#dunno who taught her to do that

[rederiswrites]

Sometimes I'm on here and y'all make posts that just make me go, "you are very young and would benefit from learning something about our culture in the last hundred years".

Yes, people are upset by trans and enby people, because their lives are entirely structured around the different roles of men and women, and the idea that men and women are fundamentally different and inherently suited to their traditional roles. Like, that shouldn't be a big realization. That was a major part of western culture until quite recently, and still is for a great many people. We attack their basic worldview by existing as ourselves. Obviously they're wrong, but that doesn't change the emotion of the situation.

Yes, conservative cis people act like marriage is a chore. For most of history, and certainly US colonial history, marriage was a social and economic necessity that created a working partnership. Attraction was certainly a hoped-for element but not strictly required, and love was a bonus, possibly even a bit suspect as a motivation. It was still like this when my grandparents married. I know couples today who are separated but married for financial reasons. We're not talking about the distant past. Marriage has been many things through the years, and "an equal partnership based on love" is a very recent iteration. Of course our culture is littered with artifacts of the older way. The older way was like...yesterday. Today.

Yes, Grandma has trouble at the grocery store checkout. When she was a kid they had rotary phones and radios, and you paid for everything with cash. She grew up in a culture that taught that childhood was for learning and adulthood was for doing, and now the world is asking her to learn a bunch of new things that basically sound like magic, and she's not even sure she can, and she's not at all sure it's an improvement (and she's got a point, though she might not know it).

There's just....a real lack of perspective. I dunno, watch some documentaries about the fifties. Read some historical novels. Go to the local Victorian house tour.

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

.

#dunno what caused it but I was peacefully dozing when I suddenly fell into what I can only describe as #one of the most intense and sudden unprompted bouts of of nostalgia I have ever experienced #it was about Angela #this time of year I guess #I still think sometimes about what’d I’d say to her if we ever met again in person #we talked a couple years back and had loose plans to meet up around Halloween but the plans fell through #I don’t have any deep yearning for her back in my life or anything #and forgave both of us a long long time ago #but I think if I had the chance I’d like to hug her one more time #I thought about her hugs years after she left my life #and apperently still do sometimes as tonight has showed me #we might not have much in common in our lives anymore all these years later #but she was the first person who really helped me understand how I could love someone through physical touch #she taught me more about how I loved and needed to be loved than anyone else had up until that point #and I like to think that if we hugged again just once #that some of that love and that comfort and unspoken understanding would still be there #even just a whisper of it under the awkward embrace of people made strangers by time #personal #delete later #Angela

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

no but that scene where kid Tris bluntly but PRIVATELY reveals to Briar that she KNOWS he can't read- she's known all along-

how he waits for everyone else to start doing their chores for the day before starting on whatever's left, instead of just checking the board where it all gets written up-

she never poked at that

never used it against him. even back when they didn't LIKE each other- him a kid from the streets and her from a merchant family, social oil and water, all their scuffs and tiffs. her temper is hot and her words are sharp

Tris never. not once. mocked him for not being able to read. didn't even mention it

and she noticed. this before the four of them all really grow into being foster siblings, back when they're just four traumatized and thrown away kids plopped down into a cottage with two women who weirdly enough won't stop caring about them-

even back then, prickly Tris paid attention

the offer to teach him comes later- in private- she is NOT embarrassing him in front of anyone else when she talks about it. it's after the four survived almost dying together, a quiet moment alone, when she finally mentions she could help if he wanted

he does. instantly- and it's not hard to see why he's so comfortable with saying yes, now. he wouldn't let on to anyone else, their teachers and guardians, but Tris saw and kept quiet and is asking him

her urge is to share this thing that'd given her so much comfort and strength with someone else who doesn't have that yet. and to do it just for him, no one else to see, just his thing to study with her, something she's happy to make time for

then years later, they are the family bookworms together. sister and brother with more academic interests than their other two siblings. they reconnect so quietly and easily even though they both are maybe the hardest to get along with in general, the sharpest and most likely to snap and lash out. but Tris taught Briar to read without making him feel stupid about it. he grew up and taught HIS student to read, using a lot of the same tricks Tris had used on him

i dunno. it gets to me, is all

#the circle of magic #tris trisanna chandler #briar moss #tamora pierce #...... #i need to reread those again #they just always feel so good

[sanguineterrain]

redamancy | steve harrington

Summary: redamancy (n.) - the act of loving someone who loves you back; a love returned in full // or, four times you kissed Steve Harrington, and one time he finally kissed you back.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings/tags: friends to lovers, 5+1 fic format, no use of y/n, FLUFF, PINING PINING, injured s4 steve, hospital setting, general vecna angst (eddie's alive bc i will never kill eddie in my fics), bed sharing, happy ending, and kissing. if that wasn't clear. :)

A/N: fun fact: this is the first time i've written a 5+1 fic! technically it's 4+1 but whatevs. if you enjoy this fic, please give it a reblog and support your local steve harrington tumblrina.

divider by firefly-graphics

i. the promise 

"Would you ever get married?" 

You open your eyes. The setting sun nearly blinds you through the windshield. Immediately, you stick out a hand to block it. 

You're still reclined all the way back in the passenger seat, because Steve's fancy schmancy BMW can do that. He frequently lectures you about doing it while he's driving. Have I taught you nothing? Road safety! 

"I mean, I guess so," you say. "If someone ever wants to put a ring on me."

You sit up and pull down the sun visor. Steve turns. His hair lightens in the summer, shades of reddish blond peeking through. He insists his hair has never been anything but brown, fiercely pledging his allegiance to brunettes. You coo at his highlights all the same. 

"I want to," he says after a minute. "I wanna get married." 

You're parked down the block from your house. You should've gotten out ten minutes ago, but there's never any rush when you're with Steve.

"The line to wed you will be out the door, champ," you say around a grin. 

"Hm. I dunno." He stretches in his seat. "Maybe if I was the same guy I was a few years ago." 

You wrinkle your nose. "I doubt that."

"But what can I really offer?" he continues. "I'm just some guy who can't get into college."

"That doesn't mean no one will marry you. Some people who go to college are dumber than dirt. They get married. College has nothing to do with it. You can go, if you really want to. One rejection doesn't say anything about you, Steve." 

"I guess."

You pull the lever on the side. The seat shoots up with a brrrap! It clicks as you straighten. 

"Where did all this come from, anyway?" you ask. 

Steve shrugs. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

He smiles. "I like to live on the edge."

"Contemplating marriage like the world's biggest sap. Definitely edgy."

Steve hums. His hands are in his lap. He picks at a cuticle, a habit he’s recently developed. You wonder why he’s so anxious. 

"Two people from our graduating class got married last week."

Your eyes widen. "You're kidding."

"Nope. Lisa Schell and Gary Brewer." 

"Wait, didn't she cheat on him?"

"Yeah, but he slept with her sister, so I guess they called it even."

You shake your head. "That's insane. They're literally babies, Steve. That's like Dustin getting married."

Steve scowls. "He's not allowed to get married before me." 

"Not even to his possibly fictional Suzie?" 

"Not even to her."

You stare at the freckles on Steve's face and how his frizz kind of looks like a halo in the light. You imagine the feel of his hair in your hands, the warmth of his scalp.

"I'd marry you," you say. 

Steve's eyebrows shoot up. 

"What?"

"Like, if you were in a pinch."

He looks at you sideways. You flatten, then scrunch your hands over your knees. Your tongue feels too big for your mouth. 

"I'm talking about spending the rest of my life with someone, you know. Not borrowing fifty bucks."

"Fifty bucks is a lot of money for some of us, Harrington."

"That’s probably how much Lisa's wedding dress cost."

"I hope she kept the receipt."

Silence descends. A soft breeze blows through your cracked window. You want to search Steve's glove box for gum, but you've just told him you'd marry him, so you can't do anything except think about the fact that those words came out of your mouth. 

"Are you…" Steve begins, then pauses. "Why did you say that?"

"Because you're worried, for some incomprehensible reason, that no one will marry you."

"I scoop ice cream for a living."

You level him with a look. 

"Steve. We're kids. Cut yourself some slack."

His eyes turn hollow. They've been doing that lately. You wish you knew why. 

"I don't really feel like a kid these days," he says. 

Something about the way Steve sounds makes you want to climb over the console and curl into him, cradle his head to your neck. Which is crazy. You guys don't do that. Steve isn't yours to do that with. 

"Let's make a pact," you say softly. 

He meets your eye. "A pact?"

"Mmhm. Let's say if both of us aren't married by… thirty, then we'll get married."

"Well, I don't want a pity marriage." 

You roll your eyes. "It's not a pity marriage, Steve."

"Thirty is so late! You really think I won't be married by then?" he asks. 

"No, I don't think that. I already said folks will be lined up to marry you," you say. 

"I can't wait till I'm thirty." 

"Or you'll turn into an old maid?" 

"Meh meh meh," he mocks without any heat. 

You purse your lips so you don't smile. "Fine. We'll split the difference. Twenty-four?"

Steve considers that. Really considers it. It suddenly occurs to you what you're promising and who you're promising it to. You wonder if you'll both forget about it. Or brush it off. Oh, what did we know? We were kids!

Except Steve doesn't feel like a kid. And maybe you don't either, as much as you wish you do. 

"Do you mean it?" he asks. 

"Of course I do."

"No, seriously." He's serious. "I mean it, so if you don't…"

"Steve, I said I mean it. I do."

"You'll marry me?"

"I will."

"Swear on it."

You hold out your right pinkie out, waiting. Steve hooks his finger over yours. Impulsively, you kiss your linked pinkies. To show that you really, truly mean it.

You try to picture it. What walking down the aisle to meet Steve at the altar would feel like. You wonder if he'd keep his hair long, like it is now. You like it long. Would he keep it long for you?

"Will you buy me a ring?" you ask. "If we get married, I mean."

"Of course I'd buy you a ring," Steve says. "I'd get you anything you wanted."

"Okay." Your heart hammers in your chest. "I'm gonna go home."

"Alright. Want me to pull up to the door?"

"No, it's fine. Walking is good for digestion. Those milkshakes were no joke."

Steve smiles. He has such a lovely smile. His Cupid's bow is shaped exactly like a heart. 

"Same time tomorrow? It's movie night." 

Right. Your movie night. A semi-regular occasion that includes you, Steve, Robin, and the kids, sometimes. You've watched at least a dozen movies this summer together. Only this time, you're watching a movie after promising to marry Steve. 

"Sounds good," you say. "Will you pick me up?"

"Always."

Another promise. You hadn't realized how many Steve makes to you. 

"'Kay. See you."

You get out. Steve waves as he pulls away from the curb. 

Your ring finger feels bare. You rub it, hoping the feeling will go away. 

ii. the wound 

The plastic chair has turned your legs numb. Your butt is about to follow. 

Can butts go numb? You're not sure. You'll find out soon, though. 

You rub your eyes. God, you need sleep. 

Across the room, you catch Joyce Byers' gaze. She smiles at you, though it's brittle. You try to smile back, feeling distinctly like you might break if you stretch your mouth too far. 

She looks away, and your not-smile falls. 

"They'll let us in soon," she says, like she knows. She does know. Better than you, certainly. 

The hospital smells cold. It smells like a place people go to die. 

Your heartbeat ratchets. You shouldn't think like that. 

"You don't understand," comes Dustin's voice. He's at the receptionist's desk, flanked by Mike and Lucas. Dustin's face is red and blotchy, near tears. 

"I need to see him. You won't let me see Eddie, so—" 

The receptionist rears back, like she can't believe three children are daring to speak to her. 

"Neither patient is cleared for visitors," she says icily. "Now, for the last time: have a seat."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Joyce begin to stand, ready to herd the kids away. You beat her to it. Out of everyone in this room, you're probably the only person who has the strength to stand. 

"Guys, c'mon. It won't be long." 

They don't look at you. You don't take it personally. An hour earlier, you'd cornered Dustin and forced him to tell you what happened. What's been happening. 

So he did. And now you're here. 

You don't blame them for glaring at the prickly receptionist. But you know that won't do anything. It won't heal Steve quicker. And it won't make anybody feel better. 

"Hey, Dustin." You lay a hand on his shoulder. He looks at you like you're not Steve. You wish it was you in surgery instead. 

"Come sit," you say. 

"I need to see him," he tells you. 

"I know." Your throat tightens, threatening to trap your words altogether. You rush to get the rest out. "I do too. But this isn't going to make that happen faster. Come sit with me. Okay?"

"He'll be fine," Mike says quietly. "They don't wanna get sued by his asshole dad."

You nod, because yeah, good point. Quite possibly the first time Richard Harrington has brought anybody comfort. He's in Cancun, last you'd heard. You hope he chokes on a margarita. 

Dustin follows you. Mike and Lucas sit next to Joyce. The five of you wait. 

At some point, you fall asleep. When you wake up, it's to the contentious receptionist peering over you all. 

"Mr. Harrington is awake," she says primly. "You may see him now, young man."

Dustin flies out of the chair, Lucas and Mike at his heels. 

A part of you wants to go home, and you feel terrible for it. You feel terrible that Steve almost died, but you're the frightened one. You don't know if you can bear to see him tied to tubes and a heart monitor.

"Go on."

Joyce tracks you sleepily. Her hair is more knotted than before you fell asleep. She nods to the hallway. 

"Go see him."

You can’t voice every thought, every fear. I don’t know if I can see him like this.

“It’s good he won’t wake up alone,” she says.

“He’s got a family.” You wave your hand weakly. 

Joyce watches you for a moment. Then she gets up.

"Yes, he does." 

She holds out her hand. 

You don’t know Joyce Byers very well. This is probably the longest conversation you’ve had with her. You realize, then, that you're wrong—you’re not the one who’s strong enough to stand.

“Let’s go see him,” she says. "All of his loved ones should be there." 

God, are you really that obvious? 

You take her hand, and the two of you go down the hall.

Steve is nearly unrecognizable in the hospital bed. The kids are speaking to him, unusually quiet. They look up when you enter. 

Steve’s eyes lock with yours. 

“Hey,” is all you say.

“Hi,” he says, voice rough with disuse and getting choked by what Dustin had described as demon bats. 

“Boys, come on,” Joyce calls. “Let’s make a cafeteria stop.”

You see Dustin about to protest, but Lucas tugs his arm like he knows, and goddamn, you really are that obvious, aren’t you? 

You wait for the door to close behind you. Then you walk to Steve’s side. 

The gnarled ring of flesh around his neck makes you queasy. The rest of him isn’t much better, red and purple smeared across any skin that’s not covered by the chalky hospital gown.

You sit in the chair. It’s the same plastic kind as the ones in the waiting room, but this one doesn’t feel so hard.

“Robin called me,” you say.

Steve closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you’d better be.” Your voice cracks. “Can’t believe you went dimension-surfing without me.”

“You’re mad at me.”

Your breath is punched out of you. 

“No,” you say softly. “My God, Steve. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand creeps to the edge of the bed. His fingers are scraped.

You take his hand and lace your fingers together. He slow-blinks. He’ll probably fall asleep in the next half hour. 

“It’s okay if you are,” he whispers. “Mad, I mean. I’d be mad too.”

You know he wouldn’t be, though. You know Steve would forgive you in a heartbeat.

“I’m not mad,” you say, equally as quiet. “I just… I was scared." 

He nods. "I'm sorry for scaring you." 

You bow your head and close your eyes. When Robin had called, you'd run to the bathroom and coughed up stomach acid.

They say he’ll make it, she'd told you, and you'd realized with violent clarity that you love him. 

But Steve doesn't need that right now. So you bury it.

You lean in and bring Steve's knuckles to your lips, taking care not to jostle him.

His eyes widen. Part of you hopes he won’t remember this conversation.

"Don't do that again," you say. “Not without me.”

"Okay,” he whispers. “I won't." 

You wait until he falls asleep, hand in his. 

iii. the brand

“There’s no way I’m getting in your death van, Munson!” Robin whines.

“Death van is an exaggeration, Buckley. If anything, it’s a life van. I’m still here, aren’t I?” Eddie asks.

“Definitely not because of that heap of metal,” Steve murmurs to you. You snicker.

It’s nearly dark, but a summer dark, where it doesn’t actually turn to night until well after nine PM. The top two buttons of Steve’s dress shirt are undone, and you can’t stop staring. It’s embarrassing, really. You’d nearly missed Eddie’s walk across the stage because of that damned triangle of tanned skin and dark chest hair.

“Why can’t we take the station wagon?” Robin asks. 

“I think Nancy already left,” you say. “Sorry, Rob.” 

“And I’ve put my car jacking days behind me,” Eddie announces, flinging his arms out. “So my van it shall be!”

Robin whips her head around to glare at Steve. 

“This is your fault,” she accuses scathingly.

“Me?!”

“You just had to go and get a flat tire yesterday.”

“Yeah, Steve,” you add cheekily. “Why couldn’t you have foreseen the dreaded timeline where Eddie drives?”

“Et tu?” Eddie asks. “I’m hurt. I’m a great driver, y’know. Better than Steve, some have told me.”

“Dustin only told you that ‘cause you were high on morphine and about to burst into tears,” Robin says.

As they bicker, Steve draws closer, so your arms brush. You close the distance, crowding him.

“Y’okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” you say, startled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just checking.”

“Are you okay?”

He turns to you. He looks like he’s searching for something. You don’t know what.

“Yeah,” Steve says after a minute. “I am. Better than, actually.”

“‘Cause I’m here, right?” you ask with a gooey grin.

“Yeah. ‘Cause you’re here.”

He sounds honest, so you turn away, because you can’t handle that and his chest hair. 

"I should get to choose where we go," Robin says as you arrive at Eddie's van. "Since it may be our last trip and all."

"Funny you were in Band and not president of the drama club, Buckley," Eddie says dryly. 

"Pot, kettle."

"How 'bout Rita's?" you suggest. "Unlimited refills and no one will hassle Eddie."

"Aw, you care about little ol' me?" Eddie asks. 

"If you get us there in one piece, yes."

Eddie huffs. "No wonder you and the Hair are like this." He crosses his fingers. 

"Damn right," Steve says. "We even finish each other's—"

"Terribly cliche sayings!" you say. 

Robin looks at you for a moment, unusually smirky. Then she looks at Steve. 

"You match. Blue dress, blue tie."

"That's so if she gets lost, they know who to return her to," Steve says. 

You scoff. "More like the other way around." 

He pouts. "Hey."

"Hay is for horses," you sing, skipping ahead to Eddie's van. 

"I'm sorry, are you excited to ride in the Hell Van?" Robin asks. 

You shrug. "We could use some excitement around here, couldn't we?"

"No!" all three say.

"I've had enough excitement for ten lifetimes," Robin mutters. 

Eddie pulls the door open. Your smile quickly drops. 

"Uh, Eddie? Where the fuck are the seats?"

"Right, so, usually I only have Gareth and Jeff ride with me. Gareth always calls shotgun—"

"Shotgun!" Robin hollers, and races to the front seat. 

You stare at the single backseat chair. There's no way it's big enough for you and Steve. 

"Holy shit," Steve says, taking stock of the "backseat."

Eddie rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah… listen, if I'd known we'd be taking her, I would've put the other seat in, swear! Usually we take it out for the equipment." 

"Well, what are we supposed to do? Lay down and pray? This is how people get head injuries, Eddie," you say, arms folded. 

"Maybe we can call a cab," Steve suggests. 

"At this hour?" You shake your head. "No way. This isn't Indianapolis."

"Oh my God." Robin groans. "The solution is so obvious. Sit on Steve's lap. Boom. Now come on, I'm starving."

You tense. Steve is tactile, sure, and you've become acclimated to that over the years. 

But this? This is way, way beyond that. 

"Uh…" Steve glances at you. "Do you… I mean, if you don't mind?"

You glance at Eddie, who's got the tiniest smirk. You glower and he clears his throat, hiding his mouth behind a lock of hair. 

