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steddieas-shegoes · 2 days ago

Text

uh oh, feelings

for @corrodedcoffinfest popup event 'it's complicated'

rated e, 18+, minors dni | 4,512 words | cw: open ending, steve/gareth sex | tags: established steddie, NOT cheating they're all super cool and fine with this, eddie watches, virgin gareth, first time, bottom steve, top gareth, blowjob, anal fingering, anal sex, left open on purpose because i'm insane and might continue it

also on ao3

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“Dude. You’re making me sad.”

Gareth groans. “I don’t care. I feel pitiful.”

“That’s ‘cause you are,” Eddie pushes his shoulder. It’s playful, but there’s a hint of actual annoyance in it and Gareth doesn’t want that. “There’s, like, a whole crowd of women out there who would fuck you if you asked.”

“I don’t want the whole crowd of women. I want one woman, maybe two.”

“You’re not going from zero to two. So knock down your expectations a little,” Eddie starts. “Also, just throwing this out as an option: plenty of men would be interested in you, too.”

“Yeah? Like who?” Gareth scoffs.

It’s not that he hasn’t thought about it. He has. Plenty of times. More often than he’d ever admit to anyone, especially Eddie.

“I dunno. Steve?”

Gareth blinks once, twice.

“Steve who?” He only knows one Steve and that Steve is very taken by the man hounding him about his virginity right now.

Eddie throws the pillow he’s holding at Gareth. “My boyfriend, Steve! ‘Steve who?’ Fuck, dude, how many Steves do you know?”

“I dunno! Sorry for not assuming you want me to sleep with the love of your life I guess!”

“Everyone wants to sleep with Steve,” Eddie shrugs as if he’s cool with everyone wanting to sleep with Steve.

“Not everyone,” Gareth insists, but he’s not actually sure. Steve is the hottest guy they know. “I don’t think.”

“But you do.”

Gareth stays silent. This feels like a trap. He doesn’t think Eddie would get pissed or anything if he admits it, but he doesn’t want Steve to find out.

“It’s okay if you do. Steve would totally fuck you.”

Gareth’s mouth drops open. “He would not.”

“He would,” Eddie nods. He’s smirking like he’s teasing, but Gareth thinks he’s actually being very serious right now. “Ask him.”

“I’m not gonna ask your boyfriend if he’d fuck me!”

“Don’t ask him outright!” Eddie throws his arms up. “Jesus, no wonder you’re a virgin. Flirt with him, see if he flirts back.”

“Is this some kinda fucked up friendship test?” Gareth stands and starts pacing. Steve will be on the bus any minute and there’s no way he should hear any of this conversation. He’ll cut off Gareth’s balls for even suggesting he cheat on Eddie. He’ll hang them out the tour bus window while Gareth dies on the floor and post an ad for a drummer at their next stop. “Or are you testing Steve? I’m not gonna be a part of that, man. Steve loves you and I’m not getting in the way-“

“Dude. It’s not a test. Get it out of your system and then maybe you can focus on something other than your miserable state of existence,” Eddie walks to his bunk and Gareth is reminded immediately that they’re all sleeping on the bus tonight. Eddie’s plan isn’t gonna work.

“It can’t be tonight,” Gareth is surprised at his own words, shocked that he’s apparently entertaining the idea of fucking Steve. Getting fucked by Steve? “Is Steve a top or bottom?”

Eddie laughs loud enough to make Gareth flinch.

