#guys honest feedback pls!!!

[emloafs]

a binary boyfriends au where the house fight on December 19th never happened, demetri and eli never make up in high school, and the universe keeps pushing them back together (Boston college au)

aka I wanna gage if anyone would read this fic..... (it's already almost entirely written)

Demetri is having a shitty morning, so he can’t catch a break. 

Maybe he was moving too fast. Maybe he was in a rush to get back to his apartment and finally attempt the other nine pages of the ten-page essay he should’ve already finished. Maybe the whole thing could be blamed on his long limbs or his natural clumsiness, but Demetri is fully convinced that this guy ran into him. Not the other way around. 

And there goes his second coffee of the day–all over his sneakers, the cafe floor, and the guy who shoulder-checked him at full force. 

“Shit!”

“C’mon, man!” the guy barks at the same time. 

The guy has the hood of his green sweatshirt pulled up over his head, likely doing very little against the weather outside. He’s got wired earbuds in–like all pretentious douchebags do–and Demetri bitterly thinks he must have his music too loud to be aware of his surroundings, hence the collision. His worn utility jacket may have saved the hoodie from the spill but it looks completely ruined now.

Arguably, Demetri is much better off, notably not covered in hot coffee. But, this is his second spilled coffee in a single morning, and the universe is out to get him, so this guy isn't going to hear the end of it.

“You ran into me!” Demetri protests, fuming. 

The guy flicks both his arms a few times, trying to wring out any dripping coffee from his coat sleeves.

Demetri’s never been good at biting his tongue and right now he’s too pissed to hold back. “Maybe if you were actually paying attention to the world around you, and not just plowing in here without a care for other customers or your surroundings, you wouldn’t have ran me over! You know, that’s my second spilled coffee today. I have half a mind to demand you get me a new one-”

The guy finally looks up seemingly to find who is responsible for dumping a medium-sized hot latte all over him. His face is half covered by his hoodie and Demetri can only see an intense side-eye of annoyance as a response to his lecture on the important or personal space. Then, he straightens quickly and narrows his eyes, leaning slightly in to the limited space occupied by a puddle of cooling steamed milk and espresso between them.

“And truly it’s blatantly a matter of safety–”

They lock eye contact and the guy’s eyes widen comically and his eyebrows shoot up so high they disappear above the overhang of his hood.

His voice cracks a little as he interrupts Demetri’s rambling.

“Dem?”

Demetri’s words die halfway through his sentence. Does he know this guy?

The stranger shakes his head roughly and clears his throat. “Sorry, it's just- I…” He looks Demetri up and down and narrows his eyes again. “Is your name Demetri?”

And that's… odd. Demetri inspects the guy’s face as best he can under the sweatshirt hood. He seems sort of familiar, but Demetri can't place it. 

Demetri shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly unsure of how to hold his weight under this guy’s intense gaze. “Um. Yes?”

“Oh my- holy shit!” The guy lets out a laugh of disbelief and pulls out his earbuds, letting them hang out of the top of his hoodie. “This is crazy.” 

He roughly shoves his hood off of his head, and Demetri’s heart drops into the bottom of his stomach. 

He rakes his hand through a thick mop of shaggy light brown hair. Hiding under the hood was a pair of startling blue eyes that Demetri really should’ve recognized. As the not-so-stranger pats the hoodie down behind his neck, Demetri has a clear picture of his entire face. And just before Demetri can come up with a plausible theory on doplegängers, his eyes land on the faint scar rippling from the guy’s upper lip to his nose.

There's just no goddamn way.

So, since Demetri really can’t catch a break this morning, his childhood best friend, Eli Moskowitz, is standing in front of him, covered in his second latte of the morning. 

And Demetri wants to say fuck off or what are you doing here or get out of my city or honestly just walk away, but he’s rendered completely frozen. Demetri feels a little like a cartoon character when their jaw completely unhinges and hits the floor with a comical clang. He’s left buffering like a YouTube video being played with a shitty wifi connection.

He hasn’t seen Eli since high school. Hasn’t talked to him in even longer. It’s probably been four years since they last spoke. Not that Demetri is counting. What the hell is he doing in Boston? What the hell is he doing this close to MIT? Just… what the hell?

Eli’s excited expression falters when Demetri doesn’t respond. He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“It’s uh- It’s Eli. Moskowitz?”

Demetri notes first that he introduces himself as Eli, not that ridiculous nickname he coined in school.

He says it as if Demetri doesn’t know. He says it as if Demetri wouldn’t recognize him faster than the back of his own hand even all these years later. His hair is long, too long. It’s curling over his ears and nearly touching his shoulders, and Demetri is pissed because it still looks good. He looks older, he looks better, and all Demetri can see is the tiny Eli he met in first grade who was missing both his front teeth. 

Demetri doesn’t know what to make of any of it. This feels like some cosmic joke. 

“Uh, no, yeah. Yeah. What- What are you doing here?” Demetri finally manages. His voice sounds a little strangled, but the question comes out bluntly and a bit harsh. 

“Uh,” Eli starts, glancing around, and letting out a confused laugh. He raises an eyebrow and shoves his hands in his pockets, gesturing with his coat around the cafe. “Getting coffee? What are you doing here?” he teases.

Demetri really doesn’t have time for this. He rolls his eyes. “Not here. What are you doing in Boston?” he demands. 

Eli’s playful expression falls. He furrows his eyebrows. “I live here.”

And that’s- that can’t be right. Demetri lives here. Demetri just started his second semester of his junior year at MIT a month ago. He certainly would’ve noticed if Eli Moskowitz lived in Boston. Right?

“You live… in Boston?”

“Yeah,” Eli shrugs, looking much too nonchalant for Demetri’s liking. “I go to BU.” He cocks his head slightly to the side and earnestly says, “I thought you knew that.” 

Demetri did not know that. That’s the thing about no contact. Demetri’s had Eli blocked in all forms of communication since their junior of high school. It’s sort of hard to keep tabs on someone when they’re pretty strictly out-of-sight, out-of-mind. 

[almostempty]

he knows (lucien x f!reader)

(lucien x f!reader) | wc: 3.2k | other fics | pic from here

UH HEY! I’m just gonna drop this here and scurry away to finish the other lucien one shot that i also started today, ….and then i’ll return to finishing divorced dad rock joel, and responding to all of the lovely people on here–but, like, i really just need this guy in the most emotionally unavailable and fuckable way, i hope one of y'all gets me

tags/warnings/thots: 18+/explicit, smut, toxic ex/fuckboy lucien, sex instead of communicating or processing emotions, angst but we fuckin’ and that’s the whole plot, we hit raw in my fics bc of my imaginary latex aversion or something, crying, biting, dom lucien vibes (? i never know when that’s the right tag), big dash of pls sexy man fuck the feelings away, tell me if there’s something i should add  

– no editing, no thinking, wrote this in a fever dream while staring at one of the new gifs all afternoon, idk his character! I haven’t watched anything! i just saw the chains and the face and let the horny devil in charge of my sole brain cell take the lead, aka he's my barbie, i was trying to challenge myself to just do something short like 1k- but, uhhhh it’s only 3! 

seeking feedback though (as always) so i can improve!! tell me all ur thots pls! 

“I know,” Lucien argues, “but I never meant to hurt you.” 

“I don’t care anymore.” You speak plainly. Small and quiet. Without conviction. Apathetic. Honest. 

“Anymore?” 

“Baby, please.” He looks at you with those stupid round eyes. He’s effortlessly put together like the wrinkles in his silk shirt were approved by a team of stylists to give him a hint of carelessness. Your incessant attraction to an emotionally unavailable man, it pulls you toward him like a bitter fate. Your therapist, Angie, says you need to learn how to find healthy attachment attractive, but if you shudder with disgust at the thought then what’s the point? 

“Just listen to me,” he continues, talking in circles. Apologizing without taking accountability. Explaining away everything. His behaviors, words, decisions. Apparently, he floats through life at the whim of others. Like one of those ugly deep sea creatures, he tempts you like a glowing lure in the dark. Your eyes glaze over, everything shifting out of focus as you dissociate in your living room. No matter how numb you are, he calls to you. 

You aren’t listening to the words. They don’t matter. It doesn’t matter if his tone is sincere or if it’s thick with flattery and empty promises. It’s more basic than that. Simple. The timbre of his voice. Unique to him. Imprinted in the chambers of your heart. A sharp ache spears through you, and something cracks. A fat, hot, tear escapes. With your shoulders drooping, staring at the ground, the tear falls, splashing on the floor. 

When you look up, meeting his eyes, it’s over. Lucien pulls you close, wrapping his heavy arms around your frame, bracing for the crescendo, keeping you steady. Tears stream endlessly, flooding down your cheeks, sticking to your face and his neck as you bury your face into his warm skin. He’s still trying to placate you, speaking nonsense, thinking he can comfort you. Thinking he knows why you’re upset. Thinking he understands you. 

When your therapist asked you to define love you had described it as being understood. Being seen. Being known. Being considered and prioritized. 

Lucien thinks he knows you. Thinks he understands you. Does he think he loves you? 

Following this line of thought hurts. Splitting you open, a raw beating heart, glistening, thumping, full of life, or a meal fresh and hot for a carnivore to tear into with its sharp fangs. Plump muscle, rich and dark, bleeding out, helpless. Snapping back into reality you shake, a violent sob racking your diaphragm as the pads of his fingers massage the back of your neck. Soothing. Coaxing. 

You want it sharper. Rough. Violent. Distracting. Painful. Anything. With wet lashes, swollen eyes, and ragged breath you become fixated. Licking the salty tears from the dip where his neck meets his shoulder, you can feel his muscles and tendons beneath the flesh. So human and alive. He strokes his hand down your spine, attempting to pacify you, but it sparks something lurid and ravenous, instead. 

You graze your teeth along his neck. “What are you doing?” he mutters the question over the top of your head. Maybe he does know you. “What do you need?” He growls, lowly, the hand he traces your spine with trails lower this time. He’s gluttonous and torrid. A hair-trigger to shift from his concern for your pain and the hole in your heart to a sordid desire to mollify you with his fingers and his cock. 

Maybe it’s a perversion, the tangled experience of despair and desire, the duet of anger and arousal, the sick escape using sex to skip over the emotional suffering. But it’s exactly what you want. It’s the root of the fucked up toxicity. Of everything wrong between you. He does know. He does understand. The same heat that flickers in your core sparks in his. 

Voracious and brash. You bite down, sinking your teeth into his neck, igniting a wildfire. An untamable beast. Again and again and again. Biting, sucking, kissing. His skin tender and raw, your lips wet and swollen. You run a hand along the back of his neck, tugging into his hair, anchoring your grip, and pulling a husky groan from his throat. 

“What do you need?” Lucien repeats, this time with a sharper edge. He detaches you from the safety of the crook of his neck. His two hands. Unnecessarily large, warm, and steady brace either side of your jaw, his fingers wrapping behind your neck. He holds you in front of his face. Vulnerable. Messy. Heat radiates from your cheeks. You release a shaky breath. 

“Don’t make me say it.” It’s a whisper. Pleading and demanding at the same time. 

The cocky smirk that spreads on his face is sickening. It makes you want to slap him, to hear the crack of your palm against his cheek. It makes you want to surrender. Soft and pliable, ready to please and earn praise. It makes you want to scream. To bite him so hard you draw blood. To fuck him until he can’t talk. 

You tell him all of it. Exactly what you need, what you want, what you refuse to say. You tell him all through your kiss. The hunger in your lips as you press them to his, the violence on your tongue, the desperate and vulnerable need to be cared for in the soft moans that rise from your chest, from your heart, from the blood in your veins. He chases all of it. The punishment and pleasure. 

He backs you into the kitchen, caging you against the counter like a scene from a movie. Impervious to whatever protest you make as he clears space, blindly sweeping his arm over the counter before lifting you onto it. The edge of the counter digs into your soft thighs, but it doesn’t matter. You’re ready to drown in the vanilla musk and bourbon-spiced scent of him. The bass in his voice that makes your eyes fall shut and your head tip back against the cupboard behind you. The bruising pressure of his grip that he knows you crave. 

“Baby,” he croons. His words are soft and gentle. As if he propped you on the counter to tend to your wounds. But his hands show no mercy. Roughly ridding you of your clothes. Dropping them into a pile on the floor. He’s ruthless with you. In ways you can’t be with yourself. In ways other lovers could never master. Harsh without being cruel. Deliberate without a plan. 

He lets you tug his shirt over his head. Skin to skin the intensity is primal. “Fuck,” is all you can manage to say. The heat is overwhelming, prickling your nerves and sharpening every sensation. Lucien toys with you like it’s his favorite game. Alternating. 

First, palming reverently at the flesh, sweeping his tongue over your hard nipples, and teasing the wet skin with his hot breath. 

You let him make the decisions. Take the lead. You’re done arguing, done thinking, done with the guilt of letting him in the door, done with acting like you’re any better than him. You brace yourself, one palm flat on the counter, the other resting on his shoulder. Taking whatever he gives. 

He switches up. Everything becomes pointed and precise. He sucks marks into your skin on the underside of your breasts. He pinches and flicks the pert bud of your straining nipples. The contact of his fingers, tongue, and teeth sends white-hot jolts of electricity straight to your cunt. He bites down hard enough to make you choke on a moan. Your whine fills the room, twisted with pain and pleasure. 

“You poor thing,” he purrs. Your face is still wet from your tears. But now they’re tears of frustration. “Just a mess.” You reach for his belt, impatient, but he stops you. He’s not done looking. He lifts one of your legs, propping your foot onto the counter and posing you obscenely in front of him. His gaze makes your pussy throb.

He’s torn. 

Studying your face. Everything unsaid in your eyes. The anguish and rage. The acerbic disdain. The nearly imperceptible longing. 

Admiring your sex, spread open for him. Shining with your arousal. Swollen, slick lips so sensitive for him. Your core, fluttering with anticipation, achingly empty without him. 

He holds your chin between his thumb and curled forefinger. His eyes swirl with lust and something you can’t quite place. “You have no idea,” he rasps. “No idea how much it fucking kills me to see you like this. And knowing I’m the reason why.” 

You don’t know if he means it breaks his heart to see the way you suffer or if he means the sight of you dripping on the counter has him so hard it hurts. You don’t know which you’d believe anyway. He’s not hard up to find someone else to torment or to fuck. That thought makes your throat dry. 

“I can’t stay away from you,” he traces his fingers down your soft inner thigh, closer and closer to where you need him. “How could I?” You tip your head to the side, your limbs and head feel heavy, drunk on a cocktail of everything you love and hate about him all at once. 

“Then don’t.” 

Your reply makes him smile again. He’s so handsome when he smiles it’s infuriating. “You could scream at me, kick me out, hate me–but you still let me touch you, you need me to touch you. Why do I love that so much?” 

“You like feeling important.” You let your snarky comment out without thinking. His question was definitely rhetorical. A few emotions flicker across his face before, a dark little smirk curls the corner of his mouth. 

He feeds off of your challenge. “There she is.” 

“I never left,” you snap, frustration spilling over. He laughs, loose and easy. 

“Listen to me,” Lucien says, low and velvety. Subduing you with the tension and proximity. “I know. You want me to use you. Like you’re my toy. Until you can’t keep those beautiful eyes open.”

“Yes.” 

“I know.” He echoes. Then he closes the gap, kissing you with affection. Holding himself back, but you aren’t reserved. You’re greedy; you want it harder. He just said he’d ruin you, why is he being so gentle? He pulls back with something sincere in his eyes. A whimper falls from your lips, pouty and baffled. 

“Gonna fuck you like I’m trying to ruin you, baby.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Sometime soon, hopefully? You don’t snap again, answering with another yes. 

He leans in, breath fanning hot over your ear. “But, we both know that tonight you’re the one using me. Ruining me. I’m your toy.” 

Your breath hitches at that. You mouth I know in response, not even able to whisper it. He doesn’t need to hear you say it. He nips your ear lobe and you loose a surprised cry before gasping out his name. 

He’s swift now. Purposeful. Undoing his belt, shoving his pants down and revealing his cock. Reflexively your hips tense and shift. Just looking makes you salivate. He runs his thumb over the bead of precome, drawing it along his length. 

He knows how you want it. His fingers can coax you to an orgasm in no time, but you don’t want that. You want the resistance, the stretch, the dull ache, and intensity as your muscles work to let him in deeper. Nobody makes you feel the way he does. Full. Complete. Mindless. 

It could be pornographic, vulgar, raunchy. The way he pushes your inner thigh further open with one hand while he uses the other to languidly stroke himself. The way he grips himself so tightly like he’s punishing himself. The way his jaw hangs slack and he mutters under his breath about how badly you need him. 

To you, however, it’s a profound admission. A candid confession. The more he goads you the more it solidifies that he’s the one that needs you. That it flows so easily from him because he’s really talking about himself. 

“You say you don’t care anymore, but look at you now, baby.” He shifts closer, at counter height you’re aligned perfectly. He glides the head of his cock up and down the folds of your soaked cunt. You shudder and moan, mesmerized by the sight. 

“It’s almost sad how much you need me, like you can’t breathe without this,” he keeps talking. 

He demands that you watch, as if there was a chance you could stop, as he lines up and sinks into you. You groan in unison. You’re so tight, he draws back out. Repeating the same motion, feeding his cock into you deeper and deeper each time. Your hot, plush walls pulse around him, adjusting. When he finally meets the end of you, he hums, pleased. “You feel that?” 

You bob your head, nodding, agreeing. “Yes.” Your voice is breathy. “Perfect.” You grind against him as if you could take him any deeper, begging him to move with your needy display. It’s wholly overwhelming as is, every nerve within you alight as his cock kicks within you, tensing with the same craving to move. 

He takes your hand in his, nestling your fingers around him. Somehow he feels even larger than he looks, like he shouldn’t be able to fit inside of you, but here you are feeling it and seeing it for yourself. Slowly, Lucien tilts his hips, almost pulling out of you completely before plunging in with force. He keeps up the tantalizing pace, guiding you to touch yourself. He watches your fingers with rapt attention, bracing a hand on your hip to keep you in place as he drives into you with another snap of his hips that edges you closer. 

He gradually speeds up, a master at tempering his desire. Your hip flexor aches as you hold yourself in place but it doesn’t matter. You find your rhythm as he holds steady at a pace that has him landing brutal thrusts that force the words out of your lungs. Soft oh’s and fuck’s pour out of you, under your breath, adding fuel to the fire blazing between you. 

Lucien savors your chanting and the image of you fixed in place, taking him eagerly. Your fingers move with urgency, chasing the release that looms closer and closer. Your mind is blissfully blank, reduced to something animalistic, removed from the burden of your history. “Don’t stop,” you plead, “I’m so close.” 

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you at the same pace, all the way through it. As you contract around him, when everything pulls taut and snaps within you, crying out his name, when it’s too sensitive and you whip your hand away, and as you shudder and breathe deeper and deeper. As the ache in your legs from being spread wide open returns and your ass feels numb where the edge of the counter digs into your flesh. Another tear spills from the corner of your eye, but you can’t say what it’s from anymore. 

When you fidget, he stops moving, letting you readjust. A sheen of sweat glistens all over your chest and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how loud the slick noises between you are. How easy it is to get lost in Lucien's hot and heavy magnetism. You know you were falling apart before he propped you up on the counter, but you’re sure you’re a complete wreck now. 

Lucien pulls out but then leans against you, pinning the length of his cock between you, hot, slick, and messy against your sweat-damp skin. He floods your senses, all you can see, hear, and smell. Caging you in his hand find a possessive hold on you, one wrapped around the back of your neck, one wrapped tight around your thigh as you hitch it around his hip. 

“You feel good?” he asks. You hum in agreement. You do feel good. You know he’s not done yet, and smile wide, still hungry for more. “How good?” he asks and you know there’s something coming next. 

“So good.” You trail a hand between you, drawing a line down his chest and back up to cradle his cheek in your palm. Something about the prickle of his facial hair along your palm feels so natural, domestic, and sweet. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek, nuzzle against his ear, and ask him to take you to bed. But you can’t. You’ll never have that. Instead, you bait him. “I think you’re holding back though, I know you can fuck me harder than that.” 

He scoffs, unamused, blowing a hot puff of air between you. His fingers dig deeper into your thigh, applying the kind of pressure that stirs arousal low in your belly. 

The dark glint in his eye gives you butterflies. “I will, Baby,” his rumbling voice is innately sensual, but the condescension in his tone makes you tingly. You’re so close to him that you can feel his heart beating in his chest, you can feel the same pulse thrumming in his cock, still flush against you as he slants his lower half along yours. He’s all things heavy and firm, strong and sculpted, yet fitting so naturally against you. You need more, wriggling and squirming against him, you can’t contain the restlessness. 

“You know,” he says slowly, drawing your eyes back to his. “You can keep trying to move on, but no one else will ever know you like this. No one else will ever ruin you the way I do. You can tell me you don’t care anymore, but you’ll never let anyone else in the way you let me. They won’t touch that part of you, the one that’s mine—because it’ll always be mine.” 

It trickles through you slowly until your blood feels like it’s boiling. They’re tears of anger now. It’s like a sick double entendre. 

“I know,” your words are steeped in every emotion cascading through you. 

You don’t know if it’s worse that he’s right. That there’s a Lucien-shaped mark imprinted on your heart that will never fade. Or if it’s worse that he doesn’t even know it applies to him just the same. That he always comes back because he’s trying to fill the same void. 

Maybe he does know. Maybe he does know and this is all he can do to make it up to you. 

Maybe that’s why he leads you to your bedroom and lives up to his word. 

Why he fucks you so hard you see stars. Why he doesn’t stop even after he comes deep inside of you with a possessive always gonna be mine. Why he litters your skin with more false promises and confessions. Why he gives you so many orgasms you lose track. 

Maybe that’s why he’s still there when the sun starts to peek through your window. Why he fucks you slowly when you’re too tender and exhausted to take him any harder until you’re floating in limbo between a dream and reality. Why he stays there, just cradling your back into his chest and listening to the rhythm of your breath. 

Maybe he does know. 

PLEASE COME YELL WITH ME ABOUT THIS FICTIONAL GUY BC I NEED HIM IN A SUPER NORMAL WAY or tell me if my writing was incoherent or if you can't relate to the toxic ex that is still the best fuck of your life (cruel and twisted fr)

dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics

tags for the babes that let me annoy them with my thots <3

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame

@magneticecstasy @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin

[melancholyhigh]

pls more dbf! Leon I can’t get enough of this man omfhhdhd

who has the choice like smarty does?

ft. dbf!leon x fem!reader

synopsis. you decide to bake a cake for your dad which leads to leon telling you what his favourite flavour is.

content. 1.8k words. fluff, smut. age gap, domesticity, baking, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, protected p in v, kitchen sex.

note. i hope you guys enjoy this one. i just want to be old man leon's pretty wife <33

masterlist. part one. part two. part three. i love feedback & requests :))

Since your dad left for his mission, you often found yourself in Leon’s apartment, bringing you a sense of solace which you lacked. 

The past few days, waking up to him felt like a dream. Your eyes flutter open, only to be met with tired eyes and a sweet smile. 

It’s a crime to look that good in the morning, you thought.

Leon had thought it’d be nice to let you stay at his place for a while. He was constantly at your home, and it would’ve been a nice change of pace. He tried to disguise it as him being concerned for your anxieties about your father’s health and not a means to see you around more often in his apartment. 

In all honesty, his apartment initially did not look used. It looked similar to when he first moved in, and nothing had changed that much. Since staying with him, his miserable apartment (and life) felt alive. 

“Good morning, Lee,” you mumbled drowsily, snuggling into his bare chest, your arms enclosing his waist. 

“Good mornin’, sweetheart.” Damn, his morning voice was sexy.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. Recently, most mornings consist of the both of you lying on his bed in each other's arms, eyes shut, putting off the day’s responsibilities.

The moment is cut short by the ring of your phone, and you groan loudly. The tune of your phone’s ringtone still plays as you contemplate answering it. 

You did not want to deal with your friends right now. After finding out about Leon after he accidentally answered the phone while giving it to you, they relentlessly teased you for it.

Leon stretches his arm out to the bedside table to retrieve your phone. 

“It’s your dad,” Leon mentions, and you quickly sit upright, taking the phone from his hold and answering it.  

You observe as Leon kisses your cheek before leaving his room, giving you the privacy to talk with your dad. 

“Hey, sleepyhead, doing alright?” Your dad greets you, his words breaking up due to the poor connection.

“I’m fine, Dad. Are you okay? Your mission took longer than normal,” you asked, voice shaky.

You wanted to burst into tears. Your dad said it was supposed to be a regular mission, but it lasted almost two weeks. Usually, it takes about a week, and he calls you halfway through even though it’s not allowed. 

You hear a rustling noise, then a deep sigh, “there was a mix-up. I did more work than planned, but I’m fine now, not badly injured or anything– just tired.”

You let out a breath of relief. “When will you get back home?”

“Uhh… tomorrow for sure. I’ve got to get some results back, and then I’m free as a bird. Everything good with you, though, hun? Leon’s been treating ya good?”

“Leon? Yeah! He’s the sweetest. I'm glad you met him.” There’s a smile on your lips as you answer his question. You were honest with every word you said. Leon had become your recent source of comfort.

“That’s good. Leon’s a great guy. I wouldn’t know what to do if you didn’t like him,” your dad jested. You hear a voice in the background call out your dad’s name. 

“Oh shit– Bye, honey. See ya tomorrow.”

“Bye, Dad,” you respond before hanging up.

Stumbling out of bed, the conversation with your father makes you question a few things as you head to the kitchen.

How would your dad react to your not-so-platonic relationship with Leon? Your dad did enjoy Leon’s presence. After all, Leon was his best bud, but would he approve of your relationship? Your father was always calm — albeit a bit unpredictable at times — so you don’t think he’d be infuriated. Not to mention Leon highly respected him and his craft. 

I mean, he said it himself, Leon is a great guy. He’s undoubtedly caring towards you.

Leon spots you as you enter the room. He can’t help but think you look so cute in the morning, wearing nothing but his oversized black t-shirt and plain white panties, which seems to be your go-to outfit lately. You’re wiping the sleep out of your eyes as you make your way over to him. 

“G’morning, baby. Is your dad okay?” Leon asks, handing you a mug of coffee prepared how you like it. 

“Mhm, he’s fine. Old man doesn’t know when to take a break,” you replied, taking a sip from the mug. “He’s gonna back by tomorrow, by the way.” 

Leon exhales, “That’s great. I was worried. Your dad is usually quick when it comes to his work. I guess his old age is finally catching up to him.”

–-

You decided to be the sweetest daughter in the world and bake a cake for your father’s inconvenience. Usually, you’re at classes when he’s on his work trips, unable to welcome him the way you used to when you were younger. 

You learnt at a way too young of age about your father’s job, remembering as a kid waiting for him to come home. That often left you to think of ways to surprise him when he gets back, which leads to you and your aunt baking a cake using premade cake mix. 

This time it’s special because it’ll be a homemade cake! 

You were shocked that Leon even had the ingredients in his pantry to make one.

The cake was in the oven as you prepared some icing you stole from someone’s cooking blog. Your dad was a simple man with a simple taste opting for a classic vanilla because chocolate was too sweet for him.

“Hey, Lee, what’s your favourite cake flavour? Maybe I can make it for you sometime .” You pondered aloud. 

Leon glances at you from his sudoku puzzle on his morning papers. You looked enticing in his apron, a cheesy quote plastered on the front, covered in flour — similar to the shirt he was wearing now.

It had him thinking. Coming home from work to his sweet girl baking him his favourite treat would be enough to make a grown man blush. Maybe it’d be the other way around, you coming home from classes or work as he prepares your favourite meal for you to unwind. 

Either way, it had his cock throbbing within the confinements of his pants. 

He gets up from the dining table, walking to your area at the kitchen counter. He looms behind you as he wraps his strong arms under your (his) graphic tee, resting his chin on your shoulder, the stubble on his face tickling your neck. His touch makes the hair on your skin rise.

“You’re my favourite flavour, sweetheart.” God, he was fucking cheesy. 

He’s sloppily kissing the fading marks along your shoulder blade, and you immediately stop what you’re doing, swallowing deeply at his actions.

“Leon..” you gasp softly. His nose presses up to the column of your throat.

“Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pleads. His hands are now gripping your hips when you turn around to face him. Leon kisses your lips softly, tilting his head as he groans into the kiss. You loved how vocal he gets with you. Each sound he made makes your cunt pulse with want. 

His palms are under your thighs as he helps you onto the cool marble countertops. Pulling away from your lips, he spreads your thighs apart. The cloth of the apron and shirt bunches up, revealing your pretty panties, soaked through. Leon moans at the sight. 

Gripping your thighs in his strong hands, he leans down, kissing the hickeys trailing up your thigh before his tongue pushes up against your pussy, the fabric of your panties rubbing against your clit.

You whimper as he laps at your drenched panties. You use your palms as support on the counter behind you, subtly rutting your hips to his mouth. 

“Fuck,” you gasp when he pulls your panties off and tosses them to the side. Your ass is halfway off the counter as he draws you near his face, admiring your cunt leaking with your arousal.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbles, spreading your lips apart and kissing the sensitive bud, sending electricity through your body. You don’t know whether you find it endearing or obnoxious as he talks to your pussy. He’s such a dork. 

His tongue flattens against your cunt, intently lapping at you as you breathe heavily. You taste so fucking good, he thinks. Nose bumping your clit as he ravages your poor cunt.

His tongue delves into your hole, moving in and out. One of your hands moves to his dark locks tugging on it, a silent plead. He whines into your pussy, reverberating throughout your body, leaving you needy.

Leon palms his cock through his pants. He’s unbelievably hard as his lips move to your clit, sucking on the bud roughly, adoring each sound that falls from your lips, letting out his own groans and moans into your cunt. He could do this for hours. 

“‘M cumming, Leon,” you cry, your thighs clamping around his head as you climax. 

If you suffocated him to death, at least he died doing the thing he loved. 

Lifting from your thighs, he licks his lips, peering at you. His hair is dishevelled as he runs his hand through it attempting to fix it. 

He nudges his bulge to your dripping cunt. He got so hard from just eating you out. 

Your hands rush to help him rid himself of his pants and briefs. He moves to get a condom from his pocket, swiftly ripping the packaging and slipping it on his aching cock.

He runs the head along your folds, nudging it against your abused clit. You wrap your arms around Leon’s shoulders, moving your lips against his as he slowly pushes his cock into you. Your gummy walls clench around him while you whimper softly into the kiss. He fills you up perfectly with his thick length.

Your legs encircle his taut waist as he thrusts slowly into your pussy. The tip of his cock curving perfectly, hitting the spot that makes you dizzy. Leon picks up his pace, and the rhythm of his hips ends up sloppy. 

“Fuck, your pussy’s squeezing me tight, pretty girl,” he huffs, messily fucking you. You grip this bicep for support, nails digging into the flesh. 

“Wanted to fuck you here since the first time you walked into my place.” He groans, his calloused palm squeezing your tits through your shirt and apron. “Planned to fuck you on every surface.”

“Leon…” you whine, your cunt spasming around his fat cock as he repeatedly grinds into you.

“That’s it, baby. Cum f’me.”

He spills into the condom with a loud groan. Your head falls into the crook of his neck as you try to even out your breathing, and you think you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with him.

[celestialtarot11]

Astro Post 🪽

Hi lovelies! A new astro post for ya’ll! Hope ya’ll enjoy! Feel free to like comment and reblog with your feedback, or thoughts. I would love to hear! 🤍

divider creds: @fairytopea

Cap moon babies…it takes us a while to figure out who we are amongst the chaos. I think its important for Cap moons to experience living alone, outside of trauma because its necessary for our development. We crave stability and order, and when we live in an environment that isn’t conducive to that, we get unstable within ourselves. That being said: cap moons need to be alone at some point to figure out who they are instead of constantly saving people around them, or adjusting their personality to reduce backlash. Love you cap moons 🤍 (including me)

Pisces moon, ya’ll be similar to cap moons too. Its easy for yall to get stuck to your environment because it feels safe. It feels like its your only “checkpoint” to everything feeling real. So much that when you enter the real world it feels like a dream. Doing day to day things can trigger dissociation, because you only really felt alive during the traumatic moments. Pisces babes, please if you can create a safe space for yourself to grow outside of trauma. Just like cap moon.

And I think this goes for everyone regardless of astrology.

Aquarius placements, the need to feel unique and special can become tedious. Aquarius placements feel this way to feel chosen, and validated in their community after being neglected. Sometimes perfectionism can get in the way of Aquarius loving themselves truthfully, because they want to project an image of accuracy. So much that people can’t make out anything wrong about them. If they have neptune affliction to their personal placements, its almost about: “an illusion,” “i was never really there,” “and you cant find anything wrong with me if i never existed.” And some of them own this insecurity and work with it. Aqua placements, regardless of your past you will always be chosen by your higher self and spirit 🤍 you have someone rooting for you: you. Your future self.

Leo sun women, you don’t have to dim your light to seem more “mature,” “smart,” and “poised.” You are the light your inner child needs and anyone who stifles that, is also stifling the love you share to your inner child. Think about it. Your joy is your inner child, you get excitement from the littlest of things and having someone constrict that: means they are lessening the relationship you have with yourself. Don’t stick around with people who rain on your shine! Stick with others who shine with you. Leo sun women are so connected with their heart and inner child, that relationship is strong. Of course it can be weakened with trauma and pain, but Leo sun women need to be surrounded by those who uplift them!

Virgo placements knowing when something isn’t right and then dissing their intuition. Virgo pls, in esoteric astrology you’re known as the messenger of intuition and divine order! Gemini is the process of expressing it, but Virgo is the vessel to receive it. You guys know whats up immediately, and have a strong sense of internal navigation. You guys know where to find and create safe spaces if theres none, and your intuition knows if someone isn’t up to any good. Save yourself the villain arc, and trust yourself babes 🤍

Aries rising libra on the descendant, many others expected you to be poised, graceful, and humble to the point of neglecting who you are to fit in. Aries rising I think, always knew they weren’t the type to just “fit in,” since they were young. They knew they’d be open, outspoken, authentic and honest. Even if it shook people, which isn’t the same as being blunt: it’s called being truthful. And the truth scares people who avoid it. As Aries rising grows older they hone their personality that is honest, bold and confident, and releases the codependent part of them. 🪽🤍

Extra 🤍

Paid Readings 🪽

PAC Readings 🪽

[chokchokk]

Can I request a San x Female Reader where It's her first time having sex and first time having an orgasmn. So San makes her squirt over and over before fuckin her. But at the end she notices blood and freaks out so he comforts her? Very smutty and fluffy please?

-AA

Im too embarrassed

dearest AA, “very smutty”, “very fluffy” and “too embarrassed” don’t co-exist in my universe, so i hope with this fic i could get some of your shame (?) away, babes <33 indulge in your desires and don’t hesitate to revisit me anytime !!! thank you for being my first requester xoxo

ʟᴇᴛ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴜᴇ! | choi san x fem!reader

“Don't go around calling me baby right now, or I'll turn like the San in your dream.”

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : Your boyfriend is a wet dream, but this only goes so far, when your real dream leaves you confused and most importantly, curious. San is more than happy to help.

“How does an orgasm feel like, Sannie?”

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : fluff (slice of life-ish), smut

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 10k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : 1st time, sex with communication, first orgasm, foreplay, explicit consent, fingering, squirting, protected (!) penetrative sex, bleeding, after-care; san is a great boyfriend, san has a big dick, that is actually important to the plot, established relationship, living together, a lot of sweet pet-names, teasing, domestic humour

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : LMAO i’ll be honest i got carried away with the build-up (pls know this abt me; i’m a WHORE for build-up (sorry not sorry)) but if you want to jump to the spicy part immediately, go find the second border, the smut will start there!! enjoy in any way you want !!! <33 feedback would be greatly appreciated xoxo

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“Good night, Y/N. Dream of me~”, your boyfriend lulls, as you’re cuddled into his breast, San’s sturdy arm cushioning your body from below, stroking your head that’s under his. He just finished talking about his lucid dreaming recently, fascinated that he can remember more details now, but you interrupted his talking, when he iterated a fight to you where he got his nose bleeding. 

“I don’t have to dream of you when you’re the dream already, Sannie,” you whisper, and with a giggle, he kisses your forehead. San has warned you about calling him ‘dream boyfriend’ multiple times, since he’s aways got, quote, “things to improve on”, but since it’s not dream husband yet, you’re left with no other description. 

“Ohh, sugarplum,” he coos and and pushes your face deeper into the crook of his neck, “don’t say that.”

San is a special case in every which way; in the way he’s this buff guy with guns for arms that he uses to keep you warm when you sleep — in the way San is has the energy of a bull that he stashes away to sing his girlfriend a lullaby — in the way that the Choi San who has dated so many women in his past and hooked up with them (with no ill feelings in the present, of course) has settled down with you, Y/N, a woman with no prior experience other than the media she has consumed.

So you keep telling it yourself in secret. San is, and will forever be, a dream boyfriend. He’s as good to you as you are seemingly to him, but course the topic of sex, at least the lack thereof, crosses you two’s conversations from time to time. 

It’s not like you had tried to save yourself for something, really not. It just… didn’t sound appealing to you, ever. You’ve shared to San that you don’t even masturbate that often, since you’ve never been able to get a satisfactory end— an orgasm— out of it. And while other men would laugh about such a thing, San has shown you nothing but understanding and support.

When you feel sorry for not being able to meet his sexual needs, he tells you he’s happy enough that you feel comfortable to share your discomforts with you. There is not one cell of his body that would mutate and judge you, San is fully devoted to your well-being.

What you forget sometimes is that while San is your first boyfriend, it’s your first time being a girlfriend, too. So being sorry for San is one thing, but wanting to love San more is another. At least you realised that this morning, when you woke up from your first ever wet dream.

You have been able to just ‘shake it off’ during the day and not think about it, but after San, being your soulmate he is, came up with the topic of “lucid dreaming”, and you could barely listen to his wild stories because of how distracted you were.

Maybe that’s why San thought you were tired and cuddled you to slumber so soon. Him cuddling you and getting your head under his chin is you two’s usual sleeping position, but well, huh… You’re not tired, not at all.

“I mean it,” you choke out, San humming, touched by your compliment, but of course he doesn’t know that by saying he’s a dream,you’re also referencing to how his hands were touching your private areas all around, his mouth in places that it’s never been in before in real life. ‘Tastes so good…’

“I love you so much, Y/N,” San exhales delightfully, fed by your fuzzy feelings, still caressing your head with gentle fingers, “but you know that I want you to hold me accountable.”

“Saaannie,” you murmur, your breath turning into a hot patch on his shirt, “just take it as it is.”

San notices your slightly agitated tone and chuckles, kissing your forehead again. “Y/N, my sugar-pie, what’s bothering you?” There has been no doubt in you that San wouldn’t catch on that you’re being weird, and though you’re really glad he did, it, for some reason, doesn’t make the topic any more easier. 

“It’s—“, you begin to stammer, and with your struggle comes San’s immediate help. He shuffles back a little bit so he can take an analytical look at you, all blushed and worked up over a dream you can’t even remember the half of. San’s eyes are droopy, and while right now, it’s because he’s tired, in your dream, it was because he wanted to ‘eat you up…’

“It’s too embarrassing to explain.”

San gets the arm away from below and leans his head against his hand, propping himself up. “Embarrassing?”, he asks and pouts with a slight smile, his dimples digging deep into his cheeks. “Is it an embarrassing matter or just you who’s soooo easy to embarrass, huh?”, San grins and taps your nose one time with his finger to loosen you up, looking you straight in the eyes to give you all his attention. He’s showing to you that you, dearest, could never be embarrassing to him. Everything you do, he’ll take serious and anything you say, San will listen to it, as he’s shown you over and over again, reaffirming it to you every day and night. 

‘I’m going to show you my love, all of it.’

San sees you licking your lips and putting your words together in your overwhelmed brain. You’re not nervous of how San will react, that is for sure, it’s just that… Where do you start? ‘Hey, boyfriend, I think I want to have sex with you?�� That does get the message across, but the words have to leave your mouth first. 

It’s hard. You don’t think you’ve ever said the word, ‘sex’ in the context of… actually having it, let alone desiring it. San watches you spiral— starting to inhale, but then losing your words— and strokes over your head, humming “Just start with the basic outline—“

“I had sex with you in my dream.”

San stops stroking your head for a hot second and you two are just looking into each other’s eyes. San notices now how red you have become, how flushed you look, what a cute girlfriend you are for being embarrassed about this and shit, how lucky he is that you’re his and not anybody else’s girlfriend who you are so adorable playing with your hair right after you just dropped the “s-bomb” on him.

You don’t know what’s worse: Him, waiting for you to continue your talking before he can react to your … attention-grabbing introductory sentence, or you, not having anything to follow up. He probably expects you to tell your dream, but— but not in front of San himself, no! You’re quiet and continue to be, until he takes it upon himself to break the silence.

“… Did you wake up?”

Huh?

