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mrkis · 6 months

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you'll never find anyone like me — one. (l.dh)

PAIRING: lee donghyuck x afab!reader GENRE: college au, fluff, mature WORD COUNT: 14.9k

SYNOPSIS: you’ll never find anyone like lee donghyuck, and that’s what makes him so exciting.

CHAPTERS WARNINGS: slow burn(ish) type, so much plot & way too much dialogue, alcohol consumption, explicit language, a lot of mentions of donghyuck being obsessed, heavy tension between reader and donghyuck, mentions of parties & drugs, donghyuck comes across as very straight forward and also flirty, pretty people make reader nervous lol (especially donghyuck), tension between two main characters but no smut yet.

AUTHORS NOTE:: its finally here!! i'm so excited to start this series with you all, thank you for your patience!! also, for anyone new, this is linked to my 'NEO TECH COLLEGE' jaemin series 'the way life goes' although this can be read as a standalone.

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

It wasn’t exactly ideal enrolling into class halfway through the year, knowing you’ll have to go through that godawful stage of trying to make friends with people who already have chosen their own clique to spend the rest of their college years with.

You’re, unfortunately, the new student, the one that’ll be singled out during group projects or the one they pick last for the group because they didn’t want to choose you first… you really don’t know which one is worse.

Looking for a place to settle down was a close second to being one of the worst things to do after enrolling late. You didn’t have enough money to live by yourself and you sure as hell didn’t want to live with someone you hardly even knew, but you had to pick one, so you went with the latter.

Areum was actually the sweetest (and coolest) person you have ever met.

She welcomed you into her two bedroom apartment with open arms and even helped get you settled into your new room by offering to unpack your boxes and decorate the way you preferred, allowing you to have all the creative freedom you needed to call this place your home too.

Areum had even taken time out of her own busy schedule to show you around, letting you know about all the best food joints, best places to go to get coffee, best album stores to get your preferred music and even the best hangout spots.

It was, undoubtedly, a lot to take in.

Areum even introduced you to Minjun, a childhood friend of hers who is a college dropout and now the drummer in a two-man band with his older brother. (They’re pretty good, even though the older brother scares the shit out of you).

Minjun was the complete opposite of Areum yet they were alike in so many ways, it was easy to make friends with him just as it was with Areum. Minjun was sceptical of you at first though, but he immediately warmed up to you when you complimented his drum set to which he then showed you how to play. (You had no idea, but it was fun).

You cherish the friendships you have made with the two deeply even though you felt like you were intruding at the beginning, especially when you realised how long they have actually known each other and how close they are. But the pair happily invited you into their small friendship with big grins and playful jokes.

You were grateful to be starting something new with people who you felt instantly comfortable with, you were excited to see what your time in college had in store for you.

“Shit!” You repeatedly curse under your breath as you hurry across campus grounds with your bag strap sliding down your shoulders and your phone held tightly in your grip, staring down at the time that shined angrily at you due to your lateness.

Being late on your very first day wasn’t exactly something you wanted to experience, but the pressure of getting everything ready and the stress of overthinking lead you to being exhausted and oversleeping—you wanted the ground to swallow you up when you received the mass texts from Areum asking if you made it to your class in time.

You fix the strap on your shoulder as you rush into the building, eyeing the signs on the walls that would easily lead you to your music class and you groan when you realise it’s at the far end of the building, breaking out into another sprint and you’re grateful there’s no one around to see you make a complete fool of yourself as you run.

Glancing down at your phone, you wince at the time and you look back up to make sure you’re going to right way but you curse under your breath when you realise you’re heading straight towards someone’s back and you don’t even have time to stop yourself or control your speed, already bumping into them at full force which causes them to stumble forwards from the impact.

The person they’re with steadies them and you manage to get a quick glimpse at the girl who’s looking at you in shock before the victim spins around, his eyes angry and ready to curse you out but you don’t even notice how his eyes soften when he looks at you as you’re already profusely apologising to him.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going and I—fuck—I didn’t mean to fall into you like that, I’m just late and—”

“It’s fine.” The girl cuts off your rambling, sending you a reassuring smile as the guy continues to stare at you and you nod, mumbling another quick apology as you turn your head and see the door to your assigned class, quickly slipping through the door and letting it close shut behind you, heart racing rapidly in your chest at the full class of students who briefly glance at you before returning to their work.

The Professor looks up from his computer when you enter the room, gazing at you over the rim of his glasses and he gives you a welcoming smile, beckoning you over with his hand and you head straight towards him, getting ready to apologise for being so late but he’s already opening his mouth to speak first.

“I’m surprised you’re starting halfway through the year, but I’m happy to have you in this class. Welcome,” He smiles warmly at you and it instantly makes you feel better, your shoulders relaxing with a breath of relief as you smile back at him thankfully. “I’m Professor Kim Hongjoong. I’ll be your music Professor during your time here and if you need any help with anything, I’d be happy to give you some guidance… although, I have to encourage my students to ask one another. Team bonding type of stuff.”

“Noted.” You laugh lightly with a nod, adjusting the bag strap on your shoulder.

“Great.” Professor Kim grins up at you.

He dismisses you to a seat at the far back of the class next to a boy whose face is shoved into his computer screen, chunky headphones resting on his head as his fingers dance across a piano keyboard, nodding to the notes that play smoothly in his ears and you pull out the seat to sit beside him, sliding your bag off your shoulder and letting it rest by the legs of the chair.

Capturing your seatmate's attention, he turns to look at you and gives you a warm and welcoming smile, pulling the headphones from his head to rest around his neck. He introduces himself as Xiaojun and he takes the opportunity to point out everyone in the room to let you know their names, and even though it didn’t exactly help and you sure as hell wouldn’t remember everyone's names, you were grateful at least.

“How come you enrolled in the middle of the year?” Xiaojun suddenly asks you and you give him a sheepish grin in response. He raises a questioning brow, “Wasn’t going to enrol or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Interesting.” Xiaojun hums and he turns his head back to his computer screen while your attention is brought towards the classroom door that swings open, and embarrassment immediately washes over you when you recognise the guy that steps inside, the one you had forcefully slammed into on your way here.

You sink down into your seat in hopes to avoid him to keep your own dignity and your brows pull together in confusion when you see his eyes glance around the room, tilting his head to the side in thought and tongue prodding at his cheek as he scans over the row of seats before he finds you.

His lips curl into a smirk and his eyebrows raise in a way that has your heart thumping rapidly in your chest, immediately drawing your attention away from him when he drops down into a seat beside Yangyang, (a guy that Xiaojun had pointed out to you when filling you in on everyone’s names), who is too busy scrolling through his phone to notice his presence.

“Donghyuck.”

“What?” You hum, glancing at Xiaojun when you hear him mutter.

“That’s Donghyuck, the one that just came back in/” Xiaojun tells you and you made a small noise of acknowledgment, taking another peek over at him only to avert your eyes away when you realise he’s already looking at you and you feel hot, a little embarrassed and awkward at being caught.

“Has he got a staring problem or something?” You catch yourself mumbling under your breath and your eyes widen when you hear Xiaojun snort, completely capturing what you had just said and you groan, leaning back into your chair with a frown as Xiaojun looks at you with an amused smile.

“Something like that.”

The class surprisingly goes by quicker than you thought and both Professor Kim and Xiaojun were kind enough to fill you in on what you’ve missed so far, and what’s coming up soon. Luckily, as you enrolled in so late, you were excused from the upcoming assignment but were given a side task to write down everything you had knowledge of, including the instruments that you’re skilled in playing.

You found it quite simple and you’re positive you can jot down everything tonight so you wouldn’t have to worry about it later on. You’ve always been eager to please, so there was no way in hell you were going to leave this until the last minute.

You rise from your seat and grab your bag, slipping the strap over your shoulder as you subconsciously peer over at the other end of the room, your heart thumping wildly in your ears when you catch Donghyuck’s eyes already looking back at you while talking to Yangyang, leaning back on the desk with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and leather jacket draped over his arm.

His deep and intense gaze makes you feel nervous and you find yourself fidgeting in your spot, unable to tear your own eyes away from him, locked under his stare and the smirk that he gives you sends goosebumps rippling down your spine.

It’s when he pushes himself off the desk that brings you out of your trance, panic flooding through you when it seems like he’s about to advance towards you but he stays in his place when a hand carefully touches your arm, causing you to quickly turn towards the person that wanted your attention.

Xiaojun’s smiling warmly at you, but you’re surprised when you see that he’s not alone and instead, there are two other guys standing with him.

One wears a green hoodie beneath a grey jacket and matching coloured jeans, a beanie on his head with blue strands of hair peeking from beneath. The round, thin framed glasses on the bridge of his nose makes him look cute, yet the boyish grin he gives you makes you feel a little flustered and you move your attention to the other boy beside him.

He’s a lot more quiet and awkward, opting to give you a tight lipped smile as a greeting and nodding his head to say he’s acknowledged you. You’re not surprised by his shy demeanour𑁋especially with how he’s refusing to make eye contact and how his fingers nervously fiddle with the bracelet dangling on his wrist.

“This is Mark,” Xiaojun points to the one in the hoodie. “And this is Jihoon,” He points to the other before he turns to you and gives you a smile, “These guys are who I spent the majority of my time with, unfortunately”

“You love us, dude,” Mark’s boyish grin returns as he pats Xiaojun’s shoulder who playfully rolls his eyes and Mark looks at you. “You’re welcome to join us for lunch if you want?”

“Oh, thank you,” You smile appreciatively but it slowly drops when you realise what you had planned already. “Can I join you some other time? I have somewhere to be today.”

“Of course you can.” Mark’s grin widens as his hand removes off Xiaojun’s shoulder to gently knock yours and you grow nervous under the small contact, a shy smile spreading across your lips as you bid them a silent goodbye, brushing past the trio to get to the door and your mouth goes dry, your nerves amping up to a hundred as you once again meet Donghyuck’s eyes from his position next to Yangyang, how he watches you with a hint of intrigue and interest swimming in his irises.

You miss the way his eyes snap towards your new friends with a locked jaw, tongue prodding at his cheek as you leave the room.

Watching Areum work has always been fascinating to you: in awe of the talent that pours out of her hands and the patience she has when it comes to sculpting certain objects and/or people for projects or just to pass the time, how every piece is precise and perfect𑁋a complete masterpiece.

It’s the look of determination and joy that seals the deal for you, how happy and content she seems to be whenever she’s in her zone, and having the opportunity to witness her working in the studio at college for the first time is definitely the highlight of your already long and interesting day.

You bite into your lunch as you watch her from behind get her hands dirty while sculpting her recent project, soothing out the curves of a woman’s body that she has been putting together while humming a tune that plays quietly from the radio on the windowsill beside her.

Areum takes a step back to admire her work, a sound of approval slipping past her lips before she decides to take a break, unzipping her black overalls halfway to take her arms out of the sleeves and tying them around her waist securely so the rest doesn’t fall down completely, allowing her tattooed arms to be freed and on show with her white shirt.

“Did you make it to your class in time this morning?” Areum asks you as she leans against the open window, pulling her strawberry vape out of her pocket to take a drag and you shake your head, causing her to chuckle lowly. “I thought Minjun put an alarm on your phone before he left last night?”

“I slept through it,” You say bitterly, taking another bite of your lunch as she clicks her tongue against her teeth. “Thinking about today got me stressed and I overslept. Ended up almost being an hour late and not only that, I practically body slammed someone because I rushed to get to class. It was embarrassing.”

“Ouch,” Areum teases while scrunching her nose up, taking another hit out of her vape and blowing the smoke out of the window. You roll your eyes, twisting the cap on your bottle of water to take a sip. “Made any friends in your class though?”

You side eye her, “You sound like my mother,” She smirks at you. “Got to know this guy called Xiaojun. He introduced me to his friends Mark and Jihoon just before class ended. I only know those three so far.”

“Good,” Areum hums with an approving nod. “I know Mark and Xiaojun, I’ve bumped into them a few times… don’t know Jihoon though.”

“He’s kinda quiet,” You admit, remembering your very brief encounter with him. You smile, “He didn’t say anything but he seemed welcoming at least. They offered me to join them for lunch but I said I already had plans today.”

“You ditched them to hang out with me?” Areum looks at you with a blank expression and you nod, giving her an innocent grin as you finish off the last bite. “I don’t know whether to thank you or call you stupid.”

You swallow thickly, “I know you better than them so being with you right now is the safest and comforting option to me. I’d like to get to know them more eventually and hang out with them… but it’s kind of hard to do that when I get shy and awkward around people I don’t know.”

“You did well with me and Minjun,” She praises you and you feel your cheeks grow hot at that, trying to fight the smile that threatens to slip onto your lips. “But don’t worry, you got this. Take your time, there’s no rush.”

“I’m not going to rush,” You tell her, resting your chin on your hand as you look over at her, your other hand tapping a mindless tune on the wooden table. “I’m taking everything slowly.”

It took you just over a month to get comfortable in your new college.

You managed to remember everyone's names in your course and despite not talking to some of them, they had become easier to remember overtime.

Xiaojun, Mark and Jihoon never left your side during classes and just like Areum and Minjun, they also welcomed you into their group with open arms and jokes that had you laughing until your stomach cramped up and tears pooled in your eyes.

Jihoon became a lot more open with you as you did him. He was just like you—shy and awkward around people he barely knew or wasn’t comfortable with yet, didn’t want to speak up or take control of the conversation in fear of saying something silly, but when getting comfortable with the people it was non stop talking and cracking jokes, even pitching a few sarcastic comments here and there to make others smile.

Xiaojun and Mark were similar—outgoing and confident, striking up conversations and making friends as if it was the easiest thing to do, making others feel invited and welcomed although there was a few moments where you see their shy tendencies come through the cracks, noticing how shy Xiaojun got when being compliment on his voice when singing a song to himself under his breath and when Mark gets shy when he receives unwanted attention from others that compliment his work or his looks.

Aisha, a girl in your class, was one of the people that would compliment Mark over and over again, making him flustered and cheeks grow red with each word and giggle that slips from her lips. She’s gorgeous, so it doesn’t surprise you that Mark gets shy easily when she comes near.

Aisha is one of the people you haven’t properly spoken to yet. Her sociable and popular presence leaves you a little intimidated. You’ve shared a few friendly smiles and some small words in passing, but you haven’t had the courage to speak to her fully.

You, admittedly, like to admire her from afar. Seeing how confident and friendly she is, how she teasingly flirts and prettily smiles at others who conversate with her, how her delicate hands play with her healthy hair that cascades down her back, how her siren-like voices lures people in when she’s talking or even singing.

It makes you jealous, but not in a bad way. You could only wish you had the same confidence and likeness.

Donghyuck is another person you haven’t spoken to yet. You feel nervous being in his presence, how his intense gaze leaves you speechless and unable to think properly. How his lingering touches on your skin leaves goosebumps running down your spine every time he brushes past you to either get to his seat or if he was just walking by in the hallways.

He glances over his shoulder each time, lips curling into a grin, dark eyes piercing through you as he meets your eyes and takes in your appearance, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip before it tucks between his teeth as he takes in your outfit of the day.

Even if you’re wearing something that completely covers you, he makes you feel bare.

Xiaojun is the one that tells you to stray far away from Donghyuck, that he’s nothing but a ‘slut who loves attention and flirts with any living thing’. Mark did however clap back and told Xiaojun that he himself loves the attention too, which caused Xiaojun to jut out his bottom lip in a pout and turn away, but Mark mentioned how Donghyuck can be a little crazy sometimes and to try and not let his continuous stares and actions get under your skin.

You agreed, saying that wouldn’t be the case, even though you’re lying through your teeth already.

He is getting under your skin, leaving his mark on you and truthfully, it’s interesting.

You will never admit that out loud.

“Why are you being so quiet?” You hear somebody ask you suddenly and you rip yourself out of your thoughts, blinking at you try to see where the source of the sound came from but you let out a huff as a weight is knocked against your shoulder, hissing as you turn your head to see Minjun who had dropped down to the sofa to sit beside you.

He’s grinning at you in greeting but mumbles a quick apology when he realises he’s hurt you, rubbing the sore area before pulling his hand back to pull his phone out of his pockets.

You stay silent for a moment, staring at him as he mindlessly drums his fingers against the side of his phone as he reads a text and you immediately recognise it as the new song that he and his brother have been working on, the corner of your lips stretching into a smile.

However, his drumming comes to a sudden stop when Byeol pounces up on the arm of the sofa on his left, staring at Minjun with his tail slowly swishing behind him before he steps down onto Minjun’s thighs to find the perfect spot to rest and Minjun clicks his tongue against his teeth in annoyance.

“I hate this cat.” He grumbles under his breath despite raising his hand to pet Byeol behind his ears, loud purring noises rumbling from his chest. Minjun glances at you, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” You mutter as you reach over to pet Byeol too.

“About why you’re being so quiet.”

“There’s no reason,” You tell him truthfully, smiling as Byeol nuzzles his head into your palm. “I was enjoying the silence and just thinking about some things.”

“What things?”

Your eyes snap to him, teasing in your tone, “None of your business.”

“Ouch. You wound me,” He speaks monotone, pulling his hand away from Byeol to adjust the beanie on top of his head. “I have a show this weekend at Cherry Bomb, you’re coming right?”

“Obviously,” You hum. “Me and Areum never miss your shows.”

“Lucky charms,” Minjun grins, raising his hand with his pinky outstretched and you snort, wrapping your own pinky around his and squeezing tightly. “EJ and his girlfriend are coming too so we’re going to grab a few beers with them after it, yeah?”

“Sounds good to me,” You nod, retracting your hand from his to pet the cat who’s now climbing into your own lap, rubbing his face in the cotton of your shirt. You purse your lips in thought, “Can I invite people?”

Minjun raises his brow in interest, “Who?”

“Just these guys I’ve made friends with—they’re on my music course,” You briefly explain but you feel the need to go further as Minjun continues to stare at you. “They saw my Instagram post at your show a few weekends back and they asked about you, and they said they’d be interested in seeing you play and—”

“They can come,” He cuts off your rambling, grinning up at you and your brows pull together when he nudges your shoulder. “You don’t have to ask, you know. The more the merrier, right? Besides, Seungwoo will be happy to see some new faces listening to our music.”

“Is he giving you a hard time?”

“Just the usual,” Minjun shrugs. “Worried about the number of people showing up to watch, the amount of unfinished songs he’s written, stuff with our parents too… they’re not exactly supportive of me dropping out of college and him leaving work to pursue music. They say it’s a waste of time.”

“But you’re good at what you do,” You tell him truthfully with a kind smile. “Both of you. You’re booking out bars and performing in front of big crowds almost every weekend, I say that’s pretty impressive.”

The corner of Minjun's lips lift upwards, his head tilting to the side slightly as he looks at you, “You think so?”

You nudge his shoulder, “I know so.”

Minjun breaks out into a full smile this time and he nudges you back as a small gesture of a thank you before he shifts in his seat, getting comfortable leaning against the cushions as he resumes scrolling through his phone.

You relax into him, peering your head over his shoulder to watch the screen as he shows you his current Instagram home page filled with musicians, concert photos and the occasional selfie of those he follows. You hardly recognise any of them, apart from the few Areum had posted and EJ with his girlfriend, but you still wiggle your eyebrows suggestively and make flirty comments when you see the sexy mirror pictures posted by some.

Minjun just rolls his eyes and tells you to be quiet, huffing as he angles himself away from you.

“Oh, I didn’t realise you were here,” You hear Areum’s teasing voice from behind and you crane your neck to see her make her way over to the both of you, a fluffy white towel wrapped tight around her body and another wrapped around her hair from her previous shower.

She sits in the single loveseat opposite, crossing her legs beneath herself to get comfy and a smile slips upon her lips as Byeol meows loudly, jumping down from your own lap and to find comfort on hers, nuzzling himself in her towel and Areum holds him to her chest, stroking his fur and cooing softly.

“I’m always here.” Minjun gives her a grin.

“Unfortunately~” Areum hums, pressing gentle kisses on the top of Byeol’s head and Minjun rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he shakes his head.

Areum grins, already feeling proud at already getting under her best friend's skin but you knew deep down that it was just a little joke, knowing first hand how they always bite at each other to try and get one of them to react and lose, adding another point to their mental tally chart.

She coos as she talks to Byeol, scratching below his chin and rubbing behind his ears as you smile at the sight, hearing his loud purrs resonate from where he’s sitting on her lap and Areum’s phone that’s been gripped in her hand vibrates loudly, causing her to pull away from Byeol for a moment to check her screen.

You watch as her brows raise slightly, a smirk spreading across her cheeks and her bottom lip gets caught between her teeth, thumbs quickly tapping against the phone before she raises her head up, looking over at you with an unfamiliar glint in her eye.

Your face scrunches up, confused. “Why are you looking at me?”

Areum cocks her head to the side, “How do you feel about experiencing your first college party tonight?”

The sight in front of you is definitely… something.

The house is a lot bigger than you anticipated, expecting to be brought along to a little apartment or even a club for your first official college party, but Areum had thrown you into a complete loop as she brought you to a not so little apartment or club that was already filled with drunk college students, some already even sprawled across the front lawn messily making out or even staring up at the sky giggling to themselves.

However, you grimace a little when you see someone come stumbling out of the house with their hand clamped over the mouth, barely making it towards a bush before emptying out their stomachs with the most gruesome of sounds.

A guy comes jogging out of the house shortly after with a water bottle in hand and his phone in the other, your mouth starts to feel a little dry, the attractiveness and confidence that oozes from him as he comes closer stuns you for a moment, the shyness taking over you when he grunts and squats down to tend to the drunken person with their head shoved into the bushes.

The tight black fitted shirt he wears shows off the muscles beneath, how they bulge and tense when he reaches out to caress the person’s back as they retch loudly and your eyes can’t help but shift to his thighs, how the pants are tightening around them which each movement and you gulp, pulling your attention away when you feel Areum slip her arm through yours.

“Seems like you got your hands full already.” Areum speaks first with a teasing tone that’s directed towards the guy and he raises his head, dark eyes glistening under the night sky as he grins at her.

“You got that right,” He chuckles softly, putting the water bottle down on the grass to run his fingers through his dark mullet, gazing at you. “You’re new. I’ve never seen you here before. I’m Jeno.”

You introduce yourself and he repeats your name back to you with a hum and a nod, then he smiles and wishes you a good time at the party before turning back to the person who had seemingly stopped throwing up, ordering them to drink the bottled water and saying how he’s going to call a cab for them to get home safely.

Minjun, who had been quiet this entire time watching every thing unfold, gently pushes your shoulder to get you to walk and Areum pulls you towards the house by your arm, the loud music blasting inside already hitting your eardrums and you’re instantly hit with the smell of alcohol and weed when you enter.

The inside is a lot more chaotic than the outside, you conclude.

Sweaty bodies pressed against each other as they dance or makeout, some even fondling each other to which you immediately avert your attention away when they glance your way. Others are in small groups talking and even playing drinking games, you can just about see a group playing cup pong from where you’re standing at the entrance.

Minjun leans down to murmur in your ear, “So, what do you think so far?”

“It’s…” You pause, pulling a face. “Something. Very crowded. There’s people everywhere.”

Minjun’s chest rumbles with a laugh, “And this isn’t even the half of it.”

Your eyes widen at the possible fact of there being more people in the house, already feeling overwhelmed and Areum’s hand slides down your arm to take your own, lacing her fingers through yours as she helps weave you through the crowds, Minjun hot on your tail as he follows behind.

You glance around while she leads you both to wherever she wants to go and you spot a couple lounging together on the sofa, the pretty blonde smiling at her boyfriend who’s gently tucking her hair behind her ears as he’s mumbling something to her and she nods, causing the boyfriend to grin and clink his drink against hers.

“Here,” Areum’s voice grabs your attention and your turn your head to look at her when you feel her hand slip from yours, noticing that she’s brought you to the kitchen where only a few partygoers are standing, nursing their drinks and chatting with friends. Areum opens the cooler and passes a beer over to Minjun who dips his head in silent thank you before turning to you, “Want a beer? A seltzer?”

“Beer.” You’re thankful she hands you one that you’re familiar with, the ones that the three of you have shared in your apartment during movie and game nights, immediately cracking it open to take a sip and the satisfying burn and flavour that that runs down your throat has you smiling.

It unfortunately doesn’t take long for you to start to feel out of place, your back pressed against a wall in the far corner of the kitchen as you watch Minjun smoke with a guy you overheard is called Sunwoo, a dopey grin smile spreading across his cheeks every time someone had waltzed up to him with money in their hand for one of his baggies that he takes out of his pocket to slip into theirs.

Areum had politely excused herself from you a few moments prior to greet someone you somewhat recognise as one of her previous hookups, watching as Areum’s hand slips around her waist to hold her close to her body and the girl lets out flirtatious giggles, winding her own arms around Areum’s shoulders as they whisper in each others ears.

You sigh, pursing your lips as you take a glance down at the beer in your hand, shaking the can slightly to feel how much drink was left for you to drink and you frown when you notice it’s empty. You push yourself off of the wall and discard your empty beer in the overflowing trash can, opting to open the cooler and grab another to keep yourself preoccupied but you’re startled when another hand reaches in too, brushing against your own.

“Oh, sorry—” The voice pauses mid sentence and you glance up, your eyes widening in surprise when you see Xiaojun staring back at you with a similar expression. “It’s you!”

“What are you doing here?” You ask with a smile, excitement flowing through your veins as Xiaojun gives you a welcoming side hug, rubbing your back comfortingly.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Xiaojun pulls back to adjust the backwards cap on his head, not before running his fingers through his hair. You take this moment to take in his appearance, surprised to see him out of his knitted sweaters and chinos which is replaced with a loose fitted grey tank top and dark jeans, showing off his physique which caught you off guard immensely, not expecting to see the muscles.

“My roommate told me to tag along,” You briefly explain to him, pulling your eyes away from his arms and he hums in understanding, handing you a beer before grabbing one for himself. “Are Mark and Jihoon here too?”

“Jihoon’s at home. This isn’t his, uh—” Xiaojun waves his hand around comically. “—type of scene, you know. Mark’s around here somewhere though, lost him when this girl tugged his arm wanting to speak to him in private.”

You make a small noise as you nod your head, assuming that it was another student proclaiming their attraction towards Mark as you have witnessed many times before, feeling bad every time Mark had rejected them even if he was sweet with his words.