“You’ll find out soon.”

~~~

Soon is two days later, when they finally have a two day break so they can stay in a hotel. None of them stray far, always choosing to be in adjoining rooms and getting room service instead of trying to go out. It’s just easier; no worrying about being seen by fans or trying to book enough security for them to stay safe.

Goodie and Jeff are in the hot tub downstairs, probably trying to pick up chicks, so naturally Gareth is sitting in Eddie and Steve’s bed while they finish their dinner. He’s not worried about being a third wheel, especially not since Eddie told him that Steve would fuck him. He’s still not sure he would.

“Steve, you’ve taken most of Hawkins’ virginity, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, huffs a ‘smooth’ under his breath. Steve doesn’t even flinch. He finishes chewing, swallows, and sits back in the rolling chair he insisted on staying in while he ate.

“I wouldn’t say most. A good chunk,” Steve smirks. “Why? Trying to take someone’s virginity?”

“Yeah. Mine.”

Gareth slaps his hand over his own mouth. He feels absurd. He feels like he might puke. He thinks his heart is trying to escape his body via his throat or maybe his ass. He’s unsure if gravity is involved at all, actually.

“You’re a virgin?” Steve chokes on nothing. “Eddie, you didn’t tell me he’s a virgin.”

“I didn’t know you needed to know this about my best friend,” Eddie laughs, ignores the way Gareth is watching them with wide eyes.

“I can’t believe I couldn’t tell,” Steve is shaking his head, looking more disappointed with himself by the second. Gareth isn’t sure what to make of it. He thinks he’s supposed to feel ashamed, but he doesn’t. Not yet. “I can spot them from a mile away.”

Eddie snorts, but doesn’t comment. He’s stuffing his face with his dinner, and Steve’s eyes are focusing on Gareth in a way he isn’t familiar with from anyone, let alone…Steve.

“Uh…how exactly do you know from looking at someone?” Gareth dares to ask.

“Oh, it’s easy. I can’t tell you, but you might figure it out soon,” Steve answers, shoving another bite into his mouth and then standing up.

“How will I figure it out?”

“Because you won’t be a virgin anymore.”

“O…kay?”

There’s no way it’s this easy, right? There’s no way Steve is offering to fuck him and there’s no way Eddie’s just okay with it.

“Eddie, what’s your color on this?” Steve asks.

Eddie looks between them for a moment. “Green,” Eddie smirks. “But I’m watching.”

“Watching what?” Gareth knows what. He can’t believe it’s happening, but he knows.

“You cool with fucking me? Or do you prefer me fucking you? I’m good either way.”

Straight to business it seems. Gareth is chubbing up a little already. What the fuck is going on?

“Yeah, uh.” Gareth swallows around his nerves. He performs in front of thousands of people every night. He can fuck Steve Harrington. “Yeah, I can fuck you. That’s good. Cool.”

Steve raises a brow, looks to Eddie, then back to Gareth. “Is it because he’s gonna watch?”

Gareth shakes his head. He’s fine with that part. Honestly, it might help keep him from throwing up if Eddie’s there. Eddie’s seen him in every state of undress, and every emotion, and he trusts him more than anyone else.

“Is it because it’s me?” Steve steps closer. Gareth’s asshole tightens. It happens when he’s nervous, okay? It’s like fight or flight, except no matter what he chooses, nothing’s getting in his asshole or out of it.

“I mean, it’s not not because it’s you. I’d be nervous about anyone. I guess it’s just…like you do realize that you’re with Eddie, right?”

Eddie and Steve both laugh and it makes Gareth feel dumb.

“Yeah, I do. I love him a hell of a lot,” Steve finally says. “And he loves me a lot. And we both love you and want you to stop moping.”

“You’re not in love with me though?” Gareth has to clarify. He loves Eddie, and he loves Steve, but not like that.

“No, dude,” Eddie exclaims. “Neither of us wanna make you a third. You just need to get over this thing in your head that losing your virginity is the end all be all of your life or something. I can’t stand the face you make anymore. Steve’s sick of me complaining. We love you in the way where if we have to see that face anymore, we’ll bury your body on the interstate so.”

“Right. Okay.” Gareth nods because that makes sense. It’s hard to figure out how this is gonna work later on, after he’s seen Steve like this, after Eddie’s seen him like this. “So, we’re doing this.”

Steve doesn’t answer with words. He gets close enough to pull Gareth into him, kisses the corner of his mouth as a test.

It’s a little weird, but that’s because he was under the impression they wouldn’t kiss. He assumed this was a get in, get out situation. Get the job done and move on. He didn’t expect it to be soft.

“C’mon,” Steve whispers as he pulls back, smiling encouragingly at him. He takes his hand and leads him to the bed. “You know how to get me ready?”

Gareth nods. He’s messed around with himself plenty of times to know what to do, what feels good, what’s too much. He doesn’t know what Steve likes, but he can figure it out as he goes.

Steve takes his shirt off. Eddie groans.

“You look so good,” he groans. “I wanna touch you, too.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Not now. Let Gare have this, baby.”

“He can…he can touch you. If you want,” Gareth says. “I dunno if I want him to touch me, though.”

Eddie’s hand goes to his chest dramatically. “No? My nimble fingers aren’t good enough? Fine!” He smirks. “I’m good just watching. This is for you. I get to touch him all the time.”

Steve is slipping his pants off quietly, letting them have this moment.

“Normally, I’d make you take my clothes off, but I think you know how to do that,” Steve teases. “Unless you’re unfamiliar with this model of jeans.”

“Levi’s?” Gareth takes his own shirt off. “Half my closet is thrifted Levi’s, dude.”

And then they’re both standing in just their underwear. Gareth’s in boxers that he doesn’t remember washing in his last round of laundry, and Steve’s standing there in the tightest gray underwear Gareth’s ever seen, already half-hard.

His dick is huge. Like, way bigger than Gareth’s, maybe also Eddie’s. He’d need to see them both at once to compare, but-

“We’re gonna use colors, even though it’s not a scene, okay? Just so you’re comfortable. Red is stop, yellow is pause, green is good. Use them anytime. If Eddie sees something I miss, he’ll ask you randomly, okay?” Steve pulls his underwear off.

He’s just…naked. Comfortably standing in front of Gareth with his dick out and leaning to the left, getting harder the more Gareth watches him. Who knew Steve was into being watched?

Gareth drops his boxers and he is fully hard. Achingly so. His dick pulses when Steve’s eyes drop down to get a look. Steve’s lips curl up into a smile.

He walks up to him, drops to his knees, and gets his hand around the base. Gareth’s breath catches.

Steve licks a stripe up his dick, sucking the head into his mouth before he takes him all the way down.

“Jesus,” Gareth moans. He’s got pretty good stamina when it’s just him. His dick is sensitive, but he knows how to edge himself. He kinda likes doing it on nights when they’ve got a hotel. He can shove his face into the pillow and get himself close four, five, six times before he shakes apart. He doesn’t know if he can hold back with his dick leaking down Steve’s throat. “Do you not have a gag reflex? Fuck.”

Steve smiles around him somehow, and Eddie is trying hard not to make noise, but Gareth can hear him huffing a laugh against his hand.

Steve pops off for a moment, looks up at him with a grin. “You can touch me.”

Right. His hands immediately go to Steve’s hair, threading through the locks and pulling him in again. He’s under no impression that he’s in control here. He’s just gonna try to keep both hands on the steering wheel while Steve hits the gas pedal.

His fingers tighten when Steve’s tongue swirls around his tip. Steve moans. The vibrations are enough to make Gareth’s legs feel weak.

“Shit. Bed, bed, bed,” he’s saying as he tugs Steve off of him and to his feet. He crushes his lips to Steve’s, any lingering doubt in his mind that this was gonna ruin their friendship long gone. He’s gonna fuck Steve and make him feel good, and Steve’s gonna return the favor, and then he’s gonna keep annoying Steve for the rest of time.

He could throw Steve on the bed, but Steve’s faster. He pushes Gareth down on his back, straddles his hips, and pushes his hands above his head.

Shit, that’s hot.

“How am I gonna get you ready if you have my hands way up there?” Gareth is nothing if not a little shit.

But Steve is also a little shit.

“You’ll figure it out,” Steve’s ass is brushing against his dick and he’s trying not to think about how it will feel inside him. But the more he thinks about not thinking about it, the more he realizes he’s gonna be inside Steve very soon. His restraint is flying out the window and up the street.

He feels Eddie’s eyes on them, but he’s decidedly not thinking about what he might be doing. If it were him in Eddie’s shoes, he’d be jacking it relentlessly.

Gareth is pretty strong. Like, he plays drums every day. Got used to lugging equipment around before they had people who did that for them. Started lifting weights occasionally when no one was watching. He likes being strong, he likes the way his muscles ripple when he’s beating the hell out of his snares and cymbals, angry but beaming from ear to ear.

He likes the way Steve moans when he throws him off of him, switching their positions in less than two seconds.

He doesn’t feel the need to say anything. Steve’s blushing, a pretty pink color across his face and neck, and his lips are swollen from sucking his dick and biting his own lips. Seeing Steve like this is life-changing.

It’s not a falling in love moment, but it’s a moment where he can see why Eddie did.

There’s always a certain charm floating around Steve, and it shifts now, while he’s under Gareth. It’s brighter, damn near blinding. Steve’s glittering gold, intensely blazing as Gareth’s hands run down his chest and sides. He adjusts so he’s sitting between Steve’s legs, pushing them back.

He hears Eddie groan from a few feet away. He’s ignoring it.

“You guys have lube?” Gareth asks.

Eddie throws a bottle on the bed.

“Thanks.”

Stupid of him to assume they went anywhere without some. They fucked like rabbits. He’s pretty sure if Steve could get pregnant, he would have had at least two accidental babies by now.

Gareth stares at the bottle in his hand.

“Still green?” Steve asks quietly.

“Yeah, sorry.” Gareth opens the bottle and uses entirely too much. It’s a different brand than he uses, and he’s nervous, and he can feel two sets of eyes watching his every breath and it’s- “Yellow.”

Steve sits up and takes the bottle from him. He hears Eddie step closer for a moment, as if he’s gonna try to fix it even though he isn’t technically involved in any of this.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, soft, careful. Unlike any way he ever talks to Gareth.

He kinda hates it. He likes when Steve’s a bitchy know-it-all to him. He likes when Steve gets frustrated at the way he pretends to be dumber than he is about band stuff.

“I just need a minute, I think,” Gareth admits. “This is a lot.”

“Okay,” Steve waves Eddie off and places both hands on Gareth’s face. It’s intimate. It blocks the outside world from view. It feels like it’s just them right now. “It won’t hurt my feelings if you wanna stop. It’s not me, it’s you.”

Gareth snorts. There’s the bitchy Steve he’s always loved.

“I don’t wanna stop. I just realized I’m fucking my best friend’s boyfriend while he watches and it’s taking me a second to wrap my head around that being a normal thing,” Gareth explains. He’s ignoring the way Steve’s dick is rubbing against his. He said yellow, so they have to stay paused until he’s mentally good to go. He knows that much.

“Should Eddie not watch?” Steve asks. As if Eddie would allow Gareth to fuck Steve without being there.

“No, that’s-” Gareth sighs. “I don’t care if he watches. It’s just a lot.”

“Yeah. You’re doing good, though.”

The praise sinks deep into his skin, courses through his veins. He isn’t able to hold back a whine. Holy shit, where did that even come from?

Steve looks thrilled.

“Oh. Well, this is interesting,” Steve says around a smile. “Didn’t think it would go like this.”

“Like what?”

Gareth feels unmoored. Something’s shifted. The entire room feels darker, heavier.

“Stevie, be nice,” Eddie says from a chair. Gareth didn’t even know there was a chair in the corner.

“I am being nice,” Steve doesn’t look away from Gareth. “This is just shocking information and I’m taking it in. Learning. Growing.”

“What information?”

“We won’t do anything with it tonight. But we’ll talk about it after. You gotta stay safe if you decide to try anything with someone and I won’t let someone hurt you.”

“Try what?”

“Later,” Steve pats his cheek and lays back again. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m right here. Take your time, honey.”

The name feels like honey, dripping between them and making them sticky. Gareth wants to lick the word from Steve’s mouth.

Gareth watches as Steve puts his hand on his own dick, lazily stroking to keep himself hard. He can’t look away. A bead of precum falls, drips down his length until his thumb swipes it up, rubs it into his skin.

He licks his lips.

His fingers ghost over Steve’s hole.

“Good?” Steve asks, breathless.

“Green,” Gareth answers as he slides a lubed-up finger into him.

He’s tight, but there’s really no resistance. Steve’s relaxed. Gareth’s relaxed.

Steve rocks back into his touch, eyes glassy as he silently begs for more. It’s easy to read him when he’s like this, wanting more, being greedy in ways no one else ever sees. Steve’s a giver, the least selfish person of all of them, but not now. Now he wants.

Now Gareth is gonna give.

He’s three fingers deep when he manages to find Steve’s prostate. It’s easier on himself, he realizes. He’s spent years figuring out what makes himself tick. He has to watch every rise of Steve’s chest, every twitch of his brow, every bite of his lip. This is finding what makes someone– Steve– feel good, and doing it so they find pleasure.

Gareth sees why they fuck like rabbits.

Steve’s back arches off the bed as he flicks his fingers just right, rubs until he’s sure Steve’s gonna squirm right off the bed. Eddie’s barely even a thought in his mind right now, but he can feel his gaze. He’s making sure Steve’s taken care of, and he’s making sure Gareth doesn’t need to back out. He’s taking care of them in the only way he knows how.

He wants to hand over the reins. Steve’s taking what he’s giving, but he wants him to take more.

He doesn’t know how to verbalize that without sounding desperate.

But something switches between them and Steve seems to just know.

He’s an intuitive guy.

Steve sits up, waits for Gareth to remove his fingers. He pushes Gareth back on the bed, so his head is resting at where the sheets have gathered at the foot.

He straddles him again, throws his hands up above his head again, smirks again.

“Condom?” Steve asks.

Gareth knows from his mom, from health class, from Eddie, from Steve he should say yes. If this were a stranger, he’d say yes.

But this is Steve, who insists on everyone getting tested every three months like clockwork, who has only slept with Eddie for the last six years, who would never even ask if he was at all concerned about their safety. He’s letting Gareth make the call on something that’s normally important. It’s not a test, it’s just Steve letting him have control.

“Can we do it without?” Gareth’s voice is barely more than a whisper. He’s shy. Why the fuck does he feel shy?

Steve nods, soft smile taking over.

“But never do it without with anyone else unless you’re in a committed relationship and both clean,” Eddie says from the chair, ever the mother hen.

“Yes, dad,” Gareth rolls his eyes.

“Don’t call me dad while you’re fucking my boyfriend,” Eddie says.

“I’m not fucking him yet,” Gareth’s words end in a whine as Steve slides down on his dick. He’s so fucking tight, Jesus Christ on the fucking cross. “Holy shit. Is it this tight all the time?”

Steve breathes out, halfway laughs, halfway trying to not whimper.

“Eddie usually does four fingers first,” Steve says. It doesn’t even feel weird to hear him talk about what Eddie normally does.

“Should I have done four?”

“No, honey. Three is good,” Steve leans down to kiss him.

Gareth’s stomach flutters.

He’s inside Steve. His dick is in Steve’s ass.

Steve lifts his body up, falls back down. He holds onto Gareth’s chest, thumbs at his nipples, finds a rhythm.

He knows Steve is athletic, has always been that way and probably always will be that way. He’s got endurance that no one can match, probably not even Eddie. He’s stronger than Gareth by a mile, and it shows when his thigh muscles tighten and relax as he rides Gareth into the mattress.

His pace picks up. Gareth’s hands hold onto his hips, but he’s not really doing anything. He’s just along for the ride.

What a ride it’s been.

“Fuck, yes, there,” Steve gasps suddenly. His legs start shaking. Eddie makes the most high-pitched whine Gareth’s ever heard. It’s a lot all at once and his brain is dumbed down to processing how good he feels and nothing else. “Fuck me, honey. Harder.”

It’s ridiculous how easily he goes along with Steve’s demands now. Normally, he fights him on everything just to be annoying.

But Steve wants him to go harder and he wants what Steve wants.

His grip tightens against Gareth’s hips and he plants his feet against the bed for leverage. If Steve’s wants to get fucked harder, then Steve’s gonna get fucked harder.

“Shit, yes, feels so good,” Steve pants.

Gareth doesn’t know if he’s always like this or if he’s playing it up a little to make him feel more confident for whoever he fucks next. Either way, Steve’s making this a hell of a fun time.

“Is it good for you, honey?” Steve asks.

How he remembers to ask is beyond him. Gareth can’t do anything but nod and moan. He feels sweat beading along his forehead and neck. He doesn’t do this much work unless he’s on stage.

“Tell me how good it is.”

Gareth whimpers. He didn’t even realize he could make that noise.

“So good. So tight, Steve, shit,” Gareth is moving faster now, and he’s really not sure how it could feel good for Steve at this point, but Steve’s eyes roll back in his head and he comes all over them.

He’s impossibly tighter through his orgasm and it brings Gareth to his own peak. He’s shaking through it, not even sure what he’s saying. His hips stutter and stop and he’s filling Steve up with his cum. It’s already dripping back down his own dick, making a mess on the hotel bed.

Steve is brushing his hair out of his face, kissing his jaw, whispering about how good he did. It’s helping and also making it harder to keep this from getting complicated.

No one warned him about the attachment. He figured it would be fine, he could get off with Steve and then they could pretend it didn’t happen or joke about it. He’s crashing from a high he’s never experienced and he’s realizing how stupid he was to think he could ever look at Steve the same.

“Shit, Eddie, come here,” he hears Steve say, but he doesn’t really feel anything anymore. He knows he’s not inside Steve anymore, which kinda sucks. He likes the warmth, might already be a little addicted to it. “It’s okay, Gare. We’ve got you.”

Strong arms wrap around him, familiar in the way they don’t hesitate to pull him close. Eddie’s always been a cuddler, and he’s always known how to hold Gareth when his head’s too loud. Right now his head is silent, but his arms provide the same comfort.

A warm washcloth is on him and he blinks his eyes open to see Steve cleaning him up. Eddie’s behind him, holding him against his chest. He’s fully dressed and Gareth is not.

But he just fucked his boyfriend in front of him, so he guesses this is probably fine.

Eddie’s humming something. He doesn’t recognize it, but he’s still feeling a little out of it.

“Hey, honey,” Steve is next to him now, his hand on his chest. “You with us yet?”

“Mmm,” is all he can reply with.

“It’s alright. Take your time.”

A few minutes pass. He feels less like he’s having a crisis about feelings for Steve and more like he just got fucked within an inch of his life.

It’s a good change.

“Hey,” he says.

Eddie’s arms tighten around him. Steve smiles.

“Hey, bud,” Steve says, and it makes Gareth laugh.

“What happened to honey?” He jokes. But he did kinda like it. More than he probably should.

