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earlysunshines · 1 year ago

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can we get even closer?

detective!jihyo x spiderwoman!reader (pt. 3, finale!) ; smut, fluff

synopsis: spiderwoman becomes 10x more alluring AND convincing, detective park is completely disregarding the chief at this point.

wc: 11.7k

warnings: blood ; mentions of wounds, cuts, bruises ; smut!!!

pls read for context: pt.1, pt.2

the crime scene was a messy tapestry of deception and disorder.

jihyo scanned the mess of a venue. there were flipped-over tables, pieces of chairs, and debris scattered all over the venue—even a light had fallen from the ceiling—it was a sight.

the cluttered, frenzied scene wasn't even the worst part; to tell the truth, what made it worse was seeing her colleagues all stuck together tangled up in spiderwebs against the wall.

the chief included in the mess.

the chief was tangled up alone, arms and legs restrained with only his head free. he seemed infuriated; this does not help your case. the chief will hate your guts even more, and if he catches you, he might rip them out.

jihyo has her final conclusion made up in her head after fully processing the mess in front of her: you have one functioning brain cell.

the officers and chief aren't the only ones captured, there's an apparent culprit tied together in a large, thicker layer of cobweb: the lizard.

it's green, it's ugly, and it's huge—jihyo furrows her brows at the sight—but her face lights up when she sees the familiar silhouette of the special spider-like "hero."

you stand there in front of the grotesque reptile, gazing at it with slumped shoulders and heavy breaths. you're exhausted and aching from the very physically demanding task. on the bright side: there are no broken bones or any limbs missing—that's a plus—though there are a few scratches that rip the new suit you had just gotten. you sigh at the thought of having to face your suit designer nayeon. you really don't want to hear her complaints again.

the thought of nayeon yelling in your ear distracts you from the blood that seeps out the cuts on your body and the pain from the sore areas that will surely be dark, annoying bruises—though the thought of that nayeon pulling at your ear and bickering with you doesn't distract you forever, the discomfort in your abdomen returns and you almost fall over.

screw that ugly ass lizard.

jihyo runs over to your side, looking at your weary state.

"y/n-" jihyo catches herself, immediately quieting down when uttering the last part of your name. she watches her words even if she's not in the field of vision of the officers, they still have ears afterall. "spiderwoman, are you okay?" jihyo asks, looking at the cuts in your suit.

"yeah." you respond, and you're lying your ass off because you think you might fall over soon. "just a bit beat up, could've been worse."

“you think a stab to the stomach is comparable to a paper cut. " the detective sighs, “that doesn’t make this any better.”

it’s evident in her tone that she’s worried. your heart feels heavy knowing that she feels like that for you, but you don't want to overwhelm her anymore. you put your hand on her shoulder and her eyes soften. her look almost hurts more than that stupid pain in your stomach.

"park," you say softly, "i'm fine."

“you’re not.”

"i need to change back and leave, keep an eye on the lizard?"

"y/n-"

"it's spiderwoman." you say sternly. your voice had lost any hint of playfulness, now it’s more of a croaked-out, low tone.

"sorry, i just-"

"let's talk later, yeah?" you urge. jihyo nods with disappointment.

you smile as you shoot a web up, looking at her with the same softness before pulling yourself and swinging away.

jihyo's jaw tightens up.

you don’t break into jihyo’s house or even show up at the department for four days and counting. that’s 96+ hours of jihyo not seeing you, of her having all these questions swarming in her brain with no answers and 96+ hours of missing you. detective park is running out of patience.

jihyo spins the pen in her hand while examining the papers related to the “lizard” case, i mean, there’s not much to do since the lizard-man had been captured after turning back to normal, but jihyo had to do a brief check before going back to the prison to interrogate the human form of that nightmare.

the identity of the lizard was found after it had transformed back into a slender, fragile man: dr. watanabe, lead scientist at minatozaki industries and former friend of the chief.

the chief seemed to be slowly losing it after the whole event—who wouldn’t be after having to ask your detective to cut you and the rest of your coworkers out of the spiderweb that was shot from the wrists of the person you went on a whole tangent about not trusting—exactly.

it’s been hectic.

the detective shoves the papers back into the folder before heading into the room that holds the visitation booths, which is empty and only has one guard present. she runs a hand through her hair before nodding at the guard and sitting at booth three.

her foot taps at the ground as she waits—not because she’s anxious—it’s just a habit she’s had since college.

there’s the sound of the door opening and not even five seconds later the scientist sits in front of her. he looked terrible: bags under his eyes, brows creased, and hair disordered—that’s not like him at all. jihyo takes out a paper from the folder and holds the black telephone handle close to her ear.

“you’ve finally agreed to talk.”

“against my will, where’s the chief.” watanabe spits back through the line. jihyo shoots a look that has the scientist shrinking in his seat.

“not here.” she says sternly, “now i would really appreciate if you could be competent since you’ve caused so much trouble.”

“bring me that damn chief and i’ll talk, they said he’d be here.”

“he’s not here, so quit whining. i have some questions that you need to answer, i’d advise that you respond well and with a compliant attitude.” the detective warns threateningly.

the scientist makes eye contact once with jihyo then looks back down, ready to answer with his hand clutching the telephone handle tightly.

jihyo ends up leaving the visitation booth with sluggish shoulders and a paper with rushed, messy jotted-down notes of the criminals’ answers and puts it in her bag. once she steps outside into the afternoon light, she’s quick to stretch out her arms, groaning at the relieving sensation.