"I don't mind," you say, more confident than you feel. "It's a short drive."

Eddie nods. "Definitely. I'll step on it."

"Please don't step on it," Robin calls. "We're already chancing fate by letting you drive in the first place."

Eddie huffs, walking to the driver's side. "Y'know, Buckley, you are just…"

You look at Steve. He smiles at you, sweet as always. 

"This isn't gonna aggravate any injuries, right?" you ask. "Me… sitting on you?"

You wince at the wording. 

"No, should be fine. My PT gave me the all clear a month ago."

You nod tightly. "Right. Okay. You go first."

Steve climbs in, planting his feet on the floor. You go next, stooping in front of him. You catch each other's gaze for a moment. Then you laugh, suddenly trying to look anywhere but at Steve. 

"Right, so I'll just…"

You slide onto Steve's lap, trying to hold some of your weight so you won't crush him. He splays an easy hand over your belly and leans over to pull the van door shut. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

"You can sit back, y'know," he says, breath tickling your ear. "’M not made of glass."

"Didn't want your legs to go numb," you joke weakly. 

Steve makes an unhappy noise and tugs you back so you're fully seated on him. You angle yourself so you can look at him. Steve looks up at you, lightly tracing a pattern on your hip. Like you do this all the time. 

"Hi," you say, too jittery to crack another joke. 

Steve smiles gently. "Hey."

His tone is fond. You feel sick. 

"Everybody good?" Eddie asks. 

He adjusts the rear view mirror and you watch his eyebrows shoot up in the reflection. 

"You two look cozy."

"Shut the fuck up, Munson," you mumble. "Just drive, already." 

Eddie giggles like a gremlin in reply and turns the ignition.

It’s not bad, at first. Eddie takes it easy driving through Hawkins. Part of it is because he doesn’t want to attract attention. The other part is that Hopper promised Eddie a night in jail if he caught him running the stop signs again. 

You personally think it’s a bluff. Robin does not; she’s enthusiastically annoying about road safety, and points out every single sign and red light. This causes Eddie to start slamming the breaks in retaliation. 

“Holy fuck!” you yelp when Eddie hits the breaks particularly hard. “Eddie!”

Steve is quick to tug you backwards, considering you’re not belted. You scramble to grab his shoulders and twist to look at him.

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly.

He smiles, then leans away, glaring at the front.

“Really, Munson?”

“She started it!” Eddie insists. “Blame your BFF!”

“Can you drive like someone who doesn’t have a death wish?” Robin shoots back.

Steve’s hands are now on the small of your back and on your hip, respectively. Your legs hang over the side of the carseat, butt nestled quite firmly on his thighs. 

God, you’re never living this down. 

“Y’okay?” 

Steve’s breath in your ear makes you squirm. You turn to look at him.

“Fine,” you murmur. “I’m not crushing you, am I?”

“No,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

Eddie breaks again, harder than before. You slip. 

Steve reacts instantly, his hand grabbing the meat of your thigh. Your dress rides up, so it’s skin on skin. 

The momentum is worse, however, because you jerk back. Right into Steve’s face.

Your nose mashes into his, which isn’t great. But then, your lips smush against his cheek. When you pull back, there’s a smeared lipstick print.

Maybe you’re the one with a death wish.

Robin is screeching incoherently but you can't focus on anything but the smudge of pink on Steve's cheek. Your chest feels tight. 

He looks like he's yours.

"Yeah, we're fine, " Steve says, voice close enough to startle you back into the conversation. 

He looks up at you. Your hand lands on the lipstick, like if you cover it, it'll go away. Steve tilts his head, mouth open in a question. 

"Sorry," you rush out before he can speak. "I got some of my, uh, lipstick on you." 

He relaxes. 

"Oh. Thought I was bleeding or something," he says with a slight laugh. "'S okay, I can wipe it off when we get there."

"Uh-huh." 

You drop your hand. You can't stop staring. Stop staring.

The print isn't exactly in the shape of your lips, but it's close. You can see the divots and where your lips parted. If someone were to see you two, they'd assume a lot of things you're not. 

Steve's collar is wrinkled from the van ride from Hell. His neck is flushed. You wonder how your lipstick would look there. 

Eddie presses the brake, softer this time. Steve's fingers dig into the meat of your thigh anyway. More marks. 

"Alright, relax, gang," Eddie says. "We're almost there."

You touch Steve's cheek again and hope he'll forget to wash you off of his face. 

iv. the secret

It's raining. You're in Steve's bed. 

Thunder shakes the sky. You curl further into your—Steve’s—pillow. It smells like his soap and detergent. 

You used to like the rain. Not so much these days. Rain makes you think of blood on asphalt and being alone at twenty-four. Rain silences you. 

"Do you think he'll come back?" 

You've never dared to ask anyone. Not even Joyce. She'd know. She wouldn't tell you the truth, though. 

Nancy Wheeler probably could. She'd face you with that steel brow of hers and give it to you straight. 

Yes. The monster's back. You're not getting married. 

You slip your hand into Steve’s. He squeezes your fingers. Outside, the rain roars. 

"I don't know," Steve says into the darkness. 

You can't see him like this. It makes you mildly claustrophobic. Maybe you should turn on the hall light. 

"Hopper said he was dead. So did that other guy—uh, Murray. And like, Eddie's okay. And Max. El would tell us if she sensed something. It's not like he could come back without making a sound. I mean, from what she told me, she basically, like, unraveled him from the inside out. Which is pretty gross, but also a good way to keep someone dead."

He's rambling. He's rambling to distract you. 

God, what the fuck are you going to do when you're twenty-four and unmarried and Steve's forgotten all about you? 

"I don't want anyone to die," you whisper. 

Steve squeezes your hand harder. 

"No one's gonna die."

You shift closer. You can barely make out Steve's silhouette. The ends of his hair tickle your knuckles. 

"Hey," he says, and you try to find his eyes, but you can't. "Nothing's gonna happen, okay?" 

"Yeah," you say, even though something did happen, something that almost took him away from you, and you don't know if you can handle that again. 

"You can stay here as long as you want," he says. 

"I can go back to my room."

Steve threads his fingers with yours. You can't see his eyes but it's okay.

"Don't," he says. 

"Okay."

You scoot forward, closing another few inches between you two. Now, you feel Steve's breath on your face. He smells like minty toothpaste. He is alive. 

The rain batters against the windows. You could kiss him. You could kiss him right now, and no one would know except for you and him. 

His breath has begun to even out. You lean in blindly. Your lips land on his hair. 

It's hardly a kiss. It’ll be your secret anyway.

+ and, finally, the first.

"Dustin wanted chocolate milk," you say, not looking up from the tub of yogurt you're searching the date for. 

"Yeah," Steve says, parking the cart to the side. "Kid's addicted."

He opens the giant fridge door and a burst of cold air nips at your arm. You shy away. 

"Six dollars? Jesus, does it come from gold cows?"

You snort, finally putting the yogurt in the cart. You stay at Steve’s house more often than not these days, so there’s no point in getting a separate cart.

"What?" Steve asks, looking at you. 

"You're funny, that's what."

"I am?"

"You sound like somebody's grandpa."

"I do not!"

"Do too," you say sweetly. 

"Do not."

"Do too infinity."

Steve rolls his eyes. 

"Yeah, whatever. I'm a grandpa 'cause I don't wanna spend a leg and an arm on chocolate milk for the little shit? So be it."

"Steve," you begin, eyebrows drawing together. "It's his birthday. Have a heart, old man." 

"Oh, good grief," he mumbles, but he takes the carton and puts it into the cart. 

You smile. Steve shakes his head. 

"This is why I don't go shopping with you. You're an enabler."

"I am," you say happily, walking alongside him as he pushes the cart. 

"And you don't push the cart."

You tut. "Pretty girls don't push shopping carts, Steven." 

"Oh, they just find some poor sap to push it for them, huh?" 

"I'm so glad you're on board," you say, skipping ahead to the chip aisle. 

You look through the shelves and land on two types of Doritos. Cool Ranch and Original. It’s a tough decision.

“Steve, what do you think?” You hold up the bags. “Which do they like better?”

“Ranch. According to Mike, liking the original flavors of snacks is lame.”

You snicker and take three bags of the Cool Ranch. Steve pushes the cart to you. 

“I feel like we’re shopping for our kid,” you say. “We’re the awesome house everybody wants to visit because we have the best snacks and the biggest pool.”

You look up when Steve doesn’t reply. He stares at you, expression unreadable. Your smile dims.

“What?” you ask.

Steve shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he says quietly. “It’s nothing.”

“Steve, seriously. What is it?”

He shakes his head again. 

“Nothing, really. Just zoned out for a second.”

He continues to push the cart down the aisle. You watch him for a moment, then follow. The two of you quickly check off the remaining items on Steve’s list (yes, his actual, physical grocery list), and then you check out.

The cashier smiles at you both in line. She’s an older woman, with the typical poofy blowout nearly every woman over fifty gets at Brenda’s Salon in downtown Hawkins. You busily put the items on the conveyor belt while Steve takes out his wallet and makes conversation with the cashier. It’s a good routine you two have established. 

When the cashier’s done, you squeeze past the cart and grab half of the bags. Steve takes the receipt and the rest of the bags.

“You two are very sweet together,” the cashier says, her round cheeks blush-red like apples. “Have a wonderful day.”

“You too, ma’am,” Steve replies, and heads to the exit.

You’re frozen for a moment, startled until Steve calls your name. You heft the bags in your arms and hurry after him. 

Steve stops and takes two of your bags before crossing the parking lot. 

“Steve,” you say, and huff. “I can carry them.”

“Pretty girls don’t push carts or carry bags. It’s the rule, remember?”

You watch, unimpressed, as Steve then proceeds to try and get his car keys with an armful of grocery bags. When he almost drops a bag for the third time, you sigh and take pity. 

“Which pocket?” you ask, snaking your arm around.

“Back left,” he says, smiling sheepishly.

You roll your eyes, feeling disgustingly fond. You shove your hand down Steve’s back jean pocket. He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Take me out to dinner at least,” he says.

“Pretty boys don’t get taken to dinner until the pretty girl has been asked out properly,” you shoot back. 

Steve smiles, but the joke doesn’t land like it usually does. You step away as soon as you get the keys, clearing your throat. 

“Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson about carrying all the bags, Popeye.”

You open the trunk for him, then go to open the passenger side door.

“If I don’t carry all the bags, how else am I meant to show off to the ladies?”

You pull the handle on the driver’s side for Steve and he gets in, beaming cheekily at you.

“The only person who’s watching you make a fool of yourself is me, big guy,” you say. “So, mission failed.”

You open the glove compartment and start fishing through for gum. You find a Juicy Fruit packet but it’s empty. 

“Damn, that’s what we forgot,” you say, defeatedly crumpling the cardboard. “Gum.”

You start to turn to Steve. “Do you think we—”

You’ve wondered, probably more than you should, about how Steve Harrington kisses. 

Now you know: tenderly. 

He cups both sides of your face, and you have to brace yourself on the center console for balance. Your other hand tangles in his hair. It’s as soft as you imagined, free of product, and you scrunch the baby hairs at the base of his scalp. Steve makes a quiet noise. 

You kiss until you need air. Even then, Steve doesn’t let you go far. You part with only an inch or two between you. 

“There’s gum in the middle compartment,” is the first thing he says.

“Huh?”

“In here.” He pats the compartment between the seats. “Hubba Bubba. I got it last week.”

You giggle and grab Steve’s face with both hands. His hands slip to your arms and he squeezes, smiling gently.

“What?” he asks.

“Fuck, I’m glad I know you,” you say. 

Steve kisses you again. Two. Steve Harrington has officially kissed you two times. 

You hope you’ll lose track at some point.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things #stranger things x you

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 6

[prompt: blowjob]

male reader x hyeju

12k words

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone who actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

-

The first time you hook up with your roommate, it’s because of genetics - though not in the weird, uncontrollable way your body gets rigid and sensitive to any pretty girl who wears nothing but a towel moving between her bedroom and the bathroom, or how her eyes might flick fast from your chest up to yours - or given that the absolute shape of her is a blessing from one god or another (benevolent, clearly). That's not why Hyeju and you find yourselves only a few months later grinding on each other after the clock ticked past midnight, making out on New Year's Eve.

No, it has to do with the fact that Hyeju's nearly failing the nine AM section of molecular genetics because she's spent every lecture doodling stars and planets and planets shaped like asscheeks and planet-ass constellations while everyone else writes notes or doom scrolls twitter or whatever and she is somehow simultaneously the only student who never slept with her face on the lab desk or missed an assigned reading and the only one who absolutely needs a tutor.

It's just cosmic odds that you'd be that one: her roommate, who shouldn't be talking so loudly in the library about sex (in a sort of non-sexy, Mendelian kind of way) or be thinking the kind of things you've started thinking when Hyeju wears one of her more sleepshirt-esque long sleeves, her voice getting lower as you rattle off, "fruit flies and thale cress, definitely, it's just an error of fate or chromosome splitting..." before trailing off into a question.

"This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me," she finally tells you. You listen to her sigh into the binding of her textbook, facedown. "I'm really going to bomb this exam."

You tap her hand twice with your highlighter across the desk. "Then you're pretty damn lucky, if you think about it."

She turns to you, smiles a bit. "Okay, point. The worst thing will be having to retake this stupid fucking class."

"Why didn't you ask for help or go to office hours if you knew you were... failing?"

"Maybe because doing anything more than the bare minimum to get through a class I don't care about is my definition of, failing," she mumbles. "Why didn't anyone tell me a single lab is worth half my grade? Or that the TA is this fucking unreliable? How is this the one thing, really, beyond the basics, that can't be taught by wikipedia, a wikihow article and a youtube video?"

You scoot your seat closer to her. "You really need to relax."

"Fucking tell me about it."

You turn it over in your mind a few times, capping the top of your highlighter.

"Want me to get you off?"

And it’s not like you really mean it, when you say it, which is the strangest thing: you wouldn't actually suggest it, normally, wouldn't mention it in passing and then leave yourself open to the follow up and cross examination; yet there it is, after three, four hours of cramming notes on heterochronicity and the sloshing of gametes - you actually did propose it.

Hyeju jerks up, surprised.

"Are you serious?" She looks around, nearly snorting. "In the library?"

The face you’re giving her makes her scoff.

“You’re absolutely nuts.”

You have character flaws; the inability to admit wrongdoing chief among them. Hell, maybe it's from your mother - or maybe all your brains are just scrambled by the fact that Hyeju's sitting there with her pen against her pretty lips, hair glossier than usual as she scans your face and makes your entire body feel like a reactor core in meltdown.

Maybe you can blame what comes next on that.

"I'm always serious. I'm asking a serious question," you whisper, closing the textbook and resting your elbows on top. You look around quickly, like you're sneaking something in instead of this perfectly reasonable exchange, the perfectly platonic - except maybe not so much - way for friends to help each other.

"And I'm wondering what you're asking." Her cheeks are definitely pinker, you think, or the way it fills out her face, from the bottom up, is just that easy to imagine.

“I’m saying you haven’t gotten laid in months.” Here, you realize, these blocks of mental logic that definitely weren’t there when you blurted it out start to coalesce into something solid as you go on.

And you hadn't been wrong when you thought no one had given Hyeju a helping hand in a long, long time: you've heard through the walls or the floorboards at odd hours of the morning that she spends far too long fingering herself to a mind-numbing, tear-worthy frustration that leaves her knuckle-deep but never, ever sated or satisfied.

"No one's around, you'll feel better. You said it yourself."

Not a work of your imagination here - her ears are fucking burning.

"Wait a minute." She pushes her chair back, away from you and your gleaming offer. It clatters on its back legs, and a librarian waves her finger in warning. You wave back, sheepishly, until she stops and Hyeju stands and moves away from the table to talk, hands crossed over her front.

She turns and asks in a hushed-down-voice, "how did you know - did you hear something last night?"

"You couldn't keep it down even if you wanted to, honestly."

Hyeju turns further and throws a glare at the library doors, because obviously her noisiness and their collective noisemanship, or whatever the hell the word is, is clearly the root of the whole goddamn problem.

"Look - if not, no big deal - but I'm just saying you'll probably get over it and at least think less about sex. Or at least the wrong kind of sex."

You expect her to turn, sigh, and ask if you've lost your mind. Expect her to gather her jacket from the back of her chair, take her books and stomp out the room. Or even burst out laughing at the insanity, before slapping your arm lightly, in playful retaliation - anything other than the serious look she gives you in return, tilting her head, pressing her lips.

She turns up at the ceiling for a moment, contemplating something. And it's cute. It's so very, very cute, how her mouth pouts as she considers the possibility, right up until she says, "okay, fine."

The moderate twist of surprise taking hold in your brow must be visible.

"Oh, don't tell me that was all talk. Get me thinking about the right kind of sex or whatever."

You laugh, which has the librarian staring at both of you - until the librarian stops staring and probably sees Hyeju sliding back into her chair, the full, pent-up weight of her concentration pointed your way, knees inching apart - you, and Hyeju waiting, your knee bumping into her inner thigh, leaning closer as the textbook hits the floor.

"Don't laugh."

"Not laughing, seriously. Not laughing," you stammer. “I just think you’re just full of surprises.”

She spreads her knees further and sits taller, looking right at you.

"So then, surprise me," and then presses her cheek to the crook of your elbow.

You slide your chair right into the space next to hers, nuzzling up into the space under her ear. “Keep studying, Hyeju, you’ve got shit to do.” And then you slide your hand beneath the waist of her sweats, knead the swell of her thigh until you find the seam where her leg meets her body, press your palm down on the place just next to her center, your thumb in the middle. All this perfect pressure.

"Fuck," Hyeju says under a shudder. She's breathing heavier when your hot, open-mouthed kisses start landing at her neck, and she probably tries to read her textbook for about forty-five seconds longer. But there's the clench of her jaw right as your middle finger begins tracing circles beneath the fabric of her panties, and her gaze is blurring until she can't tell the difference between an allele or your fucking name.

"Shh-shh," you quiet her, finger tapping harder, playing with the slick wetness beneath all those layers of thick cotton and pressing two fingers there until her knees part like they’re not interested in resisting at all. Your lips press a kiss to the shell of her ear and she tenses all at once, hand shooting up to cover her mouth.

She simply leans back, closes her eyes, and lets you take care of her.

“Okay, you’re right,” she says, shaky and uneven, “that really did take some of the edge off. Did we ever review - poly- uh, pol-polymers here?"

The sweatshirt sleeve falling off your shoulder is a hindrance to any actual reading; her shifting against the chair isn't helping either, but you manage to push down the thoughts of stripping her down completely and giving her your tongue as yet another distraction.

"What did the syllabus say? I don't know if we need to read too far on 'polymers'," you say, having going through an entire afternoon without considering this once, but as you curl your fingers and take an honest crack at cramming the remaining chapters into her head, the knowledge that no one else is getting her this wet - except for whoever she's got in her mind's eye at three AM - is enough to get you feeling a little dizzy.

-

It’s probably supposed to be weird, given that you’ve never gotten any of your other friends off spontaneously in the library, or there's the fact that you can't really avoid each other afterwards, how she shows up in a silk negligee when you're pouring coffee before sunrise to prep for another day and you have the opportunity to notice - yes, she has amazing taste in underwear, yes, you might not have really appreciated her chest and figure enough before - yes, fuck it. She catches you noticing that first time, after coming downstairs with nothing but one of her cropped t-shirts and her board shorts, and she smirks when she realizes you're still thinking about it that afternoon, when her foot grazes yours while you're both washing dishes, and she dries the plate in her hand with a slow swipe.

And it is weird, actually, to describe what’s going on between you in words. 

A few words, anyway, like a one-word label to describe what it was: friends or roommates-with-benefits, or - fuck buddies - god, it's even worse. Fuck buddies? Fuck friends? Something equally terrible and stupid that still makes sense, like something out of a shitty rom-com: it doesn't capture any of the rest of the myriad ways in which things can feel less or less friendly between two people.

