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corroded-hellfire · 3 months ago

Note

Could we perhaps get a blurb/chapter of when Eliza was born - maybe Eddie thinking back that this is so different than how Brittany was, when Y/N got into labor, where they were and how they reacted?

+ could you write about Eliza being born? I would love to see their reactions and eddie helping reader out plss

+ Please, let us in on the labor with Eddie and Reader from "As you wish". Did Y/N curse Eddie out, threatening to kick his ass or did Eddie do a prince Harry (God I hope not) and use all the gas?

I thought this would be a good chance to tell the story of two births of two very important Munsons, ten years apart 💕

Warnings: childbirth and all that comes with it, Brittany, not a warning but the italic sections are flashbacks/in the past

Words: 7.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

The blaring wail of Eddie’s alarm clock wakes you up from your night of fitful sleep. It’s hard to remember the last time you had a full peaceful eight hours. The soreness in your lower back and the increasing pressure in your pelvis have been your loyal companions for the past few weeks, determined on not letting you have a moment of comfort.

Next to you, Eddie smacks his hand against the clock. The whining stops and the bed shifts as Eddie rolls over and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Morning, gorgeous.”

Your answering groan makes your husband let out a soft chuckle as he pushes himself up into a seated position. Figuring it’ll be better to get up than continue to lay there so uncomfortably, you roll onto your side and shove yourself up until you’re sitting. A look down at your feet reveals that your ankles are swollen. Again.

“Know what today is?” Eddie asks as he opens his underwear drawer.

“Uh huh,” you hum. The mattress springs squeak as you stand up.

“Think she’ll make her grand entrance today?” he asks.

“Doubt it,” you say through a yawn. “Babies are never born on their due date.”

Eddie strips off his shirt and comes around the bed to give you a proper good morning kiss.

“How you feeling, baby?”

“Peachy,” you grunt. “Gonna go get the boys up.”

Luckily, neither Ryan nor Luke gives you any trouble waking up or getting ready for school. They know how you’ve been feeling lately and have been great about helping you out when they can.

“Bye!” Ryan says as he slips his backpack on.

“Have a good day,” Eddie says, ruffling both boys’ hair.

You press a kiss to the top of their heads and Luke rubs a hand across your swollen belly.

“Be good in there, Eliza!”

A smile grows on your face at his words. They head out the door to the bus stop, Ryan giving you one last wave before you close the door.

“Alright, I’m gonna head out,” Eddie says. He walks over and cups your face in his warm hands. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” you assure him.

He nods and presses a sweet kiss against your lips.

“Relax and get some rest.”

“Okay.” You give him another kiss in return. “Have a good day at work.”

“Love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.”

Not even two minutes after Eddie walks out the door, you plop down in front of the television with the remote. The only thing on at this time of day are soap operas, which have started to become an addiction of yours since there’s nothing else for you to do.

Fortunately, one of today’s plotlines is so boring and you predicted the identical twin brother twist a week ago, so you manage to fall asleep. It’s only a cat nap, but you’ll take anything you can get these days.

A different kind of discomfort awakens you this time. Your stomach growls so loudly it feels like it rattles the windows. You rally the strength to get up from the couch, and with a little help from the arms and back of it, you’re standing.

An infomercial for some Chuck Norris Total Gym blathers on as background noise as you walk–or more like waddle–into the kitchen. A peanut butter and banana sandwich has been a go-to for you during this pregnancy—after Luke happily introduced it to you one day over the summer. There’s something about the rich nuttiness and the sweetness of the fruit together between two pieces of bread that makes Eliza very happy in your womb.

Once you’ve got peanut butter spread on both slices of bread, you move to grab a banana from the fruit bowl. The moment your hand touches the yellow peel, you feel a twinge of pain shoot from your lower back, through your tummy, and down into your pelvis. Your hand braces you against the counter as you breathe through the pain.

What the hell was that? You think to yourself. That fucking hurt.

You take a deep breath and grab the banana. As you turn back to your sandwich and peel open the piece of fruit, it hits you.

Were those…contractions? No, you tell yourself, shaking your head. It had to be something else.

“No one ever actually has their baby on the due date,” you say into the quiet kitchen. “Maybe I have to pee again. I swear, this little girl thinks my bladder is a trampoline.”

Once you’re finished up in the bathroom, you head back to finish making your sandwich. But the minute you pick up the butter knife, another stab of pain attacks.

“Oh boy,” you say, one hand dropping the knife and going to your lower back, while the other rests on your bump. “You’re ready to come out, aren’t you? You heard that doctor say ‘October 7th’ and you made a note on a calendar, huh?”

The mental image of the baby in your belly marking the date off on a calendar makes you smile as you waddle over to the phone hanging on the wall. The line rings twice before someone picks up.

“Scott’s Auto Body, this is Mark speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Mark.” You breathe through another twinge of pain. “Is Eddie there?”

“Yeah, let me go grab him for you,” Mark says.

“Thanks.”

It feels like an eternity as you hear the phone being put down, shuffling noises in the background, then low murmuring voices, until finally the phone is being moved again and you finally hear your husband’s voice.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say. “I, um, think I’m having contractions.”

“You are?”

It’s hard to tell if that’s excitement or urgency in his voice. Probably both.

“Yeah, the first one I just waved off as a fluke. But they’ve happened a couple of times now.”

“Alright, I’m on my way home, princess,” Eddie says, and you can already hear him moving around, starting the process. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “They’re quick and not too close together yet. I’ll start counting when I feel the next one.”

“Good.” The sound of his keys jingling comes through the phone. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I love you.”

A hint of giddiness is already creeping into his tone. He’s wanted a baby girl for so long, and she’s finally ready to make her appearance. You make a mental note to think of Eddie’s excitement anytime a contraction overwhelms you. Of course, you have your own excitement, and lots of it, but seeing Eddie be so truly happy is one thing that could get you through all the pain in the world.

Eddie unsheathes his sword as the azure dragon flies overhead. Too far for him to even reach if he threw his sword. The blood red skies cast a purple shadow on the giant winged creature. But Eddie’s almost there. He can see the tower in the distance, normally not a rough journey, but there’s bound to be something guarding the locked-away maiden.

As he gets closer, Eddie sees that it’s a female Cloud Giant tasked with keeping people like him away. Only the most noble who dare to help the poor young thing locked away.

Eddie picks up speed, his sword at the ready as he approaches the giant, then—bam! Something lands against Eddie’s cheek. He looks up, seeing if the dragon perhaps swooped down to swipe the knight with his tail. But the skies are clear. So, Eddie continues forward. Bam! What the hell is—

Eddie is jolted back into consciousness by his own pillow smacking his face.

“What the…” Eddie grumbles in a scratchy, sleepy voice. “What’s going on?

He rubs his bleary eyes and sees that Brittany is sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to him.

“Britt?”

Eddie stumbles to his feet and clicks on his bedside lamp before walking around the bed to check on his wife. The first thing he notices is that the crotch of her nightgown and the sheets below her are wet.

Wow, this baby must really be messing with her bladder if—wait.

“Your water broke?” Eddie's voice suddenly has no trace of sleepiness in it.

“Yeah.”

Brittany isn’t looking at him. Instead, she looks down at her hands resting on her large bump.

“Come on, let’s get you changed,” Eddie says, gently slipping his hand beneath one of her arms so he can help her up.

Brittany groans once she’s on her feet and Eddie hurriedly turns towards their dresser and digs for something she can change into.

“Contractions?” Eddie asks as he grabs a pair of sweatpants.

“Mhmm.”

“It’s okay,” he assures her.

Eddie quickly helps Brittany into her clothes and grabs her already prepared overnight bag from the closet. He slowly leads his wife into the living room so she can rest on the couch while he grabs Ryan.

The twenty-two-month-old is sleeping soundly in his crib. Eddie hates to disturb him, but the ball is already in motion.

“Wha?” Ryan croaks as Eddie scoops him up and holds him against his chest.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he tells his son. “Go back to sleep.”

Ryan thunks his head down on Eddie’s shoulder and immediately begins lightly snoring.

The soft whistle in his ear makes Eddie smile as he steps into the kitchen to use the nearest phone. He quickly dials a number he knows by heart and waits for someone to pick up at the plant.

“Yeah, hi, is Wayne there? Yeah, Munson,” Eddie says into the receiver. He hikes Ryan up a little higher on his chest while he waits for the phone to get passed.

“Hello?”

Eddie’s never been happier to hear that gruff voice.

“Hey! It’s, uh, me. So, Brittany’s water broke and Ryan needs—”

“I’ll punch out right now and meet ya at the trailer.”

God, Eddie loves his uncle.

“Okay, see you there.”

Eddie heads back into the living room and helps Brittany up with one hand while the other keeps a good hold on Ryan. Somehow, Eddie manages to get them both in the car, all buckled and ready to go.

“Whew.” Eddie takes a deep breath in the driver’s seat. He takes one more before he starts the car. “Here we go.”

The moment Eddie walks through the front door, he makes sure you’re sitting down and comfortable. Sitting down? Yes. Comfortable? Not so much.

But you’re content with your peanut butter and banana sandwich as your husband presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Nine minutes apart,” you inform him through a mouthful of peanut butter.

Eddie chuckles at the muffled words.

“Okay. I’m gonna get changed, then call Wayne so he can be here for when the boys get home.”

You nod and take another bite of your sandwich.

Eddie comes back just as another contraction is starting. You set your plate down on the couch to your right and Eddie takes a seat on the other side of you. One of your hands braces you against the cushion you’re sitting on, and Eddie slips his hand into your free one.

“Just squeeze my hand, okay? And breathe.”

The pulsating wracks your body as you focus on taking in a large lungful of air. You hold it for a few seconds, counting time by the number of gentle squeezes you give Eddie’s hand, then let it out.

“Ugh,” you groan when the pain releases you. You flop back on the couch, tipping your chin up as you try and catch your breath. “That was the longest one so far.”

“We’ll start timing that too,” Eddie says.

He presses a kiss to your cheek before pressing a few to the back of your hands. His hands stall when you let out a deep sigh.

“Do you not want me to be touching you? What do you need?” There’s a shake in his voice that angers you, because you know exactly why and who made him unsure of how to comfort a woman in labor.

“Yes, I want you to touch me,” you say, grabbing his hand in both of yours. “Your touch calms me.”

It doesn’t escape your notice that his shoulders sag in relief before he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Just let me know what you want me to do,” he says.

“This,” you reply, leaning into his arms. Your eyes slip closed as you snuggle up to the warmth of his body. “Want you.”

“I’m not leaving your side, princess,” he assures you. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

You nod against his neck and Eddie swipes up the remote. He flips through the channels, but it’s the middle of a Tuesday, so there’s not a whole lot on.

“I can grab a tape or a DVD?” your husband offers.

You shake your head, holding onto him even tighter.

“Don’t want you to move. Whatever you find is fine.”

“Alright, well…I guess we’ll watch The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

Eddie feels your chuckle rumble against his chest.

“That’s fine,” you say.

It’s only seconds before another contraction starts, and Eddie can tell by the way your fingertips dig into him. This one lasts about as long as the previous one, and you’re able to get semi-comfortable against your husband again.

The house is quiet, the two of you on the couch, watching a movie that neither of you have any real interest in. The low volume only makes the loud pop that echoes through the room even more pronounced.

“My water just…”

“Yes, it did.”

A heavy pause hangs in the air as the two of you stare at one another. It’s obvious you have to get up and get going now, but the realization that this is really happening is sinking in for you both.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out in a whisper.

This breaks Eddie out of his trance. He starts to laugh and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Here we go, sweetheart.”

He helps you up off the couch and into your room so you can change clothes. With your husband's help, you slip into a dry pair of sweatpants, an oversized Ghostbusters t-shirt Luke got you when you complained that there were no comfy maternity shirts, and one of Eddie’s hoodies on top of it—even though you can’t zip it up. Your old college backpack has been filled with supplies for weeks, all in preparation for this moment. Eddie slides onto one of his shoulders and walks with you to the front door.

Just as the two of you step into the living room, the door opens. Wayne steps inside and it takes four seconds for his eyes to go from you to Eddie, to the bag hanging on his shoulder, then back to you.

“Thank God you’re here,” you sigh in relief.

If for some reason he hadn’t arrived here before the boys got home, you knew they’d be okay for a while, but you’ll be able to relax more knowing that their grandpa is here with them.

“Heading out to the hospital?” Wayne asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers with a nod. “Her water broke.”

A smile graces the older man’s features, and it softens him.

“You got this, darlin’,” he says as he opens the front door wide enough for you and Eddie to get through.

You shoot him a grateful smile as you step outside.

“We’ll call when we have any update,” Eddie tells his uncle.

Wayne just nods and pats Eddie on the back as he passes. The two of you walk to your car together and Wayne watches from the entryway, not wanting to go inside yet in case he can help in any way.

Once you’re securely in the car, Eddie waves to Wayne before slipping into the driver’s seat. As he adjusts the rearview mirror, his eyes catch on the car seat that’s been installed for the past two weeks. It brings a smile to his face as he starts the engine.

“Let’s have us a baby,” Eddie says as he shifts the car into reverse.

As soon as you arrive at the hospital, it’s very quick work when Eddie alerts them you’re in labor. You’re brought right to a room and hooked up to lines and so many wires you’re not even sure what they’re all for.

Your doctor shows up not too long after you’re settled into your bed and says you’re not quite ready to push yet. Your contractions are getting closer together, but they’re not quite at the active labor phase yet.

Now after being hurried up to this room and all set up to go, there’s nothing to do. The flurry of activity kept your mind off the pain that was creeping up in intensity each time it snuck up on you. But now that there’s nothing to occupy your mind, it feels like it’s all that fills your head.

“Do you want some pain meds, baby?” Eddie asks, slipping his hand into yours.

He must’ve noticed the way you were gritting your teeth hard enough to wear them down to nubs.

“I can have some?” you ask.

“Sure, sweetheart. Let me go get the nurse.”

Eddie is right and the nurse is able to administer some medicine that allows you to relax a little. It takes enough of the edge off that you’re able to focus on and appreciate Eddie’s attempts to distract you from the pain and boredom.

Your husband had prepared ahead of time and had slipped his battered and well-loved copy of The Two Towers into your overnight bag. He now brings the story to life for you, reading with such passion, and doing different funny voices for the different characters.

“‘Beren now, he never thought he was going to get that Silmaril from the Iron Crown in Thangorodrim, and yet he did, and that was a worse place and a blacker danger than ours,’” Eddie reads to you. “‘But that’s a long tale, of course, and goes on past the happiness and into grief and beyond it – and the Silmaril went on and came to Eärendil. And why, sir, I never thought of that before! We’ve got – you’ve got some of the light of it in that star-glass that the Lady gave you! Why, to think of it, we’re in the same tale still! It’s going on. Don’t the great tales never end?’ ‘No, they never end as tales,’ said Frodo. ‘But the people in them come, and go when their part’s ended. Our part will end later – or sooner.’”

Then it’s time for the doctor to check how dilated you are and the timing of your contractions. It’s still not time, she tells you with a sympathetic smile before heading out to attend to other patients.

Now, Eddie finds a pile of old magazines and newspapers strewn about a small table in the corner. He picks up an outdated print of the Washington Post at random, sits in the chair he’s positioned near your head, and begins to read a news article in an over-the-top news anchor voice.

“The first musical number epitomized the kind of commercialized outrageousness that MTV has perfected in recent years. It featured Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, decked out in white wedding ensembles in a homage to Madonna, who famously wore a wedding dress on MTV's first Video Music Awards broadcast in 1984, when she performed ‘Like a Virgin.’ Madonna appeared dressed as a groom, and the number, which also briefly featured Missy Elliott, provided the evening's first gyrating rumps, as well as a truly yechy moment: The sight of oversexed old Madonna tongue-kissing oversexed young Spears. It didn't seem outrageous or sultry; it smacked of desperation.”

“Such outrage,” you joke with a shake of your head.

“Kids today,” Eddie says with an over dramatic sigh. “All their music is just noise.”

You giggle and reach for his hand. He gladly takes it and laces his fingers with yours.

“How are you feeling, princess?”

“I’m good,” you tell him, giving his hand a squeeze. “My wonderful, loving husband is doing a great job of keeping me entertained.”

A smile that can only be described as adoring grows on Eddie’s face. He leans forward and presses kisses to your knuckles.

“Anything for you.”

By the time the hospital staff gets Brittany up to her room and hooked up to all the equipment, the doctor says it’s not long before she can start pushing. Which also means that there’s no time to give her any drugs—no matter how much she begs.

“Ugh! This sucks,” Brittany complains once it’s just her and Eddie in the room.

“I know,” Eddie says.

“Do you?” she snaps back.

“I mean, I…” Eddie stutters over his words. “I was there when Ryan was born. I know the pain you were in then.”

“At least they were able to give me something for pain then. Now I can’t even get a fucking Tylenol.”

“Do you want to talk about something to keep your mind off it?” Eddie offers. He scoots his chair up to the edge of the bed and rests a hand on Brittany’s blanket-covered thigh.

“Fine,” the blonde grunts out. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Um…what about middle names? We haven’t decided yet.”

“Didn’t we?” Brittany sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“No,” Eddie replies. “Just first names. Luke for boy, Lucy for girl.”

“Fine. So, Ryan’s middle name is after your uncle because you just had to do that,” Brittany rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders. “What about from my family?”

“What names do you like?” Eddie says between clenched teeth. She's having my baby, she’s having my baby, she’s having my baby, he reminds himself over and over again.

“Anatoly,” Brittany says. “For a boy.”

“Luke Anatoly Munson.” Eddie wrinkles his nose at how the name sounds out loud. “I don’t think that goes.”

“Fine.” Brittany’s silent for a moment as she considers other names. “Andrei?”

Eddie internally sighs. He’s always thought it was cool that much of Brittany’s family emigrated from Russia, but the land’s native names don’t flow well with “Luke Munson.”

“Aleksandr,” Brittany suggests, pulling Eddie out of his own head.

“Huh.”

Eddie leans back in his chair, letting the name roll around his brain. It's a good one, he thinks. But…

“Should we use the American spelling?” Eddie asks.

“Why, so he can be named after your dad?” Brittany bites out.

The room is silent as Eddie furrows his brow. He shakes his head in confusion as a nurse steps in to check on the monitors Brittany is hooked up to.

“That’s not…Britt, that isn’t my dad’s name.”

“What?” Brittany stares at her husband as if he has three heads. “Of course it is.”

“People called him ‘Al’, yeah,” Eddie starts. “But his full name is Alan. Not Alexander.”

“Oh.” Brittany waves a hand dismissively as if not knowing her husband’s dad’s name after years together is nothing—a common mistake, even.

Eddie shakes his head, shoving the irritation to the back of his mind for the time being. There will be plenty of time later to be annoyed by Brittany’s ignorance and apathy. After the baby is born.

The tension grows in his neck, so Eddie rolls his shoulders and leans back in his chair.

“So, Luke Alexander Munson for a boy?” Eddie checks.

“Sure,” Brittany says as another contraction washes over her. The way her eyes squeeze shut so tightly and her teeth clench with a vengeance pangs Eddie’s heart.

“And for a girl,” Brittany grits out, obviously trying to talk through the pain in an attempt to ignore it, “Lucy Alexandra Munson.”

“That’s pretty.”

Eddie goes to take his wife’s hand as her body relaxes from the fading contraction. But Brittany snatches her hand back.

“Please, just don’t…touch me.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

Eddie barely has time to feel the sting of rejection before the doctor is back in the room to check on Brittany’s progress.

“Good news,” the doctor announces. “You’re dilated enough. It’s time to start pushing.”

“Oh boy,” Brittany mutters, trying to garner strength from her exhausted body.

The room is a flurry of activity as nurses prepare everything the doctor might need.

Eddie stands and goes to reach for his wife’s hand before remembering she doesn’t want to be touched. But as another contraction wracks her body, Brittany reaches up and grabs his hand. It brings a small smile to Eddie’s lips, despite how hard she’s gripping it because of her pain.

“Alright, Brittany,” the doctor says as he gets into position at the end of the bed, “we’re going to try pushing now.”

“We?” Brittany barks out in a strained and breathless laugh.

“Well, mostly you,” the doctor teases as a nurse goes to stand on Brittany’s other side, opposite of Eddie.

“Alright, honey,” the nurse says, putting one hand on Brittany’s shoulder. “Push when the doctor counts to three.”

“One, two…”

He doesn’t even get to three before Brittany starts squeezing the life out of Eddie’s hand. Eddie just clenches his teeth and takes it though, willing to soak up any pain that he can from his wife.

“Jesus, fuck!” Brittany shouts through her pushing. Her face is already sweaty, matting hair to her forehead. Eddie’s quick to brush it away with his free hand.

“You’re doing so good, Britt,” Eddie encourages. “You’ve got this.”

Brittany nods, either in acknowledgment of his words or just because she wants him to shut up.

“Almost there, Mrs. Munson,” the doctor says.

Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise. When Ryan was born, they were at it for a while before he decided to make his grand entrance into the world. People had told him that second babies tend to come out quicker, but Eddie didn’t know this one was practically banging down the door to get out.

“This one’s got some mettle,” Eddie says.

“Just like Dad,” Brittany grits out and it takes Eddie a second to get her joke.

Mettle, metal? He got it.

Eddie huffs a laugh, honestly impressed by her ability to come up with a joke while she’s trying to pass a human being through her body.

“Okay, now just one more biiig push,” the doctor says.

“Come on, hun,” Eddie cheers, bracing his hand against Brittany’s as she channels everything in her to push.

“Almost there, almost there…” the doctor repeats.

Suddenly the shrill sound of an infant wailing fills the small room. It’s the most beautiful sound Eddie has ever heard.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announces, holding the newborn up enough for the parents to see.

Brittany drops Eddie’s hand out of pure exhaustion, but there’s a smile on her face as she drops back against the pillows. The baby is handed to a nurse for initial cleanup.

“I’m so proud of you,” Eddie says softly to Brittany.

She tilts her head up and gives him a sleepy smile.

The softness in her gaze has Eddie leaning down to press a kiss to her lips. Surprisingly, she kisses him back.

“Would you like to cut the cord, Dad?” the doctor asks.

“Yes,” Eddie responds before the doctor can even finish the question.

He walks down to the foot of the bed and takes the pair of scissors to the umbilical cord, snipping it in two. Eddie hands the scissors back blindly, as his eyes never leave his newborn son. No detail escapes his notice as he watches a nurse gently take him and lay him on Brittany’s chest.

“Oh, hi,” Brittany says, one hand covering the entirety of his little back.

Eddie comes back up to the head of the bed and beams down at his wife and baby. Brittany glances up at him, then back down.

“Look at this beautiful boy,” Eddie coos.

Brittany chuckles and Eddie leans down to kiss her head, then the newborn’s.

“Beautiful little Luke,” Brittany says.

A nurse takes him back to fully clean him up and swaddle him in a soft white blanket.

“You want to hold him?” the nurse asks Eddie.

“Yes.” Eddie nods emphatically and holds out his arms.

The moment the gentle weight lands in his arms, Eddie’s eyes fill with tears.

“Hi, my boy.”

“To place a call outside of the hospital, please press nine.”

Eddie does as the automated voice tells him and leans back in his chair. You let your head loll to the side, the scratchy pillow brushing against your cheek as you watch your husband. This brief respite from contractions allows you to smile when you hear the echo of Ryan’s voice come from the phone.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, grinning as well. “How was school?”

“Good! Isthebabyhereyet?”

His eagerness makes Eddie chuckle.

“No, no baby yet. Just figured I’d check in with you guys.”

“What he say?!” Luke shouts in the background.

“No baby!” Ryan tells him.

The phone shuffles back and forth before Luke says, “Just share it!”

“Uh, you both there?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah!” they say at the same time.

“Did you ask—”

“Not yet, I—”

Eddie tilts his head to the side as they bicker. He somehow deciphers that they want to talk to you.

“You can talk to her if you hush up and behave.”

Both boys fall silent at that. There’s a small pause before Ryan says, “Okay.”

“Good.” Eddie nods and hands the phone over to you.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” two young voices call at the same time.

“How do you feel?” Ryan asks.

As if his question summoned it, a contraction rears its ugly head. Your forehead furrows as you try to ignore it and focus on the conversation with the boys.

“I’m doing okay.”

“Do you hurt?” Luke asks.

Your free hand bangs against the bed rail in an attempt to keep from shouting in pain. Eddie sits up straighter in his chair, concern filling his eyes. He motions to the phone, silently asking if you want him to take it back.

“Little bit,” you grit out to answer Luke while shaking your head to answer Eddie.

“Did they give you any medicine?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah, a while ago. So, uh, what did you guys do at school today?”

“Nothing really,” Luke says. “Oh, you and Dad have to come down to the school and get the meat thermometer.”

“The what?” you ask.

“The meat thermometer.”

“Luke, what are you talking about?”

Eddie looks at you, questioningly, and you shrug your shoulders.

“Me and my friend Kevin wanted to test the temperature of the cafeteria hot dogs, so I brought the meat thermometer. But then we got caught and the lunch lady took it. So now you need to get it.”

“You did what?” You hear Wayne’s muffled shout.

“We wanted to make sure it was safe!” Luke defends.

The contraction finally releases you and you’re able to relax as much as you can in the lumpy hospital bed.

“What about you, Ry?” you ask.

“I didn’t care how hot the meat was,” he says, completely serious.

You laugh and it helps your body wash away that lingering whisper of pain.

“No,” you say. “What did you do at school today?”

“We have to write papers for history class, and we started today.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the paper on?” you ask, trying to think of anything except the next contraction.

“Everyone got assigned some kind of job we have to study. I got dentist.”

“And what did you learn today?” As much as Luke’s shenanigans can keep you entertained, they can also stress you out. But Ryan loves to go into detail about what he’s working on at school and this shall hopefully provide you with a relaxing distraction.

“Uhh…” Ryan hums as he thinks. “The first dental school in America was founded by Horace H. Hayden and Chaplin A. Harris.”

“When?” you press.

“1840. In Maryland, in case you were gonna ask!”

It’s impossible not to smile at how well the boy knows you.

“Good job, Ry,” you tell him. “I’m proud of you.”

The beginnings of a new contraction appear, and your fingers tighten around the phone receiver. You spy your doctor out in the hallway and use it as an excuse.

“Alright, boys,” you start, “my doctor is coming so I gotta go, okay? Daddy will call when there’s an update.”

“Okay,” Ryan says.

“Love you!” Luke adds.

“I love you both, too.

Eddie hangs up the phone for you just as your doctor actually does walk into your room.

“How are we feeling Mrs. Munson?” she asks you.

You’ve been “Mrs. Munson” for eight months now but it still gives you butterflies every time you hear it.

“Contraction-y,” you tell Dr. Hahn.

She chuckles and nods her head in understanding.

“That makes sense, you know, with the contractions and all.” She tugs two medical gloves out of the box marked “medium”. “Alright, I’m just gonna check how your dilation is going.”

As you lay back to let the doctor do her thing, Eddie leans forward and raises an eyebrow at you.

“Should I be concerned about whatever it is that Luke did now?” he asks.

“I think it’s okay,” you say with a chuckle. “Apparently, you just have to go to school to pick up a meat thermometer he brought to check the temperature of the school hot dogs.”

Eddie stares at you, his face almost as blank and emotionless as you’ve ever seen it. You can practically see his brain attempting to digest this information, but it thinks it’s reading the data incorrectly.

“He what?” Eddie finally asks.

Luckily, Dr. Hahn saves you from admitting you have no idea what goes on in the mind of Luke Munson.

“Well, Mrs. Munson,” Dr. Hahn says, “the time has arrived. You’re fully dilated now; time to start pushing.”

You’ve known all along that you’d have to do this—hell, you’ve known it for about eight months now—but the reality of actually pushing a person out of your body is sobering. How did this moment finally arrive? Weren’t you and Eddie just sitting on the bathroom floor, waiting for the results of the pregnancy test? And now you’re supposed to start pushing? You feel as if you’ve had no time to prepare. Prepare for this labor, prepare for taking the baby home, prepare to be a fully-fledged mom to a newborn.

A moment of serenity washes over you as your mind reminds you of one important factor, though: this is your and Eddie’s baby. You are bringing a child into this world that is half you and half the man you love. A baby who is the product of the love that you both easily fell into and fought like hell to make work. Suddenly, labor doesn’t seem so bad. It may hurt, but to you it is a privilege and honor to bring this little girl, and everything she stands for, into the world.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” you assure him with a small smile. “I’m ready to meet our baby.”

The infectious grin that spreads on Eddie’s face warms your heart and gives you a boost of strength to get this show on the road.

Eddie stands up as Dr. Hahn gets everything situated. He slips his hand into yours and leans down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“I’m right here with you, princess,” he says softly. “You’re the strongest woman—no, person I know.”

His words have your eyes filling with tears and the hormones certainly aren’t helping.

“I love you so much, Eddie.”

“I love you, too.”

“Oh, here comes another contraction,” Dr. Hahn says, looking at the monitors that you’re hooked up to. “We’re gonna try pushing on this one, Mrs. Munson, okay?”

“Okay.”

The wobble in your voice is clear. Eddie presses a kiss to the back of your hand. Just as his lips brush your skin, you feel the now-familiar pressure that precedes a contraction.

“Oof,” you groan as the intensity increases.

“Alright, now…push,” Dr. Hahn instructs.

You take the deepest breath that your pain will allow, grit your teeth, and clutch your husband’s hand as you begin to push.

“Great job, Mrs. Munson,” Dr. Hahn praises. “Keep it going.”

And it does keep going. And going. And going.

But fifty-three minutes later, you hear the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard in your life.

Shrill, high-pitched wails fill the room, and you immediately begin sobbing.

“Here she is,” Dr. Hahn says, holding her at an angle you can see. “Congratulations, Mom and Dad.”

Even covered in vernix and blood, your new daughter is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. A nurse places her on your chest, and the moment you feel that skin-to-skin contact with her, you’re done for. She already has you wrapped around her little finger.

The newborn continues her cries, escalating to a new pitch every time she gets another lungful of air. It’s as if she’s a royal, informing all her subjects of her many woes.

Eddie leans in and kisses your lips, the tears on your face mingling with the ones on his. When your husband pulls back to stare at his baby girl, his face is filled with awe and adoration.

“She’s here,” he whispers to no one in particular.

“Do you want to cut the cord, Mr. Munson?” Dr. Hahn asks.

Eddie reaches for the scissors a nurse is holding out to him and he has them in his hand before you could say “Ryan and Luke’s new baby sister.”

This is Eddie’s third time doing this, so he knows right where to line the scissors up even before Dr. Hahn instructs him. Eddie severs the cord and a nurse takes the baby so she can have a proper cleaning.

Neither your nor Eddie’s eyes leave the newborn as she’s swaddled up in a nice warm blanket.

“Do we have a name yet?” The nurse asks as she slides a pink hat onto the tiny baby’s head.

“Eliza,” you say proudly. Tears fill your eyes at the sound of her name out loud. Out loud now that she’s here. This precious little bean that’s been growing inside of you for so long is finally here, a real little person you get to hold and love on.

“Eliza Marie Munson,” Eddie says, the same emotions that you’re going through reflecting in his voice.

“Well, Dad,” the nurse says as she picks up Eliza and turns towards Eddie. “Would you like to hold your baby girl Eliza?”

Your husband nods emphatically, reminding you of Luke when he’s asked if he wants to go to the toy store. The nurse gently transfers Eliza to her father’s arms, and you watch as his face morphs as he holds his daughter for the first time.

“H-Hi, Eliza.” Eddie sniffs and clears his throat, trying to shove the tears away. “I can’t believe you’re finally here. I can’t believe that I actually have a daughter.” Slowly, Eddie leans in to press his lips to her soft, smooth forehead. Eliza coos and her face scrunches up adorably. “You wanna know something, Eliza? You have the best mommy in the world. And now I have the two most perfect girls in the world.”

Eddie looks up at you with a gentle smile. Tears are falling down your cheeks so rapidly that it feels like you’re playing whack-a-mole as you try to wipe them all away.

Your husband stands next to the bed and nods at you, signaling for you to ready your arms for the baby. You gladly accept the warm little bundle, and more tears begin to cascade as you gaze down at her gorgeous little face.

“Hi, baby girl. I’m your mommy.” Saying the words aloud sounds odd to your ears. Sure, you’ve basically been a mother to Luke and Ryan for years now, but you never introduced yourself to them as “mommy.” But that’s what you are, from Eliza’s first breath, you’re her mom for her entire life.

“You okay?” Eddie asks. He reaches down and rubs a warm hand against your shoulder.

“I’m wonderful,” you say. “It’s weird, though. Having Eliza from this very first moment of her life, I now wish even more that I could’ve known the boys as soon as they came into the world.”

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle and places a kiss to the top of your head.

“Trust me, princess. This has been the least dramatic and stressful of all the kids’ births.”

You chuckle as well, and the sound seems to tickle Eliza. Her tiny head moves from side to side slowly, as if she’s shaking her head no in slow motion.

“I can’t wait for them to meet her,” you say.

“Guess I need to make a phone call home.”

The door to the hospital room clearly needs some oil as it squeaks open. Wayne steps inside, a curious Ryan in his arms. The almost-two-year-old gazes around the room with wide eyes, taking in all the unfamiliar equipment.