“hi.”

that voice is very familiar.

the detective turns and her eyes widen at the sight of you. you’re standing there with a smile, warm and friendly.

a dark, navy sweater sits loosely on your figure, and your hair is tied up. you look beautiful, and not as beat up as jihyo figures you should look (i mean, you literally had a whole wwe match with a lizard a couple days ago, so it’s surprising to say the least). you seem content, you seem perfectly fine and jihyo hates that you haven’t bothered her. where have you been?

jihyo stares at you in awe, well, maybe with some confusion and a hint of anger too. she wants to ask where you’ve been, i mean, it’s been days and you haven’t knocked on her window, she had even waited by that stupid window of hers with the hope that you’d barge in. she wants to ask how you’ve been doing, if your injuries been bothering you maybe and if your cuts healed. jihyo wants to know everything, from how you’re doing physically to what’s going on in that smoothed-out brain of yours. (jihyo has many questions, too many, and it has her silent in her place while she gapes at you.)

you play with the neckline of your sweater. “it’s getting pretty cold, huh.”

jihyo thinks you’re unbelievable.

“where have you been?” jihyo asks, walking up to you and pushing you playfully (fighting the urge to hold your and look at you with desire like in those cliché romance movies where the leads love interest shows up after being missing—or something like that at least. [park jihyo watches too many dramas]) she furrows her brows a little, looking at you with a tad of shock in her expression.

you tilt your head and ask, “why are you looking at me like that.”

“you’ve been gone for what, four days?” jihyo says, raising her brows. a couple people passing by glance in your direction when jihyo raises her voice, but she doesn’t care, that’s the last thing she cares about. “you haven’t called, texted, or even showed up to your own uncles workplace! you haven’t even-“ and jihyo cannot believe she’s about to say this: “you haven’t broken into my apartment or anything!”

a short silence fills the air before your eyes soften the same way they did before leaving jihyo at that venue—right after finishing up your business.

you let out a brief, soft sigh. “i’m sorry, it’s a lot.”

“yeah, it is.” jihyo huffs, losing the worry in her tone as relief fills in.

a grin plays at your lips, “i did say i would explain everything,” you start, “and i did say i’d take you out, and on me too…”

jihyo crosses her arms and mumbles, “you did.”

“that’s only if the detective would let me…?”

the weight on jihyo’s shoulders is completely knocked off and she chuckles at your response, quickly losing the serious façade.

“i have to drop this off at work, maybe i’ll let you once i do.”

you grin. “great.”

you end up as passenger princess in jihyo’s white, glossy bmw.

saying the car is nice would be a huge understatement. the interior is even more fascinating compared to the exterior, and that says a lot. the seats are clean, comfy, and from the texture, you can tell it’s authentic and expensive leather. the car is pretty spotless other than the water bottle in the cup holder and that reusable tote bag that seemed to have been thrown at the backseats blindly. the car smells fresh—something woody, minty, and there’s also a hint of apple—it’s welcoming and really fits the detective.

“comfy?” jihyo asks, turning on the engine.

“yeah.” you reply, feeling a little intimidated for no reason.

jihyo chuckles at you and shifts the stick, lightly steps on the gas, then looks at the screen in the car as she backs up. there should be no reason for this to be so attractive, i mean, you’ve seen many people back up a car, nothing special, but when jihyo does it you find yourself wanting her a little more.

the two of you end up at the department less than ten minutes later. despite how unbelievably close and flirty you’ve gotten with the detective; the whole car ride was way too intimate for your liking, and your nerves were a mess.

the car was so nice it had you feeling tense, jihyo was driving with such ease and looked so damn good with those sunglasses she had on. you felt small in the passenger seat. thankfully, you’re a few turns away from the department.

“i need to tell you something.” you say, making jihyo hum.

“what is it?”

“i can’t go into the department, i’m, well… i’ll tell you later but long story short my uncle cannot see me and i’m technically kind of on house arrest.”

“you’re what?”

“long story.”

the light turns red, the detective breaks smoothly then turns to look at you, curiosity and disbelief making her brows furrow.

“why am i not surprised that the chief would do something like that.” jihyo sighs, looking back at the stoplight—it’s green now. “he’s been on edge lately ever since the incident, he’s probably just anxious.”

you chuckle and shake your head, “he’s something…”

not too long later, the two of you find your way over at a café nearby and situate yourselves in the balcony area on the second floor.

jihyo holds a mint-colored latte cup in her hand that’s filled with a simple, hot mocha. she takes a sip and a bit of the steamed milk coats the top of her lips, she licks it off subtly. you smile before taking a sip of your own drink, some type of seasonal latte that has hints of apple and cinnamon.

“i missed you.” you say, looking down at the slightly distorted latte art in your cup. jihyo looks at you then smiles, a tint of pink dusting her cheeks as she turns her head to take in the view of the farmers markets nearby.

“me too.” she sighs, “i was… i haven’t been as tired lately, so i waited near my window for some spider to knock on it—she never came.”

you frown. “i wanted to. i’m always one to help people and try to not break the law, but i can’t help it when it’s you.” you respond jokingly.

jihyo smiles at your playfulness, happy to be spending time with one of the people she’s grown close with, as well as the hero she’s been secretly crushing and interacting with.

“can i ask how long you’ve been, you know…”

“couple months.” you reply, “remember how i told you about getting bit by the spider?” you ask, jihyo nods and you begin again, “i got bit a week after i moved here, and then i started sticking to things, accidentally broke my doorknob—oh! i was also watching this scary movie one time and got scared, after that i couldn’t see myself in the mirror.”

“that’s a lot.”

“yes, too much.”

“so… what happened with you and your uncle?” jihyo questions, wondering why she’s been spiderwoman-deficient for the past four days.

