use of y/n!
‎♡‧₊˚
what steve doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?
that’s what eddie thinks anyway.
it wasn’t ever supposed to continue after you and steve actually became official, you’d made that explicitly clear.
until you’d broken the no-contact rule one night, it must’ve been gone two by the time you had called. not that he’d been sleeping or bothered by that fact. actually, he was impressed you’d held out so long.
‘why’re you calling me?’ he’d asked innocently down the phone, guitar still poised in his lap.
you had just sighed. eddie could picture your face, irritated but standing tall on your stupid, made up rules. he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction. not yet, anyway.
‘you know..’
‘ah, but i don’t,’ positive you could hear his smirk on the other end.
then came another sigh, ‘please don’t make me beg,’ sounding utterly pathetic, just the way he liked it.
‘but what if i want you to beg?’
‘can i come over?’
‘are you gonna answer my question?’ joint balanced between his lips, not bothered to raise his hand to smoke properly.
there was silence from your end until you huffed in frustration, kissing your teeth before finally giving up, ‘i need to see you.’
‘need to? or want to?’ he liked the tease, liked to mess with you until you had no choice but to crawl right back into his bed, begging for another chance.
‘need to.’
and there you were, stood solemnly outside of his door still in the dress you’d obviously worn on whatever disappointing date steve had dragged you on.
‘come in,’ he simply smirked, holding the door open as you slinked into the trailer, head down in defeat.
the two of you stood staring for a moment, eddie waiting expectantly for an apology or for some half-assed grovelling but it doesn’t come.
he holds his finger to his ear, jutting his bottom lip out, ‘did you wanna..’
‘eddie,’ you warn, your tone giving away how desperate you really are.
‘i just wanna hear you say it,’ he’s not prepared to keep this going much longer, not with his dick twitching in his pants at the mere sight of you.
‘i’m sorry,’ your shoulders slump, tossing your bag onto the couch as inch your way over, ‘is that what you wanna hear? i’m sorry for telling you not to call me, i’m sorry for being a bitch, okay? but i need you eddie.. now,’ fingers walking the length of his upper arms until they rest on his shoulders.
christ, you’re practically panting. and he knows what’s waiting once he gets that dress off. can see the way your thighs are clamped together, eyeing his lips and his neck and his chest. you’re starving.
‘is that right?’ he taunts, hands ghost above your waist, not quite touching but almost.
‘yes,’ you begrudge, spitting the words at him, fingers skirting around his collar, messing with the soft cotton. ‘please eddie.’
it doesn’t take much for him to cave, hands meeting your waist after much teasing. his eyes are hooded, staring at your lips rather than your eyes, ‘i’ve been waiting for you to come crawlin’ back,’ there’s a hint of satisfaction in his voice but he’s adamant on not ruining this again so keeps it to a minimum.
‘shut up, you knew i would,’ pressing your chest to his.
eddie hadn’t exactly been celibate since your last rendezvous last month but god, no one had felt quite as good as you. he’d dreamt about it, this very moment to be precise. it hadn’t played out like this in his head though.
his idealised version included a hell of a lot more begging, you might’ve even gotten on your knees at one point. but there’s no time for that now, not after you’d made him wait so long.
‘don’t do it again,’ he breathes, lips brushing against yours.
‘i won’t,’ you gasp out, ‘i promise,’ finally locking lips with a haste.
it’s a hungry kiss, teeth and tongues clashing with pure animalistic want for one another. you taste like mint and a vague hint of wine, so you were getting wined and dined but he’d have to provide the sixty nine.
normally he wouldn’t bother to find his way to his room, the couch would suffice however he’s well aware that this won’t likely be a one and done. perhaps an all night affair.
his fingers fumble for the door knob, reaching behind you all the while trying to keep his tongue in your mouth and successfully guide you backwards. you fall into the room, his weight pressing against your chest had sent you flying, finding the bed through sheer muscle memory.
you break away just long enough to land on the springy mattress, eddie climbing above shortly after, eager to continue the kiss. too much time had been wasted already.
his fingers creep lower, slipping between your thighs and up underneath the satin dress. he was right, ‘this all f’me sweetheart?’ teasing his fingers into your sodden underwear, suckling along the length of your jaw.
he’s not stupid enough to mark you how he wanted but he is tempted. would love to watch you squirm as you explain the violet markings to pretty boy.
