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moonlight-prose · 2 years

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✦BOYS LIKE YOU | WHITE LIGHTNING AND WINE✦

a/n: yeah....so with the enabling of @karasong and me watching stranger things i've finally realized i am in love with this guy. of course me being an au addict i had to shove him into an au. so i hope y'all enjoy the start of this electric love story! i haven't been this nervous to post a fic in awhile, but i'm worried i didn't do him justice. this was also edited briefly between the hours of 4-5am so there's probably many mistakes.

summary: bandmates don't fall in love - there was so much evidence behind it (take stevie and lindsey), but there was something about eddie munson that made your heart throb.

word count: 6k

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (nickname baby is used but no description is given.)

warnings: explicit so MINORS GO AWAY, cussing, pining, mentions of alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of drugs, masturbation, pillow humping (don't look at me), voyeurism, a tiny bit of angst.

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He could remember the first night he saw you.

Standing amidst the crowd, watching the band with an expression he would later come to see every night as you played, and for a moment he swore your pupils were the same as a cats. Either that or his own eyes were playing tricks on him. Really he only caught your stare for a fleeting second before his turn was up—his fingers practically dancing across the strings. The rest of the night was a blur of alcohol and getting high in the dressing room, but that one moment…yeah that was seared in his mind.

One day later you showed up—funnily enough—standing on his front door stoop, the Hellfire flier in her hand. The words Wanted Drummer were shoved back in his face as you handed it to him, a determined glint in your eyes that told him—you weren’t leaving until he gave you an audition. Sure…they were looking for a drummer, but he wasn’t sure if you wanted to be an unknown band. Although he learned quickly to eat his words when you just so happened to be…the best fucking drummer he’d ever heard.

He barely even handed you the sticks before you were mimicking the intro to Van Halen’s Hot for Teacher. His guitar following your lead minutes later. Eddie was embarrassed to say he got hard watching you—hair flying and eyes shut—as you went on instinct alone. He’d seen drummers before, even allowed them to audition, but you…the way you became possessed by the music. He couldn’t even call it such a simple word like hot, because that sight alone was so much more. Why you wanted to be a part of his band…he had no idea.

Although with his recent luck he learned one thing. You don’t question when talent was shoved in your face, ready to follow you on the path of rock and roll.

Two and half years later and the small garage band Hellfire became well—an overnight sensation. People claimed it was Eddie’s guitar solos that could draw people to tears and send an audience roaring that did it, but even he had to give a majority of the credit to you. The only drummer who could keep up with his fast paced playing and still keep going long after he finished. Even after so long, you could still impress him with your skills. Your power was music—that now stood clear to him—but if he had to describe what other power you possessed it’d be impossible to explain.

You were a god in the shape of a woman and he was seconds away from worshiping at your altar.

The crowd's echoes filled the air behind you as the band exited stage left. You shoved your drumsticks in your back pocket of the leather pants they almost didn’t let you wear, and wiped the sweat off your forehead. A one hour show had somehow turned into three, leaving you both exhausted and exhilarated; high on the energy of the crowd. The others couldn’t say the same. Eddie looked like he was ready to pass out as he wrapped a cold towel around his hands—attempting to avoid cramps in his fingers. Although knowing him, he’d be up just as long as you. Steve collapsed on the couch, his shirt dropped on the ground and Robin…well you never know where she went off to after shows.

A part of you wondered if she secretly had a girlfriend, but you weren’t one to make assumptions.

“Great show guys!” You bit down on your tongue as Jeffery, your manager waltzed in the door. His hair was bigger than Eddies and he always wore a velvet red tux to shows claiming he needed a signature style. Really a part of him envied the four of you, never having been able to get his own band from the 70s off the ground.

Jeffery was an asshole.

It didn’t take a genius to see it.

“Thanks Jeff,” Steve mumbled into the couch cushion, his eyes shut tightly.

You wanted to bet he’d down a shot of vodka, smoke a blunt and pass out for the night. It was his nightly routine.

“Listen, I wanted to talk to you guys about your next show.” Jeff pulled up the chair in the corner of the room. “Steve, Eddie, you guys are doing phenomenal. I already told Robin about what she could do better and Baby—”

“What we could do better?” you cut him off. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean Jeff?”

He floundered for words, his eyes darting to Eddie who smirked to himself and Steve who was already passed out. “I just mean…well in terms of your clothing…”

“Don’t tell me…I don’t fit the heavy metal standard of the 1980s. No wait, I mean I don’t fit the feminine standard of what Jeff wants.” He’d said it before with enough conviction to have you ready to lug your platforms at him. “Jeffery, you can stick your standards and shove them up your ass.”

Eddie laughed. Clasping his hands together he leaned forward. “Jeff man, Baby’s style isn’t important. We dress how we want to dress because the music is the most important thing.”

“Yes but the sale revenue on records—”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure if Steve went on stage in a fucking leotard it wouldn’t help us anymore than it would hurt us.”

“Looks are not everything,” you said, loudly propping your platforms on the coffee table. “I’m sure Robin told you the exact same thing.”

Jefferey fumbled for words again, his eyes darting to Steve as if asking for any semblance of help. “She didn’t exactly give me a response.”

“Oh?” That made you curious. You were nearly certain that what Robin had to say was a variation of what you and Eddie were already telling him. The incessant need to constantly change who you were to fit in drove you up the wall, but hey…it was the 80s.

Although you supposed that didn’t make it any better.

“Jeff—” Steve sat up, his eyes bleary with lack of sleep. “We’re tired and we’ve got to hit the road in exactly…”

“One hour,” you finished for him.

He thanked you. “One hour. And Eddie is driving which means the ride will be horribly bumpy—”

“Hey!”

“So please, give us some time to rest.”

Biting back the smile when Jefferey finally relented, getting up from his seat, you felt a wave of ease push all the weight off your shoulders. For a week you’d be stuffed in the bus with the three people you were closest to; sleeping in motels along the way. Thankfully your next show wasn’t for another two weeks. Which gave you exactly five days to explore the city of New York once you arrived. Somehow Jefferey managed to book Hellfire to play at CBGB—a once in a lifetime opportunity.

The night was going well and you weren’t one to let Jeff of all people to deter it. So, with a huff you stood and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table. Right where you left them. Steve would fall back to sleep and Eddie would most likely get high until he could sleep. You swore he suffered from insomnia, but just never bothered with figuring it out—either way he’d fall asleep soon. Which left you to wait until the leftover adrenaline left your system and you could knock out until the sun came up fully.

“What’s on the agenda once we hit the road?” you asked, inhaling so deep you could feel the burn at the bottom of your lungs.

Eddie shifted to the couch where you returned to your seat, flopping down beside you and stealing the cigarette from between your lips—the red lipstick stain on the bottom of it now transferring to his lips. You’d thought of smearing his lips in red a different way…many times. But nothing ever happened on the nights where you got high together, where space wasn’t an issue and he smelled like you the next morning. Your perfume, mixing with his cologne—a scent you’d like to personally bottle.

The stirring in your stomach at seeing him take a long drag and blow it out of the corner of his mouth was what made you break eye contact. Heat spread up the base of your neck and into your cheeks.

Bandmates don’t fall for each other. It was a rule more than anything else.

For as long as you’d known Eddie you held the makings of a crush that you never let get too large. Admiring him as a guitarist and frontman was one thing. Wishing you could have him as more than simply a friend was an entirely different thing altogether. In a way, this friendship was better. You could quell the ache in your body that increased simply by being near him; forget for a moment that he was who you longed for. So, you took another drag of the cigarette and did what you did best.

You forgot for a brief amount of time about those vexing feelings.

“There’s a hotel an hour away from the city we’re stopping at.”

“Fancy I hope.”

He laughed, tapping the side of the cigarette—the ash falling onto the sleeve of his jacket. “It’s… Yeah I’m not gonna lie to you Baby it’s a shithole.”

Spluttering, you coughed to rid yourself of the damn burn that built up in the back of your throat. Laughing and smoking at the same time never went well for you, but when it came to Eddie you knew he’d suffer the same fate as you. One look in his direction and sure enough…he was laughing too. You hadn’t even started on the blunt you knew he kept in his right pocket, stashed between the last few cigarettes in his pack, yet you were giggling like you were high.

A part of you blamed how close he sat to you—his thigh pressing tightly against yours.

“Please tell me it has a cheesy name to go along with it.”

“I unfortunately can’t tell you that.”

The pout formed on your lips before you could control it. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s called Motel.”

“You would be correct,” he replied. “I wanted to rent out a castle, but in the middle of nowhere they’re hard to come by.”

Laughing, you shoved him as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Dangerous didn’t even begin to describe what this relationship was—a friendship on the very edge of becoming something more. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want anything out of this. For weeks tabloids had begun asking you the big question. Were you in a relationship with your bandmate? Did you love Eddie Munson as more than a friend? What was the scoop? That’s part of why you avoided the topic of your relationship with him; also because the thought of finally admitting what you felt terrified you to your very core.

Did you love Eddie? No. You didn’t.

You cared about him as a friend, bandmate, someone who you gave your sunsets and sunrises to. But love has always been a delicate word with a lethal meaning. Considering it was a journey on its own. One you were not yet willing to take.

“We better get ready to go,” Eddie said, tamping the cigarette out. “Hey Harrington.”

The mumbled response from Steve let you know he’d need some incentive to get up and actually head out to the tour bus. Eddie glanced at you, a knowing smile on his face, before reaching for the glass of water that was placed on the snacks table. It may have been awful of you to do this, but there wasn’t really another option. When Steve fell asleep, nothing could wake him up. You backed up as Eddie crouched beside him, the water glass tilted dangerously above Steve’s head and with one last tip of his hand you watched it spill onto his hair.

“What the fuck!” Steve shot up, knocking the glass out of Eddie’s hand and watching it fall to the carpeted floor. “You two really couldn’t have let me sleep?”

“We’ve got to go man.”

“I get Eddie being a dickhead, but Baby…really?”

You shrugged, grabbing your leather jacket that was draped over the back of the chair. “I want to sleep in a bed tonight Stevie. Not on a couch.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered, dragging himself to a standing position and yanking on the jean vest he was wearing before. He looked half dead and you were partially glad Eddie was driving.

It took thirty minutes to track down Robin, grab your belongings and load up the instruments, but eventually you were sitting in the front seat of the old run down tour bus. You were surprised the thing was still running—given how long it belonged to Eddie. The engine made odd sounds here and there and the tapes sometimes got stuck, but that simply made the experience better. You wouldn’t trade anything for sitting in the front seat, singing along to the songs that Eddie chose.

Yanking the worn down cardboard box that held the band's collection of tapes you found the one you wanted, popping it into the player as Eddie turned onto the highway. Steve snored in the back, passed out on the pull out couch as Robin was holed up in the back, curled beneath a blanket that nearly swallowed her whole. This was the life you chose for yourself. A whirlwind of traveling with people who became your family, and playing as much music as possible. David Bowie’s voice echoed softly through the bus, singing Ziggy Stardust as you left the city behind and headed towards your next destination.

Your boots were traded for sneakers, the leather pants switched out for loose jeans and an oversized t-shirt that said Hellfire on it. Eddie made them long before the band became famous; you made sure to keep it in perfect condition.

“Any stops along the way?” you asked, glancing out the slightly dirty window as the moon began to shine over the darkened highway.

“None tonight,” he said. “Although when we get into the city there’s a record store that’s like a museum. They house some of the greatest records known to man and even have some limited editions that aren’t made anymore.”

You smiled, watching him talk with his hands as he explained about which records he was looking for and which demos the band could cover. All the while Bowie continued to play, the ambiance of the night solidifying the memory in your mind along with all the others that were stored in your head. There’s a reason why it was so easy to fall in love with Eddie Munson. It wasn’t the guitar playing, or the way he looked. No, it was this—his passion that bled into everything he cared about; a magnet drawing in everyone around him.

Tape after tape was placed in the player—the conversation never dying. You could talk to him for hours on end without fail and still have more things to talk about. It’s a part of why you got on so well together. But tonight you could feel the exhaustion begin to weigh on your body—the drowsiness hitting you suddenly.

You could vaguely hear Jimi Hendrix in the background strumming on the guitar, the bus continuing to bump along the road as your eyes shut. Eddie glanced over, seeing you settle further into the seat and attempting to burrow beneath your own jacket. Steve and Robin stole the remainder of the blankets—a tradition that continued to happen each time you all hit the road. He would be up for a while and so he managed to slow the bus down in order to wriggle out of his leather jacket.

“Dammit,” he muttered, turning the wheel to avoid the random ditch on the side of the road.

He loved driving the bus that you affectionately named Clank due to its excessive noise. However, he didn’t love trying not to crash the bus which became more of a difficult feat than he originally planned. Originally it was simply used to travel between neighborhoods in order to play the smaller gigs they got. Nothing fancy. But after they got signed and started traveling further and further away from Hawkins, the bus became their home. Clank was a member of the band and everyone was adamant on not giving him up.

Draping his jacket over you with one hand, he managed to keep the vehicle stable. All the while he popped another tape in the player—another Bowie song. Slower than the last few that played. According to the map that was taped to the dash on your side, it wouldn’t take too long to arrive at the motel. He longed for a hot shower and a good night’s sleep before the routine started up again.

Glancing over at you one last time a faint smile showed up on his lips as you slept soundly; the sight, one he’d keep with him like a polaroid in his wallet.

The engine died down as he pulled the keys out—startling both Steve and Robin. Fifteen minutes ago he managed to roll down the window and smoke a cigarette, but he was already in need of another one. He decided halfway through the drive that it was Steve’s turn the rest of the way. Turning towards you, he saw you still sound asleep—the exhaustion of the show too much for you to take. He knew how you felt. Part of him didn’t want to wake you up, feeling guilty about breaking your sleep, but he knew you’d wake up in pain if he allowed you to keep sleeping in the crappy chair.