“Hey, you!” Eddie says as he takes the little boy from his uncle. “Did you have a good day with Grandpa?”

“Yep,” Ryan says, still taking in his new surroundings. “Play catch.”

“You played catch?” Eddie asks, his pitch rising in that faux excitement adults use when talking to young children.

“Uh huh!”

“That sounds like fun. Guess what?”

“What?”

“You’re a big brother now,” Eddie tells him.

“Baby?” Ryan asks.

“Yes! Mommy had the baby. Do you want to meet him?”

Ryan nods enthusiastically, trying to look around his dad’s head to catch a glimpse of his mother. She comes into view as Eddie turns and walks towards the hospital bed, where Brittany is cradling a sleeping Luke.

Eddie gently sets his older son down on the bed next to his mom.

“Hi, Ryan,” Brittany says softly. “Come here, look at the baby.”

Cautiously, Ryan shuffles forward and peers at the blanket-wrapped bundle.

“This is your little brother, Ry,” Eddie says. “You guys are going to be best friends.”

“Do you want to hold him, Wayne?” Brittany asks, fighting back a yawn.

“‘Course.”

Brittany carefully hands him over, and Wayne looks down at his new grandson in absolute wonder.

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest baby?” Wayne says to Luke.

As the older man cradles the baby, Ryan stands up and taps his dad’s arm. Eddie hums in question and raises his eyebrows at the toddler.

“Up, up,” Ryan says, holding his arms up.

It melts Eddie’s heart that Ryan wants to be held up next to his new brother. The room is quiet, save for the echoes of hospital sounds drifting in.

Luke starts to squirm, unable to move much in his swaddled state.

“Britt?” Eddie looks over his shoulder at his wife. “Do you have the pacifier?”

“Oh, yeah.” The blue pacifier that Luke has already shown an affinity for is on the bedside table, and Brittany hands it to her husband, who pops it into the baby’s mouth. Immediately, Luke calms back down, sucking furiously as he slips back into sleep.

Ryan leans over as far as he can in his dad’s arms, peering down at his brother in awe.

“My baby,” Ryan declares.

The adults in the room chuckle.

“Can you say hi to Luke, Ryan?” Eddie asks, rubbing his hand up and down the elder boy’s back.

Ryan grins, his adorable baby teeth on display. He’s mesmerized by the new family member, and it fills Eddie with a warmth he’s never felt before. Ryan tries to lean over even more, wanting to be as close as possible.

“Hi, Luke!”

The comfortable quiet in the hospital room cocoons you, your husband, and your daughter as you all lounge in the bed. Your head rests on Eddie’s shoulder while Eliza sleeps soundly in his arms. Both of you are just staring at her, already completely wrapped around her little finger.

“She’s so beautiful,” you whisper.

“Just like her mom,” Eddie replies, just as quiet.

“Her mom needs a shower,” you say. “Badly. I feel all gross after getting all sweaty.”

“You still looked gorgeous, even giving birth.” Eddie turns his head and presses a kiss to your hair.

The slight movement causes Eliza to fuss, wiggling like a little worm in her father’s grip. Her whines hurt your heart.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie coos. He lays his head against yours.

Eddie begins to hum, and you quickly recognize the song as Sweet Child O’ Mine. All it takes is a minute of her dad’s soothing tone to lull the baby girl right back to sleep.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #older!eddie #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #dad!eddie #AYW #AYWS #request

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andvys · 6 months ago

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Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter twenty one ⭐︎ Please, I've been on my knees, change the prophecy

Warnings: fluff in the beginning, alcohol consumption, mentions of weed, angst, mentions of unrequited love, kind of a sexist comment directed at blondie

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You never held much hope in your heart but for only this once... you did and it got crushed just like everything else was in your life and now you will probably never execute your plan and everything will slip right through your fingers just like you always feared it would.

Word count: 8.8k

Author's note: @hellfire--cult shoutout to roe, who always helps me with this story, ideas, dialogues etc. ily

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next Chapter

♡

Waking up to the phone ringing at full blast was not the best start for the morning. Steve’s gruff voice centers you as your head rises slowly from his chest, looking at him reaching for his phone on the bedside table and picking it up with a grunt.

“Hello?”

You can faintly hear Robin on the other side, not really hearing what she is saying, you are still so sleepy. You lay your head down on his chest again, closing your eyes as a soft yawn falls from your lips.

Steve wraps his arm around you again, rubbing your side as he grumbles into the phone.

“You– ugh… I thought you didn’t have to work today?-- Can’t you simply use your bike, the weather is nice,” his voice died down a little when he looked out his window, at the gray sky and the rustling trees, no sign of the heat and the sun from yesterday. He sighs and closes his eyes again, “fine, okay… fine.” He mumbles a goodbye before he hangs up the phone, putting the receiver back into place, he rubs his face and tightens his hold on you.

You open your eyes again and prop your chin up on his chest, blinking at the beautiful man before you.

Steve squints one eye open, a smile spreading on his lips when he looks at you, his hand falls to the back of your head, his fingers now running through your messy hair.

“Morning, honey,” he whispers, already making you feel butterflies this morning.

“Good morning, Stevie,” you whisper, giving him a sweet smile.

“I wish it was a good one,” he grumbles and breaks eye contact for a moment so he can look at the clock on his nightstand. It’s only eight in the morning. “I’m tired and I gotta pick Robin up in an hour,” he murmurs words that leave you disappointed.

You wanted more time with him before his shift…

Steve squeezes your waist and pulls you up a little, attempting to pull you closer and you welcome it. You bring your hand up towards his face, brushing back the hair that hangs in front of his eyes, you move closer to him, no longer fighting the urge to kiss him first thing in the morning.

You don’t know how his heart skips a beat and how the fire sparks within him when you press your lips against his, greeting him more properly with a soft kiss. If you knew, you would simply throw those three words out, right this second, you wouldn’t wait for a perfect moment, you wouldn’t wait for later.

Steve hums against your lips and presses his mouth stronger against yours, getting lost in this sweet morning kiss.

You smile against him and cup his cheek, nuzzling your nose against his.

You can still feel the previous night with him, his hands on your skin, his lips on yours, his words, his actions, your plan for today, which unfortunately got postponed already. You have no doubts, not a single one. You were thinking about it the whole time before you fell asleep, last night, you thought about how you’d do it, what you would say to him, what words would be right to use. You wanted to do it in the morning, you wanted to take care of him, make him coffee and breakfast, the way he always does for you and then afterwards, you would do it, you would tell him, you would get the words off your chest that you never thought would see the light in this life.

But something, someone already got in the way.

When you pull away from one another, you don’t shy away from giving him another sweet smile, a deep look into his eyes, another peck to his lips. You catch him by surprise and you don’t even know it – how his heart is racing, how his mind crosses out all the anxious thoughts that spread inside of him last night after this sweet kiss.

Steve’s hand is wrapped around your upper arm, his lips are tingling, his skin feels hot already, his eyes gaze into yours and he sees something that wasn’t there before or so he thinks. You look at him with a kind of softness that he feels a stranger to, you smile at him in a way you only did when you were drunk and clingy with him, you look at his lips as though you never want to stop kissing him.

You fill him with hope again, the hope that began to dwindle the night before.

“I’m gonna make you some coffee,” you whisper against his lips, squeezing his arm and blessing him with another smile before you pull away from him, leaving his side to his dismay. You push the covers off your body and place your feet on the ground.

Steve places his arm behind his head, admiring the way your hair falls down your bare back, the way your naked body looks so heavenly. His cock stirs underneath the covers when you bend down to pick up your panties, exposing yourself to him, causing his hunger to grow in him. He would rather stay in bed with you, kiss every inch of your skin and worship you in every way possible, make you moan his name, make you see stars, make you cling to him because he is the only one you need.

Clad in your underwear, you walk over to his dresser and pick out one of his shirts, completely ignoring your dress that hangs over his desk chair. You put on one of his only band tees that he owns, The Cure. He smiles, adoring the way his shirt looks on you. You pick out a pair of your shorts and put them on, tying the string at the front, you look over your shoulder and eye him up and down in a way that leaves him blushing.

Steve’s mornings with you are always his favorites but something about today feels… different. Something about the way you look at him makes him feel happy, happier.

He gets out of bed begrudgingly, he follows you into the bathroom after putting his boxers on, he brushes his teeth beside you and watches you through the mirror, sharing glances and smiles with you, he watches the way you brush your hair and the way you apply moisturizer to your skin and it hits him like it never did before, this moment is so intimate, just as intimate as any other moment you have shared lately. Every kiss, every touch, every glance, everything has changed, not just for him but also for you, despite his doubtful thoughts, he has to admit that it’s there, a change.

You wouldn’t do this with just anyone, right?

You wouldn’t make coffee, let alone cook breakfast for just someone.

You wouldn’t joke around and steal kisses from him if there wasn’t something.

And you certainly wouldn’t play with his hand, entwine your fingers with his on the way back to your house if he was just casual to you.

And when Steve parks his car in your driveway and you turn to face him with a smile on your face, something else sparks in your eyes… nervousness, hope, giddiness, excitement. You hide your face behind your hair after a moment of silence and he sees the way you take a few deep breaths before you look into his eyes again.

“Do you want to spend the night with me… after the party?” You ask with a sudden shakiness that catches him off guard a little.

“Of course,” he nods, furrowing his brows.

This shouldn’t even be a question anymore.

“Okay, good,” you nod, whispering. “Are you coming with Robin?”

“Yeah, do you want me to pick you up too?” He asks, smiling.

You shake your head, “no, it’s fine. I’m probably gonna go earlier and help Eddie with the snacks and everything.”

Steve nods, “alright then, guess I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah,” you whisper and look into his hazel eyes as you begin to move closer, “I’ll see you there, Stevie.”

You kiss his lips, making his smile even bigger.

You pull away and gaze into his eyes for a moment, your smile matching his own.

Steve feels a longing in his chest, a deep emotion that he can’t decipher yet as he looks into your eyes but something that he knows is that he doesn’t want to let you go in this moment, that he wants to kiss, kiss, kiss you until all his doubt is gone again, until he knows what you feel, until he knows that this is real.

He watches you with a smile that never falls, not even when you walk away from him, not even when he can no longer see you after you step into your home and shut the door.

His smile lingers, the way it always does because of you.

It lingers on the whole drive over to Robin’s, the tingling sensation on his lips and in his stomach stays, the fluttering and the beat of his heart never lessens, hope seeps back in, taking over once again after this morning with you.

And it all stays.

It stays.

The clouds grow bigger and darker, looming over Hawkins like a dark veil, the wind howls through the trees, the leaves ripping off the branches and falling onto the pavement, the curtains in your room move strongly.

You clutch your towel to your chest, not caring about the water that drips from your hair and onto your carpet, you quickly make your way over to the window that you forgot to close before your bath. You look out and up into the sky, feeling the anxiousness in you already seeping in.

The storm isn’t any close yet but it’s brewing, the clouds get darker and they move faster as the wind seems to get stronger and stronger. Something is coming and you hope that you won’t be here, alone in this house anymore once it takes over fully, so you decide to get ready sooner than you wanted to.

You turn on some music to drown out the noises from the howling wind. You sit down in front of your vanity and take a look at yourself in the mirror. The marks on your neck are clear, the happiness in your eyes even evident to yourself, the circles that always glow like shadows underneath them are no longer there, your lips curl into a smile as you touch the side of your neck where he kissed you, just the thought, the memory of it makes your heart and stomach flutter.

You take a deep breath and begin getting ready, applying make-up to your face, using only his favorite colors as you put on eyeshadow and lipstick, words mingle together in your mind as you form sentences and prepare yourself for something that you never thought you would do. You rehearse it all in your head, growing more and more nervous as you do so.

You don’t know how things will go, how they will end but one thing is for certain, tonight everything will change, no matter his reaction, things won’t be the same after this.

You feel scared and anxious, you know that you could lose him tonight, you know that he could slip right through your fingers, you know that he could break your heart and crash it into a million pieces but even that thought isn’t enough to stop you from going after what you always wanted.

Nothing can stop you, not yourself, not anyone else, not the storm building up behind you.

You feel a giddiness, an excitement you haven’t felt in a while, you’re not sure if you ever felt it.

You put on a pair of Levi’s and a white shirt, using the opportunity of the cool weather to wear your leather jacket today, you pick out your favorite jewelry and spritz his favorite perfume on your skin. You run your fingers through your styled hair and take another look at yourself in the mirror, glancing at your bed behind you and hope that tears won’t be shed into your pillow tonight.

Despite the fears that linger, despite the storm moving closer and closer, your excitement runs deepest in your bones.

You wonder what Eddie will say, think about your decision.

You know what Billy would think, what he would say, how he would look at you.

You know that he’d be proud of you for going after what you want, he always waited for this moment.

You remember the look on his face when you lied to him about what happened at Scoops Ahoy, you remember how he sighed and how he smiled sadly when you told him that you were too afraid to ask him out and never ended up going inside – you lied to him to protect Steve, you knew what he would do if you told him the truth about what really happened, you knew that Steve would lose another fight.

It only feels right to take his car today, you rarely do it, you rarely take the Camaro out for rides but for the sake of keeping the battery alive, you take it out for late night drives or for short trips to the store whenever you get a sudden craving for something.

It’s funny, maybe even eerie that the car still smells like him. It’s been over a year since he has been gone but his cologne still lingers. You don’t know whether that is the reason for the calming feeling in you whenever you’re inside of the Camaro or if it might be his ghostly presence.

But whatever it is, it grounds you, it makes you feel warm and safe, even in the storm and even through your racing thoughts.

When you arrive at Eddie’s and Wayne’s house, you park the car in their driveway, behind Eddie’s Impala. You sit there for a moment, not getting out of the car just yet, you take a few deep breaths and take another look at yourself in the mirror.

You’re pretty sure that no one is here yet, you got here early, two hours earlier than you should be. Eddie won’t mind, he had been asking to hang out with you alone for a while now and as you look at his house, you’re hit with a sudden guilt, you have neglected him a little once you and Steve started spending more time with each other.

When the rain starts pouring, you jump out of the car and quickly make your way over to his house, running up the porch steps and finding shelter beneath the roof, before you can even knock on the door or ring the bell, the door opens and a smiling Eddie greets you, his curly hair messy and wild, his eyes sparkling and pearly whites showing as his smile turns into a grin. He steps aside and lifts his arm, bowing playfully.

“Welcome to the castle, milady.”

A laugh falls from your lips, you shake your head at him as you walk inside.

“Hi Eddie,” you snort.

He chuckles at your eye roll, closing the door once you’re inside, he takes you in, the smile on your face, the sparkle in your eyes, the happiness and the excitement etched into your features. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Hey,” he smiles and squints his eyes at you, “how are you, sweets?”

You take your jacket off and glance at your best friend, at his squinted eyes, at the curious look on his face.

“Peachy.”

Eddie nearly laughs, thinking you’re joking by using that word, you said it too enthusiastically, too happily, too excitedly. The smile on your face matches the tone in your voice though and there is something about you that looks different today, he doesn’t know what it is but there is something. Your hair is styled the way it always is but it's shining beneath the dim lights in the hallway, your skin is glowing, you just look happy.

“You look pretty.”

You furrow your brows but smile even brighter.

“Thank you, Eds.”

Your best friend steps towards you, he wraps his arm around you and starts leading you to his kitchen.

“What’s up with the uh,” he pauses, pointing his finger at your face, “smiley face, you seem so happy today, did something happen or are you just that happy to see me?” He asks, chuckling.

You roll your eyes at him and shake your head. The giggle that slips from your lips and echoes through his hallway makes him clutch his chest dramatically.

“So, you’re not happy to see me?” He asks with a bewildered look on his face, “ouch.”

You slap his arm playfully and push away from him when you both step inside the large kitchen, “dork. Of course I’m happy to see you.”

Two paper bags filled with snacks and drinks are on the kitchen counter, nothing taken out of them yet, you instantly get to work, taking out the bags of chips and different kinds of candy he got for game night, movie night or whatever else this party’s theme will be.

“I’m glad you’re here early,” Eddie says as he makes his way over to his fridge.

“Why? So you got someone to fill the snack bowls?”

He looks at you over his shoulder, sending you a glare, “do you think I see you as my maid or something?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugs at you and turns back again, “don’t see you wearing a maid costume.”

You snort at him, “that would look ridiculous.”

“I’m sure Harrington wouldn’t mind seeing you in one,” he cackles.

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you have to hide your flustered face even though you know that he isn’t looking at you now.

You know how protective Eddie feels over you, how he never approved of the situation you had gotten yourself into with Steve, how he wanted to protect you from the possible heartbreak that might be leading up to but despite his negative feelings about all of this, he had been calm in the past few weeks, less negative, less cold with Steve.

Will he encourage you when you tell him what you want to do?

Or will he think that you’re making a mistake?

You watch as he takes out two beers from his fridge, placing them on the kitchen counter, for a moment he looks around for the bottle opener with a frown on his face before he decides to use his lighter instead, popping the caps with ease. He slides one of the bottles over the marble counter, putting it in front of you, he raises his eyebrows at you as his eyes flicker back and forth between the beer and you.

With a chuckle, you push away the snacks and grab the beer, “party hasn’t started yet.”

“Party,” he snorts and brings his bottle up, clinking it against yours, “party is gonna be at Hopper’s wedding, I’m gonna get shitfaced with you.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you mumble and take a sip of your beer.

“Why? Are you scared you’re gonna get all cute and clingy with Harrington again?” He laughs, giving you a smug smile, reminding you of the fourth of july.

You roll your eyes at him but you can’t hide the smile on your face, the smile that turns into a lovesick one as you think about last night.

Eddie drinks his beer and watches you, the way your smile doesn’t fall, the way your eyes are basically hearts, the way you seem so giddy over something as you shift from one foot to the other.

Had someone told him that he would get to see you like this a few months back, he probably would’ve laughed, he would’ve had more trouble believing that than what Dustin told him about the upside down when he was dragged into it.

You always had a stone cold face, your smile only ever appeared when you said something snarky, you rarely showed feelings and you only ever rolled your eyes at anything someone other than Max or Lucas said, it took you time to get used to the others, to warm up to them, it was a surprise that you warmed up to him so quickly but maybe it was because you had some things in common, though while you built a defensive mechanism around you by being cold and even mean at times, Eddie used humor and indifference.

Now you are standing here in front of him, a person so different from the one he befriended back in March.

You are happy, you are glowing.

Eddie is just about to ask, his curiosity is killing him and he can’t wait no more to find out what’s gotten you so excited.

“I’m gonna tell him.”

He knows what you mean, he knows right away.

“I-I don’t want to do this anymore, it’s just not enough. And I know what you’re gonna say but… I just want to do it, Eddie. We went to the city last night and we… we held hands and we kissed in the middle of the street and we talked for hours! He even started kissing me goodbye and I just… my feelings are getting stronger and I don’t even know how that’s even possible but I just… I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t tell him the truth and I know,” you pause to take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment before you look back up at him again, “I know how this can end, I know that he could reject me, break my heart and push me away but I need to try, Eddie. I want to try.”

Eddie’s eyes soften, his shoulders slump as a sad smile crosses his face.

The truth is, he is happy, proud of you for going after what you want but he is also scared, scared that this happiness that has just started showing will be taken away again when the man in question will shatter your heart to pieces.

Despite Steve’s obvious affection towards you, he still struggles to see through him, to read him, to find out what he is feeling for you. And what he had been told by a certain someone, doesn’t help his doubt. Yet he can’t deny what he sees in Steve’s eyes. He can’t deny the possibility that he feels the same for you so who is he to intervene? To stop you from going after who your heart desires the most?

You stare at your best friend, waiting for a reaction from him, his face is unreadable, his eyes distant but then he makes a move, he places his bottle on the counter and he walks towards you, surprising you by pulling you into his arms, he hugs you tightly and squeezes your arms.

A confused smile spreads on your face but you don’t deny him, you wrap your arms around his middle.

Eddie had always been affectionate, always stole hugs from you and a few others he considered close friends but usually it happened when he was hyper, drunk or high.

“I’m proud of you, sweets,” he mumbles and takes a deep breath before he continues, “I’ll be there to cheer you on… with pom poms.”

“Please don’t,” you giggle and pull back when he places his hands on your shoulders, his brown eyes are filled with kindness, his smile warm.

“Jokes aside, Harrington’s a really lucky guy, you know? You’re a catch, sweetheart and I’m not just saying that because I’m your best friend, you’re really fucking amazing and cool, he’d be really dumb and blind not to want you as his girl,” he grins, lifting his hand to tap your nose, “you’re a cutie.”

You swat his hand away with a snort, “cutie…”

“What, it’s true!” He laughs, his eyes glinting with amusement, he tilts his head to the side and his laughter dies down after a moment, a serious expression takes over instead and he squeezes your shoulder again, “but hey, no matter what happens, I’ll be there for you, okay?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, trying to smile but failing to do so when your emotions spread inside of you like a fire, you don’t know what’s gotten over you, maybe it’s the kind eyes of your best friend or the caring tone in his voice, the brotherly love he feels for you, the protectiveness that reminds you of one you had gotten before.

You appreciate him so dearly.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you whisper.

He smiles at you and gives you a nod.

“When are you gonna do it?”

“Tonight, after the party.”

He nods again, “alright, you gotta tell me how it went.”

“I will,” you smile and look into your best friend’s eyes, taking a deep breath, you realize just how nervous you are when you exhale shakily.

Eddie wants to take your nervousness, he wants to rid you of your anxiety and your fear of rejection, he wants to tell you that it’ll be okay, that things will work out, he wants to protect you but he can’t, and he won’t lie to your face when he is uncertain about it all, so all he can offer is comfort.

And for you, it’s more than enough.

“Now come on, let’s fill these snack bowls and order some pizza,” he grins and pats your shoulder before he steps away from you again.

“Yeah,” you smile, tilting your head down, you look at your hand, at the missing hair tie around your wrist, the one that found home somewhere else.

You don’t got a single clue to where this night will take you, not a gut feeling, nothing but as the time drags closer to the evening, your chest begins to fill with a kind of anxiety that makes you feel on edge, the one that prompts you to open a second bottle of beer when you finish your first, it doesn’t get you drunk, not even tipsy but it makes you feel a little calmer.

And once everyone starts piling in slowly, you start relaxing a little more, especially when Nancy arrives and she instantly pulls you away from the others to talk about wedding preparations, about the color of her nails and the shoes she hasn’t settled on yet, about how excited Joyce was when she went cake tasting with her, Will and El.

“Have you settled on a hairstyle yet?” Nancy asks you and takes a sip of the drink Jonathan made her.

She noticed the way you kept looking over her shoulder while she was talking, the way your eyes kept moving back to the front door like you were waiting for someone.

Everyone is already here, well, everyone except for Robin and Steve.

You shake your head, “no, I’ll probably keep it open, I don’t know yet.”

“You should add a pink bow to your hair! It would match your heels!”

You smile at her enthusiasm, at the smile on her face, at the kindness in her eyes. She has been such a good friend to you but sometimes it feels weird to get along with her, given her history with Steve. You wonder how she will react if the truth ever makes it to the light.

“You think?”

She nods her head causing her curls to bounce just the way Eddie’s always do.

“I might do that then,” you smile at her.

“I can’t believe the wedding is in a few days already,” she says as her face grows a little serious, “and that I’ll be leaving for college soon…” Her voice falls a little quieter, her blue eyes search for her boyfriend who is standing on the other side of the room, checking out the vinyls on Eddie’s shelf. A look of sadness and longing crosses her soft features, her lips curling into a sullen smile.

They are going to different colleges, their ways parting once again… for a while. You can see the sadness in them both, the looks they share as they spend their last days together. You have no doubt that they will make it, that they will push through this time of separation. Nancy and Jonathan are so deeply bonded, you can’t imagine one without the other permanently.

“I’m gonna miss our shopping trips,” Nancy mumbles, directing her sad gaze at you now. “You should come visit me in Boston sometime! Before Christmas! You could fly in and we could go Christmas shopping together and enjoy a couple days there before we go back to Hawkins together!”

You laugh at her lightened up eyes, at the happy grin on her face.

It feels weird to think that far ahead when it’s something you never really do anymore, you rarely even think about the next week, let alone a holiday that is still so far away, a holiday that usually only saddens you and reminds you of what you had lost.

“I’d love that,” you nod, smiling.

Somehow her blue eyes lighten up even more and it makes you feel warm inside, you’re not the girl people ever tried to befriend and you never blamed them, you weren’t exactly open to making friends but for some reason the girl in front of you chose you and you don’t even know why.

The doorbell rings at an unexpected moment, when you’re lost in your thoughts and unprepared to see him. You straighten your back and look over Nancy’s shoulder when Eddie rushes through the hallway to open the front door.

You miss the look on Nancy’s face as she keeps her eyes on you, the curiosity flickering in her eyes, the knowing.

You lick your lips and blink, heart already lurching to your throat when you hear Robin’s voice and wait for him to follow her inside but the door closes a little too soon for your liking and the lack of his voice and his presence makes you frown.

Robin walks in by herself, Vickie isn’t by her side and neither is the one you have been waiting for. Her a little wet from the rain, a not so happy look deep in her features.

Your eyebrows furrow and you can already feel the disappointment, the confusion settling inside of you so deeply that it makes you uncomfortable.

Where is he?

“Hey guys,” Robin smiles as she steps into the living room, waving at the teens who are in a hushed conversation that none of you seem to be allowed to hear.

You notice the way her smile doesn’t match the look in her eyes or the rough tone in her voice. She doesn’t look at you but that doesn’t surprise you, not anymore.

“Where’s Steve?” Dustin asks, beating you to the question that has been repeating itself in your head.

Robin hesitates, she shifts from one foot to the other, twisting the rings on her fingers as her eyes meet yours briefly.

“He’s not feeling well, he stayed home… he… has a migraine.”

If there is one thing that you learned about Robin, it’s that she is either a fantastic liar or the most terrible one and right now, she is a terrible one.

“Wait what?” Eddie mumbles from behind her, giving her the same look that you have given her, “he was fine earlier when I called him.”

You don’t know what to feel at this very moment but worry is the biggest emotion of all. You would drop everything now to go and take care of him.

“Well, he isn’t anymore, migraines come out of nowhere, he said he wants to be alone,” she grumbles and gives you a pointed look before she turns on her heel and leaves the living room to go into the kitchen.

Jonathan and Nancy pay no mind to her little attitude, no one really is, except for you and your best friend. Eddie shoots you a concerned glance, furrowing his brows at you in question but you are just as lost as him.

He watches how your expression falls, how your shoulders slump and your lips curl downwards. He sighs, wondering if Robin is telling the truth or if there is something else. He can’t stand to see the disappointment in your eyes when there was nothing but excitement and happiness just minutes ago.

You excuse yourself to Nancy, not even noticing the look in her eyes as they follow you until you’re no longer in her sight.

This moment reminds you of your first night with Steve, the same excitement that lingered in you then, the same one that was crashed when Robin arrived without him and told you that he went out with Heidi was crushed yet again, only this time, you know that he isn’t out on a date, he isn’t seeing someone else, he wouldn’t do that, not even if there are no feelings in him for you. Something else is going on, that deep unsettling feeling that takes home in you is proof of that.

This isn’t like him, even if he did feel sick, even if he did have a migraine, he would’ve called you, he would’ve told you that he can’t stay with you tonight.

You walk through the darkened hallway, not even flinching when lightning strikes outside, too absorbed in your anxious thoughts. You make your way into the kitchen where Robin is opening her beer, she rolls her eyes when she sees you and it really shouldn’t affect you this much anymore, she always has an attitude when it comes to you, it seems.

“Hey,” you mumble, still trying to be friendly towards Steve’s best friend.

“Hi,” she murmurs, grumpily.

You don’t walk into the room any further, wanting distance between yourself and her.

“What’s really going on?” You ask, not bothering to try and have small talk with someone who can’t stand your guts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she shrugs with a stoic look on her face.

No matter how many times she had given you the cold shoulder before, it still surprises you sometimes to see her act so indifferent towards you. The girl who stuttered every time she tried to talk to you when you had just joined the group, the girl that always made you laugh and threw funny comments at you turned into this but she is only like that with you, no one else.

“Yeah, you do,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest, “I know you don’t like me, I don’t know what I did to you but–”

Her scoff cuts you off, she looks up at the ceiling and mumbles some words that you can’t understand and it only angers you even more.

“Just tell me what happened, I was with him this morning and he was fine, he wanted to come here, he wanted to spend the night with me.” You are already pleading, showing emotions to a girl you probably shouldn't but you are desperate to know, to find out why he isn’t here.

She shakes her head at you and laughs, “I’m sure you’ll be fine without him, Blondie. You can always find another guy, it’s not like you had trouble finding some before,” she throws harsh words and a look of judgment your way, not giving you a chance to reply to her rude comment before she brushes past you and makes her way back to the group.

Your stare is blank as you keep your eyes on the ground, not knowing what to feel, what to think, what emotions are swirling inside of you right now because suddenly there are too many of them.

You found out how rude she can be with the comments and remarks she throws at you sometimes but she never judged you for your past, you never thought that she would do that.

How could you ever want someone else?

You never did before, not even when you were sure that he hated you, not even then did you want someone else.

He is the only one for you, he will always be the only one.

You glance at the telephone and you don’t think twice before you head towards it, basically ripping the receiver from its place, you quickly dial his number and press your back against the wall, waiting for the call to go through, waiting for him to pick up.

Your feelings tell you that you won’t get any answers, not like this, not right now.

It rings and it rings but nothing and that only makes you feel worse.

Steve always picks up the phone, no matter what, no matter who might be calling, no matter what time it is, no matter if he is sleeping or not, he always picks up the phone, always. So this is only another sign for you, a sign that something isn’t right.

“Hey.”

You flinch, not at the thunder that just struck, but at Eddie’s voice, his eyes are filled with pity as they flicker back and forth between the receiver in your hand and your face.

“Maybe he’s sleeping, he always does when he has migraines,” Eddie shrugs.

You know he is trying to make you feel better, to take your anxiety and your anxious thoughts away from you but nothing, absolutely nothing will do but you don’t want to ruin his mood or anyone else’s so you put the receiver back and you go over to the fridge, reaching for a soda instead of a beer this time.

You don’t want to be here, not anymore, you want to be with him, you want to check on him, see if he’s okay but the gnawing feeling in your chest makes you stay.

The storm that rages outside taking over your mind as well as the questions in your mind grow louder and louder.

“Come on,” you mumble without looking back, not baring to see the pity in his eyes any longer.

Your best friend follows you without a word, making his way back into the living room with you.

You smile at Max and sit down beside her, trying to distract yourself by talking to the girl but it’s not that easy, not when worry continues to rise in you, not even when Eddie sits down on the other side of you and tries to talk to you about anything but him.

For the following hour, you feel restless. Scratch that, restless is an understatement, you are panicking. Eddie tries to comfort you, tries to take your mind off things by playing a drinking game with everyone else, laughing when El tries out beer for the first time, and sends the can flying without touching it in disgust. Not even that could take your mind away from the boy that occupies every second of your life now… and there’s a person in this party that knows exactly what is going on and is acting as if she doesn’t, drinking her fifth margarita of the night and smiling, talking with Jonathan.

You reach a tipping point.

“Fuck this shit, Eddie.”

You slam your drink on the table, marching towards Robin and Jonathan while Eddie scrambles desperately behind you, trying to stop you. He had never seen you like this before. You are so determined, pushing through it all, just for the sake of knowing about Steve’s whereabouts. But he too is intrigued. He knows Robin knows something… but his chest compresses when he remembers the night before, hoping that it didn't have anything to do with what was happening right this second.

He doesn’t want to be the cause of your pain. He hopes he isn’t.

You stop in front of Robin with a frown on your face, not even apologizing for interrupting her conversation with Jonathan, for stopping her mid-sentence.

“I need to talk to you.”

Jonathan looks up at you, a little surprised at the seriousness on your face and your sharp voice. He looks over your shoulder, glancing at Eddie who shakes his head at him, he only raises his eyebrows in response, he turns away and sips on his drink, walking towards Nancy.

Robin clenches her jaw, she meets your eyes and stares at you for a moment, glaring back at you.

You stand your ground, not looking away, not moving, not asking but demanding for her to follow you when you tilt your head in the direction of the kitchen before you walk off.

Eddie looks around, relieved to see everyone busy with the monopoly game that Dustin brought.

Robin gets up with a grunt, slamming her drink on the table just the way you did, she shoots a glare at Eddie before she turns around and walks after you with Eddie hot on her heels.

You’re standing there with your arms crossed, your heart pounding in your chest and your anxiety burning by now.

Robin mimics you when she walks in, crossing her arms over her chest as well, she looks you up and down before she shrugs at you.

Eddie, who is already looking between the two of you nervously, closes the door, not wanting the others to hear but hoping that an argument won’t break out between you both.

“What do you want?” Robin grumbles at you, her words slurring.

You can’t lie and say that her glares, her dislike towards you, doesn’t sting a little but this isn’t the main focus now.

“Where is Steve?”

“I already told you–”

“I don’t fucking believe you, Robin!” You snap at the girl, throwing your arms up, “you’ve been lying to me from the moment you stepped into this house! I know he isn’t feeling sick, I know he doesn’t have a migraine, he would’ve told me! I saw him this morning, he wanted to come so don’t stay here and lie to my face! Tell me where he is and why he’s not picking up his damn phone!”