The confidence that people had to confess their feelings to the person they liked always made you jealous, wishing you had the courage to admit your own likeness towards someone but you could never get it out, knowing that the words would constantly get stuck on the tip of your tongue and the fear of rejection wasn’t exactly something you wanted to experience.

So you always held back on telling people how you felt, especially if you liked them. But yet again, seemingly lucky for you, there has never really been anyone that you’ve truly liked. You’ve had small mindless crushes that you knew would lead into nothing and you’ve been in the presence of a few attractive people that definitely make your heart flutter, but it’s never enough to make you want to confess.

A gentle touch on your arm brings you out of your thoughts and you turn your head to see Minjun standing beside, a gesture to show that he was finally back with you and you couldn’t have been more happier to have more people at your side, giving him a smile to which he returns, the corner of his lips twitching upwards.

“Oh. You’re the guy.” Xiaojun speaks up, eyebrows raised to his hairline in shock as he points at Minjun who looks back at him, seemingly confused but he slowly nods anyways which makes you snort quietly, finding the sight comical. “The drummer from that band, the one on her Instagram—LŒV, right?”

“Yeah,” Minjun hums in surprise before he makes a noise of realisation, piecing two and two together. “You must be one of the guys she told me about, that wanted to come see us play this weekend.”

You zone out of their conversation when Xiaojun praises him for his musical skills, the pair diving deep into the music discussion which usually you would’ve participated in any of time, but you find yourself getting distracted as you watch Areum delicately stroke the back of another girl that she’s talking with, pulling her in closely to whisper in her ear and laughing when the girl pushes her shoulder playfully before tugging her back in.

Your attention however pulls away from the pair when Areum places two fingers beneath her chin to bring her in for a kiss, feeling awkward to give them an audience and finding interest in a potted plant in the corner of the room, your lips quirking up into an amused smile when you see a drunk cradling it like a newborn, stroking the leaves and cooing.

The sight in front of you is hilarious and you would’ve taken out your phone to take a picture it if wasn’t for the fact you didn’t know this person, not really wanting to be caught and questioned taking pictures of someone you barely knew even if it would make a great memory… and definitely a great birthday card.

But your eyes flit away from the drunk to the guy that you met outside. Jeno, you remember his name. He strides into the house with a dark wet patch over the front of his clothes and an empty water bottle.

First, you grimace at the thought of that person he was taking care of outside throwing the water over him in a drunken fit, but then you feel a little warm and flustered when you realise that the water had made his shirt and pants stick to him more than it originally did, outlining his body perfectly, defining the muscles beneath the materials.

“Why are you ogling Jeno?”

“I’m not,” You immediately defend yourself, attention snapping back to Xiaojun who's already staring back at you with an amused smirk, raising his eyebrow. “I’m not.”

“Pretty sure you are,” Minjun joins in this time and you harden your gaze at him, causing him to grin. “You like him?”

“No.”

“He’s attractive, for sure,” Xiaojun hums, taking a glance at him over your shoulder and watching him as he disappears up the staircase, probably to change out of his wet clothes. “I wouldn’t get too close to him though,”

Now that piques your interest, “Why?”

Xiaojun opens his mouth, ready to tell you what you’re surprisingly desperate to hear until he closes his mouth, brows rising in shock when you feel someone's arms slip around your shoulders to bring your back into their chest.

You immediately recognise it as Areum, the sweet citrus smell of her perfume overwhelming your senses and you turn your head to the side to see her already smiling at you, giving you a comforting squeeze before letting you go to stand beside you to greet Xiaojun.

Xiaojun seems hypnotised by her beauty just like many others are and it doesn’t surprise you, the beauty and the confidence that radiates off of her is enough to have your own heart thumping in your chest and feeling shy whenever she meets your eyes or gives you a pretty smile.

“I’m Areum,” She introduces herself as she reopens the cooler to fetch herself another beer. “Her roomie.”

Xiaojun whispers back in a daze, “Hi roomie.”

The look on Xiaojun’s face was comical when it slipped into conversation that Areum wasn’t interested in men, his eyes widening and mouth dropping open in shock as he profusely apologised, worried that his dazed look and minor flirtatious comments made her uncomfortable but she shook her head, laughing as she explained everything was fine and that he had no way of knowing her preferences.

Still, the trio got along quite well and even Mark, who joined in a few minutes prior after complaining about how he was locked in the bathroom for five minutes, got along with Areum and Minjun too. It made you smile, seeing the people you liked getting along with each other and exchanging socials and numbers, it also made you miss Jihoon a little bit, wishing he was here so you could introduce them to your duo of friends.

However, you did make a mental list to remind yourself to text Jihoon tomorrow morning and tell him you’d add him to the groupchat that Xiaojun was desperate to make.

It doesn’t take long for you all to split from each other too: Areum grabbing your hand to steal you away for a little while and you were surprised that Minjun didn’t follow behind like he usually does, but you were happy to see him so comfortable enough to stick around with Mark and Xiaojun who were happily discussing music techniques and even other bands they both seemed to enjoy.

Areum brought you to the living room this time where the music blasted from the stereo, making it a lot harder to hear what she was saying to you but you managed, opting to lean in close so she could whisper in your ear and you did the same.

You’re feeling awkward and uncomfortable now though, nursing the third beer in your hand as everyone around you either dances or heavily makes out with the person they’ve come with or even just met, finding it hard to focus your attention on anything as in every corner you look, you see people wrapped up in each other.

A gentle touch is placed on your arm, “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” You hum, looking at Areum who is staring back at you worryingly. “Why?”

“You’ve gone quiet,” She points out and a frown makes its way onto your lips, “Want to go home?”

“What? No. It’s fine,” You quickly shake your head. “I don’t want to ruin your night.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” Areum chuckles softly and when her gaze flicks over your shoulder, you see the surprised look on her face. “Seems like you’ve got an admirer tonight.”

Her words have you making a noise of confusion and she nods in the direction of your so-called ‘admirer’ and you’re embarrassingly quick to whip your head around, not making your movements subtle at all which she snorts at in amusement.

Your heart thumps loudly in your ears as you spot Donghyuck manspreading on the sofa a few feet in front of you, long dark hair hanging over his eyes and a joint resting between his lips which he inhales deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs for what seems to be an eternity until he exhales, passing the joint over to Yangyang all while staring directly at you.

You feel hot beneath his intense stare, the dress you're wearing now seeming a little too tight and revealing that you subconsciously wrap your arms around yourself to cover up, not missing the way Donghyuck’s lips curl into a smirk before he brings a bottle up to his mouth, chugging the alcoholic beverage.

You clear your throat, “That’s Donghyuck.”

“I know.”

Your head snaps towards Areum in surprise, “You know?”

“Yeah, of course,” Areum laughs lightly as she puts down her empty beer can on the windowsill. She presses her lips together as she leans back against the wall with her hands shoved into her low cut jeans. “Everyone here pretty much knows Donghyuck. He’s best friends with Jeno and that group.”

“Jeno…” You repeat the familiar name and you jab your thumb in the direction to where he’s standing, now dressed up in something completely different than last: wearing a white and dark grey ombre dress shirt with the buttons left undone, revealing his toned chest. You couldn’t look at him for too long without feeling flustered. “Him?”

“It’s his house—” She pauses, “Their house. They all live together, all five of them. But the sixth one recently moved out to live with his girlfriend.”

“Oh,” You blink, the curiosity inside of you building. “How do you know so much about this stuff?”

“They’re well-known,” Areum shrugs nonchalantly. “Some might say popular, I guess. Everyone pretty much knows everything about them… For starters, Jeno is the main guy that throws all these parties. He’s kind of a gym freak and he’s secretly really smart, he’s an engineering student. Jeno’s also one of those quote unquote ‘renown fuckboy’. He dated Miwoo for a long while—she’s the black haired one wearing a pretty black dress—but they broke up,

“Jaemin is one of the quiet ones, kind of mysterious in some ways too. You’ll hardly ever see him that much though, but he does appear every now and again to be around Jeno—they’ve been best friends for years. He’s a photography student who used to be in a serious relationship with a girl named Eunbin but they broke up. He did end up having a friends with benefits relationship with one of the girls in the group and then they got together, she’s currently away on a writer's trip,

“Renjun’s also one of the quiet ones, more of an observer. He sits in silence the majority of the time but he’s mean when he wants to be, plus doesn’t exactly take shit from anybody either so he can be kind of intimidating to some people. He’s an art student, some of his work is showcased on the walls in the art department. He’s also dating the pretty blonde that he's sitting with his arm around right now—Haru,

“Shotaro is the friendly and cute one that constantly smiles no matter what type of situation he is in. He’s pretty chilled out, carefree. He’s a dance student too… a really good one. He’s practically the baby of their group—everyone has a soft spot for him. He did however end up getting into a fight with Hyunjin because Yeji—Hyunjin’s ex—kissed him at a party. But even though Hyunjin was the one that threw the first punch, he ended up looking worse than Shotaro thanks to Yangyang who jumped in,

“Yangyang is another renown fuckboy, practically fucks anyone with a pussy between their legs. I’m almost positive he has slept with the majority of the girls in this room. He drinks and smokes weed a lot, and recently he’s been taking some harder stuff until he can’t physically function too. He once had a crush on one of the girls in their group—Jaemin’s now girlfriend—but nobody really knows what happened between them. I’m assuming he kept his feelings to himself considering Jaemin and her are all coupled up now, but anyway. Yangyang’s best friend is Donghyuck, you probably won’t ever see one without the other, they’re like two peas in a pod,

“Donghyuck… he’s interesting, I guess. A jokester, pretty dramatic at times but he can also switch into his serious mode which hardly no-one has ever seen. He parties a lot, definitely can outdrink anybody in this room. Smokes weed too and pops a few pills thanks to Sunwoo. He’s a little emo too which gives him a lot of attention—he’s attractive, he knows it. He sleeps around a lot and with anyone too, he plays both teams. But something kinda flipped in him after a while when he got a little obsessed with Aisha who actually rejected him not so long ago—”

“Isn’t, like, obsessed too much of a harsh word?” You cut her off with a frown, not liking the way she explained him to you. “Maybe he just had a crush on her or something? A big one?”

Areum laughs at that, clearly amused as she shakes her head. “No, sweetheart. When I say obsessed, I mean obsessed. The thing with Donghyuck is that he gets obsessed with people he likes pretty quickly… It’s like he gets infatuated with them, wants to give them his all and more.”

You can’t help but ask, “Is Aisha the only one that he’s been… obsessed with?”

“I doubt it. I heard that Donghyick was once obsessed with Jeno when they first became friends. It’s not that shocking, to be honest. Jeno is an attractive looking guy,” Areum explains to you as she pulls her hand out of her pocket, now holding a strawberry flavoured vape and placing it between her lips to inhale. She blows the smoke out of the corner of her mouth, making sure not to aim towards your face. “Donghyuck’s obsession with people can be pretty intense and sometimes I think Aisha made a lucky escape, although I’m familiar with how much she enjoys attention so she’ll probably want it back once she realises he’s got a new obsession.”

“A new obsession?” Your brows raise in surprise at that and you lean in closer as if what she’s telling you is about to be top secret. “Who is his new obsession?”

The smirk that spreads across Areum’s cheeks makes your body buzz and heart beat rapidly in your chest, growing even more curious but also nervous to know the answer as you watch as she takes another quick inhale of her vape before glancing over your shoulder.

“Well, with the way he’s staring at you over there with that look in his eyes, I think you’re the next target,” Areum’s eyes meet yours. “You’re his new obsession, sweetheart.”

His new what?

“No I’m not,” A laugh forces its way out of your throat, a nervous one at that. You found it slightly ridiculous, really. There was absolutely no way that you could be his ‘new obsession’. It doesn’t make any sense. “He hardly knows me. We haven’t even spoken a word to each other… I think you’ve got it wrong.”

“Maybe,” She hums, eyes flickering over your shoulder once more. “But with the way he’s walking over here, I think I might be right on this one.”

He is what?

You’re glued in place, unable to turn around and see if she’s telling the truth or teasing you. The look on her face seems serious which makes you feel nervous, but the tone she uses is light which makes you think maybe she is playing tricks, wanting to tease you and see your reactions.

But it’s the deep call of your name and the warm hand touching your upper arm is what makes you realise that she is, in fact, not lying.

The nerves and the anxiety kicks in as you turn to face the person who had called out your name, your breath getting caught in the back of your throat as you meet Donghyuck’s dark eyes and that smile you have seen plenty of times before in class—the smile he always gives you when you catch his attention and when you meet his gaze.

Having been this close to him, Donghyuck, without a doubt, is prettier up close and your tummy flutters at the proximity, almost wanting to take a step back just to put some space between you so you can breathe properly, to conjure up a thought or to even start the conversation as it dawns on you how long you’ve been embarrassingly quiet for.

“Hi,” You greet him, mentally kicking yourself for how silly your voice sounded. You open your mouth to speak again and you immediately regret what comes out, “You’re the guy from my music class.”

One of Donghyuck’s brows lifts in amusement, seemingly surprised but also enjoying how you’re pretending you don’t already know him but he plays along anyways, nodding his head slowly with that smile that makes your hands clammy. “I’m Donghyuck.”

“Donghyuck,” You repeat with a nod. His eyes darken at you saying his name, tongue coming out to sweep over his bottom lip to wet it. “I’m—”

“I know who you are.” He cuts you off and the embarrassment you feel amps up to a hundred, remembering how he called out your name a few moments prior. You’re unsure why you’re acting weird and awkward, maybe it was because he made you feel nervous.

“I’m going to get us another drink,” Areum tells you, placing her hand on your shoulder to get your attention and you turn to her, eyes widening at the thought of her leaving you. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

The second Areum slips into the crowd to head towards the kitchen area, Donghyuck takes her place by the wall, leaning against it comfortably as his ringed fingers run through his dark locks, pushing his bangs out of the way and revealing his forehead for a split moment before his hair falls back into place, the tips almost touching his eyes that never seem to leave you.

He finally asks, “Why did you pretend not to know me?”

“I don’t know,” You immediately reply, unable to stop yourself. “I didn’t mean it. I think I’m just nervous.”

The smile on his face widens before his bottom lip gets caught between his teeth, tilting his head to the side, “I make you nervous?”

“Big parties do,” You partially lie, clearing your throat. “People everywhere, you know… gets overwhelming.”

Donghyuck hums, “Right.”

“I’m serious,” You defend yourself for whatever reason and Donghyuck finds amusement in your voice and actions, eyes sparkling as you seemingly come out of your awkward shell for a few seconds, talking to him in a tone as you would with close friends and he even spots the corner of your lips twitching, almost smiling at him. “Being in a room crowded with people isn’t exactly something I enjoy.”

“I believe you,” He tells you softly. He wants to keep this conversation going, enjoying this side of you that’s slowly becoming comfortable with him already. He likes it, the sparkle in your eyes, the tone of your voice, the subtle peaceful expression on your face. He wants more. “Are you enjoying yourself here?”

That makes you pause. Are you enjoying yourself? You came with Areum and Minjun, two people who you enjoy being in the presence of. You stumbled across Xiaojun and Mark, two other people who bring enjoyment into your life and you were actually ecstatic when seeing Xiaojun for the first time earlier. The beer that was available in the cooler happened to be one of your favourite alcoholic beverages (you’ve had three of those already.) and the music that blasts from the speakers happens to be of a genre you listen to on the regular.

You finally have your answer, “It’s not so bad.”

“Could it be better?” Donghyuck presses and your lips press together in deep thought before shrugging your shoulders, somewhat agreeing. Donghyuck leans in towards you, “Could I make it better?”

Your brows pull together in confusion, “You can do that? How could you do that?”

Donghyuck can’t help but smile at that and you grow even more confused when he begins to laugh softly, shaking his head. You wonder if you said the wrong thing or if there was a certain meaning behind his question that you failed to pick up on.

A frown forms on your face due to you feeling a little stupid, thinking that he’s laughing at you or your dumb response and Donghyuck immediately notices you rebuilding the walls, how that look on your face that he adores slowly starts to slip and he straightens up against the wall, toning down his teasing.

“I like your dress, by the way.” His compliment shocks you, not expecting it to come from him and you instantly look down at your dress.

At first, you wonder what’s wrong with it. If there was a stain you didn’t notice or if there was a tear in the fabric, but then you come to terms with that fact there’s nothing wrong with the dress and, actually, it’s probably one of the best that you own. It doesn’t cling to your body uncomfortably nor does it seem loose, it fits you well.

You raise your head to thank him, but your words are stuck in the back of your throat when you notice the way he’s looking at you. He’s drinking you in, taking in your appearance, gaze roaming over the length of the dress with a deep inhale before his eyes snap back up to yours, the dark look returning.

“It’s pretty,” Donghyuck exhales, leaning his head back against the wall while keeping eye contact with you. “You’re really pretty.”

You’re flustered now. The attention from him becomes a bit too much and you find yourself feeling hot under his intense stare and there’s an unfamiliar feeling swirling in the pit of your tummy, something you’ve never felt before and it shocks you, but you try to not bring too much attention to it.

You debate on whether to thank him or to compliment him back on his own outfit: a loose graphic white shirt of a band you recognised paired with denim ripped jeans with chains hanging off the sides and a pair of doc martens on his feet. His signature leather jacket, one you’ve seen multiple times before in class, drapes across his shoulders.

He does look good (really good, but you won’t admit that part.)

As you open your mouth, surprisingly finding the confidence to compliment him on his own outfit choice, it gets taken away from you when Areum announces her return as she comes towards you with drinks in her hand, followed by Minjun, Xiaojun and Mark who decided to tag along.

You smile when Areum passes you a fresh drink, completely forgetting about the other that had become lukewarm in your hand and you’re unsure on what to do with it until it’s plucked from your grasp and you turn to look at Donghyuck who had taken it from you, clinking the can against your own in a small ‘cheers’ before he pushes himself off of the wall, his shoulder brushing yours as he heads back to where he originally came from.

You’re a little confused on why he left, watching as he drops down on the sofa beside Yangyang who looks like he’s exhausted, slouching against the sofa cushions and nodding to whatever Shotaro—you remembered him from when Areum pointed him out—was talking about and Donghyuck takes the joint from between his fingers, leaning against Yangyang as he takes a drag all while watching you.

It’s almost deja vu, the whole scene reminding you of earlier when he was looking at you from afar before he came on over to introduce himself. You find him odd, extremely odd, but you can’t deny the fact how intriguing he is.

“So,” Areum’s voice grabs your attention. “How was it?”

“Fine,” You quip, turning to face the four. “He seemed fine. Nothing about that conversation screamed ‘I’m obsessed with you’ so, I think you were wrong with that one.”

Mark almost drops his beer, the alcohol sloshing and spilling over his hands as it almost slips from his fingers as he stares at you in shock, mouth agape, “Dude… you’re the next target?”

You deadpan, “Can you stop calling me a target? It feels like I’m about to get assassinated.”

Xiaojun frowns, giving you a look of sympathy as he steps in closer to pat your back comfortingly, “You poor thing… my condolences. Stay strong, soldier.”

"Be quiet."

An hour or two later you find yourself standing outside to get some fresh air alone, staring down at the liquid in your cup. You’re not sure how many you’ve had but you hate how you’re unable to feel the buzz that’s affecting those who are around you, glancing up at the few strays of people that are stumbling across the well-kept grass or are giggling to themselves as they stare up at the star filled sky.

You wonder at first if the drink you have isn’t actually alcoholic, but from the reactions of your friends (who had been drinking the same brand with you the majority of the night.) they were already tipsy, or in Xiaojun’s case, drunk.

Maybe you just weren’t feeling it.

First college party jitters, Areum had called it when you had confided in her about the problem and you were undoubtedly embarrassed to hear her call it that, but she had reassured you that it was fine and that it was normal, and even she had experienced something similar when she came to her first college party at the beginning of the year.

Still, it made you feel embarrassed.

With a heavy sigh, you finish the rest of your drink, pulling a face at the burn that trickles down the back of your throat as you turn on your heel to head back inside where your friends are but you crash into something hard, causing you to stumble backwards in shock and a pair of hands come out to grab your elbows, steadying you on your feet.

“Careful, princess.” The person speaks. Any other time, the pet name would’ve made you flustered, especially with that deep tone, but you barely acknowledge it as you try to shake yourself out of your startled state and you wince when you put too much pressure on your ankle, figuring you must’ve twisted it awkwardly when you bumped into the stranger.

You curse under your breath as you feel the throb but you try not to pay too much attention to it as you finally meet eyes with Donghyuck who is already staring back at you, the grip he has on your elbows tightening slightly as you make eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry.” You apologise instantly, “I didn’t see you.”

“It’s okay,” Donghyuck dismisses it with a shake of his head and his attention drops down to your ankle, his brows pulling together. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Oh, yeah, just a bit. But it’s fine, honest—”

The words get caught at the back of your throat as Donghyuck kneels down onto the grass to inspect the damage, cold fingers delicately touching your leg and trailing down to your ankle, the sudden action causing goosebumps to rise to your skin and you can just make out the corner of his lips twitching.

He traces the area with the pads of his fingertips slowly, suddenly aware of how close he’s leaning in as you feel his breath fan over your calf. His hand takes a hold of your ankle gently and carefully not to hurt you, the delicate strokes of his thumb sending a shiver up your spine and you wonder if he notices how nervous you’ve become.

Donghyuck presses his fingers down on a certain spot on your ankle and you hiss in surprise at the throb that comes with it, your hand instinctively slapping down on his shoulder in retaliation for the pain he caused but your mouth drops open in surprise while he glances up at you with a grin, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“It’s not broken or anything,” He informs you before you could start to apologise again for your sudden actions, raising back up onto his feet. “You just twisted it awkwardly when you bumped into me.”

“Do you major in nursing alongside music or something?”

Donghyuck smiles at that, a laugh leaving his lips. “No. I’m just good at knowing my way around a body,” You immediately pick up the suggestive tone in his voice and your brows raise in surprise, feeling flustered and shy under his gaze that doesn’t waver from you. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve crashed into me—”

“Accidently.”

“Right,” He hums. “What’s that saying? Once is a mistake, twice is a coincidence—”

“And three times is a pattern,” You finish. “It’s not a coincidence or pattern. Both are mistakes. I don’t go walking around searching for you in hopes to bump into you.”

“Aw, that’s a shame.”

“That I’m not purposely bumping into you?”

“That you’re not searching around for me.”

Your face grows hot at his forwardness and your eyes flick downwards to a patch of grass you suddenly find interest in, the shyness that creeps upon you making it hard for you to look at him.

Donghyuck remains staring at you and the corner of his lips curl into a smirk, amused at how easily you seem to be flustered when it comes to him already. He basks in it, he loves knowing how much he affects you and it excites him even more when he dips his head to meet your eyes but you avert your attention elsewhere.

He dips his hand into his jean pocket to pull out a singular pack of cigarettes, “Do you want one?”

“I don’t smoke.”

Donghyuck pauses, his fingers ghosting over the opening of the pack. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

You frown and that's when you look up to meet his eyes, confused. “Why wouldn’t I mind?”

“Some people don’t like being around smokers,” Donghyuck shrugs. “The smell and all.”

“I’m at a party where the air reeks of cigarettes, weed and alcohol,” You point out, a smile slowly starting to form on your lips. “I wouldn’t be here if I minded the smell. And besides, I can smell the weed on your clothes from earlier too and I haven’t said a word about it. I’m fine.”

He blinks once, twice, “Do I smell bad?”

“No,” You rush out to reassure him, shaking your head. “No, not at all. You smell fine.”

“Just fine?”

“You smell good.” You correct yourself.

The smirk returns as he tilts his head to the side, “Yeah?”

You come to a conclusion that he definitely enjoys making you embarrassed and flustered, and you let out a breathy laugh, tongue prodding at your cheek in slight annoyance at how easy it is for him to make you feel this way.

If it was anyone else, you fight back. You always fight back. Being roommates with Areum and close friends with Minjun, Xiaojun, Mark and Jihoon had made you defensive, being a victim to their countless teasing and jokes you had learned over time to return it.

But unfortunately there is something about Donghyuck that makes your words get caught in the back of your throat and your mind go completely blank, unable to think properly or even say something back.

“Whose is this?” Donghyuck’s already changing the subject, almost giving you whiplash at how easily he can switch to different topics without hesitating or missing a beat. His fingers reach out to touch Minjun’s jacket that’s draped over your shoulders, something that he had given you to keep you warm while you stepped outside. Donghyuck hums, brows pulling together. “You weren’t wearing this earlier.”

“Oh.” Your own fingers graze over the leather jacket. “It’s Minjun’s.”

Donghyuck drily asks, “Who?”

“He’s a friend.”

Donghyuck clicks his tongue against his teeth with a hum, “Yeah, well, your friend's jacket is covering this pretty dress of yours.”

The tone in his voice made your brows raise in surprise, the slight annoyance and disapproval of Minjun’s jacket covering—what he claims—a pretty dress was something you weren’t expecting, although it made your chest blossom with warmth and your face grew hot at the subtle compliment.

He’s not speaking now, which makes you feel a bit awkward having to stand in silence with him, minus the music that’s blasting from inside the house and a few lingering people out in the garden that are having drunken conversations around you. His lips are pressing together tightly, jaw locking and unlocking as his brows furrow as if he’s thinking deeply about something, fidgeting in his spot with his fingers twitching around his own jacket after he retracted them from Minjun’s.

You think maybe it’s time for you to leave, to say your goodbyes and find your friends so you can be free of the awkward tension you’re feeling. You want to stay with him though, not exactly eager to disappear away from him so soon just like how he practically walked away from you earlier when the others had come to join the conversation.

“Do you want another drink?” You catch yourself asking him before you could ever register the question in your head and your heart thumps wildly in your chest as Donghyuck slowly turns to look at you, “I mean, I noticed your hands are empty—and I want another drink too, so…”

Donghyuck stares at you for a moment longer before a smile breaks out onto his lips and he nods, agreeing to get another drink from the kitchen with you. But what you didn’t expect was Donghyuck to hold out his hand, wiggling his fingers enticingly in the air to coax you into taking his hand in your own.

You’re hesitant to take it, not wanting him to feel how clammy your palms already are and you most definitely didn’t want to embarrass yourself for being so nervous during this entire interaction.

“I don’t bite, you know,” He says with a whisper and it sends shivers tingling down your spine at how close he leans in to tell you that. He tilts his head to the side as he smirks, “Unless—”

“DONGHYUCK!”