Shaking your shoulder, he whispered your name, trying to be as gentle as possible. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb running along the skin and that seemed to be what woke you up. You groaned, eyes fluttering open to meet his own and Eddie swore he’d never seen a prettier sight in his life. He wanted to kiss you. Whisper how much he cared for you against your parted lips, but knew that, that would be entering dangerous territory.

A place he swore to stay away from.

Shifting, you felt a slight pain hit your neck—the awkward angle you slept in causing stiffness in your limbs. You should have waited until you got here to fall asleep. Although seeing Eddie’s eyes as your first sight after the small nap pushed away the slight annoyance, replacing it with a flurry of butterflies. You didn’t expect him to be that close to you, but there he was. Smiling at you—his thumb pressing into your cheek softly enough to elicit a sigh from you.

“Hey sleepy head,” he said, pulling away much to your disappointment. “We’re here.”

“Where’s here exactly?” Steve asked from the back, his voice deeper from sleep.

“The motel.”

Robin groaned as she stood, reaching for her bag and heading out the already open door. “This place is a shithole,” she called from outside.

You grinned, knowing that if it was her saying it…then it was absolutely the truth. Grabbing your bag, pillow, and blanket slowly you followed Steve out of the bus—nearly turning right around as you saw the state of the motel. Sure it wasn’t the Ritz but it certainly had…no appeal. The outside looked as if it hadn’t seen humanity in decades and you weren’t so hopeful about the interior. You spotted Robin talking to the manager, her instrument bag strapped to her back; she never went anywhere without her bass guitar.

“This place really is a shithole,” you muttered, staring at the half broken sign that flashed the letters MO.

“At least it’s got a cheesy name.” Raising an eyebrow you watched Eddie slip on his jacket that had been on top of you. “You’re gonna tell me MO isn’t a cheesy name?”

“I rather like the name.”

“Well there you go Baby.”

You threw a last glance at Clank, hoping he’d stay safe until the morning hours—protecting your drum-set—before heading inside. Steve tossed you the room keys, Robin having gone up already to pass out for a few more hours. You however must have gotten your third wave of energy that made your nerves jump. But even you knew that most of it was due to the way Eddie kept looking at you—glancing back to make sure you were still there. The feelings you continued to shove down never stayed down for long. In fact, they grew the longer you were near him.

“You and Eddie are sharing adjoined rooms.”

Stopping, you felt your heart rate spike. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a door connecting it.” Steve yawned, the dark lines underneath his eyes now showing prominently against his skin. “I’m going back to sleep. Try not to be too loud.”

“What do you think we’re gonna do Harrington?” you called after him, lips turning up into a smirk.

“Don’t know! Don’t care!”

You laughed, spinning around to face Eddie who was shoving the small black notebook he carried around into his back pocket. For two years you’d seen him scribble all kinds of things in there. Whether it be song lyrics, words, numbers, but you’d never truly know what was inside of it. You knew not to ask. For him it would be like asking to see the inside of a diary—the inside of a soul that should never truly be viewed by another human being. That was solely for him.

“Shall we Munson?”

He nodded, a smile flashing across his face as he trailed after you up the stairs. The motel was only two stories and you and Eddie’s rooms were next door to each other. Saluting at him, you swung open your door to see a single queen size bed with one nightstand and a desk on the other side of the room. The curtains were frayed at the bottom, the window slightly cracked, but it would do for the night. You dropped your bag on the bed, pulling out the sheets you traveled with everywhere and the extra pillow you had.

You were never one to trust the bed inside of motels that could be the star of a horror film—this one in particular bearing a resemblance to a motel you’d seen before. So, you stripped the bed and threw on the queen size sheets you brought, your two pillows going on top. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

The door that was nestled in between the bathroom and the closet creaked open behind you, causing you to jump.

“For fucks sake Musnon!”

He laughed, his head poking into the room. “Don’t worry I’m not here to murder you.”

“You scared the shit out of me!” you said, tossing a shoe at him. It hit the wall with a thunk, making him laugh harder.

“Should I keep it locked or…”

Shrugging, you thought about the possibility of keeping it open all night. You’d shared a room with him before. Hell you shared a room with the entire band before, all crammed in tight together, but this felt different. As if the line you’d both been walking on was suddenly hazy. Until you could no longer tell the difference between dating and just a friendship. You glanced at him, seeing the same look in his eyes that he’d worn the first time he saw you play—the look you dreamed about at night.

“Up to you,” you said, reaching for the t-shirt you slept in.

The bathroom door shut softly and you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. You could see the tiredness in your eyes, your red lipstick now gone from when you’d put it on earlier. The show was a success, each song performer perfectly, and that alone is what made up for the exhaustion. What made you smile even though you felt like you’d still feel this way tomorrow. You began to wash your face and arms, cleaning yourself of the day’s grueling activities. You’d shower in the morning, too worked up to actually do anything except lay down tonight.

Eddie had left the door cracked a tiny bit open—a bold move on his part—but one you found you didn’t mind. His bed was probably mirrored to your own, far enough away to not see you or hear you. Good enough, you thought.

“Goodnight Eddie,” you whispered as you fell back into the bed, your eyes trained on the pale white ceiling.

An hour and a half. That’s how long you’d been staring up at this fucking ceiling, trying to go to sleep. You couldn’t figure out why your mind still raced, your body more alert than it had been this morning. All you knew was that if you didn’t sleep soon, you’d be in hell tomorrow—having to drive at least a quarter of the way to the city. You couldn’t drive the bus on no sleep. Not after the last near accident you got in after the show in Kentucky; sleep deprivation going on the third day.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you kicked the blanket off, your mind going back and forth. No matter how many times you tried to focus on just sleeping, it continued to fall back on the one thing you couldn’t stop thinking about. Eddie. For some unknown reason you couldn’t stop yourself from replaying the conversation on the couch. There was nothing special about it, nothing different from every other conversation before, but every time you thought about it…your heart raced.

You sighed again. “Fuck it,” you muttered.

Dragging the t-shirt up, you slipped off your underwear and felt how wet you were. The thoughts of him, of what you wanted to do with him, continued to play in your mind, causing your insides to tingle. You were an impatient person with a voracious need for relaxation and you didn’t hesitate to slip your fingers in between the axis of your legs. Sighing softly as your fingertips ran up your slit with a gentleness only you could give yourself.

You were practically dripping into your palm as you quickly found your clit, circling it slowly with measure strokes. It wouldn’t take you long at all to get off. Only you felt something shift in your body—the incessant need to be filled—and knew that tonight might be harder than others. Biting down on your lip to smother your moan, you pressed harder on your clit, sliding your slick up onto it with practiced ease. Heat spread from your chest down to your stomach, your muscles tightening with each swipe of your fingers, but it wasn’t enough.

Whimpering, you sunk your middle finger into your pussy and felt your walls immediately clamp down. The slick sound of you pumping into yourself echoed off the walls and you should have been embarrassed at it. Should have stopped, but you couldn’t. Not when the orgasm was building up in your veins.

Adding a second finger, you sped up the thrusts of your hand, pressing your palm down on your clit for the added friction. By now you would have been closer than before. Only it just kept building and building; the pleasure mounting until you couldn’t discern where it started and you ended. Three more thrusts into your pussy and you were ready to scream in defeat—the pleasure fading the more you tried to grasp for it.

“Fuck,” you spit, trying to keep quiet, fearful of Eddie hearing you.

You were panting by the time you got to your knees, your slick coating the top of your inner thighs. The room felt hot, but you knew it was the built up adrenaline in your veins causing it. Still you yanked off the t-shirt, discarding it to the side as you reach for the spare pillow you brought. You’d only been so desperate to do this a few times before, but tonight you couldn’t turn away the opportunity. It had been weeks since you got a room to yourself; the budget only gave you enough for two rooms maximum.

Straddling it you felt the seam press against your already soaked pussy, your pulsing clit pressing against it lightly and you wanted to sob with relief. If you had the time, you’d bring yourself to two maybe three orgasms, but tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight you simply needed what would be the equivalent of a quickie. You wondered why you didn’t find someone after the concert; a cute guy to help you scratch that itch that was building up in your body.

Except then you saw his face in your mind. His brown eyes that stirred your insides up and made you want to tell him the truth about how you felt.

“Eddie,” you sighed, rolling your hips down and biting back a moan as sparks jolted up your spine.

Your breath stuttered, catching in your throat as you continued, the seam of the pillow running against your clit better than your fingers could. Your eyes fluttered shut, hands running up your naked body to toy with your own nipples. Suddenly your mind formed an image of him. Of his hair spread out on the bed as you rolled your hips not against a pillow but against his tongue that eagerly lapped at your pussy. A moan escaped you—soft enough to remain silent—and you bit down so hard on your lip you swore you tasted copper.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered when you could feel the building orgasm starting to grow again in your body. Your walls clenching down around nothing as you tugged on your nipples. Hips stuttering and heat filling your body, you welcomed the nearing release. Begged for it. Your movements became quicker—more stunted—as you chased what you desperately needed; his name, another breathy moan on your lips.

“Fuck, fuck,” you whispered, falling forward onto the bed and digging your nails into the sheets.

The bed springs were squeaking slightly, the breath leaving you in pants, but you couldn’t give a shit. Not when you were right there. You imagined what it’d be like to see his face between your thighs, to hear his moans as he sucked your clit into his mouth. Fuck, you even pictured him pressed you down further until his nose was buried in your pussy—your slick coating his face. You couldn’t breathe; your chest tightening with each short thrust of your hips.

“Cum for me Baby.” His voice rang in your head and finally the taught string snapped, flooding your body with a white-hot bliss.

A choked moan of his name left your lips, but you cut it off by clamping your hand over your mouth, quieting your noises so you wouldn’t wake him up. Even as your thighs shook and your pussy pulsed, your orgasm rushing through you, you continued to remember that this wasn’t supposed to happen. You shouldn’t have let it get this intense. Not when he was asleep in the other room.

Finally you felt your walls stop clenching around nothing, the steady thrum of pleasure in your body dulling down until you were able to gather your bearings again. You sighed in contentment, feeling the exhaustion return after so long and knew it wouldn’t take you long at all to fall asleep.

Only you never truly noticed the man standing (practically leaning) against the wall as he tried to remember how to breathe. Eddie had gotten up when he heard his name, thinking you were having a nightmare. You got them frequently over the years—even though you liked to pretend you didn’t, but now he was the one who couldn’t move. He knew it was wrong to watch as you brought yourself to an orgasm; knew that he should have shut the door the second he saw you naked kneeling in your bed.

Except…then you said his name again.

His brain short-circuited as he watched you play with yourself, your hips grinding down on the pillow like you were desperate for it. Fuck, he was desperate for it—the apparent bulge in his boxers now painful from being ignored. He couldn’t tear his eyes off you; the goddess he believed you to be now proven before his very eyes. When you fell forward, your eyes fluttering shut, he nearly interrupted you to ask—almost beg—if he could taste you. Worship you on his knees and pray like a penitent soul.

Stumbling back, he locked himself in the bathroom, images of you flashing in his mind. This was wrong. All of it felt wrong. But that didn’t stop him from yanking down his boxers and wrapping a hand around his red and leaking cock. He leaned a hand against the wall, biting into his arm as he furiously pumped his length, practically tasting his release on the tip of his tongue. The way you fought against making any noise pained him. He wanted to know what you sounded like, how you felt. Eddie was trapped under your spell, but there was nowhere he’d rather be.

“Fuck Baby,” he sighed, swiping his thumb along the tip of his cock, spreading his own precum downwards.

He could feel the tendrils of his orgasm begin to wrap around his body, shoving him forward with every pump of his hand. Biting down even harder, he knew the skin would bruise. It was inevitable at this time. But he felt no pain—the pleasure numbing his brain as he did whatever he could to chase the release that nearly made his body float. Your voice whispering his name filled his mind; the sight of you coming undone bringing him unspeakable amounts of pleasure. And with a final pain grunt, he felt his balls draw up, his cock pumping out cum all over his hand.

Eddie’s eyes shut tightly, his hips jolting forward as he imagined filling your pussy—imagined the sight of him leaking out of you afterwards. He stroked himself until pain replaced the pleasure and even then he continued until he couldn’t take it anymore. Groaning, he watched the last of his cum dribble out onto his hand, falling onto the toilet below—his body nearly shaking from the overstimulation.

It was only when he finished cleaning up, heading back out into the room and catching sight of you curled up in bed did the guilt start to settle in his stomach. The shame of what he just did now nagging at him. He should have walked away. Ignored the sight of you and he wasn’t sure what to do now. How could he look you in the eyes tomorrow? How could he laugh with you about trivial things when he knew what you looked like at the peak of pleasure?

He wanted to throw himself off the roof, burrow in the room and never come out. Running a hand down his face, he tried to calm his erratic heart beat. Except nothing would shake him out of this. Tomorrow he’d sit in the bus with you, he’d try to keep himself busy, because as much as he liked to ignore it…he knew for a fact that he couldn’t handle a world where you rejected him. And maybe that was the truly fucked up thing about all of this.

He loved you so much he was scared shitless to even admit it to himself.

Dropping into the bed, he stared at the clock that hung on the wall opposite him. He’d have to be up in a few hours with everyone else to start driving again. A never ending routine that he loved wholeheartedly, but even he knew tomorrow would be a different kind of hell. Tomorrow he’d have to once again pretend like the feelings he kept buried deep weren’t there at all. Only this time it was worse, because he finally knew something he didn’t before.

You liked him too.

#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson series #eddie munson #stranger things #my writing #SHOVING THIS INTO THE VOID AND DIPPING

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jvstheworld · 6 months

Text

My Ted Lasso Re-watch: S1E7 (part 5)

Make Rebecca Great Again

Sassy is a good friend to Rebecca. She came because she knew something was wrong and wanted to support her, without being asked.

Rebecca was lead on by Rupert but she stayed that way. She was strong enough to fight back, but didn't. She believed him more than she cared about herself.