his fingers slip inside, groaning against the skin of your neck, he’d missed this just as much as you had. made evident by the growing tent rousing in his sweat pants.
you pant softly beneath him, digging into his biceps with an iron-clad grip, not that he was going anywhere. everything about you is so sweet, the way you unravel the second he touches you, eyes barely staying open as his fingers slide in and out.
you’re a picture. something to behold, to think about on the nights you don’t come around. this is what keeps him going.
he slides out slowly, removing his hand from your underwear and haphazardly sliding down his own pants. he’s trying to savour it but you’re too much, writhing around, sending his head into a frenzy.
the fact that neither of you could be bothered to undress, the straps of your dress sliding down, revealing the lacy number eddie hoped you’d worn for him and not steve.
he lines himself up with your entrance, huffing when he slides in, knees almost collapsing when you whine into his ear. his tongue glides over his bottom lip, wetting the skin as he tries to focus on not coming immediately.
‘oh,’ he exhales, ‘you hear that? you missed me, huh?’ driven wild by the sounds of your pussy enveloping him, the way your skin collided with such velocity. it’s music to his ears and completely indistinguishable to anyone else.
‘yeah,’ you breathe, loosely attaching your lips to his jaw, ‘so much.. missed you so much,’ garbling over the creaking mattress.
jesus christ, if you kept speaking like that, he wasn’t going to last long.
his fingers tilt your chin upward, forcing your eyes to meet his before travelling down between your sweaty bodies, finding your neglected clit quickly. your legs snap shut, releasing a shuddered breath into his ear as you clamp him between your thighs.
‘oh my god,’ you whine, grabbing at his arms as he quickens his pace. the room full of lewd noises, he’s sure the trailer was probably rocking. he’s just grateful that wayne was back on nights or else you’d be somewhere dark in the back of his van.
your cunt clenches around him, bodies moving as one as your hips jut upward, chasing his cock when he cruelly slows down. he just wants to savour the moment, if only for a second, gazing down at you through blurred vision.
steve didn’t deserve to see this. not that he’s sure he was ever capable of that. lipstick smeared around your chin, looking up at him through hooded eyelids and the delirious babbling that fell from your lips. this was stuff most people only dreamt of.
your palm pulls him from his head, cradling his cheek as you plead with him to just fuck you.
he obliges, happily. thumb still working wonders on your sensitive bud, sending the pair of you hurtling towards your looming orgasm.
you repeat his name like some sort of mantra, breathless and pathetic. ‘shit..’ eyes rolling to the back of your head. eddie knows you, knows your body, knows you’re in that sweet spot where you’re completely malleable and incoherent.
he’s not far off, especially not when your thighs begin to quiver, tightening around him as you go quiet. incapable of thinking or doing anything as you unravel beneath his body. jaw slack with your lips curling into the perfect ‘o’.
if he were some eighteenth century painter, he’d probably have hundreds of canvases full of this exact image.
eddie’s forehead drops, pressed against yours as he tumbles over the edge. ‘baby.. oh shit you’re- fuck,’ spurting thick ropes of cum into your cunt because he’s too wrecked to think about the implications of that right now.
the world goes soft around the edges for a moment, his head spinning as he pulls out, collapsing into a heap on his bed, a mess of limbs and clammy skin, both panting as he reels.
he reaches over, wiping his thumb over your chin and clearing off the mess he’d made. but really, he’s proud. admiring the beauty in your disheveled hair and bleary eyes.
‘i’ve missed you,’ he whispers, watching intently as you readjust your disregarded panties. give him a minute and he’d be raring for round two.
you tut, turning to face him proudly, ‘i missed you too,’ lying back against the pillow. the fact that you hadn’t immediately left was a good sign.
‘you staying?’ he asks cautiously, one brow raised, not wanting to push it too far.
‘mhm,’ you nod, playing coy although eddie can spot that grin starting a mile away.
that’s enough for him to throw his arm over your waist, pulling your body to his as he mentally prepares for the night you were about to have.