“oh yeah,” you respond, “well, he found out that i got hurt—not because i was y’know, doing my little hero thing—but he saw the blood and some of the injuries. he went on this tangent about me staying safe, he’s just been on edge and very protective. he doesn’t want me leaving the house. i’ve been working from home.”

“you couldn’t sneak out?”

“he had detectors, it took me a bit to mess with it. i took some engineering classes in high school and had some mischievous friends, so i ended up cheating the system.” you explain. jihyo nods, raising her brows at how capable you are; you’re quite impressive even if someone were to snatch your spider abilities away. “so, what’s been going on with you detective? fill me in.”

jihyo sighs, shaking her head softly.

“your uncle has been on edge, it’s strange.” she says, “usually these types of cases don’t phase him, but he’s shaken up.”

“maybe it was me trapping him in cobwebs—too much?”

the detective shakes her head again. “no, i don’t think so, but that was stupid on your end. he’s just been terribly paranoid; i’ve never seen him so tense.”

you furrow your brows and take another sip of your beverage before raising your brows as if you had an idea, “maybe it has something to do with the scientist?” you suggest, and you ponder before speaking again, “i remember my uncle having lunch with the scientist a couple months ago, he came back from the lunch all tense and a bit angry—even snapped at me for something. it was strange.”

jihyo’s expression lights up, “you’re on to something… that scientist did ask me to see the chief multiple times… and watanabe is clearly hiding something.”

“you think we should reunite them? maybe find out more of what’s between them?”

“it might be a good idea.” the detective mumbles, swirling remnants of her drink in the cup. you bite the inside of your lip and hum again,

“let’s try it, i can talk to the chief.”

“you’re on house arrest.”

“spiderwoman can do it then. she’s not on house arrest.”

jihyo’s eyes widen at the suggestion, and she looks at you like you’re crazy. “you’re insane.”

“maybe chief l/n will listen to me if i’m sweet with him.”

“he could body slam you to the ground.”

“maybe he could do that to y/n, but not spiderwoman.” you beam.

“no, maybe spiderwoman too.” jihyo shakes her head and simply sighs, “you’re actually the dumbest person i know.”

“you into that?”

the mask on your face is new, so is the suit (you were able to contact your suit designer via email and after seeing jihyo you got your much more durable suit—that is, after getting scolded by the fashion designer.)

you spot chief l/n in the office alone, it’s quite late anyway, a little past when you’d usually have dinner. your uncle examines a paper with furrowed brows and a pen in his large, aging hands. he looks pretty focused—you take it as your cue to invite yourself into his large office.

when the chief hears a small thud, he’s immediately on guard. he puts his hand over the gun strapped under his desk and scans the room: there’s no one, nothing, but he’s not convinced.

“i’m not fucking stupid.” he says coldly, “show yourself or you’re going to regret a lot.”

his voice is low, deep, and threatening. it’s worse than when he scolds you, much worse and you think you might be lucky that his most angry tone with you is less frightening than how he’s talking to you now.

you’re invisible, he can’t see you at all. the chief pulls out his gun from under the table and holds it with precision, aiming and scanning the room once more for any sign of someone. the gun in his hand is knocked out with a spiderweb and the chief halts, stiffening in his place.

you unveil yourself and the chief spots the familiar vigilante stuck to the ceiling, though that same vigilante who had terrorized him a couple days prior is wearing a new suit.

“hello chief.” you greet, making sure you alter your voice.

the tall, bulky man grimaces when you release yourself off of the wall and land on the floor of the room.

“spiderwoman.”

“nice to see you too.” you say, “i’m not going to hurt you or anything, i’m just uneasy around guns.”

“yeah, sure.” he scoffs, “you’re up to something.”

“god- no!” you groan, losing patience. the chief drops his stern demeanor for a second when you pinch the bridge of your nose, it almost convinces him that you’re just a simple human under that suit. “i’m trying to get more details on the lizard, and i need your help.”

“that lizard… he’s behind bars.”

“but that’s not it and you know it.”

“get out my damn office. i’m not afraid to fight you, i don’t care how many webs you trap me in.”

you sigh again, growing even more impatient. the chief glares at you when you do so.

“look—the people, the citizens, families and friends—they’re all in danger if you’re not competent,” you explain. your uncle drops his serious expression and his shoulders relax just barely.

“and i should just tell you why, huh? so you can do who knows what with this information? i’m not stupid.”

“you’re getting on my fucking nerves though and you’re being a prick that’s what you are.” you respond with irritation, and the tone of your retort reminds the chief of a certain someone he knows very well. “you think i saved that whole venue for shits and giggles? i left there with a broken rib and more bruises and cuts than i can count on one hand. i don’t know how many people i have to save or buildings i have to stop from collapsing to get you to understand that i’m not the fucking villain. look, watanabe is eery, there’s something i’m missing on this whole case because that damn scientist has been reluctant to give answers due to some tall ass man-baby of a chief that not only refuses to see the what, barely average height scientist, but the same chief who won’t fucking comply to this ‘vigilante’ because of his foggy little brain.”

the chief looks at you with surprise now, mouth slightly agape.

“i’m—i’m sorry?” he says with uncertainty. your uncle decides to swallow up his pride and prejudice, you sound like his niece and he starts to soften up. “fine. only if it helps.”

so rambling was the only thing that you needed to get him to comply? you’ve been wasting your time, too much time.

“why does watanabe want to see you.” you ask, observing the way your uncles eyes hesitantly avoid your gaze.

it’s quite strange seeing your uncle so sheepish looking, so submissive and not in the way he looks when your aunt scolds him for not eating, but he looks almost vulnerable.