If you haven't seen Brendan Hunt sing Bad Romance, then you are missing out. Search Thundergong on YouTube. It will be there and is worth every second. Also watch Jason Sudeikis sing too, he's really good.

As much as I hate the song Let It Go, Hannah Waddingham fucking kills it.

Roy singing along because he has watched it thousands of times with Pheobe, and loves it.

The lyrics are hitting hard for Ted after letting his wife go. Causing his first proper panic attack. As someone who has had many a panic attack over the years, it's fairly accurate.

Ted is so lost in his panic attack he loses track of time as Rebecca has finished her song, grabbed her coat and followed Ted outside. The show makes it seem like it's been a few seconds, when it's probably been a few minutes.

Rebecca is the one that brings him out of it, leading to their second emotional moment in the show. It makes her see him in a vulnerable way, and she is very sympathetic to him. He is humanised to her instead of being some weirdo American who makes odd references and dumb dad jokes. She starts to like him more and understand him. She is so soft and tender towards him. My heart hurts for him.

Sudeikis acts the hell out of this whole scene. This man's dramatic acting has been slept on. Seriously, he's great at comedy having made a successful career from it, but these emotional scenes, God damn man. Give him more dramatic roles.

But then Ted is back in a t-shirt and sweatpants and I'm back to thirsting. Sad boi is still a hot boi, especially with more hand porn. I'm a simple woman, I see Jason, I thirst. And I know I'm not alone in that.

Ted signs the divorce papers. Someone hug this man, please. And the small smile he makes in the mirror, it isn't for him, it's for Michelle. She can be happy now, he can do this one thing for her to let her be happy.

Sassy talks about taking 18, young, handsome men home, but then ends up going to Ted's room. Same girl, same.

Rebecca approves of Roy and Keeley.

The song choice is on point. Strangers into friends is Ted and Rebecca, friends into lovers is Roy and Keeley, and strangers again is Ted and Michelle.

I would be just as confused as Keeley if someone kiss me that way and then walked away.

Rebecca and the waiter, get it girl.

Ted being a sweetie and texting Rebecca, saying thank you. Also this episode takes place at the end of March.

Sassy just walking into Ted's room without saying a word is a damn power move. Ted's face as she did it, my guy didn't have a clue. It's so adorable. Though, I am interested in how it all went down after the door closed, like not the graphic details, but just how they got to that point. Because as it's later revealed, Ted can fuck. I just want to know how they got there.

#ted lasso #rebecca welton #keeley jones #roy kent #sassy collins #coach beard #Jason Sudeikis needs to stop making me feel emotions #Resisting the urge to hug Ted at every sad moment #But he seriously needs it #Ted Lasso canonically can fuck #ted lasso rewatch #tv show thoughts

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anurapoda · 1 year

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Overworked

Content Warnings: sickfic, snot, limp body

Words: 2 162

I have never watched any of the people in this fic. However, it was a request and I needed to get some practice with writing sickfics so why not! I'm semi-proud of it given it was a first attempt back in November :)

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False was fine. Really! She didn’t know what all the fuss was about. Sure she hadn’t been able to sleep for more than an hour at a time this past week, but that’s just because she was so excited to get her mega base done and had absolutely nothing to do with the mucus that threatened to clog her nose and impact her breathing.

And yes, maybe she had a small headache from the lack of sleep, but she was taking regen potions to help and they were working! Sure they’re not as effective as they were a few days ago, but they still worked and she thought that was a win.

Ok, maybe her legs feeling as though they were going to fall out from under her every time she stood was an issue, but they hadn’t given out yet so they were probably fine. If she kept saying it then it must be true. False was absolutely fine!

So why was it that Stress and Cleo began coming around more often recently? Of course she didn’t mind, she loved the company of her fellow hermit gals, but they seemed to be pulling her away from her mega base more and more frequently. At first it was to help them with simple tasks that she was sure they didn’t need a second pair of hands for, but recently they’ve just been taking her away from her build just to relax.

Usually she’d be thrilled to hang out with the girls over a cup of coffee and cake, but she had stuff to do gosh dangit!Roofs to finish, materials to grind, monsters to slay, she didn’t have time for daily hang-out sessions!

Not that she’d dare tell them that, they were just being friendly, and maybe worrying about her well being even if she didn’t understand why. As she said, she was completely and utterly peachy so long as you ignored all the signs that she wasn’t.

And ignored them she did. So well in fact that she didn’t realise when the potions stopped working, or when the tissue pile doubled in a single day, didn’t realise when her legs gave out of her while she was dozens of blocks in the air finishing off a roof. She was fine, sure she was quickly plummeting towards the ground, but she’d respawn and be fine! Right?

She never did respawn, never hit the ground either. She doesn’t know what happened, but one moment she was falling and the next she was being held in someone's arms and they were whispering in her ear. What were they saying? She couldn’t tell over the pounding in her head, she thought they sounded nice though.

The person who was holding her must have said something important, because they seemed to be poking her to get her attention. False giggled and gave a nod, she didn’t know what they were asking but they figured that they wouldn’t do anything bad to her. Even if they did, she was False, the best fighter on the server! She could take them once she found her legs again.

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Cleo sighed as False only giggled and gave what she assumed was a nod in response to her words, though it was hard to tell since the woman's head just hung limply against her chest. At least that movement confirmed she could hear the zombie.

Readjusting the eagle-hybrid so she could better support her head, Cleo fumbled to pull out her communicator and scroll to Stress’s contact. The woman in her hand continued giggling and making incoherent sounds as she attempted to type a message, only to give up after the first word and call the flower-fey instead.

The device rang, once, twice, three times before Stress’s bright eyes and flower laced hair popped up on the screen.

“Cleo! How are you? Ain’t you ‘posed to be wif Falsie?.” The brunette exclaimed, sitting back on what the zombie assumed was a chair.

“Mhm, I am.” Cleo said with a small smile, turning the comm so Stress had a better view of the avian in her arms. “Seems we underestimated how much she was working, came by and found her falling from her build.”

“Oh my gosh.” Stress sat up straighter as she leaned in to get a better look at False. “Is she ok? Oh gosh of course she ain’t, I can be there in five, did the poor thing break anyfing?”

“Nope, I caught her before she hit the ground.” The zombie commented as she watched her friend scurry to gather supplies on the other side of the screen. “She’s limp though, and maybe a bit delirious?”

“Why’d you think that?”

“She’s giggling a lot and can’t really form words, it would probably be cute if not for the fact she almost splatted.” Cleo gave a half-hearted laugh as the brunette on the other end equipped her elytra with a nod.

“Ok dear, I’m on my way now with some stuff. Could you get her to her bedroom?” Stress asked as she counted rockets, barely casting a glance to Cleo when she gave a hum of acknowledgement before hanging up.

Turning her attention back to the currently limp eagle in her arms, Cleo shoved her comm in a pocket and adjusted her grip so False’s wings weren’t dragging along the ground as they walked towards the entrance of her base.

“I swear to the void False, if you put your bedroom at the very back of this damned castle I’m going to make you sleep on the couch.” She half joked as she ascended the stairs.

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False didn’t know what was happening, all she knew was that whoever was holding her was a bit cold. She tried to comment on this fact to whoever it was, but they didn’t seem to hear her, instead they said something about a castle. Were they complimenting her castle? She giggled, it was a nice castle, and once she could see clearly again and continue her work it would look even better.

The blonde groaned as her wing hit something hard, sending a shock of pain through her body. Whoever was carrying her seemed to mutter something akin to an apology before jostling her around more. False was prepared to groan at the movement before she felt something warm brush against her stomach, and a moment later her head hit something soft, and any complaint she may have had died in her throat as she snuggled into the feeling of comfort.

The comfort didn’t last long though, as soon after a second voice filled the room and she was being moved again. This time she was propped on her back, and faintly she realised that she shouldn’t be on her back because of her wings, but they weren’t hurting so she figured it was fine.

What wasn’t fine was when someone pried her eyes open and shined something bright in it. She tried to blink it away, but was only shushed as the bright thing moved from one eye to the other before she was allowed to shut them once more with a groan.

She also wasn’t a fan of having something metal placed in her mouth, attempting to spit it out once before a faint voice told her that they were taking her temperature. Why would they be doing that, was she sick? No, she wasn’t sick. She was False, she never got sick! Though her head was a bit foggy and her nose may be clogged, that wasn’t because she was sick though.

The blonde tried to listen to the voices above her, they seemed to be talking about someone needing rest. Did one of the Hermits overwork themselves again? Typical. No one would catch her overworking herself like that, she was great at self-care.

Something was nudged against her lips as a voice coaxed her to drink, so she did. The feeling of a potion against her tongue registered immediately, the bitter taste of something she couldn’t quite place at the moment causing her already numb body to somehow become more numb as her brain drifted further. Soon the voices around her drowned out, and she was welcomed by dreams.

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False woke up a few times in the following days, usually she wasn’t aware enough to feel the food being slipped down her throat, always swallowing it absentmindedly before slipping back into slumber. It was three days later in the dead of night that she awoke, aware of her surroundings.

Her first though was how she had gotten into her bedroom, she remembered falling so maybe she respawned? Though that didn’t seem right, she hadn’t been sleeping in her bed recently, instead opting for her temporary set-up closer to where she was working on her base.

The question didn’t linger however, as she sat up to the sight of the moon high in the sky outside and two additional bodies cuddled in the far corner softly snoring. She gave a small smile at the sight of Cleo and Stress, their limbs tangled in such a way that she couldn’t tell where one's arm began and the others ended.

Swinging her legs off the bed, the blonde pushed herself to a standing position only to stumble, grabbing her nightstand to balance herself as the plant that sat on it crashed to the floor. Swerving her head to look at the girls in the corner, her breath hitched she saw a pair of hazel eyes staring back at her.

“I’m ok, you can go back to sleep.” She whispered, glancing at the green skinned figure next to Stress who was still asleep, much to the woman's relief.

Stress, predictably, ignored her and slowly unwrapped herself from Cleo before making her way to the blonde and guiding her back to bed with a small yawn. “How ya feeling, love?”

“I’m fine.” She replied, ignoring the fact that her legs once again gave out on her, and the bin she had seen beside her nightstand filled with tissues - void she hoped that her friends didn't have to help clean up her mucus, the very idea made her stomach twist.

The woman in front of her sighed as she hoisted her small frame onto the bed and gazed at the blonde. “False, dear, you’ve been asleep for three days, you’ve been running a temperature the entire time, and Cleo had to catch you mid-air so you didn’t die after you fell from your roof.”

The woman in question made an O with her mouth. Is that what had happened? She couldn’t really recall what had happened in the past few days, sure she knew she hadn’t been feeling well but surely it wasn’t bad enough for her to fall off her build.

“You need to take better care of yourself, love.” Stress smiled, caressing the others cheek. “I know you’re real excited about your base this season, but it’s not worth overworking your body to the point of it giving out on you is it?”

False stayed silent for a moment, pressing her lips together in thought before sighing in defeat. “No, it isn’t. Sorry Stress.”

“It’s ok dear.” The brunette pressed a kiss to the blonde's temple. “Cleo and I are just glad you’re ok.”

“I’d personally be more glad if someone hadn’t decided to be an idiot and get themselves sick.” Someone piped up. The two women on the bed quickly turned their attention to find Cleo fully awake, sitting forward with a sleepy smile on her face.

“Ah, sorry for waking you Cleo.” False murmured.

“All good.” The zombie replied, standing up to stretch before making her way towards the bed. “Now push over will ya, your floors are freezing.”

Scooting closer to the wall, Cleo joined False on the bed. Stress lingered on the edge for a few moments before Cleo groan and dragged her between the two, snuggling into the much smaller woman's side.

“Now sleep.” She muttered, reaching around to lazily pat False’s cheek. “And next time you decide to be an idiot, try not to fall off a tower.”

Snorting, the blonde grabbed the zombie's hand that had somehow managed to miss her cheek entirely and was instead patting her forehead. Guiding it down to her cheek, she snuggled into it with a smile. “Course Cleo, I’ll be more careful next time.”

The other woman muttered something in response that False couldn’t hear, though the brunette between the two clearly did if her poorly concealed laughter was any indicator.

“Night Cleo, night Stress.” False whispered, leaning into the laughing form in front of her. The other two muttered their responses as they all dozed off once again. And maybe, just maybe, False was now willing to admit that she hadn’t been ok. Afterall, she didn’t know of any ok people who fell from their builds because their limbs gave out on them - Scar didn’t count.

#anurapoda #oneshot #hermitcraft fanfic #constructive critism welcome #falsesymmetry #zombiecleo #stressmonster101

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boliv-jenta · 1 year

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You Say Hate But I Think You Mean The Other Thing.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Warnings: smut. Full warnings under the cut.

Slight Dub Con vibes. Dave treats reader like his property. Male masturbation. Female masturbation. Tit job. Dirty talk. Sexting. A little F/F. F!receiving oral. Cum eating.

Five weeks. Five weeks of avoiding Dave. Five weeks of dealing with unanswered questions. Why did he leave his wife? His girls meant everything to him. He would have put up with Carol until the end of time for them.

Your phone vibrated, another text from a number marked as unknown but you knew exactly who it was.

You're pissing me off. God knows what I'll do to you when I find you.

You sent back a simple reply.

IF you find me.

While you were there you skimmed his other texts. Some teasing. Some threatening. There were a few pictures in there too. One of his cock, hard, red and glistening with pre come. With the words 'See what you fucking do to me.'

Then there was one of him holding his hard cock while a fresh load glistened on his stomach. "I need somewhere to dump all this cum."

The last one was a gif sent yesterday. A gif of his cock pumping in and out of some random pussy. He'd sent you a whole video too. Of her sucking his dick, his hands squeezing her tits, his thumb on her clit as he fucked her. You had to admit he had great taste in woman, she was gorgeous. Her breathy moans in her accented English, helped you cum around your vibrator as you tried to take the edge off. Dave was not going to win. You weren't just going to go running to him because he divorced his wife.