-
eddie leans over the counter, chin resting in his hand. tuesdays were never a particularly exciting day, the residents of hawkins weren’t looking for records during the week apparently.
the door chimes and his gaze flies towards the door, gobsmacked to find one steve harrington and you stood in the doorway. you’re whispering angrily at him, tugging on his arm, trying to get him to budge.
oh this was about to be so fun.
steve’s ignoring everything you’re saying, too preoccupied with marvelling the place. the dinghy old record store was hardly somewhere he frequented.
your eyes meet eddie’s with a serious please shut the fuck up message that he’s choosing to ignore. instead, he straightens up, waiting for steve to reach the counter before starting his attack.
‘stevie boy,’ he roars, ‘long time no see, how’ve you been man?’ wilfully ignoring your pleading eyes.
‘oh munson, i didn’t know you worked here,’ steve smiles, still eyeing the various yellowed posters that hung around the store. ‘i’m great, you working hard or hardly working?’
god he’s so smug. he doesn’t even mean to be but eddie just can’t stand it. though he does get some slight satisfaction with knowing that not even twenty four hours ago he had had you dripping from his chin.
‘oh i’m always working hard,’ his eyes flitting to you, ‘what can i do for ya’ today?’
steve looks over towards you, arm resting around your shoulder which eddie detests. it’s such a flimsy claim and if steve knew anything, he’d realise how stupid he looked.
‘well this one wants some new record.. told her we’d stop by and see if you had it.’
you keep your jaw clenched, antsy and irritated as you wait for eddie to inevitably make some wise crack. ‘what is it?’ asking you, rather than steve. his eyes threatening to slip down to your chest.
‘madonna,’ steve grins, completely unaware of how much he really wasn’t a part of the conversation.
‘hmm,’ eddie hums, ‘i didn’t know you were a madonna fan,’ poking and prodding just a little more. seeing how much he could irritate you before you cracked and said something.
‘why would you know that?’ you bite, regretting it almost immediately.
‘well i know lots of things about you,’ he smiles, slipping from behind the counter and over to where they kept the shitty pop you apparently liked.
it’s no surprise you don’t reply. eddie had the upper hand here and you seriously didn’t want to give him a reason to open his mouth again.
he hands the record to you, lips twitching as you scowl at him. steve is completely oblivious, watching the exchange with a grin so cheesy, it knocks eddie sick.
ever the joker, eddie twists round, fiddling with the other tapes until he finds the right one. if he hadn’t pissed you off before, he’d definitely get you riled up now.
‘i think you’d like this one stevie,’ holding the tape out to his face, ‘jessie’s girl.. right up your street.’
steve nods, graciously taking the plastic case from his hand. you look less than impressed, the scowl on your face sends shivers down his spine but it’s so worth it.
‘sweet man, thanks,’ steve nods, looking over to you with that same stupid expression on his face. he’s so naive and it would make eddie feel bad if steve hadn’t been such an asshole in school.
you don’t say a word for the rest of the transaction, hanging onto steve’s arm with a sour frown. he’d pay for his antics later but now he waves you off cheerily, ‘enjoy it man!’ he calls out as you leave, relishing the chaos he’d caused.
-
when you inevitably turn up at his door the following night, you’re miserable as sin, pouting with your arms crossed over your chest.
‘you think you’re a comedian or something?’ jabbing his shoulder with your carefully manicured nail. ‘he thinks you’re friends,’ expelling the pent up anger on his poor shoulder.
‘we are friends,’ eddie laughs, using the belt loops on your jeans to pull you closer, ‘i’m just closer to his girlfriend,’ despite your face screwing up, you don’t pull away. obviously.
‘it’s not funny,’ expression softening when his hands find your ass, relaxing into his touch, ‘if you want this to continue you’re gonna have to learn how to shut up,’ your palms sliding down his chest, tugging at his shirt as you go.
his head dips, pressing his forehead to yours, ‘you want me to make it up to you?’
you nod carefully and finally, that smile he loves peeks through.
you’re a different person around steve, more timid and sweet. not a patch on the girl now laid underneath him with her shirt pulled up to her chin, joint hanging lazily between her lips as eddie’s lips attach themselves to your bare nipple.
no, this was only something he got to see. if he says so himself, it’s the best version of you.
your mouth parts slightly, smoke and soft sighs filling the trailer alike. he’s insatiable, wanting to swallow you whole like some snake he’d seen on the discovery channel. his tongue flicks around the stiff bud while his other hand becomes friends with your other breast.
on his knees between your spread legs, just the way god intended him to be.
there’s a knock at the front door, pulling him from the bliss of your boob in his mouth. he groans, waiting for whichever rude asshole to leave.