“What? Of course I woke up, I’m here now.”

“No, sweetie,” San wheezes softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, while you finally let your eyes stray away (his gaze is unbearable), “I’m asking whether you got to see the end of it.”

“The—“, you parrot him, and while you do San smiles sheepishly, apparently finding you so endearing while you are in mutilation, a foreign warmth growing in your stomach, “— end?”

“I just don’t want to scare you, Y/N,” San hums and twirls your hair around on his finger. “This is me asking where your head is in this situation.”

You blink and San pushes his lips out to indicate that he’s waiting for an answer, or at least something to give him to know if you’re in need of consolation or advice. “Uhm,” you inhale, “I… saw almost everything, I guess.”

His reaction could mean a lot. The dimple in his cheek getting deeper, his nose crunch, him sucking in his lip — it could mean a lot, but also so little.

“Almost everything,” San re-confirms, you know that this description is still very vague. 

Gathering your shards of confidence, you murmur, “I mean… We saw each other naked often, so I think that’s why my brain could— do that, but when it came to that, it… You know. It surprised me.”

“That,” San repeats and by now, he definitely understands the superficial parts of your dream, but you have yet to drop any details. Was the dream a good one? Or well, was he good?

As expected, he wouldn’t dare to ask you that right now, looking at how you’re stammering awkwardly. You can still read it in his eyes though; his curiosity is asking you whether your dream has changed your attitude about sex, let it be for the better or worse. 

You know San is going to show understanding regardless, right?

Yes, absolutely right.

“Y/N, sugar, we can talk about this tomorrow or any other day you like. I’ll keep it in mind, if that’s what you want.” 

Maybe you should say something before San thinks the dream has made you negatively speechless. Well, it did make you speechless the whole day, but now, you’re almost bursting with the things you want to say, like they’re brewing inside you but not getting flavourful yet.

“No, Sannie,” you whine and put your hand on your eyes to hide yourself from his way-too sincere eyes. This isn’t how people do it in the movies or in the books. They usually just… get it on, no? Like they eat each other up, like it’s a necessity for survival, like eating to meet hunger, like quenching your thirst. You don’t know if this is a feeling like that. Whether the uncomfortable warmth inside you is truly the embarrassment but rather the reaction of your memories. ‘Let yourself be all over me.’

“Yes, sweetie,” San croons, removing his hand from your head to leave you by yourself even more, your palms resting on your eye sockets.

You love him. You’ve never doubted this, and you’re not doubting it now. From the moment he confessed his love to you, you having to get used to the idea of being in a relationship to now, almost a year later. You’ve mentioned it to him haphazardly already, but you’ve done everything except have sex. It had been San’s idea to ease you into the twosome-ness of it all; ‘let’s be each other’s person’. He said that in your dream, too, and finally you understood it.

You remember your long-lived confusion before today too well. San was your person as you were his, him with his own set of needs and expectations, you with your own — but weren’t they contradictory? San needed the sex, didn’t he? Like… sexual needs? 

No, “sex isn’t a need”, San explained to you back then, “it’s a way!“

You tried to bring up the whole concept of orgasming being healthy to him, but he continued with “to me,” and you are reciting these words in your head as you try to think of something good to say, “sex is just one of many ways to love you, Y/N.”

So, truth be told, despite having a virgin girlfriend, he orgasms a healthy amount still. Sometimes San does it while you’re sleeping next to him, sometimes he feels like he can’t resist to look at your peaceful, tranquil, breathtaking face and does it in the bathroom, but essentially, he is not having sex, just getting rid of his ‘bodily mishaps’.

While you thought of sex as this strange way to get rid of stress, San thought of it as something way more, but he wouldn’t try to convince you of it, if you didn’t give him your “okay” to talk about it at all.

But here you are. Okay. You’re finally ready. Or maybe you’re not, but you’re ready to try, try with San, try San. He’ll be your person, get to know where you like to be touched, get to know where your sweet spots are and you will hopefully do just the same— touch, no, lick, no, touch, lick and suck everywhere he wants, pour your yourself over him. You’ve wanted to find out how to do that since you’ve dreamt of it since last night, processing the brain-sensation it has left you with for the whole day.

“Do you think you want to tell me about your dream first?“ 

“Can you kiss me?”

“H- huh?”

You get your hands from your eyes and your vision is too blurry to precisely get the picture of his rather shaken expression in. San thinks you’re bold. Mostly because that’s what you are right now. Bold. Still embarrassed, but encouraged and desperate. “Can you kiss me?”, you ask again before you fall into another pile of self-embarrassment. 

“I can, but I don’t know how it’s going to help—“

You pull his face closer to yours with both of your hands and San is the one who slightly turns red now. “Y/N,” he pants, and you have to suppress a cheeky smile, when you push his cheeks together to form a duck-face. 

Until you notice he’s not being sulky with the way he’s trying to push you away.

It takes you a while, how would you know that it was so easy to get men erected? Okay, you’ve seen San get a boner in the most uncomfortable situations several occasions, but usually they weren’t because of a direct cause. 

If he had worn a baggier set of pants, you probably wouldn’t have seen it, but it’s only his shorts today, and the whole outline of it is almost jumping into your face, you couldn’t have not seen it. Not remarking it also wouldn’t have helped the situation. Your situation. ‘I won’t stop, I won’t stop fucking you all night.’

“Is that why you don’t wanna kiss me, Sannie?”, you murmur and flutter with your eye-lids, once your realise you’ve been staring for too long down there.

In contrast the voyeuristic scene, it strangely does not become one of those erotic moments; with San’s whiny chuckle, it actually becomes kind of … bonny. Him getting a hard-on, when his girlfriend is quite figuratively trying to open up with him, it becomes a small detail to poke fun at, one to laugh about it with an amiable awareness that you’re not mocking each other.

“I’m sorry— ignore this— I can ignore this,” San tells you and flops on his back, grabbing all of the blanket to roll around it and leaving you cold with less. “Hey!”, you pout and grab the seam of the blanket to get under it, but San gets ahold of your wrists to prevent you from cuddling to his side.

Maybe it’s because there’s nothing else occupying San’s mind and body right now, with you knowing it, or the way you can’t keep your hands off of him and he’s desperately trying to avoid your touch, it seems like a short game of cat-and-mouse.

“I don’t care that you’re hard, Sannie!”, you whine and search for his vicinity, but he wiggles away, forcing you to be a bit more assertive and wring with him.

“But I do!”, he exclaims, not really understanding the weight that your words hold. You just told him that you’re not appalled by his erection, that should be a big sign that you’re, uh, up for conversation, no? Why are you being like this? Maybe to keep up the tension? Because it’s fun? Fun playing around with San— to watch him try to use as little strength as possible, knowing that once he gets just the tiniest bit of muscle in, you’ll be overthrown?

“Sannie,” you make a sullen face, breathing out, at your third try to get your arms around him with San’s hands on your wrist, but when you get caught in the blanket with your leg that he keeps pulling, it’s over the second he yanks you to the side.

Yanking you to the side meaning pulling you by your whole body— you landing on his belly, arms awkwardly angled towards your torso, leaning into his face.

“You men”, you theatrically moan to tease him even more and San is fighting with all his inner voices right now. Most of them are just empty screams of ‘what is happening?!’, but also muscle memory persuading him to wrap his arms around your perfect waist and pin you down— he’s trying, that’s what he’s yearning to tell you by pushing his eyebrows down. “I’m sorry.”

“Ohh, Sannie,” you sigh, letting your head drop on top of his breast, crossing your fingers into San’s, while he manages his breathing.

“This is why I’m no dream man, Y/N,” San pouts, feeling guilty having used his power over you. 

“It’s natural, isn’t it?”, you answer — letting your hands fall to each side of San’s body, and you feel like one of those people that usually tell you the same thing when the fact that you’re a virgin slips off your tongue. ‘It’s natural, isn’t it? That couples have sex?’ It should be and it’s going to be, thank you.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… I was really not prepared for that,” San wheezes and he raises one of your intertwined hands to touch your fingers with his lips.

“What? The cuddling or the dream?”

“The cuddling, in the context of the dream,” he answers honestly and inhales your sleepy scent from your fingertips, feeling how comfortable you lay on top of him.

“It was a good dream,” you conclude.

This was what San was trying to find out. Good or bad. And to his luck, it was good. Very good. ‘Such a good girl… So good to me.’

“Y/N?”

You accidentally zoned out, re-imagining your reverie; San all over you, sweat dripping down from his skin onto yours, his pelvis pistoning into your raised legs. How had your brain come up with that? It felt so… real. “Sorry, I got lost there for a second. What did you say?”

“How was he, that San in your dream?”

“The San in my dream, he,” you chuckle, feeling your breathing accumulate to your boyfriend’s, “… did everything, but he wasn’t careful, no.”

“What?!”, San exclaims, and it seems like he’s offended by his alter-ego to dare such a thing— he lets go off your hands in the shock and grabs you by your shoulders. “Not careful?!”

“Hmm,” you try and calm him down, letting your hands glide onto his pillowy breasts, massaging your fingers into his flesh by circling them, “he was inside… But a bit… Too fast for my liking? I mean, I don’t know my liking… I was enjoying it in my dream, but— uhm, I don’t think I could handle so much right now?”

San hums, as in to show that he heard what you said, but it took him a second of you burying your hands inside his armpits to inhale, “wait, right now?”, and remove his hands from your shoulders.

“Sannie,” you murmur with closed eyes, the buzzing feeling inside your lower abdomen swaying you to something like slumber, but if you’re not mistaken— and you’re sure that you can’t be mistaken about your own thoughts— it’s not a slumber that can be cured by sleep, but rather something else, “I couldn’t think of anything else today.”

He’s silent. He’s still breathing— thank goodness— but even though you can hear his breath leave his mouth, it doesn’t seem like San is going to say something. Pushing your upper body up, you tilt your head down.

He’s silent, sweaty and breathing, breathing heavily, staring upwards at you with sunken eyes, unable to let any of his thoughts leave the safe space of his mouth, because if San did, he’d give himself trouble for it. Seeing you fix your gaze— eyelids droopy from having been smushed into his breast— seems to only be adding fuel to his loss of good sense, and San is praying in his head that you won’t lick your lips once more, because oh god, if you did, you are going to be in so much more trouble than he is.

“Baby?”, you ask, and you swear you’re not trying to provoke him, since you only call him baby in the most special occasions, but right now, it just slipped out of you because San is being a bit strange. 

Boyfriends don’t act like this, do they? Your boyfriend doesn’t; that, you can be sure about.

“Sorry,” you correct yourself, hopefully to get rid of some of his— well, what was it— anxiousness?— no, frustration?, “I didn’t mean to say ‘baby’. It just slipped out.”

“N- no, Y/N, it’s not your fault, it’s mine,” San whines. “This may sound really weird, but while I would rather die than hurt you, sugar-pie,” he murmurs, avoiding your heavy gaze on him, “I am… a man. And I don’t know how comfortable you are with me, but I am fully, undeniably erected, Y/N. Don’t go around calling me baby right now, or I’ll turn like the San in your dream.”

“How does an orgasm feel like, Sannie?”, you ask, purposefully innocent, but still in a way that makes it obviously suggestive, your tone dropping in an octave from its initial high-tone embarrassment. Where is your sudden confidence coming from? You don’t know, but- uh- well, you’re kinda over San here, both mentally and physically, it seems like. 

“It feels like…”, San sighs, both reminiscing his lifetime of orgasms and feeling pretty fucking awkward in general, to be explaining this to you, while his body is screaming for him to do anything but talking. 

“… It feels like being washed over by refreshing water on a hot summer day, after easing yourself into it with small splashes.” San is no poet and he sees this by how you’re flexing your face together, trying hard to understand.

“It feels like…,” he starts again, and you can swear you are feeling something twitch underneath you, and it’s probably his hard erection. “… Orgasm feel like, wow… How do they feel like, they— Uh…”

Somewhere between his words, San is looking at the ceiling, letting his eyes wander around everywhere your body isn’t laying dangerously close to his throbbing genital, but having to tell you how orgasms feel like is just the end of his senses. Now it’s not only his body urging him on, his girlfriend is trying to find out how they feel like without having experienced one, ever.

“… They are worth it.”

He’s trying to be a good boyfriend, but up until now, he’s been used to being the boyfriend of a virgin girlfriend who didn’t want sex at the moment. And that was the end of it. Definitely more than manageable, more doable than … this.

“Do you think I can enjoy them too?”, you question, revealing to him the true nature of your curiosity.

You’ve confirmed the pulsation between your legs seconds ago, when San let out a whine from his mouth, that was definitely not intended to sound as sexual as it did. You’re a virgin, not dumb, you know what’s seductive, sultry and arousing. Oh, you’re aroused, alright, maybe for the first time in your life— and your boyfriend is, too, so if this puzzle isn’t going to be put together this night, there must be something wrong in the air.

“I can’t speak for you, sugarplum. It was your dream, Y/N.”

“I don’t know how we started, but we were here, on our bed, naked, and you were… thrusting into me with this… almost scary vigour, it was— It was rough. And that one, I didn’t enjoy. You looked mean, Sannie.”

“I’m sorry,” San pouts and he looks downwards to show how sorry he is, but also to focus on your words only. If he sees your sweet face describing those things one more time, then he’ll have to disappear into the toilet soon. “I would never treat you like that.”

You blink a couple of times and lick your lips. “How would you treat me?”

“I would,” San mutters, finally meeting your eyes again, while he slowly, but surely begins to prop himself up by angling his arms, getting to your face-level. “I would treat you with care, reverence—with tenderness; I would get every inch of your skin to understand how it feels to be seen and loved, I would—“, he pants, he’s unable to breathe through his nose, and he just keeps on talking, he…

“YN, I— I would do everything to get to make your body flourish with my love, to make your heart grow with all I have, I want to—“

He goes silent.

Yes, San is a man. But it’s strange to you how he blames being a man for his weakness, but if there is a strong suit that your boyfriend has over you, it’s not being so strong that he can pull you down in a second— it’s having the mind of a lover, and a lover who promises to protect everyone he loves with his strength, and not because he’s getting his own satisfying release out of it.

A man and a lover; San is also your boyfriend, who knows what to tell you to make you grow weak. Let’s say he doesn’t do it a lot for reasons that include wanting to protect you, but as you are on top of him, listening to his words from beneath you, his words melt like fizzled honey on your tummy, crumbling with them. 

“I want you, Y/N. And that’s my selfish dream.”

Being pulled down by gravity as San’s upper body rises, down to his crotch, you let him work his silent ways. He pushes himself up the last inch that it takes to be under your face, and his skin radiates heat onto yours.

There is not even a centimetre separating you two and San finally finds his words. “Please”, he begs, his voice above a whisper, “let me be your dream, Y/N.”

“I thought we already went through that,” you chuckle, getting your arms on each of San’s shoulders now, “baby.”

You can see he’s enjoying this a little too much, the way San is thoroughly covering every inch of your skin with butterfly kisses, as he has you laying on your back, letting you rub your hands over his torso to get used to the ‘intimacy’-part of it all. 

Getting naked was an easy process, being exposed to the very last skin on the other hand, not. You’ve never been naked in front of him for this specific occasion, and since he knows, San doesn’t dare to rush you into more touching than needed, allowing your underwear to wrap around your privates until he’s finished giving you goosebumps all over the body. 

With his soft lips, San kisses your shoulders and collarbones, whispering words of comfort into them, while you try your best to not make any lewd sounds. You didn’t know they came naturally, you had thought it was acting but — oh, goodness — no. 

“Sugar,” San sputters— rearranging himself over you, one knee between your legs, the other over your leg, “let ‘em out. Let the sounds out.”

You gulp, as he glides his hand across your stomach to your lower abdomen, slightly scratching the seam of your panties, and San has placed his lips at your jawline, his voice vibrating in your ear, peppering kisses around the corner of your neck, entrancing you to fall deeper into your mattress, sighing in the calming feeling of your boyfriend.

“Only because you wanna hear me,” you murmur and wrap your arms around his upper body, running your hands across his back muscles that ease into your touch. “And that’s a bad thing, because…?”, San hums and begins to get lower with his kisses and his thumbs caressing where your pantyliner meets your thighs, warming up the small patch of skin there.

“Hmm,” you breathe out, San’s lips working their way down your cleavage, “Good… point.”

San smirks and brings his hands up, not letting a second pass where he is not feeling you under his fingertips. “There is nothing more that I want to hear,” he murmurs, his eyes appearing to become a bit foggy from your scent, San becoming absolutely lost in it, “except you, my love.”

Your breath comes out stuttered and stroke his bangs away to the side in order to have a better view on his face above your breast. He’s radiant, but as much as he’s excited to be doing this, San will stop as soon anything leaves your mouth asking him to, he promised you. In your dream, San just kept going. That’s why you didn’t want to retell the story. He forced you around, he thrusted into you with no choice, and he wouldn’t stop, until your dream cut off without you having orgasmed once throughout the thing.

So the dream itself didn’t get you to want this, and San knows this, the curiosity did. Curiosity of reaching the edge that you missed in your sleep, which you think you can only reach with the real San, with your real boyfriend.

“Can I touch you here, sugar?”, San asks, his upper body hovering over your torso, lips approaching your face, hands gliding up by your waist to meet your ribs. He’s done a good job not staring at your exposed nipples, but following the way from your jawline, neck, and collarbones, this is the next area to appreciate.

“Yes, please,” you answer, cupping your boyfriend’s cheek with one hand, inviting him to kiss you softly. San encloses your breast with a hand that has up to no muscle tension in it, kindly allowing it to get used to the new, but warm contact.

His rosy lips meet yours and he presses several kisses on them, reminding you of how much familiarity you’re dealing with right now. You kiss San all of the time, for all the reasons you love him, and as he kisses you right now, at this sleepy midnight, he’s showing you why sexual intercourse is just a fancy term to describe something so complex, that it actually becomes simple. He loves you. That’s all he has to do to have or not have sex with you.

With his palm, San brushes over your nipple, and by wonder, it hardens and makes goosebumps run over your back.

“You look so beautiful,” San lulls, smooching your lips one more time before he can finally take a look at your breasts and gulp, lick his lips, and ask you, “may I?”

“You may.”

The last kiss lingers delicately on your opened lips, as San breathes in your breast, kneading and softening it up. Automatically, you exhale and run your fingers through his uncombed hair. He sucks once and twirls his tongue around your hardened nipple, and with your very valuable feedback, his other hand draws a long line across your curvature.

“Sannie... Baby…”, you whine, the slow, but sensual licking sending you down a sensation of being tickled and being caressed at the same time.

“Yes, pie?”, San grins, proud that he’s making you feel this way, no, that it’s him that is making you feel this way for the first time in your life. With each of your sweet sounds, his pride and ego grows and his lips lap around your nipples razzingly. 

You tug at his hair and send him down deeper into your skin, slightly pushing him to get his head where you’ve found that you feel best, grabbing the fabric of the bedsheets under you with your other hand.

“It feels so good,” you whine, and San chuckles after seeing your grip, gliding his hand right between your ticklish fingers. 

“Yeah?”, he coos and presses another kiss onto your mouth, adoring the way your eyebrows twitch inside according to his voice. “I’ll make you feel even better…”

San caresses the area under your boob, whispers into your ear, “Will you let me?”, and you nod, words inside your head turning into hazy exhales out of your mouth.

“You won’t regret it,” San chuckles and crosses his fingers into the surface of your hand, using your own hand to slowly, but surely slide down your stomach. You kind of get the idea of what he’s trying to do, but not really the image.

“You think I won’t regret it?”, you ask him, a bit anxious, — it’s your first time, after all— your soft skin under both of your fingertips becoming one, as he leads the hand down. “I don’t know so,” San admits, comforting you by kissing your forehead, “so I’m going to make you believe it, first.”

“Hm?”

San pushes his upper body up with the hand that has been at your breast and glides it behind your back, so he can get between you and the mattress, his naked upper body pressed against your shoulder. He plants an uncountable number of kisses onto your neck, and assists you down to your panties, keeping his eyes on you to confirm you’re okay with all that he’s doing.

You’ve never touched yourself on this bed. The last time you did was somewhere in your gleeful high-school teens, long before you met San, and if you’re honest, you’d rather have him touch you, but when San kisses you on the lips and both of your hands slide under the seam of your underwear. The rough fabric of the lace scrapes San’s hand and you meet the hot slickness you’ve become inside.

“Would you look at that,” San purrs, voice wispy— his finger is the only one to glide against your wet labia and explore the untouched lips. It helps that your hand is down there too, and it feels like a rubber hand illusion, you touching yourself while San does it for you.

“Y/N,” San moans into your ear, stirred by the sensation that is you. “You feel so good, don’t you, sugar?”

You inhale sharply, when San’s finger strokes over your clitoris, and straight away, your boyfriend presses kisses onto your temple. “S- Sannie,” you whine and provoked by your sounds, his finger circles around your clit again. 

Sparks, tingles — you name it. With San kissing you all around the face to counteract the new stimulation, you can’t keep your legs straightened, folding your thighs around your and San’s arm with an overwhelmed sigh. “Sannie…”, you repeat yourself and look him in the eye.

“Aww, sugar,” San smiles and catches your forlorn gaze, flushed and drowned in his kisses. Your cheeks are burning red, but the same thing goes for San. Both of you are drunk in love, falling for each other deeper with every breath you take.

“Is this good?”, he asks and rubs your back with his thumb, the other finger teasing the slick entrance. “Y- yes,” you answer and San crunches his nose in admiration, slowly easing his finger around the tissue. 

“Can you touch yourself for me?”, is San’s second question and you gulp at the sincerity in your boyfriend’s voice. He’s talking two octaves deeper, raspy, lascivious; he’s promiscuous in all he is doing, let it be nibbling at your earlobe, rubbing your clit, caressing your spine with utmost libertine care— you have a feeling you’re developing another crush for your boyfriend.

“Y- yes,” you stutter, but a bit anxious about doing something wrong. It feels so right when San does it, but he’s the more experienced one in this— at least that’s what you think. He removes his hand from the surface of yours and lets you do the rubbing for a short moment, and you try to replicate what he did to you, flicking your finger over your clitoris.

“Doing it so well,” San comments and he raises your upper body with his arm, making you sit up, slithering down while smothering your lower abdomen with sloppy kisses.

“R- really?”, you ask, and San nods, while kissing the inner sides of your thighs, his eyes looking at you sideways. “Of course. It’s your body, Y/N. Your beautiful, gorgeous body.”

As San gutters, you feel something swaying on your clit, when your boyfriend smirks and looks directly at your pussy. He’s so handsome, San is making you nervous, and his eyes are drilling into you lustfully.

“You’re so beautiful everywhere, sugar, what have I done to deserve this?”, he pants, hooking himself from under your thigh, hands resting on your hip bone.

You don’t know what to answer and just flutter with your eyelashes, exhaling, when San sticks his tongue out and slides across your slickness it in one stroke, looking up at you to catch your whiny reaction. He deserves all of it, not because he was patient enough to wait for it, but because San is the one to make you feel this pretty in the first place.

“It’s probably really predictable I was going to say this, but I can’t not say it, ” San gutters, his dimple dug deep into his cheek— he’s smiling, licking his lips, “you taste amazingly sweet, my love.”

You press your lips together and feel like you have to push San into your arousal again by his hair, combing through it. “D- do it again,” you beg, and San’s heart flutters. Not letting you wait, he inhales through his nose and laps his mouth around your glistening cunt. You already knew he was good with his tongue for you have french-kissed him before, but— but this is another type of tongue-work. 

It’s slow, it’s sensual, but it still feels so exhilarating— how he’s sucking in your clitoris, laving over your muscled entrance that reacts to the movement of his tongue; it makes you breathe heavily and let out feathery moans.

“Feels so good,” you hush, and stroke his hair. San hums and at smiles with his eyes, getting one hand away from your leg to slowly run it towards your vagina.

“Are you really going to … make me cum?”, you ask, a bit plumply, both out of rush and nervousness. 

“I would like to, yes,” San answers, kissing you all around the pelvis bone. His lips have become plump and his nose is also painted rosy red from how he planted his face into you. “Will you allow me to?”

“Please be careful,” you appeal and San nods. “Yes, Y/N. I promise I will never do anything to you that will hurt you. Not like that stupid… dream-San you talked about.”

You chuckle and caress his jawline with your thumb, San leaning his head into your hand. “I know you would never do that, Sannie,” you say and prop yourself with an elbow. “Please make me cum.”

San wants to say something, but he bites his lip and suppresses it, crawling closer to your throbbing, heated pussy. “What is it, baby?”, you ask him, and this time, you deliberatelywant to tease him by calling him that, winking slyly at him.

Your boyfriend blinks in disbelief and lets out a light-hearted scoff, his breathing comes in and out stuttered. “Y/N,” San hums, putting a leg over his shoulder and you feel like more air is hitting your wetness, “you have no… idea… what those words are doing to me.”

Your boyfriend gulps, and as you peek at him innocently, having to get used to the new position, he looks amazed and set ablaze. Is this your ‘aroused face’? You, with your lips parted ever-so soppily, looking sultry and lovable— San is savouring this sight, oh, this sight, and saving it into his brain so it will never leave his mind, add it to the collection of his memories of you.

“Show me,” you whisper, a fire starting to enflame in you, demanding San to extinguish it.

“There’s nothing else in the world I’d rather do,” San hums and with that sentence, he’s at your cunt again, but more eager this time. The tongue flicks faster over your clitoris, his pants are getting breathier against your skin— San wants you, wants all of you, and before you know it, there’s a thumb rubbing at the entrance, notifying you that he is going to be penetrating soon.

“I’ll make you come over and over,” San breathes, and his eyes are filled with lust, hunger, desire, thirst— and you gasp at the sight of it alone, but his voice, his heart, his mind, is all painted and drowned in something purely innocent that is love. “Is that alright with you, sweetheart?”

He asks as if you stand a chance to resist him, but San seems to be doing this for the enjoyment that is pleasing you, and you’re more than happy to allow him to have his body all over yours for the sakes or it, because you love him so much. You’re already excited for when you know how to get your body all over his.

“That,” you exhale, feeling his thumb be replaced by his digit, the muscle of your entrance closing in on the finger tip, “is alright with me. I’m in, Mr. Choi, the deal’s settled.”

San chuckles at your light-hearted joke and you giggle as well, which allows his finger to glide into you slowly. Of course you’re tight, but you find it fascinating how your muscles ease around him and suck his finger in, the slickness squelching, as he licks over your slit.

“Looking forward to our cooperation,” he grins, lips pressed against your pussy and you can feel yourself slowly turning into mush. Your abdomen feels strangely ticklish, and there’s this pulling feeling that makes your body rock.

“… Ms. Choi.”

You scoff— San gave you his last name, how silly of him— but your amusement doesn’t hold on for too long, when San begins to move his finger around, angling it up and down.

“Mmhf,” you gutter and your legs close down on his head, the second leg finding its place on his other shoulder. “That—“, you try to gasp, but San being the quick learner he is, keeps stroking that one spot which got to this reaction in the first place.

“S- San!”, you whine; fuzzy, dizzy, light-heated, feeling like you’re going to shoot into space, to other worlds, and come right back to earth. In the meanwhile, your boyfriend’s tongue flicks even faster, head stuck between your thighs, his finger sliding in and out of you until you’re a whimpering mess.

“I’m here, baby,” he murmurs, finally looking up to you, wishing to meet your eyes again, but your head is rolling to the back, your upper body feels heavy and you slightly fall to the back, having to grab his hair to support yourself.

“I- I,” you stutter, feeling like there’s something that’s sizzling for explosion, and it seems San is feeling it too, in the way your pussy is tightening around his finger, and half-laughing out of glee about this discovery, San props himself up a little bit, your lower body raised from the mattress.

“Cum, sugar, cum,” he whispers, and as he adds a second finger that fills you up in a way that one finger couldn’t achieve, you fully suffocate him with your thighs, the thin string holding you away from release finally snapping. 

“Fuck!”, you moan, and at first, San is surprised about your cussing, but then his eyes grow big, when there is more fluid coming out of your vagina that hasn’t been there beforehand. Explosion, sweet release, what should you call it? An orgasm— that’s what this is, but no, you’re also squirting, lower body spasming as you do so, and San is trying to react quickly by slurping it all in, but it’s too much— your bed gets wet. He drives the two fingers in and out and makes you a mess, makes a mess, makes you messy, getting all your squirt out and inside his mouth.

“San— Sannie— Baby!”, you pant, overstimulated by his fingers and lips that will just not stop, and you fear you’re going to choke your boyfriend to death with your thighs, but the same tingle appears in your lower abdomen again, felt everywhere in your tightness.

“Come on, come on, come on,” San growls, short of breath, and by angling his fingers upwards your walls, you see stars again, throwing your head into the bed and you pull at his hair, harshly and roughly, gripping his scalp for dear life, when you’re shot into bliss again.

“Ooooh baby,” San howls wispily, repeating his motion, but less ecstatic this time in order to not make you pass out from pleasure, if that happens at all.

And as licks the remaining fluid of his lips, and gets you back down again, San doesn’t lose any of his excitement, hair ruffled by your grip, lips swollen from using them so much. “Can I do that again? Can I please do that again?”

“Wha— What about you?”, you ask, panting, knowing that the penis inside his pyjamas has been hard since almost an eternity, but it seems like San doesn’t care about that at all. He looks euphoric, he looks like he saw a god (a goddess, mind you) and San just shakes his head.

“Don’t think about me, I’m,” he admits, and what you don’t know is that he just came inside his pants, when San saw your stunning orgasm-face— and he definitely has to clean it up before it soaks through, “all cared for here.”

San shuffles away from your legs to your face and kisses your forehead, wiping a bit of sweat away. “I’m gonna get towels and you’re gonna make yourself ready for a second time, alright?”

“But—“

“Will there be a ‘but’?”, San asks, and he’s prepared to let all go and just take a shower, but you just scratch your neck. “Don’t you want to fuck … me?”

“Ohhh, don’t worry, sugar, I want and will,” San grins and you smile, feeling a bit light-headed because of your first orgasm. For this to be your first orgasm, while many of your friends had their first time without having orgasmed—… it’s a lot, to admit the least.

Not to say that you’re trying to compare with them and feel superior, but if this is what’s waiting for is worth, you’d spend all that time again. 

Again. And again, and—

“Again!”

You’re breathing heavily, skin slippy from your sweat — or, well, both of you are covered in body fluids, there are pearls of sweat dropping down on San, who, despite rubbing you clean with his hands, doesn’t even bother anymore to dry his wet arm anymore.

“Sannie,” you exhale, when San kisses your from behind, as you sit between his legs, “I- I th-think this is enough, I’m r-ready.”

“Hmmm?”, he hums, pressing his naked upper body at your back, his two fingers coming out of you for the nth time. Your hips have been spasming around for a long while now, and you feel sensitive and over-stimulated at your clitoris, but if there is one thing you’re still curious about after all those orgasms, it’s how San feels inside you not with his fingers but his girth.

“I want your dick inside,” you command directly, too sex-drunk to express your wish in any other way.

“Are you sure?”, San asks and kisses the nape of your neck. “We can do it any other time, sugar-pie, aren’t you tired by now?”

“Are you?”

“Of course not.”

You turn your head around and slightly pant, seeing San not lose any of his desirous colour in his eyes. “Then let’s not lose any time.”

San presses a deep kiss on your temple before he leaves your back, and you feel the warmth of his lips sit there, as he positions himself at the front, on his knees. He still has his boxer-shorts on, but that only goes so far, when he’s been leaking with pre-cum, never-mind has come in the same set an hour ago.

You can see it perfectly— San’s length, his girth, the way it moves by itself under the fabric; it looks captivating as much as it is arousing you again after all the times you’ve orgasmed this evening. 

“Do you want to touch me?”, San asks, and trails his own hand over his breast, giving you an idea of what you can do to pleasure him. 

“Yes, baby,” you answer and get on your knees as well, grabbing San by the hips and caressing the seam of his shorts with your thumbs. In the meanwhile, your lips seek for his vicinity and you place kisses on his neck. “I’d love to.”

“I love you so much,” San sighs and holds you by your head tenderly with both hands, cupping the circular form, feeling you get a taste of his sweaty skin at his neck. His Adam’s apple bops, when you slightly pull his boxers down and there’s resistance from his erection.

“You have a big dick, right?”, you ask, and San coughs— he was expecting you to say ‘I love you’ back first.

“U- uh,” he stammers, “yeah. It’s- uhm. I hope it’s not too big, Y/N.”

“Can it be too big?”

You ask him with genuine curiosity and San scratches the back of his head. “I was preparing you thoroughly for it, honey, that’s all… I can say.”

He harrumphes in the awkward conversation, and before he can get shy from your stare, you chuckle and kiss him, “I love you too, Sannie. I couldn’t imagine doing this with any other person.”

Your boyfriend slides his hand to your jaw and pulls up your head to kiss you, mumbling, “only do this with me, Y/N,” into your lips.

As his lips work against yours, you slide down your hands into his boxer-shorts and use your wrists to spread the spandex, getting San’s underwear off. 

With your eyes closed, you hear San breathe in deeply through his nose and he rubs your back with both of his hands to push your naked body against his. 

His dick feels hot, wet and mild, when it presses against your abdomen, and you subconsciously grind your lower body to identify it better. It is big. The two fingers don’t even come close to what you’re working with here, and in the moment, it’s really good that you feel loosened up by the numerous times San made you come.

“Please touch me,” San instructs you and you nod, opening your eyes to see his glistening tip pointed towards you. Without waiting, you leniently wrap your hand around it and San parts your lips to pant.

“I don’t think I’ll hold on for long,” he whimpers, and his pelvis twitches, when you squeeze your hand around the soft, heated, slick muscle.

“Wait, Sannie… Do we have condoms?”, you ask and to your surprise, San opens up the cupboard. You loosely remember when San asked you if he should buy condoms at the beginning of your relationship, and you know that you answered with an ‘I don’t know’ back then.

A year later, it turns out San has bought a pack, but didn’t talk about it until the time was ripe. “Do you want to do it for me?”, he asks you, ripping apart the plastic wrapper with his finger and mouth. That this took a wet dream to realise is funny to you, but as you’re in the moment, you can only gulp in anticipation.

You nod and continue to pump his length in your grasp, when you’re handed the flimsy condom. Is that even going to fit around him?

“Yes, it is going to fit,” San giggles at your subconsciously asked question, and then kisses you, “did dream-San wear a condom?”

You place the center of the condom on the tip of penis and slowly glide down the lubed silicone by the ring.

“No, I don’t think so,” you murmur, though you couldn’t care any less about your dream right now. San hums and bucks up his hip into your hand, making the condom hit the end of his length.

It frankly looks quite comical, the way the white outlines your boyfriend’s dick, but before you can laugh, San delicately pushes you at your ass— other hand on the back of your head to not make you hit the bed-frame, with you landing on your back, legs angled towards the sky.

San tsk’s about his alter-ego’s wrong-doings and shakes his head. “I think your brain has a very twisted image of me.”

You chuckle at how sulky San is about it, though you can’t take any responsibility. You also don’t know how your brain cooked up the imagination of San ramming into you raw, especially when your biggest fear has been that things were going to hurt. (Now that you know they don’t, you’re good to go, you think.)

But the real San touches you softly, carefully, endearingly faintly, even if his dick looks intimidatingly big; you’re covering your mouth at the sight of it alone. 

“Come on, don’t be shy now,” San grins and flops his protected peen on your pussy, the girth of it weighing down on your sensitive bud.

“Sannie, baby, please be gentle,” you whine and San caresses your cheek, not finding your plead in any way offensive. 

“I will, sweetheart,” he whispers, and his voice sounds sweet, melts sweetly in your ears, but when his tip is there, at your entrance, you have to grab his hand at your cheek forcefully.

It’s a stretch. If you had known it would have come to this, you would have asked San to add a third, no, maybe even a fourth finger, but maybe he knew too, that even that wouldn’t have helped with a lot.

Not to say that it hurts, but to feel your muscle be extended as he just pushes in the tip, you’re already panting. San intertwines his fingers and leans forward, trying to calm you down. “Are you okay, baby?”, he asks, pouting. “I can stop.”

“N- no,” you stutter, though the bit of movement has had him slide in deeper and thus, your cunt be stretched further. “It’s okay. Just be slow. I can do it.”

“No, Y/N, you have to want it,” San sighs and you press your face against his hand. “I want it,” you murmur, glancing up at him. “I want you, Sannie.”

He smiles in awe of your droopy eyes and luscious lips reaffirming your love to him, and San inhales deeply. “I’ll move a bit more, okay?”

“Okay.”

Both of you inhale at the same time, but it’s San this time to moan it out. “Oh, god,” he whimpers, “feels so good, Y/N. Feels so fucking good.”

And this is where you close your eyes and let your boyfriend do his thing over you, because San’s sounds are candy to your ears. He’s doing it slowly, and heaven knows he can’t push it just entirely just yet, but the first third that San has inside you is enough to make you grip the sheets.

“Are you alright? Baby, is it too much? Can I do more?”, San whines, and you’re too weak-hearted for his arousal-sake, that you sigh sultrily and say, “Sannie, you know what to do.”

“No, no, baby, please don’t say things like that, I really won’t—“

He groans and pushes himself further in. You have to strain your forehead and pull in your eyebrows to work around the fact that you have never felt your cunt be stuffed in like this, and oh god, you feel so stuffed.

“Baby, please tell me when you want me to stop,” San begs you, concerned about your facial expression, kissing your cheek repeatedly. 

“This just feels unfamiliar, that’s all,” you whimper and San pulls out a little bit while you talk. “But you will tell me, right?”, he asks you, and gets a nod in return. You should be seeing black in front of you, given that you’ve closed your eyes, but after San pushes himself in again, there’s a piercing zap that makes you open your eyes wide.

“Sannie, wait—“

He immediately stops and both of you look at each other. San doesn’t move, anxious that anything will make you more anxious, when you grab him by his arms. 

And with one glance down, you see it.

Blood.

Not a lot, fortunately so, but still, bleeding from your privates outside your period is terrifying, and it makes all of your heat flee away— 

Blood!

There’s not a scream or a gasp leaving your mouth, rather just a short soundless inhale that indicates your surprise, when you close your eyes and cover them with the surface of your hands.

Blood?!

“Oh my god, sugar,” San exclaims silently, you don’t know if this is a first for him as well— and though both of you don’t panic as loudly as you could have, your boyfriend still looks mortified, eyes ripped open, mouth opened by a slit, when you remove your palms from your eyelids. “Did I hurt you? Did it hurt? Oh my god, Y/N, I’m so sorry, I—“

“No, Sannie, it didn’t hurt— It didn’t—“

Not panicking, but still both stammering and not aware of what to do with your hands. 

He pulls out and covers your private with the towel that he used to catch your fluid before, and San immediately claims a serious expression on his face, looking around to find something for you to hold onto. He finds you a pillow, puts it over your stomach, and you cuddle into it, trying to catch a breath. 

You didn’t lie. It didn’t hurt, it really didn’t. At least not even half the the amount of blood that is covering the towel, and you don’t think anything else (let it be more preparation or whatever) could have had helped you two in this situation. Is it just a matter of luck? Of your body? Well, maybe you’re out of luck and your body is going lax as well.

San is removing the condom from his dick and fetching his boxer-shorts again to fully call it quits, using approximately 4 seconds before he disappears in your arms again and smothers you with kisses.

“But— but Sannie…”, you whimper, feeling kind of guilty to be leaving him hanging like this after he’s done so much for you, but he silences you with his lips.

“Don’t you dare say sorry, sugar-pie,” San smiles and brushes over your hair, continuing to peck your face, as he hugs you from aside, and his warm skin soothes the goosebumps you got from seeing red on yourself. “As long you’re not hurting.”

“Do you want to take a shower or do you want to sleep?”, San asks you and you shiver a little bit once the adrenaline has worn down and all that provides you comfort is your boyfriend’s vicinity. “I don’t know, Sannie,” you murmur into his breast and a hand rubs your back. You’re still naked, but San covers you up with a blanket. “You don’t have to know, sugar,” San whispers and rests his chin on top of your head. “Just be here with me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

You nod into his embrace, feeling exhausted, worn out and tired, and you start to breathe heavily into his skin, San rubbing his thumb across your lower back to match the rhythm of your breathing, your heartbeat slowing down.

You’re safe.

You’re home.

You’re not dreaming, you’re with your boyfriend, Choi San, and even though nobody will know what kind of dreams will visit you, what nightmares will make you wake up in the middle of the night, you’re, well, in love.

Comfortable, soft, warm, at ease, serene — happy; this is what love feels like. A dream doesn’t come close to the unworried warmth love provides, to the warmth the real San provides, and while you doze off, you and San whisper affirmations into each other’s presence that you’ll,

“Dream of me, Y/N.”