The gif played over and over as you pumped three fingers in your wanting hole. You came with a cry of his name.

A few days later a package arrived at the hotel your were at. You recognised the hand writing immediately. Looking around the foyer, you scanned for any sign of Dave. Your heart drumming in your chest as you did so.

It didn't let up until your were safe in your room. Opening the plain brown wrapping you found a vibrator. The brand you prefered, the one than had been wedged between your legs more times than you could count lately, but a new model. A note inside read 'I though you might have worn the old one out.'

Still in a heighten state of anxiety, the vibration of your phone made you jump. It was from him, am audio file attatched this time. Pressing play you heard a familiar buzzing then an even more familiar moan finished with a cry of 'Dave'. He'd been listening as you got off to his video.

You didn't know how to feel about that. Scared? Aroused? Violated? Thing with Dave were always intense this was the first time he made you feel uneasy. Not one part of you was okay with letting it lie.

The bar was quite the only sound came from the hurried conversation of hopeful speed daters. The ping of a little bell at the end of each round followed by the squeaking of chairs and shuffling of feet.

"First time at one of these things?" You made polite conversation when the woman you were watching finally approached the bar.

"Yeah. I haven't dated since high school. I'm recently divorce." She told you easily.

"I'm not surprised." She just blinked at you in confusion.

"Sorry I meant about the not dating since high school. Not the divorce thing. I'm guessing you married your high school sweetheart? I'm not surprised, you're beautiful. You probably had guys queueing up in high school." A deep blush settled on her cheeks. "Sorry. That was...Can we start again. I'm Melissa. Same as you, married young."

She relaxed at your awkwardness. "Hi Melissa. I'm Carol." When she shook your hand, you made sure to linger for a second. "I thought I was ready to get back out there. Try new things. Turns out speed dating is a little too fast for me. And these guys...."

You pulled a face and she giggled into her drink. "Do you want to finish our drinks over there?"

Three more drinks were finished. As you told her the tale of your divorce and she confessed hers. "....I was just afraid that the kids could tell. I tried to act like the love was still there. My husband, ex-husband, is a great guy, he travels a lot for work so it wasn't too hard to fake it for the girls. It was just when it came to the quite moments alone, there wasn't anything there for me. Even the sex..." She straightened at the realisation of what she had said, when you didn't flinch she carried on. "...he always took good care of me but there was no connection there. I missed making love." Downing the last of her drink she looked at you timidly. "Plus I wanted to try some wilder stuff." Her hand came to rest on yours. And that is how you came to be in possession of an video of your tongue buried in Dave's ex-wife's cunt.

The alcohol had made her bold so you figured why not. The way she reacted when you kissed her, you were almost sorry she didn't get Dave's A game. Carol didn't come to play. Her tongue rolled against yours as her hands gripped your waist. Taking her to the bathroom you got her to hope up on the sink before giving her a little something to ease your very slight guilt at screwing her husband for two years. It was actually her idea to film it. Which your phone instantly snatched from hers. She thanked you for the new experience and happily went on her way. She didn't even ask for your number. Your pussy eating game was flawless so you knew it wasn't you. Maybe Carol just wanted to hit and quit now. Good for her.

Between a few more drinks at the bar, a session of breaking in your new toy and passing out in your hotel room, you managed to send the video to Dave.

A fact that you weren't aware of until you woke up with something heavy between your legs. Coming to, you clenched around it. Jesus, had you really passed out with the toy inside you?

"Wake up, Princess." Dave's voice was like a bucket of cold water on your drunken head.

A scream of pure shock was muffled by Dave's hand clamping down on your mouth. "Shhh. There plenty of time for screaming later." He shoved the toy inside you so sharply it almost hurt. Almost. As it was it just made you see stars.

"Did you think you could shove your tongue in my ex-wife and I wouldn't punish you?" You gulped around nothing as your muscles clenched around the toy.

"Not only have you been withholding this pussy." He slammed the toy in again. "My pussy from me. You decided to tease me with eating out my ex-wife." The toy was almost uncomfortably deep now. It made your toes curl. Your fingernails drew blood from where you were gripping Dave's bare forearm as he still cover your mouth.

"You think I'd give you my cock after that little stunt? I'm gonna fuck you with this cheap bit of plastic." He plunged the vibrator in and out of you like he was unclogging a drain. It shouldn't have worked for you but the sheer force of it did. You came, moaning against his hand. "That's how fucking good I am. Even with a fake cock. I want you to remember that. Remember your place. Remember who you belong to. What I can give you. What I can take from you."

The whizz of leather on cloth sounded as he took of his belt. Finally removing his hand you gasped a breath but didn't dare to speak. Dave lifted your knees up and placed the belt underneath them. Putting the vibrator on its highest setting he shoved it back in, this time he pressed the ears to your clit as well. He'd barely moved his hand away and you came.

"So fucking sensitive." He wrapped the belt around your legs and fastened it tight. "I don't want that falling out."

He undressed as you lay there taking every sensation to the point of overstimulation. Tears streamed from your eyes by the time he straddled your stomach before spitting on your tits.

"Gonna cover you in my cum. " He panted as he slipped his cock between your tits. He held them tightly together creating a warm valley for him to use. His thumbs circled your nipples as he thrust his shaft between your breasts the red tip of it sliding out toward you.

"Tongue out." When you weren't quick enough to respond he slapped you across the face. Another orgasm drained out of you.

Lifting your head you complied with his wishes. Tilting you neck down, you managed to lick the tip whenever it got close. "My pussy. My ass. My tits. " Dave shouted as he got closer to coming. "Mouth open." Again you weren't quick enough. Again another slap.

When you opened your mouth Dave's movements sped up. "My mouth. My tongue. Oh my fucking god! Fuck. Take it." His cum shot out right up your chest, over your chin, your mouth, your tongue. Dave chased it with his own tongue. Collecting it before dumping it into your mouth and gripping your jaw. "Swallow."

You did readily.

"Good girl." He wiped the tears from your cheeks gently. Bending down he released your knees and pulled out the rabbit with a squelch. "Good fucking girl." He marvelled at the slick soaked silicone.

Between your hangover and the half a dozen orgasms all you could do was lay there. You body heavy on the bed. Dave went to the ensuite you could hear him taking a piss. He must be getting ready to head out. To your surprise he returned with an ice bucket of hot water and a wash cloth. His tongue skimmed the skin of your chest, tasting himself as well as the salt of your sweat. He licked and kissed every inch of skin before languidly cleaning between your legs with his tongue. He moaned against your folds as he lazily fucked his fist. With the water now cooler he cleaned you off. Finally, he tucked you in, pressed a kiss to you temple then left.

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #dave york x f!reader #dave york

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greatwyrmgold · 4 months

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I'm glad that ZOM 100 finally finished its first season, but Hometown of the Dead did not deserve a three-part finale special extravaganza thing. There are definitely things I like about it! Most of the main characters have or find interesting relationships with the villagers. If the three episodes had been about them, I'd be happy with the finale.

But it's not. It's about a bunch of people who had shitty lives before the zombie apocalypse, who decide to fuck up this safe village because reasons. They're supposed to be a foil to Akira, complete with their own bucket list. But that just doesn't work.

Akira's list is full of things he couldn't do because his shitty job consumed his entire life. His list is a cocktail of simple pleasures, novel experiences, and social stuff like confessing to his workplace crush or spending time with his parents.

But the villains' list is...harder to justify. Some of it is simple pleasures, if "darker" ones like shooting a real gun or taking drugs. But some of it is just "Be evil." The second entry is just "Deceive someone". No one in particular, just whoever. Forcefully French kiss a girl, because consent is apparently a turnoff. "Make a mess out of society," whatever that means in a world where society has been destroyed by a zombie apocalypse. The last episode makes a point about how this wanton destruction isn't making any of them happier, but why did they think it would?

There's not even any connection between the people's unhappy life experiences and the nasty stuff they want to do. I could sort of see the logic for a middle-aged guy unhappy with his marriage wanting to French kiss a young woman, but he doesn't; he wants to feed random people to zombies, and the one who wanted to sexually assault women was disrespected at work and then was fired after he accidentally burned the place to the ground. (I don't think there were any women in his flashback.) The businesswoman was hated for wanting people to follow The Rules, but instead of trying to uphold the rules she sabotages an electric fence and fights a weeb-samurai.

And then there's their leader, Kanta. Not only is he the one coming up with the group's plans and directing them, he's the most direct foil to Akira, from the bucket list he started to the fact that he and Akira went to the same college. If only one of the characters in this group has a coherent motivation, it should be Kanta.

Kanta hates Akira because they went to the same college, and Kanta saw Akira being happy with his friends once, even though Kanta was lonely. And then Akira asked if Kanta wanted to join them, so Kanta felt awkward and left. That's it; there aren't even multiple flashbacks to different times Akira was happy. Akira just talked with his friends when Kanta was around, probably just once, and Kanta decided he would nurse a grudge against Akira for years. And also he decided to wreck the village where they happened to meet, because he hates society so much, because he's a hikkikomori loner. And that seems to be the extent of his trauma.

At the end of the day, it's four copies of the same character. They had sad lives, so they want to do bad things. And one of them hates Akira, which is why he targeted Akira's family; he also liked going to the pool as a kid, and deep down wanted to relive that childlike joy, but that doesn't actually influence anything he does.

It would be one thing if Kanta's group was just a throwaway catalyst. Some dumb kids decide to fuck with the village, immediately get eaten by the zombies they unleash, and the climax is saving the village from zombies. But they're not.

Each individual member of the group got their own tragic flashbacks, and had to be taken down by one of the main characters in their own action scene. (Aside from the one assaulting Shizuka; she alone needed to be saved by the villagers.) Plus, Kenta is set up as a direct foil to the protagonist, and the emotional climax of the three-part season 1 finale is Akira comforting him as he dies. The villains are set up to hold up so much narrative weight, and they just can't; not only do they fail to add anything, the amount of time and focus given to them handicaps the parts that should work.

The flashbacks and monologues and half-baked parallels were the foundation of this three-part finale. It doesn't have a foundation of sand, it has a foundation of quicksand, dragging down everything in the house that should work.

#zom 100: bucket list of the dead #anime #antagonists #essay

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sufandomgirl · 8 months

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Prompt 25 x Hell's Belles Short Story

"WHHHHAAAAAAATTTT?!?!?!" the man yelled, exasperated.

The woman took a deep breath, summoned her courage, and repeated herself. "I said in my will to let me go. Find someone else who makes you happy. It was until death do us part, Kevin. I made my peace with it long before I died."

Kevin was not happy with his wife's answer. "Gabriella, if this is about Eleanor, I told you that I have urges as a man. Same as when you didn't want to put out."

Gabriella crossed her arms. One of several things she didn't miss about Kevin. "Even when it's entirely your fault, you still blame me. You didn't even want to be married to me. You felt trapped, you told me so, yourself. I died, Kevin. Send me back so that you can go be with Eleanor or whatever woman you manage to gain attention from for more than five minutes."

Kevin groaned. "What were you even doing in the afterlife that was so important not to come back and serve me?"

"Not being a slave to you. Reuniting with dearly missed family members. Exchanging stories with my Nana. Spending time with my mother. Being happy for the first time since I married you." Gabriella put fingers up with each point she made.

Kevin raised his hand to strike her. She braced herself. Before his blow could land, he screeched in pain. Gabriella dared to open her eyes and an arrow made of golden light was sticking out of Kevin's forearm. She snapped her head in the direction of the archer. She let go of the breath that she was holding. Apollo. Sure, she lived in her own Paradise, but she had always been fascinated by Greek myths.

"Apollo!" Gabriella exclaimed excitedly. He smiled at her, unleashing another arrow at Kevin, this time hitting the writhing man on the floor in the stomach, causing even more pain. A third found itself in a rather...conspicuous place.

Gabriella gasped. Apollo came to her. "Gabriella, he can't hurt you anymore. If he dies, he's going to try to appeal down at the Hellp Desk. They're going to either laugh or beat the shit out of him, probably both.

"H-h-h-he b-brought me back to life. Who knows what else he could do? I'll never be safe from him, Apollo." Gabriella's eyes welled up with tears.

Apollo shook his head and reassured her. "Gabriella, he only 'succeeded' in bringing you back to life for half an hour. The clock started ticking since you opened your eyes. It was a simple mistake made by an intern who I promise you did not want to put you back into an abusive relationship. They went to their superiors right away once they realized. I was summoned to go through the Veil and make sure that once it expired, you met your second demise peacefully. Also, I want to help you because I'm your boyfriend."

Gabriella blushed. She couldn't help but fall for Apollo's charms and had become his partner. She suddenly remembered something and set off to finish some things that she wish she had before her first death. She sent her real will to an attorney anonymously so that her relatives would be taken care of and Kevin's family got nothing, as he forged a gaudy-looking second will that she was surprised anyone believed. Apollo had finished off Kevin, finally shooting him in the head and after some time, Gabriella re-entered the room and before she could make it to Apollo, collapsed and lost consciousness.

She woke back up on Olympus, where she had previously been before being resurrected, conversing with Athena. Her eyes met those of the goddess, filled with worry and relief to see her waking up. "Athena?"

The goddess nodded, cradling her in her arms. "What happened? Where did you go?"

Gabriella winced as a flash of light to Athena's right entered her peripheral vision. Suddenly, Apollo was back and he joined Athena.

"Thanks for watching out for her, Athena. I was very sad to see how scared she was that her ex may come for her after 'successfully' resurrecting her. Abusive bastard. I made sure he was dragged to the Hellp Desk where he'll be dealt with."

Athena met her eyes once again with sadness. Gabriella looked away. "If I could feel my legs right now, I'd ask to be put down."