‘hey munson,’ steve’s voice sounds from the other side. both of your heads fly to the door, sitting up from the compromising position you had found yourselves in. ‘you there man?’ he hollers, knocking again.
‘shitshitshit,’ you hush, rushing to pull your shirt back down. launching yourself from the couch as eddie sits up, trying to think of something, anything that would explain your presence in his trailer.
now you weren’t amateurs to this game; your car wasn’t outside, you had a solid alibi for your whereabouts.. so what the hell did he want?
and as much as eddie liked to goad and tempt fate, he wasn’t stupid. if steve found you in his trailer, he’d most certainly beat eddie’s ass. no doubt with the help of his yappy little lap dog tommy.
‘bedroom,’ he hurries, taking the joint from your fingers and stubbing it out into the ashtray. fuck. why now? why when he’s sporting a solid half-chub does your meathead boyfriend have to ruin it all?
you scurry off, a concerned look overtaking your features. keeping the door open a crack just in case things really got out of hand.
eddie’s obviously flustered, his cheeks burn and his hair is unruly but he doesn’t exactly have the time to do anything about it. he swings the door open just as steve is about to turn back to his fucking shiny beemer.
‘oh hey dude.. sorry i was-,’ eddie’s fumbling with his words, too caught up in concealing his stiffy to speak coherently, ‘doing something,’ now he definitely looked as if he was jerking off.
steve spins back round, ‘oh shit man! i was just..’ he slinks back over to the door, now speaking in hushed tones, ‘someone told me you sold weed.. i was wondering if i could get some?’
god he’s such a dweeb. simultaneously, eddie hates him and wants to coddle him. he’s so nauseating.
‘oh..’ trying to hide the instant feeling of relief that washes over his body, he could finally fucking breathe. ‘sure.. come in,’ now this was a risky game but he couldn’t exactly start dishing out drugs on his front porch, could he?
steve walks in with his hands tucked into his pockets, trying not to stare at the peeling wallpaper and various drug paraphernalia that littered the table. he doesn’t reckon your boyfriend is that observant otherwise he’d notice the collection of stubbed out joints with your lipstick stains on them.
eddie watches him for a moment, wondering how this man who reminds him of a labrador could reign such terror over everyone in high school. he doesn’t dwell on it too much because truly, eddie got the last laugh. steve just didn’t know it yet.
‘how much you want?’ he asks, thanking the stars above that he’d bought his box out into the living room before your boyfriend had decided to gatecrash.
‘uh.. two?’ steve replies cluelessly.
‘two what?’
he shakes his head, not understanding how that wasn’t incredibly clear, as if eddie was the stupid one, ‘joints?’
‘you want pre-rolls?’ eddie asks, quirking his eyebrow at the dumbass in front of him.
‘yeah, those,’ steve nods, now smiling at eddie like this whole conversation wasn’t unhinged and completely unnecessary.
‘oh.. right,’ he holds off on rolling his eyes, deciding he’d get his revenge in the form of ripping him off.
he roots through his box, grateful to have rolled a couple earlier with the intention of not having to roll up while you were here. oh well. anything to get steve the fuck out of his living room and your tits back in his mouth, as soon as he can.
‘here ya’ go man..’ he debates whether asking for a hundred would get him his ass beat or not. ‘thirty bucks,’ passing the joints to steve with a small smile.
he digs around in his abnormally-tight jean pocket for his wallet, handing eddie three tens with absolutely no complaints. fucking sucker.
‘thanks man!’ he continues, heading for the door at long last. ‘oh.. i know you two are friends so i just wanna ask..’ speaking in hushed tones as if anyone but you could hear them, ‘if we could keep this between us? my girl doesn’t know i smoke anymore.’
wow.
what a fucking idiot.
he won’t mention the use of my girl and how much he wants to strangle the dumbass stood before him. eddie bites back an added our, decided he values his life over a quick-witted quip.
eddie closes the non-existent zip on his lips, fighting the smirk that wanted to break through, ‘my lips are sealed.’
they certainly were.
‘thanks man,’ disappearing off into the night.
eddie rushes over, locking the door once again as he peaks through the tiny window, watching as the headlights leave the trailer park at long, long last.