“we-” he pauses and his shoulders drop just barely, “we used to work together. now that he’s behind bars i can’t compromise my position.”

“how does it compromise your position?”

“i’m a big guy, a big, bulky guy. watanabe and i used to be friends and… he asked for my dna samples and whatnot. look, i might’ve…” the chief sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “i gave him some and i don’t know what he did with it, but now that he’s behind bars i think it’s something bad. i don’t know, i’ve never been a science freak.”

“okay so he has your dna, what are you looking so scared for?” you ask,

“i’m just wary… i don’t know what he can do with it—what he has done with it.”

you ponder for a bit and look at the anxious chief in front of you, who looks less intimidating than ever in front of you. why would watanabe need his dna?

“well, he’s behind bars, so no need to worry about anything for now yeah? i’ll investigate this myself.” you assure. you expect an inquiry, a response or something—but the chief simply nods and huffs.

“yeah alright.” he sighs. you shoot a thumbs up and hide yourself in transparency, that’s when you hear small—but noticeable in the silent ambience—words of gratitude. “thanks for taking a weight off my shoulders.”

you really have to stop breaking into jihyo’s home—well, it’s more of you jump scaring her and then her letting you in—so is it really a crime if there’s implied consent to enter?

jihyo opens the window for you and sighs, “i have a door you know.”

“too much work.”

“and swinging to the tenth floor of my apartment building is less work?”

“more exciting!” you beam, “and i like your little reaction, it’s cute.”

jihyo rolls her eye at your little remark and you climb in. she watches you pull off your mask and tuck some of your messy hair away, her eyes linger a little before she turns and walks back to her stove.

“whatcha cookin’?” you ask, sitting on the counter of the little kitchen island.

“avocado toast with eggs.” jihyo responds, not turning around.

“how healthy.”

“did you need something?” she asks, sliding the spatula under the eggs before flipping it over and cutting the heat.

“do you wanna break the law?” you ask. jihyo turns around and the expression plastered on her face screams:“are you dumb or stupid?”

“you’re seriously asking me this?”

“okay technically it’s not fully breaking the law,” you start, “just… doing something that might be an invasion of privacy.”

“that might be breaking the law, stupid.” jihyo snickers, smiling at the idiot in front of her.

you’re wearing something comfy yet professional looking: a pullover with a dress shirt under and some simple dress pants. the detective wonders if people saw you swinging around like that—the only thing masking your identity being the mask you had taken off, and without the mask jihyo can see you with the nerdy-looking glasses you put on earlier, and the smile plastered on your face. you’ve got a cute grin.

“you never said no.” you shrug.

“i’ll lose my job.”

“no you wont. just let me explain?” you plead. jihyo sighs, crossing her arms while leaning against the counter next to the stove; all of the detectives’ attention is on you now.

“thanks lovely.” you say, and the little remark makes jihyo’s cheeks flush just barely. “okay so i had a little talk with the chief last night, turns out watanabe has his dna and my uncle’s on edge because of that.”

“okay…”

“i work for the same company, meaning i have a keycard. that also means we can investigate a little more and find out what the hell he wanted to do with the chiefs dna.” you explain, “it’s technically your job to do all this investigating and if you think about it: i’m just a loyal citizen helping out the hottest detective in the force.”

jihyo uncrosses her arms and puts her hands on the counter gripping the edge. you watch the way her arm tenses and wow she’s toned. the detective looks down and shakes her head, smiling.

the shorter woman turns back around and pulls out a piece of bread from the toaster, then uses the spatula that rested on the plate to put an egg on the toast. she hands you the plate and you turn your head, but take it nonetheless.

“eat up, gotta have energy to ‘kinda’ break the law.”

your eyes light up and you almost gasp, “you’re going to do it?”

“you get me to do the craziest things.”

you smirk and respond, “and if i were a crazy thing?”

jihyo looks you in the eye and smiles. “i could put you on my to-do list then.”

you had offered to swing out her window with her, but jihyo denied, and you teased her the whole way down to the parking lot.

now you’re playing passenger princess (pt. 2) and watch jihyo shift out her parking space, which is a sight. there’s something enticing with her movements, the way she carries herself, and her confidence.

when you reach the building—the large, modern-looking building with a café that keeps your coffee addiction thriving—jihyo gazes for a bit, clearly impressed.

“never been here?”

“no, i have, just never had time to fully take in everything.” she says, “it’s very nice.”

you smile and open the door for her, she rolls her eyes and walks in—you follow behind.

there are a few familiar faces in the building, some people rushing around and others conversing—it could be mistaken as a lobby at some college, jihyo looks around and is taken aback by the lively atmosphere.

“there you are, where have you been?” a recognizable voice scoffs. you turn to your left and see nayeon, smiling cheekily as she walks towards you and jihyo. you roll your eyes playfully and scoff playfully,

“been avoiding you.” you respond jokingly, and nayeon just laughs.

“who’s this? your girlfriend? been skipping work to be with her or what?” nayeon asks. her inquiry takes both you and jihyo by surprise, making both of you blush.

words stick to the tip of your tongue for a moment and jihyo puts out her hand for nayeon while you compose yourself. “detective park.” she introduces.

nayeon raises her brows and shakes her hand, then looks at you with a quirked brow and the look in her eyes seem to convey an “ooh~” before she responds to jihyo. “im nayeon.”

you clear your throat after they shake hands, “it’s nice to see you again i guess.” you say to nayeon, “but i have to go up and grab something, i’ll see you.”

“yeah yeah, see you. i was on my way out anyway—don’t blow up anything.” she sighs, and you scoff playfully. the two of you smile at each other mischievously before nayeon heads out the doors.

jihyo laughs and you raise a brow, watching her as she shakes her head.