"The Front Death-k said that that's normal after being brought back for any amount of time. It should only last a few minutes. The intern who mistakenly allowed it profusely apologized and accepted disciplinary action. The Hellp Desk said they'd be reaching out with a custody arrangement to send him to Tartarus."

[A/N: These two will appear in ongoing Hell's Belles fanfictions]

#prompt #story #writing prompt #hell's belles #lily #bel #hellp desk

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bemylord · 3 years

Text

↠ toji with a virgin s/o ↞

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader.

warnings: nsfw, aged up, size kink [?], oral [fem!receiving], virgin reader, first time, lost of virginity, praising, toji calls himself daddy, grammar errors.

word counter: 3.2k

rq: I would like to request a oneshot? a hc would be appreciated too though. Toji with a virgin gf who can’t even make herself cum? Just how he would like to destroy her :)

butler's remark: (◕‿◕) hello lord, i'm back with an oneshot with toji being tremendously tender with his lover for the first time. in addition, reader is a citizen. sorry, i did it soft, bc i think toji will super-extra-super soft for the first time with his s/o, only for the first. i hope you'll like that, thanks for the request ;)

disclaimer: everything you read is purely my opinion - any detail, sketch, or event is a figment of my imagination.

you've been an ordinary citizen and had never planned to date a sorcerer or someone close to this specialty. you ain't cowardly, merely as you were thinking you'll marry a simple man and will have kids with him, and die in one day like lovebirds.

you had never considered yourself being stuck in a relationship with a sorcerer killer.

you were overworked, virtually sleeping as were walking in the empty street, dreaming to get home as soon as possible, to feel the silk sheets against your back. the area where your office was located had little street lighting, although, you hadn't felt the anxiety of being robbed or something worse. the day went lingeringly and horrible due to the boss who declared you as a temporary deputy, piled you up with a stack of papers.

but, this is life, anything might happen. all of a sudden, you overheard something behind you but as you looked back - there was nobody, as soon as you turn your head to the starting position, you saw a young, skinny man who is holding a knife in his hand.

'hmm~ look who's here, a young, gorgeous lady..' he said with his disgusting, lewd voice, coming closer to you. 'would you mind playing with me? don't be shy or els-'

you have a perky personality, no doubt, but because of how hard the day was, you had one option - run for the hills. before you could do any movements as if hit the man or run away, something prompt hit him, like a swift meteorite that you couldn't see. a cloud of dust grew around you and the man, so you hide your face in the elbow curve, covering your mouth with another hand.

as soon as the dust had settled, in front of you opened up on the view of an adult man. he was high, had an athletic, broad-shouldered, pretty impressive figure. your savior held the blade in one hand, flopped on his back.

'he ran away like a coward. don't worry, girl, you saved, thanks to me' he laughed, he stroked himself on the shoulder, as were about to leave the dead body.

'no i'm not! i'd have protected myself on my own'

you refuted his smugness, watching as he slowly moves his torso in your way, flaunting his outlining muscles through the fabric of the black t-shirt. his complacent eyes and the sharp scar over the right side of the mouth on the edge of his lips. you took a deep breath, continuing on your path as he isn't standing there, not hadn't protected you.

'you're too weak to beat even him, if not me, you'd be-'

'i am stronger as i may look'

he giggled, in a flash stood in front of you, bending over to your face, by finger tugs your face up to look at him directly in eyes, smirked.

'are you sure, girl?'

those green, almost emerald, but cold eyes looked directly into yours as two faces were as closed as you could kiss his lips.

'i'll walk you home'

'i don't want to, and anyway, maybe you're his partner in crime, leave me alon-'

previous to you had finished your phrase, he threw your tiny body on his shoulder, leisurely walking, better say, carrying you home. you beat his back, softly reminiscent of a parody of the word 'let me go, moron, i can walk by myself'

'tch, fine, idiot,' he deliberately shrugged his shoulder to close your mouth as heard the name you had given him. 'by the way, what's your name or you prefer the name idiot?' you said sarcastically.

'for you it's toji'

well.

as a result of your crawl and also being talkative when clearly you shouldn't be, you ended up being in a relationship with a man, who'd obviously fuck you on the first date, as it may count as a 'date', anywhere-anytime, by the way.

although you wouldn't ever say he isn't hot or sexy, conversely, you willingly allow him to breed, precisely you'd beg toji to breed you on the straightaway on the cervix, but for one thing.

you're a virgin.

hilariously - it's true. nothing bad to be in your age a virgin, but if you weren't dating toji it'd fine: his dirty jokes and lustful eyes which are maddening you insane, also his fucking athletic body which is outlining through the t-shirt or white cotton shirt [he wear it once] you thought he did it purposely: he knew your secret, undoubtedly could sniff your chaste nature as if you can emit fragrance.

on the second date, it had been nine days since you got acquainted with him, as you moved in with him. toji was exceedingly obsessed with every step of yours - he followed you from the work, in the mall or market, for your security and control every guy who'd be close to you.

although, you couldn't hide your addiction - he's a drug you should be careful with or you might be addicted as if you ain't. he isn't wearing pants in home, walking in front of you solely in underwear. he could walk from the shower in a terry towel wrapped around his torso as he buries his hands in his dark hair mess it up.

'what are you looking at, girl?'

you couldn't take your eyes off his bulging..

'you. just you. i'm gonna cook dinner, something.. special?'

'eggs, baby'

fushiguro put hands above the door frame, exhale and tensed every muscle, narrowing predatory eyes as you were the extraction he was target for. you're laying on his king size bed [lol i'm sorry i'm out], wondering is everything he has gotten measured in king size as he interupted your reflection by putting the knee on the edge of the bed.

'mine. in your pussy'

as if you're bewitched - you couldn't talk, just contemplate as he leisurely moves towards you. you couldn't contravene as he tugs your face to ogle in your absentminded eyes as you're avoiding his gaze, looking at the ceiling or door or even window. not. at. his. bulge.

your heart had stuck in your throat when toji ran his hand under his shirt, certainly, he has a kink of dominion, when he suddenly stopped. despite of your uncertainty and timid of subsequent play, you looked at his emerald eyes as he licks his lips with a tongue.

'are you sure, baby girl? i mean, it's your first time after all'

you quell your forthcoming question staring deeply into lascivious eyes, put hands on his massive shoulders. as you anticipated, his cock twitched as toji letting out a low groan in your ear, kissing your temple. you're absentmindedly running finger pads on his back, not knowing the proximity of bodies that are readiness wanted to intertwine together. not knowing how much it turns him on.

'stop me if i go crazy over your body, okay?'

as if. as if you dare would rip out his tongue off your crotch as he makes you his woman. toji left on your red cheeks quick kisses, took off the towel. you shut your eyes tight, still holding his shoulders barely squeeze them, letting out a hushed moan.

after you quelled your moan, toji touched your lips against his one, running fingers on your lower stomach to the cup of the breast without touching the hard nipple. light movements mixed with his muted groans. his pads deftly touched one areola as you emitted a sharp purr, arching your back a little as a dulcet sign for toji.

you dug your fingers into toji's back, as he put a finger on your hard nipple, holding himself as to grab your tits and clench it in his large hand.

you gasp for the air as if there was a catastrophic shortage of it due to the pressed body of toji. you responded at his deep kiss, wrapping hands around his neck, apparently begging for something more.

he pulled away from the kiss just to take off the shirt he has given you, baring your untouched by no one but him tits, leading palms onto breasts, skipping nipples between the gaps through fingers. he reached down to your lips to give a bit of warning kiss as he slightly bit your lip, kissing all the way down to your collarbone, finally leaving there manifestations of hickeys.

for how long toji has been stopped from leaving on your stunning skin his marks? it seems it has been absolutely not many days but toji, as you may see, clearly has to leave labels on your neck.

he dug his teeth into your neck, frantically wants your area to be dotted by him as a token for everyone meaning: she's taken, dude, don't mess up with her.

for how long toji has been stopped from touching your sensitive area as having been feel warmth and tenderness is emitted from your body?

toji squeezes your nipple imponderable, to make you feel some kind of power over you becoming submitted by toji fushiguro, a sorcerer killer, a man who owned you, spinning the pea between pads, making you let out whimpers.

'you drive me insane, little one,' he approached his face close to the breasts, touched your pea with his tongue cautiously, as not to frighten you away. 'i'm gonna make your pussy drool beneath me, completely own you as my little girl'

you feel yourself gush beneath him, burying hands in his messy hair as your breath has stuck in the throat as toji snuggles his lips on your tits, sucking your hard and probably swollen from teasing. fushiguro has made you became wet in your panties as he's moistening your breast, hearing your precipitous whimpers.

'toj-toji, i don't know-'

'tch, little girl, relax your body and let daddy do the rest'

as he pronounced, he moves down, leaving the trace of wet kisses on your stomach, massaging your hips, stopping his action to look at your red face. your chest heaves heavily every time you feel toji's silky lips on your belly as his finger pads caressing your thighs. as if something weighty is resting on your chest you take deep breathes, breathlessly exhaling.

'spread your legs'

you obediently did what he said, hesitating a bit as the only fabric holding him back to bury his mouth against your pussy, assembling all juices, tasting your cum as if it's his meal. he rested kisses on the fabric of panties, couldn't sate with tender kisses he spreads on your body.

deliberately run tongue on your labia through the thin fabric as you were about to push his hand from your crotch as toji grab you by the hips, pulling you closer. he slackens his teasing actions by kissing your inner thighs. as your cunt was lack of attention from toji, you let out a pliant whimper, approximately woefully have purred.

toji's self-restraint thinning as you're silently begging with your eyes and your hands immeasurably are burying in his dark hair. the tip of his tongue deftly sideline panties, flicked it, as he discovered a divine view on your drooling hole.

'stop me now, because i won't be able to hold back later'

teasufully kissing your labia and area around the place he should be playing with as anticipating for some pliant whimpers of you, deliberately showing you he'll lick that swollen clit, pressing a soft kiss on the skin instead. fushi's shattering your hopes of being eating every time he kissed literally everything and lick everywhere besides your hole and clit. he acts like an inexperienced teenager, notwithstanding, you know that toji'd ruin or demolish your holes like a monster.

't-toji..'

'yes, my little girl' he pressed the tip of his tongue on your clit, hearing those moans he's willing to listen for the rest of his life, then take away as you were about to press his mouth back again, digging his tongue deep inside you, although he obviously couldn't reach to your cervix, barely permeate in your hole.

'you want me to eat your little pussy?'

as if you can't talk, you nodded. scarcely reached up to take off the last thing, leisurely pulling down the panties, staring at you as a predator. toji is standing on his knee on the bed, threw your ankles on his shoulders, smooching ankles watching as to how your cheeks are becoming pinky, as you try not to look at his dick. still, you're a timid one, despite your words.

he reached to your face to give you a voluptuous kiss, returning to the starting position.

'look at your pretty pussy'

he kissed your clit in a flash replace into the tongue, making a circles on swollen and needy spot, decisively giving you what've been begging for. running the tip of the tongue on your virgin hole, leaving it for the dessert, returning to your clit.

you'd swear to god you can see stars in the ceiling as toji squeezing your nipples while moistening you. the proximity of his face in your pussy is driving you insane, for the days of cohabitation you understood he isn't a tender one, vice versa, he'd fuck you whenever his dick gets erect. maybe it's a rush of tenderness, maybe it's the fear of hurting his girl. nevertheless, you not scared to give toji full control of your body and bring you to your first orgasm by ripping the hymen. if that's i may call the way he's licking you, it'd be make-out with your pussy, due to his relentless movements by flicking his tongue on the clit.

'baby,' he pulled away from it, as you squeeze a sheet, making your knuckles become whiten as you spread legs wider, watching his mocking grin appeared on the face. 'i'll be gentle' he pressed his lips on your forehead, taking from the bedside table lubrication to low the friction. although, the thought of his dick ripped the hymen, putting all his tenderness in your first time, make your knees get shaken.

he put a soft kiss on your lips, smearing lubrication on his dick, substitute cock on the entrance. abrupt and penetrating pain wavily covered your body as you feel soft lips covered your mouth, blunting the pain with one hand being dug in your hip, painting illegible traces. another hand he put on your cheek, drawing circles with his thumb, waiting till getting used to the pain.

toji will find lots of red stripes from your nails on his back, smirked, as reminiscing about that special night when he made you his woman. his broad back was made merely for you to leave thousand and thousand fingernail impressions every night. toji had let a low groan as he feels as you move fingertips to the neck, exhaling in his chest.

he entered all his dick inside you feeling as your walls compressing the base, getting used to being full with his thick cock. you're indulging at the new, mind-blowing feeling, give him sheepish kisses as you're scared to be rejected. he moves his palm from the cheek to the ear, running fingers through your tangled but soft to the touch. you nudged your hips up, intermittently letting your breath out.

'tch, if you're not feeling well, i can come-'

'more, toji, more'

without breaking up kiss, he pulled out cock to the tip as pulling it again slowly, stretching your walls, touching with the tip your cervix as his balls touching your ass, groaning in the kiss, softly caress your thigh. you moved your palms to the shoulder, touching the musculature, going down to the biceps wrapping his arm as another hand attempting to draw patterns on the back as if it a canvas for you.

you can feel every vein, curve, and the way his tip is expanding gummy walls, as toji diligently coming in, adjusting inside you then pulling out. you're focusing on how full you're with his cock inside, your clarity gradually getting mushed as the sharp pain turning into a pleasurable and delightful feeling. sating to the new feeling might get addiction, but you're far beyond to accept that, surrendering to your lover as he gets addicted to it. you grasp for his shoulders, as he nudged in you, leaving whimpers from your mouth.

'like that, huh?' he pulled his cock out to contemplate as your facial expression have changed: you furrowed eyebrows as felt your hole being empty without thick toji's cock, practically purring like a march cat. 'beg me for it, baby'

what an insatiable man you've got. he licked his lips, looking down on it. your hymen has left blood, as he glanced at you to see his future wife your reaction.