[saerins]

─── 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑

+ itoshi rin x f!reader | wc 6k | content: mostly fluff, some angst, rin is so awkward, childhood friends to lovers

notes: my first time writing something for rin so i’m nervous but i hope you guys like it <3 pls i hope i didn’t butcher him >_< rbs & feedback appreciated muwah !

summary: rin thinks about you all the time, for better or for worse. problem is, he really shouldn’t be anymore. things never seem to work out for the both of you, will trying even make a difference this time?

rin knows you don’t like flowers. no wait, you like them, you just don’t like receiving them. you cried once, when the flower he plucked for you died within a few days in your makeshift vase.

rin also knows that while other girls dream of their dream wedding, you dream of a nice cosy house, a modern one with touches of japanese accents. he likes to hear you talk about it. he likes to hear you talk about anything at all, actually.

he’s known you ever since you were both little, since you were both five and just two kids in the playground playing hide and seek.

rin would always win, because you’re as clumsy as it gets and you’re not that observant. you could never find him, even if he’s right there. he likes it though; seeing you look for him, that little panicky look in your eyes when you think he’d ever actually abandon you and run off.

he played with you whenever he could—you were both neighbours after all. it was fun, being with you was fun.

you reminded him of new beginnings, like how it feels like jumping into a pool after a long hard day of training, or how the sun feels like hitting your skin on a cold winter day.

it was second nature for him—to seek you out whenever he had a hard time, to look for you when he needed a distraction, to search for you in the crowd to seek some familiarity.

but it’s easy for flimsy things to break. the both of you were just kids, and kids did childish things, like think only for the moment and not further into the future, did silly things like saying you’d marry one another with fake paper rings and forget it the very next day (rin remembers). kids also handle things in a bad way, in the way that leaves no room for the friend they pushed away.

if rin regrets anything from his past, it’s that he took sae’s departure out on you.

rin doesn’t know how to process things well. can’t decide why exactly he’s so pressed about sae’s choice of words. doesn’t know what to make of why he even plays soccer. is it just because of his brother?

he doesn’t fucking know.

rin’s sorry.

it isn’t your fault his brother found a different path. you had nothing to do with it. you and those brownies you cooked for him. he’s sorry that he let them fall to the ground and just stormed off.

that was what, three or four years ago? you’d moved out by then, and the both of you had never spoken since.

if he’s being honest, he misses your presence. maybe it’s the fact that you were his manifestation of a safety net, someone that he could fall back on, someone he could lean on.

maybe he’s just being an asshole.

now he’s seventeen and probably even more of an asshole. if anything, sae’s departure left a bitter taste in his mouth that he wasn’t able to cleanse.

but he’s lucky you’re you. you’re you and that means you don’t hold grudges and you’re still the kindest person he’s ever known.

“rin?”

he stops his hand in mid motion, the key between his fingers dropping onto the wooden floorboards below. rin can’t seem to function anymore—he knows that voice. all too well.

it’s the voice that made him excited as a kid, it’s the same voice that comforted him whenever he fell short of perfect, the same voice that haunts his dreams sometimes at night, even now.

rin turns around and sees you there, at his front porch, smiling all awkwardly and chuckling nervously, your hands in your pocket because you never know what to do with them when you’re uncomfortable.

“hi,” is all he manages to choke out because he’s still a little stunned and his key is long lost and forgotten on the ground.

“hey stranger,” you grin, and his heart beats faster and faster as you get closer and closer.

the both of you are no longer kids, and it’s so painfully obvious now in front of him. he can’t stop fucking staring even if his inner voice is screaming at him to.

“i thought you moved away,” rin manages to say, and because he’s really curious as to why you’re even here, in this place you’re not supposed to be, talking to someone you haven’t spoken to in years.

“i’m, uh, here just to visit my family,” you stutter out, and rin wants to call you out on it so bad, but he can’t do that without exposing himself.

how could he possibly tell you that he knows none of your family is left here in the neighbourhood because he’s asked everyone who used to be in contact with your family? how can he possibly say that without exposing himself for going through your social profiles just to find out that you’ve moved out to another city with your entire family?

so, what are you here for then?

“hey, you wanna, uh, go eat dinner together? or something? later?” you’re so awkward rin could die. rin’s so awkward he could just kill himself.

the silence is deafening and it’s not that he doesn’t want to have dinner with you, it’s just that he has soccer training in the evening and he’s still in shock from the fact that you’re here in the flesh and—

“it’s okay, forget i asked, i was just—”

“no, i mean,” rin trips over his own words and the two of you are just two stupid idiots standing on the itoshi family’s porch doing stupid idiot things. he takes a deep breath, “where should we eat?”

that smile you shoot him is deadly and he wants to keep it forever. if that’s even possible. but he’s really awkward with his feelings and he doesn’t even know what he feels for you. all he knows is that he wants you to stay here again, be within reach for him.

“pick me up at six on your bike?” you nod over to his bicycle, and he blushes so hard because despite getting countless valentines from other girls, none of them have the same effect on him as you do.

rin thinks he should shake his head and say no and pretend like you don’t exist again. he shouldn’t go on this pseudo date with you.

yet he does. he picks you up where you said you’d be, at a hotel near the heart of the city. he’s on his bicycle, just like you asked of him, and you definitely dressed for the ride, comfortable in shorts and a tank top. you’ve gotten from cute to so so pretty and rin finds it so damn difficult to tear his eyes away from you.

when you get on the back of his bicycle, you put your hands around his waist and he can actually feel how fast your heart is beating. rin’s is too, but he’s grateful you probably can’t tell.

also at your request, he takes you to a spot he chose—which is nothing extravagant because you’re both still broke students who haven’t earned your own money, but he thinks you’ll like it anyway.

after getting some cup noodles from a nearby convenience store, he pedals over to the playground the both of you used to spend ages at when you were kids. the place where you used to play hide and seek with each other.

it’s a place of significance. at least, to him. he wonders if you even remember this place.

“nice choice, itoshi rin,” you say, and rin has his answer. “i missed this place.”

and rin missed you, but he isn’t going to say that.

“i’m surprised you remember,” he tells you, choosing to sit down on the swings. you follow and sit on the only other one beside him, your cup noodle hot and ready in your hands. “how’s kyushu?”

you slurp up some of your noodles, and rin thinks you look beautiful just like this anyway. “it’s okay, made some friends so that makes it more tolerable.” you’re shrugging like it’s no big deal, but he can tell by the faraway look in your eyes that there’s more to it.

“tokyo’s better, huh?” he isn’t much for small talk, but he can’t help himself—it’s been far too long without you, and he wants to feel close to you again. it’s as though after everything that happened—sae moving abroad, you moving away, rin feeling lost—it’s like he doesn’t really know how to be your friend anymore.

nodding your head, you turn to him. “much better.”

and rin can’t help but think that there’s a deeper meaning to your answer. but he doesn’t press.

maybe he should’ve, because when you switch the topic, he finds he doesn’t like what he’s hearing.

“anyway, i’m only here for a day,” you tell him, going back to your noodles. “i fly back tomorrow.”

some part of him wants to ask you why you’re even here. he wants to know about the you now, about how much has changed in these few years, what you like now—do you still like hot chocolate in the winter, do you still get colds easily, do you still think about him after all this time?

“are you… going to come back for college?” because if you still wanted to go to university in tokyo, you’d have to move back here. rin thinks he’d like that.

you’re a little taken aback because from what you’d heard from your old friends, rin had become someone they barely recognised; cold, blunt, more like his brother than himself. but in front of you now, you feel like the rin you know is still in there.

but this is where it gets hard.

“actually…” you trail off because you don’t really know where to start. “i got into a university in america. my mother got a job there and she wants me to go with her.”

you don’t even want to look at him right now. you don’t really know what you want to see. some silly part of you wants to see that he minds, that he’ll make a big deal out of you going away somewhere even further than the other side of japan. but if he doesn’t, if he looks like it doesn’t affect him at all, then you don’t think you can handle that.

“oh.” ever the best at giving a non-response, you’re not surprised.

it’s silent for a while, and the two of you are just eating your noodles, and it’s so suffocating that you want to bolt and run but that means you probably won’t ever get to see rin again and you don’t want that.

your body is screaming at you to do something, to say anything, to savour whatever time you have left with rin now properly—but you can’t.

beside you, the gears are turning in his head. rin’s noodles are already gone and he isn’t even aware his chopsticks are grappling around for nothing but soup.

america? that’ll mean you’re at least twelve hours away and he can’t even imagine what that’ll mean for your friendship. or whatever the fuck this muddy waters is.

rin wants to say something, anything—but what? don’t go? when are you coming back? are we ever going to be at the same place at the same time again after tonight?

he’s conflicted between his possible feelings and his selfishness. so he resigns to not saying anything at all. all that’s left for the night is hearing the wind blowing past your faces and the creaking of the swings, very much like how he envisioned a bad goodbye to go.

that night he gives you a ride back to your hotel despite your insistence that it’s late. because who do you take him for? did it mean nothing to you that this might be the last time?

“so, uh, i’ll see you around, i guess,” you say as you step off of his bicycle, after a trip that seems way too fast. rin already misses the sensation of your arms around his waist.

he thinks it’s a stupid sentence. realistically, in every single way he can think it’ll play out, it ends with the both of you drifting apart anyway, and he finds himself wishing you never came back.

which is untrue. which is the furthest it could possibly be from the truth. but rin doesn’t want to think about that right now.

“okay then, goodbye,” rin decides, because he’s not about to get his own hopes up for nothing. if you’re about to vanish, then maybe it’s high time he gets it done.

rin steps on the pedal, but then you stop him, voice clear as the first day he met you. “rin, wait!”

you’re not sure why it slipped out, but it did.

“what is it?”

his eyes are cool, calm, a dead teal that stares right through you. you’re almost intimidated because you’re not sure just what he’s thinking of you right now. he must think you’re a freak, showing up like this and dropping a bomb that he may or may not care about.

“um, nothing, it’s just- is there anything else?”

some part of you wants him to ask you to stay in tokyo. maybe the both of you could find a university together and stay in close proximity, just like when you were kids, just like how you liked it.

just like everything you missed.

and now the two of you are staring at each other, knowing yet not knowing everything that’s going through one another’s mind. but it gets lost in translation because neither of you can find the words to say.

rin blinks at you, and you can’t even read him if you tried. “no, nothing. is there something you wanna say?”

you shake your head, smiling through it. “no, nothing. goodbye.”

you’re back through the hotel double doors before you know it, and rin’s left to watch your silhouette fade away.

for the first time in his life, he feels like he’s lost something precious that he’ll never find again.

life goes on.

rin graduates from high school and so do you. the texting stopped, and that much he expected. better to cut the cord sooner rather than later, even if rin wished for otherwise.

he rides on a full scholarship to university, and from the online grapevines, he hears that you’re doing the same. you’re smart, so he’s not surprised.

this is the right thing to do; both of you have your own lives to concentrate on. some stupid crush doesn’t matter. and yes, rin has already conceded to the feeling because he can’t explain this any other way.

his frustration that comes from your separation, his anger when it comes to being helpless, his endless regret from not saying anything that night—it’s only because he wants you.

“i hear y/n’s doing good at her new school,” rin hears his mom cooing from the kitchen. he sighs. of course she did, yours and his moms are both close. yet another channel through which he can get updates on you, warranted or not.

“yeah?” he pretends not to care much, but he’s hanging on her every word.

“yeah, it’s valentines’ day around the corner too, i hear she has lots of guys lining up.”

kill him. kill him right fucking now.

“good for her.” good for you he’s not there to stare daggers at all the guys ogling at you. good for you he’s not there to commit bloody murder.

“i think so too, ah she’s all grown up,” his mother chatters on, completely oblivious to the torment she’s subjecting her son to. “i hear she’s having her first date next week, i heard he’s a model too, did she talk to you about it?”

you must’ve played it off to your mother that you and rin are fine. rin sighs, tired of the thoughts running through his head. as if soccer wasn’t tiring enough already.

“don’t know, maybe.”

just like his feelings for you, and his willingness to act on it.

two years into university and it isn’t that hard for him anymore.

actual lectures and assignments take up half of his time, and the other half is reserved for soccer. with teammates like isagi yoichi and bachira meguru annoying him even outside of practice, rin doesn’t even have much time to think of you.

until he’s forced to.

“what about you, rin? is there anyone special in your life?”

bachira tuts, “isagi, he’s always buried in books and practicing soccer, it’s obviously a no.”

rin’s annoyed, half because what bachira said is true and half because isagi made him think of you. it’s been a while since he knew what was up with you. you’re probably doing well, probably thriving in that environment, probably all in love with your boyfriend—that stupid yukimiya kenyu that you accepted for valentine’s last year.

he carefully extracts himself from isagi and bachira’s bickering, feigning that he’s looking through the aisle for books except what he’s really doing is scrolling through his phone and hunting for your profile.

what other way is he supposed to get updates? definitely not from you, because you’ve been so fucking radio silent since that night.

all that rin sees that day is a story posted to your account. just a backdrop of the view in your city with the words some things just aren’t meant to be.

you’re right. some things aren’t. including the both of you. so rin tucks his phone away in his pocket and goes about his day, half happy that it sounds like you’re not with yukimiya anymore, half concerned that this is what the both of you became.

somehow he’s here. he’s right fucking here and it’s him this time that’s going to surprise you. unintentionally. or intentionally, if you argued that he agreed to come in the first place.

“isn’t this place so beautiful?” his mother’s words are lost on him. he’s too busy thinking of you.

his mother’s here to visit your mother and by extension he guesses you’ll be there. it’s supposedly the summer break anyway.

and you really are there, on your front porch this time, freezing up when you catch sight of rin walking up your driveway.

nothing can describe his relief when you actually walk up to him and talk to him, because a part of him was expecting you to slap him for some reason.

“still watching horror movies for fun?” you ask him when you’re finally alone together, away from the ruckus of both your moms.

you missed him, he and his teal eyes and his absurdly longer fringe and his awkward demeanour. he’s a long shot from the person you knew as a kid. he’s taller, more muscles, more stoic, handsome. you were too shy to look at him properly that night in tokyo, but you can now.

“i don’t really have time for fun.” rin turns away, a little horrified you remember as much about him as you do. you’d been asking him things you remember from back when you guys were five. “how’re things here?”

you hum in contemplation, like you’re considering your words, and rin looks at you this time, admiring the way you look in the sunlight, the smile stuck onto your face, the voice that he’d never get tired of.

“it’s fine, school’s great, boyfriend’s great, everything’s… great.”

boyfriend?

“that yukimiya guy?”

fuck. fuck fuck fuck. he didn’t mean to say that. fuck. you’re gonna know he stalked you. he doesn’t even fucking follow you, he has no good excuse for knowing that.

you blink once, twice, confused and then getting bashful from the realisation. “um, yeah. things were rocky at first and then it got better so…”

rin is internally strangling himself. he needs to stop having thoughts about a taken girl. he needs to stop wondering what you taste like, what you look like in the mornings when you just wake up, what you’d sound like when you’re sleepy.

“that’s… good.”

the two of you are awkward to bits and he wishes he was someone different right now.

the day ends with nothing substantial. rin couldn’t talk much after he hears you’re still with yukimiya. you couldn’t even stay much because you had plans with him anyway. who’s he to stand in your way? rin’s just an old friend from the past. that’s all. there’s nothing more.

that’s what he thinks. until that same night when he’s all packed and ready to go for the next afternoon’s flight. all because you called him out of the blue. he’s amazed you still have his number.

“hey, rin.”

from the first moment you opened your mouth, he can tell you’re crying. shit, why are you crying?

“are you okay?” because you’re probably the only person in the world who can tug on his heartstrings like this. for being the only person in this world he has feelings for.

you’re forcing a laugh, like you’re not sure what to say. rin doesn’t really know either.

“am i not worth anything?” your question takes him off guard.

doesn’t take a genius to know something probably happened between you and yukimiya. and it doesn’t take much for you to get rin bolting out the door.

“where are you?”

“home,” you sniffle, and you must hear him getting into a cab, “i’m fine, you don’t have to come—”

“i’m coming,” he tells you, firmly, and he can almost tell you’re smiling from the other side of the line.

rin’s heart is racing, adrenaline pumping through his veins. he’s not sure why, but he’s ached to get closer to you since forever, and he passed it up the last time, the previous time you met in tokyo.

his heart’s still racing when you let him into the house, when it’s all dark and unfamiliar and you’re so close to him he can smell the shampoo off your hair.

apparently yukimiya never got over his first love, and you’d caught him locked in a kiss with her right before your dinner.

he’s not good with these situations. at comforting people, at being so close to the girl he likes that he’s trying his very best not to fucking kiss her right now. how does he tell you that you’re good enough, right now, when you keep rambling on and on about how you think you’re not? he really wants to shut you up but he can only think of kissing you and maybe that’s not a can of worms you want to open right now.

besides, if he does that, you might look at him as something temporary, a crutch you need right now but not for the long run and call him crazy but if he’s going to try this much for you, he doesn’t want to be the rebound.

but god fucking damn it, he’ll kill himself if he chickens out now.

you fall asleep after crying your guts out, and rin’s barely said ten words to you all night. he carries you to your room, puts you down on your bed and he resists placing a kiss on your forehead even if you won’t know it.

there’s no time left here for him, he’ll have to go back home tomorrow afternoon and you’ll be worlds apart once again. tonight may have been just a fluke; you probably just needed someone and rin was a safe bet.

he writes something down on a rough paper sitting on your desk and leaves it there before he goes. it’s irritating, how much you’re making him think, how much you’re making him flip flop between various moods.

one moment he decides to leave you alone and the next moment he doesn’t want to leave your side. there’s just something about seeing you so heartbroken that he can’t forgive.

and how kind the world is, to serve the guy who broke your heart to rin in a silver platter. he’d recognise that hair and those glasses anywhere—yukimiya kenyu.

“who’re you?”

rin doesn’t respond, only pushes him away. “if you know what’s good for you, leave.”

“what are you talking about?”

“i know what you did to y/n.”

yukimiya sighs, “look that’s what i wanted to talk to y/n about. i wanted to do this properly, to talk it out with her properly but then my ex was the one who—”

“shut the fuck up, i don’t care.”

yukimiya looks like he wants to retaliate, like he wants to argue back, and it would’ve probably turned into an all-out brawl if your mother didn’t rush out of the house at just the right time.

rin doesn’t bother with anything else after that. he leaves even though your mother tells him he can stay. frankly, he’s not sure he can stand being in the same room as yukimiya without giving him a punch.

the next morning comes and you haven’t left any messages. rin’s already back in japan for a while when you decide you’re finally ready to call him. but he’s heartbroken from thinking he was stupid to leave you that note so he rarely pays attention to his phone.

you end up having to leave it on his voicemail instead.

you said to call you if i wanted to try and… i do.

whatever yukimiya had come to say to you that night, it probably didn’t work, because rin does hear your voicemail. he hears your voice saying that you want to try, with him, and he thinks he may have been dreaming for a while.

but then he plays it over and over and over again.

he’s a few years late, but better late than never, he thinks.

you have two more years before you get your degree, and rin’s not about to get in between that. what he does do is pay you a visit from time to time because he hates this goddamn physical distance between the both of you.

it starts with the both of you talking to each other over the phone, the painfully awkward conversations turning more and more bearable. after a while, you’re the one getting him out of his shell, purposely teasing him all the time, getting reactions out of him.

he stays over at your apartment near school whenever he visits. you share the same bed for the first time and somehow it’s not uncomfortable. he lays beside you like he’s meant to be there. and you fall asleep so fast whenever he’s there, like he’s your damn lullaby.

distance starts to feel like nothing for the both of you, because it never wanes your feelings. even when he’s in japan and you’re halfway across the world, it doesn’t feel like you’re very far.

besides, he likes how it is—you chase your dreams, he chases his. the future can wait. the uncertainties can come later.

they come faster than he bargained for.

you’re nearing graduation while he’s nearing the end of his current contract term with a japanese club, but you’ve scored a job with one of the hottest startups in america. which means you’re going to be there.

for a long while.

“take it,” rin tells you, because you’ve called him to tell him this because you don’t know if you want to. but he can tell, like he always can when it comes to you. you want to take it, and he’s the only factor that’s stopping you. because before now, you’ve been thinking of coming back to tokyo and working at one of the bigger firms here.

looks like that plan’s not going to pan out though, because rin will kill himself before he becomes the reason that you’re not being the best version of yourself.

“but that means…”

there you go, hesitating again.

“we’ll figure it out. we did it once before, we’ll do it again.”

you chuckle in relief because somehow, itoshi rin has become your rock. he went from being some stoic and inexpressive human to being your voice of reason.

“you’re right, you’re right,” you concede. because yes, he’s always right somehow.

so you accept the offer, signing yourself away for another five years.

“what does that mean for the both of you though?”

you sigh. you’re not sure. rin hasn’t said much beyond what he did during that phone call nearly a year back, and he hasn’t come to visit for a few months now so you can’t really tell what’s going on in his head.

long distance sucks.

“i don’t know, mom,” you confess, “i don’t want this to be the end. but i can’t see a future where the both of us are always in different countries.”

your mother doesn’t say anything much after that, it’s not like she has any personal experience on the matter.

you think about it all throughout your finals period, all throughout your graduation transition. you’re not sure that you and rin can just make it through this by just winging it like how you’d always been. and you think maybe rin is just full of it, maybe he’s just as much in denial about this as you are. he hasn’t even been texting you as much nowadays, not after the news.

your phone vibrates on your table as you’re idly staring out the window. it’s a week to graduation.

a text from rin.

meet me after your ceremony next week, we need to talk.

and the anxiety kicks in.

rin shows up at your graduation ceremony like he said he would. he dresses up nicely, white dress shirt and black pants—simple, classy, handsome. you can spot him even from where you are, up near the stage.

yeah, you’d been nervous ever since he sent you that text.

it didn’t help that he didn’t talk to you much up until today, when his flight landed and he’d told you about it even though he knows you have his flight details in your handy little app.

when you run over to him after the ceremony, you find quite a funny sight before your eyes. never in your life did you think you’d ever see rin looking sharp as ever in a white shirt and pants only to be carrying what looks like a bouquet of—not flowers but—nuggets on sticks and chocolate.

rin smiles sheepishly when you get to him. “you don’t want flowers right?”

yeah, you’re in love with him. dorky, stupid rin with his abstract ways of showing love. you love how he remembers details like this since way back when you were kids. you love his awkwardness and his acts of service. you love him and everything he has and all that he doesn’t.

“thanks, i love it,” you gush, taking the bouquet from him, accepting your parents’ offer to help take a picture of the both of you.

they take a ton of pictures.

in one of them, rin kisses your temple and you think you might melt. in another, you kiss his cheeks in return and he’s a deep shade of red. those are before the last picture where he turns you to face him and presses a kiss on your lips, earning a few whistles from the people around you.

you punch him playfully on the chest for that. you hear him chuckle and that might be your favorite sound ever.

rin surprises you too, because the next thing you know, he’s dragging you along with him, running to his car parked by the curb; you’re wondering how he even had the time to rent it.

“where are we going?”

your gown is long discarded into the back seats and rin only offers you a smirk in return. he’s not telling, and you roll your eyes and let it be.

whatever it is, you’re excited.

maybe it’s the fact that you had been thinking the worst up until this point. or maybe it’s the fact that he has his hand on your bare thigh. hell, it could even just be the fact that you’re sitting in a car with the prettiest guy you’ve ever met. but your heart is beating out of your chest and for the first time, you feel like this can be nothing but good news.

rin proves you right, because he takes you somewhere unfamiliar and then tells you why exactly he’s been distant the past week. he takes your hand and leads you through the front doors of what he now calls “our house”.

everything you’ve ever told him you wanted in your dream house; wooden overheads, small koi pond out back, a beautiful rooftop garden with a wooden porch swing.

everything.

he made it real. he made your dream house without you asking. he’s telling you he’ll move here if that’s what it takes to be with you. he tells you he loves you more than he can ever imagine loving anything else at all. he says that he’ll always be with you, and this time he doesn’t want to be apart to do it.

he asks you, “will you try to make it work with me?”

as if he even needs to.

if anyone asked you back then if you thought rin was capable of any of this, you’d say no. because the boy you knew at five is passive, quiet, not the kind to make declarations like these.

yet here he is, almost twenty years later, promising to put you first and make this last because he’s sure this is what he wants.

“itoshi rin,” you slowly call his name, roping your arms around his shoulder while the both of you look at each other and only each other as you stand on the staircase landing. “what would you have done if i said no?”

because this is all extravagant—rin put his everything into this. dug up all the memories of your dream house, ran himself haggard just to get all of this done on time, and who knows what else because he kept all of this from you?

rin has a straight face, beautiful teal eyes rolling to the side as he contemplates. “guess that was never an option in my head.”

“you’re so stupid,” you tease, pressing a kiss onto his soft lips and relishing in the fact that this is just the first kiss of many to come.

because he’s now here. here with you. and he’s here to stay.

“guess that’s why i need you around to take care of me,” rin teases back, biting his lower lip and smirking at you.

you jump up and he catches you, your legs crossed behind his back as he carries you to the kitchen, setting you down on the countertop.

“so, itoshi rin,” you say again, suppressing a grin. “does that mean you’re gonna make me your wife one day?”

rin sighs and rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “okay, trouble, dial back a bit now. one step at a time.”

he’s lying through his teeth, a ring passed down through his family for generations already nestled neatly in the hidden compartment of the nightstand in the bedroom. he’s lying—but you don’t need to know that. not yet.

you’re all trouble, and all beautiful and all his and rin is going to marry you someday.

because he may be dumb in a lot of ways, may be a little awkward and terrible in most situations and not the friendliest guy out there. but somehow you chose him and you always did and you always will so he’s not going to let you regret that decision.

so before you can make a comeback and expose him for really wanting to marry you, he kisses you to shut you up, and you know anyway.

because you’ve known rin since you were five, playing hide and seek in the playground. you never won because you could never find him. but you think now you have; you’ve found him and he’s not going anywhere. not anymore.

“i’m never gonna let you leave me, itoshi rin.”

he chuckles, “i’m all yours, trouble.”

[nvvacanesworld]

OLDER BOYFRIEND JJK MEN!- a series ♥︎

♡pairing- older bf! toji x preschool teacher! reader≧◡≦

♡contains-mentions of kissing and touching, mentions of toji having a closet full of weapons, mentions of pda , preschooler megumi :) (awww)

an- if you see quotes it means just means those were direct words you guys said. I thought i should make that clear cause my friend said it was confusing for her. Anywho enjoy :) im a new writer so im always welcome to feedback just pls don’t be mean. Enjoyyyyy(๑•́ ₃ •̀๑)

stranger!toji - who first met you at open house for his kid- megumi, you were going to be his home room teacher. He was honestly sick of the shit and wanted to go home until you opened your classroom door for the parents with a sweet smile on your face beckoning them to come in and take a seat.

megumis dad!toji - someone you didn’t really think much of at first, if you were being honest he looked scary and you were shocked when he stayed behind after the other parents left to talk to you one on one, leaving megumi to color by himself while you guys had a chat by your desk

megumis dad!toji- doesn’t know why he stayed after, he decided on a whim- like he does with basically every decision in his life- that he just need to talk you. Using the excuse that he wanted to know more about you, which wouldn’t have been a lie-if he didn’t say it was for megumis sake, when it was really for him.

megumis dad!toji -who you lose track talking to, you don’t know what made him so interesting. Maybe it was his gruff exterior, and how he kept slipping in flirty remarks to you. You didn’t notice how you guys had almost been talking for 45 minutes until megumi comes up to his dad pulling on his pant leg whining about how he wanted to go home.

megumis dad!toji- who makes it so obvious how much older he is than you when instead of using the number you gave all the parents to contact you with decides you to send you a email instead. But hey, he needed to talk to you someone. Using his son as an excuse per usual he would ask “how is megumi doing in school” and if “there was any behavior that needed correcting”

megumis dad!toji- who you start to see way more often then you thought you would. Always being the first at the school and last to leave just so he can talk to you longer but hey? it’s for little gumi, which is how during about the second quarter of school he asked out to dinner, to which you accepted because you weren’t dumb and you were starting to like him to, you thought it was really cute how he would do whatever he could to see you. Maybe he has a softer side

crush!toji - couldn’t remember a time where he has been nervous to see a girl. He doesn’t know what flipped switched in him but he was outside of you door and wished the world would swallow him whole. It’s not like he showed it though, still keeping that gruff expression which made you attracted to him in the first place.

crush!toji - who takes you to the most beautiful restaurant you have ever scene. When’s the last time you’ve been treated to something like this ? just walking into this place felt like a dream, and you could tell it cost him a pretty penny too.

crush!toji - who was so mature and respectful the whole night, he held the door for you when you guys walked in making sure he held your hand, pulled your chair out for you and made sure you were comfortable before he sat, and don’t forgot him bring you a gift too which happened to be a book you loved that you mentioned in passing in one of you guys conversations.

crush!toji- who tried his best to keep up his good behavior but couldn’t take it when the waiter kept flirting you. He ended up grabbing your hand and escorting you out that kid had him so heated. He had to beg for you forgiveness in the car though when you got mad at him for ruining your meal and the good time you were having over a little jealousy.

crush!toji- who makes it up to you by inviting you to his house for a movie and dinner. That he cooked himself by the way. When you finally agree he drops Megumi off at Satorus and deep cleans the house. By the end of the date he is kissing you on the lips and asking you if he could "be your boyfriend". Very out of character for him, but you bring out a softer side even he doesn't recognize.

older bf!toji- who at the beginning of your relationship makes it obvious he expresses his feelings through actions and not his words. He isn't good with expressing how he feels causing you guys to fight sometimes. He always makes it up to you though by giving you gifts and taking you out on your lunch breaks.

older bf!toji- whose father tendencies, his urge to guide and provide, and how he can be stern with his teachings, sometimes leak into your relationship and how he treats you in the relationship. You've opened up to him about how it sometimes makes you feel like you are his child so he has put in effort to stop but they still sometimes jump out in certain instances.

older bf!toji- has such a sarcastic and sometimes dark humor humor. when he first expressed this side of himself to you you couldn't tell if he was serious or not because he said it with such a straight face. That doesn't mean he doesn't make you laugh though, once you got used to it he became one of the funniest people ever.

older bf!toji- has such a different taste in music and books and even films than you, always surprising you with bands he listens to that you've never even heard of. You do the same though introducing him to music and literature you're into that he's never heard of, always learning new things about each other.

older bf!toji- introduced you to his friends one day and although it's a smaller group than most they are all so different, but one thing they can all agree on is that you are perfect for Toji.

older bf!toji - surprises you with how much he likes to cook, you knew he could cook because of you guy's second date, or "redemption date" as he likes to call it, you just didn't expect him to always want to cook for you.

older bf!toji- is very reserved about his past, opening up to you sometimes when he's feeling extra vulnerable but doesn't like to dive into that part of himself, you did find a closet full of weapons though when you were snooping around one day. You wonder what thats about

older bf!toji- loves PDA, always touching you and kissing you not caring who is around, unless you guys are together at the school, you put a firm boundary on that saying "absolutely no touching" when you guys are in front of the kids and other parents.

older bf!toji- takes you to work while taking Megumi to school- who by the way absolutely loves you, it took some warming up to do when you were first introduced outside of school but with the right amount of love and patience you guys became best friends it’s one of the reasons why toji loves yo- loves taking you guys to work and school became the car rides are always so fun :)

older bf!toji- is such a homebody, opting to stay in the house instead of going out, but if you want to go out he'll make an exception.

older bf!toji - is so happy he met you, he thinks you make him a better man.

[bratbarzal]

On Your Side (NH13) / Chapter Three

Pairing: Nico Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy Jensen*

*I say it's an OC, it's just a name and third person POV. I use minor character descriptions because I don’t get on with writing vague reader inserts/YN for long-form, story heavy fics, but I will generally try to avoid including race and body type or really any physical descriptors. I’m always open to feedback on my writing, or how to be more inclusive.

WC: 13k

Chapter Warnings: angst obviously what would this story be without it, poppy and nico having an overdue conversation, nico moping again with his big sad brown eyes, nico being jealous again, drinking, cursing, meddling friends, being stood up, mentions of controlling parents as always, a little touching maybe a little more kissing too and even more meddling friends

Summary: Poppy Jensen’s job with the New Jersey Devils was supposed to be her first big step into adulthood - a way to prove to herself and her overbearing parents that she could make her own way in life. She was never supposed to become involved with any of the players. Becoming best friends with their captain was stupid. Getting her heart broken by him was tragic. Getting knocked up with his child was just plain messy.

Series Masterlist

Previous Part (Chapter Two)

A/N: I have nothing to say honestly just hope you enjoy I really don't know why I struggled writing most of this despite knowing what I wanted to do with it I think just figuring out how I want certain conversations to go and how to get from a to b is pure stresssss I'm not entirely in love with it but what can you do also proofread her? I hardly know her

but if you have anything to say pls send it my way lmao I'd really like to hear any thoughts or opinions 💓

Poppy

Poppy was once told by her good friend, Kelsey, that she would be able to tell everything she needed to know about a guy by the way they answered one very simple question. 

If you could have any superpower, what would it be?

She thinks about it more often than she really should, if she’s honest with herself, but Kelsey’s rationale behind each potential answer is actually a stroke of rare genius - and Poppy often finds herself applying the logic to most people that she encounters.

Guys who say super speed are the ultimate red flag. No one wants a quick finisher, no matter how fast they may be in any other aspect of life. Some things specifically require time and patience. Sacrificing your partner’s satisfaction all to say you can run the world record fastest 5k is the ultimate ick.

There’s an argument to be made for the endurance choosers, it sure has its perks, but Poppy thinks it’s a boring pick. To be given the option of any superpower, and to choose perseverance, of all things? Get a life. 

Anyone who chooses x-ray vision is a certified pervert, obviously. The same could be said for those wanting to read minds, although most of the guys Poppy has seen in her life struggle to comprehend the things she says in plain words, never mind whatever nonsense is circling through her inner thoughts. 

Those who choose flying are one dimensional, rarely able to see beyond what’s right in front of them, because, if they could, they’d choose the much better option of teleportation.

Who chooses flying when you could just think about somewhere and instantaneously arrive? With your hair in tact and no risk of bumping into any territorial birds.

Teleportation is what Poppy would have picked if anyone would have asked her a week ago, for the mere fact that commuting anywhere is the bane of her entire existence, and if she thinks too hard about it or looks to much into it, it always has been. 

She associates it with sitting in the back of her dad’s Bentley as a child, a tangible, frosty silence lingering in the air between her parents after one of their many even-toned arguments disguised as discussions, the fresh pine scent making her car sick and the leather seats making the back of her thighs sticky. 

Or the fragile bones of her hand being crushed by her mother’s tight grip as they rode the Amtrak over to Manhattan, Priscilla sneering at anyone who dared step too close on the crowded carriage, Poppy being dragged throughout department stores in the name of mother-daughter bonding time, and clutching to a tiny consolation Macy’s bag housing a sparkly lip gloss like her life depended on it the whole way home. 

She thinks of all the hours of her life she’s wasted on the Palisades Parkway, no longer able to enjoy the scenic route whenever she has to drive back to her parent’s house in Alpine after having watched one too many crime shows where a broken down car leads to a girl’s face plastered all over the news.

Even driving to work can feel like hell when the traffic is bad, what should be a 30 minute drive sometimes turning into an hour, Poppy’s fingers cramping around the wheel and her feet itching to touch solid ground after too long.

Teleportation sounds perfect.

And, there’s even a romance element to it. Being whisked away to Paris in the blink of an eye, suddenly sitting outside a boulangerie, decadent, rich hot chocolate on a table in front of her and a plate full of pastries, all because she mentioned a slight craving for a pain au chocolat. 

Teleportation has always been the only correct, green-flag answer to the question. 

Until Poppy properly considered time travel, that is.

The concept of it has always been a little too much or her to handle - too many strange loopholes, too many bad examples from the sci-fi movies her brother had loved as a kid. Travelling back in time to when her parents were her age and accidentally capturing her adolescent father’s attention à la Marty McFly? Sounds like hell and horror to Poppy. 

But that was before she screwed everything up.

If she could have any superpower right now, currently weighed down with the burden of hindsight - which people have always told her is a funny thing, but she thinks is actually somewhat diabolical - she would pick time travel a thousand times over.

Because if human beings have a specific part of their brain that is dedicated to forcing them to sit and stew on their every poor decision for days on end - lets them rethink and regret everything until they’re blue in the face, and can’t think of anything other than how idiotic they have been - it should also offer the kindness of being able to go back and change what they so royally fucked up.

That’s what Poppy thinks, at least, as she throws herself down onto her bed, her back hitting the duvet in a whoosh and all she can do is stare at the ceiling and wonder how and when she became such a certified moron.

There’s a part of her that suspects it’s in her genes. Inevitable. Unavoidable. Nature and nurture, she was born and raised to be a full blown fool.

Poppy comes from a long line of privilege, and while it does take a certain element of intelligence to amass the wealth her family has, it also tends to go hand in hand with ignorance in its many forms.

Behind every fortuitous business move her father makes are a million other mistakes - failed ventures, bad investments, shoddy pieces of advice accepted from the untrustworthy snakes he surrounds himself with. Hidden beneath every rung of the social ladders her mother has managed to climb, there are the ugly faux-pas’ slipping through the cracks of a former, more unsavoury life she can never run too far from. And her brother - well, she suspects he’s just an idiot, there are no two ways about it.

She knows that she needs to stop blaming her family, though. This time, it’s all her.

She can’t blame her father for the way she overthinks, the man who makes every decision in life with the littlest regard for how anyone else feels about it. She can’t blame her mother for the way she places such little value on herself, the woman who walks into every room like she owns it and refuses to let anyone make her think otherwise.

Except maybe she can.

If she had the nerve to talk to a therapist, they might disagree - might say her overthinking comes from her dad’s lack of communication skills, a part of her brain always filling in the gaps of a half-assed, other side of any conversation with him. Or they might say her insecurities come from her mom constantly putting Poppy down while telling her to be more sure of herself - stop slouching, Poppy, no one will take you seriously with the posture of a candy cane.

She’d love to know where her need to repress her feelings so deep that she becomes an impenetrable, cold, dark fortress comes from. The need to push and shove when someone tries to get too close, because God forbid anything is ever easy when it comes to her affections.

It would have made the past 4 days since Nico had walked into her apartment and kissed the life out of her a whole lot easier. 

4 days spent reminiscing, rethinking and regretting every single thing she had said and done since their lips parted, since he had put his heart on the line and she’d whacked it away, full swing, as if too desperate for the victory of a last-bat home run.

If she could time travel, she’d do the whole thing over.

-

“Don’t go on that date, Mohn.”

She had read the words on his lips before they registered through her ears, the sound of her blood rushing throughout her body occupying every sense for a brief moment.

What the hell is going on?

Nico had kissed her. He’d grabbed her, pulled her into him, and she’s pretty sure he had made her heart stop for a good second - there’s no other justifiable reason for the way it had been reverberating against her ribcage ever since. 

And then he stood before her, a desperate, pleading projection playing in his dark irises, lips still slick from where her own had just been, cheeks flushed, shoulders rising with subtle panting breaths, waiting for a response to a question she couldn’t even remember hearing.

“W-what?” She’d stuttered, blinking hard and shaking her head as if to rattle her brain into whatever semblance of cognisance she could muster.

Nico had kissed her, and then wanted to talk? As if she had the brain power left for any kind of discussion after that?

He seemed proud of the mess he had made of her, lips lifting at one side, drawing her gaze immediately to every movement they made, so focused on the memory of how pillowy-soft they had felt against hers that she didn’t notice him stepping a little closer, raising a large hand to tuck her hair behind her ear until she flinched at the contact.

“Sunday, Poppy,” he had uttered, unfazed by her skittishness, “Your date, don’t go.”

She had blinked again, completely overwhelmed on every front. She could still taste him on her tongue, he was so close she could smell his cologne, tunnel vision only seeing him in front of her and the hand that cupped the side of her face in her peripheral, her heartbeat echoing through her skull and every nerve, every slight hair on her body, standing as if trying to close the distance between his body and hers.

It was the sensory overload that made her go against all other instincts.

“I can’t.” Her voice had sounded like it hadn’t been used in weeks, croaky and unsure, her next words stammered, “I can’t not go, I mean. I have to go.”

“You don’t have to go, Poppy,”

“No, I do.” That had sounded a little surer, the fog in her brain slowly clearing only for something more tumultuous to pass through in it’s place. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Nico blinked once, then again, frustration clear in the furrow of his thick brows as he seemed to stew on his next words, desperate to say the right thing. There was a prolonged, tense beat, before he had asked, “Have you ever thought we could be more?”

“More?”

“More than friends.”

If her heart hadn’t stopped when he had kissed her, it must have stopped then.

His back straight, eyes looking directly into hers, a hopeful, inquisitive gleam shining from within them - he had never seemed so sure of something for as long as she had known him.

Poppy couldn’t stop the little voice in her head questioning, where the hell has this come from?

“Have you?” She had asked with a eyre of disbelief.

 Not once in the years she had known him had he ever made it seem like they could be more. There had always been an unspeakable, undeniable barrier between them. They were friends. They’d always been friends. Just friends.