Already breathing heavily after your little outburst, you stare at her in desperation, wanting, needing answers.

Her gaze never changes though, it doesn’t soften, it’s still filled with dislike, and her lips curl downwards.

“He doesn’t want to see you anymore,” she shrugs, throwing those words out as though they mean nothing.

You would have believed her, if you weren’t so determined, if you weren’t so set on everything, you would have believed her. This would have worked on you months back but not now, not anymore, not after last night, not after this morning, and even if he did want that, he wouldn’t leave you in the dark like this.

Eddie furrows his brows, looking at Robin who is so obviously lying yet again.

“I don’t believe you, Robin.” You shake your head at her, stepping towards her. “I don’t believe you for a second.”

She blinks, eyes darting back and forth between you and your best friend before she redirects her glare at you.

“Why do you even care so much? You can get dick elsewhere, Blondie! Leave him alone and don’t mess with him anymore, I think you have done enough!”

Your eyes widen at the words that took a blow to your chest, your throat tightens and you shake your head in disbelief.

You have done enough?

What could you possibly have done?

Eddie squints his eyes at the drunk girl before him, and he steps closer to the both of you.

“Why doesn’t Harrington want to see her anymore, Buckley?” He asks carefully.

Robin takes a deep breath and sighs, mumbling incoherent words under her breath, she runs her fingers through her short hair and tilts her head up, chuckling at the ceiling though not in amusement.

And then she suddenly looks at you with the deepest frown you had ever seen in her features, a fire burning in her eyes as she sneers at you.

“Because she is just going to break his heart sooner or later! She doesn’t feel anything for him!” She yells, pointing a finger at you. “She’s been playing with him from the fucking start, with his feelings and he is already suffering. I’m not gonna let her do worse!”

You draw back, with your eyes wide and your face stunned, you don’t know what to say, you don’t know what to feel.

The storm is raging outside just as the one in this kitchen is, it’s thundering at full blast and raining harshly but nothing fazes you now, not even the purple lightning.

It takes you a moment, a long moment to realize the meaning behind her words and the moment they sink in fully, you feel the aching inside of you.

“W-What did you just say?”

Eddie frowns at her, blinking as he looks at her, “Buckley… you told me Harrington didn’t feel anything…”

You glance at your best friend, confused about his words too, and you’re about to ask but Robin isn’t done just yet.

“Why does that matter!? Why does she fucking care how he feels?” She points at you again, taking a deep breath before she continues, “she never did, never have, never will! She always treated him poorly, even in high school for fucks sake and you want me to believe that she feels something for him!?”

Heat spreads through your whole body, to your chest and your throat, to your face and lighting up everything inside of you in the worst way possible, making your skin tingle with rage and your eyes burn with tears.

You don’t even think before you step towards her and grab her shoulders, pushing her up against the wall behind her, catching both her and Eddie off guard as you let your anger take over.

“You don’t get to fucking dictate my own feelings! I always thought you were stupidly observant but now I realize you are dense with anything else around you besides two people! You are ignorant towards everyone else, never giving anyone the benefit of the doubt!”

Robin stares at you wide eyed, not knowing what to say or do.

“If you looked at me, even for just one second you would have known how much I care for him. If you had given me that chance you would have seen just how much I feel for him! If you had even looked at me back in high school you would have seen that I have been hiding and suppressing these feelings for him, for fucking years!”

“I–”

You shake your head at her, shutting her up with a simple glare.

Tears blur your vision, your heart is pounding in your chest as you look at someone you once considered a friend.

You don’t know what she said to him, what words she used to make him stay away but you don’t even know if you do want to know, rage runs deep enough already.

“And you think I am this cold hearted bitch, well news fucking flash, Buckley, you never got to know me at all, so you have no right to say that! You have no right to judge my own heart!”

Robin’s blue eyes shine with tears, her features now softening and twisting into regret as realization dawns on her.

Eddie stands there in shock, not knowing how to be of help.

“So… you… for Steve–” Robin stutters, whispering.

Your bottom lip trembles as hot tears fall from your eyes, the excitement that lingered in you all day has turned into fear. You don’t know where he is, what he thinks, what he feels now that this has been ruined, if there is still a chance for you to fix something you didn’t even break.

But even through all this, you now know that there is, there was a chance. She wouldn’t hate you over nothing, she wouldn’t feel so protective of him if there were no feelings involved.

Fear envelopes your heart so fully and strongly that it nearly paralyzes you.

What if it’s done?

What if it’s over now?

You tremble and your tears cascade down your face, you don’t bother to hide them, to wipe them away, to hide your pain from the one who caused it.

You breathe in shakily and step away from her, finally letting go of her.

“There is no way in hell you will be the first to hear those words coming out of my mouth. I won’t say it out loud for the first time unless it is with him.”

Those are your last words to Robin before you turn on your heel and walk away from her and from your best friend, who doesn’t even try to stop you.

With tears rolling down your cheeks and an anxious heart, you rush out of the kitchen and through the empty hallway, you grab your jacket and the keys to Billy’s car, not even bracing yourself before you walk straight into the storm, not caring about your pounding heart when thunder crashes above you and the wind blows strongly against you as the rain envelopes you on your way to the car, wetting through your clothes and sending shivers down your spine.

You jump into the car with your hair clinging to your face already, rain and tears mingling together and running down your hot cheeks. You try to blink your tears away but to no avail, they keep building up and falling, your throat tightening more and more each passing second as a sob threatens to fall from your lips.

You start the car and grab the steering wheel, sniffling as you hold onto it tightly, breathing in the air around you, clutching your hand around the leather as though you’re trying to find comfort in something that used to belong to the person that always encouraged you to fight for this, for him.

Everything inside of you is crumbling now, to pieces, to shambles.

You look at the sky and you do something you have never done before, you beg, you beg for that one thing to work out, you would fall to your knees if you had to. You can’t lose this, you can’t lose him.

You back out of Eddie’s driveway and slam your foot against the accelerator causing the tires to screech as you speed down the road.

Your hands are trembling just the way your whole body does, your ears are ringing, the rain that paddles down the windows matching your tears.

Her words echo in your mind, all the hurtful things she said about you don’t even come close to the pain you feel when you think about him.

You never wanted him to hurt, not for a single second.

You would have taken all the pain just to protect him from it all, knowing that he is aching because of you, brings a deeper pain to you than ever before and you don’t know how he will react to seeing you, if he even wants to see you now but you are willing to try and you are willing to fight.

You can almost feel a little shock coming through the leather of the steering wheel. Something that wants to prompt you into letting go and finally park in front of his house. Something that is pushing you into being strong, to fight, to finally jump over the hole to reach the other side. It’s almost as if you could hear the words…

You can do it sweets…

Steve’s car is in the driveway, the TV light flickers through the living room window, he is here, he is home and you don’t waste any more time, you park the car behind his, you jump out and back into the cold rain.

The water splashes beneath your sneakers, the thunder makes you flinch this time but you clench your fists and rush towards his house, ringing the bell and slamming your fist against the door over and over again, yelling his name.

You feel the hotness from your tears and the shaking of your lips, not because of the cold rain but because of the emotions bleeding through you.

You wait and you wait, fearing that he might not open, that he can’t even stand to see you anymore, that he won’t give you the chance to talk, to tell him how you really feel.

You slam your fist against the door again, knocking a few times as broken sniffles fall from you while the storm rages behind you.

What must be a few seconds that you’re waiting out here, standing in the pouring rain, feels like forever.

Your heart beats against your ribcage, the coil in your throat beginning to choke you and you can’t even see through your blurry vision anymore. You taste the saltiness from your tears, you feel the panic sinking deeper and deeper.

You’re still begging and it takes everything in you not to crumble to your knees.

And then, Steve opens the door with bloodshot eyes, a piercing gaze that threatens your hope, that threatens your resolve.

A gaze that says “it’s done.”

You’re both done.

♡

tagging friends and mutuals!

@prettyboyeddiemunson @taintedcigs @mysticmunson @corrodedcorpses @maroon-cardigan @thecreelhouse @ibellcipem @joekeerysmoles @munsonlore @sherrylyn0628 @munson-mjstan @agirlwholovesrockstars @moon-flowerrs

#dwoht -- chapter twenty one #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #stranger things angst

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athforskz · 9 months ago

Text

I’ll Take Care of You - Han Jisung

Masterlist

Pairing: Han x reader (afab)

wc: ~2.1k

Type: fluff, smut, established relationship

Warnings: Exhaustion, stress, mention of collapse, cunninglingus, little bit of somnophilia (if you squint), aftercare.

a/n: Always remember to take a break when you need it!

Enjoy lovelies!

It had been such a tiring week. You were stretched thin mentally and physically, juggling constantly between school and work. Needless to say that your personal life has taken a nose dive. You barely had time to hang out with friends, visit with family, or see your boyfriend, Jisung. That one bothered you the most. No matter how many times you told him you felt bad for not spending time with him or turning down plans, he always said he understood. But you could tell it bothered him. The way he’d give you a small smile would tug at your heartstrings because you saw the slight disappointment and sadness behind his eyes. There had to be some way to make it up to him, but you didn’t have the brain capacity to worry about that now.

At the moment, you were stumbling your way off the train and walking back home from your job. You worked the second shift so it was currently about mid-evening. Your boss sent you home early on the account of your less than desirable performance. It wasn’t your fault you hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, nor the past few nights for that matter. You had pulled a couple all-nighters to finish projects or study for your degree. Okay, maybe it had been your fault for choosing to go back to school, but you just wanted to do your best.

You finally reached the front door to your apartment, fumbling and ultimately dropping your keys multiple times, mumbling out an explicative “…fuck.” Jisung was inside lowly listening to music when he heard the lock click. He was confused as you were the only other person with a key besides him, but you weren’t scheduled to be home for at least another six hours. Right?

Jisung’s face lit up as he saw you kick open the door and drop the bag from your shoulder onto the ground. You entered with a deep sigh.

“Jagiya! You’re home early?” He sprung from the couch to make his way over to greet you. All you could do was give a weak smile, leaning your head onto his chest when he pulled you into a hug and kissed your cheek.

“Something happen with work?” He asked you.

“Mhm kinda,” you responded shortly to avoid details. You didn’t want him to worry after all. Jisung placed his hands on your shoulders and pulled away slightly to look at you. He could see that the bags under your eyes had darkened and your appearance was overall a little disheveled. Your body shivered for no apparent reason as he took in your mein. He knew you only shivered like that when you were exhausted; a sign that you were dangerously close to collapsing.

“Honey, when is the last time you slept or ate something?” His eyebrows knitted in worry.

“I slept for a few minutes after I studied. As for food, can’t remember.” You answered truthfully. Maybe it was yesterday morning? His eyes had widened. A few minutes of sleep?! Don’t know the last time you had food?? His brain was already in overdrive as he led you to the couch to sit you down, then retreated to the kitchen. Jisung just needed to get you something quick for now, then he’d order you a full meal later.

Jisung returned from the kitchen not even a full minute later to find you half asleep on the sofa. He sat beside you opening up the breakfast bar he grabbed.

“Can you sit up for me please, honey? I just need you to eat this then I’ll help you get to bed, yeah?” He gently rubbed your thigh to wake you up. You groaned in response. “I know, but you gotta do this. C’mon sit up with me.” Jisung pulled your body towards his, your head slumping on his shoulder. He held the snack up to your lips and you took a bite before closing your eyes again and chewing. When you swallowed you opened your mouth again, effectively letting your boyfriend feed you. He’d occasionally kiss the crown of your head as you chewed, whispering a “Good job. You’re doing so well for me, jagi,” as encouragement.

Once you finished the light snack, Jisung lifted you from the couch and took you to the shared bathroom. He sat you down on the counter making sure you were pushed up far enough so if you swayed too far one way you wouldn’t fall off. Jisung’s main goal at the moment was to get you as relaxed as possible before putting you to bed. He knew you well enough to know that if he didn’t relax you, you’d only sleep a few minutes again, then force yourself to get up and study. If he was going to do this he had to do it right. Since being with you, he knew you loved doing a specific routine before going to bed to help you unwind. Sometimes he’d even do it with you just so you both had a little bit of time together.

Jisung opened the drawer pulling out a few items for your skincare regime. He lined up the products in order before turning to you and placing a soft fluffy headband over your head to keep your hair out of your face. He pulled out a matching one that you had bought for him a few months ago and put it on himself. You let out a tired giggle as he poked his own cheeks and bobbed his head around, the bow on his headband making him look like a bunny.

You automatically closed your eyes once he brought a makeup wipe close to your face. Gently wiping away most of it. He tossed the wipe in the trash before getting a warm washcloth and wetting your face with it, then did the same to his own. Jisung moved over to stand comfortably between your legs, giving a chaste kiss to your lips before applying your facial cleanser. He hummed a low tune as he massaged your skin.

“Babe, you know I can do this myself.” You quipped. All he did was place his pointer finger on your lips with a quiet “shh.” You decided not to say anything else, figuring he wouldn’t take no for an answer anyways. Besides, you were enjoying all the attention.

After each step he’d do for you he would do the same for himself too, right down to patting in your moisturizer just the way you always do it. You had no idea Jisung paid that close attention to your nighttime routine; it was comforting in a way.

“All done, my pretty.” He placed a hand under your chin bringing you closer until your lips connected. The kiss was soft, nothing too brash or overly needy, it was full of love and warmth. You pulled away first as you felt the need to yawn overcome your senses.

“Thanks, sweet cheeks.” You weakly smiled. He chuckled while wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you off of the counter and to the bedroom.

“…m’ tired, Sungie.” You complained while laying your head on his shoulder.

“I know, y/n, baby. I promise we’ll sleep in just a few. Need to get you out of these clothes first.”

Jisung sat you down on the bed as you slumped over. “C’mon, arms up.” He directed, and you did what he asked. He took your top off and unclipped the annoying bra that dug into your shoulders. Your breasts fell free and you breathed a sigh of relief. Next, he commanded you to lift your hips so he could easily slide off your pants. Now you were left in nothing but your underwear. A cool breeze from the open window hit your back. You shivered at the air, “too cold.” You whined. Your boyfriend was already on it as he grabbed one of his oversized hoodies. He helped you put it on before laying you back in the middle of the bed, making sure you were extra comfy and kissing your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered shut.

Right when you thought Jisung was going to snuggle up beside you, you felt his warm breath tickle your thighs and his hands on the hem of your panties.

“Sungie? What are-“

He hushed you before you could finish the question. He simply kissed your legs as he pulled the pesky cloth completely off. Jisung knew if he wanted you totally relaxed there was just one more step he needed to do.

He needed to make you cum.

And he’d gladly do it with his mouth.

It was no secret that Jisung was a munch, he was proud of it actually. Who wouldn’t be if someone constantly had their cake and got to eat it too? You were his cake and he’d find any excuse to eat you.

Jisung gazed at your already glistening heat taking in the sight and absolutely intoxicating scent of you. He ran a finger up and down your slit to gather the slick before bringing it to his mouth and licking it off. He moaned at your unique taste that he could never get tired of. Your sleepy face flushed in a deep blush as you watched your boyfriend’s actions.

“Just lay back and relax for me, jagi. I’ll take care of you.” His sultry voice graced your ears.

Almost simultaneously when your head hit the pillow his plush lips connected with your lower ones. Your back arched when his tongue pressed between your slit and licked up to tease at your clit. Jisung pulled away slightly while sucking before diving back into your core. A symphony of moans and whimpers escaped your throat and mixed with the obscene noises of him slurping, licking, and sucking your pussy.

Your body was so tired but still you reached down to grab your boyfriend’s hair with both hands, tugging slightly. He wrapped his arms around your thighs to keep you spread open for him. Free to continue his loving assault on your clit. So much of your sweetness was leaking out of your slit and mixing with his saliva to drip down onto the sheets, making an embarrassingly large wet spot just beneath your butt. Your whining became higher pitched as you neared your impending orgasm.

“Ah- Ji, so s’ close!!” You managed to warn him. The imaginary band in your lower belly nearly snapping. Jisung could tell you were close even without the warning by the way you pushed your pelvis closer and rolled your hips on his mouth. He pulled your hands from his hair and interlaced your fingers with his, your grip becoming tight as you held hands.

He then proceeded to dip his tongue into your entrance pumping it in and out of the clenching hole. That was enough to send you toppling over the edge. A silent scream came as your body shook violently once your orgasm overtook you and you came all over your boyfriend’s mouth.

Jisung slowly licked you clean, savoring the taste of your sweetness on his tastebuds. He kissed his way back up to your clit and gave it one final suck making your body jolt and a whimper leave your lips. When he finally looked up to your face he could see you had fallen asleep.

The intense orgasm must have knocked her out. He thought.

He had a sly look on his face, feeling proud of himself as he wiped the remainder of your slick off of his chin. Jisung moved up from his spot between your legs to lay behind you. He pulled you close and kissed your hair.

“Sleep well and sweet dreams, baby.” He whispered to you as he listened to your soft snores before drifting off to sleep himself.

Jisung’s plan worked perfectly. You had slept all throughout the night until the next morning. No interruptions. However, you did wake up in a slight panic.

“Holy shit! What time is it?!” You yelled as your eyes shot open. You tried to fumble your way out of bed but your boyfriend stopped you. Quickly pulling you back down by your hips and cradling your body.

“Jagiya, calm down. It’s Saturday, you have nowhere to be!” He laughed as you sighed in relief. “Our plan for today is to nap as much as possible and eat in between. I already ordered from your favorite breakfast spot. It should be here soon. How does that sound?” He punctuated with a kiss. Something so simple sounded so amazing.

“That sounds like the perfect day. Thank you, Sungie.”

And that’s just what you two did. If you weren’t sleeping, Jisung had food ready and waiting for you. He had done everything and more for you the rest of the day, much to your dismay. But you couldn’t lie, the Jisung princess treatment was definitely nice.

Likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

Taglist: @doitforbangchan / @jehhskz

#stray kids #skz #mdni #18+ mdni #Han Jisung #han x reader #jisung x reader #han jisung x reader #han jisung x y/n #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #han jisung smut #han jisung fluff

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lichenes · 1 month ago

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Hi, could you do a young silco x nb! reader where they have been friends for years and have been pinning HARD on each other, and one of them(your choice idk who) over hears the other talking about how they feel, and basically, they are kinda forced into confessing...that kinda leads to smut with feelings..pleasethankyouso

Silco falls to his knees for you in this one btw. Just so you know. Tried to write the smut as gn as possible!! CW: vanilla sex?? nothing wild ig, no reader genitals mentioned, gn!reader, silco and reader being oblivious wc: 838 . * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ . * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

You stretched your body walking into the bar part of The Last Drop. “Morning.” You said to Vander who was preparing the bar for opening. “It ain’t quite morning anymore, luv.” You looked at the clock which displayed 7:30pm on the dot. “I couldn’t sleep all night...” You said still blinking back sleep from your eyes.

“Your shift starts in half an hour, by the way.” Said Silco appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “Clients don’t show up until like 10, relax.” You mused, a bit startled by his sudden presence, nevertheless happy he was there.

You were dressed in your usual work clothing, nothing special, just a pair of slacks, a loosely fitted dress shirt and an apron meant to keep the uniform at least partially clean. You were wiping down the tables before more of the guests arrived, final touches as Vander liked to call it. You were the only person serving food and cleaning tonight so you had your hands full.

Silco felt cornered. Mesmerised - he was mesmerised by you. Sitting at the bar and nursing a glass of whatever was cheapest, he purposefully ignored you. Were he to pay you any mind, he would go insane. Not an hour ago did he overhear you confessing your infatuation with him to your coworker.

“Okay, who is it then?” Said the newest addition to the staff. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop… truly, he was just about to ask you something menial when he heard his name being spoken. It rolled off your tongue with such adoration when you were sure he wasn’t listening. “I’ve got my eye on Vander…” Commented the girl.

“Not my type.” Silcos heart beat faster. “You fancy Silco?” You hummed affirmatively, creating a memory for him, he was sure he’d never forget.

Vander waved his hand in front of Silco’s face, waking him up from the daydream. “You alright?” Silco’s face didn’t give away the whirlwind of emotions he was going through right in this moment. Although, he had slightly more colour in his face. “Yeah- listen.” He beckoned him closer. The bar, despite being quite loud, didn't offer enough privacy to say such things at full volume.

“They said they fancy me.” Vander looked at him in disbelief. He then chuckled. “What, like you didn’t know?” Silco’s face went pale. He grabbed the bar’s edge. “Mate, everyone in the undercity knows this. The whole, you know, back and forth you lot have going on.”

Silco stood up. He was a calculated man. His actions were meticulous. Years of yearning. Months of planning a confession and that’s how he finds out the love of his life actually reciprocates his feelings!? He wasn’t following a script or a plan. “I need to find them. Now.”

You were taking your break in the back when Silco burst through the door. You smiled at him and just when you were about to greet him he closed the door and ran up to you. “Silco?” You questioned his erratic behaviour.

“...for years, and it feels like he doesn’t notice it!”

He smashed his lips into your own ones cradling both your cheeks as he lowered himself to the floor, finishing his descent on his knees. You reciprocated the kiss, craning your head down so that he could stay close to you.

You enjoyed the moment as much as you could, afraid it was to flee as soon as you separated.

When you did, you put your foreheads together. Laughing slightly you looked at him and caressed his cheek with your thumb. “Took you long enough.” He then felt it, the hunger he suppressed for so many years. He dove back in, greedier than before. You moaned in surprise but welcomed it nevertheless.

You battled for dominance for a moment, in the end he won. There never was questioning it. “I need you.” You managed to get out.

“I’ll make you need me even more.”

You were resting your back on the door of the room which was locked to prevent people from interrupting your tryst. Silco had one of your legs propped on his hip, holding onto the neighbouring cabinet was the other thing keeping you upright.

He was thrusting into you with vigour that was making you go cross eyed. Your arms around his neck were only adding to the experience, you needed him closer, right here - right now is all that counted.

You saw white when he put his cold hands onto your most sensitive spot. A few circles is what got you to the edge and his blissed out words spilling from his lips - ‘come for me’ - for me. You’d do anything for him at this moment.

And so you followed his instruction, causing his own orgasm after your own. He put his head on your shoulder when you both were basking in the afterglow. You brushed his bangs out of his face. His eyes were twinkling.

“Tell Vander he needs to find a replacement for you tonight, I need you all to myself.”

. * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ . * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ masterlist

#x reader #writing #fluff #smut #silco #arcane silco #smut and fluff #silco x reader #silico x reader #silico arcane #silico #arcane #silco arcane #arcane season 2

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yassbishimvintage · 18 days ago

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Have A Baby By Me

MDNI! You are in charge of ya own experience.

Warnings: Smutty smut. Breeding kink. Marriage?

A/N: As one of my good sis's has said to me breeding kink. But breeding kink on Aaron. I had to.

The sun broke in their bedroom. Cleo was still knocked out from their night. When she awoke he was nowhere to be found in the upstairs of their shared home. So she showered and got dressed. Something simple. Well simple enough for a woman who’s man kept her in skin tight dresses and Christian Louboutins. When she got down on their main floor she noticed his office door was open.

He has scripts strewn all over the place. She smiled at the look of him. Aaron looks up and smiles. “Good morning my love.” he says. Cleo smiles at the sound of his voice. The accent is thick. “Good morning.” Cleo responds. Cleo takes a seat in front of him. “We need to revisit the baby conversation.” she says softly to him.

“Love. We talked about this. I want the legacy.” he starts. “And I want your last name!” she fires back.

Cleo rose gracefully from her seat, the soft click of her Louboutins on the floor drawing Aaron’’s attention as she rounded the desk. Without a word, she placed her hands gently on his shoulders, her delicate fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against the fabric of his shirt.

Aaron leaned back slightly in his chair, tilting his head to look up at her, his expression one of both curiosity and admiration. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, his voice low and inviting.

Cleo bent down slightly, her lips brushing close to his ear as she whispered, “I want to be married to you before I bring a child into this world, Araron.”

His smile widened, a deep chuckle escaping his lips. “We can make that happen Cleo. Anything you want I can do.” he said, his hands instinctively reaching up to rest on her hips.

“Good,” she murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his temple. “Because I wasn’t planning on you resisting.”

Aaron turned his chair slightly to face her, his eyes locking onto hers. “You’re a dangerous distraction, Ms.Morgan,” he teased, his voice filled with warmth. “But I’m not complaining.”

Cleo tilted her head, her cloudy grey eyes shimmering with mischief. “I wouldn’t be doing my job as your wife if I didn’t keep you on your toes,” she replied, her hands moving down to straighten the collar of his shirt.

Araron tightened his grip on her waist, his expression softening. “And you do it so effortlessly,” he said, pulling her a little closer. “But you might have to take responsibility for all the work I’m not getting done right now.”

Cleo smiled, leaning down to plant a lingering kiss on his lips. “Consider it my way of reminding you who your real boss is,” she said with a wink.

Aaron laughed, shaking his head. “Point taken, love. Point taken.”

She sighs. “I hate this is being a strain. Since you haven’t touched me in a week.” she says pouting.

Aaron’s eyebrows shot up, and a sly grin spread across his face as Cleo’s words hung in the air. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing playfully as he looked up at her.

“Oh?” he said, his voice low and full of intrigue. “Is that right?”

Cleo trailed her fingers along the edge of his jaw, her touch featherlight. “Mm-hmm,” she whispered, leaning closer until her lips were just barely brushing his ear. “I think it’s about time we fixed that, don’t you?”

Aaron let out a soft chuckle, his hands sliding up to rest on her hips. “You’re full of dangerous ideas today, Cleo,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and desire.

“Dangerous?” Cleo tilted her head, feigning innocence. “I’d call it overdue.”

Aaron stood, his imposing frame towering over her as he gently spun her around, pressing her back against his desk. “Overdue, huh?” he said, his tone challenging. His fingers traced the hem of her dress, his eyes never leaving hers. “You know what happens when you tease me like this, don’t you?”

Cleo smirked, unbothered by the shift in power. “I was hoping you’d show me, Mr. Pierre.”

His grin turned wicked as he leaned down, his lips grazing hers. “Lock the door, mi amor,” he whispered against her mouth.

Without breaking eye contact, Cleo reached behind him, her hand finding the lock on the door with practiced ease. The satisfying click was all the encouragement Aaron needed to keep the staff from wondering in.

“You’ve been asking for this,” he said, his voice low and commanding, as his hands slid around her waist.

“And I’m not sorry,” she shot back, pulling him closer.

Whatever meetings were on Aarons schedule that day would have to wait.

Aaron’s hands moved with deliberate care as he lifted Cleo onto the polished surface of his desk. The cold wood met the warmth of her skin, and she gasped softly at the sensation.

He stepped between her knees, his hands spreading them slightly as he leaned forward, his lips grazing her jawline. “You’ve got no idea how hard it is to focus when you show up looking like this,” he murmured, his voice a low growl.

Cleo tilted her head back, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his tie, pulling him closer. “Oh, I know,” she teased, her smirk laced with mischief. “That’s why I came.”

Aaron chuckled, his hands sliding up her thighs, fingers tracing lazy circles. “You’re trouble, Mrs. Pierre,” he whispered against her skin. She heard it come off his lips so easily.

“And you love it,” she breathed, her nails lightly scraping down his shoulders.

His lips found hers, the kiss deep and possessive, filled with the unspoken tension they both carried. As the world outside his office faded away, Aaaron pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.

“This is going to be a long lunch break,” he said, his tone laced with promise.

Cleo grinned, her hands tugging him closer. “Then you better make it worth it, Mr. Pierre.”

With that, Aaron leaned down, reclaiming her lips as the scripts scattered across the desk became the least important thing in the room.

She moved her hands to unzip his pants. Cleo automatically could see the hard on that is being concealed by his briefs. Impatient, overcoming him he guided her hands to take them off. In typical fashion it springs out from the confinement. He pushes her dress up so that it's scrunched on her stomach.

She whispers in his ear. “I’m ovulating.” That’s all he needed to hear. Two simple words.

“Fuck!” he grumbles as he enters her. This time it felt different. Her hands secure on his shoulders. “Do you trust me love?” he asks. His voice low and lust ridden. “Yes Daddy.” Cleo says ready for him to do something.

He began to thrust. “A…..” her voice wobbly as soon as she felt him start to zone out. Each thrust became more intentional. When his pace started to really pick up “Aaron….” her words slurring as she felt her orgasm coming. “Just a little bit longer love.” his voice slurring. Her nails dug into his back. Not the first time and damn sure won’t be the last time.

She felt her orgasm come crashing down hard. Aaron came soon after but he kept going. He has always been the type to cum and keeping fucking. Thank you to all those natural shit he takes. He rests his forehead against hers. “We better be expecting.” he says. “We better be married before the child gets her Mr. Pierre.” she quips back.

Cleo slid off the desk, her legs slightly wobbly as she straightened her skirt and smoothed her blouse. She glanced at the desk, quickly gathering the scattered papers and setting them back in a neat pile.

Aaron leaned against the desk, arms crossed, watching her with a satisfied smirk. “You’re going to be thinking about this all day,” he teased, his voice a low rumble.

Cleo shot him a look as she adjusted her hair in the reflection of his office window. “You mean you’re going to be thinking about it all day,” she countered, her lips curving into a smirk of her own.

He stepped behind her, his hands resting lightly on her hips as he whispered in her ear, “I already am.”

She let out a soft laugh, spinning to face him, her fingers straightening the knot of his tie. “You better focus on that meeting you’ve got in ten minutes,” she said, arching a brow.

Aaron chuckled, catching her wrist and pressing a lingering kiss to her palm. “Only if you promise to let me pick you up for dinner tonight.”

“Deal,” Cleo replied with a wink before slipping out of his office, her heels clicking confidently against the floor as she disappeared down the hall.

Aaron watched her leave, shaking his head with a grin. He returned to his chair, his thoughts still lingering on the fiery woman who had just walked out, and the lingering scent of her perfume in the air. Before she could fully get out of his office, he called after her. “When did you stop wearing panties?” he asks with a smirk.

Cleo paused mid-step, turning back to face him with an amused smile playing on her lips. "Hmm," she mused, tapping her chin as if in deep thought. "Probably around the time I realized it drove you insane."

Aaron leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as his smirk grew wider. "Insane doesn't even begin to cover it," he said, his voice low and laced with hunger.

She stepped closer, resting her hands on the edge of his desk, leaning in just enough to meet his gaze. "Well," she teased, her tone light but suggestive, "if it's such a problem, I could start wearing them again."

His hand shot out, gently circling her wrist. "Don’t you dare," he growled, pulling her closer until she was perched on the edge of the desk once again.

Cleo laughed softly, brushing a hand over his chest. "I figured you'd say that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes dancing with mischief.

He pulled her in for a quick kiss, his grip firm but tender. "You're impossible," he muttered against her lips.

"And yet, you love me," she quipped, pulling back just enough to shoot him a sly grin before turning on her heel and sauntering toward the door once more.

"More than you'll ever know," Aaron called after her, shaking his head with a mix of amusement and exasperation as he watched her leave. “And next time leave my favorite pair next time. The purple lace.” he says with a smirk.

Cleo stopped in her tracks, turning her head just enough to glance back at him, her eyebrow arched in playful curiosity. "The purple lace, huh?" she asked, her voice laced with amusement.

Aaron leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head, the smirk on his face growing wider. "You know the ones," he said, his tone slow and deliberate, "the ones that barely leave anything to the imagination. My absolute favorite."

Cleo chuckled softly, stepping back toward him with measured grace, her heels clicking against the floor. She stopped just in front of him, leaning down slightly to meet his gaze. "Too bad I haven't worn those in a while," she teased, tilting her head.

"Shame," he replied, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. "Guess I'll just have to buy you another set."

She laughed, brushing her fingers under his chin. "Maybe I’ll surprise you," she said, straightening up. "But you’ll have to wait and see."

He grabbed her hand before she could fully pull away, tugging her just close enough to whisper, "You know patience isn’t my strong suit, love."

Cleo smiled, shaking her head as she gently freed her hand. "Well, you'll just have to practice," she said, turning back toward the door with a deliberate sway in her hips.

Araron watched her leave, his smirk unwavering. "Purple lace," he muttered to himself, already plotting. "Noted."

When she got to her car, she was fearful for the night. She knows that they will have to talk about two things. Baby Pierre that probably just was conceived and marriage.

Tags:

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @avoidthings @nayaesworld @haechvn

@writingsbytee @violetmuses @grlsbstshot @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @megamindsecretlair @kimuzostar

#aaron pierre #yassbishimvintage #aaron pierre smut #Spotify #oc #original character

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cookielixie · 1 month ago

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𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐞 || 𝐥.𝐟. 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

A group of meddling friends, a sprig of mistletoe, and a month full of holiday mischief—what could go wrong? For Y/n and Felix, their obliviousness to their own feelings is only rivaled by their friends’ determination to push them together. As December unfolds, so do a series of awkward, sweet, and unexpected moments that might just make this Christmas unforgettable.

pairing: lee felix x reader

wordcount: 8k

genre/warnings: college!au, best friends to lovers, friends meddling, mistletoe mishaps, awkward encounters, two very oblivious idiots, suggestive content (like a tiny bit), tooth rotting fluff, mentions of alcohol and partying and a smidge of angst. I guess minsung if u squint

A/N: This has been a wip for like... three years now lmao. i really hope you guys like it, feedback and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated <3 also english is not my first language... so yeah sorry if there are any mistakes

It all started with something simple—shared morning lattes and soft exchanges of “good morning” during your early lectures. Those small, fleeting moments quietly grew into endless hours spent together, until you and Felix became nearly inseparable. The group noticed quickly. The way your laughter came easier when he was around, the way his eyes lingered on you when he thought no one was looking—it was hard to miss. And though you both insisted it was just friendship, the boys could see the truth: you were smitten, both of you, even if you were too stubborn or oblivious to admit it.