'i-i toji, it's..'

he hummed, returning to your lips, slowly giving back the missing part.

'you okay?' you nodded as a response; he's perceiving fullness as wants to fill you up, but desperately be tempered himself, blaming he didn't wear a condom to do it. a dozen of half-moons will be littering your hips as toji's digging nails, scrambled your mind with squelches pushes in your hole. 'relax, baby girl, i'm here' he thrusts inside the spongy spot, ripping another moan out of you, voluptuous to his ears. 'baby~ you tease me with those moans of yours'

his cock was aimed at a place inside your vagina, with a slow but deep thrust skillfully reaching your cervix, massaging with the tip of his cock that spot. toji's staring at your pleased, satisfied face as he found that needy place of yours.

holding on to the headboard in the bed as support, clutching the sheet with his other hand like the composure he was rapidly losing with each thrust into your hole, formerly virgin cunt, letting out a heavy sigh, tilting his head back.

wiggling the pelvis backward and forwards as heard beneath his body your whimpers, feeling replenishment on his skin to his previous strips, losing remains self-control as your walls have been clenching his cock, as your body gets shaking as his, preparing the body for the coming ecstasy.

'toji, mh~' you tilted the head back on the pillow, wrapping legs around his pelvis, quelling moans while arching back against his chest. you're milked [? correct if i'm wrong] his cock, shuddering. you felt his lips on your cheeks, as he's covering your wet face in kisses, pulling cock out.

'damn, baby, probably-' he stroke his hard cock a couple of times before releasing his cum onto your belly. fushiguro ran fingers from the hairline, wiping beads of sweat from the hairline through hair. 'are you good?'

as you're still catching your breath you rested on your face a slight smile, closing eyes. he giggled, getting out of bed.

'almost made a baby' it took him a second or two, to lift you up in my arms, leading into the bathroom. 'i'm gonna clean you up, my baby. but you could fall asleep in my arms, you did such a good job by taking my cock' he kissed your forehead, wiping your drops of sweat.

'i love you, toji'

he put you on the washing machine, turning away from you to fill the tub. what went unnoticed was his relaxed smile after your phrase.

'i love you more, little one'

(◕‿◕)

↳ back to the main master list.

i feel i made lots of mistakes, like, idk. correct me if smth i did wrong.

i remember my promise to do one more work with toji, so lately i'll write hdc + drabble with him.

1K notes · View notes

ren-therose · 3 years

Text

Prove Your Mine

Bo Burnham X F!Reader (WC: 2.5k)

Summary: Bo is being interviewed when he sees another guy bothering you. Though you handle it, he still wants to prove to you that no one else can have you.

Warnings: My most graphic smut so MINORS DNI. TW: inappropriate sexual misconduct in the workplace. oral sex f receiving. penetrative unprotected sex. maybe a little on the breeding side. possessive bo

A/N: As I said, my most graphic fic, so be warned. I have other bo content that doesn't get as detailed (though still very descriptive), and they can be found here. Comment, like, share, yadada, you all know the drill.

Thank you to the two requests that inspired this piece! They are linked here and here if you're curious.

---

Behind the glass of the recording room, you leaned back as Bo worked his boyish charm as the interviewer continued to ask question after question. It wasn't often that you were able to join Bo, especially since you were doing a lot to provide for yourself with our own career (it was that ambition that drew him to you in the first place). When your schedule allowed you to join him for a press day, you couldn't help but jump on top of him and give him the biggest hug you could muster. Meetings with Netflix, a few magazines and a nice lunch in LA, you were now enjoying the way he lit up talking about the work he does for this radio show.

You leaned back in the office chair, leg crossed over the other, with your foot bouncing. You arms were perched on the sides of the chair, showing off you black blouse and blue jeans that matched him. Your hair was half up and half down, casual, but still nice. Bo never got tired of how you looked so good all the time: when you wake up next to him, when you come home from work after a long day, or being sick in the bathroom while he holds your hair back. He also loved that you made an effort to match, down to the high tops you wore.

"Yeah no, I love making my own content, because who the fuck else is gonna understand what I go through? So I throw the comedy back in their faces, trying to get them to see the tru-what? Oh shit, I can't say fuck? OR SHIT??" Bo eyes widen and he collapses back into his chair, hands gripping his hair. "Jesus christ, I wish I had known before, I'm sooo so sorry, can we keep going?"

You laugh, as the interviewer explains that anything more than two fucks will make the show R-rated, so he needs to watch it. As you smile, making eye contact for a brief second, the door behind you opens and man is standing next to you, leaning against the tabel as he stares at your boyfriend.

"Is this that fucking comedian from like, 2010 or some shit?"

You uncross your legs and spin to face this asshat face on. "What did you just say about him?"

The man's eyebrow quirks up, raking his eyes over you with a smirk. "Oh, I'm sorry, are you a fan? I didn't mean to offend you; I just thought someone as pretty as you would have better taste than a washup musici-"

You launch out of your seat and plant yourself between the man and the window.

"Already, I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but you have a lot of your information. Maybe do some research on the people who are going to be working with you" you say, jabbing a finger into the man's chest, pushing him slightly as you sit back down, softly letting out a string of insults under your breath.

The man looks surprised, and also impressed. You glance at Bo, whose brow was furrowed.

Shit, he must have seen that. You think to yourself.

You give him a thumbs up and a big smile as he looks back at the interviewer, continuing on. Your cheesy grin drops and your arms cross as the man leans back against the desk to stare at you once more.

"Usually, I'm not into a woman who is so in control-"

"How surprising," you interject, rolling your eyes.

"Aha. But, your bossiness is highly attractive..."

He leans forward, eyes landing on the open buttons of your shirt before coming back up to your face.

You scoff, "As appealing as it is to lie and say I'm single and simple don't want to go out with you, I actually have a boyfriend I love and isn't a dick, so I won't be leaving him anytime soon."

With that, you roll away from him to look at Bo. He is laughing, slapping his leg and running his hands through his hair. You could tell he was probably reaching his limit, and move to the intercom connected to the earpieces he and the interviewer had. As you press the button, the douchebag in a suit leans over your shoulder, brushing the hair off your neck and leaning down to your ear to whisper "but could he fuck you like I could?"

Your finger flies off the button as Bo's jaw drops at the words filling his head. Before he can even get out of his seat, you are grabbing the man by his lapels and pushing him against the nearest wall.

"Listen, you little bitch-ass, sexist, predatory fuck," you reach down and grab the man by the crotch, twisting his balls and dick in your fist, "first, you're gonna apologize to me. Second, my boyfriend just saw all of that, so you get to deal with that and apologize to him as well. Then, you're gonna go tell your manager that I want to speak to her, and if you even attempt to twist (as you squeeze him tighter) the truth, remember the two other witnesses who heard what you said."

The mans face was beet red as sweat dripped down his temple. He was barely breathing, afraid to move. "Answer me, fucker!"

"Yes! Yes!" he cries, a single tear falling from his eye.

"Good!" you say cheerfully, letting go of the man's junk. Just as he tries to scurry away, you grab his arm and say "by the way, it's kinda small, you might need some kind of enhancer because I wasn't impressed at all."

The man looks like he might explode, but rather than risk castration, he practically runs out the door.

"Uhh, do you think she's got it" you hear a voice say over the speaker.

You eyes widen as you realize the mic was on the entire. time.

Bo raises his eyebrows, a clear code for "da fuck babe?"

"Yeah. She's got it. Are we done here?"

When Bo exited the booth, you were sitting with your face in your hands, embarrassed by the altercation that everyone just heard and saw.

"Hey Dick Crusher," he mocks, coming to pull you up.

"Noooo, please don't say that Bo," you whine, standing up, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and deliver a bear hug.

"Oh no, that is never going away. That was incredible. Did you get that from Deadpool?"

You pull away to look up at him and reply, "how did you know?"

"Because every guy in the movie theatre collectively groaned at just the idea of being manhandled that way," he said with a shudder, turning to put his arm around you as you both exited the room.

"You're not mad?"

Bo stops and turns to you, surprise etched on his face. "W-why would I be mad at you babe? It's not like you enabled him. He was eye-fucking you the minute he walked in the room."

You look down, reaching to button your top to cover your chest a little more.

"Hey, babe, you don't have to do that. He just needs to learn to noT BE A PERV!" Bo yells down the hall. You laugh, wrapping your arm around his waist as you leave the building.

---

You get back to your place after a ride that consisted of talking about how weird the recording booth smelled and that they guy wanted to interview after that 'horrifying and impressive' tiff.

When you get inside, Bo goes in to put down your purse and keys on the table as you pull off your shoes by the door. Leaned over, your hair falls to the side and your shirt gapes away slightly, allowing your boyfriend to see the soft slopes of your breast. As you go to stand up, Bo stalks towards you, trapping you between him and the door.

"Uuhh, hi?" you say nervously. You still got butterflies around him, even after knowing him for so long.

Bo reaches up to your top, unbuttoning your top one slowly, pulling it away from your chest as he goes to the next one. Instead of undoing the button though, he drops his hands down to your ass, patting you gently before lifting you up the door. You are now level with him as he goes back to your buttons. His breath is warm against your neck, much more comforting than that creep could have ever been.

"Are you thinking about the way he breathed on you?"

The hairs on your neck stood up as he read your mind, moving to the third button now.

"Hm? You want to answer that?"

You breath out softly, wrapping your fingers in his hair as you reply, "nothing feels like you Bo. Only you can make me feel good..." you whisper, leaning your head back against the door as he continues to ghost over your neck. He has finished unbuttoning you and was pulling the top away to reveal your bra and abdomen.

"You got that right." He plants a wet kiss on the crook of your neck, causing you to gasp loudly. "You're fucking mine."

You pull him by the hair so that you can see his eyes as you say the next two words: "Prove it."

The next thing you know, you're being thrown on the bed as he attacks your mouth, tongues battling for dominance. His knee is between your legs as you grind against him, trying to find relief in the friction he granted you. He moved from your lips to your jaw, under your neck to your collarbone. He is marking each place his mouth lands, littering hickeys and love bites like it was the only way to claim you.

You moan, arching your back into his mouth, giving him the opportunity to slip his hands underneath you and unclasping your bra. Once it is thrown somewhere in the room, he attacks your breast, assaulting your nipple with his tongue while his hand squeezes your ass.

"He fucking stared at my tiddies," he mumbles into your chest, causing you to laugh. He pulls off of you and stares with concern and annoyance.

"Uh, I'm pretty sure they were my tiddies," you smirk, shimming your chest in his face.

"Nope. Your tiddies are my tiddies." He bites your nipple softly, causing you to cry out as the throbbing between your legs increased.

"God, Bo, I''m yours, I'm all yoouurrs..." you groan, running your hands through your own hair, pushing it out of your face.

Bo continues to make his way down your body, reaching your jeans with frustration. He sits up and unzips your pants before shimming you out of them, panties and all. Before he goes down, he removes his shirt and pants, giving you the chance to admire the man that you loved.

"And all of that is mine," you growl.

"That's fucking right," he says before diving between your legs. The time to tease is gone, all he wants is for you to be in tears over what he can do to you.

You're breathing is shallow as he runs his tongue through your folds over and over, the wet friction on your clit driving you crazy. One hand in his hair, the other gripping your breast, you feel yourself reaching the a high.

"Bo don't stop, I'm gonna cum, you're gonna m-make me c-c-OH!"

You're arching into his mouth before you can finish your sentence, his arm holding you in place as you ride out your high...on his face.

As you try to catch your breath, Bo sits up, revealing his painfully hard and dripping cock.

"I'm gonna take that fucking pussy and remind you of why it's mine," he mutters, almost more to himself than you. He wasn't the jealous type, but the way that guy had tried to manhandle you in front of him? It pissed him the fuck off.

He pumped himself a few more times before lining up at your entrance. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him and you, just barely connecting.

"Show me Bo. Make me yours."

That statement was all the encouragement Bo needed as he slid into you, taking his time to really stretch you out. He was big, and you were filled by his cock, in ways you had never been before. You could feel him in your stomach if you pressed your hand bellow your naval.

The feeling made you weak and your elbows gave as you collapsed against the bed.

"Always so tight for me. So wet. And it's all for me, no one else," Bo whispers, beginning to slowly rock his hips as he moves inside of you. Your body reacts, contracting around him, causing to twitch.

"Hey, I won't last if you squeeze me like that," he pants, already feeling like he could paint your inner walls with his load.

You pull his face down to yours, kissing him gently before stating: "show me what no one else can do."

Bo's hips snap into to you, causing a sharp gasp to escape you. He continues to rail you into the mattress, barely able to completely sheath himself inside of you because of his size. You moan as you reach behind you to grip a pillow, pulling it over your face as you take him with each thrust. You finally throw the pillow and open your eyes to see him holding your thighs as he slams into you relentlessly.

The site of that alone would have made you cum had it not been for the fact that he just so happened to slide his hand down to your already sensitive bud and tweak it in circles. You cry out, tears filling your eyes at the stimulation.

"Bo, I need you to come inside me, please, make me yours baby, I need your cum inside me..."

Bo's eyes roll into the back of his head but he returns his focus to watching your face scrunch at the beginning of your climax.

"Cum for me baby, I'll cum inside you, just squeeze my co-oh, yes, just like that baby, fuck"

You let out a short scream before biting your wrist, your head pulling back as you cream his dick, pulsating and throbbing around him as he spills into you, warm and sticky as he fills you.

"You're mine Y/n. All mine baby," he grunts, bucking into you a few more times as he rides out his high.

---

Both showered and clean, you were cuddled in bed together, your legs in his lap as he rubbed your feet and you played with his hair at the nape of his neck.

"So he was really trying to diss me like that? Why would they invite me if they don't fucking like me?"

You laugh, shaking your head as you reply, "I know, right? It was awful, and who treats a guest like that? Such a creep."

"Hey."

"hey."

"Thanks for standing up for me."

"I love you Bo."