Steve gently smacks his chest. “I was making you feel special, jackass.”

Gareth sighs. “I know. I did.”

Steve has his underwear back on, but nothing else. Gareth can feel his thigh brushing against his. He’s a hairy son of a bitch.

“Was it good?” Steve asks.

“It was great. Thank you for doing that for me,” Gareth hates how his voice sounds now, a little broken, scared.

“You don’t have to thank me, Gare,” Steve says, careful and calm. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to.”

“It’s true. Steve’s a stubborn bitch,” Eddie butts in. “Can’t get him to do anything he doesn’t wanna do.”

Gareth giggles, ducking his head down. He still feels a little delirious, maybe a little too sleepy for this conversation.

“You wanna stay with us tonight?” Eddie continues.

“Can I?”

“‘Course you can, bud. Need me to get you anything?”

Gareth shakes his head. He just needs sleep. Maybe in the morning, once he’s separated from this a little, he’ll have some coffee and a bagel and he’ll get over this feeling in his chest that’s trying to override the adrenaline of finally having sex.

He doesn’t know what to make of it right now.

But one thing his mom always says is to sleep on hard feelings. If it’s important, it’ll be there in the morning, and it might make more sense.

He sure hopes so.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #gareth stranger things #stranger things #corroded coffin fest #steve x gareth #steve x eddie #bottom steve harrington #top gareth #eddie is just here to watch #and to take care of his best friend when the feelings kick in

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withered-rose-with-thorns · 3 days ago

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It makes me so anxious to think about how many creators don't know their work is great.

Artists who don't know that people love their art, fanfic writers who have no idea their story brightens someone's day, a gifmaker who's unaware that others think their editing skills are bomb.

And the people who remain silent probably do so thinking that the OP must know their work is brilliant.

But even if they do, it's still nice to give them a compliment, isn't it?

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knockknockitsnickels · 2 days ago

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Happy Valentines day here's a drawing of my wife crying

#slay the princess #stp #stp hea #this was originally part of a sacrifice the yourself thing #bc the narrator & princess' dynamic in my silly swap au makes me insane #stp narrator #(that's who the lil bird guy is)#art #ramble alert for the rest of the tags: i've kind of been thinking of an additional interpretation of HEA recently #what with it being the only 'epilogue' in the game which was added in its final content update #as of right now i still have a lot of fanart ideas for this game and im not done talking about it for the foreseeable future #bc im a certified yapper #but there's also been a part of me that just feels sad that like. aside from some merch the game is over #and eventually the community's going to be way less active #and that's sad both bc the game means a lot to me #and im fond of a lot of the community members. there are familiar faces who im happy to see whenever they pop up in the tag #but HEA is partially just about knowing when to let a good thing end #but it still matters. you still care about it #and the ending can also be a new beginning #Sorry if this makes no sense but also it's valentines day and im single im allowed to be sappy alright #anyway that dramatic speech is going to age poorly when i post like a billion drawings of the fury

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sorchaivy · 3 days ago

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Honestly I would settle for being able note why I blocked them.

Porn blog

TERF

Porn blog

Nazi

AI poster

Business posting ads

Crocheter posting into the knitting tag

TERF

Cryptobro

Vibes are off

Just, that'd be awesome to be able to do that.

Wish we could customize how we block people

this one is allowed reblog my posts, but not allowed to add anything to my posts

this one is allowed to see my blog and reblog my posts like normal, but I don't want to see any of their awful posts

unlike button 👎 so you are aware of my displeasure

if enough mutuals vote together we can divorce that annoying mutual-in-law from our beloved mutual

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ghouljams · 1 hour ago

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Alone on Valentine's Day? Mad at your ex?

Rating: E Words: 17.5k Tags: Gaz x f!reader, insecure!reader, bad breakups, past cheating(but not by Gaz or reader), shitty exes, fluff, manipulation, subtle interrogation techniques, non-consensual filming, non-consensual photography, minor dollification kink, minor intox kink, touch starved!reader, oral (m and f receiving), face sitting, unprotected sex, piv sex, dick piercings, non-con (off screen) creampie, non-consensual photo sharing Summary: In a fit of pettiness and self loathing you respond to a personal ad online. You get a lot more than you bargained for out of it.

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

<- Alone on Valentine’s Day? Mad at your ex?

[casual encounters]

“Did your partner recently break up with you? Want to look like you’re doing better without them?

I’m a recently turned 30 former special services operative (currently in private security) and, at risk of sounding like a complete ass, a fairly good looking man.

What I can provide to you:

-A full day of “dates” that you can photograph and post on social media for your ex to see.

-The full boyfriend experience for videos and even an “accidental” live

-Outfit changes

-Princess treatment so you remember what an asshole they were

The only payment I want is to hear about the fallout afterwards, I live for the drama and my life has been boring lately.

Face card provided upon request.

Serious inquiries only”

-do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers-

It takes a few emails back and forth, an enlistment photo you didn’t believe, a requested picture of the most beautiful man you’d ever seen with a frying pan on his head, and an assurance that you weren’t going to get murder-napped, before you realize maybe you’re a little (incredibly) insane. By then you’re already walking into the cafe you’d agreed to meet Kyle at, so it’s a little too late to back out. Not that you don’t consider it when you lay eyes on him.

Pictures don’t do the man justice, and the pictures were really fucking good. His dark skin is rich and beautifully smooth where it shines in the cafe lights, his lips pout slightly as his eyes scan the menu, and by the set of his shoulders you can tell that under that camel colored peacoat he’s got a body that’d make you drool. He seems to spot you out of the corner of his eye because he turns to smile at you before you can turn tail and run, and God even his teeth are pretty.

Which only makes it too bad that the only reason you’re meeting him is because you’re a pathetic mess that can’t get over your ex. Maybe under better circumstances this could’ve been an actual date.

He raises a hand in greeting and you try not to look like you’re rushing over to him, plastering on a smile and holding out your hand to properly introduce yourself. Kyle’s hand is warm and pleasantly worn when it slides against yours. His ad said he was in private security, do they work with their hands enough to have calluses? He says your name like he was made to, lets the syllables shape his lips in a way that feels purposeful.

“Buy you a cuppa?” He asks, nodding towards the board over the counter.

“Oh,” You glance towards the menu, “that’s really kind, but you don’t have to.” If you expected your response to dull his smile it doesn’t, in fact he seems to glow just a bit brighter, his eyes sparking with something you can’t name.

“Course I do, it’s our first date.” You feel a pop of heat on your cheeks and quickly push it down. Kyle bumps against your side. “Besides, I thought you wanted the princess treatment.”

The heat pops again and you laugh nervously to cover it. “Yeah, I did say that, didn't I?” Kyle nods with a pleased hum.

“Let me spoil you,” He presses, “Show you how your man should act.”

You can’t say it isn’t tempting, and you figure he wouldn’t offer if he couldn’t put his money where his mouth is.

“Alright.” You relent and he wraps an arm around your shoulders to squeeze you into a side hug. You don’t entirely hate it.

“That’s my girl.” You don’t entirely hate that either.

“So,” Kyle starts, dropping his arm back to his side, you almost miss it, “I brought a couple changes of clothes, I figure maybe four or five dates and we’ll be solid?”

“Sounds good to me,” You have about eight different outfits shoved in the back of your car. The idea had felt a little silly when Kyle first brought it up, but you were starting to see the thought behind it.

“And you brought something pretty like I asked?” Kyle taps his fingers against his thigh and for a second you feel a pang of anxiety shoot through you. “I made a reservation for dinner, figured we cap off the slide show with a proper Valentine’s day celebration.” Your anxiety dissipates as quickly as it had appeared and you let out a breath.

“Yeah, wasn’t quite sure what we would be doing so I grabbed a couple dresses.”

“Oh good,” Kyle grins at you, “my pick then.” You laugh off the joke just in time to make it to the front of the line.

You’re strangely nervous by the time you actually sit down with Kyle to drink your tea. You’d made smalltalk while waiting for your drink, but now it felt almost like a date. You had some prerequisite questions you’d asked him just to make sure you weren’t going to be meeting some creep, but you don’t really know Kyle. You’re going to be spending the day with him, but he’s still a stranger to you.

“So,” You start, trying to think of something to talk about. Kyle cuts your thoughts short.

“Let’s get a picture.” He tugs his phone from his coat pocket and you fumble to do the same, scooting your chair closer for a picture together. Kyle laughs. It sounds rich and genuine, the sort of laugh that always sounds good humored, that makes your cheeks warm just a little in embarrassment. He shakes his head as it leaves him. “Cups together, doll.” He tells you, “Try to keep my face out of the pictures, keeps an air of mystery you know?”

“A soft launch.” You nod, pressing your cup against his and pulling your phone close to your face to get a picture of your hands. Kyle has nice hands, a thick ring on his middle finger that catches the attention of the photo in a distinctly masculine fashion. “Oh!” You set your cup down and twist to rummage through your purse, tugging a lipgloss free and flipping the camera.

You’re careful to apply it as precisely as you can manage with Kyle bumping against your side to peek in your camera. You laugh and shove at him when he wiggles his brows at you through his reflection.

You press your lips to the opening of your cup’s lid to leave a nice crisp stain and hold the cup out for Kyle to press his against as well. You turn your cup so the name is visible and snap another picture. Looks good, definitely couple-y. Let’s see Brad say that’s fake.

“Looks good.” Kyle echoes your thoughts, looking over your shoulder at your screen. You lock your phone and smile up at him, only to lean back. You hadn’t realized how close he was. You’d really scooted your chair right up next to him.

You try to scoot back to your original position and Kyle pulls your chair back with a hand under your seat. The motion is so unexpected and sudden that you let out a nervous laugh and try to move away again. Only to find your movement stopped by the hand that still grips your seat.

“Wait,” He insists, changing his ring for a watch from his pocket, “one more.” You hold your cup up and he shakes his head. “Got a mate that takes pictures of his girl, pass me your phone.” You hesitate. You’re not sure you’re comfortable giving a stranger your phone. Even if it’s only briefly.

“I’ll give it right back,” He promises with a sympathetic look.

Which only makes you feel worse, like you’re so clearly attached to your phone that you need pity. You’re not- You stuff down your discomfort and unlock your phone, to hand to Kyle. He twists in his chair to face you and holds the phone up. You smile on reflex and Kyle reaches out to pinch your cheeks between his fingers, squishing your face in a way that makes you wrinkle your nose to keep from making an even worse face. You see Kyle’s thumb tap to take a few pics before he releases you and hands you your phone back.

They’re cute pictures, exactly the sort that you can imagine a doting boyfriend would take. You look like you’re being a good sport tolerating the treatment, but there’s a note of enjoyment that shows through in the sparkle of your eyes.

And despite the fact this picture and the one of your to-go cups were taken in the same place the backgrounds are different enough that you could believe that they were taken on separate dates. This might work.

“These are nice.” You give Kyle his applause, and he nods his head.

“Thank you, thank you, the boys gotta be good for something, yeah?”

“So your friend takes a lot of girlfriend pictures?” You ask, latching onto the single piece of information Kyle’s given you. He makes a sort of non-commital head nodding motion and sips his tea.

“Fiance, not sure she likes all the candid shots, but-” He shrugs.

“I’m sure she loves them, makes you feel wanted when your partner takes pictures of you.” You force a smile. Kyle snorts.

“Speaking from experience?” You feel your smile falter and Kyle’s eyes soften. “I’ll take plenty, don’t worry.” He squeezes your hand, “You could milk me for months.” You laugh and he groans, smacking his forehead to drag a hand down his face. “Fuck me, not like tha’.”

“I appreciate it,” You manage through your lingering giggles, “My ex-” You stop yourself, it’s bad manners to talk about exes on a first date. Kyle gives you a look like he’s waiting for you to finish. You suppose this isn’t a real date, even if you sort of wish it was. “I don’t have any pictures of us.” You say lamely. It feels pathetic to admit. Your ex always told you he didn’t like pictures, but he’s fine taking them with his new girl. Guess he just didn’t like taking pictures with you.

Another squeeze to your hand. You hadn’t realized he was still holding it. You’re not sure how you feel about that. Grateful maybe. You stare at your joined hands and try to categorize the feelings in your chest. Bitter and a little wistful. You’ve realized that you miss being a girlfriend more than you miss Brad, not that he was ever a great boyfriend, but it’s nice being loved.

If he ever loved you.

“That’s good,” Kyle ducks his head to catch your eye and you give him a smile just so you don’t look as pathetic as you feel, “means more camera space for us.” You huff a laugh and he knocks his fingers against your chin. You swat his hand away and Kyle’s hand cups your cheek, reassuringly brief before he grabs his tea.

“So what happened?”

The question catches you off guard, though you should have expected it. He did say in his ad that he liked drama, you must be a veritable buffet in his eyes. You toy with the lid of your cup while you think through how to answer, if you even want to. You have no reason to lie to Kyle, but you also have no reason to tell the truth. Lies will be harder to keep track of, so truth it is.

“We broke up before Christmas.” You tell him. “I’d love to say it was mutual, but I caught him cheating and when he started defending himself I just thought-” You shake your head, “-God he’s not even going to pretend he cares about me, so why do I care about him?” Another shake of your head that turns into a self pitying sigh. “And then he broke up with me. Me! I mean, can you believe it?”

Kyle clicks his tongue. “All that and you didn’t even get to pull the trigger yourself.”

“Yeah.” You let out another breath, shove this one out like a huff, “Yeah it sucked. Still sucks.” You hiss when your nail catches on the to-go lid wrong. You raise your hand to check that you didn’t hurt yourself, and to avoid looking at Kyle. You wish you could say it feels good to get it out, but it doesn’t. “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

“Not at all.” Kyle hums. He sips his tea and you glance his way just to be sure he’s not making fun of you. If he’s so fond of drama he should look pleased, right? But he doesn’t, he just looks at you. He raises a brow over his cup and you blink. Caught. No sense looking away now. "Not your fault the guy was an ass."

You open your mouth but Kyle beats you to the punch.

"You're better off without him."

"I am." You agree, though that knowledge doesn't dull the hurt you still feel over the whole situation. You’ve told yourself you’re better off without him a thousand times, and it’s never helped. Knowing it’s true doesn’t mean you feel it, or believe it.

If you’re being honest with yourself, and you rarely are, you’re more hurt by how well Brad seems to be treating his new girl than you ever were by the realization he was cheating on you. What was wrong with you that he couldn’t treat you like that?

"We're still gonna piss the fucker off." Kyle says before setting his drink down and leaning close. Too close. "Show me his Instagram."

He even holds his hand out, beckons with his fingers to give him your phone a second time. It’s easier this time, there’s already a shred of trust, enough for you to shrug and fiddle with your phone to pull up his profile before handing it over to Kyle.

He spends a few moments scrolling through the profile, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed in distaste, before he nods.

"What a prick."

"I know right?" You give a small smile, feeling more yourself with Kyle insulting your ex. He turns your phone to show you a reel of your ex at the gym. You expect him to make some comment about him posing like a douche or not lifting enough, but instead Kyle shrugs off his coat and holds his arm up to flex for you.

The fitted long sleeve tee positively strains against his bicep and you hope your eyes don't bulge as much as his muscles do. Kyle hums with satisfaction and your gaze darts to his face. The pleased smile he's wearing is somewhere between indulgent and victorious. He drops his arm to grab his cup again and you, God, you don't think you've ever seen a man go from super to unassuming in one small motion. He could pass for any boy-next-door heartthrob from a summer blockbuster.

You sort of want him to lose the shirt. Too bad it's February.

"Brad is going to be so pissed." You manage to mumble, finding the glimmer of rage to pull you back to reality. Kyle's smile splits into a grin. It's really too bad he said to keep his face out of the pictures. He’s got a great smile.

"You got an upgrade," he could say that again, "it's every man's worst nightmare."

"Don't know if I could do much better than you." You joke. Kyle's eyes narrow so slightly that you almost think you imagined it, something distant flickering across his eyes that you can't discern or hold onto. Even his smile seems different, a flash of darkness that you can't find when his grin flashes you.

"How about a second date then," He suggests, "I was thinking ice skating, or the zoo-" You feel a flash of excitement at the prospect of the zoo, you haven't been in ages, but your brain seems to hit the same low note Kyle's does as he frowns, "-might be too cold for the animals though."

"Ice skating is fun." You pick, though it feels like the only option.

Kyle offers you a ride to the rink, and you politely decline. You still don't really know the guy, and who knows what sort of murder shit he has installed in his car. Besides, it's not like you can leave your car at the cafe with all your nice clothes in it. He seems disappointed but doesn't push. You don’t know why that tugs at your heartstrings the way it does. You resolve to take him up on his offer next time, as long as he’s alright with you bringing your suitcase. Mostly because the place is crowded and you’re forced to park at the edge of the car park. The wind whips through your coat like a knife as you walk to the rink, and you feel bad keeping him waiting.

It's clear he didn't mind when you finally walk up to the rink. He holds up two skate rental tickets with a triumphant smile that makes you laugh.