So, friends was never, ever going to cut it. Roommates - although technically correct - is just this side of too clinical. And let's be clear: strangers don't wake up every morning together, walk to the same class, sit close together in the middle seats, secretly flick a strangers' skirt up in an empty lecture hall and get on their knees and work your mouth onto her pussy and watch the legs of the desks shake when her feet arch into the floor.

"The notes you've got are better than mine," is how Hyeju tries to put things, the next day and every time after that, standing in the doorframe, or at the foot of your bed and looking every bit the disheveled and hopeless mess you imagine she might spread out over the sheets of her own.

-

It gets complicated, which isn't really a surprise.

"You think your roommate is going to be home tonight?" is the question that comes up multiple times - from a revolving door of pretty names and faces. Hyeju has at least one opinion, if not more, on each of them.

"Tell Jinsoul I say hi," she says once, watching you get ready for a date, and you nearly bang your knee on the edge of the bathroom vanity. 

It's one of the more harmless comments she's offered.

Another, backhanded: "if you’re just looking for a blowjob everyday between lunch and our physics lab, let Hyunjin or Heejin or whatever-her-name-is know she's easily my favorite," Hyeju says on your way out one morning, still under her covers.

Or,

Hyeju's texted a simple "uh, Chuu? really??" when you mention, once, how much fun you've been having - and what kind, as you make a round of self-conscious and rambling phone calls the next day that land you with only one prospect for the night - but your roommate's also no longer being your roommate by the end of it, bouncing against your thighs in the bathtub and moaning something about please more and fuck or fucking make me cum; the details escape you a bit.

That's what friends are for, probably.

Still, in the same, bare-bones explanation, friends also aren't for falling asleep on you - or letting you hold her - or fucking you awake in the middle of the night. Friends aren't for pushing down your jeans when the early-morning dew settles on the back patio, or jerking you off in the seat beside yours with a sweatshirt over your lap when a group project is due later and you all should probably work on that and instead get yourselves off and leave the mess of what you're doing half-finished. Friends aren't, probably, for offering to watch you rub your palm up and down your cock the night before next semester's exams when you can barely sit in a single chair and you can't think about molecular biology or neurochemical transcriptions when your whole body aches to do the transcribing. (If you can catch that drift.)

The lists of who are and are not good enough for you goes on and on - the latter longer than the former.

So, there's Choerry, who according to Hyeju is 'straight up, a total slut'. Yeojin, who gets mistaken for your little sister enough times that Hyeju refuses to - in good faith - let you keep sleeping with her. Both Heejin and Gowon are apparently too pretty for you. "Kim-lip?" she asks, in the middle of peeling garlic, "is that one name or two?" And laughs into a bottle of beer, loud, while you're telling her to quit being nosey and watch her fingers with the damn knife.

"You have a problem."

"Why, because I asked a few simple questions? I think anyone would be a little curious with the -" she pauses to wave her fingers - "I'd be remiss to not be interested in the very drama that unfolds literally across the hall."

She waggles her eyebrows.

You look up at the ceiling. God save you, you think. "Hyeju."

("Seriously," Hyeju chimes in one evening, arms around you, and a mouthful of the dinner you'd cooked.

"You need better taste in girls. Don't waste time on anyone too dumb, or who drinks the milk straight from the carton, or doesn't wash her socks with the same load of laundry. Oh, and - no one who chews loudly. No one who can't tell you're going to cum. The worst is someone who doesn't know what you like, trust me on that. And remember the last rule: don't do anything with someone who eats at a really slow pace, it's incredibly depressing."

You rest your chin on her shoulder from the spot behind her. "Duly noted, oh Master of all Knowledge."

She sighs into your arm, but in the next moment, her voice gets a lot softer, her hips fidgeting slightly against you. "I just mean you're the kind of person people would want to sleep with again," she says, before turning to say your name and kiss you again and again as your bodies curl inward.

"I wonder what that means, Hyeju," you say.

"Fuck," Hyeju groans as you slide further into her, pushing her back into the sofa - hands on her shoulders, legs bent on her either side, "don't tease me like this.")

-

The first snowfall of the year is mild, a tiny dusting, nothing that sticks on the pavement in the alley or on the sidewalks - or the lintels - or in Hyeju's hair, but by evening, when the snow picks up and everything goes quiet, Hyeju has changed into flannels and wool socks in anticipation, curled up like a cat at one edge of the window ledge as the world begins to go white. It's enough that you even pull on a thicker sweatshirt, open up a book, and join her.

She turns toward you, quiet.

You've reached a point in the semester where this, the silence, doesn't unsettle you anymore. It's the space you fill up with time in-between, where you can see the contours of her body against the orange lamplight of the space heater, or watch her kick off the top half of the duvet at night as you fight over space in her bed and wonder about the bare skin peeking out from her shorts.

"Feeling bored?" She slides her foot a little closer to yours, almost imperceptibly. "Am I keeping you entertained enough?"

Her lips pull up at the corner. You chuckle.

"Oh, no."

She scoffs and puts her hands on her knees, pushes herself closer to the window sill and bumps her elbow into your shoulder. The bare skin of her neck and shoulders and face is getting a little redder as she cranes it forward. "Okay, if not, do you need someone to entertain you, maybe."

Your mouth twists, fighting a smile.

Hyeju is so close to you, you could kiss her really, really easily and not care how she'd feel about that. It's not a habit, not as often as it used to be, but every once and a while - she starts this game. Every once in a while, Hyeju just starts smiling like that, and leans into you like she's daring you to play along, hard round of chicken until it's clear what the two of you are doing with each other; the minutes pass by, one, then two, and then - maybe she pushes first, her leg on yours, or a kiss to your jaw or a palm on your back as she walks behind you - and then you'd turn and kiss her full on the mouth and pull at her clothes like nothing's holding you back.

She cocks a smile, and says, "why don't you go and call what's her name."

"Because."

You glance out at the cold, gray light outside. If you had a better understanding of any of the workings inside you, you could reach forward and tell her everything that's stopped you.

-

You're supposed to meet the girl-of-the-month at a New Year's party. Hyeju looks disgusted within the first ten seconds of the whole story.

"Heejin dumped you once, like, two months ago? For no reason."

"It wasn't a break-up. We talked about what we did wrong and we're doing better," you say, lifting one finger.

She glares, then, tilts her lips into this unamused purse that you can't take seriously at all when she starts walking back and forth across your living room, hands moving emphatically to the sides as she speaks, like she's in the process of unveiling a brilliant argument and is using both palms to guide your eyes toward the unquestionable logic. "God, you're the worst. You're just her easy fuck and you'll still answer her late night calls, really."

She leaves the rest unsaid - that she's just not that into you.

"I don't tell you which boys or girls you can call up," you try, putting on a boot. "If you'd like, I can. Name off the list, and make sure that the right name leaves my mouth this time."

Hyeju doesn't blush when you glance up, which is the surprising thing. No - her cheeks have grown a little more sullen, and she stares down at her socks in contemplation. You're in the middle of fastening up the lace and getting to your feet, waiting, wondering if Hyeju's going to continue this conversation, when Hyeju takes one small step forward.

And her hand goes out to touch your chin, thumb at your lip, fingers holding it in place - like you'll turn if she lets it go - the sharp shock of the sensation like a short circuit, before her knee comes between yours, and your body tingles, at the root and stem. "Hey," she says, eyes meeting yours. The edge of her nail flicking gently as she drags the curve of her thumb downward.

"Hyeju, please - I need to get going."

When you start walking toward your car, she calls out from the window. Something about how you better have the time of your life, fun for the two of you - it’s only fair.

(You feel, somewhere, a certain strange loss.)

"What, are you going to stay up and wait until I come back? Or am I interrupting your session for the night."

You can barely make it out, the smallest look passing over her face. "Maybe," she says, and then: "god, it's fucking cold."

-

New year's parties have this sort of quality of being simultaneously the most thrilling, exciting prospect on earth and the absolute worst fucking event in the history of the planet - depending on the venue, how egregious the racket is for a gin and tonic, the guests - oh, and the company.

Jinsoul and Choerry are both in attendance; in separate corners and in equal states of undress and intoxication, which seems fine by every present party, who are for the most part busy ogling one or the other in the full spirit of the New Year - as you would too, if the stars are aligned and Heejin hasn't already gone upstairs with half the guestlist, her arm wound with someone else's, as per her recent habit; if you haven't been tossed aside for any of the usual, less forgettable prospects and for something bigger, better and certainly much more enjoyable.

Which, if there were any way to track these things down with math, you'd already be reaching for your pen and notebook, as Hyeju would describe this sensation in a phrase she picked up from some podcast. Inevitable means necessary, or something.

"Good party," says Heejin, throwing back another drink.

"Yep. You said that," and you finish yours in one long draw, hissing through your teeth.

Heejin is a goddamn delight, of course, in all the simplest of ways. When she looks up at you - mouth pink, hair framing her face - she is so clearly and completely aware of what she is, and exactly what the world has in store for her, what it has set aside.

"Do you want to know what happened at the other New Year’s party we went to last year?"

"I - yeah. Hit me. Tell me all about (another date you were on) Heejin, that’s exactly what I’d love, let’s hear it."

She throws her head back and laughs, before starting into an overlong recount of her latest, greatest conquest, you on the outside. This is the thing - this is how a pretty face, with just a hint of a flirt, will make you feel for a beautiful, attractive, vivacious - absolutely shameless, raving sex-crazed lunatic of sorts who, apparently, loves to run around town and make a bunch of your closest friends fall in love and heartbroke-er, with every passing notion of her beauty, her charm - just the tilt of her chin, and some poor fucker is lost, absolutely lost.

 Even she knows it's a bad habit of hers. 

But who doesn't have a weakness? You've got plenty of your own - plenty, Heejin can admit - everyone does, in a way, and so Heejin, the other sloppy drunks milling about the party, and Choerry and Jinsoul all agree - someone like her just happens to have the best kind of weakness - so, so many of them, in fact:

"Can you believe how easily a few words get Jinsoul riled up? Or how it only takes a couple drinks for Choerry to pull up the hem of her skirt, not knowing the effect that'll have?"

And as for the last, and arguably worst kind -

"Hyeju, huh? What a great start to the New Year," is her final word. Heejin reaches across and downs your drink. Her expression turns just shy of grave, a pensive look. "Not your smartest idea, the living-together situation. Who in their right mind would put themselves in such a mess?"

"Thanks for the great advice." You wave her off, irritated.

There's another laugh before Heejin leans her face onto the table.

"Though maybe she's onto something, now that I think of it. Who needs anyone for the New Year?" and it's almost convincing the way her mouth, lined up with the rim of the glass, smirks when she drinks. "Mm. All a matter of taste."

-

The snow is halfway up your calves when you realize you need to find a cab at 11:30 PM on New Year's Eve. (Which, categorically, is the worst time to need to find a cab on New Year’s Eve.)

Or just:

11:36 PM and the nearest bus stop is too far away.

11:41 and the temperature feels like its dropped by fifteen degrees, like you should start wondering what hypothermia symptoms look like and what signs to look out for in yourself, your future wife and your children. You try not to think about why, but you get your phone out and immediately call Hyeju, so you're not sure what you think you're denying.

"No party?" she asks. Her voice is distant and sleep-ridden, but Hyeju's quick to pick up, like always.

"It sucked, I'm trying to find a way home early. Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year." There's a long pause, filled in by the squeak of snow beneath your boots. "Get a kiss?"

"Uh, not yet. In the market, I guess."

Hyeju's low hum isn't reassuring, either. "Well, you're kind of missing your window. Bad time to start looking."

"Says you, and here you are - still up for someone to spend the night with. Look at you," you respond, all this snark in your voice that she clearly hears. There's a long sigh.

"Actually," and Hyeju, much to the confusion of you and possibly the whole world, doesn't respond, and for a few seconds, the line goes completely silent, leaving you hanging.

She breathes once and comes out of her sleep with a yawn.

"I actually," she begins. There's a lot less preamble this time - this tone - and when she speaks again it comes through not nearly as sleepy, "was sorta wondering. Are you on your way home?"

"If I don't freeze to death, yeah."

"Yeah - no, yeah," and that's it. That's the sum total of what makes any difference between where you were a moment ago, and where you are right now, head spinning, fingers buzzing. Hyeju waits and there's the wind on the line, snow settling on your hat and in the corners of your face.

"I - sorry. I probably woke you up. Are you expecting someone else," you say, very small. Your foot drags behind the other. The cars whizz by you faster, passing.

"Hm. You're the only one, I guess," and after that - just static and the muffled sounds of her footsteps on creaky floorboards - or the tick of her ceiling fan? You can't make heads or tails of the rest of the background noise. All those words she said.

You bite your tongue to stop whatever curse words start pouring out from the jumble and cross streets, or the pedestrian underpass; snow gets stuck in your lashes and burns, but your chest is like a molten furnace. You consider telling her right there on the line, everything you're feeling - so hot, it feels like fire, Hyeju, I'm not used to getting heated and desperate and impatient - that even if you're not here now - just imagining your face - the sound of your breathing, it feels like I'm on the cusp.

"Yeah. Sure - good - okay, Hyeju."

"I guess, see you soon?"

"In a bit."

(It takes 33 minutes, trudging through cold and wet. It's all very dramatic, you think, and there's no one there to even watch you suffer for it, or - though you try not to think about that particular line - really, no one at all.)

-

You hear the way your key grinds in the lock - it's been like this, jammed since summer, when you pushed the front door in late at night a little too hard and something came undone and made a sound like a small stone tumbling down the world's deepest well. The hinge squeaks, and there's ice on the stoop, on the doormat, on every nook and corner you can see, all the way up your neck.

And your face, too. You shake off your hat, undo the buttons on your jacket, and pull off your boots before hanging them and all the layers to dry.

You can make out the outline of her profile at the edge of the door frame, right in the kitchen - barefoot, hip pressed against the island, pajamas - the dim lights illuminating the shadow of her head, hair over her face -

- but you don't pause. The next layer. There's nothing left to say. You're too cold for excuses, too smart to use the same ones you'd been taught, like: this is a normal, acceptable circumstance; everything, anything, will be perfectly normal if the two of us act as though that's the case; pretend we're both acting within the norms of reason, within our senses and logical thinking and I won't make myself go out in the cold a second more - won't stand for more than five minutes with your eyes looking like they're waiting.

So you move instead toward the kitchen, where the heating is better and she's already pouring coffee. There's a heat radiating out of the oven, and it smells sweet in there, like cinnamon and warm butter, and you wish you weren't still shaking, blood barely thawed, but there it is - her face, watching you - eyes gleaming as you wrap your hands around a mug, steam rising up - a shiver running up your arms; her knees skirting yours when she takes one step back and there's the cabinet door shut, then open again, and then a palm on your back.

Hyeju presses a cup of the fresh coffee, now warm enough to drink, to your chest, and says, softly. "What the fuck happened out there?"

She starts reaching out to wipe the frost and slush from your face. You let her hand hold you still, eyes wide.

"Oh you know," and her palm stays, even though it's obviously - suddenly - gotten warmer, and wetter too, and the longer she stands there and lets her fingers warm the pale bones of your cheeks, her wrist, the base of your forehead and ears, the more expectant the look on her face grows. "The usual."

Her eyes go as narrow as they ever can. For just a moment. "You're gonna die a slow, pathetic death someday, just for the record."

"Don't forget how this starts," you try, and feel your neck go warm, throat and breath tight. And not even when her shoulders shift, her mouth going smug - just looking at you.

“I mean, don’t you think,” Hyeju says, wagging a finger at you, “that when you suffer through a bad date, the world ought to owe you something?”

"Like what?" you ask.

"Better taste in women - maybe more orgasms; I dunno, a blowjob?" She shrugs. "The general idea is just that someone gets to cum."

You nearly choke on the air in front of you. "Jesus, Hyeju, warn a guy."

“What? I’m trying to commiserate with you,” Hyeju laughs. “Wouldn’t that be funny? Being able to kiss someone you actually, you know, might love you back, and at the same time. Imagine not hooking-up just to forget a shitty day. Sounds wild, right?"

"Utterly deranged."

"So wild."

When Hyeju sighs and gives a long, nonchalant hum, leaning her body closer, pressing up until her waist hits the cabinet top and you're pressed together chest-to-chest, she looks at you and her hips settle, the heel of her foot reaching around your calf.

There's that tingle. Again and again. You're not even trying to not think about what it might mean.

But then, you start, silently and unconsciously, trying to answer the question: why don't you, maybe. Why don't you, actually - Hyeju kisses you, pulls on the loop of your jeans and lets your lips brush the corners of hers and pulls away, suddenly, mumbling and head-turning. And just as abruptly, your nose buries in the space between her neck and her shoulder, where it's all warm. And when she puts her palms on your hips and squeezes and twists her knuckles into the fabric there, it seems she wants your hands up her shirt and under the small of her back.

And her hands - they're fidgety tonight, fingers curled up to keep their nails and the chill away, moving lower - one on your ass, while the other comes forward and begins rubbing circles, a handful of times - enough so you're letting a deep, low breath escape into the space just above her collar, your knee working its way between hers.

"That," Hyeju breathes, lips at your ear, hand reaching down to trace the hard curve of your cock pressing in the spot right between you, and there's that small rush again, familiar now, like you've caught a rhythm and she wants to feel it in its fullness: "is how you can make it up to me. For making me stay up. Worrying about you, god knows why. Waiting."

You're still half-frozen in a way, slowly thawing. "Hyeju, I've been trudging through the consequences of my actions this entire night. What am I about to suffer through now?"

"It's no consequence, honestly."

You squint.

"Just an idea, but," she breathes again; your bodies getting closer, and looking up at you, she grins and reaches down to touch the very root of you, her fingers drumming. You make a sound, and at that she says, her voice coming out thick, low:

"Want me to get you off?"

She squeezes again for good measure, just to be clear. Just a slight curl of fingers that's enough to send a flash of heat and the transient thought: why, why, why is she always wearing those fucking shorts, even in the winter?

Your blood thrums through the pulse at the end of your cock. You shake.

"Alright," is the response you let out.

And at that, Hyeju takes your wrist and leads you upstairs.

"There's that look. Don't worry. We'll find a way," is all she says as your feet walk forward, up step-by-step and higher and further up to her room. "After all, isn't that what we've always done?"

"It's usually whatever will make me stop talking."

Hyeju puts her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes follow the lines and shapes in the patterns of wallpaper as you turn onto her side of the apartment, and even through the wall and behind the doorway, her arm still around you, she pulls at your chin until your faces turn and you both can share each other's heat.

"Who, you and your awful habit of talking out-loud in your head while you work through equations?" and she brings her lips to yours, close and warm.

"Hey. Fuck you," and your voice breaks into an odd, low laughter when she kisses you harder.

"Yeah, I know," she whispers as her hand dives past the band of your boxers, palm sliding easily until she's gripping you fully and letting her fingers rub. She holds you there, in her room, her arm looped through yours, another arm resting at your belly.

And she stops there. She stays like that: holding your gaze.

"Look, Hyeju," you say, unable to not, though this can hardly count for anything; this, what you're about to admit, is nothing new. You swallow. "The thing is - you shouldn't."

"Don't want me to touch you?" she says, finger to your lips.

"Well, that's different. Maybe. Is there - maybe it's not the best thing to ask you right now."

Hyeju considers for a brief moment and tuts under her breath. "Can you at least do me the decency of waiting until I'm done wringing you dry before you say shit like that."

And she moves then, toward the bed.

So:

No. Yes. Maybe. Who knows, you tell yourself. Maybe, but only because you'll do anything if it makes you feel less sick, like a creature standing over its own skeleton - an abandoned shell; a relic, something to be feared and disgusted, as you let her go between your thighs, kneel beside the bed.