"I love you more, Y/N."

----

A/N: Now this, this was my most graphic fic yet, jesus. I hope you enjoyed- feel free to send in some more requests or suggestions. I like the feedback and reading your comments and reblogs! Bo Burnham masterlist and TAGLIST linked here.

Lots of love and don't forget to pee, wash your hands and clean your toys.

Taglist: @allexthakatt @shes-a-killer-queen-39 @ginger-abreu @dreamingofwolves @beeblisss @toread-fic

@mid-sommared

#bo burnham #bo burnham x y/n #bo burnham jealousy #jealousy #oh bo #bo yo #bo's hoes #bo burnham smut #bo burnham fanfic #smut writer #reblog plz

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wh6res · 3 years

Text

UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic.

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane."

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears.

"bitch," you mutter under your breath.

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again.

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?"

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway.

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?"

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him.

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath.

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement.

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year.

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her.

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich . the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living.

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing."

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done.

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way.

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement.

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears.

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend.

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word.

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel.

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode.

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information.

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics.

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve.

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too.

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?"

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind.

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head.

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest.

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!"

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys.

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god — until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history."

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said.

"do you really want to know why?"

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart.

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss.

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone.

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment.

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day.

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor.

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down.

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud.

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand.

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't…

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper.

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused.

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going.

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back.

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video.

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers.

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples.

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration.

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin.

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day.

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder.

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp.

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time.

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside.

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home.

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off.

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung.

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him.

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with.

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it... but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you.

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob.

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face.

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3

#hmu if i missed a warning #yandere doyoung #yandere kpop #yandere nct #yandere nct 127 #tw swearing #tw manipulation #tw violence #tw knife

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fayeimara · 3 years

Text

Miya Osamu || Little Delights | First Meeting

SUMMARY. Osamu can't help but be intrigued when his daughter starts bringing home delicious desserts prepared by her best friend's mother.

PAIRING. You x Miya Osamu

GENRE. Fluff <3

WARNINGS. Suggestive content

Haikyuu! Anthology Series | It's Fate When Your Kids Are Friends

OSAMU | First Meeting > Second Date > Third Time's The Charm > Four Is Our Family

Osamu's made it just in time, right as the bell tolls to signal the end of his daughter's second day in her new school year. Standing back as a swarm of kids rush out of the brick building and into the arms of their waiting parents, he takes a moment to breathe and relax. Juggling his burgeoning restaurant with being a single parent isn't an easy job, but he wouldn't trade it for anything.

He stands taller than many of the other adults around him and it's evident his little girl has no problem seeking him out as a black, red, and grey blur races towards him, a thrilled, "Papa!" reaching his ears and splitting his mouth into a wide, happy grin.

His arms are already open in a silent but enthusiastic response as he crouches down and then the bite-sized impact of his daughter is rocking him back on his heels, his reaction overly exaggerated as he pretends to almost fall over from the small force of nature that's all Miya Izumi.

Standing back up, Samu catches sight of another little girl who was trailing behind, wide eyes studying him before shifting to Zumi, his daughter turning back around to wave at her, proclaiming the girl as her 'bestest friend in the whole wide world'. The girl returns Zumi's enthusiastic wave with a quick raise of her small hand before her attention is caught by a pretty young woman, her own wide smile replacing her previously hesitant expression as she's warmly enveloped into welcoming arms with kisses peppered on her cheeks and forehead.

Her delighted giggles reach Osamu and his daughter as they turn around, hand in hand, to walk back to his car, small interaction soon forgotten as his little munchkin lists off the snacks she's looking forward to having on their return to his shop. She won't be able to finish half that list, he bets to himself with a quiet chuckle at his daughter's inherited exuberance for food as he securely buckles her into car.

It's not until they reach his second pride and joy, Onigiri Miya, that he finds the first little surprise tucked away in Izumi's not so empty lunchbox. When he inquires about the remarkably delicious looking set of biscuits he certainly didn't pack for her that morning, his daughter's response is that it's a thank you gift from her bestest friend, Reina, for the lunch she'd shared with the girl on her first day.

Well, a six year old certainly didn't bake these from the looks of it. It's only confirmed by his first taste, the texture and flavour beyond even most consistent home bakers, let alone a young child. Right? But a more pressing thought flags his attention, first.

"Did your friend not have her own lunch?"

"She did! We split because hers wasn't so good, even though her mama put so much love into it. But the treats were so much better so we decided to go halfsies and have best of both!" His daughter giggles with the oblivious sweet innocence of a child.

"And what about today?"

"Mhm. Same. But I liked the chocolate brownies yesterday much much better!"

Samu chuckles at her excitement and can't help but tease his precocious daughter, "Oh, and was it better than papa's food?"

Zumi's eyes widen as she contemplates the question with all the adorable seriousness she can muster, but loyalty must break free and run because her reply is, "Almost! So close, but I love papa's cooking more than anything in the whole wide world."

It seems the whole wide world is the current standard of measurement for first graders, but he appreciates the heartfelt sentiment behind her loving words.

After another moment of consideration, Osamu settles on the thought chewing at him and decides that tomorrow his daughter won't be giving up a portion of his food which she loves so much. No, she'll have double the amount to do with whatever she may please.

So briefly, that he doesn't even ponder on the sudden image, he's reminded of the warm reunion he witnessed between the little girl and the woman who he'd assumed was her nanny, but concludes is probably the girl's young mother. Based on the number of treats Zumi brought back, Samu's certain the woman had to have thoughtfully made extras of these baked goods for her daughter to have more than enough to share with friends and then some.

Well, it's definitely no skin off his back to make his daughter even the slightest bit happier by being able to help her share her savoury little delights with her new bestest friend.

It's on the third day of your daughter's return from her new school year that you're able to confirm that something is indeed amiss. The previous two days, the small portions of her lunch left uneaten were questionable, given her voracious appetite, however, when she returns with the lunch you made for her today still sitting wholly untouched in her cute little lunchbox, you finally sit her down to ask about it.

Her response is far from what you expected, "My friend's papa made extra lunch so we could both have something yummy to eat!"

You press your lips together to hide your amusement as you teasingly inquire, "Oh? Is that so? And I guess that means mama's food isn't so yummy after all."

Her eyes widen in dismay and mouth opens in an immediate denial that you know would be a lie to soothe your feelings. Even at such a young age, your beautiful baby girl is truly a kind and compassionate soul, she would dutifully eat anything you prepared no matter how lacking the meal might be and never utter a word to tell you the obvious truth.

Before she can manage to find the right words to faithfully express how much she loves your cooking, you lean in to kiss her on the forehead and pull back with a laugh, gathering her in your arms for a warm hug. "Oh baby, I'm so sorry I can't make you the food you deserve. But please don't ever feel the need to say otherwise to spare my feeling, okay? You should always be honest about what you like or don't like."

Her little arms find their way around you as she snuggles in, voice soft and words like a wise, old soul when she denies, "But your food is made with so much love mama. Zumi says some people are just better at other things. We both think you make the best yummies."

"The best yummies, hm?" You think about the various baked goods you add in to balance out for the healthy but tasteless lunches you're able to prepare.

They are indeed good, but baking has always been something that comes more naturally to you than cooking. An interesting distinction not many people might accept, but for you the former has always been an effortless science whereas the latter is more of a difficult art.

"Well I'm really glad you like those, but we do need to figure out what to do so you're not picking at your friends' food or going hungry."

She pulls back to send a serious look your way, exclaiming, "But I'm not picking at it, I promise. Zumi said her papa made extra just for me!"

You take a moment to consider her words. She made a similar implication in her earlier statement, that her friend's dad had made extra for them both. What does that mean? Did his daughter ask him to because she was sharing her food with Reina? Or did he somehow grasp the situation and is simply being generous?

A warm burn threatens your cheeks as you consider the awkwardness of accepting such a gesture from a complete stranger. While you appreciate the kindness of Reina's friend and her dad, it still somehow feels like a terrible imposition, as if you've burdened them somehow with your lack of skills to keep your child happily fed.

It's not like you can't cook good, healthy food. You're just painfully aware how bland the food you make can be, unless you spend three times the amount of time as anyone else would need to in order to prepare similar meals. But... studying the smile that's on your daughter's face, you can't help the twinge in your heart that reminds you how much more her happiness is worth than your pride.

You won't assume this will be a daily occurrence and you'll continue to make your daughters lunches so she never goes without, however, it'll be no extra trouble for you to make double the batch of baked goods than usual. After all, you usually account for the fact that she'll be sharing with friends and classmates anyways.

However, you're now determined there will be enough delicious snacks for Reina to share not only around at school, but also some treats for her sweet friend Izumi to take home for her generous parents. Perhaps, you think, it might be prudent to include a short message, thanking the man for his thoughtful effort.

Silent gratitude isn't very much to anyone ~ (So I hope you and your family will accept these.) Thank you for your kindness, Miya-san.

Osamu blinks, unaware of the small smile that curves his lips as he reads the delicate, handwritten note carefully wrapped around one of the cupcakes Izumi brought back home today. There are only three of the original twelve left, apparently, but the one he's just bitten into is as incredible as expected.

If he's correct in his assumption from the note addressed directly to him and included with today's delightful treats, then the little girl's mother has picked up on his small action and is returning the gesture to convey her thanks. The thought is confirmed by his daughter explaining that one of each of the three cupcakes is for their family.

Three for their family? Hm. Well, it's just him and Zumi, but he's sure his brother will be all over the remaining offering when he visits tonight. If there's any left for him that is. Probably won't be, it's really just that good and anyways, he doesn't need Atsumu nosing his way into this simple exchange as it is.

The following day, Friday morning, Samu pens back his own note, assuring the woman that no thanks is necessary. There's no reason for her to express her gratitude over what's really such a simple action for him.

That evening, he and Zumi enjoy some quality mochi delivered in a white, rectangular box with a pretty decently hand-drawn background scene at a spring festival on the cover. Two little girls, one that looks remarkably like his daughter and the other like her best friend, hold hands in the centre of the street dressed in traditional yukata and sharing a box of what he assumes is mochi.

As they much into the chewy treats, he watches and listens as his daughter points out the bright colours she and her friend chose to fill into what was apparently initially a blank canvas for them to colour on. Her delight at having a pink and grey yukata, even if only in a drawing, prompting him to make a mental note about looking into the clothing and any upcoming festivals.

Osamu makes a point of saving the box, childlike scribbles over the simple sketch leaving a warm feeling in his chest and a slightly wider smile gracing his mouth.

The response he receives the Monday evening (from his penned message the Friday before) is enough to prompt a full smirk that, this time, doesn't go unnoticed by him. The woman showed an interesting sense of humour and gracious acceptance with the first cupcake note. Then, a sweet and thoughtful disposition with the drawing included as part of the soft treat for the girls Friday.

But now, Samu sees a challenging firmness in her reply to his easy brush off of her thanks, delicate lines yet again adorning the small card carefully tucked into a pretty red ribbon that's tied around and decorating another white, rectangular box.

Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it ~ So please accept this gift without concern.

Sitting inside are four differently coloured, rounded treats that look familiar but he can't place off the top of his head. A quick search identifies the delicate confections as macarons, the colorful delights an absolute wonder as the airy crunch of the top and bottom shells simultaneously give way to a firm filling with the first bite, the sweet flavour almost dissolving on his tongue.

He and Zumi finish the box off in minutes, three of each flavour included to a total of four different flavours, so both he and his daughter each get seconds of their respective favourites.

The next morning, filled with anticipation at what new surprises you might include with the goods you send today, he's fully aware of the grin that stretches his face as he writes out a note of his own for you to receive later this evening.

The macarons were inspiring. Izumi and I definitely won't turn away any gifts you'd like to send our way. I wonder... what other surprises do you have up your sleeve? I sent a little something your way to inspire you too. - M. Osamu

The neatly written note returned, once again, on the back of the small rectangular card you'd last sent, brings a warm smile to your face. The various onigiri that came along with it, apparently with specific instructions communicated from Izumi to Reina that today's additional quantity is set aside for you specifically, stretches the amused curl of your lips into a delighted grin.

You split each of the four different types of rice balls with your daughter, listening to her input on the delicious food as she points out her order of most to least favourite. Although there's not a single one you wouldn't eat on any given day if given the choice, the food is simply divine.

Your note the following day is a compliment to the chef, with a cheeky inquiry as to what deities one must pray to in order to make food like that. His response is a swift rebuttal asking what cruel gods bless some with the skills to cook but others with the skills to bake, ironically echoing your own thoughts from the previous week.

So goes the back and forth for weeks, notes getting cuter, sassier, and more personal as jokes, challenges, and encouragements alike are enclosed among the lunches of two excited little girls, their own bond strengthening with this unique camaraderie between their parents, until you feel the peculiar sense that you know the man on the other end, without ever even having actually met him.

Then, one day, three weeks into the first exchange, you receive a note that makes your heart beat in your throat at the unspoken challenge which raises the stakes of the now familiar routine. It's a simple response to your unassuming request for the onigiri recipes you initially received as the first returned delight, a meal you and Reina have been craving since the first taste.

I can do one better and teach you. xxx-xxx-xxxx. - Osamu

There's no reason to be shy or hesitant, is there? After all, it's a kind offer that will only serve you and Reina well with your future attempts at her lunches. You can't count on Miya Osamu's kindness forever.

Fingers still shaking, you dial the number enclosed within and find the call picked up before the first ring even finishes.

"I wasn't sure ya'd actually call."

Oh, wow, that's a voice to melt hearts alright. You're still smiling as you immediately reply in beat, with the easy familiarity of your shared repartee over the last few weeks, "With an offer like that, how could I not?"

He's quiet for a second and you start to lose your smile, suddenly worrying that perhaps you've acted too familiarly with a man that's all but a stranger and offended him. But his next words, slowly expelled in a lazy but thoughtful drawl, have your heart beating fast for an entirely different reason, "I had a feeling ya'd sound as pretty as ya write."