‘he’s gone,’ he calls out, watching the bedroom door you’re waiting behind, bottom lip between your teeth as you creep out.
‘thirty dollars?’ is all you can say. cheeks twitching when you start giggling, thumping eddie on his arm rather hard.
he just shrugs, ‘stevie boy had it coming for interrupting,’ hands already finding the hem of your shirt, eager to continue what had been rudely ruined.
‘you’re an assh-,’ you begin only to be cut off by eddie’s lips pressing to yours.
yeah yeah maybe he was an asshole but he’d just endured an entire conversation with your fucking boyfriend sporting a fucking boner, you could bicker about it later.
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0fth34byss · 2 months
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Sex Isn't Love | Part 1
Noah Sebastian x female reader
Minors, please DNI
🔞⚠️: mentions of alcohol consumption, references to casual sex
694 words
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You lay sprawled on his bed, waiting for him to fetch a washcloth. He didn't know it yet, but this was the last time you planned on seeing Noah in person. It was inevitable that you'd see him online - his face was plastered all over your social media ‘For You’ pages - but if you could avoid being in close proximity to him again, you would.
It had started out as a meaningless fling, after being introduced by a mutual contact following one of his band's shows. The chemistry and sexual tension was palpable from the moment you shook hands. A one-night stand became a weekly arrangement, then the fling soon rolled into a seven month situationship, something you neither wanted or expected. Now the one thing you all but prayed wouldn't happen had happened, and you needed to get out before you got hurt.
It was ridiculous really. A guy like Noah, who was touring the world one week and on the cover of a magazine the next, was only ever going to see a woman like you as a play thing until someone more worthy of his attention came along. If you allowed yourself to fall any further, you'd become delusional in thinking he could feel the same way. What would the ‘rock star’ Noah Sebastian see in a junior account executive at a mediocre events company?
Noah handed you the washcloth, almost absentmindedly.
“Thanks.”
“Do you want to order takeout or something?” he asked, not looking up from his phone screen.
“Actually, Noah, I'm gonna go,” you informed him as you freshened yourself up.
Noah said nothing as you got up and began to get dressed. He still hadn't looked up from his phone which only confirmed you were making the right decision.
“You sure? This new Greek place downtown looks good. They have gyros - that's one of your favourites, right?”
You swallowed hard, hating that he actually bothered to remember something about you. It made you second-guess your thoughts on the last several months.
Eventually you were able to choke out, “I'm sure. Look, I think we should call it a day on whatever this is.”
“What do you mean?” Noah responded, finally looking up from his phone.
“Don't play dumb, Noah. It's run its course. Plus, I’m ready to be in a relationship again, and not just be someone's hook-up when they have nothing else to do.”
Noah looked taken aback… and heartbroken. You assumed it was because he wasn't used to being rejected. You concentrated on gathering your belongings and getting out of there rather than his reaction.
You made your way to the bedroom door but Noah blocked you, his hands on your shoulders.
“Noah -”
“If you want to leave, I'll respect that, but you need to understand that you've never been just a hook-up to me.”
“Noah, don't -”
“I care about you. I really do.”
“Goodbye, Noah,” you said, pushing past him and doing everything in your power to not break out into a run as you left his house.
You threw yourself into work to distract yourself from all thoughts of Noah. You'd even driven to and from work without the radio on for the last few days after a station started playing a Bad Omens song. You weren't going to allow yourself to be held back by a situationship any longer.
As you made your way to your car at the end of the day, you started redownloading the dating apps you hadn't even considered looking at for months. Your plan for the evening was to make dinner, then pour a large glass of wine and update your profiles. It was official, you were back on the market you never should have taken yourself off.
The traffic was lighter than usual on the way home, and you managed to park in your favourite spot in the apartment building's parking lot. You smiled at the serendipity of it all as you slumped up the steps to your studio apartment.
Suddenly, you were stopped dead in your tracks when you rounded the corner and saw the 6’3”, tattooed figure of Noah Sebastian leaning against your front door.