“got all flustered from her asking if i was your girlfriend? what happened to the confidence from before?”

“shut up.” you respond, “let’s just go.”

jihyo laughs as you walk towards the elevators—she can’t see you, but she knows you’re blushing like an idiot.

the two of you reach the 7th floor and jihyo follows you out the elevator.

as you and jihyo make your way down the dimly lit corridor, a sense of anticipation fills the air. the tension is palpable as you approach the lab room. fumbling in your pocket, you retrieve a keycard, silently emphasizing the need for caution as you unlock the door. "stay by my side and stay quiet. we're not supposed to be here," you mumble, voice low and careful.

entering the room, you both are immediately struck by its sheer size. you’ve been here once with another scientist from the company, though only for a brief moment to retrieve information for your article. it's not just a regular room; it's an enormous space dedicated to housing the scientists' most precious possessions—their files, research, and invaluable data.

as your gaze scans the shelves, your heart skips a beat before settling on the section that holds the coveted information you seek. the lights are dim, making it difficult to distinguish one folder from another, but thankfully you’re spiderwoman; your senses are already much more advanced than any person.

with each folder you come across, you murmur the words written on their labels. jihyo watches you intently, captivated by your unwavering focus. there's a certain charm in the way you immerse yourself in the task at hand, it's adorable and there's an undeniable allure to your commitment that draws her in.

“they’re all in alphabetical order… t… u… v… hmmm—ah! w!” you beam. you snatch the folder that reads “watanabe.” a contagious smile dances across your lips, your elation mirrored by jihyo.

“is that what we need?” jihyo asks, turning her head.

“yeah, this is one of the more important files, it has a lot of his research and experiments. i’m also going to look for-“

before you can finish your sentence, an unwelcome intrusion slices through the air, mingling with the palpable fear creeping into your senses when you hear the low tap of footsteps outside the room.

the threat of being caught floods your mind, driving you into spontaneous action. quickly, you take jihyo’s wrist, urgency pulsating through your grip, and scan the room frantically. from the corner of your eye, a small closet appears. you bolt toward it and drag jihyo with you, then close yourselves inside.

you’re in your head trying to listen to the sound coming from the corridor that you don’t realize the compromising position you’re in.

silent seconds stretch while you two stay cautious and awareness dawns upon you, and your breath halts. one hand is unintendedly situated on the curve of jihyo’s slender waist and the other still grips her wrist. her back is pressed against the closet door, and your senses collide with her proximity, faces and bodies inches apart.

(with how quiet it is in the room, you wonder if whoever was lurking would catch you just from the pounding of your heart.)

you loosen your grip on her wrist and whisper, “sorry.”

“you’ve got a good grip.” jihyo mumbles, “and it’s okay.”

the air hangs heavy, thick with tension. you glance downwards and you’re captivated by the intensity in jihyo's eyes—intimidating and enticing even in the darkened room—and an irrepressible impulse surges within you.

jihyo lets out a shallow breath and peeks at your lips, you take a quick glance at hers before you two gape into each other’s eyes again.

now it’s jihyo’s turn to hold your wrist, and without conscious thought, your heart pounding an adrenaline-fueled rhythm, you lean forward, closing the remaining distance until your lips press against hers.

it’s soft and tender at first, then warm and thrilling. you pull away for a brief moment to utter and apology, which is muffled after jihyo crashes her lips back to you with a doubled intensity. you hum in response and she pulls you closer, making you lean down to match her height.

in the muffled silence of the closet, time becomes a mere afterthought, eclipsed by the pulsating intensity that engulfs you both. the world outside fades into oblivion as your lips meet again and again after parting to tilt your heads in the other direction after a few kisses, and after a couple more you’re changing kissing angles again.

jihyo’s hands trace over your chest, then to your shoulders and at last: your neck. she grips at your hair, tugs and pulls while simultaneously leading the kiss—she’s naturally one to take control. she swipes her tongue against your lip and you let her tongue explore your mouth, earning various hums and small groans.

you pull away to catch your breath and jihyo stops you before you can kiss her again, placing her hand on your chest and adding pressure to it to restrain your eagerness.

“sorry,” you say, cheeks flushed and breath heavy. “too much?”

jihyo laughs softly and shakes her head before responding, “not at all, y/n. it’s just, we should be careful… don’t want you to be too loud—yet. let’s continue later.” your cheeks flush from her remark and jihyo laughs lowly after hearing your breath quiver. “do you think whoever was walking is gone?”

“i- um, i’ll have to listen closer.” you mutter.

jihyo’s hand still rests on your chest, right above your heart—which is beating at an unhealthy pace—and jihyo doesn’t comment on the noticeable pounding against her palm. you pause for a moment and really concentrate your sense of hearing, listening on anything going on outside. jihyo lets you work your magic and smiles when you hum.

“no one outside, it’s clear. i’ll turn invisible and you know, check it out. i’ll let you know if you can come out; when i knock three times then that’s your cue to leave the closet, yeah?” you explain.

jihyo nods and says, “sounds good spiderwoman.” which earns a small chuckle from you. some light seeps in when you open the door, letting jihyo have a glimpse of your face: cheeks tinted pink, your ears are a darker shade, and the smirk on your face is smug.

you plant a kiss on her incredibly soft lips before disappearing from her sight, and jihyo hears a small “cute,” before the door closes. she’s left in the dark closet alone with a warm feeling in her chest—though it’s soon replaced with the realization:

oh my god… i just made out with my boss’s niece.

when you and jihyo reach the floor of the lobby, you two act like you haven’t just violated the privacy of a (now criminal) scientist.

there are two folders, a binder, and some samples from who knows what that were hastily placed inside your bag when you first got into the elevator. the two of you head towards jihyo's car, acting as if nothing has happened, despite having committed something slightly very illegal.

the detective closes her doors and you mirror her action once you sit down, and as you both put on your seatbelts jihyo scoffs, “i can’t believe you got me to do this.”