The unfamiliar voice that shouts out his name startles you and your head whips around so fast you swear you hear a crack, immediately noticing a pretty, long haired girl stumble out of the backdoor of the house, almost tripping over her own heels before she collects herself, bringing her hand up to her forehead and squinting as she scans the garden for the boy in question.

You slowly face Donghyuck again and he’s still looking at you, not even paying attention to the calls of his name that echo throughout the garden, not even flinching at the loudness. He’s still holding his hand out to you, waiting for you to take it so you could both go inside but you feel as if maybe it’s the wrong thing to do right now, looking back and forth between him and the girl.

You state, “Someone is calling for you.”

“I know, she’s drunk, ignore her,” Donghyuck dismisses it with a shake of his head and he reaches out further towards you, fingertips brushing over the top of your hand. “Let’s go get that drink, princess. Yeah?”

You don’t even get the chance to decide to accept or decline as the girl approaches you both and immediately throws herself at Donghyuck and punches his arm repeatedly, rambling about something that he had kept hidden from ‘the rest of them’ and she even goes as far as shoving her hand into the front pocket of his jeans.

You blink away awkwardly, unsure of what to do or even to say but you look back at the pair when she pulls out a small bag of weed with a wail of victory.

“I knew you fucking had it,” She hisses, landing another punch on his arm and he rolls his eyes, trying to snatch it out of her grasp but she pulls it away quickly out of his reach, almost bumping into you in the process and her eyes widen in surprise. “Shit, I’m sorry!”

You shake your head, “It’s fi—”

“Miwoo.” Donghyuck speaks her name through gritted teeth and it instantly rings a bell, remembering that she was one of the girls that Areum had told you about earlier, one of Donghyuck’s best friends exes. “Why don’t you take the weed and go share it with Yangyang? Yeah?”

“You’re really pretty,” Miwoo completely ignores Donghyuck to compliment you, eyes checking you out from head to toe with a smile that makes you feel a little flustered but it disappears, replacing with a grimace as she jabs her thumb back at Donghyuck, “Why are you talking to him?”

Donghyuck’s hand comes up to rub the bridge of his nose, seemingly getting frustrated with his friends words and you can’t help but smile at that, finding the situation a little comical and you watch as Donghyuck manages to get her attention, the pair getting warped into a miniature argument that has you trying to bite back your amusement, pressing your lips together tightly to try and not smile even wider.

Although, your watching moment is cut short when you hear Areum call out your name and you turn to look over your shoulder to see her beckoning your forwards and you nod, wanting to politely bid your goodbyes to Donghyuck and Miwoo but you decide against it when you them at each other's throats with petty insults, quickly making your escape to Areum who loops your arms with hers, tugging you back into the house where the others are patiently waiting for you.

Donghyuck notices your disappearance almost immediately and his shoulders drop with a sigh, glaring at Miwoo who isn’t the least affected by his darkened gaze as she dips her fingers inside the baggy to pull out a pre-rolled joint.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” Miwoo grins before she meets Donghyuck’s eye, “She’s really pretty.”

“Yeah, I know,” Donghyuck mumbles under his breath, tongue prodding at his cheek in annoyance as he rips the bag and the joint out of Miwoo’s hands. “Give me that. You don’t deserve it, asshole.”

The amusement on your face is obvious when Xiaojun and Mark step into the Dreamies Café, both dressed in oversized hoodies and wearing sunglasses to block out the brightness of the sun and the lights from burning their eyes, arms dangling at their sides as they drag their feet across the flooring towards the table where you and Jihoon are sat waiting for them.

You arrived ten minutes before the two of them did and you were surprised to already see Jihoon sitting at the table with everyone's preferred drinks, and even when you tried to hand over the money for your own, he just looked at you as if you deeply offended him and swatted your hand away before pulling out a chair and telling you to sit.

Xiaojun doesn’t seep a word as he slumps down in the seat opposite you, but he does gesture a quick thank you to Jihoon for the drink and he lifts the straw to his lips to take a long sip, chest rumbling with a satisfied hum as he relaxes into his seat, the ice clinking in his iced matcha as he continuous to drink.

“Hey,” Mark greets you both as he sits on the seat at the end of the table, fingers curling around the plastic cup of his watermelon ade as he glances over at Jihoon. “Thanks, man. I’ll venmo you the money.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jihoon dismisses with a wave of his hand. “It’s on me anyways. You paid for my drink last time we were here,” His gaze suddenly flicks over to Xiaojun, the corner of his lips twitching. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like shit,” Xiaojun grumbles, craning his head back. “But fuck those cocktails tasted good.”

“You know, you’re probably going to have to give Jeno the money back for raiding his stash.”

“Actually, it belonged to Yangyang,” Xiaojun corrects as he digs his hand through the front of his jean pockets, pulling out his phone and swiping up to get to his notification bar and he angles the screen towards the three of you with a grimace. “He dmed me on Instagram this morning telling me to pay him back but I’m not even going to open it.”

“Dude,” Mark gives him a pointed look. “You can’t do that.”

“But I can,” Xiaojun locks his phone and places it down on the table with a grin. “And I will.”

Jihoon murmurs, “But you drank his stuff without his permission.”

“He uses my laptop in classes without my permission!” Xiaojun argues back immediately, “It’s payback.”

“You shouldn’t have given him your password.”

“I didn’t. I gave it to Donghyuck because he wanted—” Xiaojun suddenly pauses, blinking a few times as he registers his own words before smacking his lips together with a nod, exhaling deeply through his nose. “Yeah. That’s my fault. Should’ve guessed Donghyuck wouldn’t keep his mouth shut about that.”

The mention of Donghyuck has you thinking back on last night and a subtle smile makes its way onto your lips, twisting the straw of your coffee in between your teeth as you go over the interaction in your head.

The smirk he always has, the tone of his voice as he speaks to you, the way he always keeps eye contact and doesn’t even falter once when something else is going on around him. His somewhat flirtatious comments and his lingering touches is what surprises you the most, but you tell yourself that maybe that’s just his personality.

He’s like that with everyone, he must be.

“What’s got you smiling over there?” A teasing voice breaks you out of your thoughts, startling you as your head shoots up and you see Xiaojun grinning at you across the table, chin resting on the palm of his hand as he waits for you to explain the reason for your smiling but you remain tight lipped, causing his grin to drop. “Don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be nosy.” You fire back jokingly.

A soft call of your name makes you turn your head to Jihoon, “Did you enjoy the party yesterday?”

“It was fine,” You nod your head. “Didn’t get as drunk as everyone else did, but it was fine. College parties can be kind of overwhelming though,” You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly as you admit, “I don’t know why but I didn’t expect that many people to be there…”

“Yeah, Jeno is pretty well-known,” Mark hums as he takes a sip through his straw, leaning back in his seat comfortably. “Don’t get me wrong, like, that entire group are pretty much well-known but it’s mainly Jeno that gets the most attention and rallies everyone up for parties.”

“Areum kind of explained everything to me about them last night,” You say. “They’re an interesting group, I think. They also come across as a little intimidating apart from Shotaro… he was just smiling the entire night.”

“Shotaro’s sweet,” Mark agrees, nodding his head. “Also, once you get to really know them, they aren’t that intimidating—”

“I don’t know about that. Renjun still makes my skin crawl.” Xiaojun interrupts with a shiver.

“Renjun’s just not a people person,” Mark explains with a shrug of his shoulders. “He’s actually really nice if you have a one on one conversation with him,” Mark then turns his attention back on you, “But seriously, none of them are that intimidating once you get to really know them or be around them. Take Yangyang and Donghyuck for example, we don’t find either of them ‘intimidating’ since we share a class with them.”

“They’re just annoying,” Xiaojun chimes in again with a grimace on his face. “Especially Yangyang.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that, “What’s your problem with Yangyang?”

“Yangyang likes to annoy people a lot,” Jihoon is the one to explain to you as Xiaojun rubs at his temples at the mere thought of Yangyang. “He enjoys getting on people's nerves and, fortunately for him, Xiaojun reacts to everything he does so that just makes him do it even more… although, he hasn’t really been doing anything lately. He’s just been kinda numbed out.”

You hum, “Areum also mentioned that he indulges himself into some hard shit, alongside the weed and the alcohol.”

“That’s heartbreak for you, I guess.” Mark mumbles under his breath with a frown, tone sullen and your brows pull together in confusion, wanting to question it a little bit more but you struggle to find the opportunity when another topic is brought up.

“And obviously you know so much about Donghyuck already.”

“No I don’t,” You snip, sending a hard look Xiaojun’s way as he bats his pretty eyelashes at you. You repeat, “No I don’t”

“You were outside in the garden with him for quite some time last night~”

“I’m surprised you even remembered that considering when I walked back into the house, you were on your eighth shot dancing with one of the kitchen chairs.”

“Hey,” Xiaojun points his finger at you, “I may have been drunk but this brain of mine remembers everything.” He then smiles at you, “What did you guys talk about? Did he mention that you’re now his new obsession?”

Jihoon almost spits out his drink, “You’re his new obsession?”

“Why do you all call it that?” You huff with a frown, leaning back in your seat with your arms crossed over your chest. “It sounds mean—and wrong.”

“It’s kinda the truth,” Mark gives you a sorry expression. “Donghyuck does get obsessed with people and I’m almost positive he even knows it himself… He falls for people hard and he becomes so infatuated with them until they say they want nothing to do with him, and he just… stops.”

“He was into Aisha before,” Xiaojun states but you already knew that from Areum’s previous explanation. “He liked her a lot and I’m pretty sure she was into it for a while considering she flirted back and there were even rumours that they hooked up, like, once or twice… but I guess she got bored with that so she made up a lie and told Donghyuck that she was dating Mark—”

“Me. Of all people.” Mark points to himself in disbelief and shakes his head, the expression on his face being enough to get a laugh out of you.

“I mean, I would believe it,” Jihoon shrugs his shoulders, causing Mark to look at him incredulously. “Come on, you once walked out of a bathroom with her at a Halloween party with your spider-man costume unzipped and your mask gone—”

“I had to fucking piss really bad and I couldn’t get out of the costume because I was drunk so she helped me,” Mark immediately defends himself, a pout forming on his lips. “Besides, it was hot, I wasn’t going to wear the mask all night.” He then fires back up, “I wouldn’t fuck someone in dingy club’s disgusting bathroom, dude!”

Xiaojun blinks, “You lost your virginity in a cheap motel room with your ex-girlfriend.”

Mark bites back, “You lost yours in your grandma's basement, shut up.”

“Okay, wow, uncalled for.”

“Don’t argue…” Jihoon sighs, rubbing his forehead at their raised voices and your brows raise as the pair both turn to look at Jihoon with blank expressions before they speak in sync.

“You lost yours in the college janitor closet and got caught.”“Wait, really?” You gape at Jihoon in shock, not expecting someone like a quiet and socially awkward Jihoon to do something so scandalous on campus grounds. But your shock dies down and morphs into shyness when you realise the trio are now looking at you, expecting you to chime in with your own embarrassing virginity story but the problem was, you had none. Your virginity is still intact.

“Do you not have one?” Mark questions after a few minutes of awkward silence and you shake your head, avoiding his eyes. He questions genuinely again, not a hint of teasing in his tone as he whispers quietly. “Are you a virgin?”

You nod.

“Aww…” Xiaojun coos softly, causing your head to snap towards him as he smiles sweetly at you, “That’s cute.”

Your face immediately burns with embarrassment as you sink further down into your seat, a deep frown settling on your lips, “Don’t ever call my virginity cute again.”

“Wow… I’m immensely impressed,” Professor Kim mumbles under his breath as he slips the headphones off of his head after listening to a little recording you had made on your computer, his lips curled into satisfied grin as he places the headphones down on the table and you beam happily, glancing between him and your computer screen. “I’m also really impressed that you finished this today. I was expecting you to show me the finished product by at least next week… I’m grateful that you take this class seriously.”

“I enjoy music,” You tell him honestly as you tap your fingers nervously on your desk, “Is there anything I need to change or to work on?”

“There’s nothing you need to work on, it sounds great,” He compliments yet you prepare yourself for the rest, “But for changes? I would like to encourage you to partner up with some of the other students in the class, work together on a piece and let your music styles blend together to see how well it compliments each other, or even try and create something new.”

“So, like a group project?”

“Exactly,” Professor Kim nods. “Like I said, you’re impressive. You’re an amazing guitarist and pianist, your music is incredible when you’re solo. But I would like to hear it within a group too. Yangyang is an incredible bass player that you can maybe add. Xiaojun and Aisha are amazing vocalists, Donghyuck too and he’s also great at the guitar. Jihoon is talented with the keyboard and Mark can do just about everything. Seriously, think about it. I would love to hear how you sound within a group.”

With a kind smile and a gentle pat to your shoulder, Professor Kim excuses himself to go talk to another student, leaving you alone to think about his words.

It’s not that you didn’t want to work in a group. You’re almost positive that working with your friends will be a fun type of chaotic mess that will have your stomach cramping and tears streaming down your cheeks from laughing so much.

It’s just that you didn’t know how to work in a group. You’ve always been independent in some sort of sense, especially with your own creations. You preferred sitting alone with your headphones snug on your head, testing out different sounds and techniques all by yourself, choosing what sounds best and what suits your needs.

But working in a group? Settling on one thing that will make each of you happy? That is foreign territory… that is stressful.

“So, what did he say to you?” Jihoon asks with a gentle nudge at your shoulder to get your attention and you pull your eyes away from your laptop screen to give him a tight lipped smile.

“He liked it. He just wants me to try out group work,” You almost start pleading, “Got any room in your group project for me to fit in?”

“Sure,” Jihoon nods with a kind smile, “Although I feel like I should probably warn you by saying that sometimes it’s not just me, Mark and Xiaojun working together… Donghyuck and Yangyang sometimes come back and forth, especially for Mark.”

Your brows raise in surprise, “They’re in your group too?”

“Not exactly. It’s more like them coming to us when we’re working to borrow Mark for their project,” Jihoon explains to you as he nods over at Mark who’s currently leaning on a desk with Donghyuck and Yangyang at his sides, peering over his shoulder to look at his laptop screen. “Mark pretty much floats in and out of other people's groups. It’s what you get for being an allrounder I guess.”

“Professor Kim mentioned something like that.” You mumble as you watch the trio, the corner of your lips twitching upwards in a slight smile as Mark scoffs at something Donghyuck says, swatting him away with his hand as Donghyuck grins mischievously and murmurs something in his ear, causing Mark to push at his head this time and Donghyuck stumbles back with a laugh.

Yangyang remains silent, idly drumming his fingers on the desk and rubbing tiredly at his sullen eyes beneath his hood. He seems to stop when turning his body towards you, as if looking your way to which makes your back straighten up, especially when Donghyuck’s head whips around at a mumble from Yangyang, looking directly at you.

From across the room, Donghyuck smiles that crooked grin of his and his eyebrow quirks up when he sees that you’re already staring back at him. You can feel the warmth rising to your cheeks at being caught, and though you try to suppress the shy feeling that creeps in, you know he can already tell exactly how you’re feeling as his eyes twinkle with amusement, tilting his head to the side as if to tease you even more.

Donghyuck’s eyes never leave you as you turn away, trying to busy yourself with something else as your heart thumps wildly in your ears, feeling too overwhelmed to glance back at Donghyuck despite seeing him in your peripheral vision.

“You really have caught his attention,” Jihoon mutters beside you with a chuckle and you whip around to face him, eyes wide. “I thought that maybe Xiaojun and Mark were teasing you… but I guess Donghyuck really has started to take a liking to you. You are his new obsession.”

#nct dream fic #nct dream au #nct series #haechan au #haechan fic #haechan series #nct fluff #nct angst #nct smut #fic: you'll never find anyone like me #neo tech college series

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

Summary: After moving to Hawkins to take care of your ailing grandma, you end up spending a wild night with Corroded Coffin's lead singer, Eddie Munson. When you uncover his true intentions, you have no desire to ever see him again, but fate--and his son, Harris--has other plans.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fingering (f! receiving), oral (m!receiving), slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 7.5k

Chapter 1/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Late August, 1996.

July had come and gone so quickly, and you could sense it in the muggy air as the daylight dwindled away on the horizon of an orange colored sky. Your heels click along the parking lot pavement as you make your way into the dingy bar. Everyone told you that your twenties would be full of surprises, but no one warned you that those twists and turns would land you in Hawkins, Indiana.

The neon sign reads The Hideout; well, really, it reads Th H deo t, and the “o” is starting to flicker. You’re not the only one who notices the building’s crumbling exterior.

“Huh,” Jess says, crossing her arms over her chest. “This place seemed a lot cooler when I was in high school.” Still, she pushes open the door, where you’re immediately hit with the stench of cigarettes and beer. The floor is sticky with what you can only hope is spilled liquor, and you take a seat on a rickety barstool.

“How did you even hear about this place?” you ask your new friend, tugging your dress so it covers a bit more of your thighs. You had one night out to yourself, and Jess was insistent on you making the most of it.

“Used to come here all the time when I was, like, sixteen?” She wrinkles her nose. “They’re dirt cheap and they never card, so my friends and I used to get super wasted. Thought we were hot shit.” She flags down the bartender with a wave and a smile. “Anyway, you can’t live in Hawkins and not come to the Hideout at least once. It’s a tradition.”

The bartender, a woman who looks to be in her mid-forties, leans on the counter. “What can I get you ladies?” she asks. Her voice is raspy from what sounds like decades of chain smoking.

You’re about to order a Bud Light, but Jess cuts you off. “We’ll each have a Hideout Special,” she says confidently. “Make hers a double.”

“Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me? And what the hell is a Hideout Special?”

She waves off your concern. “Honestly, I have no idea. But it’ll get you buzzed fast.”

You reluctantly agree, sipping on something that tastes vaguely like a mixture of rum and vodka, with the pungency of rubbing alcohol. “That’s awful,” you grimace, and Jess just laughs.

“Yeah, they’re pretty rough going down. But you only have one night to yourself, and you’re gonna make the most of it.” She links her arm through yours, using her free hand to tilt the drink back up to your lips. “Now, drink up. The band’s gonna start playing soon, and you’ll need all the liquor you can get. Trust me.”

Corroded Coffin, the band in question, is warming up in the back room. Tuesday nights has been their slot since high school, and if their lead singer and guitarist has his way, it’ll be their slot until they’re too old to play. He’s tuning his ax, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, only looking up when he hears a faint “oh, shit,” come from his bandmate.

“Y’good?” Eddie asks, strumming gently to play a perfect A-chord.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, holding up a small black box. “Forgot I had this in my pocket; almost dropped it when I took off my jacket.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “That’s what you get for wearing leather in fuckin’ August, dude.” He squints at the object in Jeff’s hand. “What is that, anyway?”

“A ring,” Jeff proudly announces. “I’m gonna ask Viv to marry me.” The big, goofy grin on his face makes Eddie’s stomach churn. He looks at Gareth and Danny, expecting similar disgusted reactions from them, but they’re both smiling, too.

“Way to go, man!” Danny says, and Gareth claps Jeff on the back. “Our little Jeff is growing up.”

“Oh, fuck off, man,” Jeff says, but he’s laughing as he accepts the congratulations. He glances expectantly at Eddie, waiting for him to chime in.

“You two’ve been together for a million years,” Gareth jokes, twirling a drumstick in his free hand. “What made you decide to take the plunge?”

Jeff’s eyes dart around the room. “Okay, I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” he starts, voice hushed, “but Viv’s pregnant!”

“Holy shit!” Danny sputters. “Dude, you’re gonna be a dad!”

“Yeah,” Jeff agrees incredulously. “Fuckin’ wild, isn’t it?” His gaze falls to Eddie. “Does the seasoned professional have any words of wisdom?”

An uncharacteristic silence fills the room. Eddie can feel their eyes burning a hole into his head. He knows what he should say, what Jeff wants to hear, but he can’t bring himself to feign happiness. “You don’t have to marry someone just because you knocked her up.” It comes out with a snarl, meaner than he’d intended.

“Crazy thought, but have you considered that I actually want to marry her?” Jeff shoots back, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’re not all content being miserable hermits like you are.”

“Whoa, break it up,” Gareth tries, stepping between the two guitarists, but the conversation’s already too heated.

“I’m not miserable, and I’m not a hermit,” Eddie counters. “I’m just not about to limit myself when there’s plenty of pussy in the sea.”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Whatever, dude. Thanks for the well wishes.” Eddie can’t help but notice the flash of hurt in his eyes as he walks away. A small part of him feels bad, but he can’t shake the anxiety that unexpected change seems to bring.

“So, what does this mean for Corroded Coffin?” he asks. “Should we consider this our farewell show?” He tries to ignore the irritated glares he’s getting from Gareth and Danny. It’s like the words fall from his mouth before his brain can process the damage they can do.

“Obviously, once the baby comes, I’ll have to take a step back,” Jeff shrugs. “And I’m gonna try to work some overtime before it’s born. Save some extra money, y’know.”

The room had been zapped of joy, and Eddie feeds off of the sullen atmosphere. “Nice commitment to the band,” he sneers. “Glad to see how easily your priorities change.”

“Yeah, man, you should try it sometime,” Jeff snaps. His fists clench, and he looks angry enough to throw a punch. “Maybe you’ll stop acting like an overgrown teenager.”

Eddie’s about to fight back, jaw locked in place and eyes seeing red, but he’s temporarily grounded by the sound of the manager’s tired voice echoing from the ancient sound system.

“Put your hands together for Corroded Coffin!” A smattering of applause signals their cue to enter. Eddie tries to shake off the conflict; it can be resolved after they play. The show must go on, or whatever it was that his high school drama teacher always said.

A balding man with a gruff voice introduces the band as Corroded Coffin. Jess’s eyes go wide; she’s already a few Hideout Specials deep and definitely feeling it.

“Oh, shit!” she laughs with a hiccup. “That’s my sister’s boyfriend’s band!” She motions to the bartender to pour her another drink, but you shake your head and just mouth water. The bartender gives you a knowing nod, probably grateful that she won’t have to be the one dealing with Jess tonight.

“Yeah, that’s Jeff!” Jess continues, pointing at a tall guitarist with tight curls. “He’s the one who knocked up Viv!” She cackles like she just made the most hilarious joke. “I totally forgot they were playing tonight.” She frantically waves at him, and he gives a small head nod in acknowledgment.

Your eyes are drawn to someone else: the lanky, ring-clad man who takes center stage. He grips the mic with black polished nails, smirking out into the crowd as he yells, “Hawkins, how’re we doin’ tonight?” The loudest cheers come from Jess, and you join in, letting out an obnoxious “woooooo!” in response.

The noise draws his attention, and you watch as his smirk shifts to something needier, hungrier, even. His big brown eyes land on you and Jess, leaving you momentarily breathless. He’s absolutely gorgeous, light stubble on his cheeks and above his plush lips. He’s wearing a white V-neck that shows off a dusting of chest hair. His torn black jeans hang low on his hips, accentuated with a studded belt. A gleaming pair of silver handcuffs are clipped to one of the loops.

“All right!” he calls back. “Well, this first one goes out to the pretty girl in the blue dress at the bar. Wait for me after the show, Sweetheart.” He counts out to four, and they launch into a cover of Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me.

It doesn’t even register until Jess nudges you, more forcefully than necessary, and says, “Hey, you’re wearing a blue dress!”

Oh.

“Who…who is he?” you ask, feeling a warmth spread through your core that you’re sure isn’t from the alcohol.

“That,” Jess says, leaning on you for balance, “is Eddie Munson. Total freak back in high school, but now he’s just got a reputation for being a freak in the sheets.” She throws you a clumsy wink and adds, “looks like you’ll get to find out for yourself tonight.”

“I’m not really a one-night stand kind of person,” you counter, internally cringing at the memories of your feeble attempts at hooking up, all of which inevitably ended with you pining after them pathetically.

Jess rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she whines, taking note of the way you and Eddie can’t seem to tear your gazes from each other. “Your dad leaves tomorrow, and then you’ll be spending your nights taking care of your grandma. You gotta live a little!”

Plopping back down onto the barstool, you consider her sentiment. It’s true; once your dad goes back home, you’ll be the one helping out in the evenings. And the new school year starts next week, leaving you with little time for yourself.

Your whole life has been spent helping others. You became a teacher to shape young minds and provide them with a safe place to learn and express themselves. You moved to a tiny town in the middle of Indiana to look after your grandma. Even now, you’re babysitting Jess and ensuring she doesn’t dehydrate instead of letting loose and ordering another drink.

“Fine, but only if he brings it up,” you concede. “I’m not gonna be the one to make the first move.”

The band moves on to their next song; it’s either an original or one you’re not familiar with, but you find yourself dancing to the beat. Jess joins you, writhing her body in some kind of drunken jig that has you cackling. You’re having such a great time that you don’t even notice Eddie tripping over a few chords as he watches you sway your hips back and forth.

Corroded Coffin plays for another forty minutes. You recognize some Metallica and Black Sabbath songs, headbanging along until you’re dizzy. The bartender slides you another drink—on the house, she insists—and you sip it eagerly, trying to quell your nerves. Eddie shouts out, “thank you, Hawkins!” and disappears backstage with the rest of the band.

You can’t ignore the dejected pain in your heart, but you muster up a smile and turn to Jess. “Ready to get out of here?”

She shakes her head, putting her palm on the bar to steady herself. “You still have to wait for Eddie,” she teases. “You promised.”

You cock your eyebrow in amusement. “First of all, Drunky McWasted, I didn’t promise anything,” you say, “and second, show’s over and, uh, he’s not here.” You swivel around for emphasis.

“Give him a fucking second, would ya?” The comment doesn’t come from your friend, and you turn around to see Eddie standing behind you. He’s got a towel around the back of his neck, mopping up the sweat from his performance. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and you can see the remnants of kohl eyeliner smudged around his lash line. “Had to clean myself up a little bit, damn.” He smiles, and you feel like you’re going to melt.

Jess interrupts, pushing you closer to him. “Eddie, this is my neighbor.” When you still don’t say anything, too awestruck to introduce yourself, she tells him your name.

Eddie nods, letting his fingers graze yours. “What’d you think of the set?” He grins at the bartender, who gives a small head bob and hands him a whiskey, neat.

“It was good,” you manage, finally finding your voice. “I especially liked the song you dedicated to the pretty girl in the blue dress.” There. You flirted. The rest is up to him.

“Yeah?” He rests his forearm on the bar and leans over to take his glass. “Was kinda hopin’ you would. Soon as I saw you, I knew I had to shoot my shot.” His eyes flit over the low-cut neckline of your dress before he drags his gaze back to your eyes. “You new to Hawkins?”