As the year went on, the group quietly rooted for something more to happen. There was an undeniable chemistry between you, a natural ease that left everyone wondering when—not if—you’d finally realize your feelings for each other. But no matter how much teasing or hinting was thrown your way, you both deflected it with flustered laughs and hasty denials. Every attempt to nudge you closer ended the same, with perfect excuses and an almost comical level of obliviousness.

Eventually, the boys eased off, figuring you’d figure it out on your own. But when December rolled around, your dynamic began to shift. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit, or maybe it was just the closeness that winter seemed to bring, but the two of you became even more inseparable—more clingy, more obviously something.

It was late November when the group gathered at Chan’s place, watching the two of you from afar and exchanging knowing looks. They’d waited long enough. If gentle teasing and subtle hints weren’t going to work, maybe it was time to take matters into their own hands. Armed with a sprig of mistletoe, a little holiday mischief, and a determination to finally get you two to confess, they began crafting their foolproof plan. This Christmas, one way or another, you and Felix would stop denying what everyone else already knew.

December 1st:

To kick off the Christmas season, everyone had gathered at Changbin’s for the monthly movie night. Everyone except you and Felix, of course, who were running late after your evening lecture together. The rest of the group had already settled in: Jisung and Minho were cracking open beers and chatting by the couch, Chan and Seungmin were busy piling blankets and pillows onto every available surface, while Hyunjin and Jeongin hovered over the snacks, stealing bites when they thought no one was looking.

Changbin, meanwhile, was in the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a frantic expression and sweat beading on his forehead. His white t-shirt clung to him, dark spots blooming around the neckline. He’d spent the last hour scrambling to prepare what could only be described as a chaotic masterpiece.

He held the item up in his hands, tilting it left and right under the kitchen light to inspect its durability. It was a long, slender branch, stripped of its excess twigs and carefully wrapped in duct tape. At the tip dangled a sprig of mistletoe, the final touch to what he jokingly called his “cupid’s staff.” After months of teasing, jokes, and failed schemes to push you and Felix closer, drastic measures were now on the table.

“Hey, you almost done in here?” Chan’s head popped around the doorframe, startling Changbin. “They’re on their way.”

Changbin glanced at his creation one last time before sighing. “I have no idea if this’ll work,” he muttered, holding it like a fragile relic.

Chan smirked, his eyes turning into crescents. “It’s worth a shot. If anyone can pull this off, it’s you.” He gave Changbin an encouraging pat on the shoulder before disappearing back into the living room. Changbin rolled his eyes but couldn’t help grinning as he cleaned up the remnants of his “art project.”

When you and Felix finally arrived, your shared giggles preceded you, drawing attention as you stepped through the door. The others didn’t waste a second guiding you both to the loveseat—a small, almost comically cramped piece of furniture. You were forced to sit shoulder-to-shoulder, your legs draped casually across Felix’s lap. The closeness didn’t seem to bother either of you, and soon a comfortable silence fell over the room as the opening credits of the movie began to roll.

Changbin bided his time, waiting until everyone was engrossed in the movie before slipping away to retrieve his cupid’s branch. “Bathroom break,” he muttered, his heart pounding as he snuck the mistletoe stick out of its hiding spot.

Returning to the room, he carefully hid the branch behind his back as he took his seat. Minho noticed immediately, raising a brow and stifling a laugh, which, of course, drew your attention.

“What’s so funny, Min?” you asked, glancing over.

Changbin shot Minho a deadly glare, silently mouthing, Don’t you dare. Minho, however, didn’t even glance back at him. Instead, he deadpanned, “Changbin’s face. It’s just… always funny.”

The group erupted into laughter, with Seungmin letting out a snort loud enough to shake the pillows. “Minho, I swear, one of these days, I’m going to drop a dumbbell on you at the gym,” Changbin snapped, though the threat lacked any real malice.

Minho gasped dramatically, turning away with an exaggerated pout. “Whatever, I’m cuddling Jisung now. At least he appreciates me.”

Jisung, already sitting beside him, slung an arm over Minho’s shoulders. “I got you, Min,” he said with mock sincerity.

The laughter settled, and everyone turned back to the screen. Everyone except Changbin, who gripped his mistletoe stick like it was Excalibur, waiting for the perfect moment. He threw a quick glance in your direction and couldn’t help but smirk. Your head was now leaning against Felix’s shoulder, your face nestled into the crook of his neck, while his hand rested lightly on your thigh. Felix’s ears were burning red, a clear giveaway of how flustered he was despite his calm expression. You’re making this way too easy for me, Changbin thought, adjusting his grip on the branch.

Unbeknownst to Changbin, your thoughts were far away from the movie. When did he become so beautiful? you wondered for the hundredth time since you’d met Felix. Tonight, though, the thought felt heavier as you stared at the way the TV’s soft light highlighted his freckles, making his eyes shine like little suns. You’d accepted your feelings for him a long time ago, even if you were convinced they weren’t mutual. You’d come to terms with it—being his friend was enough, wasn’t it? But moments like this, so close to him, made it harder to ignore the small ache in your chest.

Meanwhile, Felix was doing everything in his power not to look down at you. His heart raced every time your breath fanned against his neck, and the weight of your legs draped over his lap was making it impossible to think straight. He clenched his jaw, his thoughts a chaotic mess. Stop being ridiculous. She doesn’t like you like that. But even as he told himself that, a part of him wished—hoped—that maybe he was wrong.

That’s when Changbin made his move. Slowly, he leaned forward, positioning the mistletoe just above you and Felix. At first, Felix didn’t notice—his focus was entirely on not pulling you closer. But when a faint movement caught the corner of his eye, his head shot up. His eyes landed on the mistletoe, and his entire body stiffened.

“What the hell, Changbin?” Felix’s voice came out sharper than intended, snapping everyone’s attention to him. His jaw tightened, and his eyes darted from the mistletoe to Changbin’s sheepish grin.

“It’s just a bit of fun,” Changbin replied, trying to keep it light. “Tradition, you know?”

“Yeah, hilarious,” Felix said coldly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He avoided looking at you entirely, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

Your stomach sank at his reaction. Does the thought of kissing me disgust him that much? you wondered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. Clearing your throat, you shifted slightly away from him, your heart sinking as your insecurities bubbled to the surface.

Sensing the tension, Minho quickly stepped in. “Alright, alright, let’s get back to the movie, yeah? Changbin, retire your cupid stick.”

The awkwardness lingered for the rest of the night, though no one dared to mention the mistletoe again. By the time the movie ended, you and Felix left without so much as a word to each other, the comfortable closeness from earlier now replaced with a noticeable distance.

As you walked home in opposite directions, the silence between you hung heavy in the air, leaving you both with thoughts you couldn’t bring yourselves to say aloud.

December 6th:

Minho’s invitation to dinner—just you, Felix, and Jisung—felt like the perfect excuse to shake off the awkwardness lingering from the group’s last gathering. Felix had eagerly agreed, and you didn’t hesitate either. Spending time with him in a smaller, more relaxed setting was always easy. Plus, Minho’s cooking was a draw on its own.

As you stepped into Minho’s apartment, the warmth and delicious aroma of home-cooked food enveloped you immediately. “Welcome to Minho’s Michelin-star kitchen,” he announced proudly, ushering you inside.

Jisung, sprawled lazily on the couch, smirked. “Minho’s been on a mission to impress all day. He even cleaned the stove. You better be prepared to cry tears of joy.”

“Please,” Minho shot back. “You’ll be too busy shoving food into your mouth to cry.”

Laughing, you made your way to the small dining table set beautifully for four. You slid into your seat beside Felix while Minho and Jisung sat across from you. The atmosphere was cozy, made warmer by the soft yellow light spilling from the lamp above the table.

The conversation flowed easily as you started eating, a mix of light teasing and genuine updates. Minho, always perceptive, grinned as he turned his attention to you. “So, Y/n, heard you totally destroyed that exam you were stressing over? What’s your secret? Is it some kind of illegal genius potion? Do I need to call someone?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No genius potion, just sheer panic, too much coffee, and maybe a sprinkle of luck.” You reached for the salt shaker, but your movement froze as your gaze drifted upward. Dangling from the lamp above the table, hanging innocently over you and Felix, was a sprig of mistletoe.

Your cheeks instantly heated. Minho and Jisung exchanged amused glances, poorly concealing their smirks as they watched you both. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Felix’s grip tighten slightly on his fork, his gaze firmly planted on his plate. He must have noticed it earlier, but he hadn’t said a word. Of course he hadn’t.

You cleared your throat, breaking the moment, and continued your original task of grabbing the salt, doing your best to ignore the festive little sprig taunting you from above. Felix didn’t look up once, seemingly invested in rearranging the food on his plate.

For the rest of the meal, your interactions with Felix felt careful and muted, though you couldn’t help sneaking a few glances his way. Whenever Minho wasn’t looking, you narrowed your eyes at him, your silent death glare saying all the things you couldn’t say out loud. But if he noticed your glare—and he absolutely did—he didn’t seem fazed, calmly serving himself another helping of food and chatting with Jisung about the latest drama in their group of friends.

By the time dinner ended, the mistletoe still hung over you like an unanswered question, but neither of you dared to acknowledge it. You and Felix thanked Minho for the food and began your walk home in the crisp December night air.

The silence at first was comfortable, your shoes crunching softly against the pavement. It didn’t take long before Felix cracked a joke about Jisung’s overly dramatic reaction to Minho’s slightly burnt bread rolls, and soon your laughter echoed easily down the quiet street.

Amidst your conversation, Felix slipped his hand into yours. It wasn’t unusual for you two to hold hands—it was something you’d done before—but tonight it felt different. Maybe it was the warmth of the moment, or maybe it was the quiet intimacy of walking side by side under the twinkling streetlights. Whatever it was, you couldn’t help but notice how natural it felt, as though his hand belonged there.

Felix glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his soft smile catching the faint glow of the streetlights. “You know,” he began, his voice casual but slightly hesitant, “this kind of feels like… a nice tradition.”

You tilted your head, squeezing his hand lightly. “What does?”

“This,” he said, his gaze flicking briefly to your joined hands before he quickly added with a nervous laugh, “You know… just as friends. It’s nice, right? No weird mistletoe stuff this time.”

Your laugh was light, but something tightened in your chest at his words. “Yeah,” you said softly, glancing ahead. “No surprises hanging over our heads.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. Felix’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, as if he was afraid you’d pull away, but you didn’t. You kept walking side by side, your steps naturally syncing with each other like they always did.

His words lingered in your mind, though, the way he so quickly clarified the moment as just friendly. Did he think you might have assumed something else? Had you been assuming something else? The thought stirred uneasily in your chest, but you shook it off, blaming it on the holiday awkwardness that had been following you both since the start of December.

Beside you, Felix wasn’t any calmer. His heart raced, and he berated himself silently. ‘Why did I say that? Now it’s weird. What if she thinks I’m overthinking? What if she wasn’t thinking about it, but now she is?’ His thoughts swirled in an endless loop of self-doubt, but even amidst the chaos in his mind, he felt the warmth of your hand in his and refused to let go.

The walk continued, the quiet punctuated by shared smiles and lighthearted comments, both of you silently agreeing not to think too much about the moment. For now, it was enough.

Unbeknownst to you, Minho and Jisung stood by their apartment window, watching as your figures grew smaller in the distance. “They’re hopeless,” Jisung said with a laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Minho agreed, smiling fondly. “But this time, I think they’re starting to get it.”

December 12th:

Visits to the dance studio where Minho, Hyunjin, and Felix practiced had become a regular part of your routine. You enjoyed seeing the trio perfect their routines and loved bringing them food and drinks as a small gesture of support. Tonight, you decided to surprise them, knowing how late their rehearsals often ran. The thumping bass and sharp rhythm of the music greeted you as you entered the studio, the trio moving in perfect sync with the beat. The energy in the room was magnetic, and you couldn’t help but admire the sheer dedication in each step. For a moment, you stood in the doorway, watching them in awe, before they noticed you.

Minho spotted you first, his face breaking into a wide grin. “Perfect timing, Y/n! We’re starving,” he announced, cutting the music off as the others collapsed onto the floor in mock exhaustion. Hyunjin dramatically wiped his brow, flopping onto his back. “You’re basically a lifesaver at this point,” he joked, while Felix walked over to you with a shy smile, murmuring a soft “Thanks for coming.”

You sat down with them on the studio floor, unpacking the food and drinks. The conversation flowed easily, filled with playful teasing and updates about your days. Felix, ever the enthusiastic eater, dove into his food with gusto, but it didn’t take long for disaster to strike. “You’ve got sauce on your face, Felix,” you said, stifling a laugh as you reached for a napkin. Without hesitation, you leaned in to wipe it off.

But just as your hand neared his face, Hyunjin leaned over you with an outstretched arm, dangling a sprig of mistletoe above your head. “Oops, look at that,” he said with a mischievous grin. Your hand froze midair, your eyes locking on the mistletoe first, then darting to Felix. His eyes were wide, his cheeks already dusted with pink. The moment stretched out awkwardly, your hand only inches from his face, until the reality of the situation hit you like a jolt. You recoiled sharply, your heart racing. “I—I should go,” you stammered, grabbing your bag and standing up so quickly it almost knocked over a drink. “Lots to do tonight, sorry!” Before anyone could say a word, you rushed out of the studio, the door swinging shut behind you.

The silence left behind was deafening. Felix sat frozen, his hand hovering where yours had been moments before, staring at the door you’d disappeared through. His brow furrowed as a mix of frustration and regret crossed his face. “Hyunjin,” he said slowly, his tone sharp, “what the hell was that? The mistletoe again?”

Hyunjin blinked, startled by Felix’s tone. “I just thought it’d be funny,” he said defensively, holding the mistletoe up like a white flag. But when Felix’s glare didn’t falter, Hyunjin sighed and dropped the sprig onto the floor. “Look, if you hadn’t reacted so… harshly the first time, maybe Y/n wouldn’t be so jumpy now. I mean, do you even know how much she likes you?”

Felix’s jaw tightened. “What?” he asked, his voice lower now, but Hyunjin just shook his head, standing up to grab a drink. “Figure it out, man. We’re just trying to help, but it’s like you’re both running away every time something happens.”

Felix didn’t respond. He stared at the mistletoe on the floor, Hyunjin’s words echoing in his head. If you hadn’t reacted so harshly the first time… maybe Y/n wouldn’t be so jumpy now. Was that true? Had he set this whole thing in motion? He thought back to the first mistletoe incident at Changbin’s—a moment he’d shut down immediately because the idea of forcing you into something like that felt wrong. He didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or pressured, not when he thought you might find it absolutely weird and deem him a creep or something. But now… was it his reaction that had made things worse? Was he the one creating this distance?

His chest tightened. He’d thought he was protecting you—protecting your friendship—but maybe he’d only made things more awkward. And now you were running out of rooms because of him. The studio fell quiet again, save for the faint sound of Minho munching on chips. After a long silence, Minho glanced up, leaning forward slightly. “Felix, don’t overthink it,” he said gently, his voice less teasing than usual. “You two always bounce back. Just… maybe next time, don’t run away from the moment, yeah?”

Felix nodded slowly, Minho’s words sinking in, but he still couldn’t shake the weight in his chest. As rehearsal resumed, he danced on autopilot, his movements mechanical as his mind replayed the night’s events. By the time the music stopped again, one thought was firmly planted in his mind: I can’t let this keep happening. I’ve got to figure out how to make things right with her.

December 16th:

It had been a few days since the series of awkward holiday encounters—movie night, the dinner at Minho’s, and the fiasco at the dance studio. You and Felix had fallen back into your usual rhythm, or at least, you were trying to. The moments of closeness still felt natural, but there was a tension beneath the surface, a hesitance that hadn’t been there before. You chalked it up to everything that had happened, telling yourself that things would smooth out eventually.

The two of you were standing by your locker that morning, talking like usual, and for once, it felt normal again. Felix leaned casually against the locker next to yours, his freckled cheeks still slightly pink from the cold outside.

“I’m calling it now—Chan’s going to make us rewrite our part of the group project by the end of the week,” Felix said with a smirk. “He’s going to find some tiny typo and have an existential crisis about it.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you grabbed a book from your locker. “He’s probably already composing the email. I give him until tomorrow before we get hit with, ‘Just a few more adjustments.’”

Felix laughed along with you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Moments like this were your favorite—easy, light, like nothing had changed. The awkwardness from the last few days felt far away, almost forgotten. Almost.

But then Jisung appeared.

“Wow, if it isn’t my favorite dynamic duo!” he called out, his voice loud enough to draw a few glances from passing students. You turned your head just as he stopped in front of you, his usual mischievous grin plastered across his face.

“Jisung…” you began cautiously, narrowing your eyes at him. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, he gave you and Felix a mockingly sweet look, then reached up and held something over your heads. Your stomach sank the moment you realized what he was doing.

Felix noticed immediately too. His laughter faded, and for a split second, he looked up before his eyes flicked to you. But instead of pulling away or frowning like he had the first time, he hesitated, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something. His posture softened, his hand twitching at his side as though he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if he should. “Y/n, it’s not a big deal,” he said, his voice quiet and careful.

But you didn’t hear the gentleness in his words. The memory of his sharp reaction the first time flashed in your mind like a warning sign. You panicked, your body stiffening as a heat rose to your face. “Jisung!” you exclaimed, your voice harsher than you intended as you reached out to push him aside.

He stumbled back with a yelp, clutching his chest dramatically. “Whoa, okay! No need to shove!” he said, though his tone was still playful.

“I’m not doing this right now,” you muttered, hastily grabbing your bag. Your eyes didn’t meet Felix’s, even as you felt his gaze lingering on you. “I’ve got to get to class.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving Felix and Jisung standing there in the middle of the hallway.

The silence between them was heavy for a moment, until Jisung let out a low whistle. “Well, that didn’t go as planned,” he muttered, looking at Felix.

Felix was still staring down the hall, his expression hard to read. His arms hung at his sides, his shoulders tense. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but laced with frustration. “Why do you keep doing that, Jisung?”

Jisung blinked. “Doing what?”

Felix turned to him, his jaw tight. “This. Pushing her like that. It’s not helping.”

Jisung tilted his head, holding his hands up defensively. “Whoa, relax, man. I thought you two were back to normal. You were laughing and talking like nothing was wrong—I figured maybe this time, it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

Felix ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. “Well, it is a big deal. She’s already uncomfortable with everything that’s happened, and now she’s just…” He trailed off, his voice growing softer. “She probably thinks I don’t want this. That I don’t want her.”

Jisung frowned, his usual playful expression replaced by something more serious. “You don’t think she knows how you feel?”

Felix let out a short, humorless laugh. “How could she? The first time this happened, I acted like the whole idea was some big joke. She probably thinks the idea of… of anything between us is disgusting to me.” He leaned back against the lockers, his gaze falling to the floor. “But it’s not. It’s the opposite. I just didn’t want her to feel pressured into anything. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Jisung studied him for a moment, then let out a sigh. “Look, man, maybe it’s time to stop trying to protect her from something she doesn’t need protecting from. I mean, she’s clearly as caught up in her head as you are. Maybe instead of freaking out, you could, I don’t know, actually say something next time?”

Felix looked up at him, frowning. “Say what?”

Jisung smirked faintly, patting Felix on the shoulder. “Figure it out. Just… do something before she sprints away again. You’re both miserable, and it’s kind of painful to watch.”

And with that, Jisung walked off, leaving Felix standing alone in the hallway. Felix let out another sigh, leaning his head back against the lockers.

Maybe Jisung’s right, he thought, the idea twisting in his chest. She probably thinks I don’t want her. But what if she… what if she doesn’t want me either?

The thought made his stomach churn, but as he stood there, staring down the hallway where you’d disappeared, he resolved to himself that next time—if there was a next time—he wouldn’t let things end like this.

December 20th:

The soft hum of Christmas music filled the cozy café where you worked, the glow of fairy lights strung along the walls casting a warm, festive ambiance. The evening shift had been slow, with only the occasional customer trickling in, leaving you and Jeongin plenty of time to chat and clean. When the bells above the door jingled, you glanced up, immediately spotting Felix stepping in from the cold. A puff of white breath escaped his lips as he unwrapped the scarf from his neck, his cheeks and nose flushed pink from the chilly December air. He looked tired but happy, and his face lit up when he saw you behind the counter.

“Felix!” you called out, leaning slightly over the counter to greet him. “Done with your last exam?”

He grinned as he approached, his hair falling into his eyes. “Finally. I think my brain is fried, but at least I’m free now.” He leaned an elbow on the counter, his usual casual charm impossible to miss. “I needed a victory coffee, and I figured my favorite barista would hook me up.”

You snorted, grabbing a cup and heading toward the espresso machine. “Victory coffee, huh? Is that what we’re calling it? Be honest—did you crush it or barely survive?”

“Crushed it,” he replied quickly, then laughed. “Okay, fine. Maybe there was a little panic halfway through the essay. But come on, you try remembering six economic theories when you’re running on two hours of sleep.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you started making his coffee. “Sounds like someone should’ve had one more latte before heading in. Caffeine solves everything, you know.”

“Ah, yes, the secret to success: caffeine addiction,” he teased, resting both elbows on the counter now as he watched you work. Jeongin, wiping down tables nearby, snorted loud enough to make Felix glance his way.

“She doesn’t give just anyone free coffee, you know,” Jeongin quipped. “You must be special.”

Felix smirked, his gaze flickering to yours. “Guess I’m her favorite.”

You felt your cheeks flush but kept your focus on the coffee machine, pretending his words hadn’t made your heart skip. “Careful, sunshine boy, or I’ll start charging you double.”

Jeongin grinned knowingly but didn’t push it, disappearing into the back as you handed Felix his coffee. He took a sip, sighing dramatically as though it were the best thing he’d ever tasted. “Perfect, as always.”

You leaned forward on the counter, resting your chin in your hand as you laughed. “I’ll take that as a five-star Yelp review.”

“You’d get six stars if you threw in a cookie,” he joked, and just like that, the conversation flowed effortlessly. It didn’t matter how awkward things had been between you recently—when it was just the two of you, everything else seemed to melt away. Felix’s freckled cheeks were still pink from the cold, and the warmth in his eyes as he smiled at you made your stomach flip, though you tried to ignore it.

The café was quiet, the snow falling softly outside making the whole world feel muffled and still. Felix leaned closer over the counter, his chin propped on his hand now, mirroring your posture as you teased him about his exam. He was laughing again, the sound low and sweet, and you were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t notice how close you’d both leaned toward each other. The space between you was practically nonexistent, and your heart was thudding in your chest, though you weren’t sure why.

But Felix did notice. Just as his gaze flickered to your lips, a movement caught the corner of his eye. He stilled, his laughter fading as his focus shifted. There, by the pastry case, was Jeongin. He was leaning casually against the counter, a smug grin plastered across his face as he held something above your heads.

Felix’s stomach twisted when he realized what it was: a sprig of mistletoe, dangling lazily from Jeongin’s hand. His initial instinct was to groan or roll his eyes, to glare at Jeongin for meddling again. But then his gaze returned to you. You were still smiling, your eyes shining as you waited for him to say something, completely unaware of Jeongin’s antics.

Felix hesitated. He knew how you felt about the mistletoe by now—how every prank this month had left you retreating, flustered and unsure. But something about the way you were looking at him right now, so close and unguarded, made him want to push past the awkwardness and take the chance. Maybe this was his moment to show you how he really felt.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that sent a shiver down your spine. “Can I tell you something?”

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued, though you tried to keep your tone light. “You’re not about to say something cheesy, are you?”

He chuckled, the sound low and genuine, and his gaze softened as he leaned in slightly. “Maybe. But you make it kinda hard not to.”

You opened your mouth, ready to fire back some teasing remark, but before you could, Felix closed the space between you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. The warmth of his lips spread across your skin, catching you so off guard that you froze. For a moment, everything seemed to stand still, the café quiet except for the soft hum of holiday music. But just as your heart started to flutter, your eyes flicked upward—and you saw it.

There, held high above your heads, was Jeongin’s hand. He was leaning against the counter, the branch in his grip swaying slightly, his grin practically splitting his face in two.

The giddy warmth from Felix’s kiss vanished, replaced by a sinking feeling in your chest. Of course. Of course Jeongin had been watching, meddling, dangling his stupid branch like some kind of cupid. You stepped back from Felix slightly, your hand brushing your cheek where his lips had been moments before, and let out a nervous laugh.

“Wow, smooth, Felix,” you said lightly, though your voice felt hollow even to your own ears. You avoided his gaze, your chest tightening with doubt. He’d kissed you, sure, but was it because he wanted to—or because Jeongin had been standing there, making it impossible not to? The thought twisted painfully in your stomach, and you turned your attention to Jeongin, your expression hardening. “And you! Don’t you have anything better to do than play cupid?”

Jeongin grinned shamelessly, lowering the branch. “Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ as he straightened up. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes and busied yourself behind the counter, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. You could feel Felix’s gaze on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. The moment had been so sweet, so perfect, but now it just felt like a game—like all the other forced encounters this month. The thought of it being anything other than real made your chest ache.

Felix stood there, his own chest tightening as he watched you. He hadn’t missed the way your expression changed the second you noticed Jeongin, how you’d pulled away like the kiss had meant nothing. His grip on his coffee cup tightened, frustration and regret bubbling inside him. He’d kissed you because he wanted to, but now it felt like everything had been ruined by that stupid sprig of greenery.

Later, as Jeongin wiped down a table nearby, Felix caught his eye. “Really?” Felix said, his voice low as he gestured toward the branch now lying on the counter. “You couldn’t help yourself?”

Jeongin smirked, completely unbothered. “You two were this close. I just gave you a little push.”

Felix sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She probably thinks I only kissed her because of you.”

“Well,” Jeongin said, raising an eyebrow, “did you?”

Felix glared at him, his voice soft but firm. “No. I kissed her because I wanted to.”

Jeongin tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost understanding. “Then maybe next time, let her know that. Don’t let me or some stupid branch do it for you.”

Felix stayed quiet, his eyes flicking toward the counter where you stood, your back still turned to him. Jeongin’s words echoed in his head as he finished his coffee, determination slowly building in his chest. If there was going to be a next time, he wouldn’t leave any room for doubt. Not this time.

December 22nd:

The Christmas party was in full swing, and Chan’s apartment buzzed with the energy of a group finally free from the weight of exams. The music pulsed softly in the background—a mix of festive classics and whatever Jisung had decided to throw into the playlist for chaos. Colored lights blinked unevenly from every corner, their soft glow bathing the room in warmth, while an unsteady Christmas tree leaned dramatically in the corner, its precarious decorations the result of Minho’s refusal to let anyone touch “his masterpiece.” The air was thick with the scent of mulled wine, spiked hot chocolate, and cinnamon candles that Minho had insisted were “mandatory for the aesthetic.” Empty bottles and half-eaten snacks littered the table, and Santa hats had somehow found their way onto everyone’s heads, whether willingly or not.

In the kitchen, you leaned against the counter, cradling a drink that had gone lukewarm in your hand. Minho stood opposite you, arms crossed and a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he watched you with laser focus. The noise from the living room spilled faintly into the space—Jeongin’s laughter cutting through Chan’s groan of defeat, the clinking of glasses, and Jisung’s exaggerated rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as he studied you. “Alright, what’s going on?”

You blinked, startled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Minho said, gesturing toward the door with his glass, “that you’ve been glancing at Felix every five minutes like you’re in a cheesy holiday rom-com, and you’ve barely said three words to him all night. Spill.”

You groaned, setting your drink down on the counter with a little too much force. “It’s nothing,” you muttered, though even you didn’t believe it. “That’s the problem.”

Minho’s smirk softened, and he leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze not letting you escape. “You know you can talk to me, right? I’m like a free therapist. Minus the therapy license. And the emotional sensitivity.”

You let out a soft laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “It’s just… complicated,” you said, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “This whole mistletoe thing—it’s made everything so weird. And now I feel like I don’t even know where I stand with him. What if all those moments didn’t mean anything? What if he only kissed me at the café because Jeongin was standing there waiting for him to do it?”

Minho let out a long, exasperated sigh, setting his glass down with a dramatic flourish. “Y/n, listen to me. Felix isn’t the kind of guy who does something just because someone else expects him to. If he kissed you, it’s because he wanted to. End of story. Trust me, I’ve known him for years.”

You frowned, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “But what if I’m wrong? What if I say something, and it ruins everything?”

Minho gave you a rare, sincere look, his tone softening. “Then at least you’ll know. But, Y/n, come on. The guy looks at you like you hung the stars. You’ve seen it, right? He’s just as caught up in this as you are. But if you don’t talk to him, you’re both gonna keep circling each other forever.”

You hesitated, the weight of his words settling over you. “You’re really annoying, you know that?” you muttered, picking up your glass again.

Minho grinned, raising his own glass in a mock toast. “And yet, I’m always right.”

Across the room, Felix was perched on the edge of the couch, swirling his drink absently as he stared out the window. The faint glow of the city lights reflected in his dark eyes, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He barely noticed the snow falling in lazy flurries, his mind too busy replaying every moment from the past month—the awkwardness, the misunderstandings, and most of all, the way you’d pulled away at the café after Jeongin’s mistletoe stunt. He kept asking himself the same question: Had he ruined it? Had his hesitation made you think he didn’t care?

Hyunjin plopped down beside him, dragging him back to the present with an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, sunshine boy, what’s your deal?”

Felix blinked, startled. “What?”

“You’ve been sulking in the corner all night,” Hyunjin said, poking him in the ribs with a candy cane. “Which, like, fine, maybe it’s your broody winter aesthetic or whatever, but it’s starting to get depressing. What’s going on?”

Felix let out a soft groan, running a hand through his hair. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not nothing,” Seungmin interjected from across the room, where he was perched on the armrest of the couch. “Even Changbin noticed, and he’s been halfway through that punch bowl for the last hour.”

Changbin, who was indeed holding another cup of punch, nodded sagely. “Yeah, man. You’ve been staring at Y/n like she’s the last piece of cake at the bakery.”

Felix groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “I’m not staring.”

Hyunjin snorted. “Right. Sure. You’re just ‘coincidentally’ looking in her direction every thirty seconds.”

Felix dropped his hands, shooting them a glare. “I don’t know, okay? The whole mistletoe thing has been a mess, and I feel like every time I try to fix it, I just make things worse. She probably thinks I only kissed her at the café because Jeongin was watching.”

Hyunjin tilted his head, studying Felix’s slumped posture. “Or—and hear me out—maybe she’s just as scared as you are. Look, Felix, if you want her to know how you feel, you’re gonna have to stop tiptoeing around it. None of this ‘reading between the lines’ crap. Just tell her.”

Felix’s gaze flicked toward the kitchen, where he could just make out the edge of your figure as you leaned against the counter, talking to Minho. His chest tightened. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You’re right.”

Hyunjin grinned, clapping him on the back. “Of course I am.”

The Christmas party had settled into a quieter rhythm, the earlier chaos giving way to a warm buzz of chatter and laughter. Chan’s apartment still brimmed with festive energy—colored lights blinked unevenly from the walls, and the half-decorated tree leaned at an almost comical angle, as though too tired to stand upright after hosting a steady stream of Santa hats and selfies. The scent of mulled wine, cinnamon candles, and something suspiciously burnt wafted through the air, mingling with the faint sounds of Christmas music pulsing from Jisung’s chaotic playlist.

You needed air. The heat of the apartment and the weight of your swirling thoughts had become too much, so you’d slipped out onto the balcony unnoticed. The cold December breeze bit at your skin, sharp and refreshing, as you leaned against the railing and stared out at the snow-dusted city below. The streetlights illuminated the falling snow like glitter, and for a moment, you let the quiet settle over you, a sharp contrast to the hum of energy inside.

Your mind, however, refused to settle. It was caught in a loop, replaying every mistletoe encounter from the past month—the awkward laughter, the stolen glances, the kiss at the café. No matter how hard you tried to push it away, one thought kept returning: Did any of it really mean something? Or had Felix simply gone along with it because he felt like he had to?

The sliding door opened behind you, and you glanced over your shoulder, startled. Felix stepped out, his scarf loosely draped around his neck, and the faint glow from the apartment lit up his freckles like constellations. His cheeks were pink, whether from the cold or the warmth of the party, you weren’t sure. He hesitated for a moment, looking at you like he wasn’t entirely sure he was welcome, before closing the door behind him and stepping closer.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying over the breeze.

“Hey,” you replied, your breath visible in the cold as you turned back to the view.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything, the silence stretching between you like the snowfall. Felix shifted beside you, leaning on the railing, close enough that his elbow almost brushed yours. You could feel his presence without looking at him, and the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

“Can we talk?” he asked finally, his voice hesitant but steady.