"I mean - since when - have you felt," is just as far as you're allowed to go before Hyeju presses her nose into you and pulls you out of the thin, cold fabric - palm, thumb, all those slender fingers swiping over your head - and now there's just the smell of her room and the shock, the buzz that runs down your spine and settles somewhere, somewhere inside the small and desperate movement of your hips and the tension building just below.

And god, fuck, Hyeju’s lips.

These soft, wet, pouty fucking things that could suck you straight off if you were feeling any less stupid or inexperienced or sentimental - if she wasn't solely intent on teasing it out of you first; a slow drag of the tongue up the underside; the tip of it poking, tracing the rim, like she's figured you out, just where to lead you. She's ready to smoke you out - always - until you're not taking in a breath every ten seconds but starting to close your eyes to the overwhelming, needling pleasure, too sharp, the way she knows you like best.

"Now you're finally - mm - starting to sound hot," and that smirk comes back to the corner of her mouth, teasing the sensitive belly of your cock and tracing her tongue everywhere. "With the voice and -"

You're losing track, her thumb and fingers circling the whole length of you - just, one after the other - mouth a hair-breadth away, her breath hovering like a promise.

"- that face."

"Don't, fucking tease me-"

The sound of your cock going in is like nothing else.

Wet and filthy in all the right ways.

Just the suction in her throat has your eyes nearly roll back into your head - Hyeju's gaze calmly watching the terrible sort of helplessness that washes over you like this: her lips wrapped around, bobbing - her hair falling into the wet mess of her mouth and sticking there. Hyeju likes being a little sloppy, likes feeling that spark run up the length of her tongue when she slides. It's the wet and the heat that gives everything away.

"I don't have much of a choice -" her jaw and chin is smudged when she pulls back off of your cock, mouth glossy and glistening, "and honestly, wouldn't it be a better use of our time, or my talents if I actually do that thing?"

“Which is?”

She looks up for a bit and sighs, the flush blooming pink to the tip of her ears and into the rounds of her cheeks and all across her neck. "Since, as far as I can see, what you really like - is, oh I'm just spit-balling here," and she stops just to bite her tongue and look into your eyes, "it's letting the girls take care of you? Isn't that right?"

You want to tell her, no, not always, that it's not as though you enjoy giving control completely - that that would be completely and unarguably, the opposite of true -

That most of the time you love it when the person you're with is a little bossy, a little crazy for you. You know some guys really get off on a strong woman and maybe, maybe if a girl's pretty and dressed up, and - sure - a little wet, but that's hardly -

“You know I’m right,” she says, a flicker of mischief skittering across her features. “These walls are paper thin.”

You want to tell her, perhaps remind her, that she likes someone in charge just as much as you do - to be taken care of, told what to do - to have a hand curled up around her throat and the other at her tits while a guy fucks her the right way and takes the reigns when she needs. So who are you, when it comes to knowing her better? And who, really, are you fooling?

But before you can get any words in: Hyeju dips, lips parting where the head of your cock throbs, and then disappears; and the hot wet warmth, enveloping all around your shaft and back; the curve of her throat contracting.

You moan - a lot, and louder this time - into the whole feeling. The way her fingers work the distance from the base, twisting and twisting and twisting into the pout of her lips; or how the sound is like nothing - a whimpering, messy sound - almost a whine and definitely not a slurp as your cock sinks further and further, until it's all one big, heavy throb.

And it's like Hyeju can read your thoughts, the visual you have of her lips screwed tight around your shaft - cum leaking from the corners, and her eyes scrunched up tight, as she looks up to watch your face unravel - this perfect image of her taking you, all of you, swallowing each drop as your hips start rutting up into her and - and - and.

Or else she gets impatient, because then Hyeju gives one long pull off the tip of your cock - saliva mixed in the precum there, and that shiny string of fluid hanging, caught in the middle between your bodies - a disgusting and irresistible sight. Her jaw slack, lips swollen and full, and her mouth gone wide open, wanting.

"Fuck - that's good. Don't stop," you start to whimper, desperate, at the sight, the smell. Her hot breath coming quick over the red wanting wetness left behind - then touched by the cold air - fuck -

She slaps your cock to the corner of her lips as she speaks.

"Can you believe what's going on down here?"

"God, can you -"

"And to think most guys wanna jump straight in. That or fuck a load out between my tits."

"Hyeju, shit, come on -"

She kisses the soft tip, right where it’s most sensitive, rolls it along her lip. Then, back down the length of your shaft where she's generous with her mouth inch after inch - lapping, licking, laving - and Hyeju begins working her way down and downward, nestling in at the edge of the bed and between your thighs.

Your eyes blow up the first time she dips low enough to put your balls in her mouth. 

“Mmhm,” she hums.

It’s killing you and she knows it; it’s killing you and she can feel the pre-cum leaking from your slit - the thumb she has moored there, keeping everything right where she wants it, running circles up the length with such little intention - she could bring you to the end just like this. 

"Am I supposed to believe it?” she asks out from beneath the shadow of your cock, looking up at you with her eyes all wide and brilliant - pupils dark as sin. “That not a single one of those girls ever did you proper?"

You curse under your breath. Hyeju seems amused, at least, like she can't help but love doing that to you, which is almost worse and honestly the sexiest thing a girl can be. You groan - wanton, raw and desperate and feeling exactly what she wants you to feel when her nails drag along the dip of your hip bones.

"Did they not leave you fucked-up the right way?"

Her wrist flicks out these twists and turns, making your spine bend to her control. Like even when you're sure to be bundling her hair in your fingers and fucking the whole length of your cock down her throat, all of this is the worst kind of power-trip for her - not the other way around.

Her tongue runs through the tangle of your balls, slowly, lasciviously, as though the plan is to memorize and map every detail. 

And the worst part is, how much it's making you desperate for the warmth of her mouth - where she'll run her tongue up and down and over and around and inside - before sucking you off nice and slow.

"Or maybe," she laughs; another flick to the top and then suddenly her hand goes faster and the fist pumping the rest of you tightens. "They left you so needy you're resorting to having the bestie suck you off so that you won't be desperate the next time you date. Oh my god-" 

Hyeju breaks into this fit of laughter, and you're nearly cross-eyed at the feeling of your entire existence - not just your cock - so wholly held within her mercy, and her pity, and you're breathing so shallow now you'd think this is the real reason people have died and will die - this exact moment where you're choking and stuttering at the edges, so very close to cumming and going absolutely bonkers with how good Hyeju is with her hands, her tongue, her mouth - everything - how much she's wrecking you, and your jaw drops, wide open, her name dripping like molasses off your lower lip.

"Are you going to cum?" she asks, curiously. All as if she can't see you nodding, collapsing under pressure, and then and there: "should we make it official?"

Her nose tickles the seam of your balls. And your toes begin to curl and uncurl - all this anticipatory, coiling pleasure burning from her throat, shooting from the pit of your stomach; the tightening spiral, twinging and stretching every nerve - as her lips enclose around the end of your cock, softly.

And oh, just excruciatingly slowly.

You watch the irresistible shape of her mouth travel down until her throat feels so incredibly, beautifully, and unbelievably tight, and then, just like that - Hyeju starts fucking herself onto you; pushing forward and down the full, rigid length of you, hard and fast - each time hitting deeper inside her - all that sticky, messy, wet squelching.

"Unh-unh, yeah. Unh. Mm-!" you say, or moan, or some animal version of that, maybe, it’s incoherent.

But regardless:

It's messy and your hands scramble for purchase in the sheets of her bed when you feel that snap, the tightening of a trigger; when your balls roll up and it builds, and builds, and it comes faster - harder and -

"Hyeju," you pant, and it sounds so, so filthy. "I'm gonna cum, if you - gonna cum-"

Hyeju pulls you free from her lips, quite possibly at the most final of final moments, to rub the base up and down, just right, between her fingers. Your cock is resting right on her cheek when it all happens. When she squeezes her fingers around your balls just enough to hear you wheeze and make a sound no sane man should have the right to. And fuck, you're cumming all over her face - or just one side of it - which is already just -

Okay, fuck.

She makes a startled sound and her fist closes tightly around your shaft when you pump another fresh load of white up onto her eyebrow.

"I'm, ah-shit," your mouth moves faster than the blood in your veins - and now the shame - oh god, the humiliation, it's pulsing right behind you. "Hyeju," you apologize.

Only, Hyeju has no interest in any of it. She doesn't seem offended or disappointed in proportion to how you're ruining her pretty face: "no, just do it, cum wherever you fucking like."

Which isn't what you're expecting at all, because Hyeju makes no effort to close her lips, let alone avoid any of it; nor is she making a fuss about the sticky mess in her hair, her mouth, nor as another stream of cum throbs from your cock, all tangled up in the long dark eyelashes that sweep down across her cheek.

It’s fucking filthy: you're cumming all over her and she's just kneeling there, telling you, "good boy."

See, she pushes through it, languidly - all those filthy sounds, and those watery little tears gathering at the edge of her eye and all of that, mixing up together until you're rolling your head back with your orgasm, shuddering, feeling weak - drained dry -

Except,

Hyeju's pushing a finger to your chest, kneeling up tall from the side of the bed. She turns her body toward the center of the bed and wipes a bit of the cum on her knuckles into the sheets. Here you feel like you've done something terrible or at least regrettable, like that last round at the bar when you have a test the next morning; a dick move, all of the sort that requires apology.

"You gotta give me a minute, if you're thinking about hopping on."

"Hmm. Sounds like a lot to ask."

"Wait," you grab her arm. Hyeju grins and there's nothing stopping the shake of your knees now, that weakness between your thighs: "let me get you a drink."

"Or."

"Or?"

Her tongue peeks out, running along her upper lip. Her eyes drop again, hands dipping below, beneath the hem of her shorts and oh. She slips a hand past her bra. The whole outline of it. And you -

"Mm, I could show you what that actually means." She lowers her chest, her breasts, and a lot of skin to the mattress while keeping your cock firmly in her hands. "That look tells me you wanna stick around a bit. Stay up past New Year’s, you know?"

You're almost unable to parse her words, there is so much to look at: the jutting curve of her chest, cleavage pressing into the mattress as her body settles between your knees. A soft chuckle; a sigh: "you are seriously the best lay, no-one else can get hard the minute after they just fucking exploded all over me-"

"Fuck, watch it," you hiss, because there's oversensitivity - and then there's Hyeju's mouth on the line of your cock, polishing you clean.

And it’s not that she isn’t trying to prove a point. Or that she's not trying to tease - that's an inherent quality of her character: a naturally dominant position with a high appetite for your lust. That much, Hyeju gets from you, whether you've got your head down between her thighs or the other way, too, so that her neck is arched around and her ass pushed up high in the air, legs open, and if she had any idea you would spend the next twenty minutes or more just going down on her, licking into her creaming cunt while two fingers work over her aching clit, then really, Hyeju would only encourage it - maybe get on top, force you to gag - and so you don't know where it comes from - how and why you want nothing more than to drive your fingers inside her and work her until she's a wet, squelching mess, not when this was always Hyeju's role of being the aggressor; and yes, sure, even the aggressed.

Surely not because you came so hard, still somewhat shivering with the remnants of a rather abrupt, painful, sudden and all-consuming orgasm.

"We're not doing anything else," she says, lips pulled up into a smirk right at the crown of your cockhead. But before you can respond she pushes a hot open kiss, and goes lower. She presses the flat of her tongue to the seam, just below the head. Licks a line right up to the tip and finishes with a tender flick that sends you fisting the bedspread in your fingers and leaning back as your mind begins to disintegrate -

"I'm not going to ride you yet, or going to get my hips in your hands so you can fuck my pussy real hard until I cry and pass out. Nothing of that sort is gonna happen." She licks one long drag of her tongue. Then, the other way. "I want to make this very clear: this isn't some huge favor - and if you want it - want it so bad, you can stay there and I'm going to do everything for you. We will get there - together," and with her voice shaking as she brings the wet, glistening skin of your cock just inside her mouth, she looks up. "We'll get each other off, just like this," and it's the deep, dark, throated moan that makes your thighs and all the nerves in between stiffen and buck when she swallows you again.

Hyeju's hands tug, pull her whole body closer still as it slowly bends, curves - her ass raised, her stomach lying on the bed. Her mouth takes you another few inches, until the tip of her nose is barely visible, but when she pauses to lick the cum still left over - the cum that's starting to leak out again - to breathe through it, then squeeze her palm and bob her mouth down, take another inch, until the sides are stuffed and emptying out again, that's when she finally has something to say: "got anything left? I'm a little starved."

"I. Christ, yes-" you whine, which doesn't help your case at all: the image, the image of you lying flat - back with Hyeju's head tucked between your knees, her hand pulling out your cock.

Sloppy, slimy-wet.

She presses an innocent, not-at-all-innocent kiss right to your tip, puckering - 

"You know what I did learn in that genetics class?" she muses, tongue flicking over her lips. Hyeju's about ready for a second helping - you're losing it. "When I first saw that DNA diagram - the double helix and all those little base pairs, and everything - it made me think of your cock. Your cock and me. Specifically our DNA. Did you know-"

She presses her palm over the head and rolls it - teases and strokes her palm - her knuckles - her fist - the whole nine. "When I hold your big fucking cock, mm, and just get it right - up in here, rubbing all along my walls - so deep, it gets me in my fucking ribs, makes me choke like I never been choked before, ah-mm," and it's this thought sliding toward the front of your mind, this perfect picture: Hyeju, getting fucked hard and open and stuffed full and stuffed good and stupid; you’ve got more than a few inches on her, can make her feel small and delicate; you know how to do her right.

But here you have Hyeju stroking the shaft - holding her hand tightly up near the head, rolling and twisting and sliding down and pushing her whole body right into the side of your legs: the soft, solid length, warm flesh and curves everywhere pressing into you.

You sit back, and just watch Hyeju with her eyes cool and composed, like half of her fucking face isn't streaked with your cum, mouth wrapped and looking fucking satisfied to be a total, gorgeous mess. She makes a dramatic display of kissing the tip again, just before telling you words you probably dreamt up at some point - either sleep deprived, or, during three AM jackoff, fantasizing. "Sometimes, just from riding your cock, I can't sit up straight."

"Fuck," and you feel your whole body run rigid, because apparently that's something you’ve been aching to hear.

You're covering her mouth again. White streaking onto her lips - where she's catching it in the well beneath her tongue and letting it spill out of the corner of her mouth. Into the crook of your thumb, which catches a drip here and there and rubs it down the length - down the curve - and pushes it back between Hyeju's pert little pout.

"Doesn't count, mister, just more pre-cum," she says, all with the audacity of a wink and smile; her words are a little garbled around the head of your cock between her teeth. And when you nod and realize just how painfully your jaw hurts, your throat becomes tight and raw, a knot pulling the underside from the center. Hyeju slides her lips lower, lower down, to the hilt and stays there, just like that - one hand holding down the flat of your belly to keep your hips still, her chin hanging - bobbing-as she feels every pulse, every twitching shift. You curl one hand around the side of her face, over the sharp edge of her jaw; rub a thumb into the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts. You start to tell her what you like: how hot the rush comes when a girl puts her tongue against the slit at the very tip, and licks at the precum in nice, quick circles, soft and fluttering. And how her fingers shouldn't hesitate either, Hyeju's not even struggling to give it to you - god - just giving and -

She jerks her head up, swallowing down her next breath like it's one of her last. "I'm serious, if you're going to fuck a hole, start with my mouth - we can move onto everything else after."

"You're ridiculous -"

She meets her lips to your head, kissing once. Again. Kissing every inch, letting her mouth wrap around and then just - staying, just - staying like that and humming, with you, enjoying the fullness, the smell of you, the taste, the shape, just the weight and size and you.

There is spit fucking everywhere.

And if it's not clear what you're supposed to be doing - her fingers weave through yours, squeezing hard at the wrist and you can imagine: pulling her forward by her hair and holding her down while she chokes on your cock. "Fuck, Hyeju," you say, and your voice comes out way shakier than you'd like, "when, how did it get like this, huh? You always - always did, shit, always want your mouth filled."

"Never figured you to be someone who'd get turned on watching their friend sucking their cock like this."

"Doesn't everybody love the sight of their cock in a pretty girl's mouth?

"You were really convinced they weren't lining up behind you? Or anyone in the queue who can't keep their eyes off of this thing. Tell me, and try not to lie, try not to bullshit this one out: how many girls have you come home and fucked and creamed their brains out - then asked for the sloppiest, most -"

"Honestly."

"- Filthiest, nasty, ball-busting, gut-wrenching blowjob ever to make them think - to make them really start wondering what the hell it was you did - like it's gotta be something that leaves them so ruined, they can't ever not compare - can't ever not compare this moment, right here. Ever. When you give them the hardest fucking of their life, compared to any other guy - can't not, because no-one, literally no-one's cock can fuck like you do-"

"Fuck-"

"Any harder. Come on, seriously, tell me it isn't true. Come on."

Her voice - her fucking words, the tone she uses and how her words roll: honey-warm and soaking with sweet, thick degradation - she talks like sex, and that's exactly what gets you harder, like it’s something else; like it’s nothing, like it’s less, so much worse - you feel this guilty-dirty heat pool at your tailbone and push down the hard press of you throbbing all the way to her nose. And Hyeju smiles as much as she's capable around the fat, round stretch, humming around the warm taste of you, before opening wide and sinking her throat on it.

There's nothing like it.

You've got two fists in her hair; she's so tight and wet around every god-damn inch. Her cheeks flush - hot to the touch; her tongue laving in slow, long drags, slicking your shaft nice and warm until you're balls-deep and pushing her further: a small shift to the hips, a push here, a harder, faster pull, and Hyeju's feet behind her go curling like an angry cat, wanting the tug.

A long, satisfied breath slips from the hollows of her throat.

There are tears threatening, thickening her lashes, and though she doesn't choke - you're just afraid. Every sound that she pulls out, her eyes blinking up to you as if it's only natural to love getting used by her friend's cock, like the very premise of it - swallowing down the very shape of you, dragged over her tongue and brushing cum into the back of her throat - is something she can’t go without.

But this is nothing compared to the noises from where her lips are pressed tight around you, where you're hearing and even feeling:

That gluck, gluck - where her chest spasms just the slightest when her nose gets nuzzled right into your belly and you remember how much she likes to hear you talk dirty, how fucking wet it gets her. The heavy, deep breaths, gasps; the strangled moans when your hips just buck - the heat and the thrill, and this is better than every other time because there's just something in this moment -

"I'm not gonna come again, not like this. Not in your mouth. You can’t-"

But Hyeju refuses to hear a word; just pumps your shaft faster, feeling it's familiar hardness grow and throb and ache and retch, all her effort paying off: you're slick with precum and spit, hard and straining, the whole shaft begging for release - all because of her. And Hyeju won't stop, she pushes her cheek onto your thigh and then taps a hand there to pull your hips. The motion drives your cock further still inside her. Until it’s bathed in her spit, your cum, all this mess.

Until it's reaching, choking her, and the muffled sounds she's making are filthy and wet and so incredulously hot.

But god. Hyeju has something of a temper and a habit, too: with those big beautiful eyes and the perfect plump of her pouting lips, her tits swelling up around, when your grip slips on her shoulder, and her mouth goes tighter - how the pleasure begins to make you unbearably cruel and you push her away from you, only for a second -

She doesn't wait or seem to care; Hyeju follows the cock with her whole head and whimpers so hotly in her throat when it plops right back on her tongue. "That's more - more like - fuck, oh, there we go," her nose and fingers prodding.

You groan through a high, strangled whimper, a helpless shiver that turns into an uncontrollable roll of the hips - you can't believe it: she's already so thoroughly debauched and defaced; just fucking painted with it. Your cum dripping off her chin and rolling down her neck.