Friends who spent most of their free, personal time together, friends who bought each other sentimental gifts they’d never get for anyone else, who shared intimate details about their lives and their pasts, and kissed each others heads like a goodbye ritual. Friends who broke each other’s hearts, seemingly beyond repair, without explanation.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I mean,” He had paused, breaking eye contact for a second as if wracking his brain for the right answer, sensing a teetering tension between the two of them. “Yeah. Yes. I have.”

She had narrowed her eyes at him, weighing up the possibility in her mind that she wouldn’t have liked any response he gave to her, every prospective answer causing a flood of doubt and uncertainty to crash in rushing, destructive waves through her mind. “Since when?” She’d asked, trying to level her bite.

If he’d ever thought they could be more, what the hell have they been doing all this time?

“Since I met you, I think,” he had shrugged.

Wrong answer, again.

“And you only bring it up when I have a date with someone else?”

She watched a series of antithetical emotions pass through his features, understanding, confusion, acceptance, denial, resilience, cowardice. He had seemed to find the small margins between all of them, when he had come back with, “It’s not because of your date, Poppy.”

“Then why?” She tilted her head as she continued to analyse him, again not sure what she was looking for, or what she wanted to find. That something tumultuous was already whirling within her, too late to be stopped, and Nico could seemingly see the warning signs.

“Why are you getting mad at me, right now?”

“I’m not mad,” she had denied, not even knowing if she was lying or not, “I’m confused. 2 weeks ago, we weren’t even talking, Nico-,”

“You said you forgave me for that.”

“I didn’t-.” She’d cut herself off before she could say something that would upset him, the conversation spiralling so far out of control from the momentary bliss he had provided only minutes ago - but she was too far up shit’s creek without a paddle, there was no turning back. She’d been wanting to have a proper conversation with Nico all week, what better time than the middle of the night on what was now his birthday? “That’s not exactly what I said.”

He had taken a step back, lips parting with an unreleased gasp, the once-hopeful glint in his eyes transforming into hurt. “You don’t forgive me?”

“I didn’t say that either,” she sighed, wanting answers, not to cause him anguish. “Please don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then tell me what the hell is wrong? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t understand where this has come from, Nico! You come in here and kiss me out of nowhere and tell me not to date other people and I’m just supposed to blindly follow along when I don’t get what the hell is happening with you!”

“I think me kissing you makes it pretty obvious what I want to happen, Mohn.” He had tried to ease the tension, his voice level and steady, stepping forward with his hands raised in an attempt to calm her, but she had taken a slight step back, clearly unaffected. 

“It doesn’t.” She’d stopped looking at him at that point, keeping an eye on his feet to watch his encroaching steps. “Nothing about you is obvious. You don’t tell me anything and all I can think about is what I did wrong.”

If he couldn’t see the tears pooling at her lashes, he had to have heard the break in her voice - a sure indicator that she was close to crying - but his steps had stopped, feet seemingly stuck to their place on the hardwood flooring of Poppy’s apartment, and she could feel her heart shatter knowing he wasn’t persisting again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He tries to reassure her, but it’s no use.

Maybe she would have believed him if he’d held her while he said it, transferred the meaning through touch to her skin, gripping her with every word until she truly understood the weight of them.

“It had to have been something. You don’t just stop wanting to know a person for no reason, Nico, so what was it?” She made her way to her couch, perching on the edge of the seat with her knees pressed together, and looked over to where he remained standing.

She could feel her temper flaring again. 

How could he have the nerve to do this to her - to turn her world upside down in a matter of minutes - and not have the answers she needed to accept it?

“Poppy-,”

“I need to know. I can’t drop it and forget about it, and I’m sorry that I made it seem like I could, but if you want us to move on from this, if you want to come here and kiss me like that, and tell me you don’t want me seeing other people, I need to know what happened.”

“I-,” Nico sighed heavily, shoulders drooping, any confidence and bravado he had displayed after their kiss now a distant memory. “I don’t know.”

She had an immediate, striking thought, that maybe if she asked closed questions, he could give her an answer, and so, with misplaced courage, she asked, “Was it her?”

“What?”

“Your girlfriend. Did she ask you to stop talking to me?”

It was a thought that had been plaguing her for longer than she’d like to admit - unable to shake the idea that maybe Talia had seen one of the texts she had sent, had gone through Nico’s phone and seen any of their older messages, any photos he might have kept on his phone, maybe a memory had come up from snapchat, maybe someone had mentioned Poppy and her curiosity had been piqued. 

Poppy had always thought if she was dating someone, and they had a Poppy, she might feel some type of way about it. 

But her and Nico were just friends.

Nico rounded the couch, sitting on the cushion beside Poppy, their knees knocking as he reached into her lap and took her shaking hands in his.

“Do you really think I’d stop talking to you just because someone asked me to?” Their eyes had met again, sadness brewing in the dark coffee colour surrounding his dilated pupils, and a glassy film coating her own. “Poppy, I would never.”

“I don’t know what to think, Nico, because you won’t tell me.”

“Because it doesn’t make sense! I try wrapping my head around it, try coming up with some kind of explanation, but nothing I say is going to change what I did to you, Poppy.”

Her question before had gotten her an honest response, had elicited something real and undeniable within him - he’d never stop talking to her because someone asked him to. So it was his own decision, subconscious or not. Maybe she could help dig further, she thought.

“Why did you kiss me?” She asked after a beat.

“I,” Nico pondered over it before rushing his answer, a wave of emotion flashing across his face before his eyes locked on hers, ready to let her in. “Because I wanted to.”

That was a start - a simple question, a straightforward answer. 

“Was that the first time that you wanted to?”

“No.”

Poppy could feel some semblance of confidence coming back. Closed questions, concrete answers, she could keep this up.

“When was the last time you wanted to kiss me?”

She could have asked the first - she sure as hell wanted to know it, but if he’d thought of being more the entire time they’d known each other, there was a lingering possibility there were many times - and they would be there until sunrise if they started from the beginning.

“Finnegan’s.” 

“The bar?”

“We went there when we came back after we crashed out of the playoffs, do you remember?”

She remembered.

It had only been a couple of days before Nico had left for his summer back home in Switzerland.

Their loss in Carolina had been devastating, the boys came back broken and defeated, and all just wanted to drown their sorrows before they broke for their off-season. Poppy had been out with Nia and Kelsey and a few other friends at another bar when Jack had responded to her instagram story, saying they’d be at the Irish pub that was a staple within the team, and she should come over and join them.

She had made her way over pretty late, wanting to make sure her friends were okay without her, and arrived when most of the boys were completely shit-faced, past the point of tears and moping and deep into a mass state of hysteria and loud jubilation for the successes along the way.

She had found Nico in a booth in the far corner of the bar, head slumped over the back, eyes seemingly tracing the cracks in the ceiling until she crawled into the bench behind him, leaned over with her elbows resting on either side of his head, and took up his entire view. 

“What’cha doin’?” She’d asked, lips twisting at the sight of his dizzy eyes trying to correct themselves to focus on her. 

He’d quickly given up, pressing his eyes closed to shut out the risk of nausea taking over, the outer corners crinkling, the sides of his nose scrunching and his eyelashes fanning a shadow over his cheekbones - her own eyes were level with his lips, so he couldn’t really hide the way they curved at the quick glimpse of her.

“Suffering,” he had muttered, squinting one eye open to catch a brief, upside down glance of her. Nico was never this down after a few drinks. He was giggly, he was loud, he was touchy and clumsy - he was never the hide away in the corner sad type. “Wanna join me?”

“Always.” She affirmed, making her way around to his side of the booth and sliding in beside him until her bare thigh pressed against the somewhat scratchy linen of the pants he wore. 

“I’m probably not the best company tonight,” He remained in the same position, neck craning so the base of his head could rest atop the back of the seat, and his eyes closed - giving Poppy the perfect opportunity to properly look him over.

The few moments they’d had together, alone, over the past few weeks, he’d been pent up, stressed, overworked and on the brink of eruption, so this was the first time in a long time she’d managed to catch him without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Only, that weight wasn’t so easy to shift.

She saw it in the bags under his eyes, in the unkempt playoff beard he was yet to shave off, in the stuttered way his chest rose and fell with his attempts at deep, calming breaths. 

As she watched him, the corner of her lip tucked between her teeth in contemplation, she knew there was nothing she could say to make him feel better about this. He just had to feel it out, process it in his own way without her interference - but she wanted to be there, at least.

And as much as she wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that he did the best he could, and led his team through one of their strongest seasons in recent franchise history, she wanted to provide him comfort in the quiet, too.

“I don’t mind.”

And so, with little trepidation, she placed a hand on his chest, over his heart, and rested her head next to it, glancing up to see the push of a dimple forming on his cheek as his arm stretched around her and welcomed her into his warm embrace.

“You wanted to kiss me then?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Didn’t seem like the right time, though,” he followed up with an answer to a question she hadn’t even asked, yet. “I was leaving too soon and I didn’t want you to think I’d just kissed you because I was drunk and upset.”

Her eyes moved to his lips, a question for herself whirling around in her head. Would she have wanted him to kiss her then? What would have happened in the aftermath? Where would they be now? Would she have thought that? Would she have spent her summer stewing over what it meant, and how his lips had felt against hers?

Before she had much time to think it over, Nico continued, being spurred on by such a distinct memory that he was rolling towards the answer she had been waiting for, and she wasn’t going to stop him to try and decipher her own feelings.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you when I went home, thinking about wanting to kiss you, or not kissing you, and what it all would mean, and I kept trying to distract myself thinking I could just figure it all out when I came back here but then I met Talia, and I felt wrong for thinking about you when I had her.”

That had made sense. Nico was always a guy that would do the right thing. If he had a girlfriend, he wouldn’t think of the prospect of something with someone else, even if that someone was Poppy, and that something was a culmination of years of pent up feelings finally coming together to form something potentially wonderful.

She didn’t quite need or want to hear the rest. Didn’t want to hear how he’d gone looking for a distraction, and found just that. 

Nico was loyal, and for him to maintain that essence of himself, he had to ignore the possibility of Poppy. Some subconscious part within him saw her as a threat to the stability he had with the perfect girl from back home, and he boxed her away to make room for what could be with Talia.

It stung, but he was right. Neither of them could change what had already happened.

“Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

She’d nodded after only a second, barely even thinking about it.

Jack’s words from New Years Eve rang through her, suck it up and move on.

Nico had his reasons, she had her answers. He wasn’t bored of her, wasn’t tired of her or annoyed by her. He’d been so caught up by his unspoken, untranslated feelings for her that he twisted himself into untangle-able knots that were only just starting to loosen up enough to be picked apart.

“Could you maybe say it?”

“Yeah, I could.” she had said through trembling lips, the hurt in his voice burrowing through her eardrums, lodging itself in her own throat, and dripping slowly but surely into the depths of her chest. “I will.” She had to be more sure, needing to erase any doubt she had planted within him. “I do.”

“You do?”

He still held her hands in his from when he had sat down, palms warm and slightly perspirant from his tight grip around her knuckles.

“I forgive you.”

His mouth twitched into a shaky smile, his eyes catching the soft light and twinkling with emotion, and she definitely wanted to kiss him, then.

She had wondered if this is what he felt when he’d kissed her before, this burning need. Her fingers twitched in his hold, her heart thudded in her chest, and her lips parted in anticipation, until she could finally slam the breaks on her torpedoing thoughts.

“It’s just a lot to process, and I don’t really know how I feel.”

She had wished she could take it back as soon as the words left her mouth, and Nico’s features had folded as he took them in. He broke eye contact almost immediately, head dropping to look down at their hands until he released hers back into her lap. 

“I get it.” He uttered, forcing a smile as he glanced back up at her, briefly. “I sprung this on you out of nowhere, I’m s-,”

“Please don’t apologise,” she interrupted before he could go there, knowing it would send her brain into overdrive if he let even the thought of regret fester between them, “I’m glad you did. I don’t want you to be sorry about it.”

Relief washed over the both of them in a warm, steady stream as he nodded, leaning into the back of the couch, legs spreading as an elongated sigh wracked through his torso. 

He ran a hand through his hair, and Poppy’s eyes flickered to the flex of his fingers, the strain of his wrist, the flash of protruding veins where his sleeve had pulled up with the stretch of his movements. 

His eyes closed, and she took him in just like she had that night in Finnegan’s bar.

She’d had an urge then, a desire even, to provide comfort - to share his burdens, make him forget the pain he had just endured, wash it all away with encouraging words, gentle touches. A shoulder to cry on, two ears to listen, and, albeit she didn’t entirely know it at the time, a whole heart that was his for the taking.

And take it, he did, held it all summer, bent it all sorts of ways out of shape up until New Years Eve, and it was still in his hands. Smushed, dented, squeezed to within an inch of his life, her heart was his.

It was up to her now to figure out what she wanted him to do with it. 

“I made a promise to my mom about the date, Nico, I have to go.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, seemingly resigned to the fact he had maybe been a little too lost in the moment to make such a crazy demand of her. 

“And I think maybe we both need a little time to properly think about what is happening here.”

“Time?” He practically shot up, alarm in his eyes.

“We’ve barely been apart all week, Nico, I think that might be why we’re both so,” she struggled for the right word - pent up, emotional, strung out, “Intense.”

She had known she was emotional, overthinking to the point of ruin, but maybe he was too. Maybe that’s what had led to the kiss, to the outburst of sentiment. They were both in the depths of a pressure cooker of emotions, and some space might do them good to gain a little clarity.

Maybe with a little more time to think on it, to consider what he was admitting to, have a little breathing room, and act more on something concrete than a fleeting in-the-moment feeling, he might change his mind. He deserved the opportunity to do so, she wouldn’t hold it against him.

“How much time do you think you would need?”

“I’m driving up to my parent’s house on Friday, so I would have been away for most of the weekend anyway, maybe we check back in on Monday and see where our heads are at?”

“4 days,” he muttered as if he’d just counted them in his head. “I can do that.”

“Yeah?” He had nodded in response, and there was something like hope that lingered between them, sharing small smiles and gazing through glassy eyes. “You’ll be so busy you won’t even get the chance to miss me.”

She believed it to be true - Nico had his family over, would be spending the latter end of the day with them, and had 2 big home games in a row to worry about. Poppy would be the last thing on his mind.

If she had blinked in the moment, she might have missed the way his observation slipped to her lips, lingered there for a brief second, and glanced back up to flicker between her eyes again. “Not possible.”

“Poppy, have you suffered some kind of brain injury I don’t know about?” Nia’s voice rings through the speaker of the phone pressed to her ear, already supposedly-styled hair fanned out around her as she lays staring at the ceiling, willing herself to get up and go before she’s late.

No matter how much she doesn’t want to go on this date, her mother will kill her if she hears anything other than a glowing review. On time, preened to perfection, polite and sociable. 

“Maybe I hit my head in my sleep at some point,” she thinks out loud, glancing back to the sharp edges of her bedside table and wondering if she could have thudded into it in the night.

Surely she would have a scar or a bruise.

“You must have,” Nia agrees, “That’s the only logical explanation why you’d ever consider telling the guy you’ve been hung up on since you first met him that you need time to think about how you feel,”

“Ni,” Poppy groans, “I called you for advice, not a lecture.”

“If you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes, and you my friend, are a dumbass.”

“In my defence-,”

“Nope!” Poppy doesn’t know what Nia is doing on the other end, but she hears something clatter as if being slammed down on a table in protest, “There is no defence, you’re an idiot.”

“I didn’t know how I felt about it, Ni,” Poppy sighs, sitting up and catching sight of herself in the mirror. She doesn’t know why so much of her time tonight has been wasted trying to look so good when she doesn’t even want to. When she’d gone to visit her parents, her mother had practically given her a full blown rundown of the guy she was meeting.

Tucker Lyon, she can’t help to instinctively roll her eyes at just his name, works in investment grade finance for one of the Big 4 - she hadn’t cared enough to ask which one. His family are property people, her mom had said, and own enough Manhattan real estate to hold some serious power. Priscilla had met his mother years ago at some luncheon in the city, and apparently the two had been in cahoots since then to set their children up.

Poppy doesn’t want to be set up with some walking red flag, biting her tongue over a plate of food too small to satisfy her hunger while he mansplains stocks and shares to her.

She wants to be in whatever bar the guys are holed up in, tucked under Nico’s arm, side practically glued to his, sipping cocktails and celebrating him like he deserves to be celebrated.

But instead, she can admit, she has been a royal idiot.

“I still don’t know, it’s all come at me full force and I don’t understand my feelings.”

“Bullshit!” Nia scoffs, “You knew you were into him the second he first flashed those dimples your way.”

She isn’t entirely wrong.

Poppy had once harboured a slight crush on him. In the very early stages of their friendship. One small enough that when she realised it was completely one-sided - and she was being delusional to ever think his cute nickname for her and his insistence on spending time only with her was anything more than his attempt to make a friend - she could swallow it down until it was barely anything.

She trained her heart not to stutter when he approached her, told her brain to shut up when he flashed her one of those perfect, all consuming smiles, and could cross her arms to restrain her hands from wanting to hold his whenever they walked side by side.

She’d become so good at suppressing her feelings, she’d forgotten she had them.

She had forgotten all the times they had hung out alone over the years, never second guessing all the looks and the touches, the times he’d let her stay over if it got too late to go home alone, and the times he’d waltz into hers like he owned the place.

She’d forgotten when she had seen him with Talia, always claiming the feeling in her gut was one of loss and reminiscence, not envy and bitterness.

She’d forgotten when the Hughes brothers had helped her move a couple months ago, and Luke had questioned the amount of Nico he was helping to scatter throughout her apartment. Pictures on her bookshelf, pictures stuck to her fridge with souvenir magnets from Swiss gift shops, a couple hoodies, Devils branded shorts and big t-shirts of his he’d come across in the boxes. 

“I didn’t realise you and Cap were so close,” Luke had picked a frame out of one of the boxes, the picture of Nico and Poppy at the Halloween party inside, and waved it in her direction as she stood with her hands on her hips, figuring out if she wanted to alphabetise or colour code the books she was displaying. 

“Huh?” Poppy tilted her head towards the tall boy, watching as he shook his curls back into place and ran a hand through them. He’d worked up a bit of a sweat lugging her boxes upstairs, and now that everything was finally moved, Jack had gone to get them food, and Poppy and Luke were getting started on unpacking the easy stuff. She looked to the picture in hand, reaching over and taking it to get a closer look. “I guess we were, I don’t really know.” She wasn't a good enough actress to properly pull off the nonchalance she was aiming for.

“You don’t know?” Luke scoffed, rifling through other pictures in the box - all framed, mostly of her and Nico, some just the two of them, some of them in groups, but always side by side. Always grinning ear to ear. “You’ve got like a shrine in here, PJ,”

“It’s not a shrine,” she had argued, “You don’t keep pictures of your friends? Sounds kind of cold, if you ask me, Moosey.”

“I keep pictures on instagram and my phone like a normal person.” He chuckled.

“Generational gap, you kids are done for when the cloud goes down, you know. Physical media is forever.”

“You sound like my mom.” Luke jibed, and true to his nature, unable to stop himself before he inadvertently crossed a line, he asked with a weird wiggle of his eyebrows, “So, you wanna keep Nico forever, huh?”

“Shut up, Luke.” If Poppy had something soft enough, she would have thrown it at his head. The photo frame in hand seemed like overkill, and she didn’t want to hurt the kid, just make him stop. She didn’t much like talking about him, what they once had, what they once were. Even if he did have the wrong impression of what they were. It was upsetting, and she didn’t want to get upset - not in front of Luke. “You can keep those in the box.”

Luke had reached out for the frame in Poppy’s grasp, had watched as she hesitated giving it back, as she looked down and took in the huge smiles on her and Nico’s faces, and as she made the decision not to put this one back. Maybe she could phase it out, wait until she took a nicer, more meaningful picture with someone else before she replaced that one.

“I’ll keep this one out. I look cute.”

"Sure." His sarcasm was not entirely appreciated.

She had heard him chuckle to himself as she stood the frame on one of the shelves, placing it between a scented candle she had no intention of ever lighting and a small faux lavender plant. Not shrine-like at all.

She’d forgotten about any suppressed feelings until Nico kissed her.

Until he opened up Pandora’s box, releasing all her pent up emotions to roam freely, creating chaos and causing havoc through every corner of her entire existence. 

For the past 3 days, she’s thought about him with everything she has done. 

On Thursday afternoon, sat alone in her office, going over emails and wondering what he would be up to with his family. Was he happy, were they having fun, did he think about her for a second?

On Friday evening, driving alone on the long winding roads to her parent’s house and listening to the commentary for the game on the radio. Making it to the house in time for the 3rd period, and seeing the team celebrate. Was he well rested, excited for his family to watch him play at home, did he look up into the staff suite at the Rock and wish she was there cheering him on?

On Saturday, retreating to her childhood bedroom after another tense family dinner, snuggling up with the dogs on her bed as she watched the game. Was he beating himself up, had he gone straight home on his own after the loss, did he have the same urge to call her as much as she wanted to call him?

Did he, on any of those nights, lay awake thinking about that kiss?

About how right it had felt? How he had exerted his subtle dominance over her with such ease, large hands encompassing her face and holding her to his lips like his life depended on it?

Did he think about where it could have gone if she hadn’t shut him down? Where they could be if he’d made a move before?

She’s been thinking about it. Non-stop thinking about it.

Thinking about that kiss, and the possibility of others - the moment in the bar, all the other potential moments he had wanted to kiss her and hadn’t. The fact that maybe her feelings had never been one sided, and she’s wasted years pushing them down for nothing.

“Do you think I made a mistake not cancelling this date?” She asks her friend in a moment of vulnerability, her mind reeling with the possibility that she has already fucked up what could be.

“No.” Nia assures her, surprisingly. She’s been calling her an idiot all night, what does she mean, ‘no’? “I think he needs to sweat a little, let him think about you out tonight with another guy, and come tomorrow, his mind will be made up.”

“You don’t think we might be overestimating how much it bothers him?”

“Don’t make me call you a dumbass again, Pop.” Poppy can hear the rolling of her best friend’s eyes through the phone. “And send me a picture of your outfit before you leave.”

Nico

Nico has never been so physically uncomfortable in his life.

For a man who plays contact sport for a living - has played it for a good chunk of his existence, and has suffered countless knocks and injuries, slept in one too many uncomfortable positions in planes, buses, trains and even hotel beds, and who’s face has had more than enough encounters with the wrong end of a pair of skates - that is saying a lot.

But every inch of him, every fibre of his entire being, feels irritated in some way.

It’s a feeling like unforeseen static shocks passing over every surface of his skin. Like little bugs crawling all over him and he can’t swat them away. Like random strands of fine hairs that can’t be seen by the naked eye but God, can he feel them. He feels them everywhere.

From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, he feels something prickling, stinging, burning. 

Itchy.

Like a scratch he can’t reach in the very middle of his back.

And it’s not like he doesn’t know what it is.

He’s felt it ever since he left Poppy’s apartment in the early hours of Thursday morning. He had hardly slept, getting maybe 3 or 4 hours in before his alarm shrilled from where it charged on his nightstand. 

He has tried to use the same coping mechanisms that get him through his bouts of homesickness - where he closes his eyes and tries to provoke a memory for each sense.

He pictures the views from one of his many hikes, endless fields of green grass, crystal clear lakes, winding footpaths and mountains that stretch as far as the eye can see. He imagines gathering around a fondue table back in his favourite restaurant, and can smell the freshly baked bread, can taste the melt-in-the-mouth flavour once it’s been dipped in oozing, melted cheese. He can feel the softness of the freshly washed sheets back in his childhood bedroom and can hear the chorused chirps of the birds outside his window in the early mornings. 

It’s a technique that has helped ground him in the past, and he had thought that maybe if he applies the same logic, it will dull the ache in his fingertips that yearn to reach for his phone and text the girl who has asked him for space.

If he thinks hard enough, he can still taste the sweet but subtle vanilla of Poppy’s lip balm. He can smell the fresh-cotton essence of her laundry detergent, can hear the melodic sounds she had hummed into his lips, can feel the softness of her skin on the pads of his fingers, can see, clear as day, the dazed expression etched into her features like she had gotten caught up in the fantasy too.

If it wasn’t so easy for him to mentally transport himself back, he wouldn’t have been able to make it 4 days without seeing her. 

He had known it would be hard, but, thankfully, he thinks he got himself enough of a fix to make it to Monday.

He’d taken all he could with just one press of his lips to hers, had taken more of Poppy than he had ever dared to take before, and his subconscious was clinging onto it for dear life, hoping with everything in him she could decide to give him more.

4 days.

He has never known time to be so cruel. For it to drag out every minute like it was an hour.

If his life had a remote control, best believe he would be jamming the hell out of the fast forward button. 4x speed, skip to the next chapter, not wanting or needing to know what happened in the in-between.

He’s always thought himself to have patience - good things come to those who wait, after all - but this had become the ultimate test.

He had tried to immerse himself in whatever was going on each day, hoping they would pass quicker, less painfully, but it had been no use.

His birthday had passed by in a dizzying blur. He’d had a late morning skate, had come home to his family waiting for him, had gone to dinner with them, caught up over Italian food in one of his favourite spots by his apartment, and had driven his parents, his sister and her boyfriend back to their hotel with the promise of dedicating some time to them before the game on Friday.

Every single thing had reminded him of her.

Being at the Rock and wondering where in the building she might be, and if she was reminded of him with the littlest things. If she was thinking about him, what she was thinking about him. Seeing his family, imagining her place at the table as they all exchanged laughter and stories over pasta and wine. Thinking about what she might contribute to the conversation, how she would get along with his sister, how they’d gang up on him and poke fun, but she’d hold his hand under the table and squeeze to let him know it was all in good humour.

In the locker room after the win against the Blackhawks, trying his best to get involved in the celebrations but just wanting to call her, to hear that she had watched, and was proud of him and the team. And even after the loss against the Canucks, he wanted to hear the same. He wanted to go straight to her place, the passenger seat of his car painfully empty as he drove himself home in complete silence. 

And he had tried his best not to get too into his head about the whole space thing.

Poppy was right, after all. Things had gotten intense.

He had been intense - marching over to her place and kissing her out of nowhere. As right as it had felt, it was stupid. It was hotheaded and impulsive and it wasn’t considerate of her feelings.

But, God, he was so caught up on her he couldn’t help himself. He should have seen in the days they had spent together prior that they needed to speak more about everything before he threw himself at her like a neanderthal. 

He’d only considered what conclusion he had reached, and as much as his conversation with the guys on the plane gave him an idea of Poppy’s mindset, some words needed to be exchanged before he planted one straight on her. The whole thing could have gone so much better if he just knew how to communicate everything with her properly.

Even before the kiss. Before New Years, before Talia, before Summer - if he knew how to speak about his developing feelings for her, this whole mess could have been avoided.

He wouldn’t be sat alone in a bar, yet again, as his friends surround him, partaking in the celebrations that are supposed to revolve around him, wallowing in self pity.

He wouldn’t be thinking about Poppy, out in some fancy restaurant somewhere else in the city, with some stick-up-his-ass loser who doesn’t deserve a second of her time, and imagining her giving him one of those earth shattering smiles - the one where her the outside of her eyes crinkle in the corners, and every time he sees it he imagines the lines settling there as she ages, and it’s always a version of the two of them, old and grey, side by side, smiling together.

He imagines her taking him back to her apartment, curling up with him on the couch Nico helped her haul up the stairs after she had found it for crazy cheap off of some sketchy ad on Facebook marketplace. He sees her slowly replacing all those pictures she has of her and Nico with pictures of her and him, phasing him out of her space like she would eventually phase him out of his life.

He thinks about her taking him to her bedroom - the one he had yet to see in her new apartment, but imagines it’s just like her old one; way too many pillows and throws, a thick, plush duvet that looks like she’s climbing into a cloud, and a beat up stuffed toy her grandmother had given her when she was young. 

He doesn’t want to wish that Poppy is currently welcoming someone into her life that doesn’t suit her, but he can’t help himself.

He hopes this guy is late - and doesn’t even apologise for it. He hopes he orders off the menu for her, or criticises her choice of wine for not pairing with her choice of food like a complete snob. He hopes he’s awful to wait-staff. He hopes he’s type of guy who writes a suggestion on the tip line of his receipt instead of leaving a minimum of 20%. He hopes he chews with his mouth open, spits when he talks and scrapes his knife along the ceramic of his plate as he cuts his food, causing that toe curling sound that makes Poppy want to scream.

He hopes he doesn’t offer her his jacket, because she always refuses to take one out. He hopes he doesn’t think to give her a piggy back, because she always wears shoes out she knows she doesn’t want to walk in, but always wants to walk home if it’s nice out. He hopes he walks on the inside of the sidewalk, leaving her to the dangers of walking roadside, and walks too quick for her to keep up with little regard for how she likes to take her time on a night and stretch the evening out. 

He even hopes he smokes. Poppy hates smokers. And if, God forbid, they kiss, he’ll have smoker’s breath, and she won’t want to do it again. 

She won’t stand in front of him, eyes glazed over, lashes fluttering, brows furrowing, lips still pouting and fingers twitching to reach back out, yearning for more.

She won’t even kiss him back.

Not like she had kissed Nico. Not like she had clutched at his shirt like she wanted to hold him close to her forever. He wouldn’t get to hear that sweet, subdued sound she had made when his tongue had swiped tentatively at hers, or feel that slight pressure of when her lips had closed around it, sucking almost at the muscle before opening back up to allow for more of a taste.

No one else can get that.

No one else will savour it like Nico has, thinking about is for days on end, replaying the moment over and over until he has perfect recall of every small detail.

It’s probably a good thing she hasn’t shared much detail about this date, Nico thinks as he swirls the ice around his empty drink, sat right at the bar away from the sectioned-off area that Timo had rented out for the party.

If he knew more about it - about the who, about the where - he probably would be in a cab by now, knowing he was crossing a line but unable to do anything about it, his will outweighing any common courtesy just as it had a few nights ago. Or he would have spent the last few days in a google deep-dive, trying to figure out the kind of man her mother would approve of. Enough to set her up, at least - he doubts Priscilla Jensen entirely approves of anyone.

Nico finally makes eye contact with the bartender, and as she starts to make her way over, he feels like a divine intervention occurs - an arm falling onto the bar top beside his, a glimmer of metal flashing into his dark eyes - the reflection bouncing from a bracelet that is welded around the base of a slender hand.

“I’ll take another of these,” he lifts his glass when the bartender arrives, gesturing to the old fashioned he’d somehow landed on over beer tonight, “And whatever she’s having, please.”

 “Vodka diet coke, please,” a voice rings out from beside him, and once the bartender busies herself with the order, she asks, “Shouldn’t I be the one getting you a drink? I heard it’s your birthday,”

“Why should either of us pay when it’s going on a tab?” He chuckles, angling his body better to face her. 

“Ooh la-la, a tab,” Nia mocks, “Now I feel like I’m a part of an elite club!”

“I find it hard to believe you’ve never had your drinks put on someone else’s tab before.”

“Not the New Jersey Devils captain himself, it’s such an honour!” She raises a manicured hand and presses it to her chest, a playful smile etched into her features. 

“Did you come over here just to poke fun at me?” Nico asks, touching on the dynamic that has long been between the two of them. She mocks him, mostly all bark and no bite, he takes it on the chest, knowing she’s doing it from of her warped version of almost sibling-like love, and Poppy usually acts as the mostly-unnecessary mediator, dividing her attention between them both. 

“Of course I did,” she affirms, “You looked all mopey and miserable, how could I not?”

“How is me waiting for a drink ‘mopey’?”

“Uh, let me think,” she taps her finger to her chin, before lifting it to point at each feature she references, “The huge pout on your lips, your giant caterpillar eyebrows all slanted and frowny-,”

“Forget I asked,” he mutters, lifting his lips into a quick smile and thanking the girl behind the bar as she brings them their drinks. “Didn’t know you’d be out tonight,”

“I’ll be sure to send you an e-vite to my google calendar when I get home later.”

Nico’s throat tightens slightly at how similar Nia and Poppy are - always quick with a response, most of the time sarcastic, most of the time able to elicit a genuine laugh to rumble from the depths of his chest. “I see why you and Poppy are so close.”

“Hm,” she hums, making a show of checking her phone, “You barely made it two minutes, but it could be a new record.”

“A new record?”

“For how long you can go in conversation without mentioning her.”

“She’s your best friend, the one person we have in common, it’s normal for me to bring her up, Nia.” He reaches for his drink to take a gulp, hoping the ice might make his throat feel a little better.

He doesn’t even know why he’s denying his lack of willpower when it comes to Poppy - 2 minutes actually seems like quite the achievement when he thinks about how long he’s restrained himself from reaching out over the past 4 days. Nia approaching him like this has been the perfect excuse to think about her - to talk about her without feeling like he’s overstepping or assuming.

He could use this to his advantage.

“Is she a good kisser?”

Or not.

He chokes on his drink, thankful the liquid isn’t coming out of his nose with how much he hadn’t been expecting that question.

“She looks like she would be. I’ve always thought about it but there’s never been a right time to try it out. Maybe I should take a leaf outta your book and lay it on thick and fast when she least expects it.”

How he even thought he could gain advantage in this conversation is beyond belief. He’s out of his depth with Nia, as usual. She isn’t afraid to call him out - she never has been - and she’s the one person in the world Poppy would confide in. Of course she knows about the kiss.

“Is that what she said, I laid it on thick and fast,”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, lover boy.” She chuckles, picking up her cocktail and stepping away from him, “Thanks for the drink, Nico, try to enjoy the rest of your birthday party.”

“Wait!” He reaches out to stop her, not wanting to let a golden opportunity slip from his hands so easily. “You would have bought me a drink before, for my birthday?”

“I think you earn about 5 times my annual salary in a month, so probably not.”

“How about you answer a question for me?” He proposes, “As a gift.”

“I could,” she sighs, sitting down in the stool beside him, “But I heard you get touchy after gifts.”

He immediately regrets asking, but not enough to let her go. He’s come this far, and he has 4 days worth of questions he desperately needs answers to.

“Funny,” he gives a condescending smile, which clearly pleases her as she gives a genuine one back, lifting her spare hand to gesture for him to carry on. As if it’s that easy to narrow down all the things he wants to ask her.

One question. 

What did she say about the kiss? Did she like it? Would she do it again?

What did she say about him? About how she feels? About what she wants?

Where is she right now? What did she tell Nia about the date? About the who?

“The guy she’s out with,” he can’t even bring himself to say the D word, “Is he nice?”

The look she gives him is almost pitiful. In fact, there is no almost about it. She clearly thinks he’s pathetic, but it’s too late to retract the question now that it’s out there.

“I don’t think so.”

He doesn’t like the way his stomach turns at her answer.

He had wanted this, right? For him to be a gratuity-withholding, uncouth slob with bad breath. 

But the thought of her being out with someone that has the potential to hurt her, hurts him. His chest feels tight, his head feels muddled, and that everlasting itch returns to the tips of his fingers - the weight of his cellphone becoming that much heavier in his back pocket.

“I mean,” she carries on with a shrug and reaches for her own phone, “He was a no-show, so we’ll never actually know for sure.” She swipes at her phone until she brings up her message thread with Poppy, turning up the brightness to show Nico the picture she had asked her to send earlier. 

It’s a selfie taken in the overly tall mirror she had once made him pick up from Ikea, claiming it wouldn’t fit in her car and his was much bigger, and he doesn’t know why his first instinct is to scan the background just to confirm his earlier intuitions about her bedroom. Too many pillows, cloud-like duvet. He can’t see the stuffed toy, but he assumes it’s somewhere in there.

Poppy looks unbelievable. 

Her dress is short, like the one she had worn on New Years, fits snug around her waist and emphasises her curves in all the best ways. Her legs seem to go on for miles, adorned in knee high boots no doubt to provide some semblance of warmth. Her hair is pulled back, and she wears gold jewellery - rings, some small hoop earrings, and he’s only just able to stop his fingers reaching out to pinch at the screen because he can see the gemstone bracelet without the need to zoom in.

“Can’t be that nice if you’re standing up a girl that gorgeous, huh?” Nia asks, suggestively, leaning her chin into the palm of her spare hand as she looks up at Nico. “Some guys just don’t know how good they’ve got it.”

He figures he actually should be embarrassed about the relief that floods through him - washes over his entire demeanour, expression changing from defeated to victorious in a matter of mere seconds.

The crease that seems to have permanently formed between his brows smooths out, posture corrects itself, and his lips even almost turn up into a smile.

There’s a childish, territorial voice within him that wants to exclaim, Thank God! But he’s grateful that he’s able to mute it.

And, despite being privy to Nia’s games - despite knowing exactly what trap he is being lured into, what he’s about to fall for - he can’t help but suggest, “You should tell her to come out.” Because, despite knowing he had taken the bait, he can’t find it within himself to care. “I think I asked her one too many times to ask again.”

The one thing he had twisted himself into knots over since first hearing her utter the word date, hadn’t actually come to fruition.

There is no date. There is no uncouth slob.

There is Poppy, dressed as pretty as she is, practically waiting for someone to show her a good time. 

He can do that. He wants to do it - to be the someone that’s good to her.

“Oh, should I?” Nia asks, a knowing smirk causing her lips to twitch mischievously. She’s been playing him this whole time, and once again, he doesn’t care. “I don’t know, she seems resigned to spending the evening on her couch watching New Girl,” she sighs dramatically, clearly looking for incentive - once again, reminding him too much of the girl he longs for. “I don’t know if there’s much convincing to be done.”

“I’ll add you to the tab for the night.”

Rookie mistake, offering something up so quick.

“Is that all my efforts are worth to you, Nico, a few measly drinks?”

“What do you want?”

“I’m actually out with a client tonight,” she looks back somewhere toward the other side of the bar, Nico can’t even bring himself to follow her gaze. “Been trying to sign them to my agency for a while, and if I can fix this deal, I’m up for a promotion.”

“Nia,” he warns, not liking how long this story is becoming. Forget good things come to those who wait. He’s waited long enough. “What do you want?”

“They’re big Devils fans, I think a night with the team could really open them up to the benefits of working with me.”

“Bring them into our section.”

“And maybe some tickets, too.”

“Fine.”

Nia gives him a triumphant smile, “Great, I’ll let them know.” She salutes him as she stands back up, gathering her drink and phone between the fingers of one hand before backing away. “Nice doing business with you, Captain.”

“Aren’t you gonna text her?”

“Oh, Nico,” she jeers, using her free hand to grasp him by the chin. “Dear, sweet, naive Nico,” she gives his head a subtle shake before patting at his shoulder condescendingly, “She’s already on her way.”

If anyone asks, Nico isn’t admitting to keeping an eye on the door since Nia had made her way back over to her side of the bar, but he knows as soon as Poppy has arrived. He watches her make her way over to her friend, watches the two of them embrace and talk between themselves for a good minute. He watches and waits until her eyes meet his from across the crowded room, and it’s like everything else stops.

He’d somehow managed to immerse himself in the party spirit since he had found out she was coming, fitting back into the group, toasting along with them, engaging in conversations with his teammates, his mood vastly improved in comparison to earlier in the night - of which he’s sure Timo is relieved after his short-lived exile from Nico’s good graces — but everything fades to black when he sees her lips curve upwards from afar.

Someone is talking beside him - hopefully not to him, he thinks, he doesn’t remember being mid-discussion with anyone - but it’s just drowned out mumbling right now, and all he can do is tilt his head toward the doors that lead to the bathrooms, and wait for her to respond. When she nods and separates herself from Nia, he excuses himself from the group, edging out of their section and following her path, losing her a little in the thick crowd of people - the bar still packed from where they had played the Giants game earlier.

When he gets through the doors, he’s thankful no one else is lingering back there - no rowdy queue for the bathroom, no staff, no one but him and the girl who seems to be holding his heart like a hot potato, not knowing the best way to carry it without getting burned.

“Hi.” It’s a weak starter for a heavy conversation, but if he’s honest with himself, she’s taken his breath away.

The picture from before hadn’t done her justice. She’s a little worn into her look for the evening now, hair not so neat, skin a little shiny, lipstick faded - but this is exactly how he likes her, especially when he takes in the way her eyes gleam and her cheeks puff out with her smile.

He makes a conscious effort not to let his eyes drift directly to the smile - to her lips, which even the thought of them elicits such a vivid memory.

“Surprise!” she sings quietly, arms outstretched and hands shaking theatrically.

He steps toward her with his hands behind his back, fingers clasped together until he’s confident that his knuckles turn white, fighting the urge to curl his arm around her waist and pull her into him, needing to be closer. He watches intently as her eyes flick down to where his hands should be.

She backs into the wall behind her, not to escape his approach, but more to prepare herself for it - like she’s settling in and embracing it.

She isn’t running. She isn’t pushing.

She’s waiting.

“I’ve missed you.” Nico wastes no time in telling her the truth - telling her what she’s refused to believe every other time he’s said it, but he can tell with the tilting of her head and the rounding of her eyes that understanding has settled within her. She has no comeback, no it’s only been a few days, and he thinks she must have felt the drag of them in the same way.