Part 2
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jeanbie · 2 months
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IF I LAY HERE (WOULD YOU LIE WITH ME?) ★ masterlist.
pairing: eren x reader
genre: best friends-to-lovers-au, actor au, fluff mostly | warnings: fem!reader | wc: 2.6k
note: hey. i still love u guys and i am still pining over aot. will never stop probably. anyway, this was an older fic i wrote but i'm handing it down to eren! title is taken/inspired from chasing cars by snow patrol (my fav song)
⏤ Eren has had enough - it's been four months since he's last seen you, and he's not going to let his fame status keep him from seeing you any longer. He just hopes that you feel the same way when you see him again.
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Eren was taking a pretty big risk, he knew that.
It was risky taking any step out of his apartment at any moment; he’d think he was safe until he made it to the end of the road, earphones snug in his ears, and the flash of a camera behind the bushes in the corner of his eye blinds him back to his front door in a twisted shame. 
Granted, he’d expected it to be worse now that he'd booked a plane ticket and made a rather hasty, in-the-moment journey to the airport and on a plane with no layover. Usually when Eren takes a journey overseas, there’s at least one or two fans hiding in the corner of the suites waiting for him, or someone on the plane who’d recognise his face.
For this, he’d suck it up and take a photo. It was better to have good PR and be a little bit pissed off that he’d been discovered, than to have bad PR and to be known as the actor from Attack on Titan who didn’t give a damn about the people who essentially made him and his friends famous.
But Eren thought the risk was worth it this time. The plane touched down in a different country, and from there, it was an hour long train journey to a station he didn’t know anything about to meet a friend of yours he’d only seen in Instagram pictures.
You were at university now, a face he saw on a screen rather than a face he quite literally saw every day months before. It had been four months since Eren had seen his best friend, and fuck anybody who was going to make him wait a second longer before seeing you again.
You were his greatest risk, but it was worth it. You were worth it.
“Fuck, it’s insane to actually be meeting you right now.”
Frank is a good guy, ginger with circle glasses resting on the end of his roundish nose. He led Eren out of the train station, offering to pull his suitcase for him. “I mean, I’m a huge fan.” Followed by a sigh and a quiet, “Who isn’t…?”
Eren smiled at him, squinting in the sun as it hit his eyes in the direction of Frank’s face. “Thanks. I hear a lot about you, too.”
Frank grinned, whipping his head towards Eren. “All sexy and scandalous things, I hope. You know, none of us believed Y/N when she said she knew you. We thought the pictures were Photoshopped, you know how she is.” They both paused by the side of the road waiting to cross, “Shit, she’s gonna freak out when she sees you.”
That was three minutes ago, but Eren's still playing that sentence on a loop in his head. She's gonna freak out when she sees you.
He walks alongside Frank down one of the streets, past a redundant furniture store that quirks his brows. He’s missed it here, and how unbelievably, shockingly awful it all looks when you’re not looking at picturesque photos of it online.
“I thought you’d know that Y/N’s my best friend,” Eren says thoughtfully. He pauses as Frank does as a car zooms past when they’re about to cross. “I mean, people know. The photos got leaked, all of them.”
“Hey, give me a break,” Frank says dramatically. “I only really became a super fan three months ago. I'm more into Levi, you know how it goes. And yeah, I figured it out eventually. Finally, I understood why so many people at this uni wanted photographs with her and to be her best friend…”
Eren frowns. “Is it bad? She doesn’t tell me this stuff on the phone. I mean, they go crazy online when she posts pictures and we interact, but I didn’t…”
Frank shakes his head and grins at Eren as the words die out in his mouth.
“Nah, don’t panic. It’s not that bad. If anything, she might get a kick out of the fame. Trust, there’s always gonna be the girls who hate her because she’s friends with you and that’s like, what, threatening to their fantasy? But she loves you a lot, and a friendship like yours…it’s kinda like family, you know?”
Eren feels his stomach flip, butterflies going haywire. These butterflies are bitter and relentlessly fast, his heart racing that extra bit quicker. He likes the sound of family. He doesn’t like the way Frank implies it, because if Eren is ever going to consider you as family, it won’t be as his sister.
You’ve never been his sister, even when you became part of his family growing up on special occasions, or even just on a daily basis when you came to visit. There were times his family called you their own, but you were never his sister. It was different than that; you both knew it but never dared acknowledge it.
Frank makes small talk until they make it to the student accomodation you currently live at, and because Frank knows basically everybody, a student comes to the gate to let them both in. They’re nice and tall, wearing an Aston Villa shirt that Eren remembers looks a lot like your dad’s back in the day. Might be the same kind, might be a vintage.