“it’s for my uncle, and you know, just in case.” you assure, looking at her as she grips the steering wheel a little tight. “in the end i think he’ll be grateful, and it’ll help with the case.”

“i know.” jihyo says, “he can be scary.”

“i’ll take care of him, okay?”

“okay.” she responds before shooting you a small smile, which makes you smile back in return.

when you reach jihyo’s apartment, you take off your jacket and hang it on the hooks on the wall. jihyo does the same with her own jacket and you meet at her kitchen island.

you take out the stolen goods from your back and drop them on the marble counter, jihyo turns on the lamp above to make it easier to read and see. jihyo stands across from you as you take out each file and skim through them, watching your eyebrows crinkle from concentration.

four pieces of paper are taken out of one of the binders—three of them being stapled together—and you quickly read through them. then, you place them on the counter, and your eyes scan the title of a sample before laying it next to the papers.

“this is it.” you sigh, looking down at the messy tapestry of notes and diagrams.

jihyo tilts her head and questions, “what?”

“my uncle’s dna. there’s notes on it and everything, it’s all scribbled here—look.” you respond, flipping the paper over and pushing it towards the detective. jihyo’s eyebrows reflect yours and furrow as she reads the text. her shoulders relax and she turns the paper over to read more, eye’s widening a little as she reads.

you pick up the sample and examine it a bit more as jihyo reads through. she looks back at you and says in disbelief, “watanabe tried to make human lizards?”

“pretty much.” you reply, “my uncle’s a big, bulky guy… watanabe probably tried to fuck with the lizard dna and his genes to make something relatively close—but thankfully, it didn’t work. here, this paper shows the trials and whatnot.” you add, handing jihyo the non-stapled paper.

jihyo sets the small packet down and reads through the one handed to her, examining the various angrily crossed-out sentences, numbers, and notes. she hums at the sight.

“so there’s nothing to worry about?” the detective asks. you nod and respond,

“no, thankfully. i’ll probably show up as spiderwoman and leave a little note to the chief, i should probably get to that soon—tonight.” you admit, leaning against the counter. “i’ll leave you alone for now, sorry for making you do all of this.”

you don’t want to leave, that’s the last thing you want to do. the small silence after you utter your last sentence urges you to pack up and leave, even if the thought of continuing whatever happened in your closet flooded your mind.

“wait,” jihyo says as you start to trudge away towards the window, and you pause in your place as soon as you take a step on the carpet on the floor.

you raise a brow in confusion (hoping jihyo read your mind). “yes?”

“just stay, the sun is already setting.” she says boldly.

“my uncle would kill me, i’m on house arrest.” you sigh, “getting these to him as spiderwoman would get me off house arrest.”

jihyo frowns and you mirror her expression. “you really can’t stay?” she asks, brows creasing just barely.

“i would if i could.”

“well,” jihyo starts, walking over to you. “before you jump out the window,” she mumbles, now one step away from you. she places her hand on your chest and looks at you with a warm softness in her eyes. she tilts her head, then leans up to press her lips against yours, less aggressive than in the closet, but just as nerve-racking—making your heart beat quicken just from the simple contact.

you practically melt when she kisses you, and your hands instinctively reach for her cheek, cupping it gently. time seems to hesitate when she puts her arms around your neck, and you make sure to savor the taste and feel of her lips on yours.

jihyo pulls away first, but only a little so your lips still brush against each other.

“jihyo…” you mutter, and you can feel her smiling against you—her grin spreads to your own lips.

“if you’re off house arrest tomorrow… we should—”

“yes, please.” you say, “anything you want.”

“didn’t know a kiss was enough to have you so eager.” jihyo snickers gently.

you smirk and press a quick peck. “oh i can be eager—if that’s what you want?”

jihyo rolls her eyes at your stupid (yet tempting) response and pulls away so she can see your face clearly. she gazes at you for a bit, simple appreciating your presence and the faint dimple that appears on your cheek as you smile at her. jihyo fixes your hair, pushing away strands that fall over your face.

“you’re an idiot.”

“you love that though.”

“a lot.” jihyo responds, then presses a kiss to your cheek and smiles. “now go get yourself off house arrest.”

you grin. “yes detective.”

the chief stands at his desk and puts on his coat, then gathers all the papers he had already gone through in his bag. on his desk, a folder suddenly drops down with a smack and the chief jumps, letting out a small yelp.

“hi chief.” a voice says. the chief looks up and he watches the familiar vigilante become translucent, then fully visible after unveiling herself. spiderwoman releases herself from the ceiling and lands on the ground with ease. “gotcha’ some things you’d probably love to look through.”

“what the hell spidergirl—”

“please, i know i’m supposed to mask my identity, but spiderwoman is better. c’mon man, i’m in my twenties.” you groan. the chief looks at you and shakes his head, then picks up the folder that had scared him half to death earlier.

your uncle furrows his brows slightly as he reads the papers (same as jihyo did, you note. at this point everything is reminding you of her—even the bulky man in front of you).

“where— where did you get this? how—”

“told you i’d check it out. nothing to worry about chief, just wanted to ease your worries.” you shrug, “i told you i’m not the bad guy.”

the chief examines you for a moment, looking you up and down before his shoulders drop. he puts the papers back in the folder and stares at it for a couple seconds, exhaling in relief.