You nodded, your pulse quickening. “Yeah. We probably should.”

Felix let out a slow breath, his hands gripping the railing as he looked out at the city. “This whole month has been… a lot,” he started, his voice low. “The mistletoe, the teasing, all of it—it made everything feel so much more complicated than it needed to be. And I know I didn’t exactly handle it well.” He paused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “The night at Changbin’s… when I reacted the way I did—it wasn’t because I didn’t want to kiss you.”

You turned to look at him, your chest tightening. “Then why?”

Felix hesitated, his brows furrowing as he stared down at his hands. “Because I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I didn’t want you to think I was only doing it because they were watching. I didn’t want it to feel like some stupid joke.” His voice softened, and he finally looked up to meet your gaze. “I wanted it to be real. And I didn’t want to ruin anything between us by making it weird.”

Your breath caught, and you felt the words spilling out before you could stop them. “And I didn’t want you to kiss me because of them either,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because of some stupid branch, or a game, or anything else.”

Felix’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. “Y/n,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “that’s the only reason I’ve ever wanted to kiss you.”

The rawness in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, and your heart felt like it might burst. The tension between you was electric, the cold air forgotten as his gaze held yours, unflinching and unguarded. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Felix spotted something on the small table beside you.

He let out a soft laugh, breaking the moment as he reached for it. In his hand was a familiar sprig of greenery—another mistletoe branch, as though the universe itself had been conspiring against you all month. Felix raised it above your heads, a playful smile tugging at his lips despite the nervous edge in his eyes.

“Well,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement, “it wouldn’t be Christmas without one of these, right?”

You stared at the mistletoe for a moment, your emotions a tangled mess of warmth, frustration, and something close to defiance. Then, without a word, you grabbed the branch from his hand, stepped back, and threw it over the railing. The sprig disappeared into the night, swallowed by the snow below.

“To hell with that,” you said, your voice steady but breathless.

Before Felix could react, you closed the distance between you, your hands cupping his face as you leaned in and kissed him. His lips were warm despite the cold, soft and tentative for half a second before he responded, his hands gently settling on your waist like he was afraid you might disappear. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, like the two of you were pouring every unsaid word, every missed moment, into it. The rest of the world faded away—there was no snow, no cold, no noise from the party inside. There was only him.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested against each other, your breaths mingling in the frosty air. Felix’s eyes fluttered open, and his freckled cheeks were flushed, his lips tugging into a soft, disbelieving smile.

“Wow,” he said, his voice low and full of awe. “That was definitely all you.”

You laughed, your hands still resting against his cheeks. “Yeah, it was.”

The tender moment was shattered by a loud thump against the glass door. Both of you whipped around to see the boys pressed up against the balcony window—Hyunjin, Jisung, Jeongin, Seungmin, Changbin, Chan, and Minho, all grinning like they’d just won the lottery. Minho smirked as he exchanged a smug high-five with Chan, while Jisung mimed wiping a fake tear from his cheek.

Felix groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as his ears burned red. “They’re the worst.”

You couldn’t stop laughing, wrapping your arms around him as you leaned your cheek against his hair. “Yeah,” you said, smiling as the snow continued to fall softly around you. “But maybe we owe them for this one.”

270 notes · View notes

vibelladonna · 21 days ago

Text

❛ 𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓅𝓉 𝟸 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── ·

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: So after that intimate night with Jericho, you find yourself haunted by vivid memories of his touch, his voice, and the raw vulnerability you two shared. Despite trying to push the feelings away, the intensity of your emotions only grows stronger, leaving them restless and conflicted. As you struggle with the lingering warmth of the moment, you realize that Jericho has left a lasting impact on you—one that you can't escape without even realizing the full truth.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. Some Spoilers from Day 2: The Kid At The Back. (More like Inspo lines)

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: Gender-Neutral Reader, Female Body. The story begins with angst, transitions into moments of fluff, and then dives into explicit content. It includes traces of possessiveness from Crowe, dry humping, and a minimal plot. Expect multiple orgasms, the use of pet names, and intense emotions throughout.

Since so many of you requested part two, I spent the whole day working on it! Meaning possibly errors… anyway, I’ve added a little extra story for you all to enjoy. Happy reading~

The morning light creeps into your room, painting faint patterns on the walls and casting golden streaks across the cluttered corners and half-opened books. You lie sprawled across the bed, half-buried in the tangle of sheets that carry faint traces of your warmth.

One leg dangles over the side of the bed while the other remains tucked beneath the covers. Your arm drapes lazily across your stomach, fingers tracing absent patterns against your skin, a nervous habit you can’t seem to shake.

Your head sinks deeper into the pillow, face turned toward the window where weak morning light filters through the curtains, throwing faint streaks across the room. Despite your eyes being closed, your thoughts race, vivid and unrelenting, their weight making the air feel thick around you. The blanket slides slightly off your shoulder as you shift, rolling onto your side and curling inward.

You clutch the edge of the fabric, pulling it tightly to your chest as if its cocooning weight might hold the memories at bay.

It doesn’t.

They press against your mind, insistent and sharp, like whispers you can’t quite silence. Your thoughts were filled with reminders of the intimacy you’d shared last night. “Jericho…” You mumbled Crowe’s name that came unbidden, your lips twitching as you note that you’ve said it out loud.

You drop and bury your face into the pillow, muffling a soft exhale, willing yourself to push the thought away, but it settles deeper in your chest, throbbing with the steady rhythm of your heartbeat.

You stretch slightly, your back arching against the mattress, toes curling into the cool cotton sheets, the motion a failed attempt to shake the weight of it all. Rolling onto your stomach, you press your cheek against the pillow, one arm dangling limply over the edge of the bed. The other rests beneath your chin, fingers brushing your lips as if trying to summon some of the courage you lacked the night before.

But it’s not courage you need right now—it’s clarity. Yet, clarity feels impossible when the memory of him lingers so vividly. His voice, His Hair, his touch, the way his eyes soften with both hesitation and need. You bury your head further into the pillow, groaning softly as the heat of those memories creeps up your neck.

Jericho’s face swims into focus behind your closed lids—the softness in his expression, the vulnerability etched into every line. The way his gaze stayed locked on you, even when his words faltered.

The thought sends a shiver down your spine, your body curling tighter into itself. You squeeze your eyes shut as if that might stop the way your chest tightens or the way your fingers twitch to reach out, to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin again. But the weight of the memory is inescapable, and you let out a shaky breath, your body finally relaxing slightly against the mattress. Lying there, tangled in the remnants of last night, you can’t help but wonder how much longer you can carry this silence.

Because Jericho wasn’t just a fleeting thought or a passing moment. He’s embedded in you now, in an exhilarating and terrifying way.

The memory still hits you like a wave—however, worse than before, crashing over you with vivid detail. You can still hear the sound of his shallow breaths, that quiet, unsteady rhythm that felt like a secret shared only between the two of you. It lingers in your ears, a soft symphony of need and relief you hadn’t expected to treasure.

You roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as your chest rises and falls in time with the echo of his breathing in your head. The light from the window spills across the bed, catching the faint sheen of sweat on your skin—a reminder of how restless your sleep had been. Your lips part as you inhale deeply, and for a fleeting moment, you swear you can still taste him.

His lips. Gods, his lips. You turn your head to the side, closing your eyes as the ghost of them presses against your thoughts. They’d been soft yet trembling, every exhale carrying his vulnerability and his need. The way they parted, the slight quiver that betrayed just how much he’d been holding back—it was etched into your memory, a sensation you couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried.

And then there was his expression.

You shift again, propping yourself up on one elbow, your other hand running absently over your neck as if to soothe the heat creeping up your skin. The memory of his face is so clear it almost feels tangible. It wasn’t just the way his head tilted back slightly, instinctively, when your hand brushed his cheek. It wasn’t just the way his dark lashes fluttered against his rain-slicked skin, casting shadows that danced in the dim light.

It was the look in his eyes—raw, unguarded, and utterly vulnerable. It was a look that had left you breathless, vulnerable in your own right, because you’d never expected to see that kind of unfiltered need directed at you. Your fingers brush over your lips absently, and you realize with a pang of frustration that your body nor mind isn’t letting you forget.

Heat simmers low in your stomach, curling its way through your limbs, and you shift uncomfortably against the mattress. The way his voice had trembled, the soft, broken sound of his moans as you’d touched him, was a melody you couldn’t get out of your head.

Closing your eyes tightly, you press your face into the crook of your arm, letting out a quiet, shaky breath. You try to convince yourself that this is nothing, that it’s just a fleeting memory, but your heart isn’t buying it. The way he’d looked at you, the way he’d whispered your name as if it was both a question and an answer—it’s all too much. And yet, not enough.

And gods, the way he moaned softly when your lips touched his skin. You hadn’t planned for things to go that far that night and hadn’t even thought about it at first. All you’d wanted was to help him relax from his worries, to offer some small comfort in a moment when he seemed so weighed down by the world. But then he’d looked at you—looked at you—and something inside you had unraveled.

You roll onto your side, curling slightly as if that will smother the heat rising within you. One hand finds the pillow beside you, fingers clutching it tightly, while your other rests against your stomach, fingers lightly tracing idle patterns there as though to distract yourself. It doesn’t work. The memory is too strong, too consuming.

His voice echoes in your mind, that rough, trembling tone that had been so utterly undone when he’d whispered your name. You can hear it, feel it, like a phantom brushing against your skin. Your breath hitches, and you twist onto your back, letting out a frustrated sigh as you stare up at the ceiling.

It’s ridiculous, you think—One arm drapes across your face, shielding your eyes from the sunlight creeping into the room. You cross your legs again, the subtle pressure doing little to quell the warmth spreading through your body. Your free hand slides up to your neck, your fingers brushing lightly against your skin as if seeking some sense of relief.

But there’s no escaping it. Fuck.

It’s not just the intimacy of the act or the way he looked at you, vulnerable and unguarded, that lingers. It’s the quiet weight of everything that moment held—the truths that remained unspoken but burned in the air between you. You hadn’t meant to fall into something like this with Jericho. You hadn’t meant to fall at all.

And yet, here you are, lying in bed with the morning light creeping across your walls, your chest tightening with every thought of him. It’s not fair, you think, the way his absence feels like a weight pressing down on you. You miss him. The thought feels too big, too raw, but it’s the truth.

You close your eyes, but it only makes the memories sharper, clearer. You see him again, standing by your apartment door, his tall frame silhouetted against the soft glow of the hallway light. He’d looked so different, dressed in the clothes you’d handed him—your oversized hoodie and a pair of sweatpants that hung just a little too loosely on his lean figure.

In one hand, he held the plastic bag containing his once damp clothes now dry, and in the other, the tiny black kitten he’d rescued from the rain. The kitten had curled into his chest, its small, fragile body a mirror of the vulnerability you’d seen in his eyes.

The storm outside had raged on, wind and rain battering the windows, but it had felt so distant compared to the tempest inside you. You’d hesitated there at the door, your fingers clutching the edge of the frame as a million unspoken words churned in your mind.

“You can stay if you want,” you’d finally said, the words soft, tentative, barely louder than the rain outside.

You hadn’t been sure what you expected. Maybe you’d hoped he’d look at you with the same intensity he had earlier that night. Maybe you’d wanted him to see how much you meant it, how much you wanted him to stay—not just to ride out the storm but to keep that fragile thread of connection alive a little longer.

For a moment, he’d looked like he might. His eyes had searched yours, and you could almost feel the weight of his indecision. But then he’d smiled, faint and bittersweet, “I’ll be fine,” he’d said, his voice steady but so soft it made your heart clench. “You’ve already done so much for me tonight.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, standing there in the dim light of your apartment as he moved toward the door. There was a finality to his words, but also something hesitant, as though he was trying to convince himself just as much as you.

You remember the way he hesitated, his hand on the doorknob, and how your chest tightened when he turned back to you one last time. The look on his face—it wasn’t just gratitude or exhaustion; it was something deeper, something almost mournful, as if leaving was the hardest thing he’d had to do all night.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, he stepped closer, his eyes searching yours for something unspoken. When he leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead, the world seemed to be still. It wasn’t just a kiss; it was a goodbye wrapped in tenderness, a promise whispered in silence.

His breath was warm against your skin, his lips lingering just a second too long, as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice so quiet it barely reached you, but the weight of it sank deep into your chest. And then, just like that, he stepped back, the fragile thread between you fraying with every inch he put between you.

You remember how the kitten had mewled softly in his arms, its tiny voice the only sound in the stillness that followed. Jericho paused in the hallway, turning back for a final glance, his gaze lingering on you as if trying to imprint the moment into his memory. The light caught the faint smile tugging at his lips, a bittersweet curve that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing in your mind he left behind. Was it a confirmed confession, what passed between you last night? Or was it just the heat of the moment, the two of you giving in to something neither of you fully understood?

You hate how much you want to see him again. Hate how selfish it feels to crave the look in his eyes when he let his guard down, when he let you see him—not the prince exterior, but the man beneath it. The man who trembled under your touch, who whispered your name like a secret.

It’s ridiculous, you tell yourself—how could someone carve out such a space in your chest so quickly? It makes no sense, and yet it’s all you can think about.

And funny enough, since that night, you haven’t heard from him. Not a single word. The silence stretches endlessly, each hour that passes without a message feels heavier, the void between you growing larger, more oppressive.

You now sit through class, staring blankly at the lecture slides. The professor’s voice drones on in the background, but none of it registers. Normally, this class would have you on edge, your mind racing to keep up. But today, the stress you’d usually feel is nowhere to be found. It’s been replaced by something far worse: an all-consuming ache you can’t name.

Crowe isn’t here, either. You glance at the empty seat beside you, the one he always occupies with his easy smirk and quick wit. The absence feels glaring. Is it because of you? Did something shift between you and him, too?

You tell yourself it’s nothing. But this feels different.

You check your phone under the desk for what must be the hundredth time. Your thumb hovers over his name in the messaging app, your heart caught between sending something—anything—and leaving things as they are.

The screen stays empty. No texts, no missed calls. Not even the small comfort of a read receipt to tell you he’s seen your messages. The lack of response gnaws at you. It’s infuriating, yes, but more than that, it’s unsettling. Jericho’s silence speaks louder than any words ever could.

Would he come back? The thought makes your chest tighten. Was last night too much for him? Or worse—was it too much for you? You glance at the clock on your phone, willing the minutes to pass faster, hoping that somewhere in the next hour or the next day, this feeling will subside. But as you sit there, drowning in unanswered questions, you realize that the ache of missing him isn’t just about his absence.

You’d thought—hoped—that last night had been a turning point. That maybe, just maybe, it had been the start of something real. But now, in the light of day, you’re not so sure. Was he running from you? Or was he running from himself? And what stopped him from staying last night?

The questions echo in your mind, unanswered and maddeningly persistent. You try to bury them as you shuffle from one class to the next, but it’s impossible to escape the pull of his absence. You catch yourself scanning the lecture halls, the library, the walkways between buildings—your gaze instinctively searching for him.

But he’s not there.

By the time you reach your second class, frustration has begun to creep in. You tell yourself it’s irrational, that he doesn’t owe you anything, but the ache in your chest doesn’t listen to reason. Instead, it lingers, growing heavier with each passing hour. You even try texting him again. The words come hesitantly at first, simple questions—Are you okay? Where are you?—but they go unanswered like all the others.

It’s not until midday after you’ve exhausted every logical excuse for why he might be avoiding you, that you abandon subtlety altogether. Brittney is sitting in the corner of the student lounge when you find her, scrolling through her phone with a bored expression. Her bright pink nails tap against the plastic case, the sound grating against your nerves as you approach.

“Brittney,” you start, trying to keep the edge out of your voice, “have you seen Crowe?” She looks up, her brow furrowing. “Jericho?” she repeats like the name doesn’t quite register. “No, I haven’t seen him. Why?” Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. “Do you know anyone else who might? He said he was coming to campus today, but…” Brittney purses her lips, tilting her head in thought. “Hmm. I’ve already asked the rest of the group. Even Geo doesn’t know, and those two are practically attached at the hip.”

Her words only make the knot in your chest tighten. Even Geo doesn’t know where he is... “He didn’t tell anyone?” you press, your voice quieter now, more unsure. She shrugs, her nails tapping against the table again. “Not as far as I know. Jericho’s not the type to just disappear, though. He would’ve texted someone if something came up.” Her bluntness sinks in like a lead weight. If he didn’t tell her—or anyone—then where the hell is he?

“Maybe you should check the council office,” she suggests offhandedly, her eyes already glued to the glow of her phone screen. You nod absently, her words barely registering. It’s a suggestion, sure, but it feels more like a formality than a real lead.

The council members, of course, are as clueless as everyone else.

As you leave the building, weaving through the busy midday campus, his absence feels heavier with every step. It presses against your chest, a weight you can’t shake, dragging your thoughts back to him. The places he used to inhabit with an ease that felt like permanence now seem hollow like they’ve lost some integral part of their charm.

The rooftop terrace where he’d go to when he needed to think was empty, the wind tossing leaves across the stone floor. You linger for a moment, hoping—no, wishing—he might still be there, sprawled against the railing with that quiet intensity he carried so well. But it’s just you and the sound of the breeze.

The corner of the library where he liked to study, tucked away from the noise, is filled with unfamiliar faces now. You catch yourself staring as if hoping to spot him hunched over a book, his brows furrowed in concentration. But he’s not there either.

Even the vending machines by the student center building feel like a cruel joke. You can almost hear his teasing laugh, see the way his hand darted out to grab your favorite snack before you could, holding it just out of reach with a grin that made your frustration melt into reluctant amusement. The memory cuts deeper than it should.

It’s not just that you miss him. It’s the way he made you feel—like the world was somehow brighter when he was in it. Like even the most mundane corners of campus held the potential for something extraordinary, simply because he was there. “This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath, the words sharp and bitter. “Fuck, why am I letting this get to me?”

But no amount of self-recrimination can chase away the ache in your chest. It doesn’t care about logic or pride. It doesn’t care that he hasn’t bothered to reply to your texts or that the silence feels deliberate. All it knows is that he’s not here, and that absence feels like a gaping hole you can’t seem to fill.

The start of classes is a blur. You go through the motions, sitting through lectures and scribbling notes that feel disconnected from your thoughts. But your mind refuses to stay in the room. Instead, it’s consumed by possibilities. Was he okay? Was something wrong? Or worse—was this his way of pulling away from you?

Your phone remains a lifeline, clenched tightly in your hand, the screen glowing faintly in the dim afternoon light. You refresh your messages for what feels like the hundredth time, hoping for a reply that never comes. The silence isn’t just frustrating—it’s suffocating. You can’t focus, can’t sit through another class, another moment of aimless wandering across campus. Your thoughts churn endlessly, spiraling with worry and possibilities that you can’t quiet.

You unlock your phone again with trembling fingers, the screen glowing faintly as you open the tracking app. It feels like your last resort—it was. Crowe had insisted on sharing his location with you months ago, a precaution in case either of you ever got into trouble. At the time, it had seemed unnecessary—almost laughable—but now it’s the only thing keeping your hope alive.

Your eyes dart to the blinking marker on the screen, and your breath catches in your throat. There it is—his location, faint but unmistakable. But it isn’t on campus.

The marker sits across town, at his house…?

Your chest tightens as you check his last location while updating to live time. Why hadn’t you thought of it sooner? His house had seemed too far removed, too unlikely. But now it’s the only lead you have. Panic and relief clash within you, leaving you breathless. You don’t waste another second. Tossing your bag over your shoulder, you grab your things and head out, your movements driven by a single thought: I have to find him.

Your legs carry you toward the bus stop in a haze, your mind racing faster than your feet. The chilly air bites at your skin, but you barely feel it. Every step feels mechanical as if your body is moving on autopilot while your thoughts spin endlessly.

By the time you board the bus, your anxiety has only grown. You find a seat near the window, clutching your phone like it holds all the answers you need. Your gaze flicks between the screen and the passing scenery, but nothing seems to register.

The ride feels interminable. Each stop stretches on for an eternity, the seconds dragging like hours as passengers shuffle on and off. You bounce your knee anxiously, the movement restless, a physical outlet for the storm inside you.

Your thoughts race ahead, imagining every possibility. Was he okay? Was he hurt? The questions again, claw at you, each more desperate than the last. You glance at the blinking marker again, as if checking it repeatedly will somehow make the trip faster.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around your phone. The weight of the unknown presses down on you, and with every mile, the need to see him—to know he’s all right—grows sharper, more unbearable.

When you finally arrive at his street, a chill snakes its way down your spine. His house looms ahead, a stark contrast to the buzzing life of the town you just left. It’s quiet. Too quiet. You’ve never been here before—never once crossed the threshold into Crowe’s personal space.

The house is almost exactly as he described in passing but standing in front of it now, it feels surreal. A stately old house, not modern by any means, but elegant in that timeless way. The intricate detailing on the windows, the sprawling porch, and the beautifully manicured garden out front—all of it feels more like a dream than reality. You wonder briefly why he never invited you over before. But then again, you’ve never invited him to your place either. Last night was the first time he’d ever seen your apartment.

Maybe this was just a silent agreement you both had, one you didn’t notice until now.

You step closer, the crunch of gravel beneath your shoes. The weight of your anxiety presses harder with every step. Reaching the front door, you hesitate, your hand hovering over the doorbell. So you knock once. Then again. The sound echoes faintly, swallowed by the stillness. “Crowe?” you call out, your voice barely more than a whisper, shaky and unsure.

Nothing. Not a single sound.

You knock again, louder this time. Still, no response. The house seems dead—lifeless. “Is he even home?” you mutter to yourself, glancing around. Your gaze lands on the small rock near the steps, and you remember his offhand comment about hiding a spare key under it. The thought had seemed amusing at the time—so predictable, so old-fashioned. Now, it feels like your only option.

Your fingers fumble as you lift the rock, revealing the key nestled beneath it. The metal feels cold against your skin, its weight heavier than it should be. As you slide it into the lock, the door clicks open, and you step inside cautiously.

Your hand lingers on the door handle for a moment before you step inside. The air feels dense, heavier than you expected, almost like the house itself is holding its breath. The faint scent of Crowe’s cologne still lingers, but it’s undercut by something else—a faint chill that seeps into your skin, leaving you uneasy.

At the doorway, your eyes catch on a pair of dirty shoes, their soles caked with dried mud—Crowe’s definitely. They’re haphazardly kicked to the side, as though he’d just returned from a walk. The sight makes your chest tighten; something about it feels... wrong.

You take off your shoes, careful not to disturb the silence, and step inside fully. “Crowe?” you call again, your voice breaking the stillness.

Still no response.

Your steps are slow and deliberate, the creak of the floorboards beneath you impossibly loud. The house feels off, the walls looming larger than they should, the shadows stretched unnaturally long. The faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen is the only sound, a low buzz that does little to ease the tension in your chest.

As you make your way further in, your eyes dart to small details—an overturned book on the coffee table, and a half-empty glass of water left abandoned on the counter. The little traces of him feel eerily normal, but combined with the silence, it only heightens your unease.

Where was he? Why hadn’t he answered your calls or texts while at home? Questions whirl in your mind, each one more urgent than the last. You scan every room you pass, searching for any sign of life, but the emptiness seems to mock you. Something doesn’t feel right, a nagging unease settling deep in your chest. But leaving isn’t an option—not until you know he’s okay.

Then, from upstairs, you hear it—a faint sound. A groan, low and muffled.

You freeze mid-step, your breath catching in your throat. For a moment, you wonder if you imagined it, but then it comes again, soft but unmistakable.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you rush up the stairs, fingers trembling against the railing. The house feels strange—like Crowe had just returned from somewhere but hadn’t really settled back in. The faint scent of the cologne he rarely wore lingers in the air, mixed with something earthier, like the shoes he left at the front door.

You follow the sound to his bedroom, the door slightly ajar. Pushing it open softly, you stop in your tracks.

There he is.

Crowe is slumped back against his pillow, still dressed—or half-dressed—in his black button-up and deep purple dress pants—no vest this time, but it’s the ones he always wore. The shirt is wrinkled and undone, hanging loosely over his shoulders, and the pants are creased and muddy at the hem, as if he’d been somewhere far less polished than his usual haunts.

But it’s not just his clothes that catches your attention.

It’s the way his button-up was undone—bunched up over his chest, held between his teeth to keep it in place. His purple dress pants are pushed halfway down, his boxers barely covering him, and his hand is wrapped loosely around himself—his cock, stroking in slow, languid motions.

His hair, usually neat and tied back, spills in messy strands across his face, clinging to the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. His posture, his limbs heavy and languid, but his eyes—half-lidded and unfocused—are what unsettle you the most. They’re clouded, like he’s somewhere else entirely.

You stand frozen in the doorway, heart pounding as your gaze locks onto Crowe. This isn’t how you imagined finding him—vulnerable, disheveled, like he hasn’t slept in days. The air feels thick, and heavy with something unspoken, and every instinct screams that something is off.

His room is a mess: books strewn about, the faint scent of sweat mingling with his cologne, and the blinds drawn too tight. Crowe himself is no better. His hair clings to his damp forehead, his skin pale and glistening under the dim light.

You should step back, and give him the privacy he clearly thinks he has. But you’re rooted in place, unable to tear your eyes away, a storm of emotions swirling inside you—worry, confusion, and something sharper, more volatile, that you don’t dare name.

“Shit…” you mutter, leaning against the wall as if that could steady you. Your breath catches, and for a moment, the world feels suspended, the scene before you pulling at something deep and unsteady within.

His body shifts, his movements urgent yet uncoordinated, his breath coming in uneven gasps. You catch the faint sound of your name, slipping from his lips in a voice thick with something raw and unguarded. The sound sends a jolt through you, equal parts startling and undeniable.

You know you should leave. You should knock, make your presence known, or do anything but stay frozen in place.

But you don’t.

Your heart pounds harder as you fix your gaze on him, your breath catching in your throat. You try to keep your expression neutral, but it’s a losing battle.

Without realizing it, your hand moves to your face, teeth grazing your knuckles to ground yourself. You scowl inwardly, frustrated by your curiosity and the way your body and mind betrays you.

You couldn’t help but wonder if there was still a way to help him—even if just for a moment. The idea of seeing him vulnerable, stripped of his usual confidence, stirs something inside you.

Crowe never seemed the type to let anyone see him lacking—until now.

Thank goodness you’d been quiet entering the house, slipping off your shoes, the stillness unnerving you. The last thing you wanted was to disrespect his space.

As you pass a mirror, a fleeting thought crosses your mind: What if you tried to look more… appealing? A last-minute, impulsive decision. You undo a few buttons of your shirt, letting it fall open enough to hint at more. Your hair in twin pineapples frames your face, and you adjust your pleated skirt and thigh-high socks, smoothing them into place. The outfit wasn’t planned for this, but somehow, it fits.

You apply a small amount of gloss from your bag before leaving it, boosting your confidence. There’s no turning back now.

You approach his door, the floorboards creaking under your feet. Pausing, you hesitate before pushing the door open just enough to peek inside. You lean against the frame, your expression neutral, despite the turmoil inside.

He doesn’t notice you. His posture is slack, his head tipped back, and your breath hitches at the rhythmic motion of his hand on his cock. You freeze, torn between mortification and fascination. He’s completely consumed by the moment— oblivious to your presence.

A primal urge stirs within you, but curiosity holds you still. You want to see what he’ll do if left undisturbed. Finally, you speak, your voice soft but deliberate: “I see you’re perfectly okay.”

The sound of your voice snapped him out of his reverie like a jolt of lightning. His tired eyes shot up to meet yours, wide and panicked, and his face turned a shade of crimson—a shade you’d never seen before, the flush stark against his warm brown skin.

“F-fuck…” Crowe stammered as your name comes after, his voice cracking under the weight of his embarrassment. His hand flew to cover his mouth, his other still betraying him, moving instinctively.

It wasn’t until the shuddering release coursed through his body that he seemed to register what was happening. His breath hitched, and a strangled groan escaped him as he finished—hot streaks of cum dirtying his hand, his shirt, even his jaw.

Holy hell.

Your jaw slackened slightly, your cheeks flaring with heat as you instinctively looked away for a moment. You hadn’t expected this now. Not the speed of it, not the raw vulnerability of the scene. Swallowing hard, you stepped further into the room, closing the door behind you as your pulse roared in your ears.

“Crowe,” you said sharply, your voice tinged with anger and something else you couldn't name. He looked dazed, his breathing unsteady, scrambling to wipe the mess on his jaw with trembling hands, avoiding your gaze.

“I—I can explain,” he stammered weakly. You crossed your arms, standing at the edge of his bed, your eyes hard on him. “Care to tell me where have you been? Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why weren’t you in class? Why are you covered in mud? And why…” You lead off, somewhat looking away.

Right, don’t forget now. You caught him jacking off.

Crowe felt like a scolded puppy in that moment, shrinking under your gaze with each question that came tumbling out of your mouth. He looked sheepish and guilty, his head still slightly bowed as he tried to pull himself together.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position on his bed, feet now on the floor as he pulls his pants back up to be at least presentable. His hands falling to the mattress beside him. He took a deep breath, his mind racing as he struggled to come up with a satisfactory explanation. “I, uh…. well, you see-” He stumbled over his own words, his mind still swimming in a hazy fog after his release.

Crowe swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably on the bed, his deep blue eyes meeting yours for the first time, carrying an unspoken weight. His hands twitched in his lap. “…I had a really bad headache all morning,” he said, voice uneven. “It just wouldn’t go away… so I needed to take care of it—permanently.”

The excuse hung in the air like a flimsy cover-up. You narrowed your eyes, noticing how his body remained tense, his gaze still avoiding yours.

You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. “So, that’s why you didn’t answer me?” Your tone wasn’t angry but sharp enough to make Crowe flinch. He swallowed, fingers fidgeting with his pants, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Bullshit. Bad headache my ass, really? You could’ve called, at least texted me,” you said, stepping closer. “Care to tell me what your ‘cure’ for this headache is, Crowe?”

Crowe’s shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and sweat beaded on his forehead. His mind raced for an explanation that wouldn’t sound ridiculous, but he knew he couldn’t lie convincingly forever. Finally, he met your gaze, his voice shaky. “Very much some fresh air—the gardens that’s off campus."

You paused, taken aback that’s the only you haven’t look was the gardens—shit, it’s was off campus anyway—but it wasn’t enough to throw you off. You raised a brow, skepticism lacing your tone. “You mean to tell me, you were on campus, the gardens,” you repeated, disbelief clear in your voice. “You needed fresh air so badly that you skipped class and ignored my texts?”

You leaned in then, brushing a strand of his disheveled hair from his face. His breath hitched, and your fingers lingered longer than necessary. You studied his flushed cheeks, his uneven breathing, the faint tremble in his body betraying the calm front he was desperately trying to put up.

“Hm,” you hummed, shifting closer, eyes unwavering. If he claims that he was at school campus gardens—which would explain the mud on the hem of his pants. Yet something in gut says—“That doesn’t quite add up, Crowe. Try again.” Your fingers trailed gently along his temple, brushing back another strand of hair, your touch lingering in the silence between you both.

Crowe’s breath hitched as your fingers brushed his skin, his body tense with a mix of guilt and desire at your closeness. He fought to keep his composure, but the warmth of your gaze and the softness of your touch were making it harder by the second.

He swallowed thickly, his voice shaky as it left his lips.

“It’s true, I in fact, I needed... some time alone,” he muttered, "With my thoughts." glancing at you briefly before quickly looking away, unable to meet the intensity of your stare.

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion rising. So, he’d ghosted everyone just to take care of his... what? Morning wood that lasted this long? Damn.

“And your thoughts... so happen to be filled about me?” The words slid out of your mouth before you could stop them. His face flushed, and he refused to pull away from you, his heartbeat thundering in the space between you. Each rapid thud was louder than his silence, more telling than anything he could say. “…Yes,” he whispered finally, his voice heavy with something unspoken—like a secret he wasn’t ready to share.

You tilted his chin up gently with your fingers, forcing his gaze to meet yours. “So that’s what it is,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip. His breathing quickened at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if savoring the sensation.

"So, while everyone’s been worried about you, me included, you couldn’t even answer your phone," You said, your voice softer than usual. "But you had time to indulge yourself, thinking about me. Isn’t that right?" Crowe’s head dipped, his blush deepening as he nodded, but no words came at first. The weight of your words had him unraveling.

Crowe’s blush deepened as you called him out on his selfishness, his gaze dropping to the floor. He knew he had messed up, let his desires cloud his judgment, ignoring those who cared about him. Especially you.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words never came. His body was still trembling, the aftershocks of pleasure leaving him in a haze. He managed a small nod, eyes slipping shut as he braced himself for your anger, for the disappointment he expected to see in your eyes.

You couldn’t help but shake your head, the words barely escaping your lips. “Unbelievable…”

You moved slowly, shifting onto your knees on the bed, positioning yourself over him, your body hovering just above his. Very much straddle him.The heat from his chest radiated against you, his uneven breaths sending a shiver down your spine. Without thinking, you cupped his jaw, your fingers brushing lightly over his skin as you tilted his face toward you.

Exhaling slowly, you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a hushed whisper. “Do you have any idea how much you worried me?”