“Mhm,” you say, watching as he fumbles with a pack of Newports. “I moved here to take care of my grandma.” Good going. Nothing turns a guy on like talking about your elderly relatives.

But Eddie’s unfazed. “Hot and nice? A lethal combo, if I do say so myself.”

“What about you?” you blurt out. “I mean, have you always lived in Hawkins?”

He shrugs. “Been back and forth. Came here when I was nine, left when I was twenty-two, then came back about four years ago.”

“What brought you back? Missed all the excitement?” You laugh and he gives a small smile, but an emotion you can’t pinpoint crosses over his face.

“Somethin’ like that,” Eddie mutters, popping a cigarette between his lips. “Wanna go outside an’ have a smoke with me?”

“I’d love to,” you say with an apologetic tone, “but I really don’t wanna leave her alone.” You motion to your friend, who is currently trying to convince the bartender to let her have another drink. But as soon as she hears you using her as an excuse, she waves you off.

“Go,” she insists. “I’ll be fine. ‘M gonna have Jeff take me back home.” She stands on her tiptoes, nearly falling over, flailing both her arms wildly when she spots Jeff in the crowd and shouting, “Jeffy! Jeffy, can you drive me home so these two can have sex?”

You feel your face heat up at her words as Eddie shakes his head incredulously, lips twisting into a cocky grin. The last thing Jeff wants to do after Eddie’s earlier tantrum is help him get laid, but he knows there will be hell to pay if he doesn’t watch after his inebriated sister-in-law-to-be.

“Yeah, sure,” he grumbles, carefully looping his arm around her waist and helps her to his car. He appears to deliberately avoid making eye contact with Eddie, though you don’t know why. The two of them seemed to be getting along just fine on stage. The rest of the band leaves with them, carrying various instruments. No one even acknowledges Eddie’s presence.

“Uh, everything okay?” You can’t not pretend you didn’t notice; the tension is far too obvious.

Eddie brushes it off with another shrug. “Guys all got sticks up their asses, I dunno.” He pulls a black Bic lighter from his back pocket and motions towards the door, signaling your cue to walk out with him and drop the conversation.

Chirping crickets and a rowdy group of drunks shouting obscenities at each other punctuates the otherwise quiet atmosphere. Eddie looks at you expectantly, holding out his lighter, and you realize that he’s waiting for you to take out your own pack of cigarettes. A pack of cigarettes that you do not have.

“Oh, I, um, I don’t smoke,” you stammer, biting your tongue in irritation towards your own awkwardness. “I mean, I’ll smoke, like, socially, but I don’t carry cigarettes on me. Sorry.”

“Wanna bum one?” You pluck one from the pack and lean in as he lights it for you. The crisp inhale of tobacco lingers in your lungs for a moment before you breathe out, grateful that you didn’t cough like a middle schooler stealing cigs from her mom’s stash. You take another drag, watching as he does the same. You’d thought that there would be some level of conversation, but Eddie seems perfectly content smoking in silence.

“So,” you finally say, “how long have you been playing guitar?”

He chuckles and pushes his hand through his hair, stopping where it’s gathered into a hair tie. The perspiration on his forehead is starting to dry, but his bangs still stick to it. “Shit, gotta be twenty years now. Damn, I’m fuckin’ old.”

“How old are you?” It comes out more accusing than inquisitive, and you sharply inhale more nicotine to shut yourself up.

“Turned thirty last month.”

“Oh, that’s not old,” you reassure him. “I’m twenty-eight, so…not far behind.”

He doesn’t say anything in response to this. Maybe you’d misread his intentions. Or maybe he’d lost interest after just a few moments alone with you. The pretty girl in the blue dress quickly becomes the lame girl in the blue dress, and you both return home unsatisfied.

You try again, this time saying something that warrants a response. “I just moved here last week, if you have any recommendations of places to go. Restaurants or something?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, ‘s pretty boring around here.”

End of conversation.

“Well, I should probably get home,” you say, shifting your weight onto your other foot and stubbing out your cigarette in the nearby ashtray. There’s no sense in wasting anymore time, and the nighttime chill is biting at your bare legs.

“Wait, what?” Eddie practically does a double-take. “I thought…didn’t Viv’s sister say something about…”

Or maybe you’d read the situation correctly after all.

“You still want to?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his own cigarette, and the smirk returns to his face. “Your place or mine?”

Considering the fact that your place is currently housing an eighty-year-old woman with declining cognition, and your father, you quickly jump at the offer to go to his home.

You walk with him to his car, a beat-up blue sedan. He opens the passenger door, and you thank him with a tight smile, still not sure what to expect. Maybe he’s just not into small talk, but he seems awfully closed off for a man who’s trying to get laid.

A tangle of tree-shaped air fresheners hang from the rearview mirror; they sway slightly as the two of you plop in your seats. Instinctively, you look behind you as he turns the key in the ignition. Nestled into the far left side of the backseat is a carseat. Cheerio crumbs are wedged in the crevices, and an empty sippy cup leans up against it.

“Is that a carseat?” It’s a dumb question; of course it’s a carseat, but you can’t bring yourself to be more blunt and ask if he has a kid. I mean, the guy couldn’t even tell you a single restaurant to go to.

“Oh. Yeah.” Eddie reaches around, placing a ringed hand on the back of your headrest as he backs out of the spot. He doesn’t elaborate on the matter, just speeds out of the parking lot, so you don’t push it.

The words, I love kids; I’m actually a preschool teacher, linger on your lips, but you bite them back. This is supposed to be casual, a one-night stand; you’re not trying to be anyone’s stepmother.

Eddie flicks on the radio to a metal station–of course–and you sit back and try to enjoy the ride. You can faintly hear him humming along to the music. The fingers on his left hand drum on the steering wheel, while his right hand finds its way to your upper thigh. Fuck, it feels good. He gently squeezes, and the sensation of his cold metal rings combined with his hungry touch makes you involuntarily press your legs together.

“Just wait, Sweetheart,” he laughs. “There’s more where that came from.” It’s probably the most he’s said to you all night, and you consider it a small win. You lean in and gently nip at his earlobe, grinning as he shivers at the contact.

“There’s more where that came from,” you echo, shifting back in your seat. Eddie looks at you, brows raised and forehead creased in amusement, but–big surprise–says nothing. He pulls into an apartment complex parking lot, swinging into the nearest available spot, and kills the engine. Without the music or the steady hum of the ignition, you’re suddenly plunged into complete silence. Are you really doing this? Going to a stranger’s apartment to have sex with him? What if he’s some sort of serial killer? But Jess knows him–sort of–and vouched for him, so he can’t be all bad, right? Although, Ted Bundy had friends, too…

Eddie clearing his throat disrupts your inner monologue, and you glance up at him shyly. “Sorry,” you mutter, though you’re not quite sure what you’re apologizing for.

“No biggie,” he says, like he’s used to women just spacing out in his car before they fuck him. “Um, y’ready to go inside?”

You nod, opening your door and carefully stepping out onto the uneven pavement. You wobble a little in your high heels, but you feel a hand on your lower back, steadying you. “Lemme help you,” he mumbles, lacing his fingers through yours and guiding you to the front door of the building.

The two of you only make it to the stairwell between the first and second floors before he’s pouncing on you, your back against the cold concrete walls. His hands start on your waist, traveling upwards and lightly grazing your breasts before he’s cupping your face. His kisses are hungry, but not sloppy; when his tongue breaches your lips, you let him in without a second thought. He places his knee between your legs, just barely nudging it against your lace thong. “Fuck,” he hisses, pulling away from you and running his tongue over his teeth, “I need you, pretty girl.”

You pout, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. “Can’t get naked until we’re in your apartment.” You pause before whispering in his ear, “and if you thought this dress looked good on me, wait till you see it on your floor.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “‘S just another flight of stairs after this, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for a response, just takes your hand again and leads you to apartment 3C. There are a few Hot Wheels cars scattered on the ground, but he kicks them under the couch without further explanation. He sits down, adjusts his body on the soft beige cushion, and pats his lap. “Your throne,” he says cheekily, exposing tiny dimples on either side of his lips.

Wordlessly, you climb on top of him. Your dress bunches up as you straddle his waist, though that won’t be a problem much longer. You greedily grind your clothed pussy over the rough denim of his fly, sucking on his neck as his strong hands clasp the back of your thighs and pull you closer.

“Needy thing, hmm?” Eddie smirks, chuckling when you feign offense. “Where’re you going? ‘M just teasing you.” He sits up a bit, tugging one dress strap down and kissing the flesh between your neck and shoulder. “Maybe I read it wrong, but…y’look like a girl who likes to be teased,” he says, voice muffled by your skin.

“N-No, I do. Like it,” you stammer, fumbling with the frayed hem of his shirt and lifting it over his head. You run your hands over the expanse of pale skin, admiring his tattoos. There’s one of a red guitar pick right above his left pec; without thinking, you kiss it gingerly. He lets out a quiet moan, unzipping your dress and helping you shimmy out of it. You’re not wearing a bra, and he nearly chokes on his own tongue when he sees you on display for him.

“Christ, baby,” he groans, “got the most perfect fuckin’ tits I’ve ever seen.” He kisses them and runs his thumbs over your pert nipples before briefly sucking on them. The nickname baby isn’t lost on you, but you try not to read into it.

Still, there’s a sense of satisfaction at the way he’s crumbling literally beneath you, though you can’t help but snarkily say, “bet you say that to all the girls you bring back here.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs, sending vibrations through your core. “Only the ones with perfect tits.”

You hate yourself for wondering how many perfect-breasted women there have been.

“Bedroom?” It’s all you can manage, already breathless from dry humping like a goddamn teenager on prom night.

Eddie hesitates before shaking his head, a curl falling loose from the hair tie. “Let’s just, uh, stay out here. Room’s kinda a mess.” The unsure expression on his face hints at another reason, but he quickly distracts you by pushing your panties to the side, slipping his middle finger into your aching cunt. “Holy shit. S’fucking wet already. I knew you were needy.”

“Y-Yes. Need you. Need more.” You’re already stretched out by one finger, but you’re dying to know how a second one feels. The more of him inside you, the better. He obliges, fucking you with his pointer and middle fingers while his thumb makes tiny, hurried circles against your clit. “That’s it, right…right there. Don’t stop; please don’t stop!” He brings you to your orgasm, smirking as you finish all over his fingers.

Your rocking slows, and you reluctantly pull yourself off of him and sink to your knees. He’s unbuckling his belt as fast as he can, and you can’t help but notice the wet spot on his jeans right where you were grinding on his thigh.

Eddie’s pants and plaid boxers are around his ankles in a heartbeat. His hard cock rests against his stomach; a pearly bead of pre-cum leaks from the tip. “Let’s see what that cute little mouth can do, Sweetheart,” he muses, leaning back into the couch with his hands behind his head.

You bite your lower lip. “First I gotta clean you off, yeah?” you ask before licking the tip, tasting him. His length twitches at that minimal contact, which makes you giggle. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.” There’s no protesting, so you grasp the base of his shaft with one hand and cup his balls with the other. You suck on the head, circling it with your tongue, before taking as much of the rest of his cock as you can fit into your mouth.

“Mmm, baby, yes,” he growls, inhaling sharply when you gently tug on his balls. “Thas’ a good girl. Play with my fuckin’ balls, just like that.” He bucks up his hips, bringing his cock even further down your throat. “Gag on it, baby. Gag on my big fuckin’ cock.”

He’s not wrong; at least, it’s the biggest of any guy you’ve ever been with. Hollowing out your cheeks, you increase your pace, letting your nose brush against his patch of dark curls. Saliva drips down your chin; you swipe at it clumsily and keep your focus on him.

“Shitshitshitshitshit–FUCK!” Before you can even process what’s happening, Eddie pulls out of you. Thick, hot ropes of cum trickle down his right hand, and he buries his face in his left. You reach for a tissue and hand it to him, and he angrily wipes off his spend.

“Gimme fifteen minutes, and I’ll be good to go,” he says, tossing the used tissue in a nearby wastebasket. He finds the remote tucked behind a couch cushion and clicks on the TV. An episode of Seinfeld comes on. “You’ll do,” he mutters, plopping down next to you and poorly stifling a yawn.

“Sleepy?” you tease, wrapping your naked chest in an itchy wool blanket and curling up. He doesn’t put his arm around you, or make any attempt to cuddle, so neither do you.

“Nah, ‘m fine.” But nearly five minutes later, while Jerry and Elaine argue about God-knows-what, you can hear Eddie softly snoring next to you.

“Eddie,” you whisper. No response, so you try a little louder. “Eddie!”

“Huh? What?”

“I can, uh, I can go now. I’ll call a cab. Just need your address.” You start to get up and head for the phone hanging on the wall, but he puts an arm out to stop you.

“‘S’okay. Stay for a bit, baby.”

Stay for a bit, baby.

It almost feels like you’re taking advantage of him; his curt conversations and closed-off demeanor earlier in the night indicated that he was not looking for someone to sleep over. But now he’s asking you to stick around, resting his head on your shoulder and letting one tattooed arm drape over your waist. You let him stay there, trying your best not to wake him, but you’re forced to reach over him to grab the remote when an infomercial starts blaring.

“C’mere,” he mumbles, half-asleep as he lays down and scoots himself as far back as he can. You follow his lead, pressing your back against his bare chest. Your eyelids flutter shut, and you find yourself drifting off while wrapped in the warm embrace of this handsome stranger.

RRRRIIIINNGGG! RRRRIIIINNGGG!

You’re startled awake by a loud, unfamiliar noise that doesn’t sound like your alarm clock.

RRRRIIIINNGGG! RRRRIIIINNGGG!

Eddie jolts up, almost knocking you off the couch. “Shit, didn’t think you were still…” He turns towards the ringing sound, still confused. “What time is it?!” His eyes widen as he gets a look at the clock, which reads 7:19. “Shit, shit, shit! Son of a bitch!”

He practically flies off of the couch, sprinting to the phone and bringing the receiver to his ear. “Wayne? Yeah, I’m sorry…overslept. I can be there in ten…no, you don’t have to do that, I’ll just…okay, okay, fine. See you soon.” He hangs up with a clank, turning back to you.

You’re just sitting on the sofa, still wearing nothing but your underwear and the blanket. “Everything…um, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but he lets out an overwhelmed sigh. “Let me help you find your dress.” He doesn’t say it aloud, but the real meaning behind his words seeps through: you should leave.

You nod, feeling the all-too recognizable lump in your throat. It happens any time these shared intimate moments come to an end; the realization of just how temporary you are in someone’s life is a punch to the stomach.

You find the bunched blue garment behind the couch and slide it over your head. The fabric feels stale and cold against your skin, like it doesn’t belong to you. Eddie’s only wearing his boxers, and you catch yourself staring at the collection of tattoos that trail down his arms and torso.

“Like what you see?” He laughs when you duck your head, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks as he walks towards you. “C’mon, don’t be shy. Not after that little show you put on for me last night.” He leans down, tilting your chin up to him and kissing you softly. “Before you go, leave your number, yeah?”

That makes you roll your eyes. “Oh, please,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“What?”

“Don’t ask for my number if you’re not gonna call,” you say. You sling your bag over your shoulder as you walk to the door. “We don’t have to do the whole song-and-dance. We can just, y’know, leave this as a one-night stand.”

Eddie chuckles incredulously. “You wound me, Sweetheart,” he says. “‘Course I’m gonna call you. How could I not wanna see a girl as beautiful as you again? ‘Sides,” he adds slyly, “We didn’t even get to the best part.”

Begrudgingly, you write your number on a nearby notepad. The phrase don’t get my hopes up for nothing sits on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back.

You’re halfway down the stairwell when you remember that you never called a cab. There’s no way in hell that you’re going to clamber back up to the third floor and ask Eddie to use his phone–and get his address–so you continue down to the lobby payphone and dial Jess’s number.

“H-Hello?” a man’s sleepy voice picks up on the third ring.

“Uh, Jess?” It’s clearly not your neighbor, but you have no idea what else to ask. Did she find some skeezy guy to bring home from the Hideout last night?

“Nah, it’s Jeff. Who’s this?” When you say your name, he hums in acknowledgment. “Oh, yeah. From the bar, right?”

“Yeah…is Jess there?”

He yawns into the receiver. “Last I checked, she was asleep. Finally. She spent half of last night puking her guts up. Everything okay?”

“Mhm. I was just wondering if she could pick me up from…um, from Eddie’s.” You cringe at your admission; the last thing you want is for Eddie’s bandmates to think that you’re some kind of pathetic groupie.

But Jeff seems unfazed. “I’ll be right there.” Before you can protest, he hangs up.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the glass-door reflection. Your hair is a mess, and there’s smudged makeup around your eyes and lips, like a billboard for the walk of shame.

Jeff pulls up a few minutes later, and you bashfully climb into the passenger seat. “Thanks,” you mumble, trying not to let your humiliation show through.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs as he pulls onto the main road, “it’s a special occasion.” When you pinch your eyebrows together in confusion, he laughs. “Ed never lets a girl stay over. Not sure what you did–don’t wanna know, to be honest–but you must’ve made quite the impression.”

“Didn’t mean to,” you say quietly. “We both fell asleep after…yeah. We only woke up when we did because some guy named Wayne called.”

Jeff nods knowingly. “That’s his uncle. He watches his son on Tuesdays when we have our gigs.”

His…son?

Jeff must notice the stunned expression on your face, and his cheeks flush pink. “Shit, he didn’t tell you about Harris?”

“We didn’t do much talking,” you reply wryly. “I’ll have to ask him about that when he calls.”

“Christ,” Jeff shakes his head. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he’s not gonna call. Never does. Calls it the ‘Cat-and-Mouse.’”

“The what?” Your throat goes bone-dry. You should’ve trusted your intuition, denied giving him your number, left it as a one-time thing.

“He brings a girl back to his place, has sex with her and asks for her number, but doesn’t call. When she shows up to the bar the next week, all insecure and wondering if he’s still interested, he acts like he’s been so busy, apologizes profusely, and strings her along until she catches on. Then it’s onto the next one.”

You feel like your heart’s been ripped out of your chest. Bile burns at the back of your esophagus, and you have to blink back tears. How could you be so stupid, so naive? Didn’t you know by now that guys like Eddie Munson are only after one thing?

The two of you sit in silence until he pulls up to your building. “Thanks,” you say finally, “for the ride and for the warning.” Jeff just nods, watching to make sure you get inside before driving off. As soon as he’s safely down the road, you burst into tears. Angry at Eddie, but mostly angry at yourself.

Eddie watches from his window as you get into a car–Jeff’s car–and leave. Great, he thinks, I’m sure I’ll get my ass handed to me at our next practice for fucking around with his sister-in-law’s friend. If we even still have a band, anyway.

Throwing on a pair of dark gray sweatpants and an undershirt, he makes his way downstairs just as Wayne and Harris arrive. His son is leaping out of his carseat to get to him.

“Daddy!” Harris flashes a gigantic smile. His dark brown curls are a tangled mess atop his head. Eddie unbuckles him and wraps him in a giant hug. He’s losing the chubbiness of his baby fat, but he’s still sweet and cuddly.

“Har-Bear!” Eddie laughs. “Did you say goodbye to Grampa Wayne?” Harris encircles Eddie’s waist with his legs, reaching out his arms to give Wayne a hug through the window.

“Sorry again,” Eddie says sheepishly. “Fell asleep and forgot to set the alarm.”

“Got a job yet? A real one?” Wayne asks stoically, ignoring his nephew’s apology.

A storm cloud washes over Eddie’s face. “I’ve told you a million times: nothing’s going to pay the bills as well as working for Rick.”

Wayne rolls his eyes. “Get a job,” he says pointedly, pressing a kiss to Harris’s cheek before lowering his voice and growling at Eddie, “and wipe the damn lipstick off your neck, for Chrissake.”

Jeff’s right: Eddie never calls. The home health aid that takes care of your grandma during the day informs you at the end of each shift that week that no one named Eddie called for you. And while you can’t say you’re shocked, it doesn’t do much to quell the hurt.

You spend as much time as you can preparing your classroom for the new school year. By the time you’re finished, the room is decorated to look like a jungle. Stuffed animals of lions, monkeys, and different birds line the shelf tops, which are packed with various books and art supplies. Your walls are decorated with different posters, all of which encourage kids to be their best.

The hustle and bustle of the first day of school helps keep your mind off of your personal life. With a thermos full of hot coffee, you happily introduce yourself to your teaching assistant, Will. He’s a sweet guy, a few years younger than you, and he’s practically bursting with games to teach the kids.

“Before I forget,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper, “I picked up our roster from the office on my way in. Looks like we have ten kids this year.”

“You’re the best,” you tell him gratefully, and he starts putting tiny chairs around tiny tables.

Being new to town, you don’t expect to recognize any of the names on the list. There’s an Abigail Carver, a Joshua Harrington…

And a Harris Munson.

“No fucking way,” you muse, apparently a bit louder than you’d intended, because Will’s head snaps up and he swivels in your direction. “Sorry.”

The sounds of bubbly giggles and excited chatter filing into the hallway grab your attention. One by one, parents start dropping off their kids, kissing them goodbye. There are tears–some from students, some from parents–and you’re quick to reassure everyone that school will be so much fun.

You’re just grabbing the sign-in sheet for Mr. Carver to fill out when you feel a small thump against your legs. When you look down, you see a curly-haired boy staring up at you with wide, brown eyes.

“This is my classroom!” he says matter-of-factly, pointing to the number 3 on the door. “My name’s Harris. Like the guy from Iron Maiden!” He jumps up and down as he speaks. “Are you my teacher?”

“I am.” You smile and introduce yourself, peering towards the door. “Harris? Did a grown-up drop you off?” And please tell me his name is Wayne, you silently plead.

“Oh, yeah! My dad has my backpack!” He starts running back to the hallway, only to crash right into Eddie.

“Little dude, you can’t be running off like—” Eddie stops mid-sentence when his eyes land on you. “Oh, shit.”

You set your jaw, willing yourself to stay strong. He’s on your turf now.

“Mr. Munson, you need to watch your language,” you warn crossly.

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters, handing Harris’s backpack to him. “I packed him a snack, um, and a juice box.”

“Okay,” you nod, crouching down to Harris’s eye level and injecting enthusiasm into your voice. “Can you find your cubby? It’s the one with your name on it!”

The little boy bounds over to his assigned spot, hanging his bag on the hook before running over to play with blocks.

Forced to interact with Eddie, you press up on your knees and say, “Pick-up is at two.”

“Can I say goodbye to my kid before you kick me out? Jeez,” he grunts, calling out to Harris with his arms wide open. Harris hugs him, half-heartedly promising to be on his best behavior before starting to race back to the toys.

“We walk in the classroom,” you tell him sweetly. “That way, people don’t hurt each other!” You make a point to look over at Eddie when you say the last part, though his gaze is trained on the classroom posters. Harris, innocent and oblivious, walks hurriedly towards the group of kids playing with blocks.

“Didn’t know you were my kid’s teacher,” Eddie remarks, pressing his tongue into his cheek.

You shrug. “Maybe I would’ve told you if you called me.”

Shooting you the wide eyes that he passed down to his son, Eddie lets his lower lip jut out in a little pout. “I’m so sorry; life’s just been, like, crazy lately—”

“Exactly what Jeff said you’d pull,” you bite back. “Two PM, Mr. Munson.” You walk towards your students to begin circle time, leaving Eddie dumbfounded.

After a long day of wrangling ten four-year-olds, you’re ready to go home and take a nap. The kids are gathered around the table, molding Play-Doh and giggling amongst themselves. By 2:10, everyone’s been picked up. Except for Harris.

“Typical,” you mutter, kneeling next to the boy and smiling sweetly. “Whatcha making, Harris?”

He holds up a lump of the yellow clay. “A dinosaur, see? Roar!” You fake being scared, and he laughs. “Don’t worry; it’s just pretend!”

“Oh, phew!” You wipe imaginary sweat off of your brow. “I was afraid that he was gonna eat me!”

Harris reaches over to where one of the other students had been sitting and plucks a handful of blue Play-Doh off of the table. “Wanna play with me?” He’s looking at you adoringly, and you can’t possibly turn him down.

Just as you’re about to join him, Eddie runs into the room. “Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. Got, uh, caught up with something.”

Harris just shrugs, unaffected by his dad’s tardiness. “S’okay. Look!” He holds up the dinosaur proudly, giving another ferocious roar.

“That’s awesome! And super scary.” Eddie ruffles Harris’s curly hair before looking at you. “Can we talk for a sec? Out there?” he asks, gesturing to the hallway.

You huff out a sigh. “Fine,” you concede, and Will slips into the chair next to Harris.

Eddie closes the door behind him. “Listen,” he begins, twisting his rings around his fingers, ”about the other night…” He trails off, and for a split second, you think he might offer a genuine apology. “I just don’t want this to affect how you treat Harris.”

You bark out an incredulous laugh. “You really think I treat my students any differently based on whether or not I like their parents?” Crossing your arms, you turn back towards the door, throwing out a pointed, “I think it’s best if you leave now.”

Eddie’s voice draws you back into the conversation. “I’ve never had this problem before,” he snorts.

“Excuse me?”

“Most girls love the thrill of the chase. The will-he, won’t-he. Haven’t struck out yet,” he retorts, a smug grin spreading on his face.

You roll your eyes. “Well, I’m honored to be the first. I don’t know what girls are into your pathetic games, but I’m certainly not one of them. So, please, just go before you say something else ridiculously stupid.”

Eddie bristles at that, standing a bit straighter and clenching his jaw. “Yeah, whatever,” he mutters, twisting the doorknob and punctuating his frustration with, “Frigid bitch.”

He’s just trying to get under your skin, and you refuse to let him get the best of you. You plaster on a well-practiced fake smile. “If you don’t think that this classroom is a good fit for Harris, you can request a transfer with the office.”

“Sounds like a plan, Sweetheart,” he snaps, yanking the door open so aggressively that it smacks into the wall. “We’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow.”

“Can’t come soon enough.”

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dukeofankh · 4 months

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Trying to find progressive masculine community is so exhausting.