“thank you.” he says, “i was… really on edge.”

“anytime.” you say, smiling from under the mask. the chief walks up to you, looking down and narrowing his eyes before softening his gaze. he puts his hand out and you look at it in surprise—as well as confusion.

“let’s keep contact, spiderwoman.” the chief says, “maybe you’re not so bad.” he adds. you hesitate for a moment and stare at his hand for a moment longer before shaking it. the chief doesn’t break your hand, doesn’t pull you in and throw you to the ground—he shakes it professionally and nods. “you’ve earned my trust.”

you want to lift your mask up and show him your proud smile, and a part of you wants to reveal yourself.

“i’m glad. i’m just your friendly neighborhood spiderwoman after all, harmless!” you beam.

“that’s debatable. i saw what you did to that monster.” he responds. you catch the faint twitch of his lips: an almost smile.

“how else could i save everyone?”

“i guess you’re right, get going kid, sun is setting.”

“i told you i’m in my twenties!”

“you really remind me of someone i know spiderwoman.” he says with a breath of amusement, “have a good night, thank you again.” he finally adds before grabbing his bag. the chief walks past spiderwoman without body-slamming her or anything like that; the tall, hefty man simply walks out and leaves spiderwoman speechless.

that’s all it took to get on his good side?

jihyo walks into the building and the routine is the same as always: she greets the front desk lady—rachel was her name, she’s sweet and always has a smile on for anyone talking to her. after her usual friendly greeting, jihyo walks over to her desk and greets the rest of the team.

as jihyo sets her bag down, a familiar face appears and greets the detective.

“hello park, morning.” francis beams, smiling softly at jihyo. francis was one of the newer cops, he was pretty young for one—but great at his job. jihyo was quite fond of him, he was nice and competent.

“morning, how are you?”

“good, good.” he says before yawning, “glad it’s friday.”

“me too.” jihyo responds with a laugh, taking out a few reports from her bag and turning on the computer in front of her.

the detective turns back to the monitor in front of her and gets to typing, looking down at the paper and back up to the screen as she types various letters, numbers, and who knows what at this point.

her mind is completely foggy, she tries to get some work done, tries to copy down the reports and examine them. the only thing she can really focus on is the memory of your lips on hers, and whether you’re off house arrest because she really needs a continuation of what happened in that damn closet.

jihyo flinches at the sudden sound of the voice she’s been missing most and looks down at her desk to see a 16oz paper coffee cup on her desk.

“morning detective.”

“jesus!” jihyo yelps, “don’t do that!”

“i thought you’d get used to it by now.” you snicker. jihyo smiles as you pull a chair up next to her and sit down, sipping on your own beverage. “i’m off house arrest.”

“i can see that.” jihyo sighs, though the tone of her voice doesn’t match the way her heart warms upon your arrival. “shouldn’t you be at work?”

“technically it’s an internship,” you respond, “but i guess it’s my job now, seeing they pay me more than some of the actual employees.”

“well whatever it is you should probably be at the building, no?”

“i have work in less than forty minutes. do you hate my presence that much?” you question, a pout forming. “didn’t hate it that much yesterday—"

the detective punches your shoulder and you wince playfully before jihyo rolls her eyes and takes a sip of the coffee you brought her. “you’re loud, too loud for someone who’s my boss’s blood relative.” she scolds you lowly and sets down the beverage before redirecting her attention back to the screen. “and no, i don’t hate your presence, just don’t want you slacking or getting scolded.” she admits, a smile threatening to form on her lips.

you laugh and gaze at her for a moment, taking in the slope of her nose and catching a glimpse of the small mole on the tip of it. your eyes trace the sharp curve of her jaw, and then your look sets on her lips—the taste and feel lingers in your mind. jihyo pretends to ignore your blatant stare.

“i’ll stop bothering you for a bit, should probably get going anyway and let my favorite detective get to work.” you mumble. jihyo turns as you begin to stand up and furrows her brows. she looks to around quickly and grabs your wrist, making you turn and hum in confusion.

“wait,” she starts, trying to keep you close to her for just a while more, “i just printed something, you should come with me before you go.” you smile at her suggestion and set your coffee down on her desk, then nod.

the walk to the printing room is quite silent, nothing is said or heard other than the click of jihyo’s boots reverberating. when you get to the small room, a man walks out and smiles at jihyo before holding the door for the two of you. the detective smiles back before going in, with you trailing behind.

jihyo goes to the screen of the printer and taps at a few buttons, then sighs, “out of paper, come with me to get some.”

“yes ma’am.”

the paper and supplies room are two rooms down from the printing area, and so the two of you walk down the hall then into the room.

jihyo opens the door and you enter first—what catches you completely off guard is the way your senses are quickly overwhelmed.

without warning, your back is pushed against the closed door and you’re immobilized by jihyo’s body pressing against you. before you can comprehend what’s happening, her warm, soft lips press against yours with a slight aggression and it makes you groan immediately.

your hands find their way to her waist, the other on her upper rib to push her closer into you—craving the warmth and feeling it gives you.

something about making out in a dimmed, small room feels right to the two of you; you’ve made out twice so far and both times have been in relatively similar spaces. this won’t be the last time you make out in a small space.

jihyo pulls away and your brain is hazy, you immediately move yourself closer to capture her lips again.

“fuck,” you sigh in between kisses, “what’s with the sudden—” you get cut off with another harsh kiss, making you groan louder into her mouth. jihyo’s tongue finds its way into your mouth and your hands find their way to her skin, and it makes her shiver from the contact.

every nerve in jihyo’s body wakes as soon as your lips come into contact with her neck, and she stifles a groan when you start to nip at it.