His eyes flickered open, still hazy, but there was a new tension in the air—one that seemed to carry the weight of what he’d done, even if he wasn’t saying it aloud. But before you could press further, something in his expression shifted, his eyes widened, locking with yours in guilt and something else—yearning.

He swallowed hard, his breath hitching as your closeness made everything else fade away. "I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice thick with remorse. "Please... don't be mad. I lost track of time. I—" He paused, his gaze dropping as though ashamed. "I was... busy. Had to take care of something that cause me to stay up all night. I thought the gardens would help but I..." His voice softened. "I ended up thinking about you."

But something in his tone made you hesitate—You didn’t ask. You were too lost, too tangled in the heat of the moment to understand what he meant.

Your expression softened as his words sank in, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. You exhaled, fingers brushing through his long brown hair, cupping his face. The warmth of his skin against your palm sent a soft pang through your chest.

"You... stayed up all night?" you questioned, repeating his words as if to coax out the truth. "And started thinking about me?"

Your voice dropped as you leaned in, lips hovering near his, your breath warm against his skin. The playful edge to your tone was at odds with the intensity of your gaze. He couldn't stop the way his eyes darted to your lips, his parting slightly as if in response. He took a deep breath, his mind struggling to find his voice. "Y-yes... I stayed up all night thinking about you."

"What exactly did you think about me?"

Crowe's cheeks flared a deeper shade of red, his eyes darting away as if avoiding your gaze would make the confession any less revealing. “Really everything..."

Your lips curled into a smirk as he admitted the truth, his face flushing with embarrassment, his gaze darting away. It was so like him to get flustered, and it made you sigh. "Really now..."

You and him really did think of each other all night. Talk about soulmates.

You pressed closer, savoring the way his breath hitched, his heartbeat quickening beneath your touch. You could almost hear the frantic whirl of his mind, searching for a response that wouldn’t give too much away.

"And here I thought you’d stop being so vague with me," you teased, your voice lowering as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling just enough to tilt his head back. You had him where you wanted him, every inch of him tense and open. "Like that all? Crowe, if you wanted to fuck me, you could've just asked. I would've taken care of you..." The words slipped from your lips, a dark promise.

His body trembled, his eyes clouded with something you couldn’t name as a soft whimper escaped him. You leaned in, lips barely brushing his as the tension between you built to a near-unbearable level. “Like I know how you look at me, vice visa…” you murmured, your breath mingling with his. "You could've done everything you needed last night... if you hadn’t left me.”

Your voice faltered, a vulnerability sneaking into your words. “Crowe...” You paused, feeling the weight of the moment. “You don’t trust me, you went as far to avoid me the whole day, you say it accidental, but you were still thinking about me...”

There was a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but he still tried to maintain a calm demeanor. "I do trust you..." Crowe murmured, his voice soft but edged with frustration. His hand slid around your wrist, his fingers gently tracing your skin as if trying to soothe the tension between you.

Slowly, you leaned in, resting your face against his neck. His scent—familiar, grounding—wrapped around you like a bittersweet comfort. But the closeness only deepened the ache in your chest.

His arms instinctively tightened around you, pulling you closer. You felt his warm breath on your skin as he inhaled deeply, savoring the moment. With a soft exhale, he gently placed a hand on the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, the touch both soothing and hesitant.

"I didn't want to leave you that night..." His voice was low, thick with guilt.

Your head rested against his chest, the steady beat of his heart filling your ears, a comforting rhythm in the chaos of your emotions. His arms encircled you, holding you tighter, as his fingers continued to brush through your hair, a gesture that only amplified the bittersweet weight of the moment.

A lump rose in your throat, and you swallowed hard before speaking.

"Why didn't you?" you asked, your voice shaky but firm. "If you didn't want to go, why did you?"

His heart stuttered in his chest at your question, and he fell silent for a beat, his gaze fixed on a distant spot on the wall. Thoughts flickered through his mind in a flurry before he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.

"I was... worried." He murmured, his voice low and reluctant. The hand that was caressing your hair paused briefly, his fingers gently curled around a lock of your hair. "Worried about you," he murmured, tightening his hold on you as if afraid you might slip away.

You could feel his heart racing against your cheek, and the weight of his words stirred something complicated in your chest. "Worried... about me?" you whispered, confused but unable to pull away. “Why?”

He fell silent, his fingers pausing in your hair before pulling away just enough to create a small gap. He avoided your gaze, staring at the space between you. "I don't..." he trailed off, his voice soft, the words heavy with unspoken thoughts. "I just... didn't want anything to happen to you."

You blinked, your eyes softening despite your confusion. What the hell was he trying to say?

His arms tightened around you again, anchoring you close as his face nestled against your chest. "Look, you don’t know how much I care about you," he murmured, his voice husky. A shiver ran down your spine as the sincerity in his words wrapped around you. "I stand by that—every piece of it. I’ve thought of you in ways I can’t even admit without feeling like a fool. Hell I couldn’t even look at you the same if I faced you after last night without getting…"

His cheeks flushed as he shifted closer, his lips brushing against your collarbone, sending a thrill through you. His fingers traced a path down your side, resting gently on your waist, the touch almost electric.

“I’ll admit,” Crowe murmured, his voice faltering before darkening, “I’ve been imagining you. You in my arms, your voice whispering my name. Wondering how you’d gasp under my touch, how your body would shiver when I mark you as mine.” His words hung heavy in the air, low and dripping with need, as his hands drifted lower.

Crowe pressed closer, aligning his body with yours. His touch was firm yet careful, guiding you back slowly, almost as if he feared rushing you.

The soft black silk sheets felt cool against your skin as he eased you down, the contrast between the fabric and the heat from his body sending a shiver through you.

His movements were deliberate, studying you with every shift. His breath was steady, but his gaze never wavered, watching every flicker of emotion on your face.

Crowe’s hands slid beneath your neck, lifting you slightly, the warmth of his palms contrasting with the coolness of the sheets. He placed a pillow with deliberate care, his fingers brushing the back of your neck, lingering just a moment longer than necessary, grounding you both in the moment.

Crowe’s body sank lower, his lips brushing against the fabric of your torso. His nose traced along your stomach, and you felt his breath hitch, the air between you thick with tension.

“How you’d writhe,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “calling my name in that sweet, breathless voice of yours…”

His hands found your waist, fingers splayed wide. He rested there for a moment, grounding you both, his thumbs circling the fabric lightly, tightening ever so slightly before releasing again.

He paused, his face briefly resting against your stomach, breathing deep, shoulders rising and falling in rhythm. When his eyes met yours, there was an unspoken hunger in them that sent heat rushing to your cheeks.

For a moment, he froze, his cheeks flushed with the weight of his unspoken desire. “I know it’s wrong to think like this about you…” he confessed, his voice strained, “..but I can’t help it. Not when you said I didn’t trust you. I couldn’t stand that.” His grip tightened around your waist, fingers digging into your skin, grounding you both. His voice was low and full of longing, yet tender, causing your chest to tighten in response.

There was something vulnerable in his eyes, an openness that felt like he was unveiling parts of himself with that intense gaze. His now heart-shaped deep blue eyes locked onto yours, filled with warmth and affection, a soft reddish hue tinting his cheeks. “If you don’t believe me,” he murmured, his voice low, lifting his head just enough to brush against your waist.

“I’ll show you. I’ll make you feel—hell, love how much I care about you.”

You felt the sincerity—a silent promise in the embrace, grounding you in a way that made everything else fade away.

Your heart hammered in your chest, breath was shallow, as his words settled over you like a promise. The air around you buzzed with tension, every inch of space filled with him—his presence, his warmth. The brush of his breath against your skin sparked something deep, something irresistible. “Crowe…” you whispered, voice trembling with a mix of desire and uncertainty.

Without a word, he shifted your body with smooth precision on his bed, your knees sinking into a pillow beside you. His hands, strong and firm, cupped your thighs, gently guiding you into place. The warmth of his touch seeped into your skin, grounding you in the moment even as your pulse quickened. Then, without warning, he dipped… lower.

His movements were unhurried, almost reverent, as he slid beneath your skirt, his fingers deftly removing the thin barrier of your panties. The cool air brushing against your exposed skin sent a shiver through you, and your lips parted in a soft gasp.

Your thighs trembled slightly as heat bloomed across your body, spreading up to your ears. You couldn’t help the thought that crossed your mind—Has he always been this way? So sure, so commanding, so utterly captivating?

There was a pause, a stillness that made your heart falter and then race, filling the silence with its erratic rhythm. You swallowed hard, the sound loud in your ears as the fabric of your skirt bunched around your thighs, obscuring your vision and leaving you blind to his movements beneath it.

The anticipation was maddening, yet you trusted Crowe, though—trusted him with a depth that made this vulnerability feel less like surrender and more like connection. The weight of his gaze, even unseen, pressed against your skin, heavy and purposeful. A deep breath escaped you, shaky and soft, as you shifted your position, your thighs parting slowly. The fabric rustled faintly, a sound almost drowned out by the rapid drumbeat of your pulse.

Then you heard it, soft and unguarded: the way Crowe’s breath caught in his throat. The sound sent a ripple of heat through you, each shiver more intense than the last. His reaction wasn’t loud or exaggerated, but it was raw—pure—and it made every nerve in your body hum with anticipation.

Still, you couldn’t see his face, but you could imagine it vividly. The way his loving eyes would be fixed on you, his lips slightly parted, his expression caught between awe and restraint.

And then, he moved.

A soft, teasing exhale ghosted over inner part of your thighs, and your hips jerked instinctively, a startled whimper escaping your lips. “A-ah, Crowe…” you breathed, your voice barely audible. But he pulled back just slightly, his lips curving into a mischievous smirk you could almost feel against your sensitive skin. His voice was low, rich with amusement and something darker as he corrected you, murmuring against your flesh, “It’s Jericho now, love.”

The sound of his name, spoken with such sultry confidence, sent a thrill racing through you. And then, before you could form a coherent response, he leaned in again, his touch, his breath, his very presence consuming you completely.

You bite down your lips, still releasing a moan as Jericho’s tongue makes contact with your pussy, the sensation sending an immediate jolt through your body. He drags a long, deliberate stripe from your clit to your entrance, the warmth of his tongue igniting a fire beneath your skin. Then, without hesitation, he dips his tongue inside you, and your knees nearly buckle under the intensity.

Feeling the tremor in your legs, Jericho moves quickly, hooking his strong arms over your hips, pressing into the plush curves to hold you steady. “Can’t have you wobbling away now,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum against your slick skin.

He leans in again, licking a wide, flat stripe up your pussy, savoring every inch of you before pressing his nose into your clit. The way he nuzzles against it—soft at first, then with a steady, teasing pressure—has you gasping. His tongue flicks and laps at you, each movement precise and eager, drinking in your wetness like it’s the sweetest nectar.

“A-ah shit… Jericho” you whisper, clutching at the silk sheets beneath you for support. But the slick fabric offers no support, slipping from your grasp with every desperate tug. Frustrated, your hands fly to Jericho’s long, tousled brown hair, tangling in the strands to steady yourself. He chuckles softly against your pussy, the vibrations of his laugh reverberating through you and making your thighs quiver.

You can feel him smiling into you, a smug, devilish grin that only stokes the flames inside you. His lips glisten with your slick, and his tongue doesn’t stop—swirling, sliding, and stroking every sensitive part of you with unrelenting focus. His hands roam your body as if memorizing every dip and curve, his fingers tracing over the swell of your thighs and gripping your waist with reverence.

His breath is hot against your flesh, shaky with the intensity of his own arousal. He leans closer, the tip of his tongue trailing slow, deliberate circles over your swollen clit. A quiet groan escapes him, muffled against your folds as he dives deeper, swirling his tongue inside you before pulling back to gather your juices, greedily lapping them up.

Jericho’s tongue glides over you with a ravenous intensity, each movement deliberate and calculated, as if he’s savoring every second. His lips latch onto your clit with a selfish hunger, drawing it into his mouth with a wet, insistent pull that sends shivers coursing through your body. He alternates between long, languid licks along your folds and sharp, focused attention on your most sensitive spots, the contrast dizzying in its effect.

His mouth is hot and unrelenting, his tongue swirling around your clit before flattening against it, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your thighs tremble. A low, guttural sound escapes him as he works, a sound so primal and raw it makes your breath hitch. He tilts his head slightly, his long brown hair brushing against your skin, adding a sensitive edge to the sensations that leave you gasping.

Jericho’s hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he dives deeper, his thumbs pressing into your skin with just enough force to ground you while his mouth sends you spiraling. His lips seal around you again, sucking with a fervor that feels almost possessive, as if he’s determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from you.

Your back arches involuntarily, a strangled cry escaping your lips as the tension in your core builds with every flick of his tongue, every deliberate pull of his lips. The way he moves—makes it impossible to think about anything else but him and the overwhelming sensations he’s pulling from you.

You slap a hand over your mouth, desperate to muffle the moans spilling out of you, each louder than the last. You silently pray no one else in the house hears you, but the way Jericho devours you makes it impossible to hold back. Your pleated skirt flips inside out as your hips buck against his face, giving you an unobstructed view of him between your legs.

His messy brown hair falls over his forehead, and his eyes are closed, his brows furrowed in pure, unrelenting focus. He looks lost in the moment, utterly consumed by you. But then, as if sensing your gaze, his eyes snap open, locking onto yours.

Those striking deep blue eyes bore into you—into your flushed cheeks, heaving chest, and trembling thighs. The hunger in his expression makes your heart stutter, and when he smirks up at you, it’s your undoing.

“Eyes on me, love,” he commands, his voice low and raspy, dripping with authority.

And you obey. How could you not? With that voice? Those eyes? Yes, sir.

Jericho doesn’t let up. His mouth moves expertly, alternating between flicking his tongue over your clit and sliding it deep inside your hole. He licks fat, lazy stripes along your folds, his tongue teasing every nerve ending but never quite giving you the release you’re desperate for. Your clit throbs painfully with need, and you whine—a soft, desperate sound that only seems to spur him on.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your dripping pussy. “So wet for me.”

Your slick drips down his chin, and his hands tighten around your hips as he pulls you closer, pressing his face impossibly deeper against you. Your thighs tremble around him as he circles your clit with slow, deliberate licks before sucking hard, drawing a loud, broken moan from your lips.

“Such a good girl,” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he finally gives in, focusing all his attention on your clit. His tongue swirls and flicks with a new intensity, and the coil in your stomach tightens unbearably.

Your fingers tangle tightly in his hair, pulling him closer as you urge him to move faster, your hips grinding against his mouth. The slick heat of his tongue glides over your clit with precise, devastating movements, and each pass sends a bolt of electricity up your spine. Your thighs tremble, and your breaths are ragged as your body bucks instinctively.

Jericho hums against you, the vibrations reverberating through your core, making your head spin as if you were on the brink of a dizzying high. The sensations are overwhelming, the intensity dragging gasps and broken cries from your lips.

“Y-yes, yes… please, Jericho,” you plead, your voice trembling as if the words were dragged out from the very depths of you. Your lips are swollen and parted, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as your hands clutch him desperately.

Jericho groans softly, his breath warm against your slick skin. Your voice—your begging—sends a wave of desire coursing through him, tightening his chest and sending heat pooling low in his belly. His fingers press harder into your thighs, his grip firm yet reverent as he holds you in place.

“What do you need, dearest?” he rasps, his voice low and soft, vibrating with restrained hunger. Your face burns at his question, and you instinctively try to hide, covering your flushed cheeks with your arm. Your voice falters, thick with both embarrassment and need, as you stammer out, “P-Please make me cum, Jericho.”

He freezes for a heartbeat, your plea hanging heavy in the air between you. His breath catches, his cheeks flushed with a vivid heat, and then a low, guttural sound escapes his lips. It’s primal, almost possessive—selfish way, as he tightens his grip on your thighs and tilts his head, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Anything for you, my love,” he murmurs, the words dripping with approval, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before returning to his sweetness task.

With deliberate precision, he drags his tongue around your clit in gentle circles, teasing, and savoring the way your body quivers beneath him. He presses slow, deliberate kisses along the swollen flesh, punctuating them with playful, feather-light flicks of his tongue.

Your body trembles, every nerve ending sparking to life as you arch your back, pressing your chest toward the ceiling. Gasps spill from your lips, sharp and breathless, mingling with the quiet sobs of your overwhelmed pleasure.

“Please,” you whimper, your voice breaking as the tension builds to a fever pitch. Jericho hums again, this time with a smug satisfaction, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit in perfect rhythm. He slides two fingers into you, knuckle-deep, curling them just right.

The wave crashes. Your body tenses, your head thrown back as you cry out, your fingers clutching at his hair in a desperate grip. Your release surges through you, leaving you shuddering and gasping as your thighs quiver around his head.

Jericho doesn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working you through the aftershocks, his breaths heavy and labored. “My god, you taste…” he groans, his voice rough as his tongue sweeps over you one last time, slow and deliberate, “…so fuckin’ sweet.”

As you shudder beneath him, utterly spent, he shifts his weight. One of his hands stays firm on your hip while the other drifts to his cock, stroking himself. His arousal has been unrelenting, the sight of you, the sound of you, driving him to the brink.

Jericho moves with a deliberate grace as he crawls back up, positioning himself above you.

His body hovers just inches from yours, his knees planted firmly on either side of your hips, careful not to press his weight against you. The dim light casts soft shadows over his features, but it's his eyes that capture you-locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

With quick, precise movements, Jericho grabs the edges of his button-up shirt, his fingers pulling at the fabric with a controlled urgency.

Each tug sends a faint ripple through the air, and within moments, the shirt is discarded, revealing the lean, defined muscles of his torso. Your eyes widen, your cheeks heating as you take in the sight before you.

How the hell had his clothes been hiding this all along?

Your gaze lingers, and he notices. A small, almost smug smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but it's laced with something softer—something vulnerable, like he's silently asking for your approval.

"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about you..." he murmured, his voice dripping with a mix of tenderness and mischief. His hands moved with a practiced urgency yet gentle at the same time, peeling away your shirt first, then your skirt, and finally unclasping your bra in one swift motion. Each piece of fabric seemed to vanish, thrown on the floor, leaving you bare beneath his heated gaze. He paused, though, his hands lightly grazing your thighs as he caught sight of the socks you still wore.

"Let's keep these on," he said, his tone dropping lower, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "You're so cute with them on." His fingers slid along the edge of one sock, the faint pressure of his touch enough to make your breath hitch. You felt the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush spreading fast and unrelenting.

Why does he have to tease you like this?

Before you could form a response, he moved closer, his body pressing lightly against yours.

The warmth of his skin was almost overwhelming, his presence filling every inch of space between you. His elbows braced on either side of your head, caging you in without ever feeling heavy or oppressive.

He leaned down slowly, deliberately, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. The faint graze sent a shiver n your spine as his warm breath fanne. “Nice and soaked for me,” he murmurs, his voice soft and possessive, sending a shiver through you. His nose grazes the curve of your jaw as he adds, “Only me.”

Jericho lets his weight settle against you, his lower body pressing firmly into yours. That’s when you feel it—a firm, undeniable pressure against your core. His lips brush the shell of your ear, his voice low and intoxicating. “Ahh… you feel it, love?” he murmurs, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. Your lips part in a shaky moan, barely able to contain the heat pooling in your stomach.

“See what you do to me?” he continues, his tone dripping with affection and desire. “Driving me crazy and all.” His words make your breath hitch, and your lips press into a quivering line as your mind struggles to catch up with your body. You didn’t know—didn’t realize how much you affected him. Did you not expect him to get hard from the way he had been touching and devouring you?

Jericho shifts slightly, pressing against you with just enough force to make you gasp. His lips curl into a wicked smile as he watches your reaction, the way your body arches instinctively toward him. The pressure is unmistakable, and he feels… big. Really big. The thought makes your cheeks flush, your heart racing as your mind reels. How the hell hiding this under those tight, purple pants?

He starts to move against you, slow and deliberate, his hips rolling with a rhythm that leaves you dizzy and desperate. The friction is maddening in the best way, sending sparks of pleasure through your body with every shift. It’s not enough—not nearly enough—but it’s everything you can focus on.

“Shit… a-ahh…” you trail off, unable to form a coherent thought as your hands move on their own, wrapping around his back. You pull him closer, needing more of him, needing all of him. His breath fans against your neck, hot and ragged, and the sensation makes you shudder beneath him. He smells so good—clean, musky, and intoxicating, like something you could drown in. Your fingers thread through his soft hair, tugging lightly, and you feel him smile against the curve of your neck.

That small gesture alone sends a shock of pleasure straight to your core, leaving you trembling with need. You want him so badly it’s almost pathetic. The selfishness of it burns at the edges of your thoughts, but it’s drowned out by the sheer desire coursing through you.

Jericho knows it too—he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

The way he grinds his hips against yours is deliberate, the perfect amount of pressure to send jolts of pleasure to your clit with every roll of his body. It’s maddeningly controlled, leaving you gasping and moaning but never quite enough to send you over the edge. His movements are precise, calculated to draw out every sigh, every shaky pant that escapes your lips. Each sound you make is like fuel to him, sending tremors down his spine as he grows harder against you.

He watches you intently, taking in the way your body responds to him—the way your hips press up to meet his, the way your fingers clutch at his hair and dig into his back. You’ve never been like this before, so undone, so needy, and it drives him wild.

Jericho’s gaze traveled down your neck, lingering on the way your exposed smooth skin just begging to be claimed. He bit his bottom lip, his restraint wavering as he leaned in, pressing a gentle peck to your lips before tilting your head to the side with a firm, guiding hand. His lips found the soft curve of your jaw, trailing down to the sensitive spot behind your ear with slow, deliberate kisses that grew wetter and sloppier with each one.

“Gods, look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick and heavy, dripping with hunger and adoration. The rough edge to his tone sent a shiver coursing through you, and your chest rose in time with the rhythm of your shallow breaths. “You’re so cute—beautiful—like always.”

The praise settled over you like a warm, intoxicating haze, your body instinctively arching into him, seeking more of his touch. His hands roamed your sides, fingers brushing your smooth skin with every caress. The friction built and built until your head swam with the sensation, drowning out everything else.

Your body trembled, every nerve ignited, yet the lines of pleasure blurred into an overwhelming tide. You couldn’t even tell if you’d reached your peak—it all melted into one continuous, blissful hum.

Jericho pulled back just enough to let his gaze sweep over you, his eyes soft with satisfaction. A gentle chuckle rumbled from his chest as his hand slid down your side, resting on your hip. “Mhm, you’re making quite the mess under me,” he teased, his grin devilish and knowing.

Heat flushed your cheeks as you struggled to meet his gaze, but this time, there was no hiding from the embarrassment that made you squirm.

“You didn’t feel it running down your thighs? It’s everywhere.” His voice was dripping with amusement as he tilted his head, feigning innocence.

Your eyes widened, mortified by the realization. You hadn’t even noticed.

“Too busy thinking about my cock?” His words were playful but laced with a seductive edge that made you tremble. “Looks who’s daydreaming now…”

He was teasing, as always—but how his voice curled around the words sent another jolt of need through your body. You whimpered, your thighs trembling as they remained wrapped around him. Every movement of his lips against your skin heightened the ache inside you, pulling soft, needy sounds from your lips despite yourself.

“Y-yes…” you admitted, barely audible, more breath than a word.

Jericho’s breath hitched at your confession, his hand gripping your hip a little tighter as a flicker of something primal flashed in his eyes. Slowly, he leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. His voice was low and rough, tinged with a smile that you could hear more than see.

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you?” he teased, his warm breath fanning across your skin as he nipped playfully at your ear. “So desperate for me to take care of you, to make you feel good?”

His words burned through you, setting your veins alight with fire. You arched against him instinctively, your hands clutching at his shoulders as a soft whimper escaped your lips. The heat pooling in your core was unbearable, and your body moved of its own accord, seeking relief.

“Y-yes, I’m… ugh, please…” you stammered, your voice is shaky and thick with desperation. “Please fuck me, Jericho. I need you so bad… I…”

Your words trailed off as you looked up at him, your cheeks flushed and your eyes pleading. He froze momentarily, his expression shifting, his pupils blown wide with heart eyes filled with desire—like he wanted to eat you again.

Then, his lips curled into a slow, wicked smile, one that sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through you.

“Jericho…?” you murmured his name, your voice tentative, searching.

He chuckled softly, his hand sliding up your back, his lips resuming their descent down your neck. Each kiss he left was deliberate, slow, and impossibly warm, his tongue darting out occasionally to taste your skin.

“I know,” he whispered against your throat, his voice a dark promise as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

A strong hand clamps firmly onto your hips, grounding you against the mattress when your body instinctively arches and pushes back against him. His grip is steady, possessive, and radiating warmth. “Don't worry,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth as he gazes down at you with a playful smirk. “I just needed to make sure you were ready for me.”

He leans in closer, his broad frame pressing into you, the weight of him impossibly comforting and exhilarating all at once. Slowly, he grinds his hips against you, his movements deliberate and teasing. The friction ignites a fire between you, each shift of his body against yours sending shivers racing up your spine.

Your breath catches as the heat builds, the intensity of his closeness pulling you under. His rhythm is maddeningly slow, every deliberate roll of his hips leaving you craving more, your body trembling with anticipation.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as his lips brush against your temple. His eyes catch yours, and you see the flicker of amusement in them when he notices the furrow of your brows and the faint pout tugging at your lips.

“Patience,” he teases, his tone light but laced with mischief. “I’ll need teach you that another time—if you’ll let me.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets before instinctively reaching out, clutching at his shoulders as if anchoring yourself to him. “I’m ready,” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mixture of urgency and longing. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer, your bodies pressed together as if you might disappear without the contact.

“Are you sure?” His voice is a low, teasing drawl, the smirk playing on his lips making your pulse quicken.

“I am. I’m—”

Your words are stolen as his hand cradles the back of your head, guiding you gently but firmly to rest against his chest. The touch is tender, almost reverent, as he positions you just so, his other hand still holding your hips in place.

And then he moves.

The moment he pushes his cock into you, your world tilts. A sharp gasp escapes your lips, followed by a broken moan that you can’t suppress. The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and pressure that leaves you breathless. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt—numbing in its intensity, almost too much to bear but too good to stop.

“Ah-hh… ah—J-Jericho—”

His name tumbles from your lips, shaky and barely coherent, as your nails dig into his shoulders. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire, and your thoughts scatter, leaving only the feeling of him against and within you.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice strained and raw as his hands shift to cup either side of your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. His jaw tightens, his eyes dark and focused, as if holding himself together is taking every ounce of his self-control.

“You’re so... tight,” he mutters, his head falling forward slightly, his forehead nearly touching yours as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. The way his body tenses, the slight tremor in his voice, tells you that the intensity isn’t just overwhelming for you—it’s consuming him too.

“Please Relax.” It’s almost too much for him to bear, almost painful in the best possible way, and it leaves him clinging to every fragment of composure he has left. “Just relax and let me inside, okay?”

You try to focus on his words, but the way his hips press deeper, his body instinctively seeking more of you, then, with one fluid motion, Jericho pushes the rest of his length inside, filling you. The sensation hits you like a tidal wave, and your head falls back in a silent scream, lips parted as a single name bursts forth: “Jericho!”

Your hands instinctively shoot up, grabbing onto his shoulders, your nails clinging on his back and pulling him into a tight embrace. The motion brings him closer than either of you expects, and the shift causes him to bottom out fully in a single, devastating thrust.

The last few inches slide in, igniting a shockwave of pleasure that leaves you reeling. Your body reacts on its own, a sudden, uncontrollable release that has your head tilting back, your voice breaking into a shriek. Heat floods between you as your climax overtakes you, your muscles clenching and fluttering violently around him.

Jericho freezes above you, his breath catching as he processes what just happened. His wide eyes search yours, and for a moment, it’s as though the world has stopped.

“Did you just—” His voice falters, disbelieving, as if he can’t quite believe the intensity of your reaction.

You can’t face him. You just came from him bottoming you out. The realization of what just happened, of how utterly overwhelmed you are, has heat rising to your cheeks. You turn your head, hiding your flushed face in the silk sheets beneath you, your chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths.

“B-Be quiet.” The words fall from your lips, muffled by the fabric, and your body shivers from the aftershocks, still clenching around him as though unwilling to let go.

Jericho exhales slowly, the sound laced with awe. The way you try to hide from him, burying yourself as though it could shield you from his gaze, makes his heart twist. “Hhm,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, as his thumb gently hooks under your chin. He tilts your face up, guiding you to meet his eyes, his touch firm yet impossibly tender. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. Let me see you.”

His words are a balm, his tone leaving no room for doubt or shame. You let your eyes flicker open, slowly meeting his softened gaze. The way he looks at you is almost reverent as if the world itself has narrowed to this one perfect moment.

Your breath hitches, chest still heaving as the afterglow washes over you. His body is warm, grounding, and utterly unyielding as he rests on his elbows, caging you beneath him. His presence is so encompassing, so safe, that the tension in your body begins to melt away.

“Now… are you feeling okay after that?” he asks, his voice gentle but tinged with concern. His head dips slightly, and you feel the whisper of his breath against your cheek as he waits for your answer.

The intensity of what just happened still lingers, but the way he holds you, the way his body shields yours, keeps you from unraveling completely. You nod faintly, “Y-yes…” the words catching in your throat as you try to steady your breathing.

The corners of his mouth lift in a small, knowing smile, but his eyes stay serious, watching you closely for any sign of discomfort. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone soft but resolute. "Then, I’ll start moving…” His voice is low and hoarse, a thread of restraint holding him together.

Already? Wait. Your body tenses in response, still hypersensitive from the earlier intensity. The overstimulation floods your senses, blurring the edges of pleasure and vulnerability. “Fuck…” His breath hitches, his movements faltering slightly. “You’re squeezing really hard again. Ease up, please.” His words come out as a half-growl, half-plea, though there’s no mistaking the tremor of pleasure lacing his tone.

You hear him, but it’s distant, muffled by the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. The stretch of him is intoxicating, consuming every fragment of your awareness. Your hands clench at his back, eyes closed, seeking some anchor as your body tries to adjust.

"No no," He tsk, “Eyes open too. Okay?” His voice cuts through the haze, a quiet command.

Your eyes flutter open reluctantly, meeting his gaze. His face is close—so close. His hand cups your cheeks again, warm and firm, his thumb brushing your skin in soothing circles. His movements slow for a moment, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. The intimacy of the gesture grounds you, even as your body struggles to stay coherent under his touch.

He’s watching you intently, his dark eyes filled with a heady mix of affection and hunger. Every small flicker of expression on your face, every sharp inhale or bitten-back moan, he catches it all. It’s like he’s memorizing you, storing each reaction somewhere sacred.

The fullness inside you makes it nearly impossible to focus, your body instinctively clenching around him. The tension makes your breaths come in shallow, uneven gasps, your chest rising and falling rapidly. His gaze sharpens, his lips twitching into a crooked smile.

“Mhm, just like that,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into a satisfied hum. His hips begin a steady rhythm, each roll deliberate and measured, sending shivers through you. He exhales shakily as your body reacts, squeezing him in ways that make his control slip just enough for you to notice.

“That’s what I like to see,” he coos, his lips grazing yours before trailing kisses across your face—your temple, your cheekbone, the corner of your lips. The gentle affection contrasts with the intensity of his movements, making every sensation feel sharper and deeper.

His hips snap forward, a deliberate shift in angle, and the sound you let out is involuntary, raw. He’s found that spot inside you again, the one that sends waves of pleasure radiating outward, threatening to overwhelm you.

Each thrust feels impossibly precise, hitting that perfect spot with maddening accuracy, driving you higher with every motion. The combination of his whispered encouragements, the heat of his body, and the way he moves against you leave you breathless, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

He slows down a bit, giving your forehead another kiss and whispering something sweet against your skin—so soft and comforting—before picking up the pace once again, drawing you in further, making the noises that slip out of you quite naughty, whimpers and moans spilling out with your hands covering your mouth to keep it at bay—oh fuck, not this time.

"What'd I say?" He teased, bringing your hand down with him as he lowered it. "I wanna hear those pretty noises I’ve been dreaming about.” He thrust in as deep as he could, cock curve all in the right places, slick with your cum until he hit some resistance a little past halfway. You squealed at the sensation, tossing your head back and arching your back as he filled you up.

"S-Shit, it’s too much!" You exclaimed, writhing against him before he takes your hand and pressed it on your stomach with his hand top, comforting you, your eyes widening at the bulge he made you feel was peeking through your skin, each time he’s deep inside you.

Fuck, meaning you're really getting there. Like, super close. So close that you can feel and see it—totally feel your mind go blank and your body just tensing up.

Jericho's all over you, and you can totally feel every drag of his cock, every kiss he plants on your neck. You can really feel how his lips move against your skin even to your breast, face planted—before you know it, you can sense another orgasm coming, but this one feels a bit different from the ones you had before.

"Hold up! J-Jericho, this is way too much!" You groaned, your eyes flying open and your hands finding their way to Jericho's stomach as you tried to shove him away. You're so tight. Like, ridiculously tight. He can totally feel how your walls are stretching to fit him in—can feel them fluttering and squeezing around him.

“Don’t worry you got this,” he said, grunting a little as you squeezed him tight. He adjusted his hips some, grinding against that sweet spot inside you while your eyes rolled back. The way his cock moved along your walls was unreal, and he started playing with your clit, totally not expecting it to push you right over the edge.