I've flipped through local men's groups, trying to find places to explore masculinity in a chill, progressive setting. First of all, they mostly seem to be modelled after AA, and like, my gender isn't a debilitating addiction, it's part of my identity actually, but also, the invite and description of the event have maybe a short paragraph tops actually waving vaguely in the direction of what the purpose of the group is, and then ten to twenty paragraphs breaking down the rules. One spent longer talking about the hand signals he would use to direct conversation than he did describing what the conversation would be about. Another had a full paragraph explaining that if the group thought you were evading what they thought your "real" problem was, they'd probably "call you to take accountability". Like...I don't even know who these people are yet and they're already letting me know that they view it as their right, no, their duty, to bully me into seeing things their way. Like, this is in the invite.

...and this warning is there instead of any sort of breakdown of like, I dunno. Whether you should be a feminist to show up. Whether it was a safe space for queer men. What the hell they wanted to talk about. Joining a men's space is on some level inherently submitting yourself to the authority of the leaders of that group, and you don't usually get a particularly clear breakdown of what the values and goals of those leaders are, because on some level the answer is always going to be "whatever I want"

And like, unfortunately you do need to filter men to build a men's space. You do need to remove or chastise men who act in ways that are toxic or disruptive or misogynistic. If you don't things turn into an MRA chapter pretty quick. But the sort of emergency powers that leadership takes on as a result of that...just kind of naturally end up reproducing masculine heirarchies.

MensLib, the only online community of progressive dudes talking about masculinity that I'm aware of, is...on Reddit. So there is a moderator system. In theory, a moderator is there to...moderate. This is a space where people are going to be talking, and mods are there to make sure things don't get too toxic or off topic.

The issue is that, on some level, that is technically a leadership position. In a sub trying to rehabilitate masculinity. So you've got a bunch of folks who view themselves as the leaders of this bastion of goodness standing against the depredations of the misogynistic internet, guiding the hapless smooth-brain neophytes towards The True Way.

In practice, this looks like 95 percent of the posts submitted for the subreddit being rejected. That isn't hyperbole. On average, the sub has about one new post per day. Almost all posts directly relating a personal experience are deleted immediately, in favour of articles written about masculinity in traditional media publications, which are considered more trustworthy than the sus lived experiences of the guys in the sub. The post I wrote here about the effect of purity culture on male sexual shame that's sitting at about 15K notes was based on a 10K word post I wrote for Reddit that was deleted because "I didn't cite any sources to prove that there is a link between purity culture and male sexual shame, or that my experience was anything more than anecdotal". I get comments deleted on a regular basis, and after paragraphs of protesting in modmail that my comments are both fully in line with feminism and not against the rules, the mods have just finally told me that the rules don't actually drive their actions as a team. They delete anything they feel leads the conversation in a direction they personally feel is unproductive. The rule cited at the time of deletion is really just the broad category of why they decided to hit the button that says nobody is allowed to read what I wrote.

The issue is kind of twofold. First of all, progressive men do not trust other men. A good dude knows that he, individually, is a good person, but literally any other man external to him is on thin ice. Do you really want to tie your wagon to that guy? Do you trust him, really? How do you tell the difference between a guy criticizing an article because it's factually incorrect and criticising it because a woman wrote it? Probably best to play it safe and delete it. Weight of the odds, he's probably a misogynist, right? This is the internet.

And thats the other half of it. If you view yourself as part of the leadership of The Good Guys, and you're getting hatemail from incels and facists all day, you get to the point where most of the time people challenge your authority it's because they're a terrible person. It is very, very easy to get to the point where someone challenging you is seen as evidence that they are a bad person. And now someone is challenging you (and therefore bad), in an environment where you are in charge, and you have a "make your opponent disappear" button.

I know. A Reddit mod was rude to me and now I'm butthurt. It's petty and stupid. I'm just feeling like there's nowhere else to really go, and I'm pretty despondent that literally every space I've seen that even looks like it might be for progressive men has the same deeply hierarchical structure and constant status-oriented squabbling as patriarchal spaces.

#me writing stuff #positive masculinity #menslib

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mythrilthread · 2 months

Text

My magnum opus, the jewel of my Binderary round-up, the result of four months of hard work (that is to say, a lot of force applied over distance), the project affectionately known as The Motherfuckers (because it was rather unclear if I was going to finish these books or if they were going to be the end of me).

Force over Distance by cleanwhiteroom. It is currently also on AO3.

I was first introduced to this incredible story by a dear friend, who first sold me on actually watching SGU, and then said that they remember this fic since like 2011, which is always a promising sign. I went digging and found out I was in luck - the story was being rewritten and reuploaded on the author's blog. The next two weeks are described by the same friend as "one of the scariest moments in our cohabitation" as I'd spent literally every waking moment injecting the story directly into my eyeballs, and let me tell you, I'd not been doing a lot of sleeping at that time.

Then I gathered up my courage and reached out to CWR re: my burning desire to bind this story. And the rest, well. Let's dig into it, shall we?

This was my first time typesetting 540k words. Considering I tend to prefer larger font sizes for increased legibility, it was immediately obvious that this was going to be a multivolume project. I settled on three, as it's the relationship between three individuals that forms the core of the story.

I also knew I wanted to keep the typeset in black and white, but play around with light and dark a lot. So I did. One of the first design idea I actually had was the way I wanted to handle projected speech. Mental link between Young, Rush and Destiny is THE most vital part of the story, and I wanted to make it immediatly obvious. I also wanted to be able to take one glance at the page and tell how much of the action is actually just two guys staring each other down :) Hence the blackout effect of thoughts being represented as light over darkness.

I also wanted to preserve as much of my reading experience as possible. So I saved all the chapter quotes/summaries in the TOC, and hid the chapter content warnings in the frame of the gate that marks the beginning of each chapter. For most of the chapter the warnings stay the same, so after a while you stop really noticing them, but then you open a new chapter and see that the familiar shape of the words has changed, and get this UH-OH feeling. Which, I think is very much how it works in my design, because when the warnings change there's usually another line of text added.

For flashbacks and dream sequences I switched from italics to a lighter shade of gray. I woudn't say it's more legible per say, but it's in keeping with the overall light/dark theme.

There are instances of people using handwritten notes in the story. I collected more than a dozen of assorted handwriting fonts, with each character having their own "handwriting". So when, for example, someone begins writing in someone else's hand, you immediately know it.

The most insane, labor-intensive part of the typeset, however, was the way I decided to handle the Ancient translations. CWR's gone through the trouble of setting up hover-to-discover for it, which gives you a very different reading experience than, say, having the translations in the endnotes. So, naturally, I said to myself that I want to replicate that, and footnotes just won't do the trick. So. Every instance of Ancient in the text has an underlay of light gray Ancient script. And an OVERLAY of paper vellum with the translation printed in blue. Now, not to toot my own horn too much, but if looks SICK AS FUCK. You also MAYBE SHOULD NOT LIVE LIKE THIS. For the two copies of this work I had to cut up 10 sheets of vellum into strips, and then spent from 20 minutes to an hour per volume tipping the strips in their proper places. I then had to wear kinetic tape on both my hands to help with the joint pain. (It was worth it.)

Now for the title spread. It is also paper vellum that you see as soon as you turn the first page (the half-title), and see it covering the title of the book and author's name. And then you turn it. And the shields sing the matter wave of Destiny through the black. And yeah, I think that's very, very clever of me, actually.

Then, of course, were the endpapers. All 12 of them are unique abstract paintings done on black cardstock by hand with brush pens and correction tape, I scanned a sample of each set for posterity. All of them are my interpretations of characters' midscapes. For volume 1 I went with the fire wind of Rush's thoughts. Volume 2 was for Young, and I went for the reverse blackout poetry effect (because for all the mental talking they do, the unprojected thoughts are opaque to their counterparts) and all the loops, hairpins and blocks he does. Volume 3 is for the combination - Rush's fire wind, changing its color to match the circuitry pattern of Destiny's AI.

The rest, in comparison, is easy. All volumes are stitched with 3 strands of embroidery floss, a combination of black, blue and silvery-gray. The French double-core endbands are sewn in the same color scheme (though with a different shade of blue and gray switched for white for added contrast). The edges are painted and splattered to look like space.

The covers feature my (signature at this point, I guess) half-cloth river pattern, with the base being dark blue linen and the printed parts being Spitzer telescope images of the W51 star forge, Jack-O'-Lantern Nebula and the Eagle Nebula (courtesy of NASA), waxed by hand for added sheen. The spines are foiled in silver with a foil quill.

Each set is 5 pound of solid hand-crafted book, with one set being my personal copy, and the other sent as a gift to the author.

And that's it, folks! This has been an incredible project to work on, and I'm very proud of what I achieved with it.

#mythril thread books #bookbinding #ficbinding #fanbinding #binderary2024 #stargate universe #sgu #force over distance #stargate

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ikeuverse · 1 month

Text

SLOW DOWN — s.jaeyun

CHAPTERS: prologue | chapter one | chapter two [...]

PAIRING: illegal!jake x fem!reader GENRES: angst, smut, fluff WC: 2.8k+

WARNINGS: swearing, weapons, knives, blood, illegal things in general (drugs, racing, alcohol). smut will be added in the next chapters, physical and verbal fights.

NOTES: i was listening to the song by chase atlantic, which is the title of this fic, and this scenario with jake just popped into my head. i wrote this part as a taste of what's probably to come. i hope to continue writing it, but first, i want to know what you, my readers, think of it since it's something i like to write about (mafia and all) and with jake being my utt i honestly felt my mind expand. tell me if i should continue or just delete it, please. i hope you like it!

TAGLIST: i've never done this, but lmk if you want to be tagged — mentions in the first chapter (already in the link above)

masterlist

a synopsis (too long to be a synopsis) below the cut. read it and tell me what you think, please. or just an idea, idk if i'll go through with it

The smooth taste of the cherry liqueur you were drinking was enough to relax your whole body. Smiling slightly at your best friend Chloe, chatting about trivial things in life. She was the one person in your cycle who made everything seem a little more normal.

Chloe was responsible for making you forget that you were part of a mafia family and that everything around you was linked to guns, blood, illegal things, and dirty money. She disconnected you from that world where you were there out of obligation.

"We need to go out sometime" Chloe finished off the liquor in her glass, lifting her body to pick up the bottle and refill it "How about the new nightclub that opened in the next town?"

You thanked your friend when she also wanted to refill her glass, letting the liquor run halfway down and then drinking a little more.

"I guess we could do that" you replied, thinking of ways to try to convince your father not to send a bouncer for you and her. It was unnecessary, but it was also a wasted conversation knowing that he would only let the two of you go out on that condition.

Luckily, your best friend had already gotten used to it, not least because living with you since elementary school had brought her all this knowledge little by little. You were immensely grateful that she didn't abandon you once she knew the whole truth, which is why Chloe has remained your best friend to this day.

"Then we can go to a convenience store and get some ice cream to try while we're still drunk."

The genuine laughter you two shared was the fuel you needed whenever something was heavy in the house. You had to call Chloe if only to stay in your room, in the office assigned to you, or anywhere in the house after hearing men walking around, your father fighting with someone or running around which – unfortunately – you witnessed every time.

It was exhausting. You also knew that there was no point in trying to run away or asking your father to disown you. He wouldn't be able to do you any harm, but he would probably keep you isolated, trapped in some lake house he had as a hiding place, and get you out when you thought better of it. If you could think about living a normal life or continuing your family's mafia.

"Knock, knock" the sound of the door knocking combined with the voice that imitated it brought you out of your thoughts and straight to where you needed to be.

Heeseung's smile was infectious, you always smiled when you saw your best friend. But not when he walked in with his head down wherever you were, his clothes covered in blood and his hands behind his back.

"What the fuck happened now?" you sighed loudly enough, dropping your glass of liquor on the coffee table between you and Chloe.

"Hi to you too, y/n" he finally raised his head, smiling at you again after looking away to his best friend "Hi, babe."

"Heeseung" Chloe raised her glass as a silent toast, ignoring the fact that the nickname she knew was only meant to annoy her. You'd make fun of the two of them if it weren't for your best friend's current situation.

"Where does all this blood come from?" you stood up from your chair "What the fuck have you all done now?"

Hesseung wiped the remnants of blood from his hands on his T-shirt, sighing in the process as he thought about what to say to you.

He was nervous. Lee Heeseung was visibly nervous and you knew that was almost impossible to happen. Come on, the guy in front of you who you called your best friend was one of your father's best illegal racing drivers, he'd been through so much shit on the track, how could talking to you be so bad? That only happened when...

"We need your help" he said at last, biting his lower lip to stop himself from shaking in the process. The boy's eyes searched for yours and, as soon as they were found, he let out "Jake's hurt..."

You froze at that moment, completely shutting out Heeseung's voice as he passed on the information. Chloe noticed, so she listened carefully in case you asked her later what had happened.

Jake's name together with the hurt, adding the blood that was on Heeseung... It all came together in one way and made you follow him wherever your best friend was going.

It was these moments that pulled you back into the life you had, reminding you that your family was part of the mafia and that you, consequently, were part of it too. The most obvious condition your father found to keep you in the business was that you did something that could link you to the surname for the rest of your life. Not as a bastard, because he wouldn't let you walk away easily.

So the only way was to get a degree in nursing, study medicine, and anything else that involved taking care of the wounds of the men who worked for your father. If you were constantly injured, shot, stabbed, or anything too suspicious, the hospital would surely call the police, and a big interrogation would begin. Your father wanted to avoid all this, so getting you involved at least on the good side made you feel less bad about it.

"Finally" Sunoo almost shouted with happiness as you turned the corner of the corridor behind Heeseung, along with Chloe by your side who kept an eye out in case you fainted from being so nervous.

They all looked the same as Heeseung, which made you wonder if Jake had lost a lot of blood or if it had gotten really bad.

"What happened?" you asked again.

"We went to accompany some of your father's men" Jay was the only one sitting down, his elbows resting on his knees. Taking his head between his hands, which were the same as Heeseung's, he looked at you "They set up an ambush, we had to defend ourselves."

You hung up again while Jay continued talking, relaying events to Chloe, who seemed almost like your private secretary.

Your eyes searched for Heeseung and he just nodded at you, then nodded towards the door opposite where Jay was sitting. That's where Jake was. And that's where your father kept a private infirmary, which you affectionately called his workroom.

Opening the door, two of your father's men were standing next to the gurney where Jake's body lay. You didn't look too far in his direction and just approached the sink to tie up your hair and sanitize your hands. Without realizing how much you were shaking at the thought of the worst, especially with Jake.

Why did you feel that way just hearing his name?

Get over it. Forget it.

The voice screamed in your mind as you turned to walk to the stretcher and join the men.

"Jake, dude" Heeseung called "She's here."

A brief moment of silence before Jake's eyes opened, looking at each of the men until they stopped on you. A faint smile on his dry, opaque lips, his eyes squinted.

"My private doctor" he forced a laugh, groaning in pain and placing his hand on his abdomen.

That's when you realized, the blood was coming from there. A cut that tore through Jake's T-shirt, piercing the skin. You couldn't tell how serious the problem was because it all looked like a big mess.

"Let's leave you two alone" Heeseung rested one hand on the side of Jake's head "Don't scare us anymore, your motherfucker" he slapped his friend on the back, turning to you "We'll be at the end of the corridor if you need anything."

You couldn't answer, only nod as Heeseung took the other two with him, leaving you and Jake alone in your room.

"I..." you sighed, closing your eyes and pushing away any thoughts as you went back to looking at the wound in front of you "I need you to take off your shirt, I have to clean it."

Without looking Jake in the eye, you grabbed his hands to help him sit up enough to take off his shirt. Turning to get the products you needed to use and clean it, would give Jake time to remove the shirt that was getting in the way of the whole process.

He, for his part, felt every discomfort and pain coursing through his body as he moved his arm to take off the shirt that had already been lost the moment they tore the material with that knife. That damn knife that had left him like that.

Throwing the shirt anywhere on the floor, Jake sat waiting for you to turn towards him and, as soon as you did, he could see your shocked expression.

"What?" he looked at his own body, then looked in your direction "It's nothing you haven't already seen, touched, kissed..."

"Shut up, Jaeyun!" you wanted to convince yourself that all the burning in your face was from anger at the words you were hearing, and not because you felt embarrassed about it. Why did he have to talk such nonsense?

You didn't have to ask him to lie down, Jake got the message as soon as you got near the stretcher with the absorbent cotton and saline solution. He inhaled a good amount of air and held his breath while you cleaned his wound. It didn't sting like the other times, but he could feel his skin burning with the touch of your fingers on it.

Jake could have sworn he'd burn up if you continued with all that delicacy on him.

"It wasn't deep" your voice caused him to let out a breath, groaning in pain as a little pressure was applied to a spot on the wound "I'd venture to say you moved away quickly enough before plunged the knife into your abdomen."

"You know I'm fast, don't you?" Jake was a fucking idiot with his double entendres, you knew it was pure provocation "Why did I bleed so much?"

Thank God he changed the subject, or you'd have opened that cut yourself.

"Because it cut through the epidermis, it just missed the dermis. That would have been a bit worse and I don't think I'd have brought you here."

"I'm glad they did" for the first time since Jake and you were alone in that room, you could hear the sincerity in his voice. Something that rarely happened.

Your eyes went up from the cut to Jake's face, seeing that he was already staring at you. Without saying much, you concentrated on making the dressing as comfortable as possible so that he could feel more comfortable as he left the room.

As you wrapped the bandages around his torso, his voice echoed in your mind like a relentless demon. It wasn't anything you hadn't seen, touched, kissed... Enjoyed every time he found himself in your room. In your bed.

The thought of a time when you and Jake were together was the last thing you wanted to think about. It had been a long time and that couldn't be part of your thoughts, even if it was sabotage because every day, all the time you looked at him, your mind wandered to the exact moment you two kissed for the first time.

Or how he held you for the first time and every touch on your skin made you boil.

"Thinking of me?" his voice was so vivid that you had forgotten you were still in his presence, with your hands resting on Jake's chest and the bandage already finished.

Sniffling, you straightened up and turned away from him, gathering up the remnants of the things you'd used so you could throw them in the garbage can.

He said nothing, getting up from the stretcher with some difficulty while still looking at you.

It was a lose-lose situation to do that, but Jake simply couldn't let the opportunity he was having slip away. So he walked towards you slowly, as best he could because he could still feel the wound pulling at his abdomen. He got close enough as soon as you turned to face him, a thin scream bursting from your lips from the fright, but soon calming down when you found his eyes resting fixedly on yours.

"Y/n" he whispered.

"Jaeyun, don't..."

"Listen to me, please" the request sounded more like a plea, and you lost count of how many times Jake did it, but he could never finish because you always ran away.

And you wanted to run away again.

"What do you want?" you asked, almost regretting it when he answered, unashamedly.

"You back to me."

He had to be a talker. Jake needed to have that idiotic power over you with anything he said. It was extremely unfair that someone had been born and put into your life just to leave you speechless and steal your heart.

Your sigh was a silent answer that he could come a little closer, and with slow steps, Jake did. Just enough so that he could lean his body against yours only as far as his bruise didn't make contact.

Jake's hand quickly reached for your cheek, forming a shell between it and your face to hold close enough to his.

"Please, I need you back" Jake leaned his forehead against yours, his warm breath beating against your cheek.

Your hands were trembling as one of them touched his arm, while the other went carefully to the opposite side where Jake was hurt. The touches kept his balance and kept him close too.

"Then answer me" your voice was at the same pitch as his, avoiding any louder sounds that might scatter the two of you.

Jake knew what you meant, he was fully aware of it. He'd been asked that question so many times, that's why he knew he wasn't in your life as your boyfriend.

"Y/n, you know I can't..." he began.

"Me or these dangerously idiotic missions of my father's?"

Jake closed his eyes, pressing his forehead a little closer to yours.

"Y/n..."

"You can choose to race with Heeseung, stay in tech with Niki" your voice began to choke and Jake felt that it was hurting more than the cut on his abdomen. He knew it was all his fault.

"But it gives me a lot more money, and..." he sighed, looking straight into your eyes "You know what I'm putting any money towards. Please..."

"Is it money? For God's sake, Jaeyun, I can help you..."

"No!" Jake said sternly, but not rude enough to scare you. He'd never managed to be rude to you since he first met you "I can't accept it. That's my problem and—"

"I thought your problems were mine too."

That phrase was strangely familiar. Jake knew he'd heard it somewhere before, he just couldn't think where when you turned away from him at the same second as the knocks on the living room door were heard. Making you both step back.

"Mr. Jaeyun? Miss y/n?" one of your father's security guards had his head between the doors, looking in your direction. You waved so that he could enter "The rest of the guys are waiting for news, if you could…"

"Of course" you smiled at him, thanking him not only for the information but for the interruption because you knew that another argument was probably on the way "Come on, we need to go."

"Y/n, I—"

"The guys need an update from you" without going any further, you turned away from Jake and waited for him to get ready to leave the room.

You knew it was bad to do this anyway, but there was no escaping it. Being tied up with your family's affairs meant moments like this, but they weren't all bad. Taking care of the people who worked for your family was just a way of saying thank you for them – unfortunately – risking their lives.

But when it came to Sim Jaeyun, you knew that everything was intense. Even more so as the whole story of the two of you played through your mind like a movie on repeat.

All the times you and he had been together, all the moments the two of you had shared until the final fight.

Which Jake was trying, at all costs, to reverse. Because it was as he had told you a few minutes ago, he wanted you back. You just didn't know what Jake was capable of.

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after-witch · 3 months

Text

Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Title: Damn Your Eyes [Chapter One: The Last Day] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: Years ago, you were the captive of a serial killer named Strade. And you weren't the only one he kept. After Strade was killed by one of his victims, you ran away--and now your past is finally catching up with you. Chapter one is set during Boyfriend to Death.

Word count: 6352

Chapter notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, past noncon, graphic violence, descriptions of blood, violence and gore, descriptions of death (not reader)

AO3 LINK

She was crying again. Well, no wonder. There were holes in her feet, dotting the top of her thighs. Blood had dribbled down from the gored holes in her flesh like little streams, then dried out.

The thin, wavy dried out trickles made you think, abruptly, of unfettered period blood, then of Carrie by Stephen King. The scene in the shower, where she gets her period and freaks out. The other girls threw tampons and sticky pads at her and shrieked, chanting, bonded by a morbid commiseration of the entrance to so-called womanhood: Plug it up! Plug it up! Plug it up!

Plug it up, you thought.

But she couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Her hands were bound behind her. Did he tie them back like that so that she couldn’t try to hurt him, or because it gave him easier access to her flesh? Maybe a bit of both.

She looked uglier when she cried. Snot bubbled out of her nose and joined a dried streak of blood that went from her nose down to her chin. Her nose was probably broken, hence the blood; the flesh of it was black and blue and an awful shade of green.

One part of you longed to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer and hold it to the bruised, swollen flesh. Hush her cries. Give her an ounce of humanity that might carry her for another few hours, the way Ren once did to you.

Another part of you, the new you forged under Strade’s knife (and boots and hammers and power drill) wished she’d just die already, so you wouldn’t have to hear her cry or be standing here obediently, waiting for Strade to come back down. You were probably going to have to participate in this next stream–why else would he call you down in the middle of one of his “projects”?

Unless he was lonely. But even so, he could always kill two birds with one stone. You, here to give him company; and you, here to entertain his horrid audience. And himself, above all. Himself, always.

The basement door at the top of the stairs creaked open and you heard his heavy bootsteps–thump, thump, thump–before he called out jovially.

“Are you still there, Liebling? You didn’t run off, did you?”

As if you were stupid enough to do that. You were many things now. Stressed. Afraid. Desperate. Tired. More selfish. Maybe a little bit masochistic, a trick of your brain to keep you from totally losing your mind as you were tortured. All these things and more besides, but stupid was not one of them.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” You called back, lightening your tone. It was important not to sound too scared. Strade wanted you scared, yes, but he didn’t want you to be some obedient, squeaky little mouse. That was too boring. It was best to act as normally as you could, considering the circumstances. That seemed to please him more, at least on most days. Some days nothing you did was right and you went to bed with a swollen eye and broken fingers, eased by frozen peas that Ren snuck you from the kitchen before he went to sleep.

You’re not the only one who noticed him coming down. The woman in front of you began to tremble and sob more violently, pulling at her bound wrists. It wouldn’t do any good. It never did. How long did she have to live? How long did any of you in this house have to live?

By the time Strade made it down the stairs, her cries were practically at a fever-pitch. You didn’t want to look to see what he’d run off to fetch, but he didn’t give you a choice.

He called your name. “Come here, darling, I need your help with this.” And oh, you kept your eyes downcast until all you could see was his boots. But then it was time to look up, and you did, and no matter how many times you witnessed him preparing to torture another person, it still made your stomach roil.

He’d brought down a p[ot of boiling water, which he carefully held by the handle with both hands. Tucked underneath his armpit was the bag of frozen peas. The bag, you thought, because for as long as you’d been here, no one ever cooked them. They got passed around between you and Ren under cover of night.

Here they were, in the light of day. You suspect you wouldn’t want to re-use them after this.

“Be my Lamm and take the peas, won’t you?” The sensible part of you eyed him warily; it wouldn’t be below him to toss the pot of boiling water at you while you reached for them, just to fuck with you. But you didn’t disobey him, either. You carefully leaned over and slid the bag from underneath his armpit, and held it in your hand.

He smiled. Grinned, really, which was a bad sign for the sobbing woman tied to the pole. His good moods and bad moods were both equally shitty, but in your unfortunately well-experienced opinion, it was his good moods that produced the most painful scenarios.

“Now!” He crouched down in front of the crying woman and grabbed her chin. She shrieked and tried to jerk her face away, but he held her tight. “I’m sure your wounds are sore, aren’t they?” She sobbed out something–meaningless pleading that you’d long since lost the ability to discern–and he tsked.

“Oh, poor thing. I know just what might help!” He snapped his fingers and looked back at you. “My lovely friend here will give you some ice to help you feel better. Won’t you?” He grinned wider and you nodded, feeling both scared and numb in a confusingly equal measure, as you crouched down next to him.

She yelped when you placed the frozen bag on a group of puncture wounds on her thigh, but you held it fast. It probably hurt more than it soothed. An icy bag right up against wounded skin didn’t sound pleasant. But maybe it would numb it a little. That might be better than nothing.

“Perfect! Now…” He reached over and picked up the steaming pot of water, still bubbling from its boil on the stove. “Hold still, my Lamm… wouldn’t want to splash you.”

It was so strange, the way that your time with Strade had made it possible for you to actually keep your hand there, despite the fact that you knew he was about to pour boiling water on the skin of this poor woman. Pour it right where it would surely splash on you a little, if not a lot. Probably a lot. Two birds, one stone, and all that.