"Fuck - gonna make me - ah, Jesus -"

When Hyeju seems to have reached her fill, the feeling, you're cumming - pumping the length of your shaft. And the moment she feels you twitch and throb and that first hot spill lands in the bend of her mouth, it's as if she understands and holds herself tight - her legs going stock-still while your eyes blow up behind her, your cock spewing another and then another thick, milky load into her mouth, over her tongue: all along the topography of her throat - sticky cum landing in every ridge and valley -

Hyeju catches as much as she can. What little she can. You cum and pump and gush so much that when you're finally finished - done - every last drop spent and given - your cock throbs soft between her fingers; her chin is a complete and utter mess and her chest heaves with the sound of her catching her own breath. Hyeju groans softly and just swishes the load around in her mouth for a bit as if wanting to remember its feel and weight before lifting her eyes to look into yours. You can just barely see the color.

"Jesus, Hyeju-"

The entire bit of it, slick and shining-wet. With a small moan, a sound from the back of her throat: one swallow and the cum is gone, disappeared, vanished. She smiles like she didn't just ruin your entire goddamn life and, with her body limp and exhausted beside you - her gentle hand rubbing a flat stroke over your thigh before yours slips up to meet her chin.

"You," you curse and roll your eyes, catching the mess at the edge of her jaw, the very little left in the corners of her lips. You feed the cum over her bottom lip - her chin, her throat - watching your friend: Hyeju's throat, bobbing. "Really didn't have to," you start, but you realize just how useless a point it is to make.

She's smiling and biting and showing you what's left between the tips of her canines. "Do you always do this to the people who suck you off?"

"That's an awful habit. A pretty girl's lips aren't meant to get that messy," you reply.

"Oh." She frowns. "Well, I do a lot of things I shouldn't."

"God, seriously," and you think there's no greater hell, no sweeter pain than whatever's lingering in these little aftershocks - this fizzling and dying sort of pain, where the body is buzzed with all you're aching for. It's impossible to stop this train of thoughts, is the fucking feeling of her-

But just then, Hyeju rises to her knees, a new spark in her eyes, as she grabs ahold of your wrist and tugs you off the sheets, a few inches closer.

"And you," she purrs as she drags the palm of your hand across her neck and collarbone, collecting what remains and making the perfect image, "well - you are going to help clean me up, like you said before." She sits tall; the arch of her spine is pronounced - her back, so, very, slightly tapering, to where your hand slips right off the last of it: the wide flare of her hips. "Now isn't that the gentleman's thing to do?" she asks.

"Of course." You sigh, resigned and in desperate need of water. "Of course," you add and smirk a little and slip your hand lower, toward where her skin is getting hot, and her body, "let's get you clean."

"Mm." She's already grinning. "You know what wasn't in those textbooks?"

"Oh, I can only guess." You bite your cheek and start to lower yourself back. "Give it a try."

Hyeju drags you by the wrist toward the hall, the bathroom, ostensibly the shower -

"There's no way in hell you don't want to put a baby in me, like, right fucking now."

"Is that what we're doing?"

Hyeju makes a face like you're stupid - she might've grabbed a towel on the way out. She wipes her chin a little while walking - the corner of her mouth where, well - where it looks like a little dribble has somehow remained. "No. But you’re going to fuck me like it is."

-

(There's got so much on her mind. 

The door of the shower rattling in its frame as she struggles standing up against it. Getting fucked so fast and full, the feeling of both your hands cupped beneath the weight of her breasts. It's not the fact of where you are and your situation, per say - more about the immediate, the imperative nature. About fucking you. She was already feeling herself like, leaking the moment the door shut, so all that waiting, all that patience, really - and it's what drove her insane when you were, well: like that, after she put her mouth around your cock, made a right and proper mess of herself, and sucked you off.

Though there's less on her mind, clearly, when she cums all over your cock.

She's crying with her tits up onto the glass, your palm holding her ribs. Your cum-slick cock working itself hard again as it slips, back and forth, as you're fucking her open, spread apart. It's your finger in her asshole. That's what's on her mind then. How the press of your knuckle lights her entire fucking spine on fire - how the other hand finds her clit in all this, too, when you're no longer supporting the both of you but rather Hyeju is folding on her bent knee and trusting, on shaking and shivering, raw nerves, that you're not going to collapse.

"Fucking. God, please-"

There's the harsh slap of flesh - skin on wet skin, your palms against the sides of her ass and the curve of the breast. But otherwise - it's you, sighing - soft and gentle, like you can't get over the feel of her. "Hyeju, oh-fucking, god, fucking," is what you're saying, and it doesn't end up really mattering which one of you came last because she can feel you twitching, squelching in and out with how badly you're wanting to explode inside, but also you can feel her cunt absolutely begging, this fucking fluttering and clamping down on every thrust and the moment you manage to grind this angle she loses her ability to speak properly because you're not just, like - fucking her-

Just, absolutely, completely pounding her pussy, stretching her insides, dragging and sliding along the walls; each rough rub and thrust makes her knees quiver until her body is trembling and falling. But mostly her voice, the sharp gasp that shakes into her, how her nails are scraping the walls of the shower stall and she's saying - telling, crying and asking and wondering and pleading - just utterly astounded:

"Amazing," she huffs, breathes coming out cloudy and true onto the pane of glass, "you - it’s, fucking amazing.")

-

“And I am… Ironman.”

Your eyes flicker awake, hazy, as Tony Stark snaps his fingers, killing himself alongside Thanos’ army in the process.

The TV's long been running on background noise, though not as ambient. Its characters now bickering between the rubble and ruins and being picked up for the end credits. In the dark of the screen, you see Hyeju had nodded off and slumped over the side of your body. A new year means new beginning means resolutions and diets and gym routines -

Maybe no sooner than the sun can come up, apparently.

You lean over to grab your phone from the table: 4:14 A.M.

There's a lot of things you want to say, even more you want to hear, but your mind has begun to settle a bit - a lazy and dreamy thing that fills you with this sort of, tired kind of - not sad, or empty - no, of course not. That's hardly fitting; not after tonight. You want to wrap this in an idealistic sort of sentiment - maybe hold Hyeju close and let the hour carry you and the comfort be enough to forgive whatever there is to miss: like the fact, it's still really dark, so dark even outside. The moon reflecting off the sheet of snow on the street. And not even a distant dog barking, or car driving by or someone playing loud music in the early hours of the new year.

As the film drifts off into another set of commercials, you slip into an easy sleep that feels effortless. Your head drops, landing on the cushion by the arm of the couch, where Hyeju's hand begins to slip mindlessly across your belly, tickling your waist and causing you to slightly squirm - things are cooling down, but still a little agitated.

"Don't tell me you're waking me up, cause I just -"

She kisses the pulse at your throat and answers, mumbling half-words into the spot below your ear. "A kiss for a new year."

And maybe the world doesn't owe you anything at all.

Maybe it just gave you more than enough.

#hyeju smut #loona smut #loona hyeju smut #loossemble smut #loossemble hyeju smut #olivia hye smut #loona olivia hye smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

[waltermis]

Imagine You Joining The Avengers And Natasha Having A Huge Crush On You

MASTERLIST ↠ NATASHA ROMANOFF MASTERLIST

Summary: Basically the title 🤪

Warnings: swearing, implied sex

↠↠↠ 

EARLY STAGES

- When you first join the avengers, Natasha would be apprehensive around you

- You think that it's because you're the new girl

- You try to be as nice as possible to her

- Leaving her a protein shake after her workouts

- Making sure that her peanut butter sandwiches didn't have any crusts

- and that every single part of the bread was smeared with peanut butter

- Bringing her favorite snacks & drinks to her door when she had a huge workload

- You didn't know why you wanted to do those things

- but you saw how her eyes lit up whenever she found something you left for her

- and it made you feel happy

- Whenever you smiled at her, Natasha could feel her entire body heat up as she blushed bright red

- The team OBVIOUSLY took note of that and would tease her constantly

- One very terrible teasing session caused someone from the team to go the med bay

- Not gonna name who...

- *cough* Tony *cough*

- It was after a huge party that Tony threw did Natasha finally open up to you

- You had inadvertently saved her from a very drunk and extremely creepy douchebag who couldn't take no for an answer

- After you pulled her away, the two of you stayed at the bar while you threw every pick up line imaginable at her

- and each time, she would throw her head back, squeezing her eyes shut as she laughed

- "Excuse me.... But did you come from the vending machine? 'Cause you are a snack!" ~Y/N

- "Oh god! That's terrible!!" ~ Nat

- "Right?! I don't get how guys think that'll work?!" ~Y/N

- "Did you just come out of the oven? 'Cause you're hot!" ~Y/N

- *gagging noises* ~ Nat

- "You're definitely on my To-Do list tonight..." ~Y/N

- "Ew..... Do another one..." ~ Nat

- and by the end of the night, the two of you were wheezing al the laughing

- After that, the two of you became attached to the hip

- Whenever someone from the team couldn't find you, they would look for Natasha and vice versa

- One time, Steve had found both you and Nat hanging upside down from a tree while you taught her how to play 'Patty Cake'

- Another time, Wanda found the two of you reading each other's' favorite stories just so you could fully understand what the other was talking about

REALIZING

- It wasn't until much later on in your friendship –8 months– with Natasha, did she finally understand why her heart would beat faster whenever you were in the same room as her

- Or why she felt angry whenever you went out with someone that wasn't her

- Or why sometimes she would have to physically restrain herself from wanting to kiss your pout when she rejected watching a rom-com

- It finally dawned on her after she spoke with Clint

- *cough* more like Clint slapped some sense into her *cough*

- "Clint! I think I might be sick..." ~ Nat

- "What?! Why?" ~ Clint

- "I dunno... My stomach gets twisted into knots and my heart beats really fast sometimes..." ~ Nat

- "Lemme ask you, does this all happen when Y/N is around?" ~ Clint

- "Yeah why? *gasp* You don't think she's drugging me do you?!" ~ Nat

- "N-no... I don't think that our sweet little avenger would be drugging you...." ~ Clint

- "Then what is it??!!?!" ~ Nat

- "How are you such a good spy and yet so oblivious and naïve when it comes to feelings?" ~ Clint

- "Wha-?" ~ Nat

- "You have a crush on N/N, dumb dumb!!!" ~ Clint

- "What?! No I don't!!" ~ Nat

- "You said that she had the breasts of a Greek goddess!" ~ Clint

- "What!? When???"

*flashback*

- When the team first began discussing whether they should accept you into the avengers or not

- Natasha may have let something slip

- "C'mon!! She can't join us!!!" ~ Tony

- "Why not, Tony?" ~ Steve

- "Are you kidding me?! That woman has the nose of a bloodhound!" ~ Tony

- "And the breasts of a Greek goddess..." ~ Nat

- "...Nat...?" ~ Clint *end flashback*

- "Oh my god!!" ~ Nat

AVOIDANCE

- After finding out, Natasha avoids you as much as she can

- You're confused thinking you did something wrong

- Every time you would enter a room, Natasha would flee immediately

- the only thing convincing you that you didn't imagine her would whatever she had left behind when fleeing

CONFRONTATION

- It took weeks before you were able to corner Natasha

- She had been taking a shower when you quite literally barged into her bathroom

- You didn't care anymore

- You had waited long enough

- You pushed her against the wall, still fully clothed questioning her

- "Why are you avoiding me?!" ~Y/N

- "W-what the fuck are you doing in here?!?! I'm taking a shower!" ~ Nat

- "Well, you have been avoiding me for practically 2 months now!!! I wanna know what I did wrong!!" ~Y/N

- "You mean besides coming here while I'm showering?!?!" ~ Nat

- "Nat please! I miss cuddling together under a fort we made during movie nights!! I miss 3am baking!! I miss complaining about every dumb move the Kardashians make! I miss our friendship!" ~Y/N

- "That's just it!! I don't want to be just friends!!" ~ Nat

- "W-what?" ~Y/N

- "I lo- like you!!! A lot... and I can't stand being just friends with you!!!" ~ Nat

- "I love you too, Nat...." ~Y/N

- "You do...?" ~ Nat

- She would have the most vulnerable look in her eyes

- her eyes would be glassy with tears as her bottom lip trembled slightly

- "Yeah... I was terrified that I was the only one..." ~Y/N

- You would lean in slightly when you'd stop

- "Can I kiss you?" ~Y/N

- "Yeah..." ~ Nat

- Consent = 🥵🥵

- The two of you would spend hours in the shower...

- 😉😉😏😏

AFTERMATH

- Natasha would be the best girlfriend

- Peppering your face with kisses every morning to wake you up

- Bringing you, your favorite flowers whenever you two had a date

- which was every week

- Reading you stories like 'Little Women' when you couldn't sleep

- Her calling you Russian pet names will never fail to make you blush

- "Morning, moya lyubov'! Did you sleep well?" ~ Nat

- "Thank you, detka!" ~ Nat

- "Ya tebya lyublyu, dorogoy..." ~ Nat

- And in turn you were just as good as a girlfriend to her

- Comforting her whenever she would have a nightmare about her past

- Sitting next to her in the shower, the both of you fully clothed, when a mission goes sideways and agents had died

- "It's all my fault..." ~ Nat

- "No it's not" ~Y/N

- "It is!! I was in charge! And I let them die..." ~ Nat

- "Babe, you did everything you could. The intel you got from the mission was clearly altered and it was a trap! You brought back as many people as you could and you saved over 20 kids from getting trafficked! That's a huge win. And yeah, it sucks that agents died, but I know that they would be proud that they sacrificed their lives so that those kids will have a better life! You're not gonna feel better sitting here feeling sorry, you have to honor what those agents did and thank them." ~Y/N

- "I love you so much, detka. Thank you for being here." ~ Nat

- "'Course... where else would I be? And I love you so much too." ~Y/N

- Reassuring her that she had wiped her ledger squeaky clean

- Of course she still had her moments of doubt but you were always there guiding her through it

- Learning Russian so the two of you could have full on conversations without the team understanding a single word

MEETING THE WIDOW FAM

- Meeting Yelena for the first and getting along amazingly

- the two of you would be working together to prank everybody

- like one time, the two of you painted all of Tony's Iron Man suits Captain America colors

- Or another time where you wrapped Sam's room in saran wrap

- took him nearly 4 hours just to cut through everything you guys wrapped

- When you met Melina and Alexei, the two were cautious around you

- but they soon opened up to you when they realized that you weren't gonna harm them

- Exchanging recipes with Melina

- Drinking contests with Alexei which left you drunk as hell and regretting your life decision the next morning

- It was safe to say that Natasha was head over heels for you

- and you for her

- And that was all that mattered to anybody

↠↠↠ 

1411 words

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #avengers #avengers x reader #tony stark #wanda maximoff #yelena belova #Melina Vostokoff #alexei shostakov #sam wilson #clint barton #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #marvel #mcu #gxg #wlw

[yanderederee]

SocialCues

a/n: Been feeling a little down lately.. very self-comfort, but I hope anyone else who has deep rooted anxiety and poor social skills can appreciate this…

cw: depictions of bullying and self-degradation/anxiety. Angst/Comfort

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Why did this always happen? How, even?

You seriously couldn’t wrap your head around how you always found yourself in these damned situations…

After being left alone at your desk, you quietly listened as the classmate who had just walked away whispered to themselves.

“What a freak…”

What did you even do? A freak? You were rightfully polite and pleasant, just as you always have been.

Did you say something wrong? Something weird? All you did was ask your classmate about their dog. Out of all the subjects you were taught to bring up in conversation, pets and hobbies were a universal win. (Strictly of the other person, because if you started going on a rant about your own pet or hobbies, you would make the person feel awkward and at a loss for words.)

How is it you always had a way of making everyone you talk to feel so awkward and bored?

But it was so lonely being forced into submissive quietness. You may have hated that more than the quiet glares of others. So still, you try to do your best and talk to people.

But only after a month of trying, it was evident that others were beginning to avoid you. To avoid talking to you. Avoiding eye contact.

You repeated what you’ve been told over and over again.

Saying less is more.

Use considerate language; words and phrasings.

Don’t make the conversation about yourself.

Avoid too specific points of conversation.

Read their facial expressions.

If they look desperate to leave, end the conversation quickly as to not bother them further.

Maybe being too conscious of what you said was your downfall?

But seriously, what else could you do? If you tried being casual, you make it awkward. If you tried too hard, you make it awkward. And if you don’t try at all, you force yourself into isolation.

Once lunch time rolled around, you started your way to the bathrooms to wash your hands before eating. How could you eat when your hands were covered in eraser shavings and lead stains? However, just at the threshold of the bathroom entrance, you could hear a conversation.

“L/n just doesn’t know when to shut up, does she?”

“Seriously! I can’t even get in a word with her!”

“Really? I just felt like she wasn’t even there when I tried talking to her! Like, she was waiting for me to ask her questions or something.”

“She asks way too many questions, like, why are you so obsessed with me?”

“She doesn’t really have much of a personality, I can’t stand people like that!”

“I dunno, I just can’t stand her.”

Honestly, they were pretty loud. People around the bathroom could definitely hear whoever it was talking.

You honestly didn’t even know how to react.

Maybe this was a good thing? At least this way you knew what you were doing wrong. Unfiltered criticism on how you could do better. So silently, you stood and listened.

It really hurt, hearing people talk about you like this. But it was your fault in the first place. Suck it up. Do better. Be better.

Holding back your tears, you fidgeted with your fingers. It was no good. You were bound to burst out in tears at any second.

“Oi.” Out came a sudden call. Startled, your heart leapt out of your chest. Looking up, you saw your classmate, Baji Keisuke, holding three filing boxes of what you assumed to be pre-graded tests and other miscellaneous paperwork. “Lend me a hand, would ya? Teach wants these taken to the teachers lounge before lunch’s over.”

It took you a few seconds to properly register that he was actually talking to you. Though it was hard to tell, given his huge thick rimmed glasses. Once it finally clicked that he was actually talking to you, a wave of embarrassment hit you hard.

“Me? Oh, uhh… o-okay.” You agreed slowly, looking at your dirty hands. You guessed it would be more suitable to wait to wash your hands after carrying a dusty box. Somewhat relieved, you nodded and walked over to your black haired classmate, gingerly shifting the top most box out of his face, into your grip. “Just this one is fine, or should I grab another..?”

You began to ask, until you were met with awkward silence.

SHIT. YOU DID IT AGAIN? Already? Embarrassed to the point of tears, you started down. “S-sorry, dumb question.”

Your classmate seemed disgruntled at your comment. Self pity never looked good. You were just digging yourself into a more massive hole. Just shut up and take the boxes.

Lift your fair share.

Almost forgot that rule.

Just as you went to shuffle the second box out from his grasp, your class mate stepped back. “I got these, just the one is fine.” He said.

“Just the one?” You asked.

“Yeah.. I mean, not to sound like an ass— I mean, um…” he clicked his tongue, trying to think of a better way to rephrase his comment.

“You can say ass, I don’t care.” You giggled quietly. You were faking it a little, what with how shot your confidence was already. But it was cute watching Baji flounder for the right words.

“Right. What I mean is, I’m probably stronger than you are, carrying these isn’t any issue. I just needed help with the third one since it was blocking my view.”

That made sense. He was damn near a foot taller than you after all. And he didn’t seem to struggle with the load in strength. Your silence made your classmate a little on edge.

“I ain’t trying to call you weak or anything. Shit. Just.. lets go.” He huffed before starting his way to the stair case.

Following close behind, you were scrambling your head with how to reply. Do you need to reply? But he sounded a little unsure of his own phrasing, sometimes validation was good for these kinds of situations.

‘It’s okay, I didn’t think you were calling me weak.’

Simulating the conversation in your head, you give up, rationalizing that your comment would more than likely go unanswered anyway.

Lost in these thoughts, you trailed behind Baji silently.

That’s right.

When it doubt, just be quiet. Just. Be quiet.

And it seemed your classmate was content with this as well.