“I’ve missed you, too.” 

Whatever anxiety has rooted itself deep inside him for the past 4 days dissipates almost immediately. 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” He admits, without shame or reluctance. After Poppy had helped him overcome whatever had been censoring him before, there is no point now in holding back or beating around the bush. “You look so good, Mohn.”

A rush of confidence allows for him to close the gap, standing right before her as she leans against the wall, neck craning ever so slightly to look up at him. He still won’t touch, hands laying against the stone at either side of her hips, not daring yet to let even a sliver of his finger graze at her flesh.

“You look good, too.” She breathes, eyes glancing down to do an appreciative once over of his outfit, and he doesn’t miss the glint of pride cross through her eyes when she catches the glimpse of the gold that peaks out from the neck of his sweatshirt. 

“I’m sorry about your date.”

“Are you?” Her lips twist into a knowing smile. It’s an example of one of her many traits that he loves - she can detect his bullshit a mile off.

“Mmhm,” he nods, “I’m sorry a world exists where any man is stupid enough to stand you up, Poppy.”

“I’m the stupid one,” she argues, and he misses her gaze as soon as she takes it away, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment. “I should have listened to you and cancelled in the first place.”

“I was stupid to ask that.”

“Maybe we’re both stupid.”

“Definitely.” He probably shouldn’t be agreeing to her calling herself stupid, but it comes out before he can think too much on it. They’ve both wasted too much time. 

“Did you have a good birthday?” She asks, and a slight movement between them catches his eye, her fingers twisting together as if she’s withholding her touch, too.

“It’s better now.” He smiles fondly as she rolls her eyes. 

“How are your family?”

“They’re good.” He doesn’t want to go into too much detail about how shamefully miserable he has been over the past few days - doesn’t want to tell her how his mom had called him out on his lack of contribution to conversations, and he’d managed to pin it on the stress of the season. She still raises a brow at his insufficient answer, and he expands before she can tell him off. “Everyone but Luca made it out, my sister had to go back already for work, but my parents booked a trip to Halifax to visit the Phillips’, I lived with them when I played up there, they have a few friends to visit in Canada but they’ll drop back to see me again before they fly home.”

He feels the tickle of soft fingertips at the inside of his arm, slowly grazing down as he speaks, and as he watches Poppy, he thinks she must not realise she’s doing it - letting intuition take over as she’s distracted by the conversation. He lets her take the lead on initiating any touching, and it takes all the restraint he has left not to barge through the door she’s attempting to slowly eke open. She’s the only person in the world who could make him audibly hear the metaphorical creaking.

“Did they get to watch you win?”

He doesn’t even know why he finds himself grinning at the question, but the tone in which she asks it bears a hint of pride. She had watched the game on Friday.

“My dad was pretty much in the stands in full gear, everything but the pads and skates, and my mom was repping Foundation merch, she’s run off across the border with my beanie.” He likes the way her face lights up.

“I’ll get you another.” She raises her other hand to card her fingers through his hair, and, for once, he’s thankful not to be wearing any sort of hat. The soft scratch of her nails is soothing, and he just about manages to stop himself leaning into her touch and purring like a cat.

That would be embarrassing.

He feels outnumbered, both of her hands on him, and it feels unfair not to be touching her - so when his thumb extends itself on the wall just beside her hip and strokes at the soft fabric of her dress until it’s softly digging in, he watches intently for any hesitation before he lays a palm flat against her side.

It feels like things are progressing both torturously slow and overwhelmingly fast at the same time. His heart feels like it’s slamming into either side of his ribcage, and like nothing else occupies his chest, the sound of it echoing as if banging on the walls of a deep, empty cavern.

“Did I already tell you how much I missed you?” He honestly can’t remember, but he’ll tell her again if he needs to.

The hand that had run through his hair rests now on the side of his head, her thumb swiping softly at his cheek as she cups the side of his face, and before he can even make sense of what is happening, he’s being pulled forward. 

He bends to her advances with quick reflexes to avoid clashing, and their noses bump just before their lips meet.

Her chest rolls forward until it presses into his, and both his hands grab at her sides to pull her flush against him, legs tangling, hips pushing together, bodies touching everywhere possible all the way up to their mouths. 

He gives her all the control otherwise, allows her to determine the pace, responding to her every move and every touch with fervour and heat. She pulls at him, one hand grasping at his sweatshirt and the other cradling the side of his neck, and he quickly lifts one to stifle the blow to her head as she collides back with the wall, barely noticing the pain where his knuckles meet the stone.

Their tongues press together at the same time, and Nico doesn’t even realise his lack of patience got the better of him until their battle for dominance kicks off between their lips.

He can taste the same vanilla lip balm, can smell her signature coconut scent, can hear soft, subtle moans, can only see the back of his eyelids, not daring to open them, just wanting to feel. And he can feel everything. 

He feels the softness of her hair beneath the hand that is protecting her head from the discomfort of resting against the hard surface behind her, can feel the skirt of her dress bunching up in his grip, can feel her touch, fingertips dancing at the the base of his skull, thumb pressing into his jaw, her other hand making that same grabby gesture at the thick fabric covering his torso, squished between his heart and her chest, and he thinks he can feel the thump of her own heart on the other side.

He can feel her thigh pressed between his, the friction causing a heat to build deep in the pit of his stomach, swirling and whirling down, down, down until it culminates into the hard press of his hips into hers, and a rushed gasp combined with a guttural groan causes their lips to part.

They take deep breaths in unison, their chests bumping with every inhale, and he tries otherwise not to move.

He opens his eyes to find hers still closed, scrunched shut, even, and he tries not to be selfish - ignores the need to get a good look at her, to have this version of her ingrained to his memory too - and attempts to coax her back to him.

“Poppy,” he sounds just about as breathless as he feels. “Are you good?”

She hums in response, a subtle nod given, but he needs to hear her say it, and he tells her as much with a quick squeeze to her hip. Her eyes flutter open, gleaming and bright, framed by thick lashes and crinkling slightly at the outer corners as her lips turn up into a mischievous grin. “Better now.”

His chest feels like it’s about to burst open, like there’s a bear within him that is going to break out and pull her into its clutches, dragging her back safe to her home in his heart.

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asks, because he has to - he doesn’t care if it’s rude to leave his own birthday party, doesn’t care that he’s been the most ungrateful person in the world all night.

He’ll make it up to Timo, get him something big the next birthday of his that rolls around. Throw him a party. Or he’ll take care of the tab the next time they’re out. Maybe even let him have the window seat the next time they’re on the same plane home. 

Except, he won’t be doing any of that. He’ll be taking the reins on booking flights and putting Timo straight into economy, smack-bang in the middle of a row surrounded by a family of 5, screaming kids, arguing parents, the back of his seat being kicked the whole 8 hours to Zurich.

Because, just as Poppy’s swollen lips part to accept his advances - as her chin lifts, about to drop with a big affirmative nod, and he’s about to get everything he’s wanted the past 4 days and beyond - the doors to the back swing open, and his 6 foot teammate stumbles through, arms outstretched as he notices the two of them practically intertwined.

“Here you are!” He exclaims, voice booming in comparison to the soft breathy tones he and Poppy had been previously speaking in. “Poppy, you made it!”

“Hi Timo,” Nico feels her retreat, feels her legs brush past his and back to her own space, her hand on his chest now the only part of her that touches him, and he follows her lead, taking his hands back and trying not to clench his jaw or his fists as she converses with the man who was once his friend. “How are you doing?”

“I’m alright, should be back on the ice in a couple weeks.” Timo had suffered an injury in one of their games at the back end of December, and hasn’t been fit to travel, and Nico finds an unspeakably bitter part of himself wishing it was something to do with Timo’s legs that were injured so he couldn’t have interrupted their moment. “Glad you’re here, this one has been miserable all night.”

He can’t be this oblivious, Nico thinks. Why is he still here? Why isn’t he retreating back to the bar and leaving the two of them to whatever he had clearly barged in on.

And when Nico looks back to his teammate, his long time friend, he sees the oh-so-evident glint of mischief and disobedience in his grey-blue eyes.

He is getting his own back.

Nico knows he was petulant to blame Timo for Poppy not being invited, knows there was nothing he could have done to change her going out on a date, or them not speaking for months while he was with Talia.

He doesn’t need him to enact his revenge to see he was wrong to ignore his texts, or to mope around at the party he had put so much effort into. 

He tries to give him a pleading look to stop whatever he is trying to do, but it’s no use.

“The guys will want to see you, Poppy, Jack’s beating himself up about his shoulder, could use a friendly face.”

“Oh,” Poppy casts a glance back to Nico, and he gives her a nod, implying that she go see to her friend. “I’ll go find him.” 

He can wait. He’s waited 4 days. He’s waited years, in fact.

And, after that kiss, he knows he won’t have to wait much longer. 

“You’re a real dick, you know that?” Nico mutters in their shared native language once he’s watched Poppy disappear through the doors to the bar, with a quick glance back and an apologetic smile before they closed. 

“Just saving my brooding captain from being arrested for public indecency,” Timo shrugs with a shit-eating grin as he passes Nico and heads toward the bathrooms further down the hall. “You’re welcome!” He calls back in English, raising his hands and giving a patronising thumbs up.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face and wishing it was Poppy’s in its place.

It’s just an hour, maybe two, in the presence of his friends. Drinks, music, everyone in a good mood for the most part. It’s hardly like he’s walking out into a press conference after a 5 game losing streak and about to have all the blame placed upon his shoulders. 

It’s a party. 

Poppy’s here.

He can do this.

He can wait.

Next Chapter

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @bunbunbl0gs @idgaf-if-youre-here @youflowerr-youfeast @thearchersstuff @bellsdi0r @wonderheartz @jjgsunflower @butterflies35 @kenziepickle @josierosie @laheyxlover @mrsmattytkachuk (sorry if your tag hasn't worked btw or if I forgot you I'm a muppet tbh)

[lesgetittkookie]

redamancy - jjk (part iii)

⤖ genre: fluff, future smut, angst, gardener!jeongguk x rich!reader, okay but jeongguk isn't really a gardener like that but you'll see, kinda slow burn but not really

⤖ pairing: jeongguk x female reader

⤖ rating: 18+

⤖word count: approx. 14.1 k words

⤖ chapter warnings: explicit language, angst

summary: jeongguk is just a normal dude with a simple routine. wake up, go to the gym, work his job as a waiter at this posh upscale restaurant in the heart of gangnam before coming home to a night full of video games and ramen (it's delicious and cheap). that routine gets disrupted when he accidentally taps the back of an expensive sports car of one of the richest men in south korea. considering he's broke, he couldn't afford to pay for the damages so the man makes a deal with him by offering him to work at his house as one of the gardeners. jeongguk takes it but wasn't prepared to meet this beautiful young woman who's constantly lounging by the pool, you, the rich man's daughter.

author's note: hi hi hi pls don't kill me yall. i know it's been MONTHS since i last posted. there were many life changing events that occurred in my life and it really held me back from ever completing part 3. i had half of it written in august but it was left abandoned for a while because of my college semester. i also lost motivation to write for so long too. im gonna be honest, i hate this chapter. no matter what i wrote, i was not happy with it at all and im still not. but i didn't wanna keep you guys waiting. the only thing i ask from you is that if you can really give me feedback and thoughts on the chapter, it would be really helpful. seeing you guys enjoy it keeps me motivated to continue writing, the more motivated i am, the sooner i can post future parts. im on summer break so i would really like to finish this story if possible. pls don't be a silent reader. i hope you guys like this chapter. xx M.

taglist:@janedukiesworld@rjsmochii@mwitsmejk@jjeonjjk7@whoa-jo @linda-botello @dewamused @tearsdntfall617 @taehyungseggs @thoudailydeets @hobiiihope @miss-jupiter @petalsofink @imjustreadingig @guksunshine @iheartsvt @rainnyrh @axniyx @kookies-n-spice @carolsummerlove @rievjjks @dopedreamfireparty @

“You’re going to what?” Jeongguk asks, almost dropping the garden snippers on his foot. 

Dohyun jumps a little at the older man’s loud voice, almost dropping the flower bouquet. He dusts off his white button-up, fixing the collar. 

“I’m going to ask Y/N on a date,” He reiterates proudly. “I got her these chocolates from that fancy chocolate store,” He holds up the white box wrapped in a baby pink bow. “And some roses from my aunt’s flower shop.” His other hand props up the bouquet, plastic rustling when he shakes it. 

No way. There’s no way he’s actually going to ask you. Not when you literally just said last night that you don’t have any form of feelings for Dohyun. But you also did mention that you wouldn’t have the heart to turn him down, not wanting to see him hurt. 

God, why did you have to be so nice? Are you actually going to accept the date when Dohyun asks you? 

He looks at Dohyun who seems to be in a daze, probably daydreaming about you and him together. He shivers at the thought of you kissing Dohyun on the corner of his mouth as you did with Jeongguk last night. 

Gross. 

There’s no way you’re going on that date with Dohyun. Not when you’ve made it clear that you’re interested in Jeongguk. If that kiss didn’t mean anything last night, he’d be quite upset. 

“Uh…I don’t know if that’s…a good idea,” Jeongguk replies, voice honeyed. He’d be damned if he lets Dohyun ask you out first. 

The excited smile begins to fade, forming a firm line. He looks at Jeongguk in confusion, “Why?” He asks. 

Fuck, what can he say? There’s no excuse coming to mind. 

“Listen, dude,” Jeongguk walks up to Dohyun, putting his arm around the younger man’s shoulder. “Girls like Y/N, they’re not interested in guys like us.” 

Is he gonna go to hell for lying like this? 

“Guys like…us?” Dohyun questions, looking up at Jeongguk with a clueless pout. 

Jeongguk nods, pretending to look sullen, “Yeah, I mean look at us, we’re just a bunch of commoners,” Something you’ve made very apparent that you don’t care about. “Y/N’s family…they’re rich. She’s probably into guys who own sports cars and Rolex watches.” Lies. You’ve mentioned how you couldn’t stand materialistic guys. 

“So what you’re saying is…” Dohyun stares at the grass thoughtfully, “That I need to have nice and expensive things.” Jeongguk nods in response. 

Yeah, he’s definitely going to hell. 

“B-But I made reservations at that expensive French restaurant,” He tells Jeongguk, looking a little sad. 

Lame. Going to a fancy wine-and-dine restaurant for a date would not impress you, he thinks. You already seem to be sick of your high-class lifestyle. The last thing you would want is to be sitting in a place surrounded by other rich folks.

If it were up to Jeongguk, he would’ve taken you to his favorite street vendor for some tteokbokki and then to the arcade to play games. He thinks you’d enjoy that more. 

“It’s okay man. That wouldn’t have been enough,” Jeongguk shakes his head, putting a hand on the other’s shoulder in a comforting manner,  “She probably would’ve ordered the most expensive wine on the menu.” 

Dohyun’s bottom lip quivers and a look of despair etched onto his face. “I would’ve paid for it.” 

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow, “You could afford that?” 

Dohyun shrugs, “I made a deal with the manager to pay in installments.” Geez, he really had it all planned out. 

“I don’t think she’s worth it, dude,” Jeongguk’s voice is laced with fake sorrow. He hopes you never find out that he’s saying this shit because he does not mean a single damn thing he just told Dohyun. 

“I mean I guess you’re right,” Dohyun looks down at the flower bouquet with a dejected look on his face. “She’s just always been so nice to me so I thought there might’ve been something there.” 

You are a nice person. So nice that it shook Jeongguk to the core. There wasn’t a single bad body in your body it seems. You would never have any ill intentions towards anyone. He’s witnessed it firsthand. You’re damn considerate of others that you were afraid of facing the day Dohyun confessed to you because you didn’t have it in you to turn him down and witness his heartbreak.

If anything, Jeongguk is doing both you and Dohyun a favor. 

“I hear you, buddy,” Jeongguk clasps his hand against Dohyun’s back, making the younger man wince a little. “Guys like us never get the girl.” 

Except for Jeongguk. He thinks he might have a chance.

Too arrogant? 

“I guess I’ll just cancel the reservation,” Dohyun states in melancholy, and Jeongguk immediately nods.

Yes, cancel the reservation. Please. Cancel so Jeongguk can ask you out on a date instead. 

“Well I’m going to go put this stuff back,” Jeongguk tells him, putting the tools away in the bucket. He’s also hoping to catch you sitting outside again. He wonders what swimsuit you’re wearing today. 

“I’ll go with you,” Dohyun mumbles, walking alongside Jeongguk. 

God dammit, never mind, he prays you’re not sitting outside. 

The two men are heading towards the back along the concrete pathway, stopping in front of the shed. Jeongguk looks over at the sunbed where you’re usually sitting but fortunately, you’re not there. His shoulders relax at that and he lets out a sigh of relief. He can’t help but look over at Dohyun, only to see him already staring at the sunbed as well with a gloomy look on his face. 

“Come on, help me put these tools where they need to go,” Jeongguk suggests in an attempt to distract the younger man. He’s not going to lie, he does feel a little guilty for lying like this to him. 

Jeongguk is never the type to really feel guilty which is why his Jin Hyung calls him a dickhead sometimes. But right now, he can feel it just a tad bit. 

Dohyun glances over at the sunbed one last time before hesitantly following Jeongguk inside, placing the bouquet and box of chocolates onto the wooden table. He takes out the tools one by one, placing them onto the hooks. Jeongguk just watches the other, noticing how his frown isn’t going away, eyebrows furrowed. 

Once the tools are placed in their respective places, the two of them head back outside. Dohyun leaves first and Jeongguk follows behind only to bump into the other male’s back when he pauses in his footsteps. He clicks his tongue, looking up at Dohyun only to find him staring longingly at something a few feet away. 

Oh god, please don’t let it be. 

He turns his head and there you are, walking outside of the house in your swimming attire. There’s a book in your hand as per usual and it sounds like you’re humming to a certain tune, earbuds on. 

Jeongguk finds himself panicking, ready to steer Dohyun away from the back but it’s too late. 

“You know what, I’m still gonna tell her,” Dohyun says determinedly. “I’m still gonna ask her out on that date.” He’s got to be joking. “I’m gonna ask her out on that date and then tell her I’ve been in love with her since we were kids.”  Before Jeongguk could respond, Dohyun is already striding over to you, chocolate and flowers in hand. 

This is not going to end well. 

+

It’s a beautiful day out, you think. The sky is a bright blue, the sun is out and shining high, the garden is looking colorful and vibrant with the newly planted flowers and there’s a nice breeze blowing through the air. You have a smile on your face as you think about all the things that happened yesterday. 

The way Jeongguk kept making you laugh obnoxiously and smile like a fool. He’s unintentionally funny because he’s so honest and blunt. He wouldn’t even try hard to make you laugh, he would just say something casually and actually be serious about it when you think he’s joking. You hope that you can see him again outside of your house soon. 

You haven’t seen him yet and you’re hoping he hasn’t left yet. At least not without saying bye to you. Not that he has to but it be nice if he did. 

You’re listening to music when you walk outside of the house into the backyard, book in hand, ready to begin your reading for the day. You plan to read just for a little bit, drinking a glass of red wine while you wait for Jeongguk to come to the back. 

Luckily, your mother isn’t home, having gone to her company’s building after finding out about some setbacks with the clothing material for her latest fashion line. You have no idea what it was exactly but she was definitely stressed out about it. 

Plopping down onto the lounger, you open your book to the page you bookmarked before picking up your wine glass to take a sip. Before you can bring the glass up to your lips, you hear your name being called by a ringing voice. 

You flinch, almost spilling the wine on your thigh, and look up to see Dohyun striding towards you, a look of determination on his face. In his hands, he’s holding a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates. 

Oh god. You were afraid of when this day would come. 

You set down the glass on the circular glass table beside you, closing the book as well. Mustering up your best (fake) smile, you greet him, “Hey,” You clear your throat, “Um you look nice.” 

The compliment immediately brings a bashful smile to his face as he looks down at the ground before looking at you once again. “Thank you,” He responds. 

“Mhm,” You clear your throat, awkwardly looking away. 

God, you were nervous. You already told Jeongguk you were never prepared for the moment when Dohyun was going to ask you out. You always hoped for him to eventually lose feelings and let you go. However, here he is, standing in front of you dressed in nice clothes while holding a flower bouquet. 

You felt like you were going to be sick.

“So I uh,” Dohyun lets out a deep breath. “I was wondering if you would,” No please no. “Sorry,” He shakes his head at himself. “I had a whole speech prepared but now I can’t seem to remember anything,” He tells you and a fake laugh escapes your lips. 

If he can just get nervous and maybe back out…

“Iwaswonderingifyoudliketogoonadatewithme,” He says it so fast that you almost miss it but you knew exactly what he just asked you. 

Your throat feels tight, eyes just staring at him in surprise. What do you say? How can you tell him no? Not when he’s staring at you with those hopeful eyes, hands clutching the bouquet and chocolates. 

How can you go on a date with someone else when you have a crush on Jeongguk? A major crush. Though you don’t know him very well, you know enough to like him. A lot. But maybe he doesn’t like you. He’s still a mystery to you. He’s made it clear that he finds you attractive but what if to him this is just some sort of little game to him? 

After all, he is only working here temporarily. He could just be trying to get into your pants and then disappear right after he gets what he wants. You don’t know. He genuinely seemed interested in having a conversation with you last night but at the same time, it could just be an act. 

“Um Y/N?” Dohyun’s call of your name causes you to snap out of your doubtful thoughts and look up at him. 

“Yes?” You say in surprise. 

“Wait, that's a yes?” An excited smile grows on his face. 

Oh fuck. That’s not what you meant. The smile on his face…how can you say no now? 

Letting out a regretful sigh, you gather a fake smile on your face. “Yes,” You can’t believe you’re doing this. “I’ll go on a date with you.” With those words leaving your lips, your eyes immediately snap to Jeongguk who you didn’t realize was standing a few feet away from you both. 

The look on his face causes your heart to drop into your stomach. 

Did he just witness you say yes to the date? 

Your eyes don’t look away from him, a guilty expression on your face as you stare at his now blank face. It went from surprise to blank in a matter of seconds, a way of showing you that he looks unbothered by what just happened. 

Maybe he is unbothered by it. 

If he isn’t, then he’s doing a great job at not showing it. 

You didn’t mean to say yes. In fact, you were ready to say no. But with the excited look on his face, you don’t have it in you to take it away. You just have to come clean later. You can’t get this far. 

Not when you know you can’t reciprocate your feelings for the man. 

“I’m so glad you said yes!” His smile is vibrant and it looks like he can’t contain his excitement, bouncing on his tiptoes. 

With a tight-lipped smile, you accept the bouquet of red roses he hands you along with the chocolates. Your eyes glance behind him again towards where Jeongguk is standing. He gives you a thumbs-up and a pursed-lip smile before heading towards the gate. 

You open your mouth to say something but Dohyun speaks before any words can escape you, your attention turning back towards him again. 

“So I can pick you up on Friday? How does 7 sound?” He asks you, voice sounding thrilled. 

The more you hear him speak, the worse you feel. There’s no backing out of this now. Jeongguk left without saying anything which causes you to question how he might’ve felt. Maybe he did like you back. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. 

Again, you don’t know. 

The overwhelming feeling of all kinds of emotions fills you and you just wish to disappear but instead, you just give Dohyun another fake smile and say, “Sounds good.” 

“Great!” He grins. “I’ll see you Friday!” He says before turning on his feet and leaving. You watch him walk towards the gate, no longer containing his excitement when you hear him whisper yes yes yes. 

“Jeongguk! Wait up!” You hear Dohyun shout, eagerness, and enthusiasm loud in his tone. 

You wince, looking towards the gate in hopes of catching a glimpse of Jeongguk but you fail to see him at all. He didn’t bother to come to the back and say. But you can probably understand why. You let out a sad sigh, holding up the bouquet of flowers in your hand and staring at them. 

Just one date. You just have to get through this one date. 

+ 

Friday evening 

The feeling of dread swirls in your stomach as you stare into the mirror with your hair and face ready for the date you’re about to go on. You’re not looking forward to it at all. Ever since you woke up this morning, you thought about coming up with some sort of excuse to back out of the date. Maybe lie and say you have the stomach flu or something. 

Then again, if you lie, you would just be postponing the date because you have a feeling he would reschedule it for another day. So you thought to yourself that it would be better to get it over with. 

Your plan is to go on the date, eat and then tell him that you don’t have any feelings for him. You know that if you lead him on further, it will end with a more painful heartbreak for him.

You’re also bummed because, for the remainder of the week, you did not see Jeongguk at all. Even when you sat down at the pool all day, constantly looking over at the door in hopes of catching sight of him, he didn’t come towards the back. 

Instead of Jeongguk coming to the shed to drop off the tools, it would either be some other gardener or sometimes even Dohyun who, of course, would wave at you excitedly and remind you about the time of your date on Friday. 

You think he might be disappointed in you and doesn’t want to see you. Or maybe he backed off because he probably thinks you’re giving Dohyun a chance when you’re not. 

You just fucked up by saying yes. 

After telling Dohyun that you don’t have feelings for him, you’re determined to tell Jeongguk you like him when you see him on Monday. And if he doesn’t like you back? 

Well then you’re just going to hide in your room in embarrassment until he finishes working his last few days at your estate

You’re wearing a black long-sleeved dress that has a square-shaped neckline and slightly ruffled sleeves. It reaches below your knees, a slit on the left side, revealing the skin up to your midthigh. You left your hair open in soft curls and your makeup is done minimally. 

You’re putting on your dangly earring when you hear your phone vibrate on the vanity. The screen lights up with a text from Dohyun telling you he’s out front waiting for you. You exhale deeply, attempting to calm yourself down, feeling slightly sick in the stomach. 

Just two hours. You just have to endure this date for two hours. 

Fixing the loose strand of hair in your face, you look into the mirror one last time before grabbing your clutch and walking out of the bedroom and down the spiral steps. You nod your head at one of the maids on your way out, giving her a polite smile. 

When you walk outside of your house, you see Dohyun waiting in front of the gate with another bouquet of flowers. He cleaned himself nicely, wearing a white button-up under a black blazer with matching pants. His hair is pushed back and he’s not wearing those glasses again. 

With an elated grin, he gives you a bow which you return before grabbing the flowers he holds out and muttering a small ‘thanks’ in response. 

He nods, seeming proud of himself before he holds out his hand which you hesitantly take. He walks you to his car, a red Toyota Corolla, opening the door for you politely. 

Your mind can’t help but wonder when you went out with Jeongguk that night at the bar and he told you that chivalry was dead so he wouldn’t open the door for you. You can’t help but smile at the memory, shaking your head. 

Once you’re sitting down in the car, bouquet in your lap along with your clutch, he gently closes the door before jogging towards the driver's side to sit down. His face is beaming when he starts the car again, the sound of a girl group song immediately playing on the Bluetooth loudly, causing you to wince at the volume. 

He looks panicked, cheeks and ears red as he quickly turns down the volume dial on the knob and mumbles a shy ‘sorry. You give him a reassuring smile before looking out of the window.

The car begins moving, an awkward silence immediately filling the air since neither of you say a single word. Dohyun is the first to break it, clearing his throat before speaking. 

“So how was your day?” He asks, attempting to make conversation. 

You shrug, watching outside as he drives out of your neighborhood towards the city. “It was okay. Didn’t really do much.” 

Other than hoping and praying for the date to be canceled one way or another. 

He nods, tapping his index fingers against the steering wheel as he says, “Cool cool. I didn’t do much either.” You nod, listening. “Well actually, I started this new Korean drama. It’s about this guy who…” 

He rambles about the drama, beginning from the first episode and providing you with details on how it all started, and for almost the majority of the car ride, he’s giving you a rundown on how each episode goes down one by one along with his personal opinions. You just nod and add in a few words to make yourself sound interested when really, all you wanted to do was open the car door and roll down the street. 

Unable to help yourself, your mind drifts to the time you were with Jeongguk and how you two talked about the most random things. He would tell you crazy stories about the things he’s done with his friends, always having something ridiculous to say which would make you laugh a crazy amount. 

Again, Jeongguk is blunt and careless about what he says and who he says it to. He never held back from telling you things that might sound absurd to others. 

For this one time when he and his six other friends had a competition on who can eat the most gamja hot dogs at a carnival before they all went on one of those spinning rides and ended up vomiting while the ride was still going. The whole ride had to immediately shut down and people who were waiting in line were not happy and covered in their puke. 

To make the night even worse, his friend Jin almost fought a little kid over the last alpaca plushie at one of the games and it resulted in them being kicked out of the carnival. 

The whole time he had told you that story, he had a smile on his face at the memories and you remember being enraptured by how beautiful he looked with his bunny teeth on display, the small mole beneath his rose-colored lips visible; the hand gestures he’d make to animate the story. 

You don’t realize you’re smiling again until Dohyun calls for your name, causing you to flinch in surprise. 

“Yeah?” You ask, smile dropping and you look at him questioningly. 

“I was um asking what you thought about it?” He wonders, glancing at you before looking back at the road. 

Fuck, what did he ask about? 

“I’m sorry,” You shake your head. “Can you repeat the question?” You look at him apologetically, mentally cursing at yourself for being distracted by Jeongguk again. 

Dohyun clears his throat, “I was asking what your thoughts were on the show so far.” 

Oh right, the show. The one you didn’t listen to a single thing about. God, you don’t know what to say. 

Think, Y/N, think. 

“It sounds…” You’re looking for the right word. “Like there’s a lot going on.” You slightly wince at that, hoping he doesn’t notice. 

Dohyun looks a bit confused, pursing his lips in thought before saying, “Really? I don’t know. I honestly think it’s quite boring. There’s no good drama going on with the characters.” He says and you nod. 

“Honestly you’re right,” You quickly add. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” You let out a fake chuckle. “It needs to be more dramatic.” 

You have no fucking clue what you’re saying. 

Seeming to be satisfied with the answer, he nods with a smile before moving on to a different topic. 

For the rest of the car ride, you try really hard to give him your full attention when he talks, chipping in on things when appropriate up until you guys reach the restaurant. You let out a slightly annoyed sigh under your breath when the restaurant comes into view. 

Pierre Gagnaire à Séoul. 

The French restaurant your mother absolutely loves meanwhile you hate. The food is not bad but it’s not to your taste. You’re also not a fan of the environment, surrounded by all the posh and stuck-up rich people. 

The restaurant has valet parking as well so when you guys pull up to the front, Dohyun quickly opens the door and runs to your side so he can open your own door for you, holding his hand out for you to take. 

You try not to think about how Jeongguk would probably tell you to open the door yourself because he wouldn’t do it for you. 

He hands his keys over to the valet before you both head inside, his hand holding yours. You try not to squirm when he tries to intertwine your fingers, letting out a breath to try and relax. 

He opens the door for you, allowing you to go in first and you give him a thank you before walking inside first, internally grateful that your hands are no longer clasped together.

The aromatic smell of the food immediately hits your nose. The sound of chatter fills your ears along with the utensils hitting against the plates. The sight you see with your eyes is one you are used to. Wealthy people dressed to the nines in their extravagant dresses and suits, sipping on expensive wine. 

“Good evening,” The hostess at the front greets with a practiced smile. “Reservation?” 

Dohyun nods excitedly, “Dohyun at 7:30.” He tells her and she nods, looking at the screen before grabbing two menus from beside her and nudging her head towards the tables. 

“Follow me please,” She says, Dohyun letting you go first before he follows behind you. You walk past other people, avoiding making eye contact with anyone you know. 

This restaurant is where all of the affluent people go, friends of your family that your parents are close to. You wouldn’t be surprised if you saw any of them here though you’d much rather not which is why you just stare at the hostess’ back as she guides you both towards your table. 

Dohyun pulls the chair back for you as soon as you reach the table before he sits himself down. The hostess places the menus down on the table before saying, “Your waiter should be here shortly.” And with that, she leaves. 

“I’ve never been here before so I’m excited,” Dohyun says, flipping through the menu with stars in his eyes.

You shrug, pretending to look through the menu though not really because you already know what you’re going to choose. “I’ve been a few times,” You inform him. 

“Oh,” He looks at you. “Do you like it?” He looks nervous when he waits for your response. 

You give him a pursed-lip smile and say, “Yeah,” You lie. “I like it.” 

He grins, seeming satisfied with the answer before looking at the menu again. You look down at your own menu again in order to distract yourself, waiting for him to decide what he wants to eat. 

“Good evening, my name is Jeongguk and I’ll be your waiter this evening.” As soon as you hear that husky yet gentle voice, your head snaps up to the person and the menu drops onto the table out of surprise. 

And there he is, standing in front of you wearing black slacks that accentuate his strong thighs while he wears a white button-up that hugs his chest. The sleeves are pulled up a bit, his inked arms slightly peaking out. His dark hair is pushed back to reveal his eyebrow piercing and strong brows, a single loose strand slightly falling forward on his forehead. 

His large doe brown eyes meet yours, shock evident on his face as he stares right back at you.  

“Holy shoot Jeongguk!” Dohyun sounds just as surprised as you look before a large smile overtakes his face. 

+

Jeongguk had no fucking idea that this was the fancy wine and dine restaurant Dohyun was going to take you to for the date.

The whole week Dohyun wouldn’t shut up about it and he didn’t bother asking the younger man which restaurant it was. He wasn’t interested in knowing because quite frankly, he tried not to care. 

To say that he was disappointed when you said yes to Dohyun would be an understatement. He knew you were too nice and didn’t want to hurt the guy but he really thought you’d muster up the courage to turn him down. 

Instead, he watched you say yes and take the flowers and chocolates from Dohyun with that pretty smile on your face. 

Now Jeongguk usually isn’t the type to get jealous. But that’s usually because there’s no one he’s really been interested in. Sure, he’s had a few girlfriends here and there but the relationships don’t last long enough because the girl either ends up batshit crazy or he just couldn’t return the same feelings. 

But seeing Dohyun all excited and happy about taking you out on a date would just piss him off. He wanted to be the one to take you out. He thinks his plan would’ve been more solid and fun. Taking you out to the arcade before eating at his favorite fried chicken spot with beer.

Jeongguk can’t deny that he holds these strong feelings of infatuation towards you. You interest him because you’re different. Sure, it might sound like those typical cliche things but he’s speaking the truth. You’re intelligent, funny, and so fucking kind to others. Let’s not also forget how immensely beautiful you are. 

Yeah, he’s got a gigantic crush on you. 

Too bad he’s standing in front of you as your waiter and not as the date sitting across from you. He can’t seem to take his eyes off of you right now. Taking in your wide eyes and slightly ajar mouth, he tries not to act just as surprised by keeping a blank stare. 

“Oh wow, didn’t expect to see you guys here,” Jeongguk says, voice flat and void of any emotion. 

Before you can say anything, Dohyun says, “Jeongguk, I didn't know you worked here!” Jeongguk tries not to wince at Dohyun’s loud enthusiastic voice. 

“Yeah,” Jeongguk clears his throat, giving his full attention to Dohyun so he doesn’t stare at you. “Usually the evening shifts now since you know…I work at the other place.” He informs him. 

Dohyun nods, “Cool cool.” He looks across at you. “Isn’t it funny how Jeongguk is our waiter, Y/N?” 

Jeongguk looks at you who’s just looking at Dohyun before glancing at him, “Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.” Your voice is shy of speaking and he thinks it's because of him. He holds eye contact with you, taking in the small pout on your glossy lips. There’s a certain emotion in your eye, almost looking apologetic but Jeongguk tries to brush it off. 

“Anyways, what would you guys like to start off with? Something to drink maybe?” Jeongguk asks, pulling out a pen and his notepad. 

Don’t fucking look at Y/N, Jeongguk. 

Dohyun looks at you first with a questioning gaze, “Y/N?” 

You clear your throat as you shut the menu, “I’ll just have water.” Jeongguk nods before looking at Dohyun. 

“I’ll also have water,” The younger man smiles at Y/N. 

Why the fuck is this guy always smiling? Jeongguk wonders. 

And why the fuck are they both just ordering water? If Jeongguk were you, he’d be ordering the overpriced wines for the hell of it. Maybe just maybe…he can make this date a bit more entertaining for himself. 

Jeongguk stands straighter and then looks at Dohyun, “Are you sure you guys don’t want to try the red wine? It’s Pinot Noir. A classic.” 

Dohyun’s eyes widen for a second before they glance at you and then back to Jeongguk. Jeongguk looks at Dohyun and secretly winks, almost as a way of communicating to the younger man that this is going to impress you.

Jeongguk knows it won’t but he’s bored and sad. Sue him. 

Dohyun nods rapidly and says, “We’ll have some of that as well.” 

Before Jeongguk can say anything, you cut in by saying, “Are you sure about that? It’s quite expensive, Dohyun.” You’re looking at him in concern, pointing a manicured nail at the price of the wine on the menu. 

Dohyun just shakes his head and tries to wave it off, “Don’t worry, Y/N. I can afford it. Order whatever you want.” 

You purse your lips, not saying anything else. Your eyes shift to Jeongguk slightly squinting at him almost in suspicion but he just shrugs, turning around to walk away. 

Is Jeongguk going to look like an asshole for trying to sabotage this date? Probably. Does he care? Not really. He’s trying to save your ass before Dohyun confesses to you. He needs to make sure that doesn’t happen otherwise you’re going to end up lying and telling the man that you like him back when Jeongguk knows damn well you don’t.

Though Jeongguk only really hung out with you once, he knows enough to say that you will feel extremely guilty for hurting someone else’s feelings. You’ve proven that just by going on this date with Dohyun regardless of the fact that you don’t hold any feelings for the guy. You just didn’t want to turn him down because you knew he’d be heartbroken. 

Jeongguk is not going to let you accept Dohyun’s confession. Not when Jeongguk likes you and you like him. At least he thinks you like him because if that kiss on the corner of his mouth didn’t mean anything he doesn’t know what the fuck that meant. 

Surely you weren’t leading him on. Or maybe that’s how you say goodbye to your friends? 

Wait, but then again you don’t have friends. 

This shit is going to give Jeongguk a headache. By the end of this date, if it doesn’t turn into a complete disaster, Jeongguk is going to stop being a pussy and say something. He doesn’t exactly know what yet. But something. 

Pouring the wine into the fancy glasses, he puts them on a tray and brings them back out to the table. The first thing he sees when he heads towards your table is your smiling face looking directly at Dohyun. 

Hell no. 

“Here’s your water,” Jeongguk places down each glass one by one. “And your wine,” He carefully puts down yours, making direct eye contact with you as he does. He notices you gulp and he tries to hold back a smile. When he’s setting Dohyun’s glass on the table, his finger accidentally knocks over the glass, causing it to tip over onto the table and a little bit on Dohyun’s slacks. 

Okay, that one wasn’t planned, Jeongguk swears. 

Dohyun gasps out of surprise, standing up with his pants slightly soaked in the wine. Meanwhile, you’re just staring with your hand covering your mouth, eyes wide. Jeongguk quickly acts shocked as well. 

“I am so sorry,” He picks up the white cloth napkin and attempts to dab it on Dohyun’s pants at the front. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know how that fell over.” He pretends to wince, facial expression feigning guilt. 

Some of the people at the surrounding tables are watching, talking amongst themselves as they stare at what just happened. It’s like they’re expecting Dohyun to lash out at Jeongguk or something but instead, he says, “Hey it’s okay. It was an accident.” He grabs the cloth from the Jeongguk, patting the pants himself.

This guy is so damn nice, Jeongguk hates it. Why is he so damn nice? 

“You sure you don’t want to go clean up?” Jeongguk hears you ask, watching the whole scene in concern. 

“No no,” Dohyun shakes his head and waves off. “It’s alright. At least I’m wearing black pants so it’s not that noticeable.” He laughs and you just nod in response. 

“I’ll get you another glass,” Jeongguk speaks, turning around to get him another glass. Once he returns with a new one, he carefully places it on the table. 

“Alright, so did you guys decide what you want to eat?” Jeongguk clasps his hands together, looking between the two, gaze lingering on you. 

Look away, Jeongguk. Look. Away. 

“Hm, I’m having a hard time deciding actually,” Dohyun pouts, brows furrowed as he studies the menu. “Do you have any recommendations?” 

Boy, Jeongguk sure does. 

Clearing his throat, he slightly cranes his neck to look over at the menu and points at one item in particular, “I recommend this filet mignon. Everyone loves it.” And it’s fucking expensive as fuck. 

Jeongguk hears you add to the conversation, “It’s almost 150,000 won…” You’re staring at him in ridicule, mouth parted and eyes wide. 

If there’s anything Jeongguk has learned about you, it’s that you’re not dumb. In fact, you are very fucking intelligent and he’s pretty sure you can see right through his actions. But for some reason, that doesn’t stop Jeongguk. Maybe he wants to have a bit of fun with this. In his defense, he’s trying to help you. 

“Don’t worry about the price, Y/N. I can afford it,” Dohyun acts nonchalantly, looking up at Jeongguk and confidently saying, “I’ll have that.” He then looks at you. “Y/N?” 