You let out a high-pitched moan, head thrashing about, your nails digging into his back as an orgasm hit, your pussy pushing Jericho's cock out as you gushed juices all over his abdomen.

“F-Fuck, you did such a wonderful job…,” he groaned, totally shocked by the mess you had made. “Such a good girl you are… no wonder you wanted so badly…”

Even as every nerve in your body seems to hum with overwhelming, dizzying pleasure, the moment stretches out, blurring everything except him—his touch, his warmth, the way he moves with you. You’re so close to the edge of passing out, your thoughts scattered and hazy, when suddenly, something his words cuts through the fog.

“Wha do you mean..?”

The words barely leave your mouth, shaky and breathless, as you fight to keep yourself tethered to reality. His hands are still on you, his fingertips now pressing into your cunt with an intensity that both grounds and overwhelms you. The breath in your chest stutters as you try to process his words, but the truth is—you’re barely holding it together. Poor you.

You push yourself up slightly, your hands searching for purchase on his tone chest, your eyes meeting his. There's a brief flicker of hesitation, the air between you thick with uncertainty. His expression mirrors your confusion, brows furrowed slightly, looking away—also like he wasn't supposed to say what he said.

Jericho holds you in place, his breath ragged before looking back down at you, still no word. You try to focus, but the movement of his fingers inside you makes it hard to concentrate as he spreads your legs once more, slipping back into your spasming hole. Your frame shook with every sensation, whining as he filled you up again, “A-ah… so good…” You gasp, your head falling back against the pillow as the sensation takes over. Every movement of his body against yours sends waves of heat coursing through you, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

Your body instinctively rocks upward to meet his, a rhythm building between you that’s as intoxicating as it is overwhelming.

Jericho’s breath comes in shallow bursts, his hands gripping the sheets beside your head as he follows the motion, pressing deeper. His chest brushes against yours, sending a shiver of electricity through your skin. The friction, the heat, the way he moves inside you—it all blurs together, a sensation so intense that words hardly seem enough to capture it.

Then, you feel him lean down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck, his teeth grazing the spot where your pulse beats fast. You stifle a moan, the sharpness of the pleasure taking you by surprise. The feeling of him so close, so consumed, is almost more than you can handle.

His breath is warm against your ear as he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he murmurs, each word a low hum of longing. You can feel the words vibrating through his chest, the heat of his body pressing against yours as he keeps the pace rather fast.

Then, he stills for a moment, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes lock with yours, intense, raw—full of vulnerability, almost searching. It’s a gaze that holds more than just desire; it’s a plea, a desperate hope that you can see beyond the surface. “Please,” Jericho’s voice falters slightly.

His hand reaches up, his thumb brushing across your cheek, a tender gesture amidst the chaos. “Let me be selfish of you.” Before you could respond, his lips were on yours—soft yet demanding.

The kiss was slow, deliberate as if he was trying to savor the moment, to take something from it that he couldn’t quite explain. He deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours as if he wanted to feel every inch of you, to draw you into him completely. The soft slide of his lips against yours was matched by the rhythmic press of his chest against yours, his heartbeat thudding in time with your own.

It only takes a few more thrusts before his face scrunches up in pleasure, but it’s brief—just a moment—before he regains control, pushing deep and filling you up with his cum. And in that moment, there's a fleeting sense of satisfaction, of ownership, that he’s claimed you.

Jericho carefully shifts your body, guiding you gently to rest against him. You settle back on top of him, allowing yourself a moment to catch your breath. Your head falls against his neck, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you grounding you in the quiet moment. You both exhale in sync, the shared breath between you creating a warmth that fills the space.

His body trembles ever so slightly as his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as if afraid you'll slip away.

For a brief second, you both hold each other in silence, the weight of the connection undeniable. Then, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. The softness of your voice barely reaches his ear as you whisper, "Thank you for loving me, Crowe." His response is muffled against your skin, but you can feel the depth of emotion in his touch—gentle, tender, a quiet promise.

He buried his face into the curve of your shoulder. His fingertips gently moved across your back, tracing small but soothing circles. He exhaled slowly, his warm breath gently grazing your skin as he mumbled, his voice was low and almost inaudible.

"I'll always love you, no matter what…."

His arms tighten around you, his heart racing in his chest as he holds you close, unwilling to let go, his love reflected in the heart-shaped gaze that you cannot see. So close to the truth yet so far.

A possessive pride blooms in his chest—you chose him. As he pulls you closer, his grip tightening, it's clear: no one will take you from him. His love is his alone to give, and he will guard it with everything he has. Even the one with red-orange eyes—the one who once thought he could take you—is gone.

Jericho made sure that no one would ever have you, not while he still breathes.

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── ·

#the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back crowe #the kid at the back vn #tkatb crowe #tkatb #crowe ichabod #crowe x reader #jericho crowe ichabod #tkatb smut #jericho ichabod #the kid at the back jericho

269 notes · View notes

guiltyasdave · 11 months ago

Note

jana hi me again 🫣 could i have the prompt 28 "No one ever cared about me like you."

with either javi p or joel 🫠❤️🤎

take my hand, wreck my plans

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: 557

summary: Javi seeks out your company after a rough day.

tags/warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, alcohol consumption, mention of food, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, idiots in love because of who i am as a person (let me know if i missed something!)

a/n: i have once again been possessed by angsty thoughts and somehow, this came out of it. i hope you like this eden @reddedmiller and i’m sorry that it took three months lol. thank you @catchallfangirl for beta reading 🫶🏻

dividers by @saradika-graphics as always because they’re the best <3

find my full masterlist here & follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates :)

He knocks on your door at 2 in the morning, all but collapses into your arms as soon as you swing it open, tired eyes and heavy limbs that melt into your embrace.

Your colleagues had warned you when he started coming over to your desk, inviting you out for lunch, about how he would chew you up and spit you out, like he did with half of the female staff at the embassy. You hadn’t listened, waving them off and going out with him anyway. First for a quick lunch break, then for after work drinks, then for dinner.

It was fun, a distraction, something to do and someone to know in this city where everything was foreign to you and where you felt more alone than ever before in your life.

It’s more, now. It doesn’t have a definition exactly, but you both know it. You’re the person he turns to when he needs somebody, and you’ll gladly be that for him.

“Do you have something to drink?” His face is sullen as he slumps down on your couch, like the weight of the world crushed him today. You furrow your brow.

“When was the last time you ate something, Javi?”

“‘M not hungry,” he grumbles, confirming your suspicion that he most likely survived the day solely on cigarettes and coffee.

You lean over the couch, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders from behind. His head falls back against you like he can’t help himself.

“I’m gonna make you a sandwich and get you some whiskey, okay?” Inching closer, you press a gentle kiss against his neck, just below his ear.

He sits up a little straighter and turns to you, reluctance in his eyes.

“Querida, it’s the middle of the night, you don’t have to-”

You shake your head and kiss him again, on his cheek this time. “It’s okay. I want to.”

He leans back hesitantly but doesn’t seem to have the energy to fight you on it, so your lips find his face once more before you head for the kitchen.

Watching him all but devour the food has you hiding your smile behind your own glass of whiskey. He already looks a little better.

“Not hungry, huh?” you tease, your voice light.

“Shut up,” comes his short reply, but his lips are twitching.

He has half a mind to stumble out of your flat again afterwards, but you convince him to stay, that it’s really no problem.

He takes a quick shower, mumbling about washing the day away, and you wait in bed, the warm light from your bedside lamp illuminating the room, until he slips under the covers beside you.

You wrap your arms around him again and hold him close, your fingers drawing shapes on his chest. He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly.

“Thank you,” he eventually mumbles, his voice low in the darkness.

“Of course, Javi.” He tends to get like that, struggling to receive any kind of affection or care when he feels like he has nothing to give back.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “No, seriously. No one ever cared about me like you. I- thank you.”

You sigh and pull him tighter into you, your face buried in his hair. You’ll care for him as long as he lets you.

thank you so much for reading! if you liked this, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment because they make me really happy 🤍

#janas fics #javier peña #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena narcos #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fic #javier pena fluff #javier pena angst #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x female reader

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reflections-in-a-critical-eye · 4 months ago

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Are You Sure?! - Episode 8 Observations

10/10 ☆

"If you just watch my trip with Jungkook here, you'll know exactly what I do every day at home."

Jimin - Are You Sure?!, episode 8

Something had shifted that last night in Sapporo. The tongues were looser, the flirting was back in full force, the laughter out of nothing and everything could be heard throughout the house. After two days of activities and always on the move from one place to another, this was now a time to just be. Like they usually are when they hang out together. And it was a peek into how easy it would be for things to escalate. It was like I could finally see how Jungkook could spin Jimin around and then receive a bite/hickey because of it.

A lack of actual objective and purpose cracked the facade that somehow they both tried to maintain and succeded more or less. Especially Jimin. But even in that context, this trip was Jimin and Jungkook stripping away the filters. Add some alcohol in the mix, together with tiredness and soreness and it almost strips them bare. So much so that it leaves enough room to blatantly check the other one up from head to toe while being almost naked. It leaves room to use words like "baby" and "honey" without the other one finding any of it remotely weird.

Going back to that quote from the beginning, despite Jimin referring to how he simply does nothing and lays around the house when he's not out working or on trips around the world, I think it also applies to the cooking session/impromptu show they had that evening. It also takes me back to their second night in Connecticut when Jungkook made pasta and both of them were in sync and knew exactly what to do and how to do it because it was a habit. The difference in Sapporo was that it had the humor twist on top. But even then, it all fell into place immediately. They laugh at the same things and they probably must have put on similar acts in similar situations before. Jungkook is good at making Jimin laugh and how can he not try his best at succeeding that when Jimin is almost falling over because of it?

Which is why the next morning is such a blatant contrast to their good spirits the night before. Reality came crashing down. Impossible to hide. The mood was down, some tears and snifling even before they left the place. Not even shared jokes about puppy Jimin could work anymore. Not even the feast they have each time they go to a resturant. Not even Jungkook opening up all the windows in the car to distract Jimin. And how could it possibly work?

The lack of filter was there that next day, but in very different circumstances. There was no point to put on a brave face and end it with a classic "it was fun, hope we'll do it again, bye". These were the last three days of spending significant time together before 18 months in which most of the closeness probably had to be contained in just being in each other's presence. They didn't hide the sadness. It was not only palpable, but vocalized. Wanting to go back to the first day, feeling down because it's the last one. And ultimately, for someone in his position that has travelled countless times for business and pleasure, the time he spent with Jimin filming this show remains as the most significant for Jungkook. That's a big statetement, but no words were minced.

The memories made during AYS?! will hopefully make their lives easier during their military service. And even though another winter is getting closer and snow is something to be shoveled there, I hope they'll remember running around the streets of Sapporo and only feeling pain in their knees from skiing.

#m thoughts #jikook #jikook travel show #jikook are you sure

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lokis-coconut28 · 4 months ago

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A Green & Gold Sundae

A/N : Hello! Thank you so much for your patience on this one! Life got wild. Thinking about a Part 2?

I appreciate the love and support you all gave on Sports Bra! I hope you enjoy this one as well :)

Warnings: Food play, Smutttt, 18+ ONLY Minors DNI

Summary: (Y/N x Loki) Insomnia leads to late night dessert with the God of Mischief. WC 2.3k

Masterlist Here

Toss, turn, repeat. Insomnia washed over you like a tidal wave dragging your mind into the sleepless abyss. You focused on the alarm clock atop the desk inquisitively - 12:18am, Sunday morning. With a discontented sigh you emerged out of bed in hopes of quelling your restless night.

Meandering into the kitchen, you glanced over at the common room. Loki was nestled comfortably in the corner chaise, studying a leather bound tome reservedly in the soft light. Thor clad with headset shouted an incoherent threat at the television to a “NoobMaster69”. You quietly opened the refrigerator, scanning the shelves for a midnight snack, unaware of the eyes that were lingering on your form.

You heard commotion, rolling your eyes as you witnessed Thor throwing his headset on the ground. He tromped your direction, countenance mellowing as he spotted you rummaging in the ice box.

“Y/N!” Thor beamed. “You cannot sleep? Up for playing a game with me?”

You shook your head, declining, while grabbing a can of whipped cream from the door. You took the cap off and sprayed it directly into your mouth.

“Nohhh fank youh.” You slurred, mouth full of froth.

Thor chortled and snagged the can from you, dispersing a mighty tower of cream into his mouth. You jovially bantered, laughing whilst requesting, “Another!”

“Of course!”

You leant back, Thor squirting more cream into your mouth. Loki's eyes widened, subcontiously clenching the book in his lap. His focus sharpened in surveillance of his brother in such close proximity to you. He felt- no he couldn’t. He certainly did not feel jealous.

“Loki? Want some?” You jocundly inquired from across the space, fracturing Loki from his envious thoughts.

“Only idiots and fools play these witless games, mortal.” Loki venomously spat at you. He slammed his book shut, abandoning it on the chair, strutting with haste out of range down the hall.

The joy you had exuded moments prior shriveled inside your heart like a dying flower. Loki had never spoken to you so harshly.

Thor noticed your discomfort at Loki's insult. He leaned down and whispered, “He is adopted,” into your ear. You stifled a half-chuckle and smacked his large bicep.

“Be nice!” You scolded lightheartedly, beginning to head toward your own room.

There was a soft knock on your door, barely audible. You glimpsed at the clock and grumbled. 3:30am. Tony. Stark was notorious for recruiting you to work in the early hours. While you were grateful to be part of this team, briefing documents were the last thing you felt like reading in your insomniatic state.

Moseying over to the sound, you swung the door open in exasperation, bracing yourself for Tony’s middle of the night assignment. You froze ice cold when you saw Loki before you instead.

“What brings you to my room, Laufeyson?”

Loki winced internally at the tone of your words. You never called him that.

“An apology. May I come in?” He said with an air of sincerity that riddled you with regret.

Silently stepping aside, you observed Loki as he cautiously entered your room. His hands dwelled behind his back, arms tight to his sides. He loomed with the utmost formal, stiff posture. Your interest was piqued at his bravery not only to come to your room, but to also offer an apology. Core tightening at the sudden realization you were alone with Loki in the middle of the night, you listened to him intently as he began to speak.

“Y/N… I owe you an apology for what I said tonight. How I spoke to you - it was harsh…” he shifted uncomfortably on his heels. “It’s just- it is not proper for royalty where I come from to do - well… fun things… Midgardian things.” Loki confessed in the tenebrosity of your bedroom. “And with Thor there… Well… He would tell The Warriors Three. I would never hear the end of it Y/N. Gossip spreads like wildfire in Asgard...”

You could tell Loki was being vulnerable, something that did not come first nature to him.

“...I find it difficult to let go of those customs. I am trying... So - if you would still have it… If the offer still stands…” he continued, revealing the can of whipped cream from behind his back with pleading eyes.

You raised your eyebrows at him with a playful grin. “Really?”

Apprehensively, he bowed his head in permission, handing over the canister.

“Come here.” You giggled, seizing the can. You crawled onto your bed, scooching to one side. You tapped the mattress beside you twice, beckoning the God of Mischief to come join you.

Following your lead, Loki tried to ignore the flutters in his stomach. Sitting next to you, he was painfully poised. Yet even in the late of night, he looked as collected and composed as he ever did, stature dripping with elegance.

“Lean against my leg.” You hushedly instructed.

Loki shimmied down low on the bed, resting his head carefully against your slightly bent knee. He looked straight up at you, seeking guidance. Allowing someone to have control of himself was new. Steadily, he rested his body perpendicular to yours.

“Tilt your head back.”

You cradled his scalp and gently tugged his hair, encouraging access to his mouth. All traces of awkwardness melted away as he arched slowly into your palm. You admired Loki’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed, the new angle exposing his alabastrine flesh. Your eyes lingered, watching the heartbeat quicken in his strong neck, deep veins coursing like a sapphire river. You shifted your left leg slightly, arousal starting to stir from forbidden thoughts of your colleague.

“Good.” You praised, loosening the grip on his obsidian curls. A small smirk formed on your lips. “Open up, please.”

His breath hitched as he willed the tension in his jaw to release, slightly parting his mouth. He wet his lips with his tongue, allowing access for your dessert. Gently, you pressed the nozzle downward, forcing sweet cream to squirt from the star-shaped tip. Loki flinched, startled from the sound of the pressure that was built up in the can. You smiled reassuringly, sliding your hand down to support the nape of his neck.

“It’s okay. Relax your body. It’s good right?” You soothed.

“Mmm-mmhmm. Another,” he hissed, mimicking your words to Thor earlier. A familiar burning swept over your stomach at his new inflection, laced with lust and possession.

Loki’s hands fidgeted near his groin, attempting to hide his arousal as you pressed down again. He allowed his eyes to fall shut, appreciating the feeling of you. The way you were cradling him felt so intimate. Your delicate hand holding him sent him to a state of tranquility he hadn’t felt in eternities…

You made a large swirl in his mouth. Not nearly enough to make him choke, but certainly more than filling it. Loki’s eyes snapped open and glared at you in artificial anger.

“I’m sorry… I had to do it.” You feigned your most innocent and apologetic look.

Loki deftly dipped his pointer finger through the peak of cream in his mouth before consuming the rest. He tilted his head toward you, observing your expression. You were at ease with him. Peaceful and serene… Not afraid.

Loki raised his finger to your mouth. He hoped this was not too forward of him, he hoped not to scare you away.

Loki’s outstretched arm revealed the erection straining against his pants. His dormant hand began clenching his thigh as you bewitchingly leaned forward and sucked his finger clean of the foam, eyeing his visible arousal. Setting the can down and mindlessly draping your free hand on his abdomen, you felt his diaphragm rise and fall under your fingertips. A blush crept across your face at his hungry eyes taking you in.

“Satisfied?” You questioned.

Loki leaned in close to you, gently sitting up in one fluid movement.

“It was quite good… However…” He tenderly rested his palm on your cheek, demanding eye contact. “I crave something sweeter.”

Loki ran seductive circles on your cheekbone, exalting the features of your profile, hesitating only for a moment's time. Forthwith, he captured your lips in a sultry embrace, comfortably fitting them between his own. You hummed in approval as you allowed him access to glide against your tongue. You both gave in to a sacred dance, tongues entwining in a passionate display of affection. Tasting each other, a heated frenzy between yourselves was created.

Loki pulled away searchingly. He studied your face for any trace of protest.

Coyly you lifted your lashes up at him, admiring the beauty in his irises. Being this close to him was enchanting.

“Yes?” You chuckled.

“I just - I want to be sure that was okay. I do not want to betray your trust, Y/N.” He whispered bashfully.

You pressed an affirming kiss on his lips, running your hand down his side. You spoke as you began to swap spots.

“Lay on your back, Prince.”

Loki leaned backward as you knelt between his spread thighs. Slight panic was evident on his face as your new positions did not allow for him to hide the bulge in his trousers.

And Gods. You were kneeling. His swollen cock throbbed at just the sight.

“Spray it for me now… Your Highness. Spray where you want me to taste.” You mewled sweetly, looking for approval as you slid his sweater up.

You drew a line with your finger on his exposed skin, bobbing your head once encouraging him to follow. Loki understood the instruction and sprayed a lawless line from his belly button to his sternum.

You hovered over his sculpted belly, stalking the cream line. You slid your tongue over the messy map he had drawn for you, licking it from the top of his navel up to his chest. You planted a kiss on his jawline. Out of your peripherals there was a flash of green resulting in the disappearance of Loki’s pullover.

“No cheating!” You playfully tugged his head back, massaging his scalp while he sprayed another line up his collarbone. You followed with a trail of kisses and sucks against his throat. He eased his eyes closed once more, letting his mouth drop open at your heated, sticky laps against the nerves in his neck.

“So- Sorry.. Y/N. No more cheating-”. You cut him off with a suction that was sure to leave a mark.

Cautiously, Loki drew a line down his happy trail. You locked eyes, licking the line up to his belly button whilst simultaneously pulling his bottoms down. He moaned in bliss as you placed a small peck above his pubic hair, continuing to tug the trousers down at a sinfully slow pace. His penis sprung free, dripping with pre-cum. You watched him pulsate as he gracefully drizzled a crown of whipped cream on his tip. His pupils dilated, dark in anticipation.

You thumbed Loki’s hip bone, drawing an invisible heart shape on his sensitive skin. His stomach flexed involuntarily at the contact. The corners of his mouth curved upward, noting the shape you had chosen.

“Command me, Loki.” You instructed him, sensually. “What do you want, Prince?”

“Suck, Pet.” He demanded, firm, yet lovingly. Obediently you leaned down and sucked the mix of whip and precum from his cock. Pleasure surged from his base to his tip as your cheeks hollowed.

“Another?” You sexily teased.

Loki let out a grunt of ecstasy and relief. He had been jealous of that word only hours ago, but now, how you said it to him, it was utterly intoxicating.

Tasting his silky knob, your saliva ran down Loki’s length. You pumped your hand, gliding up and down with a rhythm so divine not even magic could mimic the sensation. Loki looked down at you, working sweetly between his legs. You were absolutely delicious. His cock trembled, threatening release as your mouth and grip repetitively jerked his most private anatomy.

One hand stroking in pattern on his shaft, you allowed the other to gently fondle his testicles. He jolted forward into your mouth, relishing at the contact, feverishly humping upward.

“Y/N…” Loki panted. You tugged his scrotum, massaging each nut gently. Your eyes flicked up to the Prince’s hand clasping your duvet. You could tell he was dangerously close to the edge. Watching his chest rise and fall at a rapid pace, you hummed at the taste of his precum, taking him further to hit the back of your throat.

“Gods - Y/N…” he mewled . “Fuck! I’m - I’m going to cum Y/N…”

You winked at him as you rolled your tongue sweetly over the hole that was begging for relief. Relentlessly, you pumped and sucked Loki off, taking delight in his sugary taste. His body began to quiver, commencing his inevitable orgasm.

Loki’s hips lifted off the mattress, eyes squeezing shut tightly as his body bucked and vibrated. The intensity of pleasure washing over him as he expelled his seed into your mouth caused him to exhale a libertine moan. You supported his raised back with your hand, rubbing in encouragement as he let go, messily suctioning along with every shake and spurt of release. Tears of euphoria pooled in his eyes as he allowed you every last drop of his ejaculate. Once you were sure his release was complete, you swallowed Loki’s load. Sliding up next to him on the bed, you gently curled to his side, listening to his respiration.

“How does Midgardian dessert compare to Asgard’s?” You perked your eyebrow at him.

“Well, I have only had one Midgardian dessert.” He breathlessly purred against your ear. “And I think it may have caused me to develop a sweet-tooth.”

A long morning of dessert education was paved before you both, with Loki accepting your offer of a cherry on top, next. This was your favorite Sundae.

Thinking about a part 2 to this...

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noiriarti · 5 months ago

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The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 3

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), praise kink? WC: 6.7k AN: y'all i am SO proud of this chapter!! i'm so so so excited for you all to read it, i loved writing it so much. thank you all so so so much for the love you have been giving this fic, it means the absolute world to me. requests and asks open, as always!

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, [Ch. 3], Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6

Chapter 3: Bonding

In the morning, you woke up slowly, with the taste of night-old beer and regret in your mouth. And also a splitting headache. But your bed was really warm, much warmer than usual, and you snuggled into the covers for another minute. Just one more. And then you realized that it wasn't the covers you were snuggling into, but a person. A person who had their arms wrapped around you. The memories surged back--Anakin, the loud music, truth or dare, kissing him, straddling him, his body against yours. You patted his arm a few times, suddenly completely awake. He let out a low noise of annoyance, but you kept tapping him.

"Five more minutes," he groaned, deeper and gruffer than usual. In that voice, you could hardly refuse him. Five more minutes, fine. With his nearness, warm and stable against you, your heart was beating at a thousand miles an hour. You thought back to the night before, how hard he was for you and how smooth and warm his skin had been under your fingers when you teased below his shirt. Those thoughts would have made you horny beyond belief--fuck you right then and there, maybe--but you had the joy of a massive headache that blocked all of those fun thoughts. The light was too bright to close your eyes and drift off, so all you could do was turn around, awkwardly shifting underneath his arm, to look at him.

Anakin had little freckles on his cheekbones, you realized when you looked at him up close. When his face was completely relaxed like this, he had a kind of ethereal serenity about him. You feared that, if you didn't hold him tightly enough, he'd run away and jump into the sea like a selkie, never to be seen again. He was almost inhuman in that moment, all sharp angles and full lips. The morning light kissed his skin like it came from some radiance within him. He wasn't just handsome in the college-jock kind of way, he was truly and deeply beautiful, you realized.

Calling this Anakin a dumbass, an asshole, or a motherfucker felt just wrong. It would be like calling the stars in the sky boring. Laughably silly. With his jaw slack from sleep, he was a marvel, a gift from nature itself, molded and crafted into a careful, wonderous machine of blood, feelings, and thoughts. And he was laying there with you. If this Anakin wanted the prize, the money, the job, whatever, you would give it over in a heartbeat. All of that just didn't matter in this moment. And that was terrifying.

As quickly as you could, you tried to ground yourself in what was really important to you. Creating something meaningful. Winning. You reminded yourself all the times Anakin called your work amateurish, or the way he still denied damaging Barriss's bot. The way he'd raise his hand to argue that your answer was wrong in lecture during second year. Other images flashed in, unbidden. Anakin's kind eyes when he realized you were upset, before your first kiss. Anakin's sweet voice last night, full of respect for you. The way his teammates obviously respected him. You willed your mind to go back to his smug smile and the way he hogged the soldering station.

Anakin shifted a bit, then opened his bleary eyes to the morning light. It wasn't that late, you knew based on the fact that Ahsoka hadn't pounded down your door, but it was a Sunday, so maybe she didn't intend to. You reached for your phone on your nightstand, which was mercifully alive but hanging on for dear life at 3%. There was a text message from Ahsoka.

Slept over at TKD on the couch, heard u got home safe! ;) Go get some!

Ah. So she clearly thought you and Anakin had fucked. Not that you minded, really. Even if he was an asshole, or if you felt however you did about him, he was still hot. You definitely intended to screw his brains out as soon as you felt better. You tapped him again.

"Mmm, good morning," he mumbled out, "what time is it?" You clicked on your phone.

"11:55," you told him. He bolted upright.

"Shit, we slept through breakfast," he said. He was right, you had. Not that you got breakfast much. You shrugged. Anakin's eyes passed over you, catching your mussed hair, the smudges of mascara surrounding your eyes, and last night's now disheveled dress, then appeared to realize that he was, indeed, pantsless in your bed.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was hushed, tentative. He wasn't saying it outright, but you both knew the question was actually do you regret last night? You took a moment before answering him, trying to find the most correct phrasing for how you felt about it. About him.

"Honestly, I--" you started. His eyes widened, and he read into your hesitation a bit too much. Anakin got out of bed instantly, a gesture that would have been more dignified if he didn't have to shimmy out of the comforter and then hop over you to do so. The lack of his warm weight behind you made you feel oddly empty.

"I knew it, I'm so sorry. I'll leave now, I just--" Anakin said as he grabbed his jeans and started putting them on. Were you imagining it, or was he flushed red in embarrassment? It was kind of cute.

"God, you're stupid. Get back here," you said, motioning for him to come back. Anakin paused, his jeans pulled halfway up, then caught your eye. Based on your annoyance, he sensed that this probably wasn't a get-away-from-me type of conversation, so he finished putting his jeans on and buttoning them, then sat down on the edge of your bed. He was still tentative, like if he said or did the wrong thing, this moment would disappear. Anakin perched carefully on the edge of your bed, as far from you as mathematically possible. He probably had run calculations in his head, you thought.

"I was just saying that I'm too hungover, but we should still… Just not right now. My head is killing me." As you spoke, a smile grew on his face, but then he tried to hide it by pressing his lips together, an effect you would have thought worked better if he wasn't so horrible at it.

"Oh," he said, still obviously elated, but then his expression turned to concern, and he scooched an inch closer to you. "Do you have any Tylenol, or, like, electrolytes here?" You shook your head, and he rolled his eyes. "Of course not." He didn't seem to think you capable of planning in advance, which flared annoyance inside you, but you decided to tamp it down. For now.

"Nah, I think I just need water and food. I'm gonna head down to lunch once I get dressed, then the lab," you told him through a yawn.

"Already? You practically live there," he laughed. Nerd, his tone cried.

"Big words from someone who is always there before me," you said reflexively. The retort had come out of your mouth as easily as breathing, and you hoped he didn't hate you for it.

"Touche," he said, though there wasn't any annoyance in it, just a smile. A silence fell between the two of you, and, unlike most times, it was comfortable. You weren't fuming, which was definitely a new one. Anakin looked down at his hands resting on his thighs, then seemed to work up the courage to say something.

"Look, before you go downstairs, can we talk? Actually talk?" What on Earth did that mean?

"You go first," you said. What did he want to talk about? As far as you were concerned, your positions were clear. Maybe you'd fuck tonight, maybe not, and then he'd be out of your system. You could get back to work. Something twinged in your chest, but it was from your hangover.

"Okay, so, um. I think you know that, even though you're literally the worst, I am… attracted to you. Somehow. And that I'd like to, y'know. Do stuff. I just feel weird about it because of the competition," Anakin said. His confession that he was attracted to you stirred something inside you, but you ignored it.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like, I don't know about you, but if we… did things. I think I'd feel more upset if you won. Not that you will, to be clear, but if someone sabotaged my project and cut off my hands, you might have a shot." You snorted, then smacked his shoulder. He held up his hands, defensively, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

"But, I think I'd also feel weird when I win. You've been really helpful. At staying late so that I can use machines, to be clear. So I've been thinking, we're engineers, right? And, most of what we do is optimize. So why don't we optimize this competition? Maybe we could split the prize money. Because if I don't win, you do, and I need that money. Like, really need. And I'd rather get something than nothing at all if you win, and, for that insurance, I'm willing to let you have some of my prize money. And, in exchange, we help each other as much as possible to make sure that the two of us get first and second place."

Initially, you bristled. Giving away some of your hard-earned prize? That motherfucker was trying to take away from your victory. But, then again, with the way your tests were going now, there was no certainty that you'd be able to produce a working prototype by March. And, if you didn't, he'd probably win. Souring his win just a little would probably feel really good, you reasoned, given how full of himself he was now. The idea wasn't horrible, you thought. You decided to be honest, even though it almost killed you.

"You'll only hear me say this once--and don't you dare tell fucking anyone--but I don't know if I'll win. It's probably rigged in your favor, anyway." You ignored the indignant "hey!" Anakin let out, and continued. "So sure. That works for me."

You held out your right hand for him to shake. The sight was probably hilarious, given that you were still in bed with last night's dress and last night's makeup, but you were deadly serious. Anakin shook your hand, still smiling, and then pulled you up.

"C'mon, get dressed. Don't wanna miss lunch, too, or else we'll never see the lab in the daytime!"

Two hours later, you found yourself on the shuttle to the engineering building. You'd probably walk back long after the shuttle system stopped running, so you wanted to spare yourself one walk in the biting cold. Anakin was sitting next to you--the two of you and Ahsoka had eaten together, and you had spent most of the time getting questioning glances from her. His thigh was warm against yours in the cramped shuttle seats, and you caught him smiling at you once, which made your heart flutter.

You were not alone in the lab. You decided not to question why that was disappointing. On the upside, you got to see Barriss, who was in the corner of the lab, tapping something out on her phone. When she saw you, she came up to you and asked you about how you were doing, and you answered honestly. Tired.

Asajj was on the other side of the room and shot you a glance, but you ignored it. She wasn't your favorite member of the engineering department, but she was an environmental engineer. Not your circus. In the few classes you'd shared, she was kind of a bitch, actually. Barely acknowledged you. She narrowed her eyes at Anakin when he followed you into the lab.

You kept chatting with Barriss for a while, catching up. You felt like you hadn't seen her in ages, especially since she got a job working as an admin assistant for the department. She told you about her new idea for a thesis, some sort of collapsible electric bicycle, and how she was trying to make a better replacement for electric scooters. She pulled up her chair to sit next to your lab bench while you tinkered with your prototype, peppering in some questions about it. You lied through your teeth. It was going great, actually. You were more than on track. You had passed your initial tests with flying colors. Right as she was about to leave, you had worked up the nerve to say the truth, that you were terrified of how it was going. She would be the only person you'd ever admit that to--God knows you wouldn't tell Anakin.

Well, actually, now that you were in your agreement, maybe you could. The idea made you feel scared, honestly. What if he sent you on a wild goose chase? While you were thinking, Barriss said goodbye and rushed off to go get a late lunch, leaving just you, Anakin, and Asajj in the lab.

Now that Barriss was gone, you let yourself deflate. Pretending to do something productive while she watched killed you a little bit, and you found yourself not wanting to do anything else today. Maybe eat some pasta and sleep. Anakin came up to your bench a few times, checking to see how stuff was going, but you weren't really feeling up to engaging with him. You fended off his questions for several hours as you agonized over your failed test, checking the software's code over and over. It still worked on all the test cases other than the one where it really mattered, the one that took it from being a model on your computer to a device that looked at real, physical eyes. Sometime right before dinner, Anakin came up to your desk again, looking frustrated.