The ice is outdoors, but they’ve set up heating lamps that make it feel cozy enough you don't mind the chill as you stand in line for your skates. Kyle tugs his scarf off and wraps it around your neck carefully, before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and rubbing your arm. He's so warm pressed close like this. A barrier against the lingering chill that you struggle not to cuddle up to.

"Sorry love, should've thought of someplace warmer." He apologizes. You barely feel the cold anymore through the rising heat on your cheeks at the pet name, and don't even hear yourself give the skate girl your shoe size. Had Brad ever called you anything but your name? You don’t think so.

Kyle grabs both pairs of skates before you can hold your hand out, and leads you over to a clear bench. You go to take your skates and he holds them up out of the way.

"Sit," He tells you, so you sit and hold your hands out again. He shakes his head and drops to his knees. "Nope,” he sets the skates to one side and lifts one of your feet to rest on his thigh, “princess treatment you want, princess treatment you're gonna get."

You laugh when he starts undoing the laces on your trainers, then again when he starts trying to shove your foot into the skate. At least Kyle seems to be having fun with it, shaking his head and muttering about being "bloody awful at this."

"You're doing great," You tell him, and he gives you a look.

He pats your skates when he's finished lacing them up and you hang around on the bench waiting for him to finish so you can put your shoes away together.

With how much trouble he had getting your skates on, you expect him to trip as soon as you're out on the ice. He doesn't even flinch stepping onto it, just holds onto your hand and lets you struggle through the first second of adjustment. You push off with your skates and start getting used to the shift of weight that skating requires.

You don’t remember it being difficult, but Kyle hasn’t let go of your hand and you’re not used to compensating for another person’s movement. Not that you entirely mind. His hand is warm around yours and he’s solid when you bump him with your shoulder accidentally.

"This is fun." You smile up at Kyle and someone slams into your side, knocking you to the ice.

Or they would knock you to the ice, but you're quickly caught by your date.

Strong arms tighten around you, Kyle's grip is iron where he grabs you and pulls you against his chest. He’s broad, warm, heat creeps over your body and rises through your cheeks. You blink as you work to get your bearings and guilt starts to eat at you.

You feel the angry expansion of Kyle's breath as he yells after the retreating figure that knocked you over. His chest rising and falling under your hands where your fingers grip his shirt. God, is that muscle you’re feeling?

His hand covers the back of your head and presses you closer when you try to turn. Kyle’s arm blocks your view so you can't get a clear look at the retreating figure, but he looks massive. Too big to be on skates without looking a little silly. He probably didn’t even notice you, might not have even noticed Kyle.

“Fucking dick,” Kyle swears, and for a moment you’re almost scared he’ll chase after the guy, do some macho shit that’ll just get his pretty ass beat trying to “defend” you. Leaving you to defend his own masculinity. Replacing actual affection with meaningless undirected rage in the name of “doing right by you.” Just like your ex.

You physically feel all of his attention shift to you as you tense with anticipation, and his grip softens. “Are you alright, love?”

The air rushes out of you. You hadn’t realized how tense you’d gotten, poised right at the edge of begging not to make a scene. But Kyle’s not like that, and when you look at him it’s clear he doesn’t have anything to prove, he’s worried about you. It makes something forgotten and tiny clench in your chest. Hope.

“I’m fine, just caught me off guard.” You shake your head, enjoying Kyle’s hold of you for a moment longer before moving to stand again. He lets you go reluctantly, his hands sliding over you as if he’s checking to be sure you haven’t been injured somehow. Instead of taking your hand again, he keeps his palm pressed to the small of your back. You're nestled close against his side, and if you’re honest the angle is a little awkward. You don’t mind. You sort of like it. But If Kyle thought this would make skating any easier it definitely doesn’t, and you think he’s struggling too with the way he shifts on his skates.

You wrap your arm around Kyle’s middle to hug him tight in an attempt to make this easier before you can fully think it through. He laughs, and immediately stumbles, sending both of you tumbling to the ice as he overcorrects his counterbalance and falls backwards.

You laugh from the ground and feel Kyle’s body shaking with laughter under you. You’re still giggling as you dust the ice off your hands and fumble through trying to help Kyle to his feet as he does the same for you. Two people tugging at each other and stumbling through the entire process, you feel bright and bubbly and you’ve completely forgotten about being bumped into by the time you and Kyle both get up.

You almost feel bad for the goof given the way Kyle rubs his back, but the smile he gives you tells you he doesn’t mind. You’re breathless from the chill and your own attempts to suppress your laughter during the effort of standing, but you still turn to start skating again. Kyle’s quick to grab your arm and pull you back.

“Wait,” He says, his own smile breathless as well, “picture.”

“Oh, yeah, um,” You glance around for something couple-y to take a photo of and Kyle spins you to face him. His hands stay on your hips, holding you in place. You try to ignore them.

“The skates.” He suggests.

You glance down at where the tip of your skates are bumping against his, they look different enough that you could probably tell which were yours just from a picture. You pull your phone out of your coat pocket and try to avoid headbutting Kyle’s chest while you snap a few pictures. His skates play with yours as Kyle wiggles his feet in and out of a triangle shape. You smile and glance up at him to tell him to hold still.

Again he’s close, his face inches from yours where he’s leaned over to look at your phones. His head tips ever so slightly to look at you better and you feel his breath ghosting over your cheek. You’ve never felt so… caught, like a rabbit that’s just stumbled into a trap, your eyes fixed on him like a lifeline you’ll never reach. But if you look anywhere else-

his eyes dart to your lips and you feel your cheeks flash with heat. He looks away quickly and straightens up, clearing his throat. Maybe you’re not the only one enjoying yourself.

It gives you an idea.

“Let’s get another one.” You offer, tugging him over to the wall that surrounds the rink.

“Alright.” He sounds suspicious, but he doesn’t resist. His skates glide over the ice without resistance and you manage to put him against the wall without issue.

“Ok just right here,” You nod. You hold up your fingers in a square as if you’re lining up the shot and then cozy up next to him, raising your phone for a selfie. Kyle raises a brow, but doesn’t say anything. “Just for us.” You tell him, trying to assure him you’re not breaking his faceless rule.

You set a short timer on your camera and hold your arm out to get the best frame, before you lean up and kiss Kyle’s cheek as the camera clicks. You pull back and grin at Kyle.

“Bet.” He grins, Your phone is slipped from your hand almost as quickly as Kyle pulls you in to kiss you properly.

His lips fix over yours, warm and soft and insistent they part ever so slightly only to pull you in again. Like the gentle lap of waves against a cliffside, the push and pull of a current, he kisses you again and again. The gentle affection of it drips through you like honey, something sweet and indulgent that you want to taste again and again. You should push him away, you barely know him, he’s just some stranger you met online, he could do anything to you.

Yet, your hands find their way to his shoulders as his tongue swipes against the seam of your lips and you part for the warm wet muscle. Your head tips to the side, your nose brushing his, comfortable, fit together like puzzle pieces. You’re pressed close against his chest, your hands curling in his shirt with the intention of pushing him away --one of the many lies you tell yourself-- but-

But he twists his tongue against yours and you feel something breathless bubble up in your chest. Your head is fuzzy and your skin prickles with desire. It’s been so long since you were kissed like this, like you’re worth kissing. Kyle’s tongue traces a gentle path over yours, before his lips are taking over that gentle push-pull again. His teeth dig into your bottom lip curiously, his mouth slipping against your own over and over again in a leading dance.

You can’t help wondering if he’s this good with his mouth in other circumstances. One of your friends once told you that the best way to see how someone’s head was, was to make out with them, and you hadn’t understood what they meant but now? Now you’re starting to think maybe your ex was just bad enough at both that you hadn’t made the correlation. Or hadn’t wanted to…

He pulls back and you push into the kiss, unwilling to let it end when it feels so good. You can feel the curve of Kyle’s lips, the part of them as you press your lips to his teeth and he drags his tongue over your lips. It makes your head spin.

At least Kyle seems to have kept his common sense, pulling away with a searching almost apologetic look. You blink slowly, your eyes heavy as your brain works to piece together what the hell just happened.

“I-” Kyle clears his throat, “usually I wait for the third date before trying anything.” The joke is weak but your head is spinning too much to do anything but nod like an idiot. Kyle glances at your phone, now clutched in his hand. Recording. You feel another flush of heat pass over your face and he hurriedly fumbles to stop the camera.

You press your hands to your face in embarrassment and listen to Kyle mutter quite swears. You glance back at him and find his eyes glued to your phone. You glance at your phone to see the video of him kissing you playing back. You gasp.

“Delete that!” You insist. Kyle holds the phone up out of your reach, his eyes never leaving the screen. A slurry of swears and insults crowd your mind, perv seems to be the frontrunner on your tongue in the brief second it takes him to tap the screen and hand your phone back.

The video is stopped, or maybe it’s a screenshot? Either way it’s just you and Kyle standing there. Kyle’s face is entirely hidden but you recognize your own hair and the curve of your face immediately, even if it’s almost hidden by the way Kyle’s head is tilted to kiss you. It looks like a still from a movie, spontaneous but choreographed. Romantic.

The sort of picture that you’ve always wanted to feature you, somewhere deep in your lonely heart. The main character in your own love story.

You can’t post something like that.

“Not good?” Kyle asks when you’ve been quiet too long.

“It’s fine.” You mumble, locking your phone and stuffing it in your pocket.

“I shouldn’t’ve kissed you.” He winces.

“No that’s not-”

“I’m sorry, it was an impulsive decision. I won’t do it again.” He nods so seriously that it makes panic rise in your throat.

“No!” You’re quick to correct, maybe too quick, “No, it’s-” You take a breath to catch yourself, “-it was nice-” his face falls a little and you correct again, “-good, it was really good I don’t, um- you could do it again, maybe.”

You try to avoid looking at the dazzling grin that seems to bloom over Kyle’s face. He laces his fingers with yours and tugs you back to skating. You think that might’ve been the right answer, because he’s skating just a little faster than before, pulling you along at a pace that makes you breathless. You’re pulled around the rink, weaving between other couples on much more leisurely loops, once and then twice.

It’s a lot of coordination but you’re almost giddy from the rush of it. You feel like a kid racing with your friends to see who can skate faster, playing games with made up rules and finish lines. Kyle never lets go of your hand, his grip so steady and unwavering you wonder how you were having so much trouble earlier. He only slows to swing you around and crowd you close to another section of the barrier. Pinning you, boxing you in with his hands on either side of you to hold onto the wall.

“When?” He asks eagerly.

“When what?” You laugh. He keeps crowding you, like the man’s allergic to personal space. Somehow you don’t entirely mind, you like having his full attention even if that means he’s a little closer than is comfortable. Besides, Kyle’s warm and smells like something sweet but earthy that you can’t put a name to. It makes you want to press your nose against his neck and breathe until you can figure it out.

He might let you given how he’s been acting.

“When can I kiss you again?” His response shakes you from your daydreaming.

“I don’t know,” You try to stifle the laugh this time, though you’re sure it reads clear as day on your face, “buy me dinner first.” You joke.

“How about lunch?” He offers.

“Has to be dinner,” You stand firm, if only because it makes him sigh like you’re asking him to marry you.

“Not open to negotiations then,” You shake your head, “Alright, have it your way.”

“But we should get lunch too.” You’ll give him that, “All I’ve had today is tea and I’m starved.”

“They’ve got changing rooms here.” Kyle bobs his head like he’s thinking, and tugs at the hem of your sweater, “think we’ve run the course on this jumper.”

You must look confused, before you remember you’re supposed to be changing between dates, because Kyle has to turn his head away from you. He covers up his laugh with a cough that you aren’t buying. It’s cute, sort of makes you want to grab his face just to make him smile at you, to hear him laugh properly. Why the hell is this guy advertising a fake dating service on craigslist?

“I’ll grab some clothes from my car.” You nod.

“No rush,” Kyle says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

You suppose it’s because he walked with you to get clothes from your car that he doesn’t offer you a ride this time. He does make a face when he sees your suitcase in the back seat, but aside from offering to help you move it to the trunk, he doesn’t say anything. It's polite, but you feel the distance of it as you walk back to the changing rooms at the rink. You wish he would have offered. It would be annoying having to pick up your car from the park later, but you’d get to spend the extra time with Kyle, and maybe you wouldn't feel this gnawing like you've done something wrong.

Since Kyle gave you options for your "second" date, you give him options for lunch. You know there aren't any wrong answers, especially when you're just pulling nearby restaurants from off your phone's map, but you're a little disappointed when he picks-

"Let's do the other then," He rescinds his choice.

"What?" You look up at him from your phone.

"Let's go to," He leans close to glance at your phone, "Kategna? I'm probably butchering that." He pulls away and you blink at him, "You seem more excited for it."

"Oh, no, I don't-" You wave a hand, "don't think about me, just pick what seems good to you."

"Kategna sounds good," He reaches a hand to tap his fingers under your chin, it's affectionate and patronizing in equal measure, and it makes your face burn like a wildfire, "besides, I don't want to disappoint my best girl."

You glance at your phone and worry your lip.

"Are you sure?" You ask, "It's- we're going to be eating with our hands, if that's not your style-"

"I'm good with my hands love, don't worry about me." He smiles, "Pick somewhere you like, my treat."

He says it like he hadn't assured you the day was on him just a few hours ago. That doesn't stop it from feeling like a treat. It bubbles in your stomach somewhere between guilty and grateful. You should pay if you're forcing him to go somewhere he doesn't want to. You open your mouth and he presses his finger against your lips.

"Ah ah, I told you, it's on me." He moves his finger to tap your forehead, "Don't want to make me a liar, do you doll?"

"If you want to go somewhere else." You couch.

"I want to go to Kategna." He assures you, "Don't think I've had ethiopian since-" He hums thinking, "-probably second to last deployment? That sounds right."

A million questions pop into your head and are just as quickly squashed by Kyle pulling out his phone. You watch him type in the restaurant's name with a spark of disappointment. The feeling of a good date being over creeps up on you before you can remind yourself that you're heading to the next one. Still, you sort of... miss Kyle already.

"I'll see you there," You mumble, turning to power walk to your car before you can say anything stupid. Best not to examine that feeling too closely.

You thank your lucky stars on being able to park near the restaurant and somehow beat Kyle there. You grab a table and wait.

And wait.

You feel your heart starting to sink. You check your phone and realize you don't have Kyle's number. The server swings by to ask about drinks and you assure both of you that you need a few minutes for Kyle to get there. You're not sure you convince yourself, but the server doesn't say anything so you pretend you've convinced them.

You shouldn't be disappointed. You don't really know Kyle, and this wasn't a real date. You had a good time skating, got a decent kiss out of it, and now he's realized you're not worth the trouble of a full day. It hurts, how quickly the feeling of inadequacy seems to creep in. Familiar as an old wound.

You check your phone, reasoning that you'll give him another five minutes when you've already given him ten.

Fifteen minutes.

You resolve to try and enjoy the food by yourself when Kyle finally shows up. He's a little out of breath, and his arm is bent behind his back. It's enough to make you pause, your finger pointing at a tomato salad on the menu and your eyes wide. The server even seems surprised. You're not sure you appreciate that, but your bruised pride swells with relief seeing Kyle hurry to pull out the chair across from you.

"Sorry, love." He huffs. You give him a weak smile, trying not to show the hurt you'd been inflicting on yourself, and he holds out a bouquet. "Saw a shop on my way here," He explains, "thought I'd be quicker."

"Oh." You blink at the flowers. They're beautiful, blue and white with boxwood's soft green breaking up the petals. Little dots of pink peak through the baby blue of the hydrangeas, and you take the paper wrapped bundle from Kyle with a full breath, trying not to look like you're smelling the fragrant bouquet. You can't even remember Brad buying you flowers, he always said it was too expensive for something that was just going to die.

Kyle isn't even dating you and he bought them on a whim.

"Are you ordering?" He asks, settling in his chair and picking up the menu to glance over.

"I'll give you a moment to look over the menu," the server tells him and Kyle waves him off.

"We'll have an order of the tibs wat, the miser alecha, tikil gomen, and-"

"Sambosas?" You cut in and Kyle gives a short huff of laughter. He folds his menu and hands it to the server.

"And two sambosas."

The server nods and you hand over your menu as well. You've never understood the appeal of having someone order for you, but Kyle was so fluid with it. No stuttering or stopping, barely a glance at the menu, and, well, you're willing to forgive a lot given the bouquet. You have to admit though, his choices are smart. A meat and two vegetarian options. Just in case, your brain tells you, because he hasn’t asked if you eat meat and he’s trying to be considerate.

“Thank you,” You start because you aren’t quite sure what to say, but you can’t stand sitting in silence, “The flowers are really nice.”

“My mum always told me if you’re going to be late you better have something to make up for it.” Kyle smiles, “but I’m sorry if I scared you.”

He plucks the emotion right from your chest. Scared isn’t the first option you’d have chosen if you were him. Angry maybe, you can understand being angry that he’s late, but scared? Were you that easy to read? Or maybe it’s just that clear from your… everything… how used to being cast aside you are. Maybe it’s written on you in big black letters right where everyone can see.

Your teeth find your bottom lip to pick at the chapped skin there. Uncomfortable.

“So what do you do for work?” Kyle asks, picking at a stray thread on his jumper. You shake yourself from your thoughts.

“Nothing special,” You don’t dislike the question, but you hate talking about work, “I do some graphic design work.”