You let out a defeated sigh, closing the menu, “I’ll just have the risotto carnaroli de coquillages.” The way you say it so eloquently in French almost makes Jeongguk's dick hard. God, it sounded so hot. 

How much more attractive and interesting can you get? 

And also, where the fuck did you learn to speak perfect French?

It seems as though Jeongguk isn’t the only one affected by your French speaking because when he looks at Dohyun, the younger man is just staring at you with parted lips and stars in his eyes as if you’re the greatest thing he’s ever seen. 

You’re so damn nice that you ended up choosing the cheapest entree on the menu. You were just way too damn considerate. There goes that rich girl persona he was trying to paint to Dohyun. 

Trying not to physically drool, Jeongguk looks away and nods, “Got it.” He walks always so fast, almost bumping into another waiter on his way. 

+

You have a feeling that Jeongguk is trying to fuck up the date you’re on with Dohyun. You can see right through him. Having the poor guy choose expensive menu items so he can impress you when Jeongguk knows damn well you’re not about it. 

At least this can kind of confirm that he was affected by the whole date thing. That answers some questions but not all. 

Also, can you just say that Jeongguk looks fine as fuck in his uniform? 

If you had known that he works here as a waiter, you would’ve definitely joined your mother for the sake of seeing him. The sight of him wearing that tight-fitted button-up with those slacks hugging his ass almost had you drooling. 

You tried so hard not to just dead-on stare at him the whole time while he was standing right in front of you. You just couldn’t help yourself at times, eyes trailing down from his perfectly structured face to his chest and down to his tattooed covered hands and forearms that were peaking out from beneath his shirt sleeve. 

Your mind was steering away to some…unholy thoughts. Especially because of those damn thighs. 

Why did he have to be so damn hot? 

Okay, you’re getting a little too carried away right now. You need to focus. Focus on Dohyun. The man you came on a date with. You have to try and at least make some sort of conversation with him. He’s always asking you for your opinion and thoughts on what he’s saying but you end up stuttering your way through the conversation since you have no idea what he’s asking you about when you’re not listening. 

Jeongguk being here as your damn waiter does not help the situation at all. Although you think he’s trying to help you in a somewhat cruel way you need to get him to stop. You’re beginning to feel guilty as fuck when you see the man do something that is the total opposite of impressing you. 

“Um Y/N?” You’re snapped out of your thoughts when you hear Dohyun calling your name. 

“Yes? Sorry,” You apologize, feeling bad for being distracted again. 

Dohyun shakes his head, a small smile on his face, “No worries. I just wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Your heart races at that and you gulp, beginning to feel a little worried at what exactly he wants to say. No no, you didn’t think it be this soon. You need to tell him before he tells you. You can’t let him tell you first. 

Before you can say anything more, he continues, “I don’t know if you remember that before you left for college I was going to–” 

“More wine anyone?” Jeongguk cuts in, holding up the bottle and acting oblivious to what he just interrupted. Your shoulders relax in relief and you nod rapidly. 

You really need a fucking drink to get through this. 

“Yes please,” You hold up your glass and he pours it in for you. 

“There you go,” His fingers brush against yours which ensures the glass is in your hand’s grip when you pull it back and you try not to shiver at the tinging feeling and his eyes directly looking into yours.

“Dohyun?” Jeongguk looks at him with a questioning gaze, holding out the bottle but the other just shakes his head in response. 

“I’m good thanks,” He looks eager for Jeongguk to leave right now, knee bouncing in anxiousness. 

“Okay well your food should be here shortly,” Jeongguk says before turning to leave. He looks a bit hesitant to leave, glancing over his shoulder to look at you and you just send him a fake small smile, looking down into your lap. 

What the fuck do you do? 

“As I was saying Y/N, before you left for college I was going to tell you something,” Dohyun’s voice sounds a little shaky when he speaks. “But you had to leave and I never got the chance but for so long I–” 

“Bathroom!” You blurt out, eyes going wide. 

Dohyun looks confused, “Huh?” 

You let out a nervous laugh, “Um I just really need to use the bathroom,” You stand up, grabbing your purse. “Can you give me a few minutes? I really gotta pee.” No, you don’t. You need to go freak the fuck out and possibly climb out of the window. 

“Oh okay,” He nods understandably before flashing you a sweet smile. “I’ll wait.�� 

You give him a fake smile in response, pushing into your chair before walking towards the bathroom. You maneuver your way around a few waiters, avoiding eye contact and rushing inside. Luckily no one else is in the bathroom so you just stand in front of the sink, taking a few deep breaths as you stare into the mirror. 

You don’t know how to turn him down. He’s getting so close to telling you about his feelings. You didn’t have the heart to turn him down for the date. What if you can’t reject his feelings for you either? 

If that ends up happening, you’d be absolutely fucked. 

You don’t even fucking see a window in here otherwise you’d escape right there. 

“You okay?” You hear a familiar voice ask, causing you to flinch in surprise, hand resting on your chest. 

“Holy shit,” You exhale. “You scared me.” You look at Jeongguk, wondering how the hell you didn’t hear him enter the bathroom. 

The women’s bathroom might you add. 

“Yeah yeah,” You try to wave off. “I’m fine. What are you doing in here?” You quickly ask, looking away and pretending to look into the mirror and fix your hair. 

“I saw you come in and you didn’t look too good,” He shrugs, hands in his pocket as he leans against the wall. “Just thought I’d check up on you.” 

Your heart swells a little at his concern. You’re in awe at the fact that he cared enough to come to see how you’re doing because he thought something was wrong. God, he’s making you like him more and more. 

“I’m,” You clear your throat, “I’m good.” You’re not. “I think.” You add before letting out a shaky breath. “It’s not every day that someone is about to confess about being in love with you for years.” You let out a humorless chuckle. 

“Well you’re right about that,” Jeongguk says and you look at him with a raised eyebrow. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Sorry, not helping.” 

“Not at all,” You respond, turning around so you can lean your back against the counter of the sink. “Aren’t you going to be in trouble for being here?” 

Jeongguk shrugs, “Not my first time being in the women’s bathroom during a shift,” He smirks and your chest slightly tinges in jealousy at what he’s implying but then he adds, “I once had to help an old lady clean a stain off of her dress.” You relax at that, causing Jeongguk to smirk. 

“What did you think I meant?” He teases and you roll your eyes in response. 

“Was it a wine stain cus’ you sure seem to be quite clumsy for a waiter,” You ask with heavy sarcasm, watching how he pushes himself off the wall. 

“Hey! That was actually an accident,” Jeongguk tries to defend. 

“I’m sure it was,” You remark, arms crossed over your chest. You try not to notice how he’s slowly walking toward you. 

“It was,” He answers before saying, “Look I’m trying to help you out over here.” 

You pout, avoiding eye contact with him by staring down at the pristine tiled floor. “I don’t need help.” 

You’re lying. You really fucking need help. 

Jeongguk lets out a sigh, “Y/N, why’d you say yes to the date if you knew you didn’t like him?” He asks, pierced brow raised in question. 

Unable to meet his eyes, you fiddle with the rings on your fingers and say, “I just felt really bad because he just seemed so excited,” You look up at him, “I just didn’t know how to say no.” 

Jeongguk nods and you notice how he’s standing directly in front of you now. You swallow at the sight of how good he looks in his button-up that shows off his small waist and strong chest. The sleeves are snug around his biceps and the black dress pants accentuate his strong thighs. 

“Yeah but now look,” His hand gestures towards the door to refer to Dohyun. “You said yes to the guy, making him think he has a chance or that you might like him or something.” The guilt weighs down on your chest and you stare down at the floor in shame. 

 Jeongguk is right. You made the mistake of saying yes and it probably made Dohyun hopeful that the feelings he has for you are mutual in return. But that’s not true when the man standing a few inches in front of you is the only one you want. 

Seeing the uniform hug his body in a way that shows off his toned muscles almost has you drooling and you try not to shiver at how his dark eyes give you a once-over. You know you look good with the way your black dress is hugging your body, the slit reaching your midthigh, showing off your smooth skin. His eyes seem to linger on that area in particular and you try not to smile. 

“I just couldn’t say no,” You whine, pouting at the floor with your arms crossing over your chest. 

Jeongguk dips his head a bit, bringing it closer to yours with just a few inches of space in between, and asks, “And why couldn’t you say no?” 

Your eyes can’t help but wander to his rose petal-colored lips that look so soft at the moment. You’re curious to know how the piercing would feel if you were to just kiss him on the mouth. There’s also that cute little mole he has beneath his bottom lip. Swallowing, you look up to find his doe-brown eyes staring at your own lips as well. 

Clearing your throat, you answer, “Because he brought me flowers a-and…” You shyly look away from his intense gaze, cheeks flushing as you look behind him. “And he got those expensive chocolates. I just didn’t know how to say no.” 

“What about me?” Jeongguk inquires, causing you to snap your head to look at him in surprise. 

“What about you?” You raise an eyebrow in question. 

Your heart starts to race when you notice his right hand come up to your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lightly brush against your exposed neck, causing you to slightly shiver at his touch. 

If he can just wrap those hands around your throat you don’t think you’d mind at all. 

“What if I brought you flowers and overpriced chocolates and asked you out to dinner?” He asks, eyes watching how you grab his right hand, fingers tracing over the tattoos on his knuckles. 

“I would’ve said yes even if you didn’t bring me flowers or overpriced chocolates,” You tell him truthfully, enjoying the satisfied look on his face. 

“Well,” He looks down at your joined hands before intertwining his fingers with yours. “Good to know I don’t have any competition.” You snort at that, suddenly feeling brave and pull him closer to you. 

You know you shouldn’t be doing this right now. Not when you’re literally on a date with someone who’s been crushing on you since you were kids but you’re in the bathroom with your waiter slash gardener slash friend? Acquaintance? Whatever he is, what you know for sure is that you want to kiss him right in the mouth because he looks too good not to. 

So you do. 

Forgetting about everything else going on, you make the move you’ve been desperately wanting to make since you saw the man standing in front of you. 

You grab the collar of his shirt and tug him down so you can press your lips against his in a lustful kiss. A small noise of surprise leaves his lips but he quickly reacts by putting his hands on your waist and returning the affection.

The feeling of his lips against yours was nothing like you’d ever felt before. They felt almost silk-like and pillowy as they moved against yours in the heated kiss. Sparks ignite, in your chest, buzzing throughout your entire body as his large hands slid up and down your back before moving down toward your hip. He squeezes it softly, causing you to inhale sharply.

His lips move against yours in a soft but sensual manner that has your knees slightly quivering and your heart pounding. You feel breathless when you pull apart for a few seconds with his forehead resting against yours. His right-hand cups your face, thumb playing with your bottom lip.

Jeongguk smirks, “You look good with your lipstick smeared.” You roll your eyes playfully but you can feel the heat in your cheeks at his comment. 

“Shut up,” You pull him until your lower back hits the counter behind you, his hands caging your body against it which causes a rush of excitement to run up your spine. You can’t help but give him a once over, noticing how pink his lips look now, hair slightly unruly from your hands. Jeongguk watches as you bring your hands to his chest, fiddling with the collar before letting them trail down his chest to feel his pecs. 

The muscles feel hard and firm beneath your hand as you trail them down toward his abdomen. When your hands dip a little too low, he quickly snatches your hand and holds it up against his chest, tugging you close by the waist with the other arm. 

“Nuh-uh,” Jeongguk clicks his tongue, “As much as I’m into the idea of fucking you in a public area, you are not about to start this in the fucking bathroom at my job.” Your cheeks flush immediately and you try to shove him away but he hardly moves. 

God, you just wanted to devour him right here. You couldn’t handle the sight in front of you right now. You know this is just his work uniform but you never would’ve thought that he can look this good. You just wanted to get on your knees and… 

“Y/N.” You immediately snap out of your horny thoughts, eyes wide and face warm. Jeongguk has a stupid smirk on his face as if he knows what you’re thinking about right now. 

Despite wanting to tackle him to the ground and have him take you right here, you remember you have a whole date waiting for you outside at the table most likely wondering where you are. 

“What?” You clear your throat, pushing those lustful thoughts aside. 

Jeongguk holds a teasing smile on his face, “Are you dreaming about my dick?” 

“What-no!” You deny, pushing him off and turning towards the mirror to fix your hair. You notice how your lipstick is smeared, courtesy of Jeongguk. You take a tissue and clean it before opening your clutch to pull out the liquid lipstick so you can reapply it. 

You can feel Jeongguk’s eyes on you the whole time as you’re bent over the counter, looking closely in the mirror. You try not to make eye contact, gliding the applicator across your bottom lip. 

Your breath hitches in your throat when you feel his hand slide on your hip but you pretend to like it doesn’t affect you even though your heart rate starts to increase and a feeling of thrill runs up your spine. 

“You were totally dreaming about my dick,” You glare at him through the mirror, elbowing him in the abdomen which causes him to slightly groan. 

“Why would I be thinking about your dick when I’m on a date with someone else right now?” You ask. 

Jeongguk snickers, “You weren’t saying that when you had your tongue down my throat a few minutes ago.” 

Your jaw drops and you turn around, pushing at his shoulder, “I did not have my tongue down your throat.” 

He has that smug smile on his annoyingly handsome face that had you contemplating whether you wanted to smack him or kiss him again. 

“It’s okay, you’re too shy to admit it right now. You’ll get comfortable eventually,” He shrugs, avoiding the little punch you were about to deliver to his chest. He grabs your hand instead and pulls you towards him once again with his tattooed arm around your waist while the other cups your cheek. 

“You’re annoying,” You mumble, playing with the top button on his shirt. You notice ink peeking out from where the shirt is unbuttoned which you somehow haven’t noticed before. 

Can this man get any more attractive? 

“I’d say charming,” Jeongguk responds before asking, “We’ve been here for quite some time now.” 

“You’re the one who followed me,” You retorted. 

“I had to make sure you were okay,” Jeongguk defends, thumb stroking your cheek. “What are you going to do now?” 

You let out a dreaded sigh, letting your hands rest against his chest as you say, “I’m going to have to tell him I’m not interested.” You shake your head. “I shouldn’t have said yes in the first place. It was a mistake from that day but he just had this hopeful smile on his face. I didn’t have it in me to deny him.” 

Jeongguk looks at you with a nonjudgmental gaze, nodding his head. “You can’t let this drag out any longer.” 

“I know,” You agree, thinking about how crushed Dohyun is going to look once you tell him the truth. 

“He’s going to be heartbroken,” Jeongguk adds. 

You pout, “I know.”

“But I’m going to be one happy man.” 

“I know–wait what?” You almost missed what he said and he just chuckles in response. “Why would you be happy?” 

“Cuz then I can ask you out on a date,” Jeongguk says with full confidence, wrapping both arms around your waist and swaying you side to side. 

“And you’re so sure I’d say yes?” You ask, eyebrows raised in question. 

He narrows his eyes at you playfully and says, “With the way you were about to get on your knees I’d like to think–” 

You slap his chest, “God, you’re so annoying! See if I ever give you head now.” 

“I’m kidding,” Jeongguk pouts. “You can’t take away that privilege already. You haven’t even done it yet.” 

Rolling your eyes at his response, your hand plays with the piercing in his right eyebrow. His hands rest on your lower back casually as if you guys have done this a million times. Jeongguk is definitely a touchy person but not in a way that’s made you uncomfortable of course. You’ve enjoyed the feeling of his hands on your body and you wonder what it would feel like on your bare skin. 

You’d definitely like to find that out. 

To say that you’re surprised he’s even talking to you would be an understatement. Especially after the day he saw you accepting Dohyun’s little gifts and proposal to dinner. He had left so abruptly much to your disappointment. And even after that, you didn’t even catch wind of him when working around the garden. 

You really thought you lost your opportunity with him but his actions and words say otherwise. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Jeongguk’s statement breaks you out of your thoughts. 

“What question?” 

He raises an eyebrow, “If you’d like to go on a date with me.” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, staring at them as if he wants to just devour them again but he’s restraining himself. 

You didn’t even realize he asked you that question. 

With a snort, you say, “Are you seriously going to ask me this in the bathroom while my actual date is waiting for me outside?”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes at you, “I’m sorry would you like me to shower you with flowers and expensive as fuck chocolates? I can also ask Bill, who is playing the violin in the dining room right now, to play you a song while I ask you out.” 

This time you roll your eyes at his response, “No need for flowers and expensive as fuck chocolates,” you emphasize his words. “And his name is Bill? He doesn’t even look like a Bill.” 

“That’s what I’ve been telling my coworkers. He looks more like a Marvin to me.” Jeongguk says and you nod your head in agreement after a quick thought. 

“Tell you what, give me your number first and then I’ll give you a response,” You don’t know where this confidence suddenly came from 

“You know you could’ve just asked me for my number if you wanted it so bad,” He laughs and you ignore him, handing him your phone. 

“Hush, I need to leave now so hurry up,” You watch as he types in his number, an amused smile pulling at his lips which causes you to narrow your eyes at him.

He hands you back your phone, an innocent smile on his face while you’re looking at him suspiciously. When you glance down at your phone, you understand why he has that look on his face. 

The contact name for his number is My super hot gardener &lt;3 <3

Can he get any more annoying? 

“Are you kidding me?” You ask him but don’t change the name anyways. 

“Not at all, love.” He pulls you forward once more, cupping your face with both hands this time, causing you to look up at him. “Listen, don’t worry about how Dohyun is going to feel, and don’t beat yourself up about it either.” You nod sadly. “You can’t keep leading him on like this. Neither of you deserve that. So just be honest about your feelings towards him.” Jeongguk tilts your head up to look at him. “You have to put yourself first okay?” 

You nod understandingly, hands going behind his neck to pull him down for another sweet kiss because you just couldn’t fucking help yourself. The feeling of his lips on yours was just so damn addicting. The way he was gazing at you with those soft doe eyes and the comforting words he provided had your stomach fluttering with butterflies. 

Your lips move in sync, arms tightening around one another as if you didn’t want to let each other go. His tongue prods at your lips, asking for entrance which you grant. His tongue slides into your mouth, hands digging into your hips as he fights for dominance with your own tongue. The kiss becomes more and more heated, your hands tangling in his wavy hair once again while you’re pretty sure your lipstick is smeared over both your lips as well as his own. 

The sound of your phone vibrating has you pulling back from his lips with a loud POP. Your chest is heaving, slightly out of breath from the intense kiss. Jeongguk runs his thumb across his lip to clean the faint lipstick while you’re opening your purse to see a message from Dohyun. 

Dohyun: Hey Y/N, are you okay?” 

Great, he must think you’re fighting for your life in the bathroom or something. It’s probably been well over 20 minutes so you can’t blame him. 

“I really have to go now.” You tell Jeongguk and he nods understandingly. 

“It’s fine,” He grabs a tissue and brings it up to clean beneath your lower lip. “Your lipstick smeared again.” You smile at the gesture in a thankful manner, letting him clean it for you.

He’s going to kill you. 

“Remember what I said okay?” He tells you and you nod in response, your throat feeling tight already at the conversation you’ve been dreading the whole night. “And I’ll be nearby in case you need help.” You nod once again, feeling reassured by his words. 

“Okay, thanks.” You give him a sweet smile, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek which catches him off guard.  

“Yeah…” He clears his throat, “No problem.” 

With a small smile, you turn around and walk out the bathroom door not without looking over your shoulder at Jeongguk one last time. 

Here goes nothing. 

+

“Hey, sorry I took so long,” You apologize to Dohyun, straightening out your dress before sitting back down on the chair. 

Dohyun just gives you a sweet, understanding smile in return and says, “It’s okay. Jeongguk hasn’t even come by with the food yet.” 

You cough, taking a sip of your water to hide the flush of your cheeks. If only he knew Jeongguk was too busy with his tongue down your throat in the bathroom. The thought of what just went down in the bathroom had your stomach swirling in excitement. You hope the small smile on your face was not too obvious.  

“Is everything okay?” Dohyun’s voice is filled with concern. 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of his question, looking up at him with wide eyes. You need to focus on the fact that you’re on a date with Dohyun right now and that you only have to endure this for a little bit longer before the food comes. 

Then you actually have to let Dohyun down politely. Honestly, you don’t even know why you don’t just get it over with right now. 

Jeongguk’s words echo in your head, telling you that it’s okay to think about yourself and turn Dohyun down. There’s no reason for you to be stretching this time out even longer. It’ll save him the heartbreak. It’s not like he was wrong. The further you lead Dohyun on, the more hurt he’ll be in the end when he finds out you do not reciprocate mutual feelings.

You also can’t forget the soft look in Jeongguk’s eyes. It was a look that you’d never seen on his face before and one that you didn’t think he was capable of showing considering his intimidating aura. But if there’s one thing you learned, it’s that Jeongguk is far from intimidating underneath all those piercings, ink, and black clothes. 

God, you just wanted this date to be over so you can tell Jeongguk to fuck off his shift for the night and go somewhere so the two of you can spend some time together. 

“Uh yeah, I’m okay,” You take a sip of your wine this time. “I’m fine. It’s just a little hot in here.” You’re praying he buys that excuse for your flushed face. You exaggerate it by fanning yourself with the menu listed with the different alcoholic beverages. 

“Oh no,” Dohyun looks worried. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” He asks seriously. 

“No no,” You wave off. “I’ll be okay. Thank you though.” You reassure him with a small smile. You are not about to drag this night out any longer. 

Dohyun nods though he looks a bit unconvinced. You fiddle with your fingers, unsure of what else to say. The silence between the two of you is awkward. You’re staring down into your lap while Dohyun opens and closes his mouth as if he wants to say something but holds himself back. 

“So Y/N,” You look up at Dohyun. “You probably already have an idea why I asked you out to dinner.” You try not to make it obvious when your eyes become a little wider, your heart dropping in your chest. “I mean..” He chuckles a bit, scratching the back of his neck. “We’ve known each other for so long. I remember watching you as a kid, thinking you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” You try to smile but you think it looks more like a grimace. 

“I remember when one of the kids your mom would set you up with for playdates was being so mean to me  but you just…came to the rescue and told them to leave me alone.” The memory was quite vivid to you only because ever since that day, you noticed how Dohyun would start bringing you small gifts like a flower from the garden or pieces of candy. “That’s when I knew I started to develop feelings for you.” 

And there it is. The expression on his face is filled with admiration and love as he stares at you intently, pouring his heart out to you and confessing his feelings. Something you’ve always feared because you knew that by the end of this, he was going to leave with a broken heart. You let yourself get way too far and led him to this point. Now it’s your job to end it. 

“I just really want to tell you that I’ve always loved–” 

Dohyun gets interrupted when Jeongguk arrives with a tray carrying your entrees. “Alright you guys, the food is here.” Dohyun’s face drops, falling silent at the interruption while you’re filled with relief, exhaling out a breath. You look up at Jeongguk only to catch him already looking at you, giving you a small wink that Dohyun isn’t able to see. 

“Filet mignon for you,” Jeongguk sets down the plate in front of Dohyun who thanks him in response with a polite smile. “And risotto for the pretty lady,” Jeongguk emphasizes pretty and you bite your lip to hide the smile that threatens to form on your face. 

“Thank you, Jeongguk,” Your foot brushes against his ankle purposely when you uncross your legs and he just looks at you with a certain glint in his eyes, a pierced eyebrow raised at the gesture. 

“No problem,” He clears his throat, breaking eye contact so it doesn’t look so obvious to Dohyun. “Is there anything else you guys need?” 

Dohyun looks at you in question and you shake your head as a no in response. He then looks back up at Jeongguk and gives him a grateful smile, “No, we’re good. Thanks, man.” 

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll be back to check on you guys,” He informed you and it sounded like he was mostly talking to you from the way he looks at you, eyes lingering before leaves. He needs to stop making it so damn obvious. 

“So…” Dohyun is about to start talking but you interrupt him. 

“Let’s eat, I’m starving,” You immediately pick up the fork and dig into the feed even though you had no appetite to consume food. If anything, you felt nauseous. You’re dreading the conversation that you’re about to have. 

“Wow,” Dohyun’s eyes are wide as he chews his food. “This steak is amazing.” He gushes, cutting into the meat with his knife and fork before holding it in your direction. “You need to try this.” 

You shake your head, “Oh no, I’m okay. Thank you though.” You politely decline and give him a grateful smile. 

“No seriously,” He responds. “You have to try this.” He seems persistent, wiggling his fork towards you with a bite of the tender-looking steak. You gulp, noticing how he’s leaning forward in anticipation with an eager look in his eyes. You’re about to lean forward, lips parted to take a bite but Jeongguk being the savior he is–God, you can just kiss him–comes back. 

“You guys look like you’re running low on wine so I brought some more,” Jeongguk chirps, moving Dohyun’s arm back so he can pour into the glass. You bite down on your lower lip to keep yourself from smiling widely, meeting Jeongguk’s eyes with a thankful expression. You opt to stare at his beautiful inked hands pouring into the wine glass as you try not to make it obvious when your hand secretly strokes his thigh. You hold back a laugh when you notice him slightly flinch out of surprise, jaw clenching, and eyes narrowed when he glances at you.

You feign a look of innocence and say, “Thank you for the wine.” You’re grateful that the table is high enough that Dohyun can’t see how Jeongguk takes his left hand while the right is still holding the bottle and squeezes your hand. 

Jeongguk clears his throat, 

“Thanks, Jeongguk,” Dohyun gives him an appreciative smile, “I was just trying to get Y/N to try the filet mignon.” 

“Oh yes,” Jeongguk says, attempting to sound professional and you bite back a laugh, “Many customers rave over the filet mignon. The cows were fed organic grass which is one of the reasons why it’s so delectable.” 

Organic grass? What the fuck is he even saying? 

You know damn well he’s trying to be funny but the way he said it with a straight face would make one think he’s serious. For example, Dohyun looked utterly fascinated by the thought. 

“Wow, are they really?” 

Jeongguk snorts but quickly covers it with a cough, “Yeah man. Don’t you know? Those cows are living their best life. Better than you and I,” Jeongguk takes the fork out of Dohyun’s hand and the other boy just stares at him, eyes wide in curiosity. He grabs the piece of steak that was originally meant for you and slides the bite into his mouth before giving Dohyun the fork back. Jeongguk scrunches up his face in delight, almost looking angry as he chews before he lets out a sigh and looks back at Dohyun. “Dare I say the cows are living a better life than Y/N too.” 

You cover your face, unable to hold back your giggles while Dohyun just looks confused now. Jeongguk has a small smile on his face as he glances at you, feeling accomplished for making you laugh so cutely. 

“I have to ask my uncle about this if it’s true,” Dohyun shakes his head, expression full of surprise as he looks deep in thought. “He owns a farm so maybe he can start doing that too.” 

Jeongguk looks like he’s trying not to burst out laughing this time but instead nods, “Yeah let me know what he says, man.” 

“Jeongguk, Suho is calling you to the back,” A waiter whispers into his ear, “Like now.” 

“Now?” Jeongguk asks and the other waiter nods. He looks back at you and sees you swallow nervously. This means Jeongguk can no longer save you from delaying this any further. It’s either now or never. 

You look back at Jeongguk and give him a reassuring nod in a subtle manner to tell him it’s okay if he leaves. He glances over at Dohyun, noticing how the other boy is tapping his foot impatiently beneath the table as if waiting for Jeongguk to leave so he can pick up where he left off. 

“Alright,” Jeongguk clears his throat, “Looks like I’m needed in the back. Are you guys good?” He asks, mostly directing the question at you based on the direct eye contact he makes, eyebrow raised. 

You give him an appreciative smile, “I’m good. Thank you, Jeongguk.” 

“Me too. Thanks, Jeongguk!” Dohyun says a slight eagerness following his tone. 

“Okay cool, be right back.” He tells you, sending you a small comforting smile. You let out a deep breath, looking over at Dohyun who’s already staring at you with a nervous expression on his face. 

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you. I’ve been meaning to tell you for so long but…” Dohyun twiddles with his fingers resting on top of the table. “I would just get so nervous and chicken out,” He chuckles at himself with a shake of his head. “I’ve always admired you and your kindness. Your kindness is what drew me to you more than anything. Comforting people when they’re upset and going out of your way to make them feel better.” Your lips turn up into a small smile at his words but your chest aches out of guilt with what you’re about to do. “Basically, what I’m trying to tell you is that…I uh really really like you. I’ve liked you since we were kids. Maybe even love.” Dohyun lets out a quivering laugh, avoiding eye contact. “I was wondering if you’d give me a chance.” 

Your throat feels like it’s closing up as you hear his words, processing them clearly. The feeling of your heart pounding against your chest and beating in your ears, your face feeling warm and flushed. You look down at your hands in your lap, playing with the ring on your index finger as you let out a shaky breath through your lips. 

“Dohyun…you’ve always been a sweet guy,” You begin, “So selfless and always thinking of others.” You add and he nods, a smile playing on his lips from your compliment. “But I…I’m sorry,” You feel your eyes stinging as you notice the smile vanish from his face, lips pursing in despair. “I don’t see you that way.” You finally say. 

His face crumples a bit, shoulders and head dropping as soon as the words leave your lips. He looks down into his lap and you swear you can hear him sniffling a bit. The silence between you two is almost deafening, the sound of other customers and cutlery being the only thing you hear. 

“I’m really sorry,” You say again, eyes welling up a bit because of how bad you feel. “I probably shouldn’t have even said yes to you because it seems like I’ve led you on but I just didn’t know how to tell you no.” 

Dohyun just nods in response, not moving a single inch from his position and his lack of words is killing you. You notice Jeongguk peeking at you from behind the door, locking eyes with you. He immediately notices the sorrowful look on your face, stepping forward to approach you but you quickly shake your head. 

Not yet, you try to tell him. You think this conversation needs to end with closure. You don’t want to leave without making sure he’s okay. You know he’s not okay and he probably won’t be for some time. He’s had feelings for you for so long, he must feel so crushed by your rejection. 

When Dohyun finally lifts his head up to look at you, you feel your chest ache at his red-rimmed eyes and quivering lips. “Y-You won’t even give me a chance? Like… not even if I take you on more dates a-and maybe let you get to know me better?” He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, sniffling. 

You shake your head, a sad smile on your lips. “I’m sorry…I just,” You look over at Jeongguk who’s talking to another customer while constantly glancing at you in concern. “I like someone else.” You tell him, feeling like absolute shit. You just didn’t know what else you could’ve told him for him to completely let you go. You had to tell him the truth. 

His face shows pure anguish, looking completely defeated. “So I-I don’t stand a chance against him?” He asks, voice hoarse. 

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing you think you can say in response to that. 

He just nods, head hanging low and lets out a quiet. “Okay.” 

“Everything good?” Jeongguk decides to cut in, saving you from this painful moment. 

Dohyun just looks up and Jeongguk in response and nods solemnly, “Yeah can we get the check please?” 

“Uh yeah sure,” Jeongguk responds. “Boxes?” 

“No thanks,” Dohyun immediately says, his voice cracking. “Y/N,” He looks at you properly for the first time. “Do you think I can get a r-ride home? I-I just don’t think I can…” He looks like he’s about to have a breakdown so you immediately cut in. 

“It’s okay. Don’t even worry about it.” Your voice is soft, feeling like you need to speak to him in a delicate manner because he may break any second. “I’ll call my driver.” 

“Okay,” Dohyun nods. “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you on Monday.” He says quickly before getting up swiftly. There’s a fresh set of tears in his eyes and he nods at Jeongguk. Head hanging low with his feet dragging across the floor, he walks towards the door without looking back. 

You stare at the door, never feeling this much guilt and regret in your life. Guilt for turning him down but also regret even accepting this date. You think saying yes to the date probably gave him high hopes that you had feelings for him in return. You should’ve come clean at the pool when he asked you out in the first place.  

“Oh god,” You cover your face with both hands. “I feel so awful. I feel so fucking awful. I can’t believe he cried.” Your throat feels tight and painful, unable to get the image of your head. 

“Hey hey,” Jeongguk looks around before kneeling beside you, hand on your arm, “It’s okay. You had to do it okay?” You nod but don’t move your hands away from your face. 

“I know I just can’t forget the look on his face,” You whisper into your hands. “I just feel so bad.” 

“I know Y/N. That wasn’t an easy thing to do,” Jeongguk acknowledges, rubbing his hand up and down your back in a comforting manner. 

Not only do you feel like a total asshole right now, you’re a little embarrassed at the fact that Jeongguk is seeing you on the verge of bursting into tears but you cannot help yourself. 

“Hey listen,” His voice is gentle and you feel him move closer to you, his chest pressing against your knee. “A lot of these people are looking at us and I don’t know if they know who you are but I don’t want it spreading around that you were crying in this boujee ass restaurant in the headlines tomorrow.” You chuckle a little taking the napkin he’s holding out for you, patting it beneath your eyes. 

“Thank you,” You say quietly, unable to look him in the eyes. 

“Of course,” He clears his throat. “I’m about to finish my shift soon. Um if you want, I can give you a ride home?” He offers before quickly adding. “Only if you want to. I won’t be offended if you just want your driver to pick you up.”

You finally look at him for the first time, taking slightly widened doe eyes, face looking soft. He’s tugging at the piercing on his lower lip, a nervous habit you’ve noticed from the time you’ve spent with him. 

“I would really appreciate that,” You inform him with a grateful smile. 

His shoulders visibly relax at your answer, a sigh escaping his lips. 

“Thank God you said that,” He pretends to wipe the sweat off his forehead, “I don’t think I was ready to handle the rejection.” He tells you and you feel like there’s some underlying truth to that. 

“The dude I’m crushing on is offering me a ride, who am I to say no?” You say bravely and he freezes, eyes wide and full of surprise with how you say that without a single stutter. 

“D-Dude you’re crushing on me?” He repeats, bringing his hand up to point his index finger at him. “Am I the dude you’re crushing on?” He asks in disbelief. 

You give him an ‘Are you joking’ look, pushing at his shoulder. “Who else is offering me a ride home here?” You ask him. 

“I’m sure tons of people would. You’re beautiful.” He says easily and you flush, not expecting that response at all. 

“Oh,” You look down at your lap with a smile on your lips. Feeling so flustered by his compliment, you change the subject. “Is it wrong to do all this after I just broke someone’s heart?” You ask him. 

Jeongguk shakes his head, “No, you did what you had to do, Y/N.” You nod, a slightly guilty expression appearing on your face once again. “Here,” He pulls out what looks like car keys from his back pocket. “Do you want to wait in my car while I finish up here?” 

You nod, grabbing the keys from him with a smile, “I’ll wait.” You grab your purse, pulling the strap onto your shoulder. Jeongguk also stands up from his kneeling position, brushing his black pants. 

Once you stand up, you have to peer up to look at him. Even with your heels on you, you’re still barely reaching his damn shoulder. 

Are you really that short or is he just super tall? 

“By the way,” You start, causing him to immediately pause from picking up the plate and giving you his full attention with the way he turns his body to look at you, eyes meeting yours. For some reason that makes your heart flutter. “Can you charge the dinner on my card?” You open your purse to pull out your tiny card holder. “It’s the least I can do for Dohyun.” You add, handing him the card. 

Jeongguk looks down at the card in his hand as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen, eyes squinting before widening. He holds the card up to the light as if inspecting it before bringing it back down and closer to his face again.

“Um, is everything okay?” You ask in confusion. 

“Did you just hand me a black card?” His voice is full of surprise, mouth slightly ajar. 

“Yeah…” You trail off, looking down at your feet. 

Great, he must think you’re a spoiled brat. 

“Do you know the amount of unnecessary and useless shit I would buy if I had one of these?” He holds the card in his fingers as if it’s fine china. 

“I mean you can,” You respond and he just looks at you in disbelief.

“Baby you’re too sweet but I never thought about getting sugar mama.” He smirks before adding, “At least not anymore.” Your heart flutters and you try not to squeal at the fact that he casually called you ‘baby’. 

This man is trying to kill you. 

You pretend to act unbothered by his words with a roll of your eyes, shoving at his shoulder, “Shut up before I make you pay for this dinner.” You threaten and he immediately closes his mouth, turning towards the table. You laugh in response, shaking your head at him. 

“I’ll be out in 10 minutes,” He tells you and you nod, a smile on your face as you step towards the door already feeling a lot better just by talking to him. 

[keeksandgigz]

roll for initiative (part two of lessons in alchemy)

barista!eddie munson x fem!barista!reader AU

summary: You venture into your new position at Eddie's cafe, but you seem to be having a hard time. Eddie gives you hell for refusing to be trained. The confrontation comes to a head after you say something you shouldn't have. A heated game of DnD leaves you wondering about the purpose of this place. Things heat up after you and Eddie close the store alone.

cw: 6.8k words, swearing, modern setting, Eddie and reader being mean to each other, shitty description of a DnD game, teeny bit of angst (sorry), horny sexual tension, smut, spanking, choking, not quite piv yet, fingering, denial this is 18+ minors dni!!

a/n: Surprise! One day early because I'm an impatient little shit. i dunno how to play DnD i'm going off whatever my boyfriend tells me. also kill em all IS the best metallica album, argue with the wall. Debated on making it a two- parter but i wanted to get to the smut <3 pls like and reblog! feedback always appreciated and my ask box is always open if u wanna talk!!!

baby taglist: @corrodedcoffincumslut, @sleepy-bunnie,, @crybabyddl (let me know if you want to be added!)

Eddie's right.

You're indeed crashing and burning as you make those stupidly named lattes, but the rest of the crew is nice enough to help you along the way. Virginia really is coming into her own, quickly mastering every drink that is thrown her way.

Yet you can't shake off the feeling of Eddie stalking towards you, his hot breath on your face. How it didn’t scare you, rather, it excited you. You enjoy picking fights with him, ripping him apart and him doing the same to you. It's not healthy, but it helps with your anger.

“Those were three pumps of elderflower. I believe you need four for a large, sweetheart. Crashing and burning so soon?” he comes up behind you, startling you. 

“Get the fuck off of me before I throw this scalding hot drink at you” not when you're working. You cannot take his taunts while working. 

“Just checking up on you” he shrugs “maybe you might have changed your mind about me training you. I know these are not the dumb little detox drinks you do at your cafe. Which is really what makes the store much more interesting and attractive, doesn’t it?” 

“Eddie I swear to God” it becomes more than taunts. He seriously wants to fuck with your brain. 

“Jeff” he snaps his fingers towards the guy “I’m gonna go take my lunch, you’re in charge ‘til I’m back” his attention diverts away from you for a second, then back to you. “Could you be a dear and make me an extra hot flat white with almond milk? Add a couple pumps of Irish cream syrup in there. I’m expecting a white dot, after all if you’re so perfect you don’t need training that’s gonna be a walk in the park for ya, huh?” he leans against the counter and he’s so condescending it makes your knees tremble. 

“Yeah, duh. I’ll spit in it for ya too. Sounds good?” you panic a bit. Flat whites are not your forte. 

“I knew you’ve been spitting in my drinks, sweetheart. Kinda hot, to be honest. But that’s a violation, wouldn’t wanna get Jim involved, do we?” he raises his eyebrows at you, looking down at you, making you feel like a coffee bean on the ground. Kinda hot. 

“I was just joking, dickhead” 

“Hm. Better be. Another filthy word from you and I’m sending you home.” he whispers. “Alright, going on my lunch. Virginia, you’re off you can go home, Chrissy, take your last break in thirty minutes” and with that, he disappears to one of the tables, watching you make his drink.

That should be a form of cruel and unusual punishment. Just him staring at you, making sure you get his drink right. Pull two ristretto shots.

You aren't buzzing anymore, rather, your brain begins shutting off, drained by all the tension that has been building between you and Eddie. Two pumps of Irish cream. Maybe you actually aren't good enough to be here. Froth the almond milk. Maybe he's right, maybe you are meant to work in a mediocre cafe, making shitty drinks. Espresso first, then milk. You aren't good enough for this level of mastery. 

Fuck. No white dot. 

You tremble as you walk towards Eddie, sitting at his table, watching you bring him a cup of mediocre coffee. 

“No white dot” he says, looking at you with displeasure. 

“I’m sorry, I-”he interrupts you.

“You wanna get trained or are you gonna be a little know-it-all and then deliver me this?” he sips on his flat white. 

“Ok, fine. Train me, whatever.”Embarrassment overtakes you, wanting a hole to form under your feet and engulf you. 

He's right, he has been right all along. Tears begin to prick at your eyes.

“You okay there? Y’know I was joking, right? It doesn’t matter I just-” a spark of guilt lights itself in his throat, you look like you're about to cry. 

“Can I take a second?” you say, the knot in your throat threatening to snap any second. 

“Yeah, um go- go take your break” he breathes. Fuck, he's made you cry. 

You run off towards the back, wanting to disappear. Everything that has happened within those past two days begin to wash over you.

Your cafe is gone, the project you had worked on with your dad before he got sick, gone for the next year. And he’d likely not see it reopen.

Eddie being an asshole, holding a grudge on you because you took his customers, making your life a living hell. 

You sit in the back as you wipe some tears that fell from your eyes. Across the room, there's a door that you have not seen before, and it's ajar.