He smiles at him, because maybe this guy knows Eren, but then the guy just turns back into the common room and doesn’t come out again. Frank doesn’t live here - he lives in a flat of his own around the corner, but Frank might as well be a resident here. He lets himself in towards the lift and shoots a text to one of your flatmates.
“Apparently she’s in the shower,” Frank says casually. He locks his phone, taps his foot as the lift rises, “Let’s hope she doesn’t stride out completely stark naked as you’re in there.”
He almost blushes, “Ha, yeah.”
He declines to mention the times you two have showered together, the time you went skinny dipping together when you were seventeen. Those were things that might end up getting misunderstood, and those are his memories he’d like to keep a secret. He says nothing, nothing but a thank you when he enters your flat with Frank and takes a different turn to the left whereas Frank goes right, towards the kitchen.
Your room is at the very end, your name on the door in stickers from a set you got from the market, and from inside, he hears the music in the bathroom. The door opens silently and closes with the same volume, and Eren manages to wheel his suitcase to the end of the bed and plonks himself down.
As expected from pixels on the screen, your room looks better in person - white walls and a bed set that’s white and covered with little peonies. Above your desk, Eren recognises all your photos together, new polaroids of you and the friends you’ve made at university who Eren always felt kind of threatened by. He smiles to himself, and rests his head against the wall your bed is attached to. From here, he can see the bathroom door in the mirror on the opposite wall, but he knows you’ll only see his feet when you come out.
Speaking of which; the song playing in the bathroom ends suddenly and the shower water has stopped running. Eren hears the toilet flush and his heart starts to race.
Four months of falling asleep on Facetime and texting when there was no time left in the day, and now, here he is, on your bed, waiting for you to step out and… And, then what?
Maybe you wouldn't even want him here. Maybe you were happier now that Eren was travelling the world with his other friends and film crew while you were still here, in a new city with new friends and a new life. Maybe the memory of Eren was burdensome to you. Worse - maybe he was something you felt you had to remember but didn’t really want to.
Eren's always been scared of the rejection he might receive from you. He might be a dream for fans across the world, but there’s a split second where Eren feels like he might not be good enough for you. He’s the world to other people. But you deserve the whole galaxy, and he’s afraid that’s something that he might not ever be able to give you, even with all the money and the fame.
The bathroom door opens and in two seconds, the light is shut off and he hears you sigh.
“Jesus, Frank, you gotta stop letting yourself in here without telling me,” your voice says. “Good thing I’m semi-decent. Usually I’m not.”
“No fun,” Eren teases, and silence follows. There’s a pause, and Eren cocks his head, his left cheek on his shoulder, waiting for you to click and appear in front of him.
Suddenly, he hears small but quick thuds across the carpet and Eren feels his chest tighten with a nostalgic feeling when you come into view with wide eyes, damp hair and nothing but a bra and those stupid black worn leggings you refuse to throw out.
The grin that reaches Eren's eyes now aches as he laughs at you, at the way you gape at his presence. It takes a moment, a moment of what feels like could be the rejection that Eren absolutely fears, but then you smile so wide that Eren feels it in his stomach.
“Holy shit!” you exclaim loudly, bringing a hand to your mouth as you hurry towards the bed. It dips beneath your knees and Eren rises up to a more comfortable position. “What the fuck!”
He laughs out loud, and when Eren wastes zero time in bringing you into his arms, hugging you tightly.
“Careful, my hair’s all wet,” you squeak.
“Don’t care.”
He really doesn’t. There’s probably going to be a damp spot on his clothes after, but that’s okay. You groan loudly with happiness as you hug him in return as tightly as he is hugging you, your weight on his lap and your arms around his neck.
Eren smiles so wide, sighing with content into your neck. Here, he smells the marshmallow body wash on your skin, the fragrance of your hair that kind of reminds him of Cabbage Patch babies.
“You smell good,” he mutters. You laugh quietly, squirming when his nose sniffs across your neck like one would kiss. “I don’t.”
“You do, you always smell good,” you reply. One sniff, he laughs, “See!”
“Mmm,” he plays along, “the sweet smell of planes and trains and jet lag.”
That makes you laugh, and at the mention of jet lag, Eren realises he could probably fall asleep like this given the chance. He has missed this, missed you, so fucking much. The emotions are overwhelming. 