“That must run you into the city a lot, know a couple advertising firms that-”

“I work from home,” You stop him, “mostly. It’s easier, I like the quiet.” Kyle nods like he understands. You wonder if he does, or if he’s just being polite. “What about you, you said you served. What got you into security?”

Kyle’s face falls, something different taking over. There’s a coldness to his expression, a wall being thrown up. It leaves you feeling off balance, guaranteeing a misstep.

“My mate, I uh,” He clears his throat and leans his elbows on the table, hunching his shoulders forward, “watched him get shot in the head, sort of a reality check.”

“Oh my God.” You press a hand to your mouth, “Oh my God Kyle, I’m-”

“You didn’t know,” He waves it off, “Happier in private security-” he reassures you with a smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, “-safer than falling out of helos, and I get to take pretty things like you out on the weekend.”

Your body feels like it short circuits, unsure how to take the compliment in the wake of something as tragic as Kyle losing a friend. A memory that you brought up with your poking. God you’re so fucking bad at this. Dating is better left to the people that don’t accidentally bring up the guy’s dead best friend during the getting to know you phase.

“Hobbies?” Kyle asks, reaching for his water. You jump at the chance to talk about yourself. Anything to get the spotlight off Kyle.

“About a million.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood. “I feel like I pick one up and get all the materials just to jump to a different one once I’m ready to start.”

“Roommate must hate that.” Kyle smiles. A wave of relief washes over you seeing a little life return to his eyes.

“Thankfully I don’t have to deal with roommates,” You chat, “my last one was awful, really soured me on living with other people.”

“Don’t tell me that, doll.” Kyle blinks, “pretty thing like you all alone? I’ll worry.”

“Oh no,” You reassure him, “I mean I’m near Tinkham Park, so it’s pretty safe and I lock my door.” Kyle looks relieved and you smile at him to sell your point. “Besides, no one is coming after me.”

You mean it as a joke but Kyle’s brows draw down in confusion.

“Why not? I would.” Something squirms in your stomach, you’re sure he means it as a clumsy compliment especially with the way he winces, so you tamp down the spike of anxiety. “That came out wrong.” He tells you, “You’re beautiful.”

He says it like it’s a fact, like it’ll make you forget the previous sentence. It does. Your cheeks warm and you smile down at your lap with embarrassed glee. Flowers, compliments, a kiss you’re going to daydream over, so far you’d call this a perfect date.

“Let me get a picture.” Kyle’s excitement reminds you, all too clearly, how much of a date this isn’t. He pulls his phone out and you smile as he raises the camera to snap a quick pic. He turns the phone to face you and-

God, you’re not sure if he just got a weird angle or what but you’re seeing a lot of tits in that picture. You glance down at your chest, is your shirt too low? You thought it was cute. Kyle pulls the phone back to look at it with a puzzled expression before it seems to click.

“Oh. Oh!” He taps a few buttons on his phone and tells you, “deleted, how about another one?”

He snaps a few more and swipes through the options before turning the phone back to you.

You’re… pretty, sitting at the table with a wide smile and an excitement behind your eyes that you never saw in any of the photos you took with Brad. You cock your head to the side to inspect in further and deem it worthy when Kyle prods you for an answer.

“Great,” He taps at his phone, “I’ll send it to you.”

“You don’t have my number,” You remind him and he shoots you a devastating grin.

“Then give it to me.”

The server starts setting down plates as you finish enunciating your number, and the smell that hits you makes your stomach growl. Warm, rich spices fill your nose and settle fragrant on your tongue. Saucey meats and soft vegetables, crisp fresh tomatoes and two perfect fried pyramids. You reach for the injera as soon as the server sets a basket of it on the table, unrolling one of the beautifully sour pancakes to start digging in.

It’s an unfamiliar feeling how quickly your eyes go to Kyle’s hands when he tears off a piece of injera for himself. You’re transfixed watching him pinch a piece of chicken and shove the morsel in his mouth. Or maybe it’s the way he licks his lips that does it, pink tongue darting to drag rich sauce off his full lips before dragging along the pad of his thumb. He sucks the digit into his mouth and your stomach drops. You feel a little shudder of something akin to desire ripple through you, chilly but settling warm in the pit of your stomach. His eyes fix on you as he rips another piece of the sour pancake and you rush to pretend you weren’t staring.

Though you can feel his eyes on you just the same as you scoop some of the miser alecha between your fingers and deposit it into your waiting mouth.

It’s embarrassing to think that you put on a show for Kyle, licking the drip of curried sauce off your fingers with a greedy tongue before ripping off another piece. It feels good to be watched. You feel wanted in a way you haven’t before, and when you suck at the tibs wat that lingers on your finger you smile at Kyle and ask him: “What?”

“Nothing,” He swallows, going back to his own meal, “Just looking.”

Your mouth moves with your smile, trying to settle on an expression that isn’t as excited as you feel. You’re not sure it works, or that he doesn’t see the way your eyes dart back to the food after staring at his mouth.

It was so soft when he’d kissed you.

You pull out your phone and get a quick photo of the spread, Kyle’s fingers dipping the injera into the timatim salad in the top of frame. It’s a necessary distraction from the gnawing hunger that seems to creep into you. One you don’t think will be settled with food, or settled any time soon.

Fake date and all.

You and Kyle spend longer than you’d anticipated at the little Ethiopian restaurant, eating and chatting. Firstly because you’d ordered another serving of tibs wat after Kyle had nearly licked the plate clean, and secondly because it had taken so long to decide on another activity.

You have plenty of time to kill before dinner, and you feel woefully unprepared to plan an afternoon date.

You settle on a crappy action flick with absolutely abysmal reviews. It takes you as long to actually pick the damn thing as it took to decide to see a movie, so you’re making great time. Mostly you pick it because neither of you seem particularly interested in it, and if it sucks at least it’ll give you something to talk about afterwards.

You like talking to Kyle. There’s something so easy about it, as natural as breathing. The conversation flows like you’ve known him forever, and you find yourself talking more than you’re used to, answering questions and filling in blanks for him about your life. It’s only when you get in your car a third time that you realize, he hasn’t really told you anything about himself.

You know he was in the military, that he lost someone close to him, and that he’s in security now. You know that he prefers salty over sweet snacks, and that he prefers to wake up early. You know that he has sisters, and that’s about it. It feels like a lot, but… is it? It’s somewhere above surface level, like answers from a dating questionnaire. Enough to give the impression of a person without actually showing you the full picture.

You resolve to ask him about himself more at dinner. You don’t think you’ll have much room for conversation during the movie.

You pull up to the theater and wave when Kyle pulls up right beside you. He smiles and you smile back. Easy. Things are easy with Kyle and you’re wasting your time overthinking, as usual.

It’s a nice distraction when he takes your hand walking into the theater and you feel your brain hiccup as his thumb sweeps over the back of your knuckles. The casual affection makes you want to press for more from a man you barely know. Kyle barely seems to notice, too busy poking at the little ticket ordering screen to pick your seats. You miss the way his finger hovers over the back row of chairs before picking something closer to the middle as you glance at the screen.

“Oh wow this thing is empty.” You laugh, “must be pretty bad.”

“I hope so,” Kyle jokes, “Need something I can force my mates to watch later.”

You grab onto the opportunity to learn more about him.

“Do you and your friends have movie nights?”

“Only when we find something really bad,” He tells you with a smile, “Popcorn?”

You glance at the concession stand and shake your head. “I’m full from lunch.”

Kyle hums, “Me too, we’ll have to go back some time.”

“For sure.” You agree. You try not to think too hard about how going again implies another date, maybe a real one. Of course there is the very real possibility of Kyle just being polite. He’s a nice guy you doubt he’d say ‘I’ll go back but not with you’ to your face.

That thought takes some of the wind out of your sails as you trail behind Kyle to the theater.

You’re halfway to wondering if he even notices when his hand finds yours and he tugs you to walk with him.

“Wouldn’t want you getting lost,” he whispers, “we’ve got a date later.”

You smile and let him lead you to the empty theater.

You enjoy watching Kyle squint at the ticket stubs to try and determine what number your seats are, and sit down only to realize you’re far too early for this movie. The lights aren’t even half-dimmed yet, and the screen is glowing with some silent ad for the concession stand in the lobby.

You check your phone to see how much time is left until previews and Kyle leans close to your side.

“Picture time?” He asks.

“Oh, no, I just wanted to see what time it was.” You lock your phone and settle it on your lap. You’re with someone, it would be rude to be on your phone.

“I should’ve found a sooner showtime,” Kyle grimaces.

“It’s fine!” You don’t want to seem disagreeable, “Just don’t know what to do with our time.”

“Don’t wanna talk to me?” Kyle hums. When you look at him he’s got this strange smile, an emotion clear but unreadable. It shudders down your spine like cold water.

“I’ve been doing a lot of talking.” You admit, and earn another hum. Kyle leans close, and tips his head.

“Ask me something sweetheart.”

He’s so close, so definite with his command, that you struggle not to comply. Favorite colors and foods. Where did he meet his mates (met them while serving). What branch was he in (Special Air Service). What did they do (classified). His answers are short and definite and when you struggle to come up with another Kyle takes over.

What sort of food do you like? Really, no allergies then? Oh, is that common in your family? That’s interesting. You don’t say. Tell me more.

Again you find yourself talking and talking.

“I’m not really sure what sort of photo to get,” You admit, as another couple files into the theater, “Just a dark theater? The screen?”

“Just focus on me touching you,” Kyle smiles and you’re a little confused by his phrasing until he moves.

Kyle’s hand settles on your thigh, the position of it is polite, but it still feels overly familiar. You snap a few pictures and lock your phone again, expecting him to move his hand as the lights flick off. You turn to him to- you don’t know, say something, and he raises a finger to his mouth. You shut your mouth tight again and face forward to watch the movie.

You’re barely ten minutes in when his thumb starts to rub at your thigh. Soft circles that make you tense. It’s affectionate. Too affectionate for a veritable stranger, but when you turn to him again to ask him to move he shushes you. You curl your fingers into fists and try not to squirm when he starts rubbing again. His hand is big and warm on your thigh, his fingers resting just slightly too far along the inside of your jeans for you to ignore.

You shift in your seat in the hopes that’ll make him move and all it does is slide his hand further up your thigh. Just a few centimeters, but it’s enough to move it away from what you’d call polite. The rub of his thumb feels infinitely higher, and your body seems to zero in on the feeling.

Warmth starts to flicker between your legs, your stomach clenching pleasantly as your skin bristles with the movement of Kyle’s thumb. Such a simple touch, and yet it’s sent your body into high-alert.

You can’t suppress the shiver that tracks down your spine, and again the motion shifts the placement of his hand. You feel the hover of his fingers where they trace the inside of your thigh like a phantom brush against your cunt. He hasn’t even moved them, hasn’t done more than circle his thumb against denim, and yet your pussy pulses with the need to feel him press his fingers against it. You can almost feel it, can almost imagine the bump of his knuckles against your clothed cunt.

He’s been so polite, he’d probably apologize for it, even though you both know you’re the one that can’t stay still.

You can’t help the slight push of your hips, into the sensation and --as if on cue-- Kyle’s pinky bumps the warmth between your legs. Your body flushes with heat.

He leans close, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he slides his hand back towards your knee, “Sorry love,” He whispers, and you feel his breath like a touch, “can’t see in here.”

He squeezes your thigh as he leans away and again a shiver tumbles through you. It must be freezing in this theater.

His thumb doesn’t rub, but his fingers are closer to the inside seam of your jeans and splayed wide. His pinky draws towards his ring finger in what you’re sure is just him making his grip more comfortable, but your body follows the trail of it like a bloodhound. Your skin lights up at the short movement and you find yourself hoping he’ll do it again.

You stay resolutely still and try to focus on the movie. You- you have no idea what’s happening.

Kyle spreads his fingers wide again, applying the gentlest pressure as he stretches in his seat. The drag of his touch is intoxicating, it sucks your attention back to it with the slightest movement. You ache for more, for his hand to creep higher, to feel the press of his fingers against your cunt. Even through the layers of fabric you’re sure you’d be able to find some relief in them. Selfishly you shift in your seat, scoot down ever so slightly in the hopes it’ll nudge his grip higher.

You could chart the path of his hand down to the millimeter.

You’ve never been more happy for a nearly empty theater than when his thumb starts moving again. Except when the rest of his hand follows.

You have to stop from sucking in a breath when he shifts his grip and his fingers start a short devastating path over the inside seam of your jeans. A soft idle motion, back and forth, almost thoughtless. Well, thoughtless for Kyle. It’s all you can think about.

It’s too far up your thigh, right where the denim is stretched and thin against your skin. The touch almost tickles, feather light and blisteringly hot. Or maybe it’s the goosebumps that it sends over your skin that makes the rest of you feel cold. You can’t say for certain, only that your brain latches onto it and transfers the sensation to the needy thing between your legs.

All you can think of is the way he’d drag his fingers over your cunt, would it be with this same soft teasing touch or would he be more focused. You can almost transfer the sensation, the short rub against your thigh trailing higher, until he’s rubbing at your clit, teasing you through the fabric of your jeans and leaning close to whisper-

“I’ll be right back.” You jerk from your daydream as Kyle’s breath hits your cheek and try not to look like you’re scrambling away from the poor guy. An explosion on screen lights up the furrow of his brow as you collect yourself. Probably thinks he startled you from watching the movie. “Bathroom.” He explains, and you nod quickly.

He squeezes your thigh before he gets up and you watch him go to make sure he isn’t running from you.

You press your hands against your face when you’re sure he’s out of the theater and let out a little air scream.

Get a fucking grip, you tell yourself furiously. This is ridiculous. Kyle’s been nothing but sweet to you on these fake --you repeat that part to yourself a few times for good measure-- dates, and- oh my God is that all it takes for you? Being treated well? A little idle affection?

You press your hands harder against your face and take a deep breath, before dropping your hands down to your lap to try and readjust your focus onto the movie.

It takes a few minutes for you to realize it, but this movie sucks.

Luckily by the time you realize that Kyle’s sliding back into his chair.

He leans over the seat and you tip your head for him to stay close. “What did I miss?” He asks.

“A couple really bad one-liners,” You whisper back, turning to catch his ear, “I’m trying to figure out the layout of this hotel.”

“Whatever works for the plot probably.” Kyle’s voice has something warm at the edge of it, a hint of laughter that makes you smile.

“This movie sucks,” You tell him and feel the sharp exhale of laughter against your neck as you see his shoulders shake in the dark.

“Yeah, it does.” He agrees, his voice tight with that suppressed laugh. You think.

You decide to grab a drink after the movie. Mostly to kill time before dinner, but also to give you time to change. You’d forgotten that the bathrooms were past the ticket taker at the theater, so once you’d left it was either find another bathroom or attempt to change in your car. You picked drinks. It was near the restaurant anyway.

Except you’re not sure you grabbed the right clothes once you see the restaurant. It looks fancy.

Kyle stands with you to chat as you dig through the suitcase in your trunk. You pull out a dress and make a face.

“Want some help?”

“No I- maybe?” You wince, “I don’t know if what I have works for dinner.”

Kyle nudges you with his arm and you shuffle to the side to let him dig through your clothes. He’s purposeful about it, his eyes scanning each piece that he touches before finally pulling out one of the dresses at the bottom.

“This one,” He tells you, handing you the dress. You’re reminded suddenly of this morning when he’d told you, your dinner dress was “his pick,” and take the garment with a small smile.

“You want to do my makeup too Mr. Fashion?” You joke. Something flashes in his eyes and your stomach flips.

“If you’re offering.” The rumble of his voice is lower, devastatingly so, and it simmers hot in your stomach. He isn’t joking. “My sisters used to make me do their makeup,” He tells you, stepping closer, “I’m good at it.”

You feel boxed in. The corner of your car just barely catches your hand as you drop it to your side, and hurriedly raise it again to keep your dress from getting dirty.

“Let me dress you up, doll.” He pleads, his smile warmer, more friendly. There’s something in the flash of his teeth when he offers though that feels… calculating.

“I’m-” You try to think of a way to deny him, “You don’t want to sit in the bathroom with me for that, do you?”

He sits you at the bar instead, lays out the minimal makeup you’d brought and touches your face with soft hands. He tips your chin up and you close your eyes a little too tightly at the feeling. You’re not used to this, it feels strange and you’re not sure you like it.

“Hold still for me.” Kyle murmurs to you.

“What if I want a drink?” You try to joke.

“Then you ask me for one.” He responds easily, and you hear the squeeze of your tinted moisturizer. His fingers sweep over your cheeks, over your chin, down your nose and across your forehead. Rubbing in the blurring color before leaving you. You open your eyes enough to see him toying with the concealer you’d brought.

“We’ll need to get better supplies.” He mumbles to himself and you shut your eyes again from him to dot the little wand under your eyes and against your eyelids. Eyeshadow, precise eyeliner. It’s cold and practiced. It makes you think he’s done this before, maybe on more than just his sisters. It’s not until he gets to your lips that you start feeling off. His breathing is even but heavier somehow, his touches linger, and his breath skates across your skin. He’s close to you, and you can feel the heat that radiates from him.

His thumb finds your mouth, and tugs at your lip. You open for him, and wonder why he didn’t just ask. Only to feel the pad of his thumb press down against your tongue.