Curiosity gets the best of you, as you walk into a small, secluded room. It's full of beakers and jars of ingredients, really selling the whole alchemist thing. You look through the ingredients elderflower, rose, peppermint, honey, basil. Basil syrup sounds disgusting. 

You turn towards the work bench, noticing a bottle full of clear liquid labeled lavender syrup. You open it and immediately smell the astringent flavor coming from the bottle. You pour some on your finger and take a taste. Ew.

He needs a better lavender syrup recipe.

“The fuck are you doing in here?” Eddie’s voice makes you drop the bottle to the floor, shattering and spilling the astringent liquid on the floor. 

“Oh- shit sorry! I was just- i just got curious” 

“You can’t just come in here and act like you own the place. Curious my ass, you were trying to steal” he accuses, and that hurts you.

“You know I won’t fucking do that, I take my work seriously. Also your lavender syrup tastes like ass, and basil syrup? That sounds foul” you wince, stepping over the broken glass, to make your way back to the front.

He grabs your arm and stops you. “Aren’t you gonna clean that up? Broom’s in the closet” he says, offering you a smug smile. 

“Get the fuck away from me, asshole” you reply, jerking away from his grip. 

“Alright that’s it” is all he says before he slams you against the wall.

He's close. He's so fucking close. 

Your back slams against the brick, hitting a random canvas panel. You can feel his breath on your face, the smell of coffee and cologne inundating your senses. 

“You have been a fucking pain in my ass since you opened your dumb little cafe. You’ve been rude, unruly, untidy and down right mean towards me, and I’m fucking over it” he seethes, he has you caged in between his tattooed arms and all you can think of is tracing every line of his tattoos with the tips of your fingers.

“It’s been four fucking hours, y’hear me? Four hours and I’m sick of you. Y’think you’re cute? You’re a fucking brat, sweetheart, and I don’t like dealing with brats like you.” Your stomach feels funny, like you're taking on a challenge rather than a scolding.

“Clean your shit up and go home, I don’t wanna see your fucking face today. Come back when you have gained some common sense in that empty fucking head” he lowers his arms, but you aren't done. 

“Or what? You think you’re so scary, Eddie, with your stupid tattoos, your fucking stupid hair and your stupid satanic shirts. I don’t give a shit who you are, I’m employed to work here and you can’t fucking send me home because you don’t like me. I’ll fucking report you, freak” 

Freak. His breath hitches at that, years of high school bullying getting under his skin again, making him swallow hard at the unwelcome memory of being slammed against a locker on Monday mornings before class. He stiffens up.

“Alright” he swallows “clean this up and get back to work, I don’t wanna see you right now” you notice that his demeanor has changed, you visibly hit a nerve. Guilt pools at your chest.

“But what about- about the training?” you ask, voice hitching.

“I’ll get Gareth to train you, Virginia should have gone home already. That way we’re both happy. Take tomorrow off, I’ll see you Tuesday” and with that he leaves.

He keeps himself buried in his office until the end of your shift. He can't bear to stand the sight of you, not after you had called him a freak. That stung more than whatever stupid insult you could have flung his way. 

When you turn up on Tuesday, Eddie is nowhere to be found. 

“He took the day off,” Steve says. And you feel real fucking bad. You're scheduled for a mid- shift from three to seven.

“Hey” Jeff says “we’re closing early today ‘cause we’re doing a DnD campaign after. Since Eddie’s not here, would you mind taking over for me so I can start setting up? We close at six-thirty, so after that you can, like, sweep, do dishes and then you can go home” 

You aren't in the mood for a snide remark or a witty comment, so you just agree. “Is Eddie gonna be here tonight?” you ask. You’ve been trying to hound him to apologize for whatever happened the day before, it's clear he's avoiding you. 

He was supposed to be on the schedule. 

“Yeah uh” he replies “he’s our DM, so we kinda need him” he shrugs. 

“DM?” you froth a cup of oatmilk, turning towards him while he's making his drinks.

“Yeah. Dungeon Master?” he gives you a Isn’t that obvious? expression and goes back to his iced hazelnut macchiato. 

“Kinky” you retort, he laughs a bit. 

At six-thirty you lock up the store and you confine yourself to the back for dishes. Keeping an ear out for Eddie’s voice, hoping he’d show up before 7. 

Colette left with Steve to work on the Halloween menu and “I don’t fuck with that nerd stuff” said Steve, fixing his glasses after putting his coat on. 

“…no Henderson you don’t get it “Kill ‘Em All” is definitely Metallica’s best album, are you shitting me? …No don’t come at me with that “Enter Sandman” bullshit you’re so basic for that, you fucking poser” your ears perk up at that. It's definitely Eddie. 

You peek your head out of the back door to see him set up a big table, followed by a bunch of what look like  high school students as they sit down, with their spiral notebooks and pens.

A bunch of small figurines scattered on the cardboard mat as Eddie sits at the head of the table, pulling out a leather bound folder covered in stickers and a cardboard screen. 

They're serious about this.

You're too busy staring at the crowded table to notice Eddie running towards you.

"Daddy didn't teach you it's rude to stare?"

You press yourself against the green tile wall to let him pass, words caught in your throat as you follow him into his office.

"Apparently daddy didn't teach you that stalking is bad either. What is it? Need somethin'?" he spits out and you can feel the venom in his words.

"Yeah, I just" you clear your throat. Talking was hard. He cocks an eyebrow at you as he begins rummaging through his desk drawers.

"Well?"

"I just wanted to apologize for-"

"For being a bitch the other day? Took you long enough" he scoffs as he retrieves a small tin box containing what you assume are dice.

"Um- yeah. I guess that" you shrug and turn your feet to leave the door.

"I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. It's not a real apology otherwise, is it?" he has this ability to make you feel so incredibly small with only the power of his words. Like he's talking to a toddler.

"I don't think that's necessary, Eddie, I mean um- I have to get back to work" you protest.

"You can go back to work when you give me a full apology" he's ticking you off, gloating in his victory of you admitting defeat. The white banner you're waving slowly turning red.

"You're being a cunt, take the apology and go play your stupid nerd game" you snap, and you can see his lips curling in a wicked grin. Challenge accepted.

"All this talk of me kicking you to the curb for your filthy mouth really isn't sticking huh? Sorry sweetheart, can't accept an apology you don't mean" he shrugs, heading out of his office, you follow him suit.

"Eddie what the fuck?! Are you actually mental?" you want to strangle him, shove those dice so far down his throat he chokes and dies.

"I'd recommend you scrub those dishes really hard, I can still see the grime on the blenders. If you'll excuse me, I gotta lead my party through the rivers of Bagodan" he winks and then he walks over to his table, leaving you mortified.

You do a once- over with the dishes, while hearing Eddie's shrill voice screech and laugh every time one of his players miss. What's so fucking funny about a couple kids rolling dice?

"Looks like you've made it to the last river" he narrates in a solemn voice, deeper, hotter "Oh, but what is that? You hear shrieking from a distance. It's a sphynx. To cross the river you have to behead the sphynx and bring it to the king of Bagodan. Only then he will grant you access to the wings of Saurion the Elder, and you... will be... free" he says in a whispered tone.

"What do you do, my brave adventurers?"

"Shit" you hear one of the kids swear, he's tall with black hair. "We don't have enough hit points to kill the sphynx AND get through the king's palace guards"

"You’re astute dipshit, congrats!" says another, a girl, looking much younger than the rest.

"We would have had enough points if Dustin here, hadn't fucking sold his to the market for a stupid cloak" says Gareth, shoving the kid who you assume is Dustin

"it was aN INVISIBILITY CLOAK" Dustin yells. The room booms in laughter at the kid's tantrum.

It makes you think. About how you've never had a group of friends like that. Someone to share a common interest with. Sure, you have Colette, but you've moved to town just fairly recently, and you have lived and breathed work for the first two years. No friends to make when you're cooped up home buried in projects among projects. No friends to make when your dad is sick and you have to take him to the hospital on Saturdays for his treatment. You sigh a bit at that. Maybe your cafe exploding is the catalyst that is gonna bring you a new life, a new perspective.

Coming to a store that has unity as a top value really makes you reflect on how lonely your life has been so far.

"Alright children, let's take a break and you can talk strategy. Anyone want a drink?" He stands up from his chair and walks towards the bar. Startled, you go back to the sink and begin scrubbing.

"Y'know you can join us, right?" he leans against the green tile wall, looking at you.

"Join in on that nerd shit? No, thanks. My shift is over" you say putting the last blender on the drying rack and heading to the back.

He follows you "Okay, whatever. I just wanted to tell you it's gonna be me and you tomorrow. Chrissy said she can't make it. Something about midterms" and you roll your eyes.

"Fucking perfect. Tell me in what world does this shit always happen to me" you say exasperated, taking off your apron, which allows your shirt to rise just enough that it gives Eddie a peek of your tummy. Enough to make him gulp a little. Enough to distract him for ten seconds.

He shakes his head. "Listen, I'm not happy about it either, but let's keep it civil, okay? I do my thing, you do yours, we're outta here by 9 pm" he offers, leaning over the metal lockers.

You're not sure if it was the Dungeon Master demeanor he keeps on for the sake of his game or what, but he feels so tall. The thought of it makes you shiver. You put on your jacket.

"How you gettin' home?" he asks.

"Driving" you lie, your car broke down the day before, but you don't want him offering you a ride.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow for closing, then" he says, giving you a tight smile.

"Yeah, bye" you respond hastily, heading out towards the bus stop. Eddie keeps an eye on you through the store window the whole time.

Wednesday night at the "Mad Alchemist" is busier than you expected. Steve left for the evening, leaving you and Eddie to man the fort by yourselves.

Meaning you have to watch him flirt with every fucking customer. Young, old, boy, girl. His self assured demeanor is like a magnet to those coffee- hungry teens, the older women just blush and deliver him a meek "aw, stop it, Eddie" swatting the air and giggling.

Because you both have been so busy, it has not given you time to run your mouth and deliver him some snarky comment.

By 8pm, the store is closed. You have an hour to sweep, clean the counters, mop and do the dishes while Eddie counts the money at the register.

There is a tense quietness in the cafe. Almost as if you know that if one opened their mouths the world would explode. Or you’d start fucking, whichever one comes first. There is no noise aside from the register opening, the broom dragging across the floor and Eddie whistling.

After a day of talking, listening, screaming, shouting, the last thing you want to do is hear Eddie whistle. You let him do it, one minute, two minutes, five minutes in hopes he would get tired.

“Eddie, please” you whine.

“Helps me count money better,” he shrugs, beginning his atrocious whistling again.

You wait one, two, five minutes again. The noise of the sweep and the whistling and the money become too much for you, so in an exasperated rage, you kick the chair in front of you.

“Eddie shUT THE FUCK UP!”

The noise of the chair is the only sound in the building. Eddie stops counting, and stops whistling.

He's just staring at you. At the fallen chair. At the broom next to your feet. You find the floor to be really interesting.

“Pick it up.” Eddie’s voice is distant. A few seconds go by, and your eyes are still on the floor.

The sound of paper being put down and the stomping of heavy boots follow, until his boots arrive in your line of sight. You can't help but raise your head.

“What part of ‘pick it up’ does not register in that head? Hm? Do you kick chairs at home?”

Defeated, you shake your head.

“Do you call your daddy names?”

Another head shake.

“Do you spit in your daddy’s coffee in the morning?” his voice becomes a whisper, so, so close to your face. So close to your lips.

“I didn’t-” he cuts you off.

“I don’t appreciate liars, sweetheart. Did you spit in my drink?” he's cornering you, making you feel small.

You nod. “Only once, though” you defend yourself.

“Only once” he mocks, chuckling to himself “sixteen.” he mutters.

“Sixteen is the number of times, from the first time i stepped foot in your goddamn cafe, I’ve seen you spit in my fuckin’ drink” he seethes, no, growls.

“Now you’re fucking lying” you interject, finding a small crumb of courage within you.

“Don’t act cute, I’ve seen you. Pick the chair up” he says, his chin tilting towards the chair on the floor.

“I can’t pick it up if your stupid arm’s in the way, can I?” he grunts and moves his arm. You bend over and picked the chair up, breathing through your teeth. You're furious.

“Watch your attitude, here we don’t-”

You snap your neck around “You’re a fucking control freak, that’s what you are” you mutter. There's that word again. Freak.

“Don’t you fucking dare call me that word again” he's furious.

You turn around to face him. It's your turn to be close “Or what? You gonna spank me?” it's barely a whisper, looking at him through your lashes. A challenge.

He exhales, crossing his arms “You know what? That’s the best idea you’ve had since you’ve stepped foot in this place. Bend over the table” He whispers, and you freeze.

If there is a definition to fuck around and find out, you're it.

“Seems you might be a bit hard of hearing, sweetheart. I said bend over.” he says, more gently, yet keeping that domineering aura to him. He nudges your arm.

You quietly follow through.

“Now you’re following orders. Before I start I need to know you’re okay with this” he whispers, caressing your back in an almost soothing manner.

You nod.

He tuts “None of that shit. I’m not doing anything until I have your green light. With words”

“I-” words suddenly become hard. You swallow and breathe through your nose “I’m- I’m okay with this”

There is no denying you're extremely turned on, in addition to being revved up by your previous fight. It feels like wildfire spreading itself from every tip of your body, finding a home right between your legs.

“Alright, good. If you want me to stop we can stop at any time, just say ‘chainmail’” he says, looking around to check if the blinds had been lowered. He has a safeword. He knows what he's doing.

“O-okay” you say with all the power you can muster.

“You wanna act like a toddler, sweetheart? I’ll treat ya like a fuckin’ toddler” he says, before delivering the first smack right on the meat of your left butt cheek.

You’ve tried spanking before, with previous partners, but this is different. The smacks are calculated, like he knows where to hit. A yelp escapes you.

“Need ya to count” he says, caressing the area he just hit.

“‘Kay, fuck. One” you exhale, still feeling his handprint on your ass. The red hot sting from the impact leaving tiny pinpricks through the fabric of your jeans. 

Smack. Two.

“How ‘bout this?” he stops, speaking to no one, really. “How ‘bout I give you one spank for every time you’ve spit in my coffee, hm?”

That makes you tremble a bit. Sixteen slaps. 

“I dunno if I can, I mean I-” 

“Then you know what to say if it gets too much, right? Say ‘Yes, Eddie, I do’” his voice makes your knees give out as his other hand, the one that isn't squeezing and groping your ass, makes its way into your hair and pulls. 

“Ow- Fuck, Jesus Christ Eddie!” you yell, but the pull at your scalp makes you wish he’d drop the antics, pull your pants down and fuck you immediately. 

“Not what I wanna hear, sweetheart. Try that again” He smacks your ass again, pulling his hand out of your hair to hold your back down from the waist. 

“Three, fuck. Yes, Eddie, I-I do” you exhale and prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“Good girl,” he says. Good girl. He could easily smack you in the face and that is would shock you less. Where the fuck did he learn all this shit?

By the time you’ve reached spank number ten you think you're ready to tap out. Tears welling in your eyes, making your vision go blurry. You're turned on, but Eddie’s heavy hand is becoming too painful.

He notices you trying to squirm away from him with every hit of his hand, all he says is “You know what to say, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

But you let him keep going. Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen.

The last slap feels like the roughest, leaving in its wake the phantom of a heavy hand. His hand rubbing circles on your ass, almost like he doesn't feel ready to stop touching you.

You turn your head around, so you're able to see his face.

“Mmmm, so what now?” you ask, still hazy “Gonna take me home, Eddie? Finish the job?”it's like your brain has forgotten who you are talking to.

“C’mere” he says, sitting you down on the table, your ass rough and sore under the fabric of your pants.

You can feel the slick feeling between your legs through the seam of your black jeans, hoping he’d move you to keep going, take you home, his office, his van, anywhere. 

His body settles between your legs as his hands run through the expanse of your stomach, your back. Your hands make their way to the buckle of his belt, trying to quickly undo his jeans. Eddie inhales as if to convince himself to stop you as he grabs your wrists and pushes them to your chest, his belt left unbuckled “Not tonight,” he murmurs.

You pout in protest.

“Aww, you’re pouting” he mocks, a dry laugh escapes his lips. It brings a twang of embarrassment "pouting 'cause I'm not letting you take my dick in your mouth, sweetheart?" he taunts. 

“I‘m not pouting” you mutter, looking at the floor. His hands grab your chin, lifting your eyes to make you look up at him. He looks so tall standing over you like that, eyes still glossed over, pupils blown from the spanking he’s just given you. 

“You look at me when I speak to you, yeah?” Oh fuck. You know better this time. 

“Yeah” you croak out, nodding your head in case he doesn't get the message. 

“Yeah? You liked getting spanked? Being put in your place?” his demeanor never fails in making you feel impossibly small.

The hand that holds your chin travels down your neck and you lean into his touch, in the way his hand wraps itself around your throat, warm and rough. Who are you to say he isn't gonna strangle you and kill you? 

But the feeling of his hand around the column of your neck, covering its whole surface area feels too intoxicating, like you want him to make you stop thinking. Your breath hitches. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t have my rings on. With the way you’ve been running your mouth you would’ve more than deserved it” his grip on your neck going from resting to actually applying pressure to the sides of your throat. You gasp. 

He just watches you, eyes glossy and desperate while you try to press your thighs together to relieve some pressure. Poor thing. He almost feels bad for you. The way he sees you keen into his touch, labored breath, watching your chest rise and fall slowly. 

“We can’t do this here, Eddie. The health violations” you say,  barely a whisper, mustering whatever breath and thought you can. Your brain feels foggy and fuzzy with the slight pressure of air being constricted. He chuckles. 

“Didn’t you go to UCLA or something? Aren’t you supposed to be really smart?” his tone is mocking, you swallow at the embarrassment, hand letting up on your throat to grab your hand. He isn't here to be soft with you. He is here to make a point.

“Me choking you got you actin’ all dumb already?’M impressed. C’mon get off the table, we can’t be here” he says, making you stand up. 

“Where- where are we going?” you feel winded, and you haven't even done anything. He leads you through the cafe, the bar, the back of house, where the drying dishes sit abandoned on the rack. Right at the threshold to his back office, the cold green tile arch pressing against your back.

“I don’t know, but I really wanna kiss you right now.” and you feel like your breath has just gotten knocked out of you. He wants to kiss you?

"You wanna- huh?" he slams you against the wall, just t prove a point "Shut the fuck up" he says as he puts his lips on yours. Famished, animalistic.

There is no room for gentleness. No room for sweet caresses and soft praises. His hands groping and feeling your hips, grinding into him. The friction against his tattered jeans make a whine escape you. Too much and not enough.

His teeth clash with yours as you both open your mouths, the way he tastes made you dizzy. His mint gum and cigarettes inundate your senses as you pull at the hair tie that is keeping Eddie's unruly hair in place.

Reaching under the mane of hair, you pull at his nape, where his curls are smaller, more defined. He groans.

His nose skims your jaw and licks at the hinge between the bone and your neck, making you yelp. A small oh escapes you when his hands work to untuck your shirt out of your jeans, his cold hands sneaking past the barrier of clothing to touch at the skin of your stomach, the sides of your breasts.

His mouth is warm against your neck, tracing every ridge, every line, every mole, 'til he reaches the juncture between your neck and your shoulder and he bites.

"Eddie, you fucking freak don't bite me" you hiss, head thrown back as he lifts your shirt up, leaving it completely abandoned on the floor.

He moves you off the wall and into his office, mouth not stopping his assault on your neck, stumbling towards his cluttered desk. With one move, a space big enough for you to sit is created. His shirt comes off in the process. His pale chest, skinny, but toned and littered with tattoos, is the only thing you are able to pay attention to.

"I hear that fucking word come outta your mouth again I'll-" he begins.

"You what? More spanking? Consider me terrified" you interrupt, all an evil plan to egg him on. Blinking your eyes up at him. He is seething.

"God, do you ever shut up?" he asks, a groan leaving his lips continuing to kiss you, teeth and tongue and spit, his hands coming out from under your shirt to grab your chin.

You look up at him, hair wild and unruly, eyes blown out, a wicked glint in his eye, almost like he's plotting something.

“Open your mouth” he says, and you looked at him, a puzzled look on your face. He squeezes your cheeks in response, forcing your mouth open. “You fucking brat” he mutters.

You keep your mouth open, expecting his finger, something. Instead, a glob of spit makes its way onto your tongue. He spit in your mouth. You throb.

“Eddie what the fuck-” you begin, but he interrupts you.

“You didn’t seem to mind spitting in my coffee, did you? Consider this a payback. Swallow it.” he smirks against your lips, lightly tapping his fingers on your cheek, not quite a slap. You obey immediately for the first time that night.

His hand travels down to the seam of your jeans, your breath becoming more labored with all the building tension from the night.

“Eddie…please” you whine, arching into his hand, not wanting to pull back anymore. You want release, brain hazy with the feeling of being under him, the way his rough hands are touching you, exploring you, grabbing and groping at the curves of your body as you arch into him.

His hand begins moving back and forth, the heel of his palm making direct contact with the seam of your pants, forcing a strangled whine out of you.

You grind your hips in sync with his hand, as the other sits on your cheek, cupping it, moaning in his mouth at the small amount of friction he's giving you. “Can I take your pants off?” he asks, soft against your mouth. You’ve never nodded so fast in your life.

He quickly makes work of taking your shoes and jeans off, pooled at his feet while his hands caress and grope their way up your thighs.

“You’re cute when you’re not being a cunt, you know that?” he whispers against your mouth, hand ghosting over your panties, practically feeling the heat radiating off of you.

“Fuck you, Eddie,” you say through gritted teeth, motioning to hit him in the chest. He stops you, grabbing your wrists with his hands.

“I suggest keeping that filthy mouth at bay if you really want me to do something about that big, wet patch on your panties, hm?” he whispers, licking your bottom lip, his hand still keeping an iron grip on your wrists.

“How ‘bout you stop being a cunt and fuck me?” you’ve had enough of his teasing and taunting.

“Who said anything about fucking?” he chuckles, his hand moving down to grope at your ass. “No, see, that would be improper, don’t you think? Fucking your boss in his office. You kinky bitch” he delivers a sharp smack down to your ass, reviving the dull sting from the spanking earlier.

“You’re not my fucking boss, Eddie. Stop talking and- ohmygod”

His other hand begins massaging over the crotch of your panties, making direct contact with your clit over the fabric. “Made you this wet from spanking you? Think you might have actually been the freak this whole time, sweetheart.” He hooks his fingers on the sides of your panties “Lift.” He taps your thigh, you immediately lift your hips to let him take your panties off.

He laughs when he sees the mess that he’s made of your pussy.

“Fuck stop- stop laughing” you whisper out while his hands begin to spread your legs further.

“I think you secretly love me laughing at you. You think you’re so tough, bein’ all mean, callin’ me a freak like it doesn’t turn you on just imagining how much of a fucking freak I really am, huh sweetheart?” he skims your jaw with his nose, his words making you shiver as you clench around nothing.

His free hand sneaking its way around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you squeak.

Your hips lift off the desk, looking to find some kind of stimulation aside from Eddie’s cruel teasing touches.

He looks at you through his dark lashes “What is it, baby?” baby. baby. baby. The nickname makes your head spin.

“Eddie, I- fuck- please! I need-” your hips arch off the wooden surface as you feel his fingers prod your entrance.

“You need my fingers? Can you ask me nicely?” you want to kill him. He's reveling in the torture that he's putting you through.

“I f-ucking ah hate you” but you aren't really sure if you believe that yourself.

“You hate me sweetheart? I’m hurt. You won’t mind then if I just leave you here, do you?” he caresses over your inner thigh, the tips of his fingers coated in slick, clear arousal.

“No!” your hips lift once again “your fingers…please” His smile is pleased as one of his fingers enter you.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Good girl.” He's making your head spin, a choked noise leaves your lips as he pumps his finger in and out, finally getting the stimulation you need.

“More” you whisper, his other hand still on your throat.

“So greedy. Y’gonna thank me? Say ‘thank you, Eddie’”

At that point you can't even think about acting up. “F-fuck. Thank- thank you Eddie” and with that, he adds another finger.

God, you already feel so full and teetering the edge.

“Good girl. Now that I think about it, I believe you owe me an apology” he begins, his fingers working mercilessly inside you, while a string of breathy ah ah ahs are all the sounds you could muster.

“You were so mean to me the other day, I didn’t appreciate your tone while you were trying to apologize” he taunts, his fingers prodding deeper inside you. A small yelp escapes you.

“You were- you were ah” his fingers curl on your g-spot and your vision goes white.

“What was that? I was what, baby?” he begins to thumb at your clit, smiling like a maniac at the state he's reducing you in.

“Oh yes there” no idea how you're gonna finish your sentence.

“Feels good huh? Needa finish what you were saying, sweetheart, can’t have you going stupid on me just yet” his hand on your throat moves up to your cheek, delivering a couple light smacks to your face. You clench.

“Fuck, uh, you we-were being a oh god cunt” you say, mustering all the mental strength you can.

“Is that right? Funny how my fingers are in yours right now and you don’t seem to complain.” He laughs to himself, his thumb speeding up its assault on your clit.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I just need you to say ‘Sorry Eddie, I won’t be a bitch to you again.’ Can you say that or is your brain too fucking far gone to understand a single word i’m saying?” he teases, which briefly brings you back from the ecstasy of Eddie’s fingers working wonders on you.

“Fuck you, Eddie” you hiss through your teeth, immediately regretting it at the feeling of the coil in your belly beginning to tighten.

“Oh. It’s like that then. Alright” he simply says as he picks up his pace. Head thrown back as you revel in the feeling of nearing the edge of your release.

“Oh shit, get-getting close” you breathe.

“Apologize and I’ll let you cum” he smiles, a wicked show of bared teeth that only makes you both want to punch him and fuck him.

“Fuck n- Oh God- ‘m not apologizing for- for shit” you arch your back, trying to make yourself cum before he changes his mind.

“Fucking apologize” he insists.

“Fuck you” you say, followed by the unwelcome feeling of emptiness as he takes his fingers out. You really thought he was bluffing.

An empty ache grows in your stomach, feeling unfulfilled and disappointed. You sit there in disbelief, as he cleans his fingers off with a tissue.

“Pity” he shrugs “Get dressed, I’m taking you home” he turns around, heading towards the front.

You throw the box of kleenex at his head. You miss.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” you jump off his desk, ignoring the dull throb between your legs as you put your panties and jeans back on, following the trail of your clothes he left in his wake.

“Could’ve said sorry” he just says, closing up the register, while you put on your shirt and shoes “C’mon my van is around the back” he offers, grabbing his keys.

“I’m not fucking getting in your car. I can drive” you protest.

“Yeah, uh huh, you and what car, you fucking liar? Saw you at the bus stop the other day, and your car isn’t in the parking lot. You either let me drive or you can sleep in here tonight.”

You let him drive you home. The sound of Judas Priest blaring through the speaker only makes the stubborn silence between you two louder.

The ten minute drive to your house feels like an hour, as you itch to get off the dingy van and take care of what he left unfinished.

He finally parks up in front of your house, you quickly book it towards your door as he shouts “You’re welcome sweetheart” before you fumble with the keys and enter inside. He stays there until you do.

Your dad was asleep already, so you crack his bedroom door to check up on him. You sigh. Everything seems to be alright.

Once all the lights are off, you run towards your room. Still in disbelief of what happened with Eddie, you strip off your coffee- smelling clothes, wincing at the thought of Eddie’s hands sneaking under your shirt, his fingers hooking on the sides of your panties.

The feeling of hatred and arousal battling each other off while you recall his stupid smiling face as he removed his fingers from inside you. The dull empty ache as you came down from the euphoria of his touch and words.

That night, you kick yourself for not saying sorry to him.

[notsoattractivearenti]

Frustration (Christian Pulisic x Fem!Reader) 🔞

(gif by me)

WC: 1.4K

Warnings: SMUT, dom(m), nipple play, clit stimulation, penetration. MINORS DNI

A/N: i wrote this as fast as i could (cuz i didn't wanna make any major changes if i couldn't finish it before the ucl game!) so idk if this is decent or not lol. if i miss anything on the warnings pls lmk! hope you guys enjoy and i’d love to hear your thoughts thru ask/reply/reblog 💗 this was not proofread so apologies for any errors! feedbacks are highly appreciated 🤍

—

The first match of the season between AC Milan and Juventus didn’t go well for the home team, especially for Christian. One of Milan’s defenders got a red card in the first half and the team had to finish the match with 10 men left. Then, shortly before halftime, Christian got subbed off for another defender – it was the first change for the team. He was visibly upset because he still wanted to play and it felt way too soon to bring him to the bench. Not only that, Milan also lost by 0-1 so the day couldn’t have gone any worse for Christian.

I saw what happened and I could already tell that he would be in a very bad mood until the day ended. I wanted to give him a hug right away and let him know I’m here for him but of course I couldn’t, so I had to impatiently wait until the match was over to do so. On our way to the car, he didn’t say a word – he didn’t have to, his facial expression said it all. I tried to console him but he didn’t respond, so I waited until we got into the car to continue talking to him.

When we got into the car, he slammed the door so hard it startled me for a second. Holy shit, he really is fucking frustrated, I thought to myself. He was looking all grumpy and still didn’t say anything as he started to drive.

—

Finally leaving San Siro, he took a deep breath before he started to talk.

“Sorry, Y/N, I’m just not happy with the way things were.” He admitted.

“Yeah, I know,” I rubbed his shoulder, ”I’m sorry you had to go through this shit.”

He slightly smiled.

“Mmhm. Ugh, I should’ve had more time on the field…” He sighed.

Even though I had assumed that the reason behind the decision was to maintain the defensive structure of the team, it didn’t feel fair to take Christian off that early. 

“I’m with you, baby. But what’s done is done. Pioli might have thought it was the best decision, but in the end one goal was still conceded. Let’s just focus on the PSG game and give your best as always, okay?” I tried to encourage him.

“Okay… But sorry Y/N I can’t help but think the game could’ve gone better…” He grunted.

“Hey,” I kissed his hand, then continued consoling him, “don’t beat yourself up. That was not your fault! Tonight’s not your night. Nor Milan’s. Trust me, you guys will do better on the next one.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…” He hesitantly agreed.

“Thank you, my dearest. I’m so glad you’re here.” This time, he was being genuine.

—

Now at home, Christian didn’t waste a second to find the couch and laid on it. He drowned his face onto the pillow and screamed his heart out. I love that man so much but he is so used to bottling his emotions – which kind of bothers me, if I’m being honest – and seeing him screaming like that, I just knew he truly felt hurt and couldn’t contain it anymore. So I thought of a way to release his emotions – what I had in mind could actually be fun and beneficial for us both.

“You know, if you want to fuck your frustration away, I’m down.”

He immediately sat up, then turned his head right away and looked at me all confused.

“Say what now?”

“Yeah, I mean… I’m kind of in the mood, so… If you want.” I teased him.

He still wasn’t convinced.

“Are you messing with me?” He pouted.

“I’m serious, Chris, I’m not playing.” I smirked. “Do what you want to me.”

Without a word, Christian roughly picked me up and started kissing me. He threw my body on the couch and positioned himself on top of me. He took off all of his clothes right away, and when I was about to do the same thing, he stopped me.

“Don’t. I’ll take them off myself.” He demanded.

I nodded in response.

“Did I not hear a ‘yes, Christian’?”

“Yes, Christian.” I repeated his words.

“Mmm, good girl.”

I bit my lip and moaned when he called me a good girl. Those two little words never failed to drive me crazy. As he said that, I could feel my pussy starting to get wet.

I was wearing his jersey at the moment. He wanted me to keep wearing it, so he took off everything I had on my body except the shirt.

“Fucking hell,” he gulped, “you look insanely sexy wearing my shirt.”

His hands began tracing my body starting from my chest. He rubbed and squeezed my breasts tightly then moved his fingers over my nipples, gently twisting and pinching them. It felt so good I closed my eyes and quivered.

“Do you like it when I play with your titties, baby?”

“Yes…” I whimpered.

“Tell me how good it is.”

“So fucking good…”

Before I knew it, I felt one of my nipples was already inside his mouth – he swirled his tongue around then sucked it. I gasped at such a pleasant sensation.

“Oh!”

When he heard my gasp, he gave a little bite and it successfully got me moaning so loud. My hand was grasping the cushion while the other was holding on to Christian’s arm – and when he bit my nipple, I squeezed his arm so hard it turned slightly red.

After he finished sucking one nipple, his mouth moved onto the other and did everything all over again. By then, my naked pussy was already dripping wet.

His hands continued wandering around my body, feeling every inch of the curves. When he found his way to my pussy, he started rubbing my clit with two fingers.

“Oh, so slippery already?”

“Mmhm…” I bit back a moan. “Please don’t stop…”

He rubbed my clit faster and my thighs started to clench.

“Ohh… Mmm… Yeahh… Faster!” I sputtered.

“Are you gonna cum, baby?” He asked.

“Y-y-e-esss…” I hissed.

He kept rubbing.

“Then cum for me now.” He demanded.

“I- Ahh…”

My entire body was trembling – my eyes rolled back and I stopped breathing for a moment.

“Holy fuck…” I moaned.

“Ah, that’s my good girl. But we’re not done,” He said as he put on a condom.

I took a glance at his hard cock and all I could think of was having it within my pussy.

“Get inside me now, please…” I begged him.

He then roughly pushed his cock into my wet pussy.

“I’m gonna fuck you harder than I’ve ever been tonight.”

He really meant what he said – he started pounding me really hard, deeper and so rough than he usually did.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet.” He moaned.

The sound of our skins slapping against each other was so loud even the other noises we made couldn't cover it. His hands were strongly gripping my thighs while he was thrusting his cock deeper and faster by the second.

“I- oh you feel so good… Ohh sh-shit…” His breath hitched.

“Faster!” 

He immediately went full speed to the point where it felt like he was about to destroy my pussy. I could clearly feel his pulse inside me. Suddenly, my brain stopped working and I couldn’t say anything but moaned loudly.

“Hhh… Good fu-uck…” he panted.

His face was moving closer to mine and my lips immediately met his. I broke our kiss by biting his bottom lip then we heavily breathed each other’s air. When his neck was across my face, I started sucking it and left a mark. He moaned even harder when I sucked his Adam’s apple – it kind of tickled when it moved.

“Fuck… I’m close…” He whimpered. “Cum with me princess…”

And in an instant, the earth stopped spinning. The waves of pleasure just left my body, and at the same time I could feel his entire body quivering – his cock was still inside me.

Christian rested his face over my shoulder and heavily breathed into my ear. I kissed his ear and whispered, “feeling better now?”

He nodded, couldn’t say a word as he was still trying to catch his breath.

When he was finally able to speak he said to you, “Y/N, you sure know how to turn a bad day into a better one.”

—

taglist: @pulisicsgirl @neverinadream @swimmingismywholelife @chilwellspulisic @bracedes @lovelynikol16 @thoseboysinblue @lizzypotter14 @masonsrem @landoslover

[stellar-constellations]

STELLAR IM ON MY KNEES PLS TELL US ABOUT THE ANDREW SERIES IDEAS

I apologize in advance for my ramblings, because I know damn well I'm going to rant. These ideas are not yet complete and could change over time as I try to work out plots and ideas, FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED AND WANTED!

First thing's first, thank you to my Secret Spy (name is unknown for privacy reasons/to have a cool nickname) who gives me ideas and honest feedback about my work so I can improve. Much love to you. She suffers through A LOT of my obsessive rambles, and she also helps a great deal in ideas for my stories, so I appreciate her help and patience.

First idea: Andrew Graves x Stalker! Cultist! Reader

This was a suggestion brought up by my Secret Spy. It's a huge work in process considering how I'd have to try and write plot purposes with that, but hey, we'll see how it goes, so allow me to explain the (supposed) plot so far.

(Y/N) is a member of the phony cult group "Asinus infirma daemonium clava" (look it up in Latin using this translator, trust me). Due to a contract forged between her parents' and the Fire Demon before her birth. After the death of her parents from supernatural causes, (Y/N) finds herself born with demonic connections to the Fire Demon and grows up inside the cult. Surrounded by phony cultists and the same people her entire life, she finds herself utterly obsessed in love upon meeting Andrew Graves, a seemingly normal guy who just happens to accidentally infiltrate the cult.

(Y/N)'s personality is currently up in the air, but I think I'm leaning towards a confident, morally-grey reader who has a knack for causing destruction and problems.

This is currently a oneshot/fic idea due to many plot holes and a worry that this fic's original plot will be too similar to another idea I have (don't worry, that idea will be written here in this post). FEEDBACK AND SUGGESTIONS FOR THIS IDEA IS HIGHLY ENCOURAGED, let me know what you want to read, and any ideas you have to help expand this into a potential series, or we can keep it a nice and short fic!

Second Idea: Andrew Graves x Greek Goddess! Reader

Due to the nature of this idea, there will be religious themes mentioned, and there will also be tons of inaccuracies and my own takes on Greek Mythology (because Greek Mythology is EVERYWHERE that it would be hard to try and make this accurate). Sorry to my Percy Jackson fans, I've never watched or read the books so the Gods' personalities will be nothing like the PJ series. This was actually an idea I introduced a few months ago, it was actually in a poll against Star Patient! This idea has been recreated with a different plot, but I believe this plot is more enjoyable than the OG's plot.

(Y/N) is the Greek Goddess of Sleep and Visions. For years, she's had her eyes on Andrew Graves, finding his dreams and subconscious desires intriguing to stand out upon the billions of other dreams she's seen throughout her millenniums. She finds herself in the mortal's overworld now, entering a world of advanced technology and terrifying beasts (cars) roaming the streets. While Andrew tries to shield (Y/N) from humanities dangerous flaws (including himself), Ashley finds (Y/N)'s powers more useful than you would expect... finding herself in a world constantly on the run as she evades the police and discovers what living is with the Graves Siblings.

So, the whole road-trip evading the police thing was an idea I had for the Cultist idea, but I decided to ditch it in the Cultist idea because it was far too similar. I figured the idea would fit here more, having an outdated and naive Goddess trying to navigate this new scary world just sounds so adorable!

(Y/N)'s personality is curious, timid, with an almost child-like fascination as she learns to understand the meaning of life, and to cherish it while it lasts. She has a serious need for validation and feeling needed, and all she wants to do is be helpful to the Graves siblings, no matter what she has to do.

This is going to be a fluffy and bittersweet series. I wanted something more wholesome and sweet for Andrew and Ashley because they deserve it after all they've gone through (in the game and in my Star Patient series, ahaha). (Y/N) and Andrew are the only love interests, and Ashley has a pretty healthy and wholesome sister-like relationship with (Y/N).

Third Idea: Andrew Graves x Two-faced! Serial Killer! Reader

As you've probably noticed now, I like making (Y/N) the more... interesting characters. I feel like each (Y/N) helps branch out and creates inclusivity for my readers, because not everyone has the same personality or thought-process, so I wanted all my (Y/N)'s to be unique too!

(Y/N) is Andrew's lovable neighbor next door. She's always willing to lend a hand and has a stellar social image and a great connection with the community. In the day, she works as a waitress in a popular diner and volunteers at pet shelters. At night, she's a ruthless killer stalking the alleyways of the city, with nothing on her mind but how many stabs she can stab a face into disfiguration. She's never cared for romance or love until now, meeting Andrew Graves after he discovers her horrific secret. Now that he knows, she'll have to keep a constant eye on him. Sure, she could kill him, but what's the point of killing such a cute guy without at least playing with him some? Maybe this isn't so much romance, but more so manipulation and power-play, however Andrew slowly seems to let those red flags go and enter a world filled with obsessive love, jealousy, and Stockholm syndrome.

This Andrew doesn't have Ashley as a sibling, making him an introverted, socially-constipated, wallflower with a need of validation.

This (Y/N) is two-faced. To your face, she's bubbly, empathetic, and is the perfect definition of a saint, but if you turn your back for just a second, you might find a knife in it. She has a serious thirst for blood and hearing bones snap (she could potentially be a cannibal, I'm deciding if I want that as a motive or not...)

This going to be a slowburn series.

FEEDBACK AND IDEAS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED FOR THIS IDEA!

Fourth Idea: Potential serial killer! Andrew Graves x Journalist! Reader

This idea is the most unstable and wonky one. This idea is under extreme development as I try to figure out what I want to do with this reader and her personality. A poll will eventually be released for this reader's personality and motives.

(Y/N) is a plain and boring woman. You wouldn't notice her in a crowd, much less recognize her face. She's a journalist who specializes in covering true crime cases, and the her hottest case happens to be the quarantined apartment in her city. A thump on her balcony and a door opening leads her to meeting Andrew Graves, who may just be the worst (or best) thing to ever happen in her life. I mean, it's not everyday your hottest crime case drops right into your apartment and begs for a place to stay! Who knew hitmen, cops, and a whole damn demon is following with—okay, what the hell is going on and how does she get her normal life back?!