Just as you were rounding the stairs, you were suddenly overwhelmed by a group of boys roughhousing with one another, laughing and unbothered. Before you even had the chance to move out of their way, a boy had rammed into your side hard. This caused for a series of unfortunate events.

Being as you were just making your way down the stairs, this rash shove caused you to lose your balance, trip over your feet, and topple forward. It wasn’t pretty. You definitely did at least one summersault on your crash down, the box of papers you held flying everywhere. What would have made it worse was if you had crashed into Baji on your way down, but luckily for both of you, he had walked at a much quicker pace, and had already reached the bottom of the staircase before your topple.

It was dead silent. Luckily, there weren’t too many students around, but there were enough. The boys looked back to one another, contemplating if they could just run off before you realized who they were, stay and help, or even apologize. You were the weirdo of their class after all, it’s not like these kinds of things didn’t just… happen.

“The hells your guys’ problem, huh?!” Baji yelled. It was really loud, louder than you’d ever heard him before. “Got a death wish or somethin’? Help pick this shit up, now!”

Hell with his reputation, this shit pissed him off way more than his tempter would allow him to suppress.

“R-right!” The boys who’d bumped into you nodded and scrambled to pick up all the scattered papers. “And apologize!” Baji yelled a second time, furious that they hadn’t even considered to do that first.

“We’re really sorry!! We weren’t looking, it was an accident!! We’re sorry!” They groveled low to the ground as they cleaned up the mess of their own making.

Baji huffed, but seeing as they were doing exactly as he told, he let it be for now. He sat his own boxes down gently, squatting over to help you up. “Hey, you okay?” He asked.

“No—“ you snapped in a sarcastic tone, but it was only out of bubbling up frustration and humiliation. Clearing out your throat, before he would reply, you started to pick up the papers scattered at your bruised knees. “Yeah, sorry. I’m okay; just didn’t expect it.. sorry I dropped the box. Sorry.” You repeated quietly, head hung low.

You only ever made trouble. If you’d just moved out of the way faster, you wouldn’t have messed up so harshly. Even if they were clearly in the wrong, if you’d just caught your footing instead of tripping, none of this would have happened.

“Come on, these bastards can take the rest from here.” Baji glared while his glasses slipped past his nose, leaving each boy trembling in fear. “W-we’ve got it from here..” One nodded in defeat.

Baji grabbed your shoulders, you rushed you to your feet. “Don’t worry about this, ‘going to the nurse.” He had an aura of order around him while helping you down the remaining stairs. “It’s okay, you don’t have to walk me..” you mumbled, not even sure it was worth going to the nurse for anyway. All you did was fall.

“You’ve got a few knots, and a lot of bruising. You should really be put on ice.” Baji looked you over as the two of you walked. “It had to of hurt. Seriously, those guys should have been looking where they were going. Don’t worry about it though, I’ll make sure they properly apologize again later.”

You chuckled humorlessly, and waved him off, eyes still glued downcast. “It’s not that big of a deal. It was an accident.”

“Accident or not, they’re gonna pay.” He muttered. “Sorry to trouble you, you’d probably have been better off if I just took the boxes all myself.”

“No worries, I wanted to help.”

Once you reached the nurse, Baji stopped you before going in. “You’re L/n, right?”

“Y-yeah, Y/n L/n… I sit in the front, a few rows to the right of where you sit.”

“Right. Sorry bout that again, I’ll let the teacher know you’ll be back a little later than lunch, so don’t sweat hurrying back. Just take your time.”

When was the first the anyone was this considerate of your wellbeing? Sure, it was a common courtesy, but it was still out of the norm. He gave a final look over of you, he seemed to narrow his brows further. “Well … I’m off. Seriously, take it easy.” He waved, and stepped back, waiting for you to enter.

“Right… thank you, Baji.” You have a slight bow before escaping into the nurses office.

⋆｡ ﾟ ｡⋆｡ ﾟ ☾ ﾟ ｡⋆

You were so tired. Maybe it would be best to let it go. Just accept you weren’t able to make friends. Finally accept something was actually wrong with you, and just stop trying.

Murmurs about your little fall were the talk of the class after lunch. Apparently the guys who bumped into you were actually pretty popular. Spreading misinformation about what happened, and making you out to be the bad guy. Seriously, what did you ever do to them? It wasn’t fair.

Overwhelmed, the end of the day came, and it was becoming impossible to tune out all 20 different conversations happening simultaneously as students filed out of the classroom. You bit your tongue and waited. The room would become empty before too long.

One by one, everyone left. And you were finally left alone. Finally. The weight of the day finally began to settle in the newfound quietness.

You quietly laid your head down on your desk, and held your arm sleeves tightly. Just breath. Why is it no matter what, you always make things worse? It was so suffocating, you didn’t even realize how harsh your breathing had become. Tears burned your eyes, and suddenly you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Openly sobbing into your sleeves, you huddled in upon yourself closer.

This sucked! What the hell! You didn’t do anything wrong! So why…

It didn’t do any good to think about it further than that. All thinking did was make it worse. Stop thinking. Just pretend like it didn’t happen. Pretend like you don’t hear anyone when they talk behind your back anymore. Pretend like your knees don’t hurt, like your feelings weren’t crushed. No one cared anyway. Suck it up.

Do better. Be better. Stop crying. Stop—

“Hey…” you heard a soft voice call out beside you. Your breath hitched. Was the classroom not empty? Did you seriously start crying in front of someone like that? This had to be the worst day.

You felt something cold touch your shoulder, and what you can only assume to be a juice box plopped down on your desk.

You didn’t lift your head. Soon to follow, the slight screech in a chair pulled out beside you, and the shifting of clothes. “Leave me alone…” you said softly; hoarsely.

“I thought about it… but it kinda seems like you could use a friend.” Wait, you recognized that voice. Ever so slightly, you turned your head to the side, and peeked past your hair to see Baji sitting slouched and wide legged beside you.

Still, you couldn’t let him see you like this. Rubbing your eyes against the material of your sleeve, you mumbled again. “It’s okay. You really don’t have to do all that.”

He was quiet. You were hopeful that he wouldn’t push the pity treatment further. The juice box was enough. It was thoughtful, and sweet. He was trying. But it was unnecessary. You’d forget about today soon enough.

Baji wasn’t sure what he should do. Maybe he should just leave you alone. He wasn’t really that good at comforting people, and you really didn’t seem in the mood to talk.

He’d never talked to you before today anyway.

Yet he couldn’t find it in himself to do it.

Anytime your name was brought to mention, it was always some bullshit gossip he never cared to listen to. You kept a low profile and seemed to always have a cheery aura about you. Those rumors were just that, rumors. It kind of reminded himself of when people would mumble about him behind his back when he first got held back. Sure, everything that everyone said about him was true, about being a delinquent, or being dumb. But it didn’t seem that way with you.

“People are assholes and just say shit to make you feel bad about yourself. I’m friends with a bunch of weirdos— some real freaks, so I can confidently say you aren’t as weird as people make you out to be.”

Well, it was a nice thought, if anything else. You giggled, sniffling a last few times before turning away from Baji, and wiping your face clean. You faced forward, a guilty smile decorating your features.

Baji Keisuke wasn’t ever really one to notice a person’s appearance, not for girls anyway. Yet he couldn’t help but admire you. Maybe it was the puffiness of your eyes and lashes, all clumped up together in wet mattes. Or maybe it was the gentle smile of giving up that twisted his heart into feeling like he should help you. To get closer to you.

“H-here.” Baji stuttered, and held out his glasses to you. “I don’t actually need them, they’re just for show. You were trying to hide you were crying, right?”

You blinked suspiciously at him, who was a little red faced and shifting of his own gaze. Was he trying to be considerate? Either way, it made you laugh. “Why do you wear them if you don’t need them?” You took the bait, and reached out for the plastic glasses.

“Well, I’ve been told I can look, intimidating, kinda. Like I’m always glarin’ or something. S-so, I guess that’s why?” He couldn’t exactly tell you he didn’t want to be recognized for being Tokyo Manji Gang’s first division captain.

“That so?” You played along, putting the glasses on in playful banter. “Huh, you’re right. They’re fake.” You smiled, and looked back over at Baji. Immediately, Baji broke out into a fit of laughter.

“Bwaaahaha! What the hell! You look so dorky!” He toppled onto himself, holding his side. You immediately followed his fit of laughter, kicking the chair below him. “I look dorky? Speak for yourself poindexter! You’re the one who looks goofy on the daily!”

Normally, those comments would cause Baji to roll his eyes, but with how lighthearted the air was, it only managed to make him laugh harder.

It felt good, laughing so hard with someone. A stranger even. “Alright, come on’, I’ll treat you to some ramen. You had to skip out on eating lunch since I asked you to help me right? You gatta be starving.” Baji offered, hoisting himself up and out of his chair, pushing it in.

“Well…” you thought about it. You’d hate to put him out and cause anymore unnecessary trouble. Yet, for once, you felt like you understood the social cues going on around you. Being able to relax, smile and laugh with someone, and they offer to take you out for food? Would it really be a bad thing to accept?

“Sure…”

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers comfort #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo revengers baji #baji #baji keisuke #keisuke baji #baji x reader #baji keisuke x reader #tokrev baji

[aerowolf]

the mercs realize it's your bday and you didn't tell anyone because your family doesn't do birthdays

I’m so sorry this is a mess between British and American english. I have an American parent and a Canadian one so it messed me up lolll

if didn't include a Merc you wanted, feel free to request and I'll try and add them :]

includes: Miss Pauling & offense classes

cute platonic, gn!reader

warnings: n/a, this is basically all fluff

You'd rather not make a big deal of it being your birthday, even though it is you were taught that birthdays aren't a big deal and your family never really did them.

You kind of wish someone would care but you feel guilty about that so you choose not to tell anyone about it

The only one of these who actually knows it's your birthday is Miss Pauling, who’s seen your personnel files

Miss Pauling

She knows it's your birthday, and instead of ignoring it she decides to at least discreetly make it a good day for you

She arrives on base for a routine inspection, clipboard in hand, but once she's done with the main thing, instead of leaving, she comes to your room

"I saw that it's your birthday today. I don't know if you celebrate, or anything, but, uh, I thought you'd like a gift. Maybe."

She hands you a box, inside are some candy bars and a plush of a bear

"I know it's not exactly the nicest thing, and I know it's kinda... stereotypical... but, y'know, I thought you'd like something. So, happy birthday. From me.” She’s really shy about it, you get the feeling she didn’t--probably still doesn’t--really get to celebrate birthdays either. 

She offers you a ride on her motorbike, something nice, on the open road--away from this base for a little while. You accept, taking a seat behind her, enjoying the open air--though it is pretty hot out. You guys talk, just enjoying the time.

She smiles at you as you get back. “Happy birthday. You deserve it.”

You thank her and even give her a hug. It’s nice that you got this for once. 

Scout

He has no idea whatsoever that it’s your birthday. He’s interacting with you like usual, teasing you, just hanging out. You’re happy as you talk that day; he’s always good at making you laugh and smile.

At some point he notices that you’re a little down, as much as you may try to hide it, he can tell. You’re his friend, and even though he might act like he doesn’t care sometimes, you know he does. A lot.

You tell yourself you don’t want anything on your birthday, that it’s easier if no one knows, but secretly, you do.

“Hey, what’s up? C’mon, ya know I can tell when something’s wrong.” 

You tell him it’s nothing. 

“You sure? Really? You’re kinda… I dunno, sadder than usual.” After he asks a few times, you finally come out and tell him. You don’t say much. Just “It’s my birthday.”

“No kiddin’? Well, why didn’t ya tell me?” He comes off pretty strong. You feel kind of apologetic for mentioning it, and look away from him. “Aw, hey. Y’know what--it don’t matter. I’m gonna throw you a party like you ain’t never seen, believe me.”

You try to tell him you don’t want a party--well, you do. Maybe. No you don’t. Well, sure. But not a big one. He’s really sweet and enthusiastic about it. “Someone like you deserves a big birthday--but if you don’t want it, dat’s okay. Ya know, we could just hang out, or somethin’. You n’ me, yeah?” 

You tell him you’d like that a lot. You both find a quiet spot in the base where you can just talk. He messes around, too, and pops in a Tom Jones record. 

He’s a little shy, a little embarrassed, but he even sings happy birthday to you. He just seems glad no one can hear him. He doesn’t have a gift handy for you, but he ends up scribbling you a quick doodle of him telling you happy birthday. It’s misspelt, but the drawing is cute, and you keep it. “I hope ya had a good day. I’m just sorry I didn’t know sooner.” You tell him that it wasn’t his fault, how could he have known? 

After all is done, he gives you an awkward hug. You smile and return it.

Soldier

He’s a little crazy so he’s just hanging around base, today he had the idea to strip and cover himself in honey, so everyone has had to convince him to please not do that, and now he’s just moping around, muttering about how anti patriotic this all is.

You sit next to him and mope as well. Unlike him, no one knows the reason you’re moping. To anyone else’s point of view, you’re just comforting him--for whatever weird reason. But he sees that you’re just as sad as him.

“What’s wrong, maggot? Is there someone who needs to see my fists meet their face?”

You tell him no, no one did anything. You’re a little intimidated by him, and you don’t see much reason to tell him anyways. But it’s nice sitting with a friend. 

“If it’s not a person, then… it must be an object! Give it to me and I will destroy it immediately.” He’s being as sweet as he can, you smile and shake your head.

You sit there for a bit, smiling as you watch the other mercs come and go. Today isn’t a bad day, just a little sad. Later, you plan to find some kind of sweet treat to eat alone.

Soldier stands up, at attention, and points at you. “MAGGOT, AS YOUR SUPERIOR AND SENIOR, I ORDER YOU TO TELL ME WHAT IS WRONG!”

With a sad smile and a chuckle you finally tell him.

“Your birthday?” Soldier seems genuinely surprised. He places a hand on his chin and thinks. “We cannot go without celebrating! This is momentous!”

Although you try to protest, he turns to the base, stating to every other merc, “LISTEN UP! IT IS Y/N’S BIRTHDAY AND WE WILL CELEBRATE!” 

He makes it his personal mission to decorate for a party that very evening, even gets a cake and everything. He makes every other merc sing happy birthday with him. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

You give him a big hug, and he is surprised at first, but proceeds to give a gentle laugh and hug back.

Pyro

You see Pyro colouring with crayons and coloured pencils on their break, and you sit by them. You don’t really understand what they’re saying a lot of the time, but you enjoy hanging out with them. It’s a long period of silence before you join them in colouring. Regardless of your artistic skills, they’re impressed and encourage you, and are very happy when you show them what you’ve been working on. 

After a little while you get kind of bored and sad. You’ve tried to enjoy this day but it’s another bittersweet birthday. You’re happy to hang out with Pyro though, even though they don’t know what day it is.

Pyro notices that you’ve stopped colouring with them, and that you’re looking at the ground instead, messing with the cracks in the floor.

“Huddah hrmmf mmmrph?” You don’t understand what they’re saying exactly, but you smile at them. They seem to be asking what’s wrong, why you stopped, why you seem so sad.

You hesitate for a moment before finally confessing. They seem to mostly understand what you mean, and they lean back, thinking. 

After a few seconds, they stand up and help pull you off the floor. They point to their room, and you follow them. It’s an odd combination of scorch marks, colourful drawings, weapons, and art supplies. They lead you to a wardrobe and pull out a box. 

Surprisingly, you can see that it's fully wrapped. Did they somehow know it was your birthday? Do they keep these gifts on hand for the mercs?

You won’t get an answer, but they excitedly push it out and offer it to you. “Huddah hmmph!” They sound almost like they are smiling behind the mask. You take the box and open it. It’s got crayons, pencils, and… wow, that’s a drawing of you and them.

You smile, almost ready to tear up, and thank them. You give them a hug, and you notice that they’re hugging you back even harder. Maybe they don’t really understand, but this is sweet.

#Merc x reader #tf2 x reader #platonic tf2 x reader #platonic x reader #pyro x reader #platonic pyro x reader #scout x reader #platonic scout x reader #Soldier x reader #platonic soldier x reader #miss Pauling x reader #Pauling x reader #platonic Pauling x reader #team fortress 2 #tf2 #tf2 hcs #tf2 headcanons #ivy speaks #ivy writes tf2 #tf2 fluff #fluff headcanons #my writing

[narcissarina]

𝔊𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔫 ℭ𝔞𝔤𝔢, 𝔅𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔅𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔰

જ⁀➴Previous chapter

Pairings: bodyguard!Leon × college billionaire!reader

Word count: 2,661

Summary: You tried to run off to escape him, but failed. Now you two created such scene in school grounds.

𝙸𝙸.

The most dangerous agent, now your bodyguard—stood before you. He’s prettier than you thought, pretty boy? Pretty boy. You just didn’t want to admit that he’s so much better in person, much more better than those pictures and in news.

He could be a role model of he wanted to, with that heartthrob of a face—you just took a guess that this man can pull any woman he wants, but little did you know that he’s actually awkward towards women.

“Hi..?” you began, tone indifferent with a cock brow, “pleasure to meet you, your father says that I’ll be your bodyguard from now on.” His voice deep and husky, you would be lying if it didn’t made your legs clench together, right?

You cleared your throat and mind, shaking off those kinds of thoughts, “I appreciate it, but I don’t need one.” You grit your teeth while uttering those words, you turn to your father and frown at him—trying to get your pretty, begging eyes to have your father throw him out. Eyes screaming, “but, daddy! I don’t want him, I can take care of myself.” Type of eyes.

Your father could only smile and turn to Leon, “I am so sorry about that.” Then grip your hand, it hurts but you could only frown and storm out of the scene.

Leon’s gaze followed your figure till you disappear from his sight, he turns and talk more with your father—getting his objectives and that when the others need him, he can’t be with you for a while.

You surround yourself with all your squishy, grumbling under the sheets and doing your assignments there. Yet, another topic that your stupid ass professor did not teach, you called Sarina—her phone is off. You whine and threw your feet, some of your plush got off the bed and you sat up, still under the blanket and stare at it.

You hiss at the light as your blanket got pulled off, “what are you doing?” It was Leon, your blanket in his hand and put it in the edge of your bed. “What are you doing in my room?” you hiss and got off of bed and walk towards, you heard him scoff and pick up the squishy and plush that fell off the bed, “didn’t knew father also hired a personal cleaner.”

You gave him a side-eye and cock a brow, he smiled at your remark, amused as he place them in bed. “Aren’t I the first one who asked you a question, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart.

You shudder at the name, either you cringe or just felt your stomach flutter. No one called you sweetheart before, not even your father. Either they call you dear or by your name, plus with a monotone or demanding tone of voice. But Leon’s? It was low and seducing. As if he’s luring you into a trap.

You didn’t answer, back turn to him as you resume your focus to your work. Pen tapping the desk, as Leon just watch you from the distance.

It only took a few minutes until Leon walked up to your desk and lean down to see what you’re up to, your breath hitches and turn your head to him—quickly moving your head away as you inhale some of his cologne.

“What are you up to?” he asked, “none of your business.” You replied, rolling your eyes as his hands were holding on to the edge of your desk, completely trapping you in between. “oh, this is easy.” He points then read the question aloud in my textbook, “Examine the role of women in World War II and the, both on the home front and in combat roles.”

He turns to you, leaning a little close, “so?” you stay quiet, not knowing what to answer since it isn’t even taught by your prof, or rather it was just a boring video that you didn’t payed attention in class. You mutter lowly, “dunno.”

He sigh and took out a chair and sat beside you, you grumble, “I didn’t think father also hired a tutor.” Your remark. “Well since you’re a woman, I think you should know this question. Isn’t women empowerment a thing?” he asked, you glared at him and punch him to his side, he didn’t budge and took your punch. He even thinks you punch cute.

“are you insulting me?” you said, “I didn’t say that.” He chuckle in amusement and took the back of your chair to scoot you close, he cleared his throat and took your pen. He points to the text and began, “women played a crucial role in world war two, what are those roles?” he asked, giving a pause and letting you answer but words didn’t come out of your mouth and just shrunk in your sit.