It’s brief, but it startles you, and you jerk away. Your eyes fly open and he’s holding up your favorite lipstick, looking like you’re getting jumpy for no reason. His hand is settled in his lap and his brows are raised.

“I can do it.” You insist and grab the metal tube from him. Your hands shake as you unlock your phone and try to apply your lipstick in the mirror image on screen.

Kyle watches you like a hawk.

You’re shown to your table almost as soon as you walk in the door. The restaurant is beautiful, softly lit by chandeliers with cream colored tablecloths and plates edged with gold. The sort of place you’ve always wanted to visit but never had the chance. Every inch of the place speaks to a level of class and sophistication that was always out of reach when you were with Brad. He never wanted to spend more than was necessary, but Kyle-

Kyle…

Your head is still reeling from Kyle’s makeup application, the firm guiding hand he’d used to turn your head, the gentle touch of the brush as it swept over your eyelids. It should have felt more relaxing, right? But something about it had set you on edge, something flinty and cold in the warm umber of his eyes that had made you think twice about relaxing around him. Then his thumb against your tongue…

You’re starting to think you’d imagined his finger in your mouth. He wouldn’t do that, right? Kyle’s nice; sweet. You like him, and you just got caught up in the moment. You were looking for something wrong, something devious in a man who had been nothing but kind to you, because you were treated so badly by your ex.

Obviously.

He doesn’t act like anything is wrong, or like he did anything wrong. Kyle acts exactly as he has been all day. He’s kind, considerate, he pulls your chair out for you and orders a bottle of wine before the server leaves, he’s exactly the same.

You must have imagined it.

But you can’t get the feeling of pressure off your tongue.

You stare at the menu without really reading it, the crisp heavyweight paper on a leather bound board provides you no aid. You can’t get your brain to focus on the black lettering for long enough to absorb anything it’s telling you.

If you did imagine it, what does that say about you? That you’re so touch starved it’s almost consumptive? Or maybe that you want Kyle to be pushy with his touching? More pushy, at least. More touchy in a way that feels more provocative than platonic. Anticipatory and intentional. You want him to touch you in a way that says “I want this, I want you, and I’m willing to take a risk to make it happen.”

God help you if you’re developing a public play kink, you really don’t need that right now.

“See anything you like?” Kyle asks, setting his menu down. Your eyes train on the way he laces his fingers together and sets his hands on the menu to lean closer to you. He’s changed the rings he’s wearing again. Gold bands that sit on his middle and ring finger on one hand, pinky and pointer on the other. The warm yellow metal flashes like starlight against his dark skin. You wonder what it would feel like against your tongue, clicking against your teeth…

You rip your eyes from his hands to meet his gaze, your face is warm and you feel a little embarrassed. You can’t say why. You weren’t staring at anything bad, and if this is all in your imagination then Kyle would have no reason to suspect what you were thinking about. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of being caught doing something wrong. So you shake your head.

“I don’t know, it all looks good.” A non-committal answer, you look at the menu to try and see if you can parse any of it on a second try.

There’s a salad that looks good, one or two mains that you might enjoy. No prices on anything. That stops you, you glance at Kyle. He’s still looking at you, a smile creeping onto his face.

“There’s no wrong answer, love.” He tells you, reaching across the table to press your menu down, “Show me what you’re looking at.”

Your eyes trace his fingers where they settle against the paper before drifting down to what you’d been looking at.

“This maybe,” You point at one of the mains you’d been eyeing, then over to the other, “or this.”

“Anything else?” He prods. You give him a look and watch his teeth catch his lip as he smiles. “I’m happy sharing if you can’t decide.”

Panic slices through you. Share? This is a nice restaurant, you can’t share.

Kyle’s hand covers yours where you’re starting to pick at the edge of the menu.

“We can switch plates if that makes you more comfortable.” He offers, “I’m not picky, if you want to try something I’ll get it.”

“That’s not fair to you, I’m fine with-”

“I want to do it,” Kyle cuts you off. “I get to try two things, and you’re happy no matter what.”

“I-”

You’re interrupted by your server bringing the bottle of wine Kyle ordered. He plunges a needle like device into the top and pops the cork before handing it off to Kyle for inspection. It must pass whatever metric Kyle has because the server sets two glasses on the table and pours you each a healthy serving.

You take your glass to taste the wine before you realize Kyle is ordering for both of you, again. That yummy sounding salad with strawberries and green apple, and both of the mains you’d shown him.

You hadn’t even asked what he wanted.

You set the wine down as discomfort gnaws at your stomach and Kyle lets the server run off with your order.

“I didn’t even ask what you wanted.” You whisper, leaning over the table to try and grab Kyle’s attention.

“I told you already, love,” He insists, “I’m not picky, and even if I was you have good taste.”

You raise a hand to cover your face and drop it just as fast when Kyle arches a brow at you. No hiding from him, or your shame.

“Well,” You fish for something to assuage your guilt with, “what do you like to eat?” You add on quickly, “For next time.”

Kyle’s eyes flick down to your plate, you hadn’t even noticed your server stealing the menu away, and then back to your face. He schools something behind his eyes before you can parse what it is, and for some reason you desperately want it back. A heat that he’d squashed before it could burst into a fire. Tempering himself.

“Learned to take what I could get when I was serving,” He tells you with a sly smile, “but sweet things like you fill me up just fine.”

You feel yourself burst with heat.

Idle flirting, you tell yourself as you try to subtly fan your face. Kyle laughs and despite any trepidation you may have had around the sound, any fear he was making fun of you keeps its head down.

He grabs your hand and pulls it to hold his over the table.

“I’m teasing, love.” He leans to press his lips against your knuckles, and smooths out the tickle with his thumb, “Wouldn’t do anything like that in a place like this.”

Where would he do it then, you wonder. His house maybe? Maybe your flat? Oh God, do you want him to come back to your flat? Is that even an appropriate thing to want? Would he care?

Kyle’s thumb keeps rubbing at your knuckles, his smile even and kind. Nothing about you seems to fluster or surprise him. You sort of like that. You haven’t had to temper yourself or push yourself down to be someone else with him. And he hasn’t asked you to.

“So, what are we going to talk about now?” Kyle asks.

Sports, it turns out. The first time you’ve gotten Kyle talking all day, the first time he hasn’t directed it back to you, and it’s about sports. Rugby specifically, apparently he and his friends play on a rec team.

It’s such a masculine thing that you don’t know why it surprises you.

Maybe it’s how gentle Kyle’s been with you all day, the lack of aggression when you’d been knocked over at the park, but seeing him talk so animatedly about his hobby you’re pleasantly surprised. He smiles so wide as he tells you stories about injuries, and his mate “Soap” who can’t go a season without twinging his knee.

Honestly, you might be more surprised to hear him talking so much, but it’s nice. His voice rumbles at a pleasantly low register as he leans over the table to talk to you. His eyes sparkle and his lips seem to form every syllable with perfect precision, as if his mouth can’t help giving each letter the same courtesy of speech. It’s chatter enough to give you a break from speaking, but still feels like a conversation. You’re allowed to ask questions here, to prod into stories about his life outside of whatever box he’s restricted your answers to, and you do freely.

By the time your server brings your food, Kyle doesn’t feel like a stranger. In fact your brain has squarely put him in the category “boyfriend material.” If he talked about you with the same enthusiasm you might die.

You give the server a quick thank you as they place your food in front of you, and you settle your napkin in your lap. Kyle’s hand drops to his lap as he does the same and knocks his fork to the floor. The huff he lets out is one of good natured annoyance as he ducks under the table to fetch it. He passes the dirty fork to the server and they promise to return with a clean one.

Kyle pours you another glass of wine as he waits and you sip at it for something to do. It’s only polite to wait for him to be able to eat before you tuck in. Plus a little liquid confidence never hurt anyone.

You take a longer sip when Kyle looks to take his new fork from the server and feel the warm tingle of alcohol slipping into your veins. You’ve spent all day with this guy and he still makes you nervous, though the reason has shifted from this morning. Your stomach flutters with butterflies instead of rolling with a sense of danger, and though that little voice in the back of your head nags that this guy is still a stranger you’re able to shrug it off easily.

It's anticipatory nerves. You’re waiting for something to happen, for the other shoe to drop, and now that the day is almost over you’re worried there may not have been any shoes in the first place. Kyle is exactly what he’s presented himself to be, a gentleman who wants to give you a good day. A good date, you amend. It’s been a fantastic date, even if the point of it hasn’t been to get to know each other as much as to get revenge on your ex.

The thought reminds you to snap a picture of dinner, and as you tug your phone from your purse Kyle reaches across the table to refill your wine. It makes for a great shot, your “new man” giving you a generous pour of a nice bottle of wine with a table full of gourmet food. The only thing you’re missing is two dozen roses and a jewelry box and this would scream “upgrade.”

You wonder if you could get the bouquet Kyle got you from the car.

He sets the wine back in its place and takes your hand as you settle your phone back in your purse. He raises his wine glass with a prompting look for you to do the same.

“To a wonderful date,” Kyle says, tapping his wine glass against yours, “I’ve enjoyed every minute.”

“You’ve been amazing.” You tell him pulling your glass back to take a drink. “I think every woman on earth will be jealous of these pictures.”

Kyle hums and sets his glass down to start cutting into his food. He spears a bite with his fork and holds it out to you.

“Open,” He offers and you lean forward to let him place it on your tongue. It’s delicious, and the look Kyle gives you as you pull away could fuel your wet dreams for months.

You grab your wine and down it, trying to drown the memory of Kyle’s thumb pressing down against your tongue, that same command to open bouncing through your head.

Kyle pours you another helping with a smile, and pretends to sip at his own glass.

You’re feeling pleasantly tipsy by the time you finish dinner and Kyle finishes signing the check. Your body buzzes warmly with wine, and your head is just fuzzy enough to notice without making you sleepy. You’re right at that stage of alcohol consumption where your brain is pumping out feel good hormones and you’re itching to be touched.

Kyle’s hand slides across the small of your back as you stand, and you feel your nerves light up at the touch. Then feel the heat of his hand drip down your spine to pool between your legs. You can still remember how his fingers had slid over your thigh earlier, and a shiver slips through you. You want more than just casual touching.

“Cold?” Kyle asks, pulling you closer against his side.

“Not really,” You tell him, though you see no reason why that would stop you from cuddling up against him. Big warm man.

“I had a really great time tonight,” Kyle says, steering you towards your car. You pout. Those are the date wrap up words.

“Me too.” You wish it didn’t have to end.

“Can I walk you to your car?” Kyle offers, though it’s pointless to ask when he’s already doing it. It still makes you smile, makes you nod.

It’s quiet walking back to your car. You feel like you’re dragging your feet, trying to find some way to linger in the moment before you leave and never see Kyle again. This day, this date, has been perfect. It needs a perfect ending.

You stop at your car and turn to face Kyle. He looks… conflicted. His brows drawn with worry and his jaw clenched. You don’t think he wants it to end either.

Emboldened by the alcohol you get your second bad idea of the day.

You grab his shirt and drag him close to kiss him.

And he grabs you like he’s been waiting for this for years.

He's rougher this time when he kisses you. His hands wander to grab at your waist, your hips, your thighs, squeezing and pulling like he could engulf you in the feeling. You can barely breathe, your nose stuffed full of that sweet earthy scent and the slight sour note of sweat as Kyle's tongue pushes into your mouth. Your stomach flips and heat pulses between your legs as he strokes his tongue against yours, teasing you into a lapping dance that you struggle to follow. Your head spins from the alcohol, it has to be the alcohol.

The pulse in your core tightens pleasantly, a rapid contraction that makes your breath puff from you in a short, humiliating, half moan. And Kyle licks it from your lips, drags his tongue against the lipstick you'd applied and pulls it across to your cheek. Your lips part and you stick out your tongue to follow his lead, your tipsy brain only half following the steps, only for him to meet your tongue with a hunger you didn't know men could have. Not for you, at least.

You arch into his hold, feeling the firmness of his chest against yours, as he pushes his knee between your legs. You’re pinned to the trunk of your car and as your back arches against the lid of your trunk you wonder what Kyle would do if you bent over it. He probably wouldn’t fuck you in this fancy restaurant’s carpark. Right? No. But maybe? No.

You shake your head to clear it and feel Kyle press against your hip. The heat of his rigid cock makes you want to rut against his thigh like an animal. God you want him.

“Let me take you home,” He murmurs, dragging his lips over your cheek to nip at your earlobe, “Make you forget your ex.”

“Please.” You mumble, twisting your fingers in his shirt. He kisses you again, and you open for him without prompting. You can’t stop yourself from licking into his mouth, chasing the taste of him as excitement thrums through you. Spending the night with Kyle sounds like a dream come true.

Your ass bumps your car against as your cant your hips against his leg.

Spending the night…

You should grab a change of clothes.

“You’re driving?” You ask, your head fuzzy as you pull away.

Kyle hums, “Don’t think I should let you drive like this.”

That’s fair, you may have had a little too much to drink.

And doesn’t that just make you all the warmer?

Kyle’s been such a fucking gentleman, the idea that he’d take advantage of you like this makes you want to pull his cock out right here. He’s so considerate, offering to drive, offering to make you forget your ex, paying for everything all day- God! God, you just want him to be a little scummy, to have that one little thing that’s wrong with him for your benefit. You want him to make a mess of you because you know he’ll put you back together again.

“Let me grab clothes,” You tug at his hips when he tries to pull away, not eager to let him move too far when you’re buzzing like this. Still, you have to be an adult.

You pop the trunk and grab a dress from your suitcase. You’re in a hurry, and you’ll be back for your car later, who cares if you’re a little fancy tomorrow?

Kyle’s hands slip over your ass and you push back into the feeling.

“Fuck me you’ve got a nice ass.”

You giggle at Kyle’s groaned compliment, and straighten up to watch him adjust himself as you slam the trunk shut.

“Your place?” You remind him, and he slides his hand into place against your back to guide you to his car.

Those wonderful fingers stroke over your panties the entire drive, teasing your sopping cunt and dragging down your bare thighs. His body presses you against the elevator wall, his lips trailing over your neck and his teeth nipping at your pulse as you climb to his flat. His hands barely leave your hips long enough to unlock the door and even once it’s open he all but shoves you toward the bedroom.

You try to get his fly open as soon as you get inside, but-

“Want to fuck you properly,” He insists, “like you deserve.”

You’re not going to argue with that.

Especially not when he strips his shirt off as soon as he flicks the lights on in his bedroom. All that firm muscle you’d felt earlier in the day on full display, with a nice smattering of hair down his chest to the fly of his trouser, it makes your mouth water. You’re all too quick to follow in stripping, the alcohol making you feel bold. Kyle’s eyes rake over you, and the burst of heat that follows their path makes you feel sexy; wanted. When’s the last time a man looked at you like that? Like he’d walk through Hell just for a photo of you.

He’s quick with his trousers, tugs his boxers down with them and kicks them to the side with his shoes.

Your eyes follow his hands, stopping on the flash of metal that peeks out from the dark foreskin at the head of his half-hard cock. Your mouth waters. You’ve never wanted to blow someone so badly in your life. Kyle looks down and smiles.

“Was worried it might scare you off,” He confesses. The knowledge that you could worry him sparks in your chest pleasantly.

“Not scared,” You mumble, watching him settle on the bed and wrap a hand around his cock. He strokes it, watching you, and you feel the air settle on your heated skin.

“Want to taste it?” He asks, and you fall to your knees so quickly it hurts. You must wince because Kyle reaches for you with concerned eyes, and pulls you up from the floor onto the bed.

“Get comfortable baby,” He advises, “you’re not going anywhere.”

As if to demonstrate Kyle scoots to lay back against the pillows, spreading his legs wide enough for you to crawl between them and settle on your stomach. Definitely more comfortable. Your knees will thank you.

You spit on your hand and wrap it around Kyle’s cock, giving him a testing stroke before you lean close to drag your tongue up his length. He’s so warm and thick in your hand, you wonder how he’ll feel stretching you out.

“Fuck,” Kyle hisses when you flick your tongue against the piercing that works it’s way through the head of his gorgeous cock, “ dirty girl.” A flush of heat ripples over you, and you drag your tongue against the metal again, letting those two words work their way through you again and again.

You open your mouth, hold your tongue out to drag long slow licks over the head of Kyle’s cock, letting him watch the wiggle of your tongue, the twist of the ring and the pump of your hand. It feels like magic watching his pupils dilate in the low light, his teeth gritting before his head drops back and his hand finds its way into your hair.

“Filthy,” He mutters, “perfect beautiful, filthy girl.” He takes a breath and his fingers tighten in your hair, his head raising as he adjusts the pillows behind his head. “You like it?” He asks and you- God you feel bold, feel like proving him right, you take his cockhead into your mouth and close your lips around it with a pleased hum.

Praise was always what got you, but now you were wondering if that’s just because you heard it so rarely. Kyle had showered you with affection all day, and now to hear even the slightest dirty talk from him you feel like you’ll burst into flames.

You flick your tongue against the ring, tasting the metal and the salt of his skin, yeah you like it.

Your eyes cross a little looking at the ring that sits at the base of his cock, the piercing you still haven’t quite figured out, but desperately want to press your nose against.

“Feels even better inside of you,” Kyle presses, his hand giving the slightest pressure, encouraging more than demanding you to take more of him.