"Hey," his voice was low, so that Asajj couldn't hear. "Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Why do you want me to?" You couldn't help it. You were being defensive, and you felt guilty the moment the words left your lips. His eyebrows furrowed.

"Because…" he trailed off, expression inscrutable, then continued after a moment, "We promised to help each other. I just want to help, honest." You studied his completely earnest face, so open. You faltered, for a moment. Even though you'd had that nice conversation earlier, you couldn't help but still see his face biting out a mean comment, or his sweet smile when he told you the circuit design you had drawn in freshman year for your final project looked fine, even though it had glaring errors. You could handle this on your own. Maybe, just maybe, if you got desperate, you could ask him. But not right now.

"I--It's fine. I think I just need to work on it a bit more." That seemed to placate him, all the way until you told him that you were going to go back home, to have dinner and study, then call it a night. He gave you that same inscrutable expression, which was kind of starting to annoy you, and wished you luck.

You, in fact, did have dinner, but you couldn't study. The equations swam in front of your eyes, all of them turning into questions of focal distance and refraction. You tried for two hours, and it was nine already, so you decided to switch tasks. Maybe now you would make some progress on your thesis.

And, so, the minutes ticked past as you sat alone in your bedroom, flipping through pages and googling random things like "refraction of printer paper." Ahsoka was studying for some exam she had tomorrow, and she said she'd be out late at the library, so you had room to spread out. You found yourself pouring cups of tea in the kitchen more often than was technically productive, and, more than a couple of times, you wanted to throw your prototype against a wall.

It was 11 when you caved and texted Anakin for help. It had been almost a week since you had this issue, and you were really getting to be behind, so this qualified as desperate. And if he was going to make fun of you, so be it. You cringed a bit when you saw that his contact name was still Asshole, a change made in anger in junior year when he called your group project idea the most boring thing he'd ever heard.

You: U up?

Asshole: bffr did you actually just send me a u up text Asshole: yes i am up

You: Can you come over? You: To help with an optics question

Asshole: yes Asshole: be there in 10

You: Thank you

Asshole: course

You changed his contact name back to Anakin. He deserved that much, at least. And, in the ten minutes before he came, you changed into some kind of lacy set of lingerie you'd bought the last time you went clubbing. Just in case. When you were with Anakin, there was always a chance things would go there, even if you called him over for a math issue. You threw your favorite comfortable pair of shorts back on, along with a loose Coruscant U shirt.

When he arrived, looking upsettingly hot in the bomber jacket, white t-shirt, and jeans he was wearing, you led him to your room, trying not to imagine the other reasons you might bring him there at night. Once he understood what your project was trying to do, his fingers scrolled the code you had written. He asked the right questions about various modules you'd used, then turned his attention to the hardware. He re-ran the tests, then grabbed your prototype and moved your detector around the room a bit.

Twenty minutes later, he had a diagnosis.

"I'm afraid the reason your machine doesn't work is that… you're stupid."

"What?" If you didn't need his help so badly, you would have smacked him.

"Yeah, look. First of all, you're getting a false negative from the fact that your code says to output a 'no glaucoma' response whenever it doesn't see glaucoma. So you could point it at the wall and it'd tell you that it doesn't have glaucoma, because, technically, it doesn't. And it's not reading either of these images accurately because, look, when you hold the paper like this," he lifted it up at a diagonal, "you can see that there's some reflection of light off the ink you used to print it. There isn't that in the training images you showed it, so it doesn't read it right. I bet if you did this whole thing on an actual eye with glaucoma, not a printed picture, you'd be fine," he said. "You've spent so much time hooking up the camera that you didn't spend enough time on making a good test, that's all. And, also, you need to make sure there's a way for the program to recognize whether something is an eye or not. That would also be helpful."

A certain calm took over him when he started explaining, like you saw in him when he was doing something particularly difficult. Those were the moments you found him most attractive, and, right now, the first time he was helping you for no other reason than that you asked, you thought this might be the most attractive you've seen him. His hands, gesturing. His eyes, sparkling. I want to kiss him. The thought propelled you to stand up, so that you were closer to his height.

"Thank you, Anakin. I mean it. As much as it hurts to admit… you're probably right," you said. After a beat, you continued, your voice lower than before. "And I'm really glad you came tonight." The confession slipped out of your lips like a secret, quick and quiet. Anakin's body was so close to you, you could have pressed yourself against him if you just leaned forward.

"You're welcome," he said in the same husky tone, his gaze flitting from your eyes to your lips. The air was charged with something, some kind of magnetic pull between the two of you. His softness toward you was new, exciting. Your hand reached out, brushing his wrist before finding his hand. When his eyes widened and he shuddered out a breath, it was like a jolt of lightning. He wanted you, badly. So badly even you could tell. The previous times you had done this, it'd been the heat of the moment driving you. Now, you weren't sure how to get from here to making him horny. This was soft, almost romantic, not angry and sexy and intense. What could you say?

"So, um. Wanna watch something?" Your suggestion was a little bit stupid, but Anakin's lips pressed together as he tried to subdue giggles. He failed, and started full-on cackling. You felt your whole face get warm from embarrassment. Well, damn. There goes that.

"Did you really actually for real just ask me to Netflix and chill with a straight face?" He was almost wiping away tears, apparently. Jesus Christ, you were just trying to break the ice. You smacked his upsettingly hard chest in annoyance.

"Stop laughing! Or else I'll--" you were trying to find some threat, something to say that would actually get him to shut up, when he jumped in.

"You'll what? What are you gonna do about it?" Something in his voice morphed, mocking, and though he was smiling, it reminded you more of the expression an animal makes before catching its prey. Self-satisfied. Smug. So, so fucking handsome.

You didn't need another second before you slammed into him, kissing him with a kind of fever you had only imagined. He'd been riling you up for days, weeks, months at this point, and you were finally going to get him inside you. Your hands found their way into his hair while he pulled you to him by your lower back. When you gently tugged, he let out a little noise deep in his throat and started nudging you toward the bed. The effect you had on him was overpowering, addicting. And, if you were being honest, he was riling you up just as much. His thumbs were playing with the skin that was directly under your tank top, sending little fires to your core.

You finally reached the bed, still kissing sloppily, and then he pushed you down onto it before connecting your lips again and climbing over you. Though he was hovering over you, supported by his arms, Anakin kept his hips just out of reach. You horribly, horribly wanted to feel that hardness pressing against you again. You trailed your hands down his chest, all the way until you reached the button of his jeans. You ghosted your hand over his length, trapped against him in his jeans, and he let out a hiss of air.

"Be patient," he said, going back down to kiss you. He notably didn't remove your hand, but you decided there was something else you'd like to explore first, anyway. As he slipped his tongue into your mouth, you moved your hand up his shirt, running your fingers everywhere they could reach. He was taut and warm, so smooth as you felt the divots of his stomach and the clenched muscles in his chest. You knew he was an athlete, but he was properly built in a lean and strong sort of way. You could have sworn you felt abs under your hand, which was only confirmed when he quickly pulled away from you, then shrugged off his shirt. Anakin could have been carved from marble. Even though you were drunk on him, a piece of you recognized the same otherworldly sense from that morning. Like a statue of Apollo had broken out of stone and stepped into your life, still above you and staring down with such intensity that it made you shiver.

His hands came up under your tank top, sliding up your stomach before they reached your bra. Tentative, warm fingers slipped under the wire and grazed the bottom of your breasts. A positively embarrassing moan slipped out of you. He chuckled against your neck and brought his hands further up until his fingertips traced your nipples. The moan that followed was even needier, and you didn't even care.

"Stop teasing me, Anakin, please take it off," you whined, pressing your chest up into his hands and lifting your arms above your head. He didn't need to be asked twice, and slipped one hand behind your back to unclip your bra--with some ease, which surprised you. Everyone you'd been with before had struggled at least a bit, but apparently Anakin was a natural. You briefly wondered how many other people he'd slept with, but you abandoned the thought when jealousy flared in you. Anakin then brought his hands back down to the hem of your tank top before pulling it off above you, then gently guiding the straps of your bra down, finally exposing you. His eyes over you, hungry, starving.

"Fuck, you're so pretty. You have no idea what you do to me," he groaned before leaning down to your collarbone and trailing wet kisses down until he reached your nipple. His wet, warm tongue darted out to circle your sensitive skin. His right hand came up to play with the other, pinching and pulling and twisting until you were mewling. Then, he let his mouth trail even lower, kissing down until he was right above the drawstring of your shorts.

"Can I take these off, baby?" He was looking up at you with that smirk, the one that meant he knew you wouldn't say no. Of course you wouldn't. You nodded feverishly, and he undid your shorts and drew them down your legs. As he did so, the word stuck in your head. Baby. Did he mean that? Either way, you weren't going to question the way it slicked your pussy. Your shorts landed somewhere at the foot of the bed, but you didn't care. You were too busy watching Anakin take in the lacy underwear you had on.

"Damn. Do you have someone else coming over, or was this all for me?" His tone was light, but he was looking at your pussy like a man possessed. He was practically drooling.

"Shut up, Skywalker, and just take them off." He did so, happily, hooking his fingers under the waistband and drawing them down your legs until they were all the way off. If you thought he was staring before, he was practically glued to you now. One of his hands came up to rub your upper thigh before he drew it closer, inward. By the time he got close your pussy, you were thrusting up and trying to get him to touch you, rub you, finger you, whatever. As long as he put his hand on you, you'd stop feeling so sensitive and needy. But then his finger trailed up to your other knee, perfectly skipping your pussy. That motherfucker. You groaned, and you swore you could hear him chuckle. Asshole.

"Look how soaked you are. Is this all for me?" He was sin itself, a demon sent from hell to tempt you. Well, it was working. You nodded. There wasn't any shame or anger left, just a desperate need to be touched where you wanted it. Needed it.

He trailed one finger to your clit, then ran it down the rest of your slit, letting it linger right on the opening of your pussy. He tapped it once, twice, and it made a wet slapping sound that would have made you a little embarrassed had you been less turned on. But this was Anakin, and he was clearly enjoying this as much as you were, if the rock-hard outline in his jeans was any indication.

Anakin slid the finger inside you and groaned at the feeling of your pussy clenching down on him as he curled it upward. His thumb came to play with your clit, and you blurted out his name. His eyes shot to you as he took in a ragged breath. So he liked it when you said his name, got it.

And then he lowered his mouth onto your clit, and his name came out of you immediately. When his tongue started moving, fast and warm, rubbing little circles into your clit, you started chanting his name like a prayer. He added another finger inside you, stimulating you everywhere. Your hands tangled into his hair. This had to be the best head you'd ever gotten, you realized. The last person to go down on you was probably your boyfriend in junior year, and he was sloppy and got tired quickly. It almost felt like he couldn't wait for it to stop. Anakin, on the other hand, ate you like it was worship. You could tell he was reading you, then changing what he was doing when he saw a good reaction he wanted to repeat. If there was a movement you liked, he would find it and do it again and again until your legs shook.

Words spilled out of you. Telling him how good it felt, how much you wanted him. Things you would never say, only think, if he wasn't destroying you. You thanked your lucky stars Ahsoka was out, because not even three walls between you would be able to muffle your moans. You grabbed his hair particularly viciously as you were getting close, and he groaned against you before somehow getting even faster with his tongue, finally bringing you over the edge. Pleasure washed over you, and the world was still for a moment before the first wave of your orgasm hit. And, when it hit, you let out a moan so loud you were sure the neighbors could hear. You didn't even try to hide it from Anakin, who could definitely feel you twitching and clenching around his fingers.

"Fuuuuuuck, baby. You look so pretty when you cum," he said as he pulled away a bit, before pressing a kiss against your inner thigh while your legs shook around him. You caught your breath, but your pussy was still hungry. Demanding. Anakin got up from between your legs, still panting, his chin covered in a combination of spit and pussy juice. You took a mental snapshot for later reference. His eyes were so wild, and you knew you were about to get fucked like never before. Anakin was back over you, and you reached out your hand to the hard flesh that was practically bursting out of his jeans. As soon as you grazed it, he grunted, looking you straight in the eyes.

"You want it?" You nodded as fast as you can. Anakin smirked in that way that usually pissed you off, but now it just made you wetter. "Tell me how bad," he commanded. You didn't know where the words came from, but, once they started, they didn't stop.

"Fuck me, please Anakin. Please. I've waited so long and--I, Fuck. I need you inside me, more than anything in the whole fucking world, please," you begged. His jaw clenched as he smiled, obviously satisfied by your answer. He popped open the button of his jeans before undoing the fly and pulling both them and his boxers off in one go.

His cock almost made you drool, and you vowed to have it in your mouth next time. You'd had this one boyfriend, and you had sworn to all your friends that he was the biggest you'd ever had, seven inches. Anakin blew him out of the water. He was at least eight, if not more, and girthy enough that you wondered if you could even wrap your lips around him. The light skin of his shaft had purple and blue veins that snaked upward, and you longed to taste them. He was leaking a bead of precum, which he smeared across his head with his thumb.

Anakin turned around and pulled a condom out of his jeans. Had he planned this? Did he come here, knowing, hoping that you two would finally fuck? He obviously caught your weird look, and looked at you with knowing eyes.

"What, did you think I didn't know exactly why you wanted me here tonight?" Anakin chuckled, and you had the good decency to look a little bit embarrassed, but he rejoined you on the bed quickly enough that it didn't really matter.

"Damn, you look fucking amazing like this," he breathed, a little bit wonderous as he looked down at you, your legs spread for him. He situated himself between your legs, then wasted no time teasing you before he thrust into you with a loud moan. You let out a strangled sound, finally full to the brim with his cock, which was hitting parts of you that your fingers never could. And then he moved, and every nerve in your body was on fire. Your jaw opened, slack, as he pressed his forehead to yours and drilled into you. You were so wet from his spit that everything was sliding just right.

"Shit, you feel so fucking good. I'm not gonna last at this rate," he grunted out as he sped up.

"I don't care, Anakin, just fuck me," you moaned out. His hips slammed into yours, finally giving you what you'd been fantasizing about when you were alone. You relished the way his eyes squeezed shut, the hot breaths he huffed out, trying to stave off his release. He was fast and efficient, but listened to your reactions as he fucked you, adjusting angles until you were making the loudest noises you had that night. It felt like he was stretching you out, filling you up until there was no more air left in your body. Then, suddenly, he pulled out, leaving you empty and wanting.

"Ride me," he growled. You scrambled to sit up, and he sat himself up against your headboard so that you were in his lap. Using your tired thighs, you lifted yourself up just enough for him to slip back in, which he did with ease as you both let out moans. You started raising and lowering your hips on him, working your way slowly so that he was fully inside you. From this angle, he was even deeper, if that was possible. Anakin's hands came up to grab your ass, squeezing it and occasionally giving it a gentle smack. You sped up, and words started tumbling out of his lips.

"Fuck, you don't know how much I wanted to do this at that stupid fucking party. You looked so fuckin' hot, I almost came when you sat on me," he confessed before letting out a particularly loud moan. You thought back to the way he was looking at you at the party, and it was the same glare he was casting you now. Like he'd give anything to be with you, like he was desperate for you. And he was. He kept repeating your name and how good he felt as you bounced on him.

"Shit, baby, I'm close," he gritted out. You could see it in the way his eyes squeezed, his brow furrowed, and his arms clenched around you. Your thighs burned, but you got faster. You were going to make him cum as hard as you possibly could. Soon enough, his breathing got faster, louder, letting moans fall from his lips freely. Then, he came so powerfully you swore you could feel it too. His hips twitched and jerked up into you as spurt after spurt shot out of him and into the condom. He threw his head back against your headboard, scrunching his eyes shut and moaning out your name. You could feel every twitch of his cock, every jump of his muscles under you. It was joy itself.

Once he finished cumming, you lifted yourself up and let his cock slide out of you. He was still panting, flushed and sweaty, but he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you to him. Your head was resting against his chest, his left arm around you, as he pulled off the condom and tied it off, tossing it into your bedside trash. Both of you were a little bit more recovered, but your voice was still hoarse when you spoke.

"Fuck, that was amazing," you said. And it was. It really, truly was the best sex you had ever had. Anakin seemed equally as happy when he looked down at you with that soft, tender look in his eye.

"Really?" You gave him a little mhmm before he continued, "I feel bad I came so early. It's just, it's been a while for me." The confession came quickly. Like he almost wasn't sure whether to say it, but you were glad he did. You felt the same way.

"Me too, like six months. You?" The hand on his chest traced patterns across his stomach.

"Two years," he answered, like it was nothing.

"What?!" You expected him to say a month or two, maybe three at maximum. How could a guy who fucked that well stay celibate for that long? There was no way this was his first time back after so long. It was just impossible. He obviously saw the shock on your face, then elaborated.

"Yeah, since I broke up with my ex, I just… haven't found someone I wanted to do it with." Anakin was gazing at you with such affection that, for just a second, you thought it might be love.

"Until me." You didn't know where the words came from, but he didn't seem to mind. Part of you just wanted to hear him confirm it.

"Until you," he added as he gave your forehead a kiss. You lay there, your legs entwined and your hand rubbing patterns on his stomach while his pet your hair, in a happy, contented silence. The minutes passed, and his breathing slowed back to normal, but the look he was giving you didn't change. It was terrifying. You found yourself saying something to cut off the thought.

"Hey, you wanna know something funny?" You asked. Anakin, entangled in you, cast you a questioning look.

"What?"

"Check the pocket of my pants," you said. He pulled his arm out from under you, then got out of the bed and found your shorts behind your chair. From their right pocket, he pulled out a condom, and then burst out laughing. You joined him, and, in the moment, you felt like you were on the same team, the two of you against the world. The feeling only intensified when he kissed your forehead, still smiling.

"I'm gonna go get us something to clean up. Be back in a second," he said as he pulled on his boxers and pants again, before leaving the room to go find your bathroom.

He returned a few minutes later with a towel, soft and warm under his fingers. One of your washcloths, which he'd run under warm water to keep it comfortable. As he cleaned you up, then waited for you to use the bathroom, you wondered when he became so caring. So considerate and sweet. But maybe he had been that way the whole time, you thought as he put his arm around you in the bed. His skin against yours felt amazing, even better than it did during sex. For the first time, as you drifted off with your head against his chest, you wondered if being with him like this could happen more often. Maybe all the time. And then the words slipped from your mind, like footprints in sand on a beach, before you finally fell asleep.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

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#anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker/you #anakin/you #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #star wars prequels #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagine

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somethinginthewayiam · 6 months ago

Text

The girl behind the bar (Part 3)

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x plus-size reader

warnings: banter, fluffy Jake (if you squint)

words: 3.3k

Summary: Jake brings a date to the bar and she is not, well, the nicest person alive. Which is kind of expected of him but still annoying. Thankfully, Maverick convices Penny to close the bar early to sneak off and you close up. You start singing along to your playlist while you cleaned up, thinking you're alone at the bar...

a/n: The songs used in this chapter are Blue Eyes Forever by Charlotte OC and Ceilings by Lizzie McAlpine, if you want to listen to them while you read.

Link to my masterlist

"Can I play something for you, Darlin'?", Jimmy asked on his way to the storage room, passing the Jukebox. The bar had just opened and you and Jimmy were holding down the fort until Penny was supposed to come in later that evening.

"Could I have some Hall & Oates, please?", you mentioned with a smile. "I got you", the old man smiled and pressed some buttons on the old machine.

You make my dreams come true started playing.

"Oh Jimmy, you know me too well", you cooed at him, betting your eyelashes and shooting him a smile.

You started to sing along to yourself while you polished some glasses and put the beer from the box into the cooler. As you were crouched down, you didn't see a new patron approaching the bar.

"You make my dreams come true", you sang as you got up and suddenly found yourself face to face with a grinning Hangman.

"Only if you're a good girl", he said, accompanied with a cocky smile. "Barf", you said dryly and rolled your eyes.

You checked the big clock on the wall behind him. 5:10 PM. "It’s Tuesday, do you not have a job?", you simply asked.

"So, just anybody can give you a nickname but me?", he ignored your question and asked his own. For a second, you didn't know what he meant, but then you remembered that Jimmy had called you Darling just before. You were already so used to him calling you that.

"By god, she's got it! Good job, Eliza Doolittle", you mockingly cheered him on, booping his nose with your finger. He flicked your finger away like it was an annoying fly.

“What can I get you?”, you asked him. “The usual”, he simply stated and put his credit card on the counter, his typical sign to open his tab for the night. “So, a Tet-shot and the morning after pill for whoever fell for your bullshit?”, you suggested and gave him the sweetest smile. “What do you think of me?”, he asked playfully shocked, a hand on his chest.

“Only the worst”, you told him as you put the bottle of beer in front of him and the smile on your lips took the harshness out of your words. He shot you another wink as he grabbed his drink and left for the darts board.

You hated to admit it, even just to yourself, but your shift was always more fun when Hangman was around. Someone to look out for, someone to be excited to see. That this was all just one-sided wasn't even a question to you. Every time you felt that way about someone, as annoying as they might be, it was always one-sided. And even on the off chance it wasn't, you never dared to ask and nobody ever came forward. So, as always, you shot him another glance and kept on working.

Later that evening, the others arrived at the bar, too, as always gathering at the pool table. You brought over a trey of beers that the group had ordered.

"There you go. Phoenix, Fanboy, Bob, Coyote, and Eliza", you said as you placed the last beer in front of Hangman.

Fanboy almost did a spit-take as he had just taken a sip of his drink. "Excuse me, what?", Phoenix asked and she didn't do a great job at suppressing her laughter.

"Just a little inside joke we got, don't we, Lizzie?", you turned to Hangman. He chose to remain silent but the look he gave you let you know that you were gonna pay for that joke at some point.

But for now, you took the win of shutting him up.

For a Wednesday night it was surprisingly full at the bar and Jimmy was not in after requesting a sick-day. You and Penny had your hands fulfilling all the orders. Even though you had some practice by now, you were still lacking in speed compared to Penny.

You spotted your usual group at a table in the middle of the bar, letting other people play pool for once. But you noticed that Hangman was missing tonight. It was odd to you, but you didn’t think much of it.

Until he came in at around half past 9 with a tall blonde on his arm. She was dressed in an expensive-looking short dress and looked totally out of place between the khaki uniforms and informal clothing on all the other patrons. She looked like the type country club, my daddy bought me a horse for Christmas kind of girl. The Hard Deck was clearly Hangman’s idea, who was not wearing his khaki uniform for once but a black pair of jeans and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. If you didn’t already know him as part of the bar’s interior, you would also find his appearance here out of place.

Your eyes followed the pair to the table of Hangman’s colleagues, his date getting introduced to the others. They all exchanges polite smiles and hellos. When the woman sat down, she let her eyes wander over the place, looking a little disgusted. You could tell that this was not the place she thought the night would bring her to. She took off her cardigan and hung it over the back of her chair before she even attempted to lean back.

There was no use of prolonging the wait, you would have to get over there to take their order. Also, the glasses of the others looked rather empty as well. You took a deep breath and walked over to the full table.

“Welcome to the Hard Deck. What can I get you?”, you welcomed the woman and smiled at her politely. She looked up at you with an annoyed face. Her eyes let you know where your place in her world was. You were the help.

“Do you have anything here that costs more than 10 dollars?”, she asked and the tone in her voice could only be described as disgusted. “I can sell you everything for at a least twenty if you prefer it”, you commented, trying to knock her ego down a peg. It wasn’t like you didn’t have any practice with Hangman.

You heard some suppressed chuckles from the others but kept your eyes on Hangman’s date. “Excuse me? You better watch your tone or I’ll will have to talk to your manager”, she snapped at you. And she couldn’t take a joke. Great taste, Hangman.

You swallowed and took a moment to calm yourself before you spoke again. “I apologize. We have a very good Chardonay you might like, Karen”, you said to her instead but couldn’t help yourself at the end. Another round of chuckles behind you. “My name is not Karen, it’s Whitney”, she told you and her tone got more indignant. She looked over at Hangman, looking for support of her outrage.

“She will have the Chardonay and I’ll have a beer, please”, he said, ignoring his date. You nodded and then turned to the others. They ordered another round of drinks and you basically fled towards the bar.

Penny was overrun by a new group that had just entered the bar and you helped her out before you prepared the drinks for the table and brought them over there.

“Here’s your Chardonay”, you said and placed the glass of wine in front of the woman. “About time”, she only mumbled, no Thank you or even eye-contact. Lovely girl, you thought to yourself.

“Here’s your beer”, you placed the bottle in front of Hangman. “Thank you, Y/N”, he said and shot you a smile. You looked at him a little weirded out. The please before was already a little out of character for him.

“What?” he asked innocently. “Nothing, you’re just weirdly nice”, you simply said and kept placing the drinks in front of the guys. “I’m always nice”, he countered and a little mischievous glimpse was back in his eyes as he followed your round around the table. “Oh yeah, I’m always so touched by the empathy you display every time you’re here”, you said and put a hand over your heart, pouting your lips, holding the empty trey in your free hand and letting it hang down your side.

Whitney watched your exchange with a watchful eye and put her hand on his thigh, seemingly displaying some sort of ownership. “Do you come here often, Jakey?”, she asked the man to her left, a warning tone in her voice not to say the wrong thing. Whatever that may be. You and Phoenix exchanged a glance over the heads of the others, both of you biting down a smile.

“No, Darling, only when these knuckleheads drag me here. They can’t have fun without me”, Jake told her and she seemed satisfied with his answer. “We drag him here?”, Coyote whispered to Payback, who was sitting right in front of where you stood.

“It’s true, he’s not here often, but he certainly leaves an impression”, you chimed in before anyone could say something. Hangman looked up at you and you couldn’t tell if he was waiting for you to say something compromising or silently thanking you for having his back in this lie.

“Alright, just yell for me if you need anything else”, you said and finally left their table. It was getting uncomfortable and you were glad that you had a good reason to get out of there. After looking at some of the faces of the guys you could tell that they were just as uncomfortable.

“Come on, Penny. We’ll just sneak out of here”, you heard Maverick say as you came back to the bar circle. “I can’t just leave, not when it’s that packed”, you heard your boss answer but the tone of her voice let you know that she actually wanted to.

“I can finish the evening”, you just entered their conversation and they both shot up like they were planning some secret mission. “No, you can’t handle this many people on your own”, Penny said and took a look at the still pretty well filled bar. “No offense”, she quickly added. “None taken, you’re probably right”, you said and scanned the bar as well. “But you can close early”, you suggested.

“That’s right”, Maverick agreed and you both looked at Penny with raised eyebrows. Your boss looked at your faces and chewed her bottom lip. “It’s your place, you run the show”, Maverick added. You nodded agreeingly. You also wouldn’t mind to get off early. “I’ll clean up, I can definitely manage that”, you offered. “She’ll clean up”, Maverick repeated. Penny contemplated for a few more moments, then she sighed defeatedly.

“Okay, I’ll close early”, she gave in and you and Maverick high-fived. Penny walked over to the bell and rang it. “Last call!”, she shouted and a common groan erupted from the crowd. “Alright, settle down. It’s still my bar”, she added and waved off their protests.

While you were handing out the last drinks of the night, Penny asked repeatedly if you were okay to close up on your own and you waved it off. “I’m working here, aren’t I? And I have to learn sometime. You don’t always want to stay ‘til last call, don’t you?”, you said. She answered you with a smile and handled the register.

When everybody was finally out and Penny had left with Mav, you were suddenly alone. It was weirdly quiet compared to before when the room was filled with people. So, you took out your phone and put on your Spotify playlist while you started to clean up.

You collected glasses and bottles from all over the place. You even found a cardigan on the chair that Hangman’s date was sitting on. You grabbed it to put it behind the bar for when she came back for it. It was a warm night though, so she probably wouldn't notice right away. The urge to wipe the counter with it was almost overwhelming. Instead of following the urge, you placed it somewhere safe as it looked expensive and was probably worth more than your month’s salary.

You continued cleaning up and started to sing along to the song that was currently playing. It was Blue Eyes Forever by Charlotte OC, one of your favorites.

“But when we talk in the middle, in the middle of the night. Oh, we get closer every time. But when we meet in the middle, I feel the clarity rise. Oh, it moves over, straight from your eyes”, you sang as you put the glasses in the basket for the dishwasher. It wasn’t like singing Karaoke with friends or the impromptu concert with Rooster a couple of weeks ago. You got really into it since you were all alone and nobody could hear you.

“Blue eyes forever, oh oh oh. Blue eyes forever, oh oh oh”, you kept singing and grabbed the dishtowel to wipe down the counter

“I actually have green eyes”, you heard from the door and you jumped in surprise. You spun around to where the voice had come from only to find Jake Hangman Seresin of all people standing there.

Shit, did he hear you sing? He must have. Why else would he say that?

“Jesus Christ, you scared me”, you said as you put a hand over your heart that was racing like crazy. You turned away from him again, seemingly to finish wiping off the counter and putting the damp towel back in the small sink behind the bar. You mostly needed a moment to collect yourself. You felt so embarrassed that he had heard you sing. You thought you were all alone for the rest of the night, singing like you only did when you thought no one would hear you.

You heard his steps coming closer, resting his underarms on the bar top when he arrived across from where you were standing. You turned down the music on your phone.

“You have a beautiful voice”, he said and as much as you looked for it in his face, you couldn’t find any hint of mockery. Hangman and an honest compliment? Were you in the Upside Down?

“Thanks”, you said, still startled, and blushed a bit. “What are you doing here? We’re closed”, you asked, still in disbelief that he was nice to you. “My date forgot her cardigan”, he finally disclosed why he was back here so soon. “Ah, and she doesn’t put out if she doesn’t have her precious cardigan?”, you said and a smile creeped on your face, revealing the joke. “The chances are better with it”, he answered, also with a smile, indicating that he wasn’t here purely out of a gentlemanly gesture.

“I’ve got it here”, you said and walked the few steps over to where you put it for safe keeping. You handed him the garment and when he took it from you, his fingertips brushed along your fingers. You were sure he didn’t even notice it, but it sent an electric jolt up your arm.

As soon as he had it in his hand, you pulled your arm back, putting your other hand over the one Jake had just touched, folding it in front of you. Your fingers still tingled. You almost rolled your eyes at yourself for this stupid reaction.

“Thank you”, he said, glad that it hadn’t got lost somewhere else. “Now you can be her knight in shining armor when you bring back her precious cardigan”, you said with a chuckle and grabbed the broom from behind you. You came around the bar to sweep up the peanut shells that were scattered all over the floor. “And you’re Cinderella?”, he asked jokingly, nodding at the broom. “Yeah, well, there are other balls, I’ll dance another time”, you said with a shrug of your shoulders and a light smile.

Jake looked at you for a moment before he lifted his hand for a goodbye. “I’ll see you around, have a good night”, he said. “Yeah, you too”, you answered.

You didn’t wait for him to leave the room, you turned around and turned the music louder on your phone again. Your playlist had kept playing while you talked to Jake. Now it played Ceilings by Lizzie McAlpine, a slow song. The mood to sing along was gone anyway, you were too afraid someone else would show up again.

You started moving the broom over the floor but you only managed to get about three sweeps in before you felt a hand on your shoulder. When you looked up, it was Jake again. Without saying a word, he took the broom out of your hands and leaned it against the bar.

He grabbed your right hand with his left and put his right hand on your lower back. You looked at him with big eyes, too stunned to speak.

“You get your dance now, Cinderella”, he winked at you and started to sway you to the slow music. With his hand on your back, he pushed you closer to him and slowly moved both of you in a circle.

You were aware of every single spot where your bodies touched, beginning with his big, warm hand clasping yours. You were afraid he could hear how fast your heart was pounding.

He removed his hand from your back only to have you spin around which made you giggle lightly and then pull you back in, even closer this time. He put his hand which was holding yours against his chest, pulling your arm with his. He put his hand on top of yours which meant your hand was placed directly on his heart. You felt how hard his peck was beneath his shirt and swallowed. You looked up only to find those green eyes of his looking down at you. He held your gaze while he moved your bodies slowly from side to side. His hand on your back slid a little lower but you almost didn’t notice it because you were so hypnotized by his eyes. Almost.

“Bedsheets, no clothes. Touch me like nobody else does” came out of the speakers of your phone and you suddenly became very aware of the lyrics of the song. It made you swallow hard. You wanted to look away but you couldn’t. Did he notice the lyrics, too?

His fingertips felt like they were burning through your shirt, leaving permanent marks on your skin. Instinctively, you licked your lips. Jakes eyes darted down to your mouth and back up to your eyes. He seemed lost in thought for a moment.

You both got snapped out of your stare as the broom fell over and hit the floor with a loud bang.

As soon as the moment had come, it was over again. The song drained out as the two of you stopped moving. Like you were both snapping back to reality, you let go of each other.

You opened your mouth and inhaled to say something but you didn’t know what, so you closed it again. Was a Thank you appropriate? Did that mean anything? Did he just want to be nice? But Hangman wasn’t nice. Your head was spinning as all kinds of thoughts invaded your brain.

Hangman looked at you for a second longer, then turned around, grabbed his date’s cardigan off the bar top and left the bar for good this time.

With shaky hands you grabbed the broom off the floor and held on to it for dear life. Your heart was still pounding rapidly. You weren’t even sure if it had actually happened or if it was just a day-dream of yours if it wasn’t for the hand you still felt on your back like an echo. That was something you couldn’t dream up.

Next chapter: Part 4.1

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