(Y/N)'s personality is currently unknown. I'm unsure if I want to make her depressed with a thirst of death (hence why she lets Andrew stay, in hopes he'll kill her), or if I want (Y/N) to be a normal girl with an obsessive hobby of true crime and a conspiracy theorist (who wants to keep Andrew around in hopes he'll expose all the case's secrets for her to report). FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED FOR THIS!

I'm also unsure if I want Andrew to be a paranoid guy trying to hide from the police after killing his sister (yes, he killed his sister), or if I want Andrew to be a cocky, arrogant, serial killer. FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED FOR THIS!

This is going to be a series. What direction I want it to take is up in the air, but I want action and drama.

These are currently the ideas I have going on. These ideas are excluding current fluffy fics I'm working on, so be on the lookout for those new fics coming out soon! These series will all be in a poll after I finish the Star Patient series, so I won't be holding off Star Patient for these!

SERIOUSLY, Y'ALL. FEEDBACK IS HIGHLY WANTED ON THESE IDEAS. DON'T BE AFRAID TO LEAVE ANONYMOUS COMMENTS IN MY INBOX, OR MESSAGE ME! I WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS WANNA READ (and as always, if you have your own ideas for fics, please send them in and I'll see what I can do).

[gravedigginbbydoll]

Hawkins University : The Munson Edition

AN: Hey, y'all. I've finally moved! So, I'm working on writing right now. I'm so sorry for the long wait; I've been juggling a lot. I hope you like this chapter; we'll get into more drama and romance in the next chapters! Pls remember that reblogs and comments are appreciated! Also feedback!

→ cliches: friends to lovers, heavy use of nicknames instead of Y/N, we're all just struggling college kids, Music Tutor! Eddie, Resident Assistant! Reader, good girl x bad boy, instant connections, 'I don't trust most people but I trust you', 'are we friends or more?', and 'I can't believe you're such a slut that you have a special dtf drawer...'

→ warnings: mature topics, insecurity, hurt and comfort, drinking and drug usage, strong language, bullying, mental health, discussion of suicide and self harm, mature thoughts, eventual smut, minors dni

→ pairing: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

<Previous Masterlist Next>

Chapter 8

Bug's POV

It had been two weeks since you and Eddie kissed. Though you both had talked about liking one another, neither of you breached the topic of your relationship. And to be honest, it hadn’t bothered you. You got to enjoy the typical activities with Eddie, plus the bonus of kissing or cuddling. You weren’t worried about labels or anything. Plus it meant you didn’t have to feel so guilty about not going on dates or dressing up. Only something more had developed…

You had begun to have a dilemma of jealousy and embarrassment. 

It began that fateful on the November night that was fading into December, finals approaching viciously. You had overheard from a few classmates that Eddie denied their advances, all of them bitter about the situation. You knew why, but couldn’t help but feel worried. You weren’t a virgin by any means, but you also weren’t nearly as experienced as Eddie. And maybe that sparked something in you. 

You were somehow both relieved and frustrated that Eddie hadn’t tried anything with you yet, curious as to how he would be with you. Some stories…made you sit at the edge of your seat, a gasp in your throat. 

He couldn’t help his reputation, really. 

You knew Eddie would make dirty jokes about enjoying choking with Gareth and even fake moans around Steve to make him disgusted. But he never did that with you. He was always sincere and kind. Tamed? In a way. But some tiny little piece of you, something depraved and lonely, wondered why. 

So you decided to test the waters. 

It started out small, of course. Something like a stupid ‘that’s what she said’ joke.

A few days later it snowballed to a joke revolving around your taste in jewelry and saying “Truthfully, I prefer my necklaces to be more...tight. Like a hand.” 

It was laughable, really. Embarrassing. 

But the straw that officially broke the camel's back?

A joke about Eddie's drawer. 

Eddie and you had been messing around, kissing sometimes and giggling, discussing past embarrassing moments. And that’s when you heard the story of how some guy ran out of Steve and Eddie’s shared apartment when he saw the ‘drawer’. You had rolled your eyes, laughing a bit and teasing Eddie gently. 

“I mean it is a bit slutty of you,” You giggled, curled into Eddie’s side. 

Eddie tickled your side gently, grinning softly, “Hey! We do not slut shame in this house. It’s rude,” He teased, nose scrunched up in the cutest way possible. Your heart skipped a beat. 

You smiled a devious grin and shrugged, standing up. “I wasn’t slut shaming…just…word gets around.” Your stomach was twisting and turning with nerves, your heart pumping. You were pushing it a bit, but wanted to test the waters. 

Eddie raised a brow at you, fighting a smile on his lips, eyes dark and twinkling with mischief. “Oh, does it, now? And what exactly…went around…?” 

You walked around, avoiding his gaze as you stared at the Warhammer minis on his shelf, a delicate finger careful to not touch them. “Oh…ya know…things like…how you’re really good at eating out. Or how you like ropes…and maybe…how you love power dynamics…how you…seem to really love getting people off.” With every phrase falling from your lips you felt more and more giddy and nervous, your heart thumping out of your chest. Your thighs squeezed together to rid the ache between your legs as you pretended to be more interested in his decor. You came to his band posters, some local, some big names. You stared at the art work and tried to avoid the intense feeling of Eddie’s gaze on you. 

“Oh…I see. And how much did you believe of it?,” His voice seemed low and almost like a whisper, but the guttural tones and bass of his vocals made a shiver run down your spine. You tried to hold your ground, walking towards his desk, playing with a fidget cube he kept on his desk for concentration. Your back was still to him. 

“Mmm…not much. I heard a lot of what seemed like exaggeration about how many times you made people…finish.” You breathed out, trying to ignore the trembling in your hands and the feeling of breathlessness consuming you. 

Eddie chuckled darkly and seemed to shuffle about, finally stepping closer to you and tracing delicate fingers up your side. “Do you want to find out if it’s true?” His breath was in your ear, making your skin feel hot and your stomach twist in knots. 

You shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant and looking off towards a Metallica poster, chewing on your lip. “I mean, if you want to prove yourself…fine. But there's no way you can make anyone cum that much, no matter how slutty you-”

You found yourself spun around quickly as a pair of strong and calloused hands intertwined into your hair and pulled you in at your waist, his mouth immediately upon yours as he shut you up with the most passionate and panty dropping kiss you had ever experienced. Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips encased yours, fireworks going off in your belly. He rubbed his hand at your side, slipping under your shirt to have his cool hand touch your warming skin. He continued to tug at your hair, eliciting little moans from you and making wetness pool in your underwear, your body alight with desire. 

You felt desperate and pathetic, but in the best way. So often you were the caring and overbearing friend, the one who was always the designated driver, the one who worked a thankless job and tried to push others along to succeed. But here, with Eddie, you often felt free to let loose. Free to think less about others and more about yourself. And it seemed that translated into the bedroom too. 

Eddie was leaving your mouth to kiss down your neck, nipping and biting softly, causing you to whimper and claw at his back. He steered you toward what felt like the bed, dropping you onto your back before looming over you. His eyes were dark and his lips pink and swollen from the kissing. His arms were braced on either side of your head as his hair made a curtain around you, your heart beating at the sight of his expression. It was like he was hungry and desperate. 

“You’re so gorgeous…I’m gonna make you see fucking stars,” He growled out, making your body shiver in delight. 

He lifted your shirt off your frame, throwing it to the side as he cupped your breasts, eyes looking at you for reassurance. You nodded, biting your lip. He grinned devilishly, coming in to leaving bruising kisses and bites at your neck, his nimble fingers pinching and playing with your nipples, the desire pooling between your thighs as you squirmed under him. 

“Such a pretty girl…so responsive…,” He groaned out, grinding his hardness into you for a minute while you moaned, before moving down and taking a nipple in his mouth, first giving it teasing licks before he latched on and began sucking and nipping at the bud, making you whine and grip the bedding underneath you, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure. You felt like you were on cloud 9. Your thoughts consumed by the goofy metalheads mouth and tongue, pleasure ever growing. You practically lost it when one of his hands traveled south while the other continued playing with your nipple that wasn’t between his teeth, hovering above your mound. 

“Can I touch you, baby? Can I play with your clit?,” He growled out around your nipple, your back arching at his words as you felt your cunt throb. You were mindless. You were putty in his hands. 

“Yes, god please…yes…” 

At that his hands went under your panties, finger quickly finding your sensitive spot and circling it gently. You were squirming, back arching, as his lip popped off your breast obscenely and moved to the other, and his fingers moved to tug at your nipple and keep it hard. At this point you swore you were going to combust. Eddie just kept whispering praise and growling around you, calling you his ‘plaything’ and his ‘girl’. Your back arching as you felt the familiar build, your cunt clenching around nothing as you whimpered, eyes screwed shut. 

“Fu-fuck…’M gonna cum…gonna cum…please please please, Eds,” You clawed at his back, releasing a moan from him as he moved to kiss you, still rubbing at your clit, this time with a bit more ferocity. You felt the pleasure between your legs build and build as you moaned into his mouth, finally snapping as he lightly smacked your clit, growling into your mouth. You saw white, your eyes rolling back as your body shook, gasps and moans escaping your mouth. You laid there, boneless for a moment, eyes shut as you caught your breath. 

Eddie collapsed beside you, sighing out. Your eyes fluttered open to look at him, still trying to catch your breath. 

“I guess…rumors hold…a bit of truth,” You panted, smiling weakly as Eddie chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“That was just a preview…catch your breath because I’m not letting you leave this bed until I’ve had my fill with you,” He whispered, smiling devilishly as he kissed your forehead and your eyes went wide. 

Eddie Munson would be the death of you. 

Once you’d had Eddie’s touch, his kiss…You were insatiable. 

Any moment you had free, you were in his grip. You experienced the ropes, the toys, everything. You now knew exactly what had all the people at Hawkins so hooked onto Eddie, his mere touch making you see stars. You had yet to actually have full penetrative sex, but it was satisfying exploring the space between. 

You hadn’t questioned your relationship, okay with not labeling it for the time. Though it seemed to really bother Steve. 

‘So, you guys finally a thing?’ 

‘He finally popped the lil question?’ 

‘Finally… or am I just hopeful again?’  

The last time he had asked, you were wearing Eddie’s shirt and boxers, cooking breakfast. You shook your head with a smile, laughing at Steve’s groan of frustration after Eddie walked out with a messy bedhead, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. 

Everything was simple and fun. 

And sure, a small part of you hoped soon Eddie would call you his. You knew you were exclusive, and that was great. But some days you had dreamed of hearing the words ‘my girl’ fall from his lips.

But you would settle with the little piece of heaven you were gifted. 

You could always sense a storm before it came. Not a literal storm, but an unfortunate event. Of course it could be argued that your anxiety led you to always sensing a storm, even if one wasn’t oncoming. But you knew the familiar feeling, your belly churning, your heart squeezed, and your head pained by pressure and nerves alike. 

It all started after the afternoon you and Eddie had been cuddling and watching trashy TV, giggling over stupid circumstances. Eddie turned over and looked at you. 

“This may sound weird but…would you be okay if I used you for a song?” 

Your heart skipped a beat, your breath caught in your throat. 

“Uh, sure…That’s okay,” you replied meekly, heart leaping at the thought of your closest friend and romantic interest with benefits writing something about you. For you. 

He smiled at you, those ice melting dimples causing your mind to turn to goo. You smiled back shyly, snuggling back into the crook of his arm. 

Then your phone buzzed, causing your brow to furrow. 

You looked down at the screen in your hand, seeing a notification from Instagram.

@ChrissytheCutie has followed you!

You felt a sense of confusion and sourness build. You didn’t know the account, but decided to brush it off. You didn’t post much anyways and you knew a bunch of people would just follow you after seeing you went to Hawkins. 

And boy…

Was that a mistake. 

Taglist: @josephquinnsfreckles @corrodedcoffincumslut @kirisuteg0men @bebe07011 @amira0303 @vintagehellfire @lottie-90 @animechick555

[oliolioxenfreewrites]

OC Intro Interview with Raelin & Garrick

thank you @the-golden-comet for the tag! this is the one that was robbed from us last night, by faulty electronics (not my fault for not periodically saving... 👀💀) this was so so so much fun to write! these two are adisa's backbone. they show her that even though the darkness consumes her, she still has a bunch of light in her life...

This is a bit of a long one, but pls let me know any thoughts or reactions! Feedback is always appreciated as well 🫶🏾

Today, we have Garrick Bramwell and Raelin Vespera with us. Rick is a loyal warrior and protector, and Raelin is a fierce and guarded fighter. Both have been through immense hardship, yet they stand resilient and strong. Let’s dive into their thoughts and experiences.

The interview is a bit long, but so where the generations. I couldn't sums by

Interviewer: Welcome, Garrick and Raelin, you guys are from Syrithya, fraught with conflict and angering civilians against the tyrannical nobility. I’ll make sure to start with something light. What’s your favorite thing to do to avoid responsibility?

Rick: (smirking) Honestly, I like to disappear into the woods. It’s peaceful, and no one can find me there. There’s something about the solitude that helps me clear my mind and think about everything that’s been happening. It’s a way for me to escape the chaos, even if just for a little while.

Rae: For me, it’s a good sparring session. There’s nothing like the physical exertion to take my mind off things. Plus, it’s a productive way to avoid responsibility – I’m getting stronger and more prepared for whatever comes next. Sometimes, though, it’s just about finding a quiet spot and carving a piece of wood into something new.

Interviewer: If you could choose anyone in the world to be your sibling, who would it be?

Rick: (glancing at Rae) I think I’d choose someone like Rae. Tough, dependable. But Adisa is my sister in spirit, and that bond is stronger than anything blood could create. We’ve been through so much together, and that kind of history makes us inseparable.

Rae: I’d choose Rick, no question. He’s got your back, no matter what. But Adisa too, as weird as that would be considering… anyway, they both embody the kind of loyalty and strength I value. We’re a family forged by circumstances, and that’s sometimes stronger than anything else.

Interviewer: What is the most sublime thing you have ever eaten and why?

Rick: There was this roasted boar at a village feast once. Perfectly cooked, seasoned just right. I can still taste it. It wasn’t just the food, though; it was the sense of community, the laughter and stories shared around the fire. It’s those moments of peace that stick with you.

Rae: Freshly caught fish, grilled over an open fire. Simple but unforgettable. There’s something about the taste of food you’ve caught and prepared yourself. It’s honest and pure, a reminder of simpler times and the satisfaction of self-sufficiency.

Interviewer: What was the worst day of your life?

Rick: The night of the attack on Zyx. I lost everything. Seeing the village burn, hearing the screams, and feeling helpless I tried to save as many as I could. It was the night that changed everything, it took away my family and my sense of security.

Rae: The night my village was razed. Changed everything. I was only 15 dude, I had to grow up fast—too fast. (there's a brief pause as Raelin clears her throat) Learning to survive on my own. It was a baptism by fire, and it’s left scars that I carry with me to this day.

Interviewer: What’s your worst nightmare?

Rick: Losing those I care about and not being able to protect them. That feeling of helplessness is something I never want to experience again. It’s what drives me to keep fighting, to keep getting stronger.

Rae: I’d have to agree. But also, becoming like the people we fight against. I fear losing my humanity, bro. Like becoming a soulless husk, in the pursuit of frivolity. It’s a fine line, and it’s easy to cross without realizing it; Kirjani had no choice, she was put through a hellish experience. I don’t fault her in the slightest.

Interviewer: If a monster asked you your worst nightmare, what would you tell it and why?

Rick: I’d tell it the truth. Fear of losing loved ones. Monsters thrive on fear, and it’s best to face it head-on. Acknowledging your fears gives you power over them, rather than letting them control you.

Rae: I wouldn’t give it the satisfaction. I’d probably laugh and tell it to find someone else to scare. Giving a monster your fears is like giving it a weapon. I’d rather keep my fears to myself and use them to fuel my strength.

Interviewer: Would you give away secret information if tortured? Be honest.

Rick: (serious) I’d like to say no, but everyone has a breaking point. It’s about how long you can hold out and what you can do to protect those secrets as long as possible. I’d resist as much as I could, for as long as I could, especially if it meant protecting Adisa.

Rae: I feel the same, but I’d hold out as long as I could. Torture breaks everyone eventually, but the key is to hold out long enough to find another way out, to protect those you care about for as long as possible.

Interviewer: Who could you trust most with a secret?

Rick: Adisa. Always. We’ve been through too much together. There’s a bond there that’s unbreakable, and I know she’d protect any secret with her life.

Rae: Lena. Without a doubt. Her loyalty and friendship is unwavering, and I know she’d keep my secrets safe, just as I have always kept hers.

Interviewer: You have been caught somewhere you shouldn’t be! Quick, what is your excuse?

Rick: (laughing) I was just making sure everything was secure. Can’t be too careful. I’d try to make it seem like I was there for a reason, to avoid suspicion and buy myself some time.

Rae: I’d just say I was lost. People usually believe a lost traveler. It’s a simple excuse, but sometimes the simplest explanations are the most believable.

Interviewer: How good is your sleep schedule?

Rick: Not great. Nightmares don’t help. The past has a way of haunting you when you close your eyes, and there are always things to worry about, plans to make, and people to protect.

Rae: Nonexistent. Always on edge. Sleep is a luxury when you’re constantly on guard, but you learn to take rest when you can, even if it’s just a few minutes here and there.

Interviewer: Do you have any siblings? If so, is your relationship good?

Rick: Adisa is like a sister to me. Our bond is strong, even if it’s not by blood. We look out for each other and support each other. She’s my family.

Rae: No blood siblings, but Rick and Adisa are my chosen family. We’ve built a bond that’s just as strong, if not stronger, than any blood ties.

Interviewer: What’s the toughest time you had to endure growing up?

Rick: The transition from childhood to warrior. The training was brutal. But it was necessary. It taught me discipline, strength, and the importance of protecting those who can’t protect themselves.

Rae: Same. Learning to fend for myself after losing everything. It was a trial by fire, but it made me who I am today. Stronger, tougher, and ready for anything.

Interviewer: What’s your relationship with your family like?

Rick: My parents are gone, but the memories are good. Adisa and I are like family now. We support each other through everything, and that bond is unbreakable.

Rae: My family is gone. But Rick and Adisa fill that void. They’re my family now, and I’d do anything to protect them.

Interviewer: Do you have any hobbies? If so, what ones?

Rick: Woodworking. It’s calming. There’s something therapeutic about creating something with your hands, something tangible and lasting.

Rae: Hunting and carving wood figures. It’s a way to clear my mind and focus on something other than the battles we face. Plus, it’s practical.

Interviewer: Do you dream often? What do you dream about?

Rick: Too often. Mostly about the past. The things I’ve lost, the people I couldn’t save. But also about a better future, one where we’re free from fear and tyranny.

Rae: Same here. The past and what the future holds. Dreams can be a way to process what’s happened, but they can also be a source of hope.

Interviewer: Have you ever been in love?

Rick: (pausing, glances over at Rae without turning his head to avoid eye contact) Yes, once. But things changed. We grew apart, and now we’re just good friends. Adisa will always hold a special place in my heart, but Kirjani and I both knew it wasn’t meant to be.

Rae: (glaring at Rick) Yes. It’s complicated. Love isn’t always straightforward, and sometimes it’s about finding a balance between your feelings and your responsibilities.

Kirjani: (appearing out of the dark corner of the room where the ceiling lights casts shadow) Aww, how sweet! I didn’t know you two were such romantics. Lena is gonna be so mad at you two for holding back on her for so long? Rae, you didn't answer the question. Who's the lucky one?

Rae: (blushing slightly) Ani? This completely mysterious person; you must know... it’s someone who challenges me, who sees past my defenses. Someone who’s strong but has a gentle heart. Ani1, I mean it that’s all you’re getting out of me.

Kirjani: (smiling with all 101 torture hijinks in mind) Well, well, looks like we have a mystery on our hands. Don't worry, Rae, your secret is safe with us. For now. Her archetype is a hybrid sorceresses, lunatic and trickster. Explicitly on no

Rick: (chuckling) You know she isn't gonna let this go now, Rae.

Rae: (rolling her eyes but smiling) I know, but some things are worth keeping close to the chest.

Kirjani: (grinning) Oh, come on, Rae. We all have our secrets. But you know I’m here for you, no matter what.

Interviewer: Well, that certainly adds some intrigue... doesn't it? Let’s continue. What is your least favorite thing in the world?

Rick: Injustice. Can’t stand it. Seeing people suffer because of those in power infuriates me. It’s why I fight.

Rae: Cruelty. Especially towards the innocent. There’s no excuse for it, and it’s something I will never tolerate.

Interviewer: What is your biggest pet peeve?

Rick: People who don’t listen. When you’ve seen what we’ve seen, you know how important it is to pay attention to the details.

Rae: Hypocrisy. People who say one thing and do another. It’s infuriating.

Interviewer: Would you consider yourself different?

Rick: Definitely. My experiences have shaped me in ways I never expected. I’ve had to adapt, to become stronger, to survive. It’s made me different, but it’s also made me who I am.

Rae: Same here. Different, but stronger. My past has forged me into a fighter, someone who won’t back down.

Interviewer: How far would you go to save a loved one?

Rick: As far as it takes. No limits. I’d sacrifice anything to protect those I care about, especially Adisa.

Rae: All the way. No hesitation. Family, whether by blood or bond, is everything.

Interviewer: Would you team up with your worst enemy if it was your only option?

Rick: If it meant saving lives, yes. Sometimes you have to make tough choices for the greater good.

Rae: I would. But I’d be watching my back. Trust is hard to come by, but sometimes you don’t have a choice.

Interviewer: What is the worst insult you can give?

Rick: Calling someone a coward. It strikes at their core.

Rae: Traitor. Nothing worse than betrayal.

Interviewer: What is the nicest thing someone could say to you?

Rick: That I made a difference. Knowing that my actions had a positive impact means everything.

Rae: That I’m trusted. Trust is earned, and it’s the highest compliment.

Interviewer: Are you a jealous person?

Rick: Not really. I’ve learned that jealousy is a waste of energy.

Rae: I can be, dude! I try my best not to let it show. It’s a human emotion, but it’s better to focus on what you can control.

Interviewer: Have you ever committed a crime?

Rick: Depends on your definition of crime. I’ve broken laws to protect others, but I stand by my actions.

Rae: Same. In some eyes, yes. But it’s about survival and justice.

Interviewer: Are you neat or messy?

Rick: Neat. Can’t stand chaos. Order helps me think clearly.

Rae: A bit of both. Depends on the situation. Sometimes you need order, other times you need flexibility.

Interviewer: How do you feel about crying? Let it out or hold it in?

Rick: Hold it in. But sometimes it’s necessary. It’s a release, a way to process emotions.

Rae: Let it out. It’s healing. Holding it in only makes it worse.

Interviewer: Who do you live for? Why?

Rick: For those I care about. They’re my reason. Adisa, especially. She’s my anchor.

Rae: My chosen family. Lena is like a baby sister to me. Rick, the older brother I never wanted. (she playfully elbows him hard in the stomach causing him to wince). And of course, the beautiful and sometimes... disturbing, Kirjani Channing. They give me purpose and strength.

Interviewer: Who has betrayed you most?

Rick: The nobility. They took everything. Their betrayal is what fuels my fight.

Rae: Same. They’re the root of all my pain. Their actions have shaped my path.

Interviewer: What style of accessories do you wear? Is it willingly?

Rick: Practical stuff. Weapons, tools. It’s all about function.

Rae: I would have to agree again, practicality over fashion.

Interviewer: Thank you both for your time. This has been enlightening.

Rick: Anytime.

Rae: Thank you, this was fun. Glad to share.

Tag List! (reply, or ask to be added or removed) + anyone interested in an open tag!

@illarian-rambling @kaylinalexanderbooks @leahpardo-pa-potato @slenders1ckn3ss @somethingclevermahogony @inky-duchess @sassystyl @rotting-moon-writes @highlycosmic @avaseofpeonies @oc-atelier @ceph-the-ghost-writer @paeliae-occasionally @davycoquette @unforgettable-sensations @hissorrow22 @boredwritergirl @scorpiothesaint @thewrathoffemalerage @rirori-jeorgiarn @spookyceph @enne-uni @the-scaredy-crow

[brewsterispunkk]

THE TUTOR

part 3/4

pairing: eddie munson x reader, eddie munson x f!reader

WC: 3k

summary: eddie and reader check something off their list: drunken confessions ensue. also: queer!eddie. if you don’t like it, get the hell out!

a/n: yall I wrote half of this high out of my mind lolz ALSO—you may now know: the tutor will now have FOUR parts. I couldn’t squeeze all I wanted into three, so here you go! as always: pls give me feedback!!!

THE TUTOR

You walked into the cafeteria with a mission: to make Eddie Munson rue the day he was born.

It’d happened five minutes before. You’d been walking to your locker, half looking over your shoulder to see if Thomas Reed would rear his head again, when you saw it.

There he was, Thomas Reed, head bent down toward the floor, trying (and failing) to hide a bruised eye and bloody lip. He wouldn’t meet your eyes as you passed. In fact, it almost looked like he was cowering.

You would’ve enjoyed it too, had you not known exactly who had given him the shiner and had you not explicitly asked that person not to get involved.

Thomas was a jock. He ran in the same circles as people like Tommy Hagan, one of Steve’s old buddies, and Jason Carver, who had some kind of personal vendetta against Eddie. So not only would this mean repercussions for him, but it would mean repercussions for you. And the last thing you needed was more of what Thomas and his friends had already put you through.

So, yes. You were going to rip Eddie a new one.

You heard the heavy doors shut behind you as you scanned the bustling cafeteria.

It was sixth period lunch—the most busy time of the day—but you didn’t care. You could feel the anger rise in you.

Your eyes snapped to the far side of the cafeteria where Hellfire club sat every day.

You narrowed your eyes.

You gripped the straps of your backpack as you made a beeline toward the table of misfits and nerds. Eddie sat at the head of the table like some kind of metal Jesus, his hair a halo around his head in the sunlight. You’d have thought it was cute had you not been so mad.

“Eddie Munson!” You growled as you approached the table, your hand gripping his shoulder tight.

“Jesus—hello to you too,” he looked over his shoulder at you, alarmed.

The rest of the Hellfire club looked at you like you’d grown a second head.

Right, you thought. They had no idea you and Eddie had ever even spoken, nevertheless were friends.

You recognized a few of the kids from classes over the years; you knew Jeff from gym class, and Gareth had been your lab partner last year. Then, there were Dustin, Lucas, and Mike who were more surprised than all of them.

You didn’t have time to think about that, though. All you could focus on was how mad you were at Eddie.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You hissed, yanking him out of his seat by the arm.

“What are you—oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Eddie’s eyes glazed over with cockiness, and a smirk made its way onto his face.

“Some of my best work, honestly.”

You pushed his shoulders back.

“Eddie, what the fuck?”

“What?” He shook his head and furrowed his eyebrows. “Why are you so mad? He’s an asshole. He’s lucky I didn’t call the cops—”

“I asked you not to do anything.”

“I—what?”

You took a breath.

“I asked you not to get involved,” you said levelly. “Now, who knows what he’ll pull.”

Eddie stared at you wide-eyed, before darting his eyes to the table of boys beside him, still staring wide eyed at the two of you. A few others from neighboring tables had turned their heads to look at you as well.

Eddie sighed.

“Care to take a walk?” He asked, side-eyeing the rest of the lunchroom.

“Fine.”

- - - -

The wood of the picnic table was cold against your thighs.

“I’m sorry, you know.” Eddie rubbed his chin. “I didn’t know you’d be so upset. And I didn’t think about Jason and his goons.”

You huffed.

“To be completely honest, I’ve been looking for an excuse to beat that guy’s ass for a while,” he plopped down on the bench next to you, too close. Not close enough. You could smell the cologne he’d put on this morning.

Every time Eddie got too close to you, all you did was want, want, want.

“He was my lab partner sophomore year,” he offered, shoulder brushing yours. “He told everyone I was a fag because he caught me kissing Chase Whitaker behind the bleachers.”

You turned to him, surprised. He smiled at you and elbowed you gently.

“C’mon,” he leaned into you. “You can’t tell me you never heard about that.”

“I did, I just never thought that—”

“---it was true?”

“Well,” you balked, feeling your stomach sink. Not because he was gay, but because you’d fallen completely besotted for someone you could never have. “Yeah.”

“Well, they got one part about the Freak right.”

“Don’t call yourself that.” You nudged him. “Who cares if you like boys, I still—”

“I like girls, too, you know.” He said quietly, mouse-like. He sounded more quiet than you’d ever heard him. “Like Bowie.”

“Like Bowie,” you laughed a little.

“Hm,” he peeked at you from the corner of his eyes, smiling. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Call it pent-up rage or something, but the moment I saw him with his hands on you, I—”

“It’s okay, Eddie,” you leaned into him, causing the two of you to sway in the late autumn breeze. “I overreacted. I don’t know, sometimes I’m just afraid…”

“...the worst is going to happen?” He added for you after a moment.

“Hmm, yeah.”

You didn’t know how to answer him. Because, yes, that was true, but it was so much more than that. It was your entire world being turned upside down and Russians interrogating you and billy Hargrove being practically ripped to pieces in Starcourt and—

“Hey, you okay?”

You frantically blinked, shaking your head.

“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I’m just cold. It really is freezing out here.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Eddie laughed, standing up. He rubbed his hands together and breathed into them. “Here, take my coat.”

“What? Eddie no–”

“Don’t be a martyr,” he rolled his eyes, thrusting the leather jacket into your arms. “Take the damn jacket.”

You smiled, slipping your arms into the coat. It was still warm, and his scent clung to it. It was deep and woodsy and smelled a little bit of weed and a lot of boy. You wanted to crawl inside and make a home there.

“We should probably be heading back,” you said. “What time is it?”

Eddie looked at his watch, then at you, sheepish.

“12:50,” he squinted.

You contemplated. You were already twenty minutes late to class: what was the point of going anyway?

“Hm,” you sighed. “Wanna just skip the rest of the day?”

“God, yes.”

- - - -

“I don’t know about this,” Eddie actually looked nervous, his dark hair spread around his head as he laid on the floor of your living room.

You’d decided to move tutoring to your house a few weeks ago, now that winter had hit. It was two weeks before winter break, and Ms. Taylor’s midterm was coming up. You’d been studying tirelessly for days at your house while your mom worked nights, eager for someplace other than the library for peace and quiet.

“What?” You leaned over your textbook from your place on the couch. “Since when am I the one who has to convince you to do things?”

“Since those ‘things’ require me to rub elbows with Steve Harrington for a whole evening.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic!” You laughed.

“I’m a theatre kid, sweetheart.”

“Obviously,” you rolled your eyes. “It’ll be a part of the deal, anyway. I wanna get absolutely plastered this weekend. Steve and Robin will just happen to be there also.”

“I don’t know. I don’t like him.”

“He’s my friend.” you stated. “Don’t you trust my judgment?”

“Well, yes–”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I just don’t know,” he picked at a string on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Ed, he’s been wondering why I keep bumming rides off of you instead of him. And Robin will be there too.”

“And did you tell him about our little arrangement?”

“No,” you scowled at him. “I told him we’re friends.”

Eddie blinked in surprise, sitting up to face you. He was close enough like this that you could smell his cologne, the cigarettes on his breath.

“We’re friends?”

“Well, uh…” you all of a sudden felt insecure. What if you’d misread this? What if you’d been wrong, and this was purely transactional?

“Yeah, I mean, aren’t we?” You squeaked.

There was a beat of silence, before his lips stretched into a grin.

“Yeah, honey, we are.”

“Then why won’t you go to this party with me?” You pushed.

“Ugh, fine!” Eddie threw himself back on the floor. “If you will stop nagging me.”

“Yes!”

“---and, you order us a pizza.”

“Done.” You smiled, walking over to the landline in the kitchen.

You dialed the number to your favorite pizza place and Eddie came to lean on the counter beside you. The phone rang as you waited for the call to go through.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Will you let me do your eyeliner for the party?”

You looked at him in surprise, expecting to find the usual look on his face that he made when he was joking. Instead, you found curiosity. Sincerity.

“Hell yeah,” you nodded. “As long as I don’t look like a member of KISS.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and you laughed, excited for the coming weekend.

- - - -

You were two drinks in, and were absolutely positive Eddie hated Steve.

You’d known you didn’t like him, but you didn’t think it was this bad.

When you and Eddie had arrived, you’d made a beeline for your two best friends, who were standing near the bowl of jungle juice in the kitchen.

The party was at a friend of Robin’s this time—a girl from band whose parents were out of town. She was cool; in that edgy, artsy, punk way that all of Robin’s other friends were. So, you’d had her help you pick out your outfit earlier in the week.

You knew Eddie would be doing your eyeliner, so you wanted to dress to match it. Robin had picked out an off-the-shoulder band tee from her own closet. It was a Fleetwood Mac shirt of her father’s that she’d cut up. She paired it with fishnets and a pair of chunky boots. You silently thanked God that you were the same shoe size. You’d thrown on a sheer pair of black tights and finally, she’d convinced you to wear the jean skirt again. And, it had taken some convincing, especially after what happened with Thomas. But, you wanted to turn heads. Particularly Eddie’s.

After a quick and awkward greeting between the four of you, you and Robin excused yourself from the stilted conversation to use the restroom. Robin held your arm as she dragged you behind her to the bathroom.

“Excuse me, coming through,” she narrowly dodged another kid you recognized from band.

Once you made it to the bathroom, she shoved you in before shutting the door behind her.

“Oh my god, that was the awkwardest moment of my life,” she sighed, leaning against the bathroom door.

You leaned against the counter.

“Seriously,” you scoffed. “I mean what the hell was that? ‘Long time, no see,’ really, Steve?”

“God, he’s hopeless.”

“I’m gonna tear my hair out.”

“I don’t think Mr. Munson would like that,” Robin smirked at you. You balked.

“What? What is that supposed to mean?”

She gave you a once-over.

“You look hot. That’s what that’s supposed to mean. And Eddie definitely noticed.”

“You’re crazy,” you shook your head, turning to inspect yourself in the mirror.

“He was practically frothing at the mouth.”

“Ew, Robs.”

“Just saying.”

She moved beside you, fixing her lipstick. Your eyes trailed over your reflection.

You looked… striking. Your hair was teased up and voluminous, thanks to whatever magic Robin had worked with the blow dryer. Your lips were painted a light berry color, and Eddie had penciled your eyeliner to perfection. You felt dangerous—in a good way.

“Whatever. We’re just friends, unfortunately.”

“Hmm,” Robin patted her cheeks, before looking at you. “‘Just friends’ don’t look at each other like that.”

Your breath stuttered. Was it that obvious?

You threw your hands over your eyes, cringing.

“Oh god,” you groaned. “Don’t tell me I’m that obvious.”

“You are,” she leaned on the counter. “But only because it’s me. Him on the other hand…”

“Don’t play around, Robs.”

“I’m not!” She assured you. “I swear I could feel the tension myself. He’s into you. Trust me.”

“No, it’s not that simple. He’s only hanging out with me because of the—”

Because of the deal.

There it was. Underneath it all, you were terrified the only reason Eddie was giving you the time of day was because he felt bad for you. Because he felt like he owed you. You cringed.

“Because of what?”

You sighed.

“Because I’m tutoring him. Because I’m a recluse. Because the only reason anyone knows who I am is because of my formerly-popular best friend.”

Robin rolled her eyes and pulled you into a hug.

“You’re so dramatic.” She said. “We both know Harrington isn’t the reason either of us are popular.”

“Or not popular.” You corrected.

“Look, for real?” Robin pulled back, hands on your shoulders, locking her gaze with yours. “That’s bullshit. All of it. And don’t think anyone could give less of a shit about what they ‘should’ do than Eddie. If he’s hanging out with you, it’s because he wants to.”

You smiled at her, wishing she was right.

“Besides, he was practically undressing you with his eyes,” she added nonchalantly.

“What?”

“Seriously, it was hard to watch,” she eyed your legs. “Can’t blame him, though. The skirt was a good choice.”

You snorted, before grabbing her arm and pulling her out the door with you.

- - - -

Two hours later, you were drunk.

Sloshed, if you will.

You’d had two beers, a shitty vodka cran, and three rum and cokes. Long story short: the room was spinning, and your chest felt light and giddy.

You giggled to yourself as you stumbled into the brightly-lit kitchen.

Guess me and Eddie can cross this off my list, you thought, leaning on a countertop.

Across the kitchen island was Steve, leaning his elbow on a counter and towering over a short girl with braids.

You smirked to yourself—this was his conquest-stance. The confidence in his shoulders told you he liked this girl. He was making a move.

You turned to your right, eager to tell Robin. The two of you had been practically begging Steve to go on a date for the better part of a month; you’d had enough of his complaining about being single.

But when you turned, Robin wasn’t there. You frowned, before looking back over to Steve, who was kissing braid-girl. Around them, the room seemed to spin. The yellow light cascaded off of the light fixture above the island and you blinked rapidly.

You frowned harder, turning on your heel to leave the kitchen. You needed to find Robin. You needed to find—

“Woah,” two warm hands caught your shoulders as you stumbled into a tall man with a white tshirt on. “There you are.”

Your forehead bumped his chest, before you jerked away from the stranger.

“Eddie,” your own voice sounded far away to you. “I have to go.”

“That so, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you were steadfast, anxious. “I have to leave here, I have to find Robin.”

“Woah, woah, what is it?” He looked upset, eyes darting over your shoulder before hardening.

Why? You thought. What’s going on? Why is he mad—

Suddenly, you felt a wave of nausea rise in your stomach. You doubled over, into Eddie.

“Oh god,” you mumbled, looking up at him. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Okay,” Eddie sung, pulling you by your arm with him toward the bathroom. “Excuse me, out of my way.”

When you reached the bathroom, you lurched over the toilet, your stomach jerking in your abdomen. You felt the nausea leave you like a cool spring as you vomited the now sour, rank flavor of the vodka cran.

“Okay, that’s it,” Eddie mumbled to you from behind you. Away from yourself, you felt his hands pull your hair back from your face and neck. You lurched again, throwing up more.

“Ughh,” you moaned, before leaning your cheek on the toilet seat, facing him. You were too drunk to care about the germs. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, princess.”

“There is, though,” your bottom lip wobbled a bit.

It was as if all the emotions of the night were catching up with you; the excitement, the fear, the insecurity. It made your heart race and your eyes water.

“I threw up and you had to help me and now I can’t find Robin—”

“Hey, hey,” he put his hand to your forehead. It felt nice on your clammy forehead. You looked at him and your breath left you for a second.

It was now you realized his hair was tied back, away from his face, and that his jacket had vanished. His biceps were perfectly shaped in the tight material of his tshirt.

“Robin’s sitting in the living room with that girl from band, remember her? Vicky?”

You sniffed.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Eddie swallowed. “So, she’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”

You nodded, sniffing. As you did, the fabric at your knees caught your eye.

You’d torn your new, sheer tights. At the knee, the fabric was split, and along your thighs were irreparable runs. You felt your eyes water.

“And I tore my tights,” you all but whined. You inwardly cringed at your tone. “These were new.”

“I like ‘em better that way, if it means anything,” Eddie mumbled, eyes wide and brown on you.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” he half-smiled. “It’s metal.”

The side of your mouth twitched.

“Metal.”

“Metal,” Eddie smirked, his thumb tilting your chin up.

Your eyes went glassy, looking at him in all his flushed, disheveled glory.

“Eddie?” You breathed, staring into his dark, black eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Your eyes are pretty.”

Eddie blinked, taken aback, and opened his mouth to respond, but as he did, you lurched again, emptying your stomach into the toilet.

[goldenhypen]

y’all i don’t wanna have to make a post like this but after today, it feels a little bit necessary,,,

i opened this app a few hours after posting my new mlists to maybe 4x the amount of notifs than normal (bc of the new mlists)?? and all of them, except for maybe 5 (rbs/comments etc) were likes. and i appreciate the likes, i do! however, it still saddened me to see that the ratio of likes to feedback (comments, reblogs including feedback, asks, etc) was about 1 piece of feedback to 300 likes… y’all this is just insane. like i’m still grateful for the likes, but if you put yourself in writers’ shoes, receiving nice feedback from readers is far more encouraging.

and this might just be tumblr culture, but tbh it’s actually kind of discouraging to see so many likes without a single comment or reblog in sight,,, like if i’m being completely honest, seeing this kind of thing makes me start to think thoughts like is my writing rlly not good enough to receive compliments? (and i’m not disregarding any of the incredibly kind words y’all have given me in the past. y’all rock. this post is for the ghost readers.)

anyone can just simply drop a like, but when someone takes the time and thought to let us know that they liked, it means the world to us writers.

like yes, we do this for free, but bc we do, it would be nice if you could even just take 5 seconds to drop a simple “this was so cute!” us writers loveeee those types of comments and it encourages and keeps us motivated to create even more content for you guys. like i’m glad y’all are probably enjoying my work, but it would nice to actually hear that from you and maybe what you liked about it :)

so pls pls pls take just a few seconds out of your day to show your favourite writers some love <3