It didn’t matter if it was strange. Your fingers flexed and your muscles tensed as you saw him turn the pot over slowly, and steaming water came flying down, pouring over the woman’s wounds.

She screamed. It was loud. It hurt your ears. The irritation of it distracted you from seeing Strade move the pot around so that the water trailed over the frozen peas–and your hand keeping it pressed against her–as he covered her thigh in the water.

“Fuck!” You said, biting your cheek hard. Your fingers danced on the bag but you didn’t dare pull away. You could see your own skin turning a shade of red. Her thighs had taken the brunt of it, though. There were even blisters forming on her skin already as she sobbed and cried and begged for someone, anyone, to help her.

You were someone. You were anyone.

You couldn’t help her.

“Language, liebchen,” Strade said, teasingly. You mumbled out an apology, although you doubt he actually cared.

He sighed when the pot was emptied, and tossed it on the floor.

“I don’t know… I just don’t think it’s enough. Do you?” He grasped your burned hand and you couldn’t stifle the sound of yelping pain as he gripped it hard. Your skin would blister too–it was already peeling a little.

“What…whatever you think is best,” you stammered.

“That’s right,” he said, grinning. He gave your hand a squeeze and you groaned. “I think I’ll work a little more on this project myself before dinner.” He let your fingers go, and you cradled your hand against your chest. “Have Ren take care of that. Come back down when it’s wrapped up.” his free hand grabbed the chin of the sobbing, bleeding, blistered woman again. “I think we’ll make a movie, and I need my prettiest co-star to help me out.”

“Of course.” You gave her one half-pitiful glance–the way her frightened, bloodshot eyes darted to you with a mixture of anger and pity made you want to hurl–and went up the stairs.

By the time you’d made it to the top, you already heard Strade pulling out his video equipment.

—

“It… doesn’t look too bad,” Ren said quietly. He held your hand underneath the sink, letting the cold water soothe your burn. But every time your hand trembled and the stream went just out of reach, it burned again, and you winced.

“Most of it hit her thigh,” you whispered. Though you didn’t need to, since both of you were well aware that Strade was busy in the basement. Old habits die hard, however. “She got it worse.”

Ren hummed. “They usually do.” He told you to keep your hand in place while he fumbled in the cabinet under the sink, looking for supplies. “I don’t know if he has–oh!” His ears twitched and perked up as he found what he’d been looking for.

It was a tube of burn relief ointment. He flipped it over and read the back, mumbling all the while. “It’s expired but…”

You smiled, just a little, and finished his sentence for him.

“Better than nothing, right?”

Ren smiled, and you caught sight of his tail curling behind him as he turned off the sink and told you to sit down on the toilet so she could wrap you up.

Was it wrong that some of the most pleasant moments in this house, if you could call them pleasant, were with Ren? Especially quiet moments like this, where he took care of you, or you took care of him. You were both well acquainted with fixing up the results of your time with Strade by now.

He’d cleaned out deep cuts on your back, and you’d iced and splinted his broken toes. He let you curl up in his nest of a bed after a particularly awful night of torture, and you let him slide under your covers when he’d had an nightmare about the last time Strade made him kill someone.

It was transactional in some ways, you supposed. But when you saw his ears perk up or his tail swoosh or the way his eyes seemed to light with something genuine behind them while you talked with him, you realized it wasn’t all practical. It couldn’t be. Not when you were in this together.

Ren made quick work of bandaging your hand. The cream was smoothed over the reddened, flaking parts of your skin and he wrapped your hand up with a bandage. It hurt, still, but nothing to write home about. Hah! As if you’d ever be allowed to write home.

Hell, if by some miracle you could write home, how would you even word the letter?

“Dear mom and dad, last night my captor-who-also-fucks me made me keep my hand on a table while he hammered nails underneath my fingernails and asked me which one hurt the most. P.S. The milk in the fridge is expired and he’s threatening to make me or Ren drink it because of the waste.”

The thought made you snort. Ren looked up from his spot on the floor, where he’d taken to impromptu digging through the cabinet to look for some undisclosed item.

“What’s funny?”

You mulled it over. Sometimes, you didn’t like to tell Ren what you were thinking. You trusted him, to an extent. You liked him, to an extent. You were friends, to an extent. How far did that extent go? It depended.

He was here first, and sometimes, the tension between the two of you was too taut and fraught to ignore. There was always that underlying worry, an electric buzz you couldn’t turn off all the way: what if Strade decided he didn’t want two captives? Or what if he felt two was his limit, and he wanted to bring someone new in?

Which one of you would get the ax–literally?

But this was maybe not the type of thing that Ren might murmur to Strade in a moment of weakness. It was harmless, wasn’t it, to make a joke about writing home?

“I was just imagining what I might write home in a letter to my parents.” You flexed your bandaged hand. “I mean, if we were allowed to write home.”

“Like from a summer camp?” Ren asked. He pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them.

“I guess,” you replied, smiling a little. “Although this would be one…” Fucked up, disgusting, hellish– “Specialty summer camp.”

Ren snorted a little. “Definitely not like the ones in movies.”

“Maybe horror movies,” you added with a grin. One of your front teeth–not from the center two, thank hell–was missing now, so you rarely grinned. But it felt different when it was just you and Ren alone. It was okay to let him see those imperfections, because he had them too. Maybe not missing teeth, but…

“Sleepaway Camp!” He blurted. “Or Friday the 13th…”

You started to open your mouth, ready to tell him that you once saw a screening of the first Friday the 13th at a summer camp, when an all-too-familiar sound came wafting up from the cracked open basement door.

“Liebling! It doesn’t take that long to bandage a little burn! I hope I don't have to come get you.”

Ren’s tail went straight up at the sound of Strade’s voice. The sing-song nature of his words did not hide the danger in them. If you had a tail, yours would be standing stock straight too. But your body had to make do with your muscles tensing and your bowels clenching hard.

“I have to go,” you murmured, hopping off the toilet seat.

You paused in the doorway. Ren had his knees hugged to his chest, his ears flat against his head. No doubt he was wondering if Strade would call him down, too. Or if he’d be pissed off about something and take it out on Ren later.

“Thanks for patching me up, Ren.” His ears twitched, and he glanced up at you. “Really, I mean it.” You smiled–grinned, showing off one of your missing teeth. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

His tail relaxed a little and he smiled back, an almost puppy-like grin crossing his expression for a moment, and it was enough to give you some vague emotional relief as you left the bathroom before Strade was forced to come up the stairs and retrieve you.

–

She wouldn’t last another day. That much was clear. Her blood was everywhere now. On the floor. Smeared on her skin. On Strade’s hands–on yours.

Of course he’d made you participate. You were his lovely assistant, after all. Although he always said Ren was better at the work, when it came down to it. You were too prone to trembling and hesitation. To say nothing of your occasional habit of vomiting at the sight of anything more than blood–guts, in particular, were your weakness.

Hers, too, by the way she quivered at the sight of the large hunting knife Strade twirled in his hands.

“I think this has gone on long enough. Don’t you, Schatz?” He looked back at you with a thoughtful smile. “Shall we end it?”

Without thinking much, you nodded. Yes, it had gone on long enough. Yes, you wanted her to just die already. Yes, you wanted to go over to the sink and scrub your hands until they were pruney and wrinkled and there was no trace of her visceral fluids on your skin.

“Go on,” he told you, gesturing at the trembling woman. Covered in cuts and gouges and burns. Where there had been dried blood earlier today, there were now smears of fresh gore. From Strade’s boots and the knife. Strade had even taken a blow torch to the burns caused by the boiling water, making them go from peeling and red to a series of gouged, pus-like craters in her flesh.

Cold seeped into your socks from the floor as you walked over to her. She regarded you with dull, dying eyes. She opened her mouth, maybe to say something, but whatever word she might have come up with wouldn’t come. Her swollen, bruised lip trembled as blood dribbled out of it.

One of the handcuff keys was taped to the back of the poll. Strade always liked to keep extras around, in case he lost the original but still wanted to uncuff someone. He usually didn’t uncuff people unless they were being bound in some other way (usually not a good sign) or he was just about finished with them (definitely a bad sign); and in this case, you knew she was being released only to make killing her a little more fun.

Her hands flopped forward as soon as the cuffs were undone. There was a brief moment where you saw her regard her wrists, all reddened and cut from where the metal handcuffs dug into them.

But the moment was over as soon as Strade stepped forward and pulled her close with a decisive yank of her hair. She yelped–you were surprised she had the yelp in her, her voice should have been shot from all the screaming–and he twisted her hair tight to keep her still.

“It’s been fun, but it’s time to go now. Don’t take this personally, hm? Or do, actually, it might make you feel better.”

She didn’t have time to respond. He rarely wanted them to say anything, you thought. It was just part of his internal script, a set of syllables that gave him extra pleasure as he snuffed out someone’s internal light.

He stuck the hunting knife into her gut and twisted. She didn’t scream. She barely shouted. The sound, instead, was one of strangled horror. Like she couldn’t believe what was happening to her. He twisted again, and she grunted and gasped, a sound that was almost like a deep, gaping hiccup.

“Shh,” he murmured, a sick grin splitting his face. His eyes darted over her face, and you got a front-row view of how his expression was gleefully illuminated by the sight of her own life fading away. He enjoyed it so much, he even let go of the knife handle so that he could grasp her face with both hands and keep her dying gaze in his sights.

Who was she? What had she been, before the basement? Was she thinking about her friends, her family? Did she have children that were going to be left behind? Maybe she was in college, maybe she’d been studying for exams that would never happen. There would be uneaten prepared lunches in her fridge, a bookmark that would never move past a certain page.

Her hands went tremblingly to the handle of the knife sticking out of her. She held the handle tenderly with bruised, bloody hands. Didn’t Strade see it? No, he was too focused on her face. But he didn’t even see the way her expression shifted.

No, he saw it. But maybe he didn’t know what it meant, because he’d never been on the other end. The way she went from looking confused and horrified to determined.

She didn’t act right away.

You could have said something. You could have called out a warning.

But instead you watched as the dying woman yanked the knife out of her gut, viscera and blood coming out with it, and stabbed it right into Strade’s neck.

He gasped now. A gaping, strangled sound. His hands went instinctively to his neck and it took him a few slow, trembling tries to pull it out. You saw the blood arch and spurt–an artery–and he fell to his knees.

The woman stepped away with what must have been her last ounce of energy. She had only enough life left in her to turn to you and smile–she was missing teeth, too–before she collapsed on the ground. She was still alive, but her shock would come soon after.

It wasn’t her you were watching, anyway. It was Strade.

His eyes darted to and fro until they landed on you. He had his hand pressed against the wound now, but it wasn’t doing much good. He would need a proper compress… an ambulance… surgery of some kind.

You don’t know why you called him. To help Strade? To help you?

“Ren.”

Not loud enough.

“Ren.”

Still not loud enough.

“Ren!”

Before you knew it, you were simply screaming his name, filling the basement with a different pitch of scream than it was used to. Your own voice was barely recognizable.

The basement door slammed open and you heard frantic footsteps pounding down the stairs. You saw Ren, only a blur of orange in your shock, take in the scene. His own mouth slowly gaped open, but unlike Strade and the unfortunate woman on the floor and your own panting lips, no sound came out.

Ren said your name. You think it was Ren, because Strade was surely in no position to talk. It shook you out of your stupor and you ran to him, clinging to his arm, crying fitfully. He wrapped one arm around you and the two of you stood, together, watching Strade bleed.

“What do we do?” The inside of your elbow pressed hard against Ren’s back as you held him. You wanted to snuggle, like the way you did on good nights. You wanted him to make it all go away.

Maybe he sensed this. Because while the two of you had clung together in so many occasions, this time, he stood up taller. He held you tighter. And then he assessed the situation.

Ren watched Strade quietly for a long moment. Strade gazed up at him–at you, too, but mostly Ren–with wide-eyed helplessness. The look didn’t suit him at all. He seemed to know it.

“Help me,” Strade managed. It almost didn’t feel like speech. Maybe the knife had grazed his vocal chords.

Neither of you moved at first. There was a long moment in which either of you could have sprung into action; could have ran to the supply cabinet and grabbed thick gauze to press against the wound, while the other could have bounded up the stairs to call an ambulance.

But you didn’t. And Ren didn’t.

And then Ren looked at you, and took a step backward. He pulled you with him, and you went willingly, taking another step, and another, until the two of you were standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“You…” Strade gurgled out the word, and blood came bubbling out in between the fingers pressed against his neck with it. “You…”

He didn’t get to finish. His eyes widened and you saw the light leave them before he collapsed on the floor.

For the first time since you’d been brought here, the basement was truly silent.

Strade was dead.

Neither of you moved for a while. And then you felt a hoarse sob coming on. Relief, terror, and shock coursed through you, fighting for the surface in a way that could only result in tears.

Ren regarded you with an unreadable expression and slowly removed his arm from your shoulder. You whimpered–don’t leave me, you wanted to say–and he smiled, a soft, little thing.

“Don’t worry. I’m just going to make sure he’s dead.”

Oh. That was a good idea. But what if he wasn’t? What if Strade got to his feet and oh, the two of you would be in for it. He’d probably kill both of you–or at least you–and it would be slow and awful and you’d beg, beg, for death.

“Ren,” you said, almost stammering, swallowing a thick lump in your throat.

He turned back towards you, curious.

You pointed to the table of tools at Strade’s disposal. “Take something. Just in case.”

Ren stared at the weapons that had been used to kill countless people. At the blades and torches and nails that had been used to hurt him, and you. Then he grabbed a heavy hammer and slowly approached the bleeding corpse (please let it be a corpse) of Strade.

Strade didn’t move as Ren approached him. Or when Ren knelt down, hammer at the ready. Or when Ren’s fingers slowly reached out and pressed against his neck, his wrist.

“No pulse,” said Ren.

Ren set the hammer down and used both hands to shove Strade’s body until it was fully on his back. His eyes, dull and dead, stared up at the ceiling without seeing anything.

He was dead. Truly dead.

Really most sincerely dead, your thoughts echoed in a half-mimic of the Munchkins in The Wizard of Oz.

You barely registered Ren digging around in Strade’s pocket before he returned to you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he began to lead you upstairs.

“Let’s not stay down here,” he said. He gave Strade’s corpse one last look before staring ahead at the basement door. How many times had the two of you gone up and down these stairs at Strade’s whim? It always meant you would get hurt, or you would help Strade hurt others. It was never willing, going up these stairs. Never a choice.

And now the two of you were going up them together, Ren leading you, of your own free will.

Free will! What a concept. One you thought you’d lost forever. And yet here it is, given by the hands of a woman whose last days were filled with unnecessary, unfair agony. You wish you knew her name, so you could thank her properly.

Ren shut the basement door. It sounded louder than it ever had before. Or was it because the house was so quiet now?

“Come here,” Ren said. And you didn’t know why he said it–shock, confusion, uncertainty still reigned–until you saw what was in his hand.

His collar. It was… off. But how and–

Ren held up the key he’d taken from Strade’s pocket and shook it back and forth, like a well-earned prize. That’s what it was, in some ways.

You stepped towards Ren and turned around, breathing heavily at the thought of being truly free from the collar. Strade only took them off the pair of you when you were showering and, once you had learned to behave well enough, when you slept. But they always went back on first thing in the morning, and their threat was an ever-constant presence in your mind, just like the metal was ever-constant around your neck.

Ren’s fingers brushed the back of your shoulder. You heard him breathing just as heavily. For a moment, he didn’t do anything. Wasn’t he going to…?

“Ren?” You asked, voice quivering. The air felt suddenly too heavy, your collar weighing you down more than normal. There was an awful thought, then: What if he doesn’t take your collar off? What if Ren is… what if, what if…

But then you felt the pressure from him sticking the key into the back of the metal contraption, heard it twist, and felt cool relief on your neck as Ren lifted the collar away from your neck and set it down on the coffee table.

Both hands went to your neck. The skin was sensitive, bruised. A few days ago, Strade had come into your room at night for a session of “fun,” which ended with you being choked into unconsciousness. You’d woken up to Ren splashing cold water on your face. “Thought I’d lost you,” he’d said.

The bruises Strade gave you would fade away in time. At least the ones on the outside.

And Ren…

You turned around and gave him a fractured smile. You leaned in, and Ren leaned in, and you hugged each other tenderly. Not just because it was the nicest way to hug, but because Ren’s rib fracture was still healing, and your back hurt, and both of you were littered with scars and cuts and bumps and bruises.

After a while, Ren pulled away. “Let’s… sit down.”

He sat down on the sofa, which was dotted with sprinkles of Ren’s orange fur; no matter how much you lint-rolled the furniture, you could never quite get all of it out.

Well, that didn’t matter now. You’d never have to clean up this living room, or the kitchen, or the brain matter and blood stains in the basement, again. You could go home.

And Ren could go home.

And the nightmare would be over.

For now, you sat, side by side, on a sofa that had never seemed more ordinary. The house had never seemed more ordinary. Its secrets were primarily down in the basement. The rest of the house was bland and boring by comparison. Unless you counted upstairs, as it was not unheard of for Strade to take his particular brand of “fun” into your respective rooms.

And now? It was quiet. Still. There was no chance that Strade would come walking up the stairs. No chance that you’d be called down them to torture someone.

Certainly no chance that he’d call both of you down, which never ended well. He liked to see Ren hurt you, because it seemed to hurt Ren. But sometimes, sometimes, you thought… there was a glimmer of something in Ren’s eyes in those moments.

Something that reminded you too much of pleasure to ignore. Just a spark of it, but that was enough, when you were bound to a table and he was clawing open your thighs at Strade’s behest.

“Ren?” You forced yourself to stop thinking like that. That was the past. This was now. No, more than that: this was the future. A future without Strade, without this house, without pain.

Ren looked over at you, slowly. The realization of what had just happened, and what it meant, seemed to be catching up to him, too. “... Yeah?”

Your fingers scratched at some of Ren’s stray fur on the couch. Some of the orange fur had already started clinging to your bandage.

“What do we do now?” A simple question for you to ask. Several plans rushed through your head but it was hard to make sense of them. What was the best course to take; which authorities did you appeal to, when there was a dead serial killer and one of his victims in the basement, but your hands were on the torture tools, yet the same tools had been used to hurt you?

You swallowed hard, shaking your head, willing the dizzying thoughts to quiet down. “Do we call the police first? Or… an ambulance? Or–or–”

Ren gripped the hand that idly scratched the couch. He intertwined his fingers in yours, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were wide. And just a bit wild.

“We could stay here.”

Your heart thudded. Once, twice. A third time.

“What?” You shifted on the couch, facing Ren more clearly. “We… we can’t, it’s–”

Ren squeezed your hand, a little too hard–the burn–and you winced. He didn’t let up, but he didn’t know you were hurting, did he? It was all just a rush right now, confusing, scary.

“We can,” he said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. His mouth broke into an almost childish grin as he continued. “Strade’s got a lot of money, we can use that to keep up the bills. Buy whatever we want. We won’t have to worry about anything!” His tail swished behind him, thumping into your side.

When you didn’t respond–words weren’t coming–his grin deflated a little. “I’m… I’m a good roommate,” he said, ears flattening. “I’ll take care of you.” He squeezed even tighter now. “We’ll do everything together, and we don’t have to worry about Strade getting mad about it. We’ll watch movies or-or play games or whatever you want.” He swallowed and you watched his throat bob. “And I promise I won’t leave fur everywhere.”

“Ren–” It was your turn to give his hand a squeeze, and you took his other in your free hand and clasped them both. “I’m not worried about your fur.”

His ears perked up and his smile came back.

“It’s… we can’t stay here,” you said, voice wobbling but gaining more firmness as you went on. “We need to leave. We need to call the police.”

Ren’s ears twitched. He looked thoughtful, opening his mouth, and shutting it. He was just confused, that’s all. Like you were. He needed to be reminded that if Strade was gone, the both of you were free. You’d go home, and he’d go home, and you could call or text or email or something but…

“Don’t be stupid.”

The firmness in Ren’s voice shook you a little. More than that, it made you worry. He frowned at the sight of your tense shoulders, the quirk in your mouth. “Think about it,” he said, gently saying your name. “Remember all the people who watch his videos? Don’t you know who’s in those chats?”

The reminder of the chatrooms came hurtling straight into your guts. The chat… the people there paid money to watch people suffer. Watch them die. How many times had they encouraged Strade to indulge in some fucked up torture? Hell, they’d asked him countless times to string you up, cut you open, pull out your guts while you were still alive. Strade had danced away the requests with a teasing lilt, but the threat was never gone.

Ren let go of your bandaged hand and gently cupped your cheek. He spoke slowly, almost sweetly. “They’re rich. Important. Mayors. Politicians. Doctors. Police.”

The anguish your stomach began to stretch. Ren didn’t stop talking.

“They know both our faces. Do you know what they’ll do to us, if they find us?”

Tears pricked, unwanted and unbidden, at your eyes. He was right. You couldn’t go to the police. You couldn’t go to the media. This could never get out. But that didn’t mean you had to stay here. More than that: you couldn’t stay here.

It would be another type of collar, to find yourself stuck here with Ren. And the collar might not be electric, but it would be just as dangerous.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “No police.”

Ren grinned hopefully.

“But,” you continued. “We can’t stay here. I want to go home. And you–you get to go home now, too.” Ren had never talked much about his life before Strade, but surely he had friends. A family. An apartment or a house. A life. Just like you.

“You want to leave–” His voice was thin and there was a fissure in it, ready to crack.

The hand on your cheek pressed harder, and you felt the thin press of his claws against your skin. Your eyes must have widened or perhaps you flinched, you don’t know, but Ren saw–and yanked away.

“S-Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”

No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He was upset, he was scared, hell, you didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry or start belting out show tunes right now.

Freedom was confusing as hell.

“I know,” you said, slowly. “It’s okay.”

Ren stared down at the ground. Then he stood up and fished Strade’s keyring out of his pocket and set it down on the coffee table with a jingling rattle.

“I’m going to get us some water. And maybe a snack. We’ll… we’ll talk about this more. We can talk about it, and not make a decision right away. Okay?” He fumbled with both his hands in front of him, looking like the meek young man you’d met that first night, when he cleaned your wounds and gave you water to drink.

You stared at him, perhaps for too long.

“Okay, Ren, we’ll talk about it,” you lied.

You watched him walk into the kitchen, where Strade would never saunter in for a case of beer again. You heard him open the cabinet for an empty glass, none of which would ever again find themselves dashed into tiny shards that could be ground into your skin for fun.

And then you leaned forward, grabbed the keyring off the countertop, pulled out the key to the front door, and softly padded your way to the threshold that neither of you had been able to cross in ages.

Your heart thudded. Your stomach heaved. But you unlocked the door and bolted, socked feet aching on the concrete sidewalk.

Ren said your name after the third step you took beyond the door of Strade’s house of horrors.

You could have kept running. Maybe you should have.

But instead, you turned around, to look at Ren standing in the doorway. There were no glasses of water in his hand–you don’t remember registering the sound of the sink at all, in fact. It was just Ren, with his hands at his sides, looking at you with an expression that was equally pitiful, agonizing, and worrying.

He said your name again.

You felt hot tears squeeze out of your eyes as you shook your head, turned around, and ran for your life.

#yandere #boyfriend to death #the price of flesh #ren hana #ren hana x reader #afterwitch writes #/pets prologue done! dunno how many chapters this one will end up being.

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pinkrelish · 1 year

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶Surely, when two friends set up their two friends on a blind date in the very small town of Hawkins, they make sure those two people don't know each other beforehand, right? And, more importantly, aren't coworkers, right?✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, angst towards the end, drug/alcohol mention/use, 18+ overall for eventual smut

chapter: 3/20 [wc: 6.1k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 3: The Accidental First Date

“Is this too much?” you asked, yanking down the visor and checking yourself in the small mirror.

Sitting in the back parking lot of the movie theater, you went through your purse for the finishing touches on your look. Doing your last paranoia check for anything in your teeth, turning your head this way and that to zhuzh your hair, and most importantly, preening your oxymoron of a sweater to show a decent amount of cleavage without flashing the cups of your push-up bra.

Truly a walking contradiction of a top. Cable knit and warm, but with a plunging neckline, to where the top button started at your sternum.

“No, you look hot,” Robin assured with her goofy smile. “New York modest is Hawkins slutty. He’s gonna love you.”

You shrank into your girlish giggle. “Good, I want my dating debut in this little town to be a statement. Set the stage for future escapades.. Until I run out of men, I guess. Seriously, how many bachelors live here and aren’t total hicks? Four?” Robin laughed.

“Could be worse. You could be a lesbian.”

“True,” you concurred. “Good thing you have Vickie. Sucks she couldn’t come tonight.” Robin made a sad huff of agreement, working a mascara wand through her lashes. “Hey, I know I said ‘yes’ without asking, but is this guy you set me up with even my type? Not that I care, obviously; a good story is a good story, but I’m just trying to set my expectations here.”

She furrowed her eyebrows dramatically, and paused unscrewing her lip gloss to rock her entire body into a positive affirmation–almost bumping her forehead on the steering wheel from the force of her nodding. “Oh, absolutely,” she said emphatically. “Looks scary on the outside, but is a total sweetheart on the inside. Overconfident, and obnoxious, but in that charming, swoony way.”

“Perfect!” You clasped your hands together.

Stepping out of the car, she waited for you so you could walk with your arms linked together, and she continued, “I haven’t seen him in years, but Steve was telling me over the phone that he’s been going through a tough time, and hasn’t been on a date in a while.”

“Aw, poor guy.”

There was a beat of silence where both of your faces twisted into knowing smiles.

“I know what that look means..” Robin led, canting her head to you.

Innocent, you lifted your shoulder in a coy shrug, bringing a collection of her soft hair up to your chin. “No idea what you’re talking about. I was just thinking, if he hasn’t been on a date in a while.. Why not make it memorable for him?”

You laughed together, rounding the sidewalk to the front entrance of the theater where the glamorous marquee shined gentle daylight upon the darkened street. Romantic and intimate, with a crowd of people standing in vague suggestions of lines; some broken off, gossiping, smoking.

“There they are,” Robin whispered, letting go of your upper arm to wave at Nancy–who you had met at the grocery store last week. She saw you approaching, and tapped her hand on the chest of the man beside her.

Still a considerable distance away, you peered at him, and placed his luscious hair in your memory. “Oh, that’s the guy who came to the shop today.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah, he was talking to the annoying mechanic I’m always telling you about.”