Your eyes flutter closed and you flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock as you bob your head down his length. The skin is soft under your tongue, soft and warm. His cock twitches against your tongue, and you hollow your cheeks to suck, unwilling to hit your gag reflex so soon. You want to be good for him, to make this good for him, and your head is still swimming just enough from the alcohol that you’re unwilling to risk gagging.

Soft mouth, you think to yourself as Kyle tells you.

“That’s it love, just as much as you can take.” He wraps his hand over yours and pumps it up and down his length as you bob your head to meet his fingers. Your nose bumps his fist and the flutter in your stomach clenches hard enough to force a needy little whine from you.

Kyle’s grip on your head tightens to an almost painful degree and holds you in place, his hand stroking up to press against your lips as you try to swallow around the cock on your tongue. You mouth fills with saliva and each bump against your lips makes you feel like it’ll leak out, already you can feel drool starting to slick at the corners.

Kyle pulls you off and tells you, “spit” before you can do anything else. The command in his voice is too strong to ignore, and though it feels humiliating you let your spit drip onto the head of his cock. He holds you there, hovering above it, watching the rivulets of it drip down the length only to be caught in the stroke of your layered fingers.

“So good at following orders, aren’t you, doll?” You nod and it pulls at Kyle’s grip, the short bursts of pain doing nothing to dissuade you from attempting to get him in your mouth again.

You hold your tongue out to catch the ring of his Prince Albert with the tip of your tongue, the warm metal so tantalizingly close and yet so far away. The slick pump of your spitty fingers fills the room. The push of his foreskin against the flared head with each stroke makes your mouth water. You wonder, if you ask, will he come on your face? Do you want him to come on your face? To paint you with ropes of warm come only to sweep it off with his fingers and push it into your all too eager mouth? You do. You really do.

Which must show on your face, because Kyle groans and squeezes your fingers tight around his cock.

“Come up here love, let me taste you.”

You pull off his cock with a pop and lap at the pre-come starting to bead around his piercing. The bitter fluid and the metal tang burst on your tongue and you find yourself distracted circling your tongue over his slit. Kyle tugs at you, and you’re forced to crawl up his deliciously toned body.

He helps you settle your knees on either side of your head, and before your brain can lodge a single syllable of worry over being too heavy for him, his hands have clamped onto your thighs and pulled you against his mouth.

The noise that leaves you is absolutely sinful. Half shocked cry, half moan, as his lips close around your clit and suck, pulling the tight bud with a pressure that makes you want to buck. Your hands find the edge of the headboard and grab on, your chin dropping to your chest to watch the way Kyle’s eyes lid with pleasure at the first taste of you.

His tongue cards flat through your folds, a leisurely stroke that feels like it’s prepping your body for the firm roll of his tongue against your clit. Back and forth and around, circling your clit with determined strokes only to lick over it, each roll making heat pulse through your core. Pleasure clenches in your stomach, making you gasp at the focused lap of his tongue.

Kyle groans, his tongue leaving your clit to lick between your folds and tease at the entrance of your cunt. Gentle pressure that strokes at the soft wet skin, teasing the edge of your pussy until you’re ready to beg for him to push it inside. Your back curls, and you lean your forehead against the edge of the headboard, your traitorous hips rocking into the roll of Kyle’s tongue.

His nose bumps against your clit and a quiet noise escapes your throat. He tips his head back to direct his attention back to the sensitive bud. His tongue traces patterns over your clit, flicking against it until the jolts of pleasure leave you panting, your hips jerking with each move of his tongue. Your cunt feels like it’s melting.

Each touch to your clit zips up your spine and drags back down to pool between your legs, your cunt fluttering and clenching around nothing as your brain attempts to keep up with the stimulation. Kyle’s mouth is like a furnace, stroking wet heat over your core in long luxurious licks that drag slick up and down your slit. The prick of his mustache against sensitive skin as he turns to wipe his lips against your thigh tickles, but all you can focus on is how wet his mouth is.

His teeth tease the soft skin of your inner thigh, and your stomach flips. You try to mentally will him to bite, to mark you with that sharp pain that will slip like water through your veins and make you all the more pliant for him. Instead, those neat white points trail back to your cunt, and scrape over your clit with a pleased hum. You gasp, and shudder against his mouth.

Kyle kisses your cunt with tongue and gently nipping teeth, bringing heat rushing to your cunt until it’s positively tingling with the need for more; the need to be filled. His thumbs rub against your skin in gentle soothing circles, attempting to make up for the iron grip that the rest of his fingers have on you. His hands are spread wide and greedy, pulling you into place and holding you there. You can offer no resistance, but why would you want to? Kyle’s mouth is wickedly clever and you think of the way his tongue had twisted against yours as it wiggles against your clit, edging you closer and closer to orgasm.

And you can feel yourself start to give. The attention to your clit makes your legs shake, muscles starting to pulse and pull tight with your need. Your hips jerk and thrust against his mouth, your body desperate for more. Your breath comes quick, your moans grow louder, your vision blurs as your eyes roll. You shudder and shake as your cunt clenches tight and releases. You try to focus on the feeling, to will the orgasm to happen.

Sparks of pleasure that make your stomach flip and your legs shake. Your poor pussy desperately squeezing like a vice as if that will be enough to fill it up. And Kyle’s mouth working over you like he’s never enjoyed anything more.

His tongue buries itself inside your tight cunt, and he shakes his head to rub his nose against your clit. The low groan that purrs against your heated skin makes your legs clench, and when he drags his tongue back up to wrap his lips around your clit you come.

Your body curls in on itself and your hands shoot from the headboard to grip at his hair. Your legs shake and you let out a pathetic whimpering moan that seems to build louder, higher, with each encouraging lick to your clit. Your pussy clenches hard, tight, tight, tight, and then releases with a flutter as you squeeze your eyes shut and try not to crush Kyle’s head between your thighs.

Kyle’s grip shifts and in a flurry of movement you’re flipped into your back on the mattress. Your knees hook over Kyle’s shoulders and you slip off to bounce against the bed with a shriek before his hands are pressing against the back of your thighs, his eyes trained on your cunt as he slides that perfect cock over your wet folds. Your hands fly to grab his wrists, to slide over his forearms, up his biceps, to claw at his shoulders as he leans his weight onto you and folds you in half.

The head of his cock catches your entrance, and pushes inside.

Your breath stops, held back by the burn of stretch as your cunt is filled. Kyle’s cock works you open centimeter by centimeter, pressing in and in until your chest feels locked too tight to do anything but make your mouth gape like a fish. His hips press flush against your ass, his hands squeeze your thighs. His hips pull back and thrust into you hard, hitting some delicious bundle of nerves that makes you throw your head back as your back arches to try and push him deeper.

The air rushes back into your lungs in time to hear Kyle’s low moan join your own high pitched,

“Fuck!”

You can feel his piercing nudging against your walls, pressing with the head of his cock against that deep throbbing part of you that sparks with a mixture of pain and pleasure that makes your head spin. You can barely get a breath in around the thrust of Kyle’s hips, can’t think of anything but ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’ and ‘more, more, more.’ You rake your nails down Kyle’s chest, scrambling to find purchase as your hips start to ache with the strain of being forced into position.

The sound of wet skin against skin fills the room, accenting the fever pitch of your moans, punched out with each slap of Kyle’s hips against you. His cock feels like it’s reaching your stomach, twisting you into knots that spill molten heat into your limbs until they start to shudder from the strain. Your head is fuzzy with pleasure, unthinking and uncaring about anything but the slick slide of cock in and out of your cunt.

He’s so warm, his skin is so fucking warm, and his piercing tugs at the rim of your entrance as he pulls out to slap his thick cock against your still buzzing clit.

“Pretty thing,” He coos, “tell me what you want.”

Your breath shudders, sparks splintering through you with each slap against your clit. The pain is dull, but the humiliation of watching him toy with you makes heat bloom over your cheeks.

“Fuck me,” You whimper. You’re not sure if you mean it as a command, or if you mean it simply as an expletive. It doesn’t matter, your pathetic lips form the syllables and Kyle fills in the rest, sliding his cock back home in your needy little cunt.

“Yeah,” He breathes, “that’s all you need isn’t it?” His cock keeps hitting that perfect throbbing spot, pressing into that tight bundle of nerves that feels so impossibly deep, fucking the air out of you until you’re gasping and writhing and all but begging to feel it again. “You want me to keep you, love?” He offers, “Keep you a pretty little doll, nice tight hole always wet for me, not a thought in that pretty head of yours?”

You nod, maybe it’s the alcohol or the desperation to have someone like Kyle want someone like you but when his hand reaches to wrap around your throat, his thumb pressing up against your jaw, you tip your head and tell him, “Yes God!”

You want him to fuck you like this every day, to treat you like a princess and take you through orgasm after orgasm until you can’t take it anymore. You want and you want. You want so badly it feels like it’ll swallow you whole.

“Mine,” Kyle tells you, and you whimper.

“Yes,” You plead, “Yes, yes, yes.”

It shudders through you, arches down your back as you press into his grip. Your legs squeeze together, that aching point pooling through your musculature, working its heated fingers into every corner of you. Kyle works a hand between your thighs and pinches your clit hard; you see stars. Your body jerks and shakes, and you feel a rush of liquid between your legs, hear the wet squelch of it as his cock continues pumping into you as you come.

And come.

When you wake up in the morning it’s to soft sunlight streaming in through gauzy curtains and an empty bed. The duvet is nicely weighted and the sheets are so soft you’re almost tempted to fall asleep again, but the noise of movement from outside the room rouses you enough to sit up and take stock of your surroundings. You hadn’t gotten a good look at Kyle’s place when you’d tumbled in last night but it’s nice. He’s organized and has more of a personal style than you can say for most men.

Worry starts to creep in almost immediately. Had you made the wrong call coming home with him? What if he thought you were easy? Or threw you out now that he’d gotten what he wanted.

Oh my God you don’t have your car. You can’t just leave you’ll have to call an uber back to the restaurant and- Fucking hell, why did you do this? Where’s your common sense? How are you going to get your car? What if it’s been towed, or broken into, or-

Kyle pushes the door open with two mugs of tea clutched in his hands. He looks surprised to see you up, and shoulders the door the rest of the way open with a pleased smile.

“Good morning.” He says, that same gentle, eager, tone he’d used to take you home last night making your brain fuzzy. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” You fumble for the correct response, “I, um- thanks. For letting me sleep over.”

“Of course,” Kyle sets a mug with little cat pawprints on it on the table beside you, and perches himself on the edge of the bed by your feet, “I’m never going to kick a pretty girl out of bed.”

“Oh.” You say, more to yourself than anyone else. You don’t know what to say to that, and make yourself busy with grabbing the mug and blowing on the steaming tea. Kyle hums, watching you over the rim of his mug as he takes a sip.

He makes a noise when he swallows, and lowers the mug with pursed lips.

“So, I was thinking.” He starts and you feel your heart drop.

He was thinking you shouldn’t post the photos, that you should never see each other again, that you should leave soon because he has someone better coming over.

“There’s a great breakfast place down the street, if you’re hungry.” He says, almost shyly, “We could start date two with pancakes?”

You feel your heart lurch in your chest, hopeful.

“Yeah?” You ask and he smiles.

“Yeah,” like it’s the easiest thing in the world, “I’d be stupid lettin’ you get away.” You smile, and sip your tea to cover some of the warmth in your chest. “I think we’ve got a real spark.”

“Me too.” You agree. It feels like an admission, like something you should keep close to your breast where the rest of your silly fancies live, but-

But you want Kyle to know.

You want him to know that you like him, that you want him, that it wasn’t all just some revenge plot that’s gone terribly awry. Most importantly you want this to be real, to give yourself a real chance with an amazing guy.

To forget about what’s-his-name permanently.

“But can I get french toast instead?” You ask, already feeling your stomach rumble. Kyle grins.

“Oh doll, after what you’ve given me, you can have whatever you want.”

Gaz scrolls through his security footage while you shower, saving sections of video from the night before to a secure folder. Your ass wiggling in front of the camera as you blow him, your silly little head bobbing while your cunt is on full display. Your lips wrapped around his cock in a different camera’s lens, lashes fluttering and drool dripping from you as you bob your head up and down his length. He skips forward a few minutes and switches the camera to watch your thighs flexing as he holds you down against his face to eat your cunt, your hips grinding down against him and your lips parted as you whimper and moan for him. Another few minutes and your tits are bouncing as he fucks into you, your head tipped back and your lips parted around a perfect ‘o,’ your legs against his chest as you claw at his grip on your throat. More time, another position; Gaz’s hands digging into the dip of your waist as you ride him, groping at your chest, your cunt swallowing his cock with every motion of your hips. God, your ass looks good from this angle, he’ll start easing you into the idea of him fucking it soon.

You’re such a sweet thing, so easy to get information out of and convince of things. So eager to be good that you’ll go against your own judgement to please him. He’s never seen a rabbit walk directly into a trap, but you? What a silly, stupid girl. You probably don't even remember him coming in you.

You’re perfect.

He grabs a screencap of you riding him and sends it to his groupchat with the rest of the 141.

Gazoline: [sent image] Gazoline: Easy.

A typing bubble pops up immediately. Followed by another.

Ghost: Told ya. Sudz: Yer jokin Gazoline: Lt with the assist. Sudz: YER JOKIN

He locks his phone hearing you shut the shower off and shoves it in his pocket. It buzzes insistently as you poke your head out of the bath. You’re clutching a towel around your chest, as if Gaz hasn’t already seen it all.

“I was just thinking about how lucky it is I have a change of clothes.” You tell him.

“Well, look at that,” Gaz hums, “that is lucky.”

And what is luck if not careful planning?

85 notes · View notes

evangelical04 · 2 days ago

Text

A Single Daffodil || Valentine's Day Special

Summary: Spending Valentine's Day alone can be a little embarrassing, a lot self-deprecating. But maybe, it won't be so bad this year.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: PG

Word Count: 4.1K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: maybe some angst?? not really, it's pretty fluffy

Author's Note: hi everyone! hope you don't mind getting tagged for just a special lol. i thought it'd be fun to post something for valentine's day (especially because i don't have any plans lol), so here it is! view this as an AU of sorts since they're in college, i wouldn't call it canon. it isn't super closely proofread so i'm sorry for any errors, i just wanted to get this posted today!! hope you guys enjoy!!

TAGLIST CLOSED [follow asingledaffodil tag for all notifications]

@yoongisducky @kam9404 @sumzysworld @tarahardcore @viankiss @babystarcandyrecs @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @igot7fairlyoddparents @baechugff @pb89nv @peachytokki @ratherbfangirling @themwordsblog @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @kimmalik @pastelpeachess @captainchrisstan @khaimahfe @kooklovee @whoa-jo @familiarlikemymirror3 @blueberriesm @llallaaa @purpleheartsandarock1 @lillmeowmeowsblog @this-most-assuredly-counts @kayleefriedchicken @ur-grandmum @sylviamuela @notarshia @minghaosimp @ilikekpop-c @maynina @rinkud @jesshujk @kimsaerom @suker4angst @mar-627 @maynina @pitchblack0309 @wobblewobble822 @praetae @yoongibaybee @weareatthebadlands

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The chilly air tickled your nose, making you stifle a sneeze. You could feel an itch scratching at the back of your throat, threatening a violent outburst and inciting a ‘bless you’ from the nearest passerby. Despite the cold winds nipping at your face, pressing small icicles like pinpricks against your cheeks, you trekked on. Midterms were approaching for some of your classes and you knew you weren’t going to get anything done at your apartment, not with Joohee shoving her way through the door with the latest sweet monstrosity she had concocted at the coffee shop across the street.

Why was it still so cold? You knew it was only mid-February, but it felt unfair for you to still be able to see your breath and have to layer a jacket on top of your sweater on top of your long sleeve shirt. The headphones encasing your ear were your makeshift earmuffs, with the added bonus of soft and smooth jazz soothing your attitude. Finally, finally, you reached the other cafe near your place, tucked away between buildings and down stairs. You frequented the location often, finding their atmosphere more suited to your taste than Joohee’s favorite spot, it was quiet and serene, the lack of windows made time pass before you knew it. You loved it here.

As you walked past the counter, waving to the baristas who knew your face well by now, you set your stuff down at your regular table in the far corner, digging through your tote for your wallet. Triumphant, you approached the counter, placing an order for an iced tea, despite the icy weather, and treating yourself to one of their warm and savory sandwiches. After you’d collected your food, making your way back to your table, you allowed yourself a few minutes to enjoy your hot sandwich and contrasting iced tea. After this, you’d truly have to focus your whole attention.

With only crumbs left on your plate and your tea halfway finished, you switched tabs in your laptop to your design project. You were only a third year, but your classes were already about building portfolios and perfecting your coding ability. You weren’t excited to resume working on your project, but you were thankful you had graduated from the classes where they had exams instead of projects. However thankful you had felt reading the syllabi vanished in the face of having to reset yet another bug in Maya, causing your camera to not follow the line you’d animated. More papers for your character design class weighed down your tote, only making you hunch over further in anticipation of the workload you had ahead of you. While you did enjoy this, you hoped you would be able to get into project management someday, you knew that’s where your organizational skills would shine.