Eren kisses behind your earlobe, and then just underneath your jaw. That’s new. Eren was always a cheek-kiss kind of best friend, but never this.
You’re not complaining. Your head drops to one side, almost giving him more access to the space free, and he occupies it. Those fucking butterflies; Eren feels sick with nerves as he kisses you, under your chin and across your neck, on that spot on your collarbone you found out tickled after Seven Minutes in Heaven in Year 8.
Maybe your fingernails in his hair are a way of you telling him to stop - it’s something he can think about tonight if he can’t fall asleep, something he doesn’t care to think about when he kisses on your actual jawline, to your cheek and the corner of your mouth, your cupid’s bow.
He moves away with a blush that matches your own, but maybe you can’t see his in the colour of your fairy lights. He plays with the dazed confusion on your face as he moves the hair from across your face to around your ears, smiling and raising his eyebrows.
“Your hair is so fucking wet,” he sniggers boyishly.
“I told you,” you shrug. You shrink, relaxed, “Fuck, why are you here? I mean, I’m literally so happy, but… Are you gonna get in trouble for this?”
“I dunno,” he admits. “Maybe, probably. I mean…the guys know I’m here. Jean drove me to the airport with Armin.”
“That’s not what I mean, though.”
Eren sighs loudly. “Yeah, I know. Frank told me all about the girls.”
“Little fucker. Is he here? I’ll punch him for mentioning it to you. It’s honestly fine. It's only a few. Most are really nice!”
“You’re my best friend for life, it’s important to me that you’re not uncomfortable by--”
“I’m not,” you assure him, hands trapped in his hair. You frown and try to change the subject, “Damn, this got long. Didn’t look long over the phone.”
“I've been growing it out,” Eren replies. “Heard you fancied Keanu Reeves, couldn’t handle the competition.”
“Ha!” you retort. “Simp.”
“For you,” frowns Eren dramatically.
Conversation fizzles comfortably, to the point where you both forget that Eren's underneath you and your legs are wrapped like a koala around his middle.
The fact that this is normality for you both is ignored. You’ve done worse things together. Eren even knows that the bra you’re wearing now is one he bought for you, half as a joke, half not. That could be why Eren feels the way that he does, why the confusion wraps around his body and traps him.
Eren knows that the butterflies in his stomach don’t just appear because you’re his best friend he hasn’t seen in a while. He knows what they mean when they flutter when your name pops up when you’re calling him, when an interviewer tries to catch him out by bringing you up in another interview that you don’t need to be mentioned in.
Eren knows that coming here was worth the confusion, and the nerves, and the fact that this will be a headline when it gets out. EREN YEAGER GOES TO VISIT HIS BEST FRIEND…BUT ARE THEY MORE? Or worse, NETIZENS HAVE PROOF THAT A.O.T EREN IS DATING HIS BEST FRIEND Y/N…
He doesn’t want to hurt you. That’s why he feels scared. For you to be scandalised by an article online that caught him out in his feelings, he knew it wasn’t fair. Eren might be too afraid to say he’s in love, and too afraid to find out if you feel it too, if all those years of confused relations and flirtations meant anything, but he’d risk those feelings and the headlines if it meant being able to spend one more day with you.
Eren's got a week and a half with you. Something’s gotta give within this week. He doesn’t want to go back to filming with more regrets than he came here with, and so for now, he’ll just have to swallow those butterflies back down when they pour out of his mouth.
Right now, he can’t afford to be caught out. It has to be said on his own terms, when the timing is perfect. It has to be perfect, because it’s what you deserve. It has to be perfect, because if it isn’t, then Eren doesn’t think it will be worth it.
Losing you to a headline and a butterfly is out of the question. You hop off him and shrug on a jumper from out of your wardrobe. If you noticed his unease, then you didn’t mention it. He almost wants to cry, wants the confusion to go away for the night so he can enjoy being here.
Fuck.
For now, he thinks as he follows you with an arm around your shoulders out of your bedroom and towards the kitchen to meet the others, he’ll just have to fake it 'til he makes it. Just like always. Put on a face, put on a show, until it all feels worth the spillage. He can’t let the butterflies escape yet.
It has to be perfect, and until then, he’ll just have to be patient, even if it breaks his heart more by pretending.
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