“The one you have a crush on?”

“Shush,” you bristled at the mention of your not-so-secret. “I do not have a crush on Eddie. Anyway! Did I tell you what he did this morning? He fuckin’ stood outside the window next to my desk, just out of my view for like, full on minutes, waiting for me to look at him. Like Michael Myers or some shit. Scared me half to death.”

Robin, still caught on one detail you had somehow failed to mention in the month you worked at the auto body shop, quietly asked, “..Eddie?”

“Yeah, my coworker,” you answered, not looking at her when she fell a step behind, since you were too focused on greeting Nancy, and introducing yourself to Steve to notice her sudden jog up behind you. Too fixated on complimenting Nancy’s skirt to witness the way Steve aimed his confused frown just past your shoulder. Missed his dismissive hand gestures, and Robin’s panic as she tried to wordlessly communicate something dire to him.

You were too busy listening to the cars cruise by on the street, and chatting casually, and savoring the warmth of a new friendship to scrutinize the sound of quick footsteps from the other direction, or the jangle of metal chains attached to their presence, or Robin’s damning groan.

“Sorry, I’m–” a familiar voice said. A bit nasally and on the higher side. Mirthful, awake with youth, and excited to make a good first impression.

You turned to them. Your date.

“..Late,” they trailed off.

Deer in headlights. Big, brown doe-eyes wide with surprise, framed by beautiful black lashes.

He stared at you.

His stomach sank.

You stared at him.

Your heart raced.

Eddie had stopped mid-step with his hand raised in greeting. The chains on his leather jacket tinkered until they stilled. Kind smile frozen from a better time. Chest filled with a held breath. Presenting himself with his best foot forward, and now his ears were tinted with the embarrassment of trying too hard to impress.

Oh, God.

You blinked away, and were intentional to accept the situation for what it was without showing your surprise, opting for a simple, timid, awkward, shaky, exhaled, “Hey, Eddie.”

He wasn’t so poised.

Shutting his eyes, he allowed the realization to wash over him, scrunching his face in a pained expression as the puzzle pieces slotted into place. He hung his head, and released his breath through his nose. “Your roommate is Robin,” he stated, pointing at her to punctuate his sentence. “And you call her Bobbie.”

“Yeah..” It was an apology as much as it was a confirmation.

“You still call me Bobbie?” Robin asked, tugging on your sleeve, forgetting the tense air surrounding the group for the moment. “I haven’t used that stage name in years.”

“Guess it stuck with me..”

Thankfully, someone else added to the conversation. Unfortunately, that person was Steve addressing the elephant outside the ticket booth.

“So, I take it you two know each other,” he deduced, looking from Eddie’s dejected gaze at the ground, to you wringing your purse strap over your chest.

Eddie enlightened him in a solemn tone, sparing a single glance at his friend, “She’s the receptionist at work.”

“Ah.” He turned his attention to Robin. “You set up two people who work together.”

She threw her hands up and blamed him, “Uh! No way, dunce, don’t put this on me. This whole thing was your idea, and at no point in the conversation did you tell me Eddie was a mechanic! If you had told me he was a mechanic I probably could’ve put two-and-two together myself, and avoided setting up people who see each other every day.”

Increasingly red-faced, Steve very pointedly avoided Eddie’s suspicious squint after being outed as the one who set up the date, not Nancy. “You’re the one who lives with her, how could you not–?”

“Okay!” You clapped once to end their bickering. “Then it’s not a date.”

Nancy, bless her, picked up her improv skills fast. “Yeah! Not a date. Just a casual outing between friends. Steve, get the tickets ready so we can get popcorn before the line gets too long.” There was a ripple of unanimous murmurs, followed by shuffling to the entrance.

“Silver lining,” Nancy muttered out the side of her mouth to Steve, “It’s a movie date, so it’s not like they have to talk to, or look at each other.”

Steve tempered his laugh to a hiss and held the door for Robin, who in turn kept the it ajar behind her for you, but as you went to catch it, it was opened for you.

Clack- clack- clack. You’d heard the sound every morning; his distinct rings on the metal frame of the glass door beside your desk, followed by his soft grunt when pulling it open. But whereas his whispered ‘morning’ normally echoed in the tiled lobby, it was now on the back of your neck, fanning your skin, and it wasn’t a sweet greeting, but a reserved, solemn, regretful, sad, “Sorry for.. yeah.” That’s how he started your date that wasn’t a date. With an apology. And still, as the crisp autumn air was replaced by the humid waft of buttery popcorn, your brain was stuck at the garage, filling in the drag of his heavy work boots on the way to the breakroom for coffee, and the lingering scent of cigarette smoke trailing his stride.

Except, as you were jolted back to reality, you came to know he didn’t present himself so generically outside the context of motor oil. Due to the traffic clogging around the ticket ripper, Eddie ran into you and you discovered the nuances of what he smelled like when not at work, with the added intimacy of his chest pressed to your back.

Worn leather enveloped by notes of vanilla musk cologne. Spicy deodorant carried by the sweet earthy tang of tobacco. Dove White on his heated skin, and Dawn on his hands.

A symphony you could immerse yourself in learning for hours if it wasn’t for the crime of your group moving forward.

“Did you want anything?” Eddie asked you, pointing at the concessions.

“Oh, no, I’m good.” You made a clawing gesture at your mouth. “Eating popcorn before the movie even starts because I have no self control and then being forced to sit there with kernels in my teeth drives me nuts.”

Not finding you as endearing as you intended, he slipped his hands into his pockets, and motioned for both of you to stand off to the side, out of the way while you waited for the others to get their snacks. And he just stood there. Not saying anything. You were turned to him as if to carry a conversation, but his gaze was set ahead; not on anything in particular, just away from you.

Rarely had his face been this slack, this devoid of emotion. Even when doing menial work like filling out invoices for parts you would need to order, there was activity. Liveliness in the tic of his eyes reading lines on the paper. Movement of his tongue sliding across his top lip. A subtle crease between his brows. Something. Anything.

You spoke above the giggly teenagers sneaking into the film next door, “For a stick in the mud, you look nice.” He really did, in his well-loved jacket draping his frame after years of being broken in to perfection. Tight black jeans. Sensible boots. More accessories than just his rings.

Try as he might to cut you an unamused look, his freshly washed hair bounced in immaculate waves around his face, catching the low mood lighting like a messy halo.

“Thanks,” he said, not meaning it.

“I can see why you don’t get many dates if you always look this miserable.”

“I’m not miserable.”

“Glum, then? Woebegone? Hapless? Crestfallen?” When he seemed hellbent on wishing he were anywhere else, you eased up on your act. Harboring the pit of rejection eating away at your stomach, you pried, “Disappointed?”

The glimpse of vulnerability in your words was not lost on him.

He snapped to, shaking himself out of his funk to reassure you in his gentle timbre amongst the chaos of someone beating the top score on the pinball machine, “I’m not disappointed to be here with you.”

“Then what are you?”

“Sorry,” he guessed, shrugging. He was the type to speak with his hands, moving them despite being confined to his pockets. “I’m sorry our friends suck at communicating and this is how your night turned out; you being here with me when you were clearly expecting someone else.” His gaze didn’t dare dip lower than your nose, but the effort you put into your appearance did not go unnoticed. It wasn't the first time he stared a little too directly into your eyes after you decided to stop covering yourself up.

“I don’t go on dates intending to find my one true love or anything lame like that,” you said, honestly. “I go on them to have fun, and I think we can still have fun, even if we have to share the same tiny lunch table come Monday, and we side-eye Carl for bringing tuna again.” He almost smiled at that.

Sensing he needed another boost of confidence, you kept going, “Before I knew it was you, Robin was talking you up in the car. Going on about how my date was some sweet guy, super handsome, and with a heart of gold. You know, the Prince Charming type. Oh, and totally obnoxious too. Real loudmouth who never shuts up.”

Okay, maybe some of that was ad libbed, but you wanted to know how much of it was true.

Eddie shifted from foot to foot, subduing his grin by biting his tongue, literally. “That’s a pretty apt way to describe me back in high school, yeah, especially with how I’m dressed.”

“What changed?”

“Uh, I had a kid,” he laughed. “She stole all my charm. I swear Adrie can talk me into anything.”

“I think you’re just a pushover.”

“Probably,” he surrendered. Raising his brows, he mused aloud one of the many things on his mind, “Do you not agree that she described me accurately? Sweet Prince Charming guy, all that?”

There was no way in hell you were going to speak your truth. Instead, you smirked. “I don’t think you want to know what adjectives I’d use to describe you.” They were far too vulgar to utter in a crowded room. Hot in the most annoying way. Absolute pain in my ass. Just the worst, especially when I don’t hear you sneak up behind me in the kitchen, and you think it’s funny to scare me right as I open my drink from the Coke machine, and you laugh your stupid laugh when I drop it. An absolute eye-sore when you look up at me while you're on your hands and knees cleaning up the mess you created. Irritatingly handsome when you grin and buy me another one.

Ignorant to your private thoughts, he swung his elbow out to push you, and smiled.

Relaxing into the natural lull in conversation, you both watched your friends make it to the front of the line and order their food. They waited at the counter, starting the clock on when they would inevitably make it back to the two of you, and cease your alone time with Eddie. (Although, first, they’d have to traverse an entire bucket of dropped popcorn, and navigate around more than one group of children reenacting a fight scene they just watched on the big screen.)

“Were you disappointed I was your date?” you asked.

Robin was right. Eddie was a sweetheart. As soon as he detected an inkling of insecurity–whether it be in your strained voice, or etched into your face, or imbued in the question itself–he was quick to absolve your worry.

“No, no,” he said. “Relieved, if I’m being honest.”

“Relieved?” You weren’t expecting that.

“There’s a reason I haven’t dated since having Adrie. It didn’t sound like Steve made it clear to.. you, well, my anonymous date which happened to be you. Jesus, this is confusing. Whatever, you know what I mean, he didn’t say if he told my would-be date that I’m a dad, and I was afraid of coming here and having to tell them myself. Even if we hit it off, it’s a deal breaker for some people, y’know? Not that I blame them. I would’ve said the same thing five years ago.”

You nodded as you listened to him. “Never thought about it from that perspective. All my dates have been one-and-dones. Super casual. Kids were never really brought up.”

“Yeah, the dating world isn’t always so gracious. I’m kinda glad I’m here with you–someone who knows me, at least.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spied Steve raising his sodas above his head as two boys ran past him, pretending they were in a shootout.

Knowing he wouldn’t have time to respond, you informed Eddie, “You’re worrying about the wrong thing. Adrie’s an angel. You should be more concerned about your curmudgeonly attitude being a deal breaker.” His narrowed-eye glare had never felt so sweet.

Robin’s giddy presence became known. She dropped her chin to your shoulder with a satisfied hum, and wrapped her arm around your waist to hug you snug to her body. You laid your head on top of hers, swaying with her.

She must’ve made a face at Eddie, because a different emotion flinched across his features, and he was back to avoiding making eye contact.

You, however, were more enticed by the drink in her hand than analyzing his change in demeanor. “Shit, now I want an Icee.”

“Yeah, I got cherry,” she said, angling the straw towards you. “They have Coke too–Okay, bye, dork,” she giggled after you.

“Go ahead and sit without me! I want an Icee.” Nancy clutched the largest size of popcorn to her chest to avoid spilling it as you stumbled out of Robin’s hold and darted for the concession stand.

Eddie raised his voice, “You couldn’t have decided that five minutes ago when I asked?”

“Nope!”

————

The theater for the low budget horror flick reflected the town’s perception of it. As soon as the heavy door closed behind you, your footsteps on the dense carpet echoed around the empty room. Your group was sitting in the back row, and their murmurs could be heard from the bottom.

You climbed up to them and flumped into the seat next to Eddie. “We can share,” you said excitedly, shaking the drink at him before placing it in the cupholder at the end of the single armrest.

When the subtle pinch of concern around his eyes remained, you promised him you didn’t have cooties.

He played with his rings, pulling them down the length of his fingers and spinning them while he worked through his confusion. “You don’t have to sit next to me.. You can sit next to Robin.” He motioned beside him, to Steve munching on his popcorn while Nancy held it, and Robin whispering on the end, rolling her eyes at something Nancy said.

“Why wouldn’t I sit next to you?”

Eddie’s mouth opened and closed, struggling to settle on what he wanted to say, and finishing with a submissive shrug, leather jacket groaning at the act. He bounced his foot quicker, shaking the aglets on his laces against his boot in a chaotic rhythm. “Dunno..”

“You’re silly. I’d pinch your cheek if I didn’t think you’d bite me.” He reeled at that, and you giggled. You didn’t mind making him balk at your weird quirks; whatever put him at ease. Rather, whatever made him stop rubbing his knee against yours, because you were certain the friction was about to cause a fire.

Digging through your purse, you took out a rectangular box and slid your finger under the flap, popping it open and dumping a handful of candy into your palm. You threw it back into your mouth. “Want sh-ome?” you chewed, offering the box to him.

“Who the hell eats Mike and Ikes?”

“Uh, me, jerk.” Right as the lights dimmed to pitch black, and the curtains drew back from the screen, you hit him with the most exaggerated pout. “I only eat them at the movies. They’re a ritual, and you’re rude.” The shadows lining his face twisted into a deeper grin. “Are you more of a chocolate guy?”

“Maybe,” he answered like he was suspicious of your motives.

And maybe he should be. Afterall, you committed the number one sin when it came to cinemas.

“Looks like I chose right,” you said, reaching into your purse and pulling out a Kit Kat. “I was hoping my date would be a chocolate sorta guy–” You went quiet seeing his eyes widen a touch. “I mean, not date. Begrudging coworker? Tentative acquaintance?”