Now you're the one that's silent but it's entirely because you're at a loss for words, this quietly charming man having stolen them right from the tip of your tongue.

A low chuckle breaks what you realized was actually somehow still a remarkably comfortable silence and then his delicious voice reaches you again, "I hope I didn't scare ya voice away. It'd be a shame now that I've only just heard it."

Okay so he's maybe much more of a flirt than the subtle hints you'd noticed over the notes, but then again, they were delivered through your daughters as messengers so it would be reasonable he would have toned it down. Then again, what kind of man flirts with a woman he's never met previously? He doesn't even know what you look like. Have you captured his interest solely through your mutual correspondence?

You almost snort, catching your thoughts and feeling like you're the main character to some historical romance. Maybe during a world war era. Mutual correspondence. Right. What are you even thinking? He's got you flustered already.

"Funny. I would never have imagined you would sound so pretty from the way you write." You're tempted to arch an eyebrow with your audible smirk but then you remember that it's not like he can see it.

"Ya think my voice is pretty, do ya?" His tone is full with soft satisfaction, "Maybe ya can tell me if it's better in person."

"And here I thought the offer on the table was for learning a delicious recipe."

You swear you hear the smile in his response, "Sounds like yer in either way."

"Sounds like I am." You concede in mock resignation but you're painfully aware that your words and following sigh sound more like a promise.

You and Reina find the charming storefront quite easily from Samu's instructions. It's finally the weekend, several days since your first call with him, and your handwritten notes have now upgraded into convenient, daily text messages.

He's definitely confident and teasing but not quite the overt flirt you briefly considered he might be from a few days ago. In fact, he's more calm and grounded, even if he can be a smooth talker, but you've quickly found that what came across as flirtatious was actually just him being honestly direct. Which is both exciting and flattering enough to make you nervous for this first real meeting today.

A soft chime sounds as you open the door to usher Reina through before following her in yourself. The first thing your eyes land on is a small girl running to your daughter like a heat seeking missile and the two collide in an adorably sweet hug, somehow understanding each other while seemingly talking simultaneously.

With a small smile on your face, you take a moment to survey your surroundings and find your bearings in this unfamiliar space. It's not an overly large area, focusing more on a cozy, comfortable atmosphere emphasized by the deliciously welcoming smell of various foods that make you feel right at home.

Your eyes run over the bar with stools lined against it before you do a double take, finally noticing the dark haired man that's leaning with his arms crossed against a door frame beyond it, watching as you examined his space.

He must be able to tell he's slightly startled you as an amused smile stretches his lips and he dips his head ever so slightly in greeting. "Welcome to Onigiri Miya."

"Thank you for inviting us, Miya-san." You bite your lip at your automatic formality, already certain what he's going to say next.

And he doesn't disappoint, eyebrow arching as he uncrosses his arms and, finally, steadily makes his way towards you, "I already told ya to call me Osamu. Or Samu."

Now you're smiling again because the situation is definitely out of the ordinary, the level of familiarity you feel with a man you're seeing for the first time can only be considered unusual. You take a moment to study him as he stops just before you, tall build with broad shoulders and a handsome face that looks like it belongs on a heartbreaker not a homemaker.

Your fingers itch to push back the locks of his hair peeking out from under his dark cap and falling over on side of his forehead, if only to have an excuse to run your hands through it. But that's definitely not appropriate no matter how comfortable you might already feel with this easygoing man.

"Right... Osamu, then. And of course, you can call me Y/n."

"Yer name and looks suit ya, just like yer voice and handwriting." He's got a small smile on his own face now and you're not sure if he's aware he basically just called you pretty. He doesn't really seem to do this on purpose, from what you've gathered.

You beam at him regardless and volley back, "Well, I can say the same for you too."

And for a brief second, that small smile splits into a quick grin that stutters the already erratic beat of your heart. Oh yes, this man is certifiably lethal in all the best ways.

"I'm happy to hear it. Now, let's sit ya down with the girls while I grab some things."

Izumi has already led Reina to a table by the window and Osamu gestures their way as he moves to lock the door behind where you came in and then moves off to the kitchen behind the bar again.

You notice with a little apprehension that the girls are sitting next to each other on one side of the booth still giddily talking together (although not over each other anymore) about friends and weekend plans and such, but you're not going to be the anxious oddball that separates them for seemingly no reason. Even if you're already sure of the overthinking you'll be doing at the thought of Samu sitting next to you in the booth.

He doesn't seem to think about it at all as he easily slides in, smoothly setting a plate and a tray with cups, glasses and a couple pitchers on the table just as you feel the left side of his body line up against your right. Okay, yeah, because this is totally normal for you. Not.

You hope neither he and especially not either of the kids can tell you're flustered, even as you feel the heat creep up your neck and flirt with your cheeks. Yup, normal day, normal day. Just a regular day with a new friend.

"Here ya go." You just hold yourself back from jumping when he hands you a cup from the tray and then leans over to pour what looks and smells like tea from one of the pitchers. If you're not going crazy, he's pressed even more against you for those long seconds, completely in your space even if it's not unwelcome.

He either knows exactly what he's doing or he's just one of those people that's never paid mind to polite social norms and rules of conduct that many prefer. While you're calming yourself down, he's already poured the girls juice from the second pitcher into their glasses and set out quarter plates in front of everyone.

You finally focus enough to take in the still steaming gyoza on the plate he'd placed down in the middle with confusion and ask, "I thought we would be making onigiri and eating it for lunch?"

"Of course, but I couldn't put ya to work on an empty stomach."

"Mhm." You give him a dubious look, you might have mentioned your early breakfast in one of your texts to him this morning, but you have a feeling that this is also an effort to make you and Reina feel comfortable in this space together instead of getting right into the cooking lessons planned for the day.

It's an incredibly thoughtful effort and that warm flush is threatening you again so you choose to tease him and deflect instead, "Somehow, I feel it's more about your empty stomach but okay, let's go with your version instead."

You lose the fight with the flush and flutters when he chuckles at your sassy retort, especially since you literally feel the vibrations melt from his body and into yours with the way he's still somewhat pressed into you. Does the man not have enough space in his own booth? Actually... you notice you can move closer to the window yourself since there's quite a bit of space on your side too but, then again, it would be a little obvious to shift now.

The girls pick up the fried dumplings by hand with happy exclamations as they bite right into theirs, you and Osamu following suit but not before placing another two on the plates in front of each of them and then splitting the remaining ones between you.

With a dip into the soy and vinegar sauce (chili excluded for the girls), you quickly bite into the first one and savour the sudden burst of flavour in your mouth. Oh wow, yes, this is exactly what your cooking is missing. This addictive, tasteful quality that makes you want multiple helpings of whatever's being served.

With a glance from the corner of your eye to the right, you meet Osamu's eyes studying your reaction and decide to ask the question on your mind, "You made these yourself right?"

"I did."

"Okay, they're hands down the best gyoza I've ever had." You compliment him genuinely before giving in to the urge to tease him yet again because the flutters are back, if they ever even left, and you can't have him knowing just how much he affects you, "But who ever heard of serving gyoza in an onigiri shop?"

He must catch the light, teasing tone because he just smirks and throws right back, "Well if they're as good as ya say, maybe I should expand the menu."

"Oh no, don't do that!" You laugh with wide eyes, "Then Reina and I will never find space when we try to come back here during regular hours! Actually, I'm sure you're already always packed, hm?"

"Some days and times less than others, but there will always be space for the two of ya whenever ya want to visit again."

Oh yeah, it's a losing battle, the flutters are a full on tsunami of feelings now. Just push it away and chill. But then he adds, "And I can teach ya this recipe too. Anytime there's something ya like or want to try, just let me know. I'm sure we can make an amazing cook outta ya yet."

Your mouth drops open followed by your blurted question, "Why are you helping me so much? I'm sure this is a lot of time and effort for you too."

You hear the girls' conversation pause as they pick up on some subtle change in either your body language or demeanour, but Osamu's calm eyes just meet your wide ones, his lips sliding into a soft smile, as he simply answers, "Because I like ya."

You feel like you're back in grade school because you want to ask if he means that he 'like' likes you or just... likes you. But there's no way you're going to ask that question, not only because it feels a bit asinine but because that's not a conversation to start in front of both of your daughters.

You look over to the girls who are watching with beaming smiles, maybe happy their parents are good friends just like the two of them, and you return their wide grins with a reassuring one of your own before looking back into steady grey eyes. "Well, I really appreciate your help. Thank you, Osamu."

"I'd say no thanks needed, but I've been down that road before." Another quick, heart-stopping grin graces his face, this one almost as roguish as his tone is playful. He's definitely referring to your initial correspondence when you made a firm point against his initial brush off, as if his actions in making extra lunch for your daughter to enjoy wasn't incredibly thoughtful and certainly out of his way.

"Well you certainly catch on quick. Let's just hope I can say the same." Your playful smile turns into a grimace at the thought of how difficult it might be to actually improve your skills. Maybe it's just a question of talent? Maybe you're just never going to be able to reproduce food like him.

But he glances over to catch your frown just in time and reassures, "I know what I'm doing. Soon enough, you will too. Just say you'll keep supplying me and Zumi with yer baking every once in a while when ya don't need us anymore."

You know he's probably joking with the last part but you hadn't planned on stopping. You love to share the goodies you bake with the people in your and Reina's life, it makes the two of you pretty happy so you're sure Izumi and Osamu will be able continue enjoying your baked goods to their heart's content.

"Izumi will definitely get her share of sweets and snacks every day." You send a smile her way when she hears you and bounces excitedly in her seat but then you force yourself to drop it and face Osamu with a challenging look instead, "But you... well, I guess we'll have to wait and if you're as good as you say and maybe then you can get some too."

He places a closed hand to his chest as if he's been struck, the girls laughing at his overdramatic reaction, but his widening smile gives him away. You look at each other for a suspended moment, with shared amusement but also the teasing heat of something else reflected in his achromatic eyes, which makes you certain he picked up on the unintended double entendre in your words.

"Sounds like a promise." Then with an arched eyebrow at the empty plates and cups in front of everyone, Samu asks, "So shall we get started?"

You agree, helping him clean up the table and he takes the opportunity to help you and Reina familiarize yourselves with the kitchen. The rest of the afternoon is spent in an equally easy cadence as he does indeed walk you through the steps of making his recipes, flavours included.

He starts with the simplest option, yaki onigiri, which is just fried rice shaped in a triangle or oval, and then demonstrates how to make and add a few of your and Reina's favourite fillings in to change and enhance the flavour. The girls enjoy making their own mini rice balls alongside the two of you and the time flies until you're all back at the table and having the onigiri you've just made for lunch.

You can't deny there's an improvement already but your little rice balls are still nowhere near the level of skill and flavour of Osamu's, even though he and the girls all assure you that you've done a great job. You accept their compliments with a smile and the determination to keep at it on your own time until you improve even further because Reina deserves better than even this.

By the time you finish eating, the girls are unsurprisingly tired out and choose to stay at the table to watch a Disney movie with Izumi's iPad. You can't help but smile in amusement while watching Osamu grab the thing from behind the bar, tapping away on the clunky looking device which is perfect for Izumi with a thick, pink rubber cover protecting it from grade-schooler level damage.

After the movie's been set up for the two worn out little munchkins, you and Osamu head back into the kitchen for him to show you how to make the gyoza and the next hour slips away with more teasing jokes, increasingly heated looks, and slightly bolder touches.

You can close your eyes and now know the feel of Osamu's hands on yours, demonstrating how to properly fold and pleat the wrappers. You can still feel the heat of his chest brush your back from when he leaned around you to pick up an empty bowl to place in the sink, and you're pondering on what feels like a heated brand on your hip where he lightly curved one hand to shift you over.

You can't deny your attraction to the man, a slow fall that you should have seen coming from the excitement of receiving his words every day until you were eagerly expecting the notes, to this first meeting where he's everything you expected from reading between his lines and even more.

Since the girls are pretty much full, you and Osamu clean off the new batch of gyoza between the both of you - him more than you, which you tease him about again. All the while, you're panicking about this new realization of your feelings, given that you're seriously crushing on a man who might only mean to help as a newfound friend and maybe you're the one reading too much into his interactions.

It's not until you've helped him clean up, collected the girls, and are watching him lock up the shop that you get some semblance of an answer.

"Thank you again Osamu. This was not only very instructive but Reina and I had a great time today."

He's holding Izumi's small hand in his, similar to Reina's in yours, and his other hand stretches up to rub at the back of his head, his arm bent at the elbow. When he speaks, it's not a direct response to your gratitude but a question instead, sounding somewhat unsure himself for the first time today, "How about next time we have a date that's more fun than instructive?"

Your jaw almost drops in surprise but you quickly collect yourself because he's still looking a little worried, maybe because he thinks he's overstepping by calling this a date or maybe because he's not sure you'll want another one even if you do accept that.

Your smile is quick to light up your face and, with a light squeeze from Reina's hand to yours accompanied by her and Izumi's giggles, you happily reply, "Just let me know when and where, and it's a date."

He grins again, the third time today your heart stops at what you're sure is usually a rarer sight since bodies aren't always dropping to the ground around him (that you've heard of). "I think I might already have something in mind."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, but let me look into it and get back to ya."

"Sounds like a promise."

With your final reply, a borrowed echo of his words to serve as a temporary goodbye, you and Reina split away from Izumi and Osamu. Heading for your car with once last look behind you, you're pleasantly unsurprised to find a flash of gunmetal grey also glancing back your way. Later that night, finished with your and Reina's joint skincare routine and having tucked her into bed, you find the expected message waiting for you.

A/N: Okay wow I had SO much fun with this one! I hope you all do too <3 It's not triple edited per usual so please do let me know if you catch any errors or issues. No promises but probably dropping Atsumu’s First Meeting next ;)

Taglist: @yatoatyourservice, @crayonwriting

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