“eyes here, princess.” He took your jaw and gently force you to look at the textbook, “I’m not done explaining.” He added and continue, “women serves in various capacities, such as factory workers, nurses, and members or armed forces.” You listen attentively, never know that his voice sounded so nice when explaining things. Even kind enough to provide you answers.

“Countries like the Soviet Union, women served in combat roles as pilots, snipers, and partisans.”

“They held guns?”

“yes, they held guns.”

“I wanna hold a gun too.” You mutter and let your face fall to your textbook and turn your head, “continue.”

Leon nodded and stared at your face, then eyes on the textbook again. “Their contributions not only supported the war efforts but also challenged traditional gender roles and paved the way—” you cut him off.

“for greater gender equality in the post-war period.” You mutter lowly, Leon nodded and lean back to his chair, “and here I thought you didn’t know.” He gave you a faint smirk as he folds his arms. “that’s the only thing I heard when class ended.”

“you said your prof didn’t taught you this?” he raised a brow, “or did you simply didn’t listen to your lessons?”

You let out a ‘hmp’ and scoot your chair to your desk and statt working on your assignment, you were guilty but you didn’t want to admit that—you think it’ll make him a know-it-all. And your pride wouldn’t let you.

“You on your own? Or you still need me to break down history for you?”.

“You’re annoying.”

“that’s not the answer I’m looking for, princess.”

You ignored him, but he stayed incase you didn’t understand some parts and need him to explain to you. And he was right, you’d tap your pen again and it’s his cue to come and help you, you’re almost teary and at meltdown at your assignment.

Leon finds this amusing and stayed longer than intended.

You start yet another day, doing your usual routine but the twist is Leon will be and always will be following you around. As long as you don’t disappear from his sight, he won’t interfere.

Good news, you finish your assignment last night! Congratulations, you wouldn’t finish it then interrupt Sarina from her book without Leon’s help. Not only is he hot, but also smart—you felt a bit embarrassed that for someone you just met for the first time would be tutoring you.

But, hey. At least he is much better than those boys who tutor you in the past then ended up getting tutored by Sarina.

You made your bed, showered, pick an outfit to go to school to slay yet again. Leon could only watch you move and do your thing in the distance, you come downstairs get your breakfast as you finally got to the car that’ll drive you to school.

Plot twist: Leon must be there with you.

You hate that idea, since you felt awkward from last night—you go from hating him then needing him when there’s a topic that you know nothing about, Leon must be thinking you’re just crazy and having a terrible mood swing.

The whole car ride was a bit eerie, even the driver that drove you yesterday felt uneasy. You steal a glance and you turn away quickly because you realized that his eyes were always locked into you. His icy and cold gaze always following your every move, sounds creepy. Isn’t that the type of book trope that Sarina reads?

You can feel him tug a small smile from his lips then turning away, his expression quickly changing to a cold, unexpressive expression. Like this man doesn’t smile at his whole life.

Your bag on your lap, your attention out the window as you and Leon sat at the same seat quietly—keeping a good distance between the two of you until you finally arrived at your destination.

You gave the driver another tip and now, he felt like he can’t stop you from tipping him. You got out the car, and so does Leon’s. You can tell people at your back stop their tracks and take out their phones as if they have seen a real life celebrity—scratch that, he is a celebrity. This motherfucker saved the presidents daughter.

You don’t like the whispers, since Leon is with you—they’ll ask you questions if you two were a thing, why is Leon with you. How come the most dangerous agent is with a person like you.

You like gossips, really—you love the juicy drama and tea, but you don’t like getting involve into drama. They’ll spread it like wildfire, asking questions if they could have Leon’s phone number or that if you two did the deed and if so, is he good? Is he endowed? Fuck them.

Turning your back at him, he follows, “you can stop following me!” you hiss, “can’t do that, sweetheart.” Leon remark, his front touching your back—towering you from behind, you look up to meet his blues.

In others eyes, they could see two people flirting in school grounds, one an agent that dates a college student. Scandalous, isn’t it?

“you can’t always follow me, Leon!” you said and start to walk off, but Leon caught your wrist and turn you around to meet his eyes, “your father instruct me to protect you, I can’t go against your father’s will, now can I?”

You could hear giggles from other students, their phones out and recording—word could spread and come to the principal. “I can’t always have you here, Leon.”

“I won’t interrupt you, I just need to watch over you and ensure your safety, princess.” You snatch your wrist away, you groan and walked away whilst Leon follows. People think that they just witness a fucking conflict of a love story.

You went to the cafeteria to buy some drink, Leon’s outside the cafeteria—it was bustling with people and every people that pass by, they see the blonde agent and asked to take photos with him, which you don’t know if he declines of not.

You took your drink, striking a right time to lose your bodyguard—but there’s only one in and out of the cafeteria and Leon seems to be busy making small talks with the students, so—the first thing that came out from your mind is to run. It’s quite dumb, really. Leon could catch you for 10 seconds max and held you in place so you wouldn’t be a naughty girl.

But you still made a run for it, good thing you still hasn’t pluck the straw in and that your bag isn’t with you right now.

“hey, hey!” Leon yelled, his voice changing to a higher pitch tone, “get back here.” He said and rushes over you, adrenaline kicks in—Leon’s chasing you, not knowing you’re making a scene and people recording. They’ll think that two people are having a chase of their life romantically, but it isn’t. Leon is pissed, your pace began to slow down and before you knew it—you were swept off your feet as he threw you over his shoulder.

“Let me go!” you whine and hit his back a few couple of times, you feel him pat and slap your ass and taking a few deep breaths, “naughty girl.” He said and picked up the drink you dropped.

He picked up your bag where he left it since you asked him to watch it for you. “Now, where to?” he asked, sliding the strap over his shoulder, “Leon, stop! People are watching.” You whine and move your legs to get off.

“No worries, you’re getting the attention you deserve.”

“Stop!” your ear and cheeks burning hot red, you could only cover your face with your hands and just accepts defeat. “where to?” he asked again, “Library…”

You cover your face from the entire walk where Leon still has you in his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, Sarina was waiting for you in the library and Leon came in with you in his shoulder—peoples eyes dart to you and him when he entered, “girl, I have been waiting fo—” Sarina cut herself mid-sentence.

Leon puts you down, you’re facing him and your back at Sarina—you don’t wanna face your best friend now and be dumped with a bunch of questions. You lose balance and your covered face made contact with Leon’s chest, you don’t fucking care anymore. You’re too embarrassed to exist now.

Leon looked down and grab you to your shoulder and try to turn you around, you don’t want to and whine at him. Hiding yourself to him and hitting him repeatedly.

“Don’t be a brat now, princess.” Leon whispered, “or else, you’ll draw more attention—which you don’t want, right?” he added and that made you sit down with your friend and ignore Leon’s existence.

Sarina’s kept wandering back and forth to Leon, scooting over to you and giggling as she whispers unnecessary things like how luck you were and that if you two were a thing.

“He’s my bodyguard, the end. Period. End of story. No more question.” You said with gritted teeth, Saeina backs out and chuckle, “ok girl.” She rolled her eyes while Leon only watch.

“by the way, who’s that guy?” you point at the distance, male group with a few females across the room—one particular guy catches your attention, but hey—didn’t you say that you hate guys?

“Why do you asked? I mean, you have Leo—” you hit Sarina with her book closed and she let out a hiss of pain, “god fucking damn—” she curses and glared at you.

“I’m just asking, that doesn’t mean I’m interested.” Or are you? Leon cock a brow and turn his attention to the group with males and female student whispering among themselves and as if they were being held back at being loud.

A brunette guy snatches your attention, curly hair and his smile is something that made you drift you away from reality—as if time froze and it’s just you and him. But Leon isn’t having it, he has this feeling but he shouldn’t voice it out. He’s here for work, he shouldn’t give a shit about you having a little crush over a guy.

But the feeling is that the guy will be a playboy, that’s the vibe Leon is getting since there’s two girls surrounding him.

But who is he to judge?

Leon snapped your attention away, “if you have laser eyes, you could’ve burn through that guys face, you know that?” you hit him and sulk.

Sarina rolled her eyes, “girl, if you want him. Try to have him, I’m just saying that your bodyguard is so much better.” You try to hit her one more time but she dodges and ran out of the library.

But little did you know that the brunette turn his eyes and laid on you, you never knew but instead his gaze met Leon’s cold icy blues. You want to question Leon why he has his hand on your waist as he drags you out of the library.

You’re really in for a ride, aren’t you?

Next Chapter>>>

#Golden Cage Blue Bonds series #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon resident evil #resident evil leon #leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #re4 leon #re4r leon #bodyguard!Leon #keeping my eyes open as I write this #😭😭😭 send help #when he's smart and you're dumb/j

[whorediaries-09]

baby, something with sirius and reader going to a pureblood ball, and her defending sirius against walburga and sirius having heart eyes for her?? reader is pureblood btw, and slytherin, so she's basically perfect but risking her reputation for siri baby

your wish my command 💃

dusk till dawn

pairing- sirius black x lestrange!reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, dialogue heavy. (let me know if should add more) a/n- kinda an enemies to lovers?

ps- i hate the banner 💀

the slut club

let's make love tonight make it up, fall in love

the breakfast table seems too loud to be tolerated today. you rest your cheek on your palm, closing your eyes. you pull the wand out of your hair, letting it fall down. drawing incoherent circles on the wood of the table you yawn, too sleepy to let your mouth move and eat your breakfast.

your eyes don't open until the table goes too silent, excluding a few gasps here and there. the chaos murmurs down to a silent rumble. it's not your hand you feel on your head, it's cold and rough.

'you would've fallen asleep lestrange,'

your eyes widen. it's the voice of the casanova of hogwarts, who reeked of an arrogance you hated with all the hate you could muster.

'does it matter?' you snap back, your voice a carrying a heavy spell of drowsiness you didn't recognize. he raised an eyebrow, retracing his hand from your head, pushing a glass of pumpkin juice towards you.

'yep, i wouldn't want a bruise on my date's face tonight,'

the words spill so casually from his lips, it takes you a few minutes to understand what he said. when realization dawns upon you, you almost spit your drink on his face. instead you swallow on it in an unethical way, coughing up.

'w-what?' you splutter.

'bellatrix's wedding. be there.'

'well obviously i'm gonna be there, she's getting married to my fucking brother.'

'yeah so you'd want a date wouldn't you?'

'why don't you take potter? all the pureblood families are invited.'

'i'd love to, but his family isn't going.'

'but why me?'

'i dunno, cause i know you?' he says, sheepish grin on his face. you raise your eyebrow, looking at him questioningly. it's as if you're trying to progress his request. well not exactly a request, rather a command. nevertheless, you consider it for a moment. while sirius' rebellious attitude and image would surely taint your 'perfect' image, it didn't matter because you too needed a date and so did he. and even though you did 'hate' him, you saw your own opportunity, you wanted to grab it.

'so...what's in for me?'

'come on lestrange, you're getting a date out with me, isn't that enough?'

'nope. i would've considered it if you weren't so tacky black,' you return. he huffs throwing up his hands in the air.

'fine, i'll get you your favorite chocolates from honeydukes,'

'you can't buy me with chocolates. you'll do anything i say if i go out with you. deal?'

he glares at you.

'deal.'

***** the grand ballroom of the black manor glittered with the opulence befitting the pureblood elite. the wedding was a spectacle of extravagance, a showcase of the finest robes, dazzling jewels, and a careful dance of political alliances. sirius reluctantly found himself in attendance, accompanied by you that caused whispers through the gathered crowd.

your family was known for it's pureblood lineage, material possessions and wit. the confidence you felt in the satin robes was fake, but your aristocratic upbringing had taught you to never put your head down, even if you didn't feel comfortable enough.

maybe there was a fire within you or a coldness in your gaze that intrigued him tonight. while you were meant to be pawn, he couldn't help but glance at you. you looked different. you felt different. he wondered if you put up a mask at school or there. the latter seemed more appropriate to the image he had created of you in his head.

but still, you felt different. a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere where he felt suffocated.

'remember, no touching,' you breathed smiling as you so shook hands with lucius malfoy. while the gaze from his empty eyes sent chills down your spine, you still smiled.

your eyes locked with your brother. he was decked up in a black suit, your family emblem stitched on it with silver threads. brushing his hair away from his face, he mustered a comical grin, putting up a thumbs up in the air. your mother stood beside him, dusting off invisible dust from the velvet. it was a wonder how he could tolerate her nonsense, considering how many times you had wanted to knock her teeth of. nevertheless you approached her. with sirius behind you.

'good evening mother,' you bowed.

'i see you've brought a traitor as your date. i'm not very proud,'

you smiled. you could talk back, she couldn't use the cruciatus curse.

'you never were mother.'

'glad you caught up.'

'i see someone has chosen my filthy traitor of a son as their date,' walburga's oily voice boomed. sirius backed his shoulders, unconsciously gripping on your arm. while his sudden touch felt ghostly, you controlled your urge to back up.

'lady black, i assure you just because you don't choose your son doesn't mean no one else will. he really is a perfect companion.'

the tension hung so thick, you could cut it with a knife. her eyes gazed over you as if you were rust on iron. you felt his grip tighten on your arm.

'now if you'll excuse us,' you said, turning to your brother, 'congratulations on your wedding brother, but it seems like no one here likes our presence. excuse us.'

****

'you really shouldn't have done that you know. defend me against my own mother.' he says, smoke leaking out of his lips as he passed a thin roll of tobacco to you. you crush it under your toe.

'eh,' you shrug, his eyes not meeting yours. yours wander among the stars, the beautiful twinkling reminding you of the veiled insults and shared laughter the both of you had throughout the night.

'i've never really had a friend you know. it was always my brother, but somewhere i think i lost him too. and maybe defending you against your mother gave me a sense of validation.'

sirius squeezes your arm.

'i feel the same way. i think about running away to the potters, but i fear i'll be the black sheep. my mother has engraved shit into my head. and even though i know it's not true, i feel like it is,'

'shit like? you're worthless? sirius you're way more than their opinion,'

his voice is heavy when he hums. silence ensues, but it's a signal. to maybe meet after dark. or maybe to show the place where the others gave him scars. either ways, you let him hold your hand. you think he needs the comfort, wreck your plans. you think you're the train that truly takes him home. at least for the night.

'i feel like i had to tear down my banners. and sometimes i think clarity's in death, but this doesn't die. and memories feel like weapons. the wounds don't close.'

you draw circles on the skin of his wrist. they are unhealed wounds. and maybe you want to heal them. just for perhaps the night. you want to stay, you want him to know that you're there. even if just for dusk till dawn.

it's a childish question but you let it spill out of your mouth anyways.

'will you be my friend?'

he doesn't answer. he rests his head on your shoulder instead. he smells similar to your father, but he doesn't feel like it. he feels like the train that could take you home.

'you collect broken things and try to fix them. if i won't be one of those unfixable things, then maybe.' he whispers. you tighten your fingers around his. it's a silent promise.

to stay.

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #marauders #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black smut #the marauders #sirius black x reader #marauders era #sirius black imagine #sirius black thoughts #sirius black x oc #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanart #sirius being sirius #sirius black fluff #sirius black x you

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

reader pronouns: she/her

Rick found Daryl right where he expected to; laying on his back on the mattress he’d dragged outside of the cells on the second level. Daryl looked up at the sound of Rick’s boots on the metal grating and sat up as he came into view. 

“She’s asleep finally,” Rick said. Daryl nodded and stared back down at the bolt in his hand, twirling it deftly between his fingers. “It could have been a lot worse. It’s a good thing you followed her out there.” 

Daryl gulped and his entire body stilled. “She ain’t gonna see it that way though,” he drawled, shaking his head. “She’s gonna be pissed. Probably gonna think I followed her cuz she can’t handle herself or somethin’.”

“Well, why did you follow her?” Rick asked, a small coy smile on his face.

Because I love her. And I was worried. Instead of speaking that, Daryl shrugged and avoided Rick’s gaze. He hummed a ‘I dunno’ sort of noise. 

“Yeah, you do,” Rick said. “I’m surprised you aren’t down there at her bedside.”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah. She dun wanna see my ugly mug when she wakes up.”

Rick sighed heavily and shook his head. “Daryl—how are you doin’? Anybody ask you that yet?” 

He shook his head, surprised by the question. “No. But dun matter. ‘M fine. Life’s pretty much taught me to shove down feelings and bury them for later.”

“That only works if you actually come back to them,” Rick pointed out. He studied his friend’s expression for a long moment. “Go sit in her cell. This isn’t time to be burying things. Take it from someone who knows. If I could talk to Lori again, I’d—well, there are a million things I’d say. Don’t make the same mistakes.”

Prompt: “Shove down your feelings and bury them for later.”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #rick grimes

[starlightshadowsworld]

Just Yosano recognising that Atsushi clearly has medical related trauma.

She doesn't ask, not wanting to overstep but she does her best to make him feel comfortable.

The sight of some of her tools makes him freeze up, so she makes a note of which and puts them away.

Yosano always makes sure Atsushi can see what she's doing and explains each step.

She doesn't wear her doctors coat for personal reasons, but now she has even more reason too.

When Atsushi has a check up, Yosano keeps him distracted and opens a window. She talks about her day and tells him at any moment they can stop.

And she does.

Yosano getting concerned at how nonchalant Atsushi is at the sight of his own blood, but freaks out when it's someone else's.

Especially if some of it has gotten on him.

She notices how he hides his injuries like second nature. But doesn't know how to take care of them, even being confused at the concept.

Atsushi says he had a mediocre education at the Orphanage, and yet he's well versed in medicine.

He knows what various medications do, better than some textbooks. He's got an in depth knowledge of human anatomy.

Specifically in regards to how much pain it can withstand. And when he speaks, it always feel like Atsushi's speaking from experience.

"My, Atsushi, that's quite impressive of you to know that. Who taught you?" Asks Yosano, keeping her voice level and calm.

As if Atsushi was talking about the weather and not the affects prolonged eltrocution can have on a person.

With such frightening accuracy.

"Hm? I dunno, I don't think he gave me his name? Maybe I forgot?" Atsushi shrugs, looking back at her from where he was staring at the wall.

"But... He did call me an angel once."

Yosano feels her heart stop, oh yeah... She was definitely keeping an eye on him.

And when she found the bastard responsible for Atsushi's pain, she'd make them beg her for their lives.

#bsd yosano #yosano akiko #atsushi nakajima #bsd atsushi #bungou stray dogs #bsd

[yevmarie]

Light My Fire | Chapter 5

Masterlist

< Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 >

Plot: having lost everything you are drowned in depression, which had happened to you a year ago. Now you need to struggle with the apocalypse as well with no sparkle in your heart. But there is one man who can light your fire to live.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Pronouns: you, she/her

Warnings: angst, mentions of depression, swearing, smoking, vomitting, Shane gaslighting, soft Merle (in his own way), hurt and comfort, fluffy Daryl, differences from the main plot may occur, bad English (not my first language).

If I miss something, please let me know. I hope you enjoy :).

Taglist: @your-shifting-gurl @bae-live-0 @richardsamboramylove55 @deansapplepie

The sourness gathered in your jaws, and cold sweat soaked your tank top. You realized you were almost throwing up because of the anxiety overwhelming you. Barely hearing a familiar voice calling your name, as it was ringing in your ears, you ran several feet, stopping near one of the trees and vomiting. Daryl came up to you, seeing your pathetic state.

“Are ya okay?” the archer’s voice sounded concerned. You breathed heavily, shaking your head.

“What’s goin' on with ya?” the man couldn’t stop but continued asking, hoping he could help you somehow.

“Nothing,” you replied, not wishing him to be immersed in your problems. He’s a great buddy but not a friend to spill everything on.