“Reluctant friend,” he answered smoothly, taking the package from you and ripping it open with his teeth.

~~~

Trailers for other films played, bathing the room in flickers of light interrupting the darkness. The opening credits began. Your candy was half-eaten. His was devoured. You took a sip of your Icee, and from the vantage point of pressing your back into the cheap theater seat, you observed him in your periphery.

His gaze hardly left the drink. Your offer to share it gnawed at him in a visible way. Scoping out the straw, the possible trace of spit you left behind, the possible trace of spit he’d leave behind. He peered at the screen to acknowledge the intro, and then back down it was, boring holes into the Icee.

You were no better, nibbling at your lips when he finally caved and took a sip–all too quick, and clumsy, almost missing the cup holder when he put it back down with lightning speed.

The edge of your thighs touched under the arm rest; worse so, when you folded one leg under you, and leaned into him. “Do you hate it when people talk during movies?”

“Not these kind.” He meant the genre in general, which made for great fodder for ripping apart in friend groups, but another popular trope among this realm of fiction became apparent. The first set of tits flashed on screen, and you both found yourselves lacking in the commentary department.

After a moment, you tilted your head. “That actress looks familiar..”

“She’s been in other cult classics. Always acts with her eyebrows.” He turned to you and nudged your shoulder, vying for your full attention. He emphasized the end of each word with an inflection as if it were a question, and raised his eyebrows in every way possible, mocking her slowly, “She’s the one who always talks like this–!” He looked crazy contorting his face to make his point.

“That’s it!” You snapped. “Her wearing glasses really threw me off.”

“Mhm.” His hum vibrated along your upper arm pressed to his, and he asked quietly under the screams of the first gorey death, “Do you like B movies?”

“Hell yeah. Back home they would play them at this rooftop drive in place. I rarely paid to watch them, though. The next building over had a good view of the projector screen.”

His banter dropped in favor of chewing on the corner of his thumb. If it wasn’t for the wild change in scenery cast across his face, you could’ve sworn his faint smile faltered into inscrutability.

Did you say something wrong?

————

“Damn, that was a cool practical effect,” Eddie complimented the purplish fizzing ooze that once was a person.

“I know, right? That’s why I love these bad movies. There’s no budget for good CGI, so they have to do creative stuff like that.”

It was inevitable. Bound to happen. A mere act of fate. Stars aligning in the close knit group leaning forward to exchange witty quips about the hare-brained plot holes in the movie, and not minding their surroundings except to receive everyone’s laughter, making jokes at the expense of the bad acting.

Steve was asking a question that was technically answered by the movie’s lore if he’d paid attention to the dialogue during the second gratuitous stripping scene. You or Eddie could have answered, but Robin took it upon herself to explain, and you two nodded along.

Absentminded, you reached for the Icee.

Distracted, Eddie reached for the Icee.

The waxed paper cup was cold under your fingers, but your hand was blanketed by warmth.

Slow to process, you both glanced down at the reason why neither of you were achieving your goal, and the overload of sensory inputs faded away to one: touch.

Your thumb was trapped under his palm, and his fingers stretched around the cup, meeting yours on the other side and housing them beneath his in a steady amount of pressure. They were almost interlocking. Holding. Wrist on top of wrist–his with the extra harshness of his leather and chain bracelet on your skin. The heaviness of his forearm resting on yours.

Truly, the accident lasted all of two pumps of your heart, but it felt like more when he stroked his calloused fingertips over your knuckles as he let go.

“Sorry!” he blurted.

“S-Sorry,” you laughed, jittery from the encounter.

Your cheeks were hot. His were flushed red. The lewd moaning of a woman feigning to orgasm just from the male lead removing her bra alone played in the background. Neither of you could decide which plan of escape was less embarrassing: continuing to stare like idiots at each other, or watch the actress’ ginormous boobs bounce as she faked riding a guy.

You blinked. His eyebrows ticced up.

Boobs it was.

He adjusted how he sat, tugging his jeans down his legs a little, and crossing his arms. Eyes laser focused on the woman’s face. The why was obvious, and you couldn’t help but tease him for pretending to be a gentleman in your company when you held no such modesty when it came to ogling her tits.

“Thinking about how much Aquanet she uses?”

“Shut up.”

————

Later into the film, after the plot circled back to the juicy gore, you leaned into Eddie to ask him a question.

What that question was, you couldn’t remember.

As soon as you placed your elbow on the armrest and used the back of your hand to tap his shoulder, he dipped his head to hear you. It was an automatic thing starting from the moment you slouched in your seat. That’s all. A shift in your sitting position and intake of breath, and he knew you were going to speak, and he wanted to listen. He cared about what you had to say. He leaned into you as well, because listening to you took priority over the movie.

“Eddie?” You sought any words. Any words at all. Any would do. Any question, even if you knew the answer. “Uhm. The music sounds really familiar. Do you recognize it?”

“It’s the same composer as Chopping Mall and Deathstalker II.”

“Ah.”

Ah. All you could muster when you were charmed by the silhouette of his lips moving. Watching them form letters, pout on the plosives, press into a line on his thick swallow.

Ah. All you could say when his hair brushed over your fingers. Dry, in need of a deep conditioning. Curling around your forefinger. Tickling your palm.

Ah. All you could respond with when you lifted your gaze, and caught him staring at you like you stared at him.

————

As predicted, the filmmakers padded the runtime with another topless scene, and the movie ended on a witty one liner that included not one, but two puns, and no resolution to the numerous plot threads left hanging.

“That was.. certainly something!” Robin summed up, holding the doors open to the subdued hours of the night.

Once outside in the fresh air, the dynamic reverted back to its original status.

Your friends made themselves scarce in the worst way; whistling, shuffling to the side as they found asinine things to comment on, leaving you and Eddie alone. Their intentions were pure, but reality was not so kind.

Eddie cemented his gaze on the sidewalk as he picked at his callouses, and apologized for the mistake of going out with you. Again. “Sorry about all this.”

Itchy sweat broke out across your back. It sucked he was so brazen about rejecting you. You had hoped some of the tender crush you had on him extended past the armrest you shared, the looks you shared, the touches you shared; but maybe you were just tricking yourself into finding things that weren’t there.

Wanting to end on a better note, you appealed to him in a last ditch effort to smooth over the situation, “I meant it when I said you looked good tonight. It’s nice to see you outside of your work clothes.”

“Thanks.”

That’s all. Thanks. A shy glance from beneath his curtain of messy hair, and a somber tone to maximize the awkwardness of the not-date with your coworker.

You needed to get the hell out of there. “See you Monday?”

“Yeah, see you Monday.”

The group winced in unison when they saw the way you two departed.

Robin was quick to link her arm with yours and gather you closer, bringing your heads together to gossip as you walked back to her car. “That bad, huh?”

Around the corner and out of sight, you gave her half a smile, trying to appear in better spirits. “Well, I don’t think he likes me. He didn’t return any of my compliments, and he apologized for being on a date with me no less than four times over the course of the evening.”

She cringed for you. “That’s worse than Balloon Guy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you said, remembering what would go down in history as the shittiest date you’d been on. “Yeah, that’s more times than Balloon Guy.” Robin hugged you tighter, making your steps go clumsy. She apologized for Eddie’s weirdness, but you shrugged. Maybe you were supposed to find it weird, too. Maybe you were supposed to disapprove of the idea of romantic feelings for your coworker, too. Maybe you were supposed to have no expectations for it to lead anywhere, too.

Maybe you were supposed to reject him, too.

————

Still loitering outside the theater, Steve exchanged a look with Nancy, and jogged to catch up with Eddie before he made it too far in the opposite direction.

“Uh, hey buddy!” Steve clapped him on the shoulder to stop him. “It sounded like you two were hitting it off during the movie, what happened?”

Eddie sulked under the question. His chest fell with a surrendering sigh, and his boots scraped the concrete as he turned to him, not bothering to mask the dullness in his slack expression. Everything about him was tired, including his voice when he slipped into a lower, raspy octave. “She’s nice, but..”

“But what?” Nancy asked, searching his face.

Bottling his burdens, he clenched his teeth, and worked his jaw as he contemplated evading their insistent prying; but after ruminating on it, he explained the source of his problems, “She lives a very.. whimsy life.” He fluttered his hand like a bird flapping its wings, or a butterfly. “She does this thing where she says ‘yes’ to anything anyone asks her; it’s why she moved to Hawkins, and why she ended up on this date to begin with. Y’know, just doing whatever seems like fun. It’s cute, in a way, and obviously I.. feel a way towards her, but this place isn’t where she’s looking to lay down roots. New York is her home.”

Steve squeezed his shoulder, knowing what was about to come.

“I’ve already been left for someone better.. I can’t go through that again.” Eddie’s eyes begged them to understand. “I don’t want Adrie to get attached to someone who’s just gonna leave.”

Nancy started, “Eddie–You don’t know if she’d leave.”

He shook his head, and pulled away from Steve’s lingering grasp. Shushed his friend’s well-meaning words about him being valued, and to forget his insecurities about not being good enough.

“A girl like that doesn’t need me weighing her down,” Eddie said, imparting the wisdom he’d come to accept since you made a mark on his life weeks ago, when it became your mission to befriend him. “I’ll pick up Adrie in the morning. Thanks for watching her.”

The night got darker as he left.

Darker still, when Steve waved at his back, and Nancy played with the locket around her neck, and her goodbye went disregarded.

————

Silence.

It surrounded him. Blood pulsing in his ears, his heart beat, the refrigerator hum, the tink of glass bottles as he grabbed the full six pack and brought it to the couch, springs squeaking under his weight.

Utter emptiness welcomed him.

Not a sound in his home. Not a giggle from his daughter, or scrape of a skillet from Wayne’s makeshift breakfast-dinner before he went to work. Even the dogs around the trailer park were quiet.

Just.. nothing.

It was what he wanted, right? A night to himself; a break from the chores, the questions, the food making, the taking care of a tiny human being who made everything tougher than it needed to be.

He got his wish.

Two beers down in peace, he got his wish.

Eddie looked around his trailer lit by the single lamp beside him.

Quiet, empty, nothing.

Dark silence.

The jolt of his sob startled him. It erupted from his chest so suddenly. Ripped from the tightness of repressed emotions; the things he tried to deny, to feel and then lock away. To keep safe, buried down deep where he could manage them from progressing past the boundaries he created for his own good, and Adrie’s. He felt the agony of them all at once. The morning smiles, the afternoon laughs, the evenings of pretending you didn’t plan to bump into each other in the doorway to the lobby. The game of seeing how long he could watch you twirl the phone cord around your finger before you looked up from your desk. Your sweet way of comforting him after the hard nights of Adrie’s sleep regression by taking his tan work jacket and draping it over his shoulders while he slept at the lunch table in the break room. Your gentle method of fixing his collar when it was tucked on the inside of his coveralls.

The date was too good to be true.

In fact, the truth itself was far more painful.

The date was amazing. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had more fun. More thrills, sure. But not more fun. There wasn’t a day in his youth where he experienced more of the flirty thrum in his veins than when he committed himself to learning the way your lips moved when saying his name in the darkened theater.

The date was perfect. He was happy. And he couldn’t have it again. Shouldn’t have it again. Wouldn’t have these feelings again.

Eddie doubled over and put his third beer on the floor before he spilled it. Nothing was discernible beyond the water invading his ability to see, to fathom his reflection in the old TV. Sad, miserable, and lonely. An idiot for finally getting attached to someone, and it was someone he wasn’t supposed to.

Tears slipped from between his lashes. He smeared them on his cheeks, covering his sweaty face from his possessions bearing witness to his stupidity.

It was in his best interest to reject you–reject your casual stance on dating, and relationships, and people with kids–but the face you made when your advances went underappreciated churned his stomach.

He needed to be stronger. But he was weak.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighed into the stale air. Opening another beer, he nursed it as he huddled into the corner of the couch, and searched for Adrie’s quilt to soothe him. But of course, he sent it with her when he dropped her off at Steve’s.

No baby blanket to hold onto. No Adrienne to sleep on his chest to ease the pain of loneliness. No reason to look forward to Monday after he royally screwed everything up.

“Goddamnit,” he groaned.

Maybe, if he apologized enough, there was a chance you wouldn’t hate him.

Maybe, if you forgave him, you’d go back to the morning smiles, and the afternoon laughs.

And maybe, if he was enough of a masochist, he’d let you gently ease past those boundaries meant to keep you, and your kindness out. If you wanted to trespass, that is. He didn’t know. He was an idiot.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

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twobluejeans · 10 months

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HEARTBREAK ON TOUR!

charles leclerc x famous!reader

summary: in which the lavender haze has been lifted. or in which america’s it couple splits.

part 5: relevancy, part 4: emo ponytail girl, part 3: dupeee, part 2: wtf does ET know?, part 1: don’t start

faceclaim: madison beer

ally’s radio 📻: PART 5! the drama goes on. a lot of tswift references 🫶

INSTAGRAM, july 12

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yourinstagram. thank u amsterdam for an incredible 2 nights, had so much fun here. also thank u to alyssa and cami who allowed me to post these photos of them on here, great song choice btw💋

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INSTAGRAM, july 13

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yourinstagram you asked for it, we listened: mother and i went back into the studio specifically to record more lana on snow on the beach. love u @honeymoon. it will be a part of the new midnights (til dawn edition) deluxe album that you can preorder now at my online website (link in bio!)

as many of you know, when i released midnights 7 months ago, the original concept was fun, dreamy, n honestly a reflection of how i felt at the time. after going through a rather tragic breakup, i cannot see the album the same anymore because it isn't how i feel. it's not me. i revised the entire project during some free time between tour with some amazing people, and in a way, i'm grateful for that breakup! it inspired two, beautiful songs and an edition of the album that you will all be hearing soon. to make a long story short: my new single you’re losing me will be out midnight, 7/17!

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TWITTER, july 13

INSTAGRAM, july 13

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lolaransdell unapologetic

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y/nslastkiss girl we can tell💀

grapejuicebluesy/n BYEEEE

verstappensainz55 girl u know what ur doing atp

selenagomezfan31 u wanna be her so bad 😭

INSTAGRAM STORIES, july 13

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INSTAGRAM, july 14

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lolaransdell just an appreciation post 🤍

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charlidamelio i love you both so much!!

lolaleclerc16 you two are so adorable charles is so lucky

lolaransdell lolaleclerc16 i don't know ... I'm feeling like i hit the jackpot a bit more than he did :)

zenday/n lolaransdell definitely not babe 🔥🔥🔥

emmachamerlain my favorite couple i'm living for this

charlesandlolaupdates i still don't know who i wanna be more

lolaforce happy lola is my fave 🤍

daviastylessx you two are so cute 🥲 i'm glad you guys found each other especially after charles’s last relationship

lolaransdell davinastylessx i'm glad we found each other too! he makes me so happy and i try my best to do the same for him. we both have never felt love like this before

charlesforever lolaransdell ^ was that shade?

lolaransdell charlesforver no shade at all ! just being honest :)

TWITTER, july 14

ally’s radio 📻: thus the birth of the revenge era. sorry this was a short chapter, but i couldn’t leave my children starved. next one is better.

taglist 🦢🪩: @incoherenciass@dakotali@405rry@topaz125@sassyheroneckgiant@hevburn@itsmytimetoodream@ivegotparticulartaste@crowdedimagines @asterianax @haydee5010@scenesofobx@christinabae@magical-spit@dessxoxsworld@myareadsbooks@honethatty12@hopefulinlove@diasnohibng@gentlemonsterjennie1@hummusxx@eugene-emt-roe@taestrwbrry @pejarma @cxcewg@chimchimjiminie16@glow-ish@allywthsr @millyswife @mrsmaybank13 @black-swan-blog27

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pseudowho · 1 month

Text

Nanami Kento Masterlist

REQUESTS CLOSED!

Updated: 11th May 2024

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🔥 Smut 💔 Angst 💕 Romance

☕ Comfort/Fluff 🤡 Clowning

🐙 Monsterfucking 📚 Education (*dirty laugh*)

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1st of December 🔥☕💕 -- No-Nut November is over-- but Nanami Kento won't let you get away with it that easily.

7:3 🤡 -- Nanami Kento never thought about his 7:3 pattern...a fourth wall breaking moment.

BabywearingDad!Nanami" Ask and Drabble ☕

"Dad Reflexes" Ask and Drabble 🤡💕☕-- Nanami Kento can catch anything.

Daylight Robbery 💕☕🔥-- when Gojo asks Nanami to cuckold him and his fiancée, things don't go the way Gojo planned...

Debellatio 🔥💕-- a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma sex-pollen threesome.

Deliverance 💕🔥-- with Vampire!Priest!Nanami

Ditch the Party 🔥💕-- Nanami Kento hates parties. But the drinks? The drinks make him bold.

Domain Expansion theory-- Pseudowho's vision of Nanami Kento's domain expansion.

Domestic Bliss series 💕☕--

#1 Rant #2 Indentured Servitude #3 Car Repairs #4 Laundry #5 Foodie

Edging Nanami Kento 🔥💕-- The reader drives Nanami Kento to the edge and back again.

Fire and Iron 💕☕🔥-- AU!Nanami Kento is the town blacksmith, and the reader is forced to stay the night after tending to his wounds.

Full 🔥☕💕-- Nanami Kento treats his pregnant wife like the goddess she is.

Glory Glory 🔥☕💕-- "Help, I'm stuck!" on a mission with Kento, and he takes full advantage of the compromising position.

Good Boy 🔥💕-- after a bad day, you know exactly what Kento needs to help him relax...

Good Girl 💕🤡 -- a drabble

Grandpapamin ☕💕-- Nanami Kento as a grandfather, Headcanons.

Grey 🔥💔💕-- The reader lives a vigilante life; so does Nanami Kento, a changed man after the events of Shibuya. When she is sent to hunt him down, Nanami Kento has a proposition for her.

Grey! Nanami Headcanons Part One ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader headcanons.

Grey! Nanami Headcanons Part Two ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader headcanons.

Grey! Nanami Christmas ⛄🎄 Headcanons ☕💕💔-- post-Shibuya Nanami Kento x Reader Headcanons.

Hanahaki 💕☕💔-- being in love with you is killing Nanami Kento.

Hide and Seek 🔥-- Game night gets spicy.

"How well can you drive?" 🔥 -- the reader takes matters into her own mouth so Kento can prove his driving skills.

Infiltration (MULTI-CHAPTER) 🔥☕💔💕

(COMPLETE!) --the reader and Nanami Kento must pretend to be married, infiltrating a Curse-user cult to take it down from the inside.

Chapter One: Introduction

Chapter Two: Pillow Talk

Chapter Three: Deadly Games

Chapter Four: The Rumbling Shrine

Chapter Five: Breaking Point

Chapter Six: Exposed

Chapter Seven: The Captive Goddess

Chapter Eight: Unchained

In From the Cold ☕🔥💕-- The reader wanders in the snow, lost and injured after a mission gone wrong; will Nanami Kento save her?

Kento Comes Home Drunk 🔥💕-- and the reader handles his advances like a total champ.

And, its sequel... Reader Comes Home Drunk 🔥 💕-- where Kento manages the reader's advances like an absolute champ.

Kingsman!AU Nanami/Galahad 🔥💕☕

Knismolagnia 🔥💕-- Kento has a somewhat...erotic response to being tickled.

Last Moments 💔☕-- Nanami Kento remembers a childhood holiday.

Nanami Kento, and the Curses of an Unusual Nature (MULTI-CHAPTER) -- Nanami Kento is deemed the only Sorcerer sensible enough to handle some frankly weird Curses

- Chapter 1: Gone Shopping 🤡 -- locals are going missing at a large shopping centre; Nanami Kento is sent to investigate.

Nanami Kento's Massive Squeezable Man Tiddies 🔥☕-- the reader being casually obsessed with Kento's chest...repost link HERE!

Operation Babymaker (a new series!) 💕💔🔥☕ -- Nanami Kento takes trying for a baby very seriously indeed.

A Trip to the Tailors-- the reader reveals she's been off the pill for months, and Kento cannot contain himself.

Benchpress-- the reader interrupts Kento's workout, and is manhandled into submission.

Ditch the Party...again-- tipsy Kento is back, and deadlier than ever.

Wet Dreams-- Kento gives the reader a free-pass for when he's asleep...and he returns the favour.

Honeytrap/Maid Café-- you are sent to honeytrap a Curse-user on ovulation night...and Kento hunts you down to a Maid Café.

Papamin's Big Day ☕-- Nanami Kento takes his baby for her first vaccinations, and finds it...emotional.

Raising You ☕💔💕-- When the reader is de-aged by a Curse, Nanami is forced to raise her like a daughter.

Red 🔥💔-- Nanami Kento, the infamous Curse-user, has been on the run for years...what will you do when he catches up to you?

Resolute ☕💔💕-- The reader helps Nanami to accept that he has a drinking problem.

Seasons of Grief 🔥💔💕☕ -- The reader supports Nanami Kento through the anniversary of Yuu Haibara's death, and afterwards, when Kento nearly loses the reader

Shirtsleeves 🔥 -- The reader steals Kento's last shirt, and receives her comeuppance.

Still Got It ☕💕-- The Nanami kids' parents are boring...right?

Stoic 💕🔥-- Kento is furious when Gojo assumes that his lack of PDA towards the reader shows a lack of desire.

The Accumulation of Little Despairs ☕💔💕 -- The reader struggles with low-mood; Nanami Kento comes to the rescue

The Chase 🔥💕-- The reader has insisted on No-Nut November; Nanami Kento gets his revenge by hunting her down and taking his reward.

The Wristwatch 💕☕-- How does Nanami Kento make sure everyone (including you) knows you're his girl?

The Wrong Tie 🔥-- Nanami x Reader AND Higuruma x Reader...Nanami and Higuruma make a mistake after fucking their wives in the same cupboard.

Why I love Nanami Kento

Yet Another Sex Pollen Fic, PART ONE 🔥💕

And...PART TWO 🔥💕 -- the reader has a problem... and only Nanami Kento can help her scratch the itch.

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naomihatake · 8 months

Text

In search of freedom (Ch. 1)

1. They're bad news

Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's been searching for freedom her entire life and everytime she thought it was laying right in front of her eyes, she was mistaken. She was running around the East Blue, seeking herself and her dreams, meeting people she never forgot. No matter how much she traveled, she could only catch a glimpse of peace before realizing everything would crumble at her feet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe it was destiny that brought her on that ship with three strangers — foolishly, that's what she tried to believe when the moon shined beautifully and hope settled in her chest, squeezed by the same ribcage where feelings were blooming.

Pairing: female!reader x OPLA Zoro Roronoa. This chapter follows the events of the first episode.

Warnings for this chapter: physical violence (fights), mentions of deaths, fluff, some cursing, mentions of tarot and palm readings

Word count: 3,6k

Theme song: “Loreley” by Blackmore's Night (click on the link)

A/N: This is the first part of a fanfiction I was thinking of since first watching One Piece Live Action. I started the anime too and I'm around episode 64 already. I'm using the OPLA course of action for now and I have no idea for an ending, but enough scenarios to write and share. I don't know how far this will go, but I'll have fun writing it and considering how much I like Zoro (born anime and LA), I'm using both of them as inspiration. Sorry for the lack of interaction between reader and Zoro, but I promise things will change.

The reader will be referred to as "Witch" especially in the next chapter, because I have no intentions of using "Y/N". There will be more information revealed about her past and abilities in the next chapter.

I'm open for comments and opinions <3

"Excuse me," she smiled sweetly while swaying away from someone who was standing right in front of her and a table she had to serve for. "Here," she carefully let the plates down.

She received a large smile coming from the young man with dark curls and a straw hat hanging around his neck. His pink haired companion seemed very shy, barely glancing at her before looking back at his plate, thanking in a small voice.

The tavern buzzed with a peaceful energy in the late hours of morning, the big windows letting the warm rays of sun in, lighting up the place. There were men sitting at a few tables, no sign of any other woman except for her and the very owner of that place, who just finished cooking something — were those cookies? It smelled divine.

Her dress fluttered around her knees as she moved away from their table to take other orders, a strand of her hair falling against her cheek after running around for so long. When she finally stopped in her tracks by the bar, intense eyes searched for anyone else who might've needed something. Lucky for her, she could finally breathe for a few seconds, resting her hips against the bar.

However, her eyes fell on the tall figure who just chugged down his throat a shot of alcohol. His green hair made her frown to herself, looking away before she could get caught ogling some stranger. After a few seconds, she looked at him again, this time at the three swords resting against his hip.

Three swords? What can someone do with three swords?

Everyone probably had the same question whenever they saw him for the first time. However, he felt somehow familiar, as if she's heard of someone like that before. A pirate? No, wait, a pirate hunter? The owner told her of so many things and so many people it was impossible to remember each one of them, but she was pretty sure she mentioned some pirate hunter only a few days ago.

Her thought process was interrupted when a man with blonde hair and suit walked by in front of her. Considering the men dressed in white uniforms who entered with him, they must be marines and he was probably their superior — he was walking like he owned the entire port.

She held back from rolling her eyes in annoyance. Her thoughts ran back to what her friend said about pirates last time, the way they argued back and forth about how pirates aren't good. However, she had her own reasons for claiming that not all pirates were ruthless monsters, without elaborating.

She flinched lightly when she heard the thud of a metal plate falling on the floor, snapping her head towards a little girl who was stuttering apologies to the blonde man. Her eyebrows were pulled together at his angry and loud voice mocking the child who had tears in her eyes, fear seeping through her very bones at the exaggerated reaction.

Apparently, they knocked into each other. Oh, there were two cookies on the floor. One of them got crushed under the man's foot.

She smoothly made her way by the side of the little girl, smiling at her as she crouched down to her level.

"Is everything alright, little one? Did you apologize?" the woman's hand squeezed the girl's shoulder warmly.

Rika's only response was a nod.

"Good job. It's alright, I'll help you clean up. Why don't you bring me a broom, hm?" she coaxed the girl with a gentle voice.

Once the girl walked away, she stood up straight again, arching her eyebrow questionably at the arrogant man by her side.

"Is there anything else I could help you with?"

"What, are you working here? If the answer's positive, then you better teach those stupid kids some manners," he huffed.

"You should teach yourself how to behave," she commented right back, her sharp gaze sizing him up and down.

"Take that back. Next time I won't be so nice," the blonde marine grinned.

Oh, and what an ugly grin it was on that fucker's face.

"You dropped my food," a low voice from behind interrupted.

The young woman turned her head towards the voice, confusion written on her face as she made a few steps back, out of his way. It was the green haired man she noticed earlier, now sitting on one of his knees on the cold floor.

Rika came back with a broom almost twice her size, the object quickly taken from her hold by the woman who smiled at her again. While they exchanged glances, the pirate hunter let himself down on one of his knees, taking some of the crushed cookie into his palm.

A sly smile tugged at the woman's lips. A pirate hunter or not, he had more dignity than a marine even in that kneeling position. She was more satisfied to see the little one smiling.

"Your turn," the green-haired man lowered his voice, a dark glare thrown at the astonished marine.

The pirate hunter raised back up and placed the metal plate on the bat, his intimidating height against the arrogant blonde monkey in front of him telling enough.

"Apologize to the girl," he demanded in a relaxed tone.

"Me? It was her fault for bumping into me. The lady should apologize for disrespecting me."

Apologize, my ass, she thought to herself, one step away from bursting out laughing. What did he take her for?

"Do you want a fight or what?" he drew his sword out, a knowing grin curled on his face. "I don't need three swords to fight."

The woman looked down at the little girl who was still by her side, ruffling her hair.

"Why don't you go to your mother, hm? And stay there until I call you back."

Her stern voice didn't give space for arguing; Rika complied, going to the kitchen.

She heard some muttering and next thing she knew, both of the men in front of her had drawn their swords out. Apparently, the green-haired one decided to advance closer to the marine, in an attempt to keep the fight away from the lady.

Hmph. Swordsmen and their unusual gentlemanly behavior.

Squeezing the broom in between her fingers, she moved away, furrowing her eyebrows in a scowl.

"No fights in here, you jerks!" she scoffed.

Expertly, while the other marines attacked one man — how unethical of them — and swords clashed against each other after sharp whistling noises, the woman swept away the cookies on the floor. She faked doing her own duties, like the good employee that she was, throwing careful glances at the fight happening right next to her. If she wasn't careful enough, she could get sliced in two.

"I advise you to get out of the way," she heard the swordsman's voice growling right after he threw a chair into three men, making them fall to the floor.

"You'll destroy the entire place if I do."

Right after saying those words, without anyone noticing in that damned agitation, with a quick movement of the broom, she made one of the marines trip.

Just like the idiots that they were.

"Oh my god, you should be more careful!" she placed a hand over her lips, fake surprise and fear coloring her features.

Who would believe such an innocent being was capable of such malicious actions?

With a strong creak followed by a thud, one marine was thrown into a table that turned the both of them upside down, groans filled with pain vibrating through the tavern.

She was right about them destroying the place.

However, the commotion didn't cause too much distress to the woman still moving the broom around, acting as if she had business with that newly found weapon. It might not be lethal, but she couldn't be spotted while she was intentionally making the marines' jobs harder. In the month she's been working there, she saw more than just one fight and used everything that she saw fit to stop it — be it a broom or a kitchen knife.

Now that she analyzed the fight better, it seemed like the pirate hunter barely even had to draw his sword out of its scabbard, at some point knocking someone's head into the bar. He used his raw strength and the objects surrounding him, thankfully without destroying any of them. The can he threw into another man's stomach seemed so effortless.

That must've hurt, though.

The blonde marine was quickly pulled by the back of his collar, back colliding with the bar, and an angry swordsman towering over him. She didn't hear anything nor paid attention anymore, eyes focused on the tavern that was ruined only half way through.

She sighed after watching both of the men walking out of there, biting her lower lip to hold back a fit of laughter at the marine who stumbled while being dragged by the bounty hunter.

"Why do men always fight in this tavern?" she talked to herself, raising one of the chairs and putting it back in place. "One day of peace is all I want in this port, only one day, and I can't get even that."

She sighed again, only for that long exhale to get stuck in her throat once her eyes fell on the table that was almost sitting in the opposite way rather than how it should be. Once she approached it, stepping by the marine who was trying to get up.

She would never help someone who had less dignity than a dog following some orders from a brainless monkey. Heck, even those animals were smarter.

Instead, she tried to move the table back in its place. Her fingers were so close to gripping at one side of the table before someone appeared at the opposite side. The young man with a straw hat and a square smile she served only a few minutes ago raised the table by himself, carefully arranging it until he was satisfied with its position.

"Thank you so much for the help," she smiled at him. "Be careful where you step, I think a glass also broke."

There were some shreds on the floor somewhere close to the table the young man sat at earlier.

"Thank you for your concern," he smiled just like the first time.

Gosh, has she ever seen such a beautiful soul? His eyes sparkled and the happiness suited him like it did to a little child who has no clue of the harsh world. However, he didn't seem phased or scared by what happened earlier — his hands weren't shaking at all and there was no fear lingering in his stare.

She turned to take the broom and came closer to his companion, who was sitting under the table. She bent her torso to give him a hand, helping him get back to his feet.

"Careful with the glass, check your hands," she warned again.

"I saw what you did there."

She turned towards the straw hat guy, blinking owlishly at him.

"I don't really get what you mean."

She started sweeping the shred of broken glass, not paying attention to the curious and insistent gaze she was receiving.

"You surely do. I'm Monkey D. Luffy and I'm gonna be King of the Pirates!"

Her eyes widened at the second part of his speech, snapping her head back at him. Without even realizing, her fingers were squeezing the broom quite harshly, fingertips going white.

"That's—" she started in a small voice, blinking like an idiot and staring at him.

She's heard that before. She's heard the same dream before and it brought so much suffering.

"That's dangerous," she finally got the courage to continue, still hesitant.

"You're brave for interfering with their fight."

Luffy looked into her eyes as if he could guess the thoughts running through her head, as if he could read her very soul, drinking in her features and reaction.

"You must've seen wrong," she let out a light chuckle, getting a grip on herself. "I'm just clumsy sometimes."

She was thankful she stopped herself from cussing out the Marines, because in less than a second after she finished her sentence, a few other men dressed in white uniforms appeared to help their comrades back to the base. She casted a skeptical eye at each one of them, like silent warnings.

They were pathetic, some of them still stumbling while trying to get up, their swords thrown around carelessly. After they all disappeared from her sight, her shoulders obviously relaxed again.

"I have to admit I hated each second of staying so much with these idiots around," she huffed quietly. "That spoiled child who takes advantage of his father's status was getting on my nerves."

"That's why you helped that swordsman, right?"

Luffy continued with his supposition, not letting go of what he thought he saw — it was the truth, but it would be dangerous to admit.

"I didn't help anyone, really. That was unintentional."

"Don't press it too much, Luffy," his companion's voice trembled.

"Koby, I know what I saw," Luffy pulled his lips into a straight line.

She resumed what she was doing, sweeping at the pieces of glass, seeing almost each one of them in the light seeping through the window.

"If you want to become King of the Pirates, I suppose you also want to get the One Piece, right?"

She was foolish. She was stupid for asking, for getting herself in such business that somehow always ended with too many deaths, with broken dreams. However, something was nagging in her gut. Deep down, it felt so right to ask.

"Yes! I need the Grand Line map for that and I intend on getting from the Marine Base here."

"You're insane, kid," her shoulders shook with her light laughter.

It was a sour sound.

She stopped, leaning her weight into the broom, looking down at the glass in front of her. She shouldn't help them. She should stay in her place if she wanted those young men to survive. What they were trying to do was basically suicide, they just didn't know. Koby seemed to be more fearful, hesitant and so, so shy. Luffy didn't say "us"; he said "I" — the pink-haired guy was not really part of the plan.

Against better judgment, she raised her head at him, promises sparkling in her eyes just like the shreds of glass.

"You can't just ask for that map and I hope you know that. What you want to get yourself into isn't just dangerous, it's like jumping into a suicide mission," her voice strained, pouring all of her hope in her next words: "However, I can help you get inside. Be careful, you have to make sure no one catches you."

"So I was right about you!" Luffy beamed.

"Right about what?"

"That you're brave."

Her lips opened, but no sound came from between them. It was pointless to deny it when he seemed so stubborn about what he saw and believed.

"I think this is a lot to say about someone who's helping you steal secret maps," the side of her mouth curled upwards.

Koby was left astonished. Stealing from the Marines was suicide.

"Listen here, kid," she lowered her voice, stepping closer to whisper. She set her gaze on Luffy's. "You have to get out of there alive, no matter what. Lie if you have to, but I have a feeling you're very bad at that, so be careful. That isn't a place to fool around in. You could get yourself killed in a blink. The Marines are very sneaky."

"There are good Marines and bad Marines," he shrugged. "Maybe I'll meet someone who's willing to help."

"I like your enthusiasm, but that unit base doesn't fit," she shook her head. "Both Captain Morgan and his son aren't the good kind of people."

She squeezed the broom in between her fingers again, an ugly feeling clawing at her throat. She didn't want a kid to die for following his dreams, but freedom was something she always craved.

"I'll tell you a way to get inside the base from underneath. You have to keep your lips sealed — I don't worry about myself, but about the owner and her daughter. I don't want word spreading around."

"You can count on me!" he placed his hand on his heart, as if he sealed the promise there. "Who are you? I want to know who's helping me."

Damned be his sincerity.

"I'll give you my name after you get out of there alive."

She smiled, eyes sparkling with delicious mischief.

"That is a promise. I'll be around the Marine Base and I'll tell you my name after I see you get out of there alive."

That seemed to stir something in Luffy's soul, inhaling with pride. A man of his word, indeed, just like she thought.

"Deal.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

Her name left the lips of a scolding mother, even if it wasn't her mom.

"I saw you." The second time she heard tthat same phrase in one day.

Annie patted the tip of her shoe against the floor repeatedly.

"I was just lucky enough not to get myself in trouble," she shrugged.

However, her eyes fell on the floor, guilty about getting caught like a deer in the light.

"You could've gotten yourself in big trouble!" the owner of the tavern raised her voice.

Rika pouted up at her mother, trying to sweeten her reaction.

"She just wanted to help, just like—"

"Rika," this time, the scolded one firmly spoke her name. "Don't take me as an idol. It's true that something could have happened."

The little girl shouldn't worry about such a bloody world just yet and she wanted to help it for as long as possible. Being stubborn was a death sentence, even if she would always get herself into trouble if it meant to stick to her principles.

She'd rather die on her feet than live on her knees.

"Just because this time everything was fine, it doesn't mean next time will be the same," Annie exhaled loudly, frowning.

"There won't be a next time," the young woman sank her chin in her chest. "I should leave these days. Soon enough, word will spread out about my tarot and palm readings. I don't want to cause you any more trouble."

"You little witch," the usual scolding was replaced with a warm nickname.

She raised her head again, struggling to smile. Leaving after she got attached always hurt.

"That man was Roronoa Zoro, wasn't it?" Annie asked, her body suddenly tensing.

"Most probably," she shrugged. "Three swords, three earrings. He put on quite a show, to be honest," the words were followed by a chuckle.

"I see the way your eyes are sparkling. Don't even think about getting into some conversation with such a troublesome person."

"What could do some adventure to a poor soul like me?" she teased.

"It could bring you six feet under."

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

"I'm no witch, you idiots!" she struggled against the harsh grip the two men had on her arms.

She hissed when one of them sank his fingertips in her upper arms, glaring at him.

Shithead marines.

She continued writhing and struggling, stomping her feet into the ground in an awful attempt to stop them. She intended on keeping her promise after she helped the straw hat sneak into their base. She waited for as long as it was necessary after she gathered her things in a bag that hung around her shoulders. She was supposed to leave that place after she made sure the kid was alright and alive.

"God dammit!" she shouted. "How many times do I have to explain I'm not doing anything wrong?!"

"You're lying to people and receiving money, filthy witch. You're a thief," one of the men commented as they continued walking her away from the port.

"I didn't steal shit!" she snapped.

"Watch out!" she heard a familiar voice.

Instantly, she bent her torso down. The man on her right was punched in the face with so much force he released her grip on her and stumbled into the marine on her left, both of them now on the ground.

She didn't even get enough time to process what was happening, something curling around her waist carefully, but so fast. A yelp left her lips when she realized she was being lifted off the ground, turning her head towards the source.

It was the straw hat's arm. He ate a devil fruit, didn't he?

He was on a boat that was sailing a few meters away in the sea and she was being pulled towards him. She also recognized the pirate hunter from earlier and a woman with orange hair, both of them far too relaxed for what was happening.

That guy was made of rubber!

She recognized Koby who just got to his feet after she got past him, her feet finally touching something solid again. She blinked confused at the straw hat.

"You can't bring everyone that you like on this ship," the swordsman let out a hopeless sigh.

She busted out laughing like a maniac, the colorful and rich sound filling the air. Her shoulders shook and she had to place her hand over her stomach, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Obviously, her reaction was met with an especially questionable look coming from the swordsman, who most probably thought he got on a ship with another insane human.

"You're insane, kid," she wiped the tears in her eyes with her fingers, still smiling widely.

She hasn't felt such relief in years.

"I guess I gotta fulfill a promise, right?"

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