Only an hour had gone by of you sitting in the plush chair and ordering another drink, this time with a muffin, when the peaceful air in the cafe was disturbed. Three men had walked in, clad in joggers, sweatshirts, and casual looking khakis, with the tallest laughing loudly and smacking another man on the shoulder. You squinted, trying to get a better look at the laughing man, before realizing why he looked so familiar.

Kim Seokjin was as boisterous as ever, his gap year last year proving to have only amplified his loud and extroverted presence. Joohee had complained to her parents that she hadn’t gotten to take a gap year to travel, but you knew she secretly had no interest in it, her days were too occupied with you and Hoseok. The man Seokjin had clapped on the shoulder was one you didn’t recognize, tan skin and short hair, round, wiry glasses slipping down his nose. He waved off Seokjin’s persistent hand attempting to ruffle his hair, before taking a seat at a table not far from you. When he shot Seokjin a fond smile, though, you were stunned by his deep dimples and crinkled eyes, he was certainly pretty.

The last man, rather short compared to the other two, was another familiar face. Your eyes dragged across his bleach blonde hair, a new look for him, down his chubby, pale cheeks and pouty lips, before tracing his black sweatshirt, past his dark joggers, and sweeping over his white tennis shoes. Min Yoongi looked beautiful every time you saw him. Where you thought his bleach blonde hair, once a dark and natural black, would wash him out, it actually created a stunning contrast to his harsh glare from dark eyes. His upturned mouth curved a soft frown into his face, the occasional swipe of his tongue across dry lips making your eyes dart away. How he managed to look soft and dangerous at the same time was a wonder, but one you fully enjoyed.

Okay, so maybe you were a bit head over heels for him considering the lack of conversation that you two had held, but that was the beauty of an unrequited crush. You could ogle and pine, glance and fantasize all you wanted without having the crushing weight of reality fall down upon you. You were fully self-aware of your infatuation and the dim likelihood of your crush being returned, but you were okay with that, or so you told yourself.

It wasn’t as though you hadn’t tried to pursue other options, but they hadn’t worked out. Mina’s disappointed expression still burned in your memory, and it was a solid reason as to why you hadn’t explored outside further. Unrequited love was easier, there was no expectation of reciprocation, the untouchableness of your object of affection was comforting, you could confidently like him from afar. Did it hurt when you saw him with other people? Sure, but you liked to imagine that it hurt less because you never expected anything in the first place.

Seokjin’s booming voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you instead watched them place their orders at the register. You wondered what each one would order based on their appearances. Seokjin was probably ordering a seasonal holiday special, you could practically hear everything he was saying, and he was asking for extra blackberry syrup. The tall man behind him, the one you didn’t know, seemed like a hot cappuccino kind of guy. The air around him screamed elegant academic and you could imagine him sipping from a steaming ceramic cup while writing an award winning research paper. Yoongi, though, you weren’t sure, you didn’t know him that well. A black coffee, no milk, no sugar? An americano? It was hard to place which of the bitter, dark roast drinks he’d enjoy the most.

You turned away, what would you know anyway? It wasn’t your business. You had no connection to them, you had you remind yourself of that. Focusing your attention back on the dull grey of the Maya UI had you almost groaning out loud. You wished you could be doing anything else.

The constant chattering in Yoongi’s ear was beginning to get grating. He was trying his best to focus on studying for his upcoming finance exam, but it was proving to be impossible with Jin blabbering away about something or other. He’d stopped actually paying attention a while ago, but Jin’s voice was difficult to tune out despite Yoongi’s best efforts. Namjoon seemed largely unaffected next to him, highlighting away in his handwritten notes. Despite Namjoon being a year younger, they were taking the same level of courses, and Yoongi was sure Namjoon was going to beat him at every turn in scores.

Not that it mattered, Yoongi knew he had a position waiting for him at Min Enterprises, right under his father. He knew he should feel privileged, he was and he knew that, but he couldn’t help the seed of resentment that grew tall and thorny inside him. He had managed to sneak a few music courses into his schedule but his rat of an advisor had tattled on him to his father. It made sense, he supposed, his father was basically the one paying the advisor’s salary. It had left a sour taste in his mouth for what his future would look like, but Yoongi couldn’t outwardly complain. He knew his friends felt somewhat similarly, but it was dangerous to discuss things like that in this sort of social circle. Yoongi had learned the hard way that you didn’t know who was friend or foe until the knife was already lodged into your back, and Yoongi knew better than to make the same mistake twice.

“I think that’s Joo’s friend over there, Y/N,” Seokjin mentioned offhandedly, Yoongi finally tuning back into his friend’s rambling, “Should we say hi?” Jin looked questioningly at Yoongi and Namjoon, only receiving blank stares in response.

“I mean, I don’t know her,” Namjoon said bluntly, but kindly, “And I’m kind of in the zone right now.”

Jin pouted, turning to Yoongi with a hopeful gleam in his eye, only to be met with Yoongi’s resolute frown and small shake of his head.

“I barely know her either,” Yoongi said, more matter-of-factly than anything, “And besides, who wants to be ambushed by their friend’s older brother while they’re trying to study.”

“You guys are no fun,” Jin complained, only receiving agreeing hums from both Yoongi and Namjoon.

Yoongi turned his attention back to his laptop, seeing the words on the screen swim together. Finance was boring and difficult, and despite his troublemaker appearance, Yoongi tried his hardest in his classes. Even if he was going to be handed a position at Min Enterprises anyway, he could at least say that he’d earned his degree with his own perspiration and grit.

That was easier said than done, though, and the only thing keeping Yoongi going right now was the 8 hour time slot he’d booked for one of the music school’s studios for him and Joon after exams.

“Valentine’s day is soon,” Jin began, “Just a few days out, you two got any plans?”

Yoongi knew that Jin had a date with some girl from the nursing college and he was only asking them so he could eventually talk about his own plans.

On Yoongi’s left, Namjoon shrugged, “I’m meeting this girl from one of my classes, she asked to get dinner that night.”

Jin wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“It’s just dinner,” Namjoon said, “I’m not really that interested in her, but I felt bad saying no.”

“Boring,” Jin sung, “What about you, Yoongs?”

Yoongi shot him a glare for the nickname but it bounced off of Jin’s bright demeanor, “I don’t have anything planned.”

Jin rolled his eyes before speaking once more, “Well, I have plans, and I’m going to tell you right now whether you want to hear or not.”

That was Yoongi’s cue to tune him out again, his mind drifting to the upcoming holiday. He’d had some Valentine’s dates before, one or two over the course of college, and he’d been inundated with sweet gifts during middle and high school, but he’d never had a sweet tooth. Yoongi wasn’t interested in romance right now, though, he was focused on making sure he’d graduate in a few months. Sex and love could wait until after that.

Well, he supposed he didn’t have a reason to delay sex, but he was sorely lacking time at the moment. He split his days between studying, basketball (when it was warm enough), and any open slots he could find at the studio. There was barely any time for dates or one night stands. He’d waited this long, he could wait another few months until he graduated and had evenings to himself.

Listening to Jin go on and on about how pretty this girl was, though, did make him feel just the tiniest bit lonely.

Was it just you that curled your lip at the cheesy decorations lining the streets of campus? You hoped not, you didn’t want to consider how much of a grouch that made you. The constant barrage of hearts and pink kiss cut outs left you feeling a bit sick. Whether it was from the corny decorations or the reminder of your single status was a question you also didn’t want to explore. It was somewhat late in the morning of Valentine’s day when you were making your way to the same cafe as before. Your roommate was having her boyfriend over and you quickly understood the unspoken hint of making yourself scarce and decided upon enjoying an iced tea from your favorite cafe.

Your projects were still unfinished and you’d resolved to make major headway today, considering they were due in the upcoming week. You blew out a short breath, seeing the vapor form in front of you, your weekend was going to be completely taken up by school. Pushing open the doors of the cafe, you took in your surroundings, noting how unusually empty it was. People must have better things to do on Valentine’s day, but where did that leave you?

You quickly ordered and received your food, making yourself comfy in your usual seat. Looking around the bare room left you feeling a bit upset, did everyone but you have a valentine this year? A quick glance at the two giggling baristas holding hands over the table confirmed your worries. You took an aggressive sip of your drink before opening your laptop, it didn’t matter, you had work to do. Soon, you forgot about your anxieties of loneliness in the face of intense work, focusing your full attention on the project in front of you. You were so distracted that you didn’t realize someone else had entered the cafe until they sat down across from you at your table.

The sound of a backpack plopping down across from you startled you to attention, looking up at the person at the source of the sound. Dark eyes stared back at you with a single raised eyebrow hidden underneath blonde bangs. Your mouth opened slightly in shock before you closed it, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Yoongi’s face.

“Is anyone sitting here already?”

You shook your head silently, still at a loss for words.

“Cool.”

Yoongi left his backpack on the adjacent chair before going up the register to order a hot americano with four shots of espresso. You made sure to take off your headphones and strain your ears to hear his order this time, watching him wait and return to your table after receiving the steaming cup. Your eyes didn’t leave his form the entire time, still unable to comprehend why he decided to sit next to you. His expression offered no answers, impassive and unreadable, and his voice supplied none either, choosing to silently sit and start working rather than speak to you.

You stared at him for another few beats before returning back to your own work, what else were you supposed to do? However much you tried to focus on finishing your cutscene, your head swam with racing thoughts of why Yoongi was acting the way he was. It was becoming increasingly hard to focus with his form across from you, seemingly unbothered. Nevertheless, you tried your best to focus your attention on your laptop screen and not on the relaxed figure on the other side of the table. For a while, it worked, but you were beginning to get frustrated with your lack of progress. You could feel your bottom lip jutting out in an unintentional pout and your anger grew as you ran your unsatisfactory frames again, solidifying the need for more work to be done.

You picked up your empty cup, hearing the ice shake, and exhaling in disappointment. Standing quietly, you attempted not to disturb Yoongi’s flow, though he seemed apathetic to your presence either way. His cup was seemingly empty, set aside and no longer steaming, and you considered your next move. The barista at the register happily took your order for another tea, sending a wink to the other girl behind the counter, who giggled in response. You held in an eyeroll, you couldn’t be mad at them, the two girls were adorably cute together, but you were already annoyed and on edge from your project going awry, not to mention the frustratingly stoic man sitting at your table.

“Can I have a blueberry muffin, too, please,” you asked before you second guess yourself. The girl nodded, ringing you up, before handing you the muffin and drink after a minute or two. You breathed slowly, this would be a big step, a peace offering of sorts. If he said no, you would just eat the damn muffin yourself. It wasn’t such a big deal, or so you told yourself as you walked over.

Wait, what if he didn’t say anything at all?

There was no time to ponder that question as you’d already reached the table. You placed the muffin down next to him with shaky fingers before taking your own seat silently, you couldn’t look into his eyes. Not having enough courage to actually say anything, you instead took a long sip of your drink and stared hard at your computer. You remained steadfast in your gaze, locked into a staring competition with the editing software, before your attention was drawn by fingers tapping by the side of your laptop. You looked up, making eye contact with Yoongi’s gaze, still unreadable.

“Thanks for the muffin,” he said quietly, his voice slightly gruff.

You nodded, sending him a tight-lipped smile, about to return your gaze to your work before he spoke once more.

“Seo Y/N, right?”

Your mouth parted in shock, did he really know you? Did he really remember you? You nodded mutely in response to him.

“You’re Joohee’s friend, right? Jin hyung had mentioned you the other day,” he said, taking a bite of the muffin.

You deflated slightly. Of course he didn’t actually remember you, he only knew you as Joohee’s friend. What other reason would you occupy his mind, if you even crossed it at all. Sending another polite smile in response, you struggled for something to say.

“You’re Min Yoongi,” you stated, immediately regretting the bluntness of the words. You couldn’t come up with anything better than that? It wasn’t even a question, you had said like you already knew so what room did you leave him to respond? Your first conversation with him in years was already failing due to your social ineptness.

Yoongi, however, seemed more amused than anything, a barely there smile decorating his face and a slight tilt to his head, “Yeah, that’s me. What are you working on that’s got you huffing and puffing over there?”

His description of your behavior made your cheeks warm, “A project for class, I have to make a game cutscene.”

“Oh,” he questioned, raising an eyebrow, “You’re studying games?”

Your cheeks flamed even brighter, it sounded so stupid when he put it like that. In reality, you were studying project management and game design, but you had heard enough reactions from your parents’ friends to know that didn’t matter. All they heard was that it wasn’t a doctor, lawyer, or business, and that was enough for them to write it off. It felt even worse to hear the same amused, almost condescending, tone from Yoongi. You knew you had idolized him past his reality, but you’d hoped he would at least be more open minded than the other people that populated your family’s social circle. You felt yourself curl inwards a bit, retracting your hand back into your lap and trying to wipe your probably crestfallen expression off of your face.

“That’s pretty cool,” he mused, eyes looking somewhere far off instead of you, “I’m amazed your parents let you.”

An involuntary scoff left your lips, making him focus his gaze back to you, “It came with its own price.”

He chuckled humorlessly, “It always does. Sometimes it feels like our parents are more like business partners than actual parents.”

Your hand stilled on your keyboard, his words striking a chord within you. They rang true, recalling most conversations with your parents sounding like a business meeting more than anything else, even when you were a kid. You were raised by maids and nannies, even your older brother barely interacted with you, your only reprieve was Joohee. Every time your parents came into your room, rare as it was, it was always to discuss your academics and nothing else. You worked hard for their approval, but even that came with consequences, further alienating your brother from you with the implicit competition expected between you. It saddened you, in a kindred spirit kind of way, to think that Yoongi had experienced something similar.

“Do you have something you wanted to do instead,” you asked before you could stop yourself. Maybe that was out of line.

Yoongi paused for a moment, considering your question, before smiling wistfully, “Yeah, I do.”

You were floored by the sparkle in his eyes, a flush to his cheeks, and a longing smile almost forming on his lips. In that moment, you knew that he couldn’t stop pursuing whatever it was that made him light up like that.

“You should go for it,” you said, words tumbling out of your mouth, “I know it’s easier said than done, but it doesn’t have to be your livelihood. Your parents don’t have to know, isn’t it better to get there without them? But you shouldn’t give it up for anyone else, only if you really, truly want to.” You exhaled unsteadily, certainly not your most eloquent moment, but you hoped that what you were trying to say came across.

Yoongi’s piercing gaze made you squirm, worried that you had gone too far. It wasn’t your business after all, and his continued silence made you feel like he didn’t appreciate your uninvited input. You unconsciously began wringing your fingers against each other, avoiding his intense gaze.

“Sorry,” you mumbled meekly after he continued to stare at you without saying anything.

Yoongi seemed to snap back into the conversation, shaking his head slightly, “No, no, thank you. I’ll definitely have to keep that in mind.”

You weren’t sure if he was being serious or just polite, but at least he didn’t seem mad. You were happy with that. Just about to continue your work once more, your eyes caught his mouth opening once more, his tone straightforward but not unkind.

“I hope you take your own advice.”

You and Yoongi had been working in comfortable silence, interrupted by the occasional conversation, mainly started by Yoongi since you were still too nervous to say anything unprompted. It was getting late, but you didn’t want to leave. Sitting in the empty cafe with no windows with your longtime crush felt like a dream, and you didn’t want to wake up.

“So, how come you’re sitting here studying and not out on some date? Shouldn’t you be enjoying your youth to the fullest,” Yoongi asks, taking a bite out of a second muffin.

You smiled, “Shouldn’t you be doing the same?”

Yoongi only shook his head, prompting you to continue.

“No special reason, I guess, just don’t have a valentine,” you said, not wanting to delve into the complicated reasoning for your single status, “What about you?”

Yoongi hums, taking another bite of his muffin, “About the same here, just too busy this time of year to find someone.”

You nodded along even though your heart sank a bit, was it really that easy for him to find a date that time was the only thing stopping him? It’s not like you were expecting him to be celibate in consideration of your hidden feelings, but it was a bit disheartening that romance seemed to come so easy to him when you struggled with it so much. Maybe you were the problem.

“Tell you what,” Yoongi starts, cheeks puffed from polishing off the last of his muffin, “Since we’re both without a valentine this year, how about for today, we’ll be each other’s valentine.”

You looked up at him in shock, “What do you mean?”

“We’ve already spent most of the day together anyway, so let’s just call each other our valentine’s for today,” he said simply, as though he hadn’t just made your heart stutter.

You knew it was casual, a joke even, for him, but you wanted to relish in this moment, just a small bit of delusion to sprinkle into your fantasies. It’s not like you had any other prospects.

“Okay,” you smiled, “I think you’ll make a good enough valentine.”

Yoongi only smiled in response, “I think you’ll do just fine, too.”

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