“Merle’s on a run tomorrow. Should he bring a pregnancy test?” Daryl shifted from one leg to another and started to chew his fingers. Every body movement showed how he was nervous and regretting what he’d just said. He understood it wasn’t his business, and this probably would make you push him away.

“Who taught you manners, Dixon?” you spat the remaining bitterness out of your mouth.

“Ya’ve been looking like shit for a fortnight,” the man bit his lower lip. “Being pale, crying, now throwing up. Thought ya…”

“I’m not pregnant, Daryl. Just a rebound effect and anxiety,” you straightened up, wiping your mouth with your forearm, and went past the embarrassed archer, getting back to the place you had been sitting the whole day.

“Wanna talk 'bout it?” he stood behind your back, keeping his distance, ready to leave you alone.

“Dunno,” you closed your face with your palms. “Just not sure you want to hear complaints from a stranger,” you sobbed as your own words hit your weak point: your fear of loneliness you’d been through this time.

“I’m not good at labels, but ya’re not a stranger to me, Y/N,” Daryl stood for a while, then decided to walk away before he heard your “okay.” He slowly came back to you to sit beside you silently, as if you were an animal he was hunting for, and any noise could scare you.

“So, if ya don’ need a test, then could he find medicines for ya?” Daryl turned his face to you, hoping to see yours.

“Thanks, ain’t no need,” you faced him with a sad smile. “I’m afraid it’ll do worse. I just need time, and this will go away. At least I hope so.”

You both looked into each other's eyes, sitting silent for a moment.

“Who hurt ya?” Daryl’s low, raspy voice sounded soothing, and his blue eyes still pierced yours.

“A lot of things and people,” you gasped, looking somewhere away. “I lost my parents a year ago, which led to depression. My boyfriend couldn’t bear it anymore and broke up with me half a year later,” your tears spilled, recalling Shane and Lori in the forest, then thought about Rick who would be there, and nothing similar would have happened. “I lost my best friend, almost my brother, right before the outbreak. I…” your voice cracked, “I’m so fucking tired, Daryl,” his heart flipped seeing your face grimace because of the pain you were suffering from. To his own surprise, he hugged you, gripping you by your shoulder and stroking it a bit clumsily but gently. You laid your head on his chest, which made Daryl tense his muscles for a moment, but he overcame the tension and relaxed. “I will not make it. I can’t. I’m fed up with everything. I did have hope I could overcome, but… I’ve seen something today I shouldn’t have to,” you silenced for a moment, not sure if you want to continue talking about it.

“I’ll hold any secret of yours if this is an issue,” Daryl’s voice became almost a whisper, while he didn’t stop comforting you, which he himself found so natural though still strange.

“I found my ex fucking with my best friend’s wife… Widow.” your lower lip quivered in pain, and your eyes stung with the new wave of tears.

Daryl frowned as he figured out who you were talking about. “Shane? Your ex?”

The man felt your nod and the warmth of the tears dropping on his shirt.

“He’s a dickhead and doesn’t deserve your tears,” Daryl’s hand gently squeezed your bicep, slightly gripping you closer to him. The archer was shocked by his own words and body movements as if he was not in control of himself. Everything wasn’t typical for him though he instinctively wanted to make you feel, if not fine, then a bit relaxed. You reminded him of a small kitten curled up in his big palms, shivering and crying. Such a small and fragile creature that needed protection.

“Thank you,” your whisper completely melted Daryl’s heart.

You were sitting silently for several minutes which seemed like an eternity. There was only him, and you were caged in his warm hug, sitting on the ground and hearing cricket sounds. This was enough for you to finally calm down. His body warmth and his natural scent mixed with tobacco and hand strokes were so soothing that it made you feel safe. You closed your eyes, relaxing into his hug.

“Talking about Merle. Could I ask him to find me a tent then?” you asked in a sleepy voice.

Daryl nodded. “Mhm. I’ll ask. And ya can sleep in mine today if ya want. I’ll be at Merle’s,” the archer’s low voice vibrating in his chest where your head was leaning made you feel dizzy.

“Thank you, Daryl,” you raised your head, aligning too closely with the man’s face, as his brain didn’t work out to lose the hug quickly. You met his crystal blue eyes, and his hot breath near your lips. Daryl, feeling butterflies in his stomach, forced his arm to loosen the hug so the awkwardly small distance became longer.

“Ya need ta eat and sleep, Y/N,” Daryl stood up on his feet and offered you his hand. You laid your arm in his and stood up clumsily, almost losing your balance. Daryl held you by your bicep. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“I’ll eat tomorrow, want just to sleep,” Daryl nodded, and you both walked towards the camp.

“Daryl,” you gently grabbed his hand, making him look at you.

“Wha’?”

“Can we get around the camp?” you looked up at him sheepishly, leaving his arm. “I don't wanna see either Shane or Lori now,” Daryl nodded in response, and you walked in another direction.

When you approached the archer’s tent, Daryl kneeled and unzipped it to take a blanket and make sure it would be cozy enough for you to sleep.

“Here it is,” the archer stood for a moment looking at you, waiting for you to get inside the tent.

“Thank you,” you replied in a sheepish voice.

“Stop it, please, ‘s nothin’,” Daryl felt uncomfortable as you were too thankful for such simple things, as he thought. In reality, he hadn’t just gotten used to it as no one had ever said these words to him.

“Good night,” Daryl whispered gently.

“Good night, Daryl,” you smiled at him and got inside the tent.

—

You woke up quite early when the sunlight was only showing on the horizon. The morning was quite cold because of the forest and water nearby. The air was so humid that it was hard to breathe in.

You covered yourself with a blanket and headed to Lori and Carl’s tent to grab your bag where your essentials were. You made it successfully without much noise and headed back. You put your bag on the ground and went nearby to find some wood and stones to set a small fire.

After the preparations, you took the jezve out of the bag with a coffee package and a bottle of water left from the previous brewing. Should be enough for two. You put some coffee in a jezve, poured some water, and put it on the fire.

When the coffee was brewing, you had a look at the camp which was still sleepy. You heard the sound of footsteps on the dry leaves and turned around to see Daryl walking out of the forest. You met his gaze, which made you smile gently. He was coming up to you, biting his lower lip and holding a flower in his right hand.

“Good morning, Daryl,” you said silently and put out two small cups to pour the coffee.

“Morning,” he sat in front of you with a grumpy face as he was too nervous and gave you the flower. “Sorry for being an asshole, Y/N.”

You chuckled and took the flower, tucking it behind your ear and giving him a cup in turn. “That’s okay, Daryl,” you replied, blushing, as he was so freaking cute, and it made you smile wider.

Daryl held the cup and wasn’t quite brave enough to look up at you. “Didn’t know I deserved this,” his gaze still somewhere on the ground.

“You are always welcome here until supplies stop,” Daryl finally looked at you, seeing you smiling. He blushed a bit and chuckled in response. You both felt so calm and relaxed.

“Morning little birdies,” Merle’s voice hit you both. You saw him going out of the tent, stretching his muscles after the night's sleep.

“Morning. Coffee?” you replied calmly, smiling while noticing how Daryl’s expression changed, the reason of which you didn’t get.

“Nah, thanks,” Merle replied to you and grinned at his brother, messing up his hair. Daryl jerked at the touch. “Got some business today. Looking for a tent for some stunning lady. But it can be unnecessary till she lets me know she could stay in mine before I go,” the man winked at you before you choked on the coffee.

“Merle,” Daryl almost growled at his brother.

“Wha’? If yer a pussy who cannot stay with a hottie in a tent, god knows I won’t miss the chance.”

“Merle,” the archer’s voice started having furious tones.

“Jus’ kiddin’ lil brother, keep calm,” Merle patted Daryl’s shoulder. “But if you change your mind…” the man paid attention to you still coughing. 

“Almost died,” you cleared your throat, wiping the tears. “You’d better invite me for a date first,” you exhaled, hoping the spasms relieved. Merle sighed and walked up to you.

“If the younger wastes time, I promise, ‘ll do this,” the man took your hand and pecked it, looking into your eyes. “Have a good one, princess.”

You were watching Merle go away and then looked at Daryl, who was looking on the ground, already holding a cigarette and fidgeting his fingers.

“Daryl, are you okay?” you asked the man whose mood changed drastically compared to what he had before. The archer simply nodded and stood up.

“I’ll be tomorrow, want ta check another perimeter further from ‘ere. Maybe I‘ll find somethin’,” he mumbled, taking his crossbow.

“Take care, Daryl,” he looked at you, admiring you sitting in his blanket with the flower tucked behind the ear. Your eyes pierced his with an exhausted look. The archer nodded, biting the inside of his cheek, and walked away.

—

You were helping Carol in the kitchen. The woman couldn’t hide her happiness seeing you around, telling how nervous she was. You were just shyly chuckling in response, also feeling awkward as Shane and Lori were passing by you time after time. Sometimes Carl was trying to talk to you, showing you the pictures he drew with Sofia, and you were happy to talk to him, but Lori always called him, finding a new reason every time.

“Is it me or she doesn’t want you to communicate?” Carol asked silently, standing beside you to cut a few vegetables.

“You’re right,” you replied, glancing at the woman who was sitting near Carl, who was reading out loud.

Your attention was caught by a new sports car that arrived at the camp, making so much noise. Shane already ran up to the car, seeing it was Glenn, happy like a kid finding a new toy.

Then a van arrived at the camp. People around seemed cautious until they saw your group going out. You smiled with relief.

“Carol, I’ll be later. Maybe my new tent has arrived,” the woman nodded to you, and you went to the van almost running. Reaching out to the side of the driver's seat, you saw Merle was missing.

“Where’s Merle?” your voice got an anxious tone, your eyes roaming between people to find the answer when suddenly you saw another man wearing a sheriff's uniform going out of the car. “No way,” the air was caught in your throat as if you forgot how to breathe. “Rick!” you whispered.

“Y/N,” the man’s hoarse voice hit you, causing tears of happiness. You jumped into his embrace, caging him in your arms. Here he is, safe and alive as if nothing had happened before.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” your voice is trembling because of the tears washing your face. The man tugged you closer, his hand on the back of your head.

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered and turned his head to see if there are Lori and Carl when you felt his heart started almost jumping out of his body. You relieved the hug and saw Rick going towards Carl, already running to him. Shane standing near the sports car turned pale.

“Where’s Merle?” you repeated the question, seeing T-Dog and Andrea hesitating to answer.

“There was a problem in Atlanta. We needed to cuff him. He was behaving dangerously,” T-Dog mumbled, wiping the sweat appearing on his forehead.

“What?” you silenced. “How could you..?” You couldn’t find any words, feeling the emotions boiling in your chest.

“We didn’t have a choice,” Andrea’s voice caught your attention.

“What the hell does it even mean?”

Your blurred vision started to be clear when you saw yourself already screaming at Glenn, asking him to give you keys.

“Y/N,” Rick was coming up to you, “What’s the problem?”

“You cuffed a person in the city full of walkers, are you serious?” you were quickly cut off by Shane chuckling.

“Rick, don’t pay attention. She’s just hanging out with him and his brother.”

“Mind your own business, Shane,” you barked in response.

“Rick, should we cuff her as well? She absolutely went nuts without her pills,” you made several running steps toward Shane when felt Rick’s hands gripping you tightly.

“What did you just say?” you yelled at the man, trying to free yourself from Rick.

“One fool makes many. Ah, no, two fools.”

“Hey, hollyrolly, which part of 'Mind your own business' didn’t you get?” you barked in response to Shane, whose facial expression turned furious.

“Shut up, you both!” Rick shouted, “Y/N, let me explain,” the sheriff cupped your face so that you could see him and listen.

< Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 >

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl dixon / reader #daryl dixon / you #daryl dixon x you #daryl / reader #daryl / you #daryl x you #daryl dixon fanfiction #Daryl dixon series #The Walking Dead #the walking dead series #the walking dead fic #twd #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #norman reedus #daryl dixon fanfic #twd daryl #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x y/n

[alicelufenia]

Testing new ways to recruit Minthara in Patch 6 - Part 2 (KO without being temporarily hostile)

The first part of this series taught me a lot about the changes to Minthara's recruitment conditions. I was fully expecting it to simply be easier to keep her temporarily hostile, but now that we know that any knock out condition will suffice

This means it's now possibly easier to recruit her than ever before.

For this next test I tried fighting her the old fashioned way, how lots of people may have done it and how I had hoped it would work from the start; talk to her at the goblin camp, reject her command to raid the grove, and knock her out as a result, regardless of whatever hostility level the game mechanics say.

What sentence will always start a fight? - "Hey, wanna start a fight?"

I even made sure they were able to hit the wardrum too, the bane of many an honor mode attempt at a Minthara recruitment.

And look at that, it still worked!

Also she didn't bug out this time, so inviting her to kill the guards together worked just fine.

One thing to note, if you do it her way of slaughtering your way out of the prison, you'll aggro the rest of the tower. You wanna sneak out the doors to the dock, and there's a path that will lead away from the tower. After returning to camp with Minthara and maybe even a long rest, the tower's aggro should reset.

LMAOOO

I'm glad I finally get to witness this special pairing. Ultimatum? Never heard of her.

THIS IS THE SECOND TIME HER CAMP CLOTHES GLITCHED OUT IN THE LEVEL UP SCREEN

Also it wouldn't be a Baldur's Gate 3 patch that introduced new and innovative bugs to our favorite spicy elf. Apparently this is what she says in lieu of whatever appropriate narrative reaction should have triggered. Spoilering this out cause I don't wanna drop big spoiler bombs on unsuspecting people.

Anyway, that's it. I get the feeling I may not have to do any more testing than this. The previous methods of knocking her out should still work, the game has just extended that courtesy to any time she is knocked out.

I still think it would be cool if she disappeared after being reduced to 0 hp during the grove battle, like in the Daughter of Lolth mod which people used prior to all this. I dunno I feel no companion should be completely missable in this game. Although, this means the two people most likely to recruit Minthara without looking anything up are now both people playing an evil route, and those playing a pacifist good guy tav who always tries to knock enemies out instead of killing them. I look forward to the first time someone finds her at Moonrise Towers and it comes as a complete surprise. But I should wrap this up now.

Final Verdict: Recruiting Minthara by KOing her by initiating a fight via dialogue at the Goblin Camp - WORKS!

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate iii #bg3 minthara #minthara #minthara baenre #minthara bg3 #nightwarden minthara #minthara good playthrough recruitment #I suppose the only thing left to test would be grabbing Halsin and going on a killing spree through the whole camp #I'll leave that to someone else #for now knowing these methods all work makes me very happy #Minthara fans things may be looking up for us? #I jest. I'll have to do another playthrough to get my Alurlssrin fix #ah well

[its-the-sa]

Different anon. God just boiling down the slugcats to 'animals' angers me in a way I didn't think I could be angry. Yes, they are animals, but by all means they are cognitive and understand complex emotions, communicate with a supposedly complex language, are able to be taught to do things. Why else would the iterators use them as messengers constantly? It's not like they're messenger pigeons where it's just going from point A to point B, they understand exact instructions. If this was just some random animal, making groans and grunts, they wouldn't be able to understand what Five Pebbles even meant when he was explaining how to ascend. Even with the mark, could you imagine if he told a lizard this? Artificer, arguably, is a prime example of this. Just an animal would get over their fallen children, sure they'd grieve but in the end they'd just make more. Arti not only is so enraged by their death, that she is physically incapable of ascension, but also swears vengeance upon a whole other species. This isn't just some animal who lost her children, this is a mother who is enraged at her children's murder. Sure, they aren't on the same level as humans are. Like obviously. But I'd argue it makes sense that a scavenger and a slugcat could fall down the path of enemies to lovers. Especially when you consider the fact that death isn't permanent in Rain World's universe. That would definitely change one's perspective on it. I dunno if I make sense, I'm juggling like three things at once, but I had to say what I needed to say. Wording bad, slugcat smort.

tbh it took me a minute to figure out what this was even referring to, because honestly I don't think that anon meant to use the word 'animal' to dehumanize arti in the first place. it sounded to me like they were just using it as a non-human equivalent for 'person', like "why would anyone fall for a person who committed hate crimes against them?" which is a valid question. it never even occurred to me that they could have meant it in the sense of calling her an inferior creature.

that said... you ARE 100% right and you should say it, lmao.

I very nearly got into this exact argument once, bc i saw some comments from a guy scoffing at the idea of arti showing mercy to baby scavs. because by his logic, 'she is just an animal, so she isn't bound by human morality. in the wild, animals kill any young that don't belong to them without hesitation'. and it just pissed me off so much, because not only was it such an edgy "mercy is for the WEAK!" alpha-male bullshit take, it was also just factually wrong. many animals can and do adopt the young of other animals, even other species, especially when they've just lost their own. and like you said, they can grieve, but then they move on. they keep surviving, and making more babies. they don't dwell on injustice, or let rage consume them to the point that it becomes a hindrance to their own survival. they don't go on single-minded revenge quests. they dont try to justify their own violence by demonizing entire species, and they dont end up plagued by guilt in their sleep. those are very, very human things.

and yeah, i see a lot of people theorize that it's the mark of communication that grants the slugcats higher intelligence, but I don't really buy that either. i think the mark just lets them understand the iterator's language. they must've already had the capacity to understand it, or else it wouldn't work at all. it'd be like trying to install windows on a calculator. also, even without the mark, slugcats are obviously shown to communicate with each other. they have their own culture, they tell stories and make art, and they're apparently able to understand karma and the nature of the cycle at least enough to be able to ascend. so like... any creature thats capable of spiritual enlightenment must at least be sapient, right??

it seems like in the absence of the ancients, both slugcats and scavs are beginning to move in to their niche in the ecosystem

#in other words #[holds up a slugcat] BEHOLD A MAN

[kumezyzo]

Could u do some more dad foolish and dad Quackity if u don’t mind 🫶🏻

alright, so, i chose to make quackity a girl dad. dunno if i said something different before, but for this one, he's a girl dad. sue me. (please dont im broke)

anyway, enjoy! or dont :) m.list

Quackity

dad!quackity likes to talk to your daughter in spanish.

"ayyy, mi amorcito, lindo," he cooes, rubbing his nose into her chubby cheeks.

"hola, mi cielo," he says when he comes to get her in her crib.

"que quieres de comer, línda?" he asks her absently as he looks for blueberries and the sliced bananas you prepared earlier.

dad!quackity who will very loudly yell at his friends to stop yelling. he tells them if theyre any louder, your daughters gonna wake up. and yes, he has his headphones on...

dad!quackity brings her on stream and shows off how absolutely chunky she is.

her arms look like those jumbo marshmallows glued together. her cheeks are slightly red. she has a thick head of hair. and there is not a single thought behind her eyes.

#ctrlc-ctrlvquackity trends since you don't tell people what her name is. but then he hears him call her 'cielo' and that becomes her new name among the fandom.

Foolish

you will find dad!foolish asleep on the couch with your daughter. (yes, i realize i said this in the last one and i stand by what i say.)

she has your face, but his eyes. and your hair. and his stream thinks its so cute that she looks so much like you!!

dad!foolishes stream also thinks its so cute how he subtly (and not so subtly) takes care of you like youre glass. even after you've given birth. especially after you've given birth.

"baby, what are you doing up?" he asks you when he sees you peeking into his office.

"i finally got her to sleep!" you cheer tiredly, your voice in a harsh whisper. he was just as excited as you but he also took it as a warning to be quiet.

"oh, yay!" he says, his voice in the same tone as yours. "you should get to sleep too, though."

"yeah, i will," you say, wading into his office and going over to press a quick kiss to his lips. "night, babe."

"night, pretty girl."

if i missed an accent on any of the vowels, dont get mad at me. my mom never taught me how to actually write in spanish 😭😭 -Nony

#quackity #quackity x y/n #quackity x you #quackity x reader #dad!quackity #quackity fluff #foolish #foolish x you #foolish x yn #foolish x reader #dad!foolish #foolish fluff