“no marks, not now.” she says dissapointingly.

“later?”

“maybe.” she says, and immediately, a sharp breath leaves her lips when you add a bit of pressure on her waist, squeezing it gently.

a sudden shift in the atmosphere tingles your senses, making your lips detach and actions halt. you shiver at the feeling, instantly pulling away from jihyo and trying to compose yourself.

“someone’s coming, act busy.” you mutter quickly before turning on the light and pretending to busy yourself by reaching for papers on the shelf.

the door opens and you almost flinch at the familiar voice that greets the two of you.

“y/n? jihyo? what are you two doing here?” the chief asks. both you and jihyo stiffen at the sound of who had almost walked in on you. jihyo clears her throat abruptly.

“ah, l/n. i was printing something out and y/n decided to help me out.”

the chief chuckles, “y/n, when do you have to clock in?”

“thirty minutes, figured i’d waste a bit of time with park.” you shrug, “i always make it on time.”

the chief laughs and jihyo tenses her jaw slightly as she smiles at him, fixing her hair and jacket she has on. “well,” the chief starts, “grab me some sticky notes while you’re over there, i’ll let you two converse.” he adds. you nod and grab a stack of pink sticky notes—his favorite color—and toss them at him.

“there you go old man.” you tease.

“watch it,” he says playfully, “and are you sick? your cheeks are so pink.”

again, you and jihyo tense up—you clear your throat before responding, “there’s dust here, i sneezed and rubbed my face too hard.” you lie, almost stumbling over your words when you glance at jihyo.

the chief nods and sighs, “well, don’t get my detective sick.” and with that he exits the room, shutting the door harshly (he’s oblivious to his strength at times), which lets you and jihyo sigh out in relief.

“we need to get a room.” you groan,

“yeah.” jihyo laughs, “are you free tonight?” she asks, and it makes you look at her in surprise, cheeks warming up once again.

“only if you are—and if no one tries to rob a bank.”

jihyo laughs and responds, “i am, and i might just have a room.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” jihyo says, smirking. “if it means anything, my window will be unlocked if someone wants to swing by.”

“hmmm, i’ll keep that in mind.”

jihyo’s jaw tenses and she looks at you in a way that fills your nerves with temptation. “good. now let’s print these out, i need to hand them to the forensics.”

jihyo hums along to a tune playing from her phone as she wipes down the counter next to the stove—it’s a slow melody, something fitting for the dimmed room and quiet night.

she hasn’t seen you in a few hours—though it seems like decades—so she’s cleaning up and wandering around to pass the time.

when she finishes cleaning her countertops she walks over to the sink to wash her hands, still humming along to the melody that fills the room with a soft ambiance. jihyo turns off the sink and the unexpected feeling of two large hands on her waist makes her shriek and turn around quickly.

she calms down when she’s met with your grin, but her irritation quickly replaces the relief and she punches your rib lightly; you wince at the feeling dramatically, clutching your side and pouting.

“hey! what was that for?” you groan, and it makes detective park smile.

jihyo crosses her arms and leans against the counter. “you’re going to kill me one day y/n.”

“aw, am i making your heart beat that fast?”

she punches your shoulder again and says, “oh shut up.” you grin at her cheekily.

jihyo takes a moment to examine you and somehow you’re cuter everytime she sees you. you’re wearing some comfy looking navy sweatshirt paired with black sweatpants, how adorable.

the mood in the air shifts when you run your eyes up and down jihyo, and she seems to have gained some of her own powers from the way she reads your mind. you lick your lips swiftly and smirk—it’s not a big one, but the slight curve of one side of your lips is noticeable.

“i told my uncle i’d be staying with a friend for the night,” you explain, and the tempting look in your eyes is replaced by curiosity with a hint of wonder. “i brought some drinks, got a sweet tooth?”

“i can’t pass down drinks from you.”

“you like strawberry soda?” you ask—jihyo hums. “good. i um— thought… maybe we could watch a movie—or just talk? i don’t know honestly, i’ve just been wanting to see you.” you admit, “i realized we haven’t really had time to you know, go on a date and just hang out without any of it being work or crime related… i wanted to be with you.”

jihyo laughs and she feels her heart thud against her chest. “you’re cute.”

“thanks, but you’re cuter,” you reply, which makes jihyo blush and she tries to hide it by walking over to her living room area. you follow behind and she sits down on her couch, patting down a space for you.

“didn’t know spiderwoman was so romantic.”

“hey hey… spiderwoman is a lot of things.” you huff.

you and detective park—no, just jihyo, sweet, genuine, and crazily pretty jihyo—talk for an hour. it starts off with you explaining that you earned the chiefs trust, then it goes on to complaining about said chief, nothing too new though laughs are shared. jihyo complains about her job and the paperwork that’s been piling on her desk and you complain about your side hustle; jihyo is attentive, listening to you ramble about your spiderwoman story of the recent (and very pretentious) group of high school boys who tried to rob a gas station.

talking with jihyo feels easy, it’s not like you have to force yourself or exaggerate anything; conversing with jihyo feels right.

the whole hour of you two simply sharing sodas and drinks leads to scooting closer, shoulders touching and heads leaned back against the top of the touch.

when silence floods for a bit after you share another anecdote, jihyo takes this time to blatantly admire your face—keeping her look on your lips for a couple seconds longer than the other features.

it’s you who closes the distance this time, no words need to be exchanged when you finally do what the both of you have wanted to do: simply lock lips.

“fuck i missed this,”

jihyo smiles when she pulls away. “it’s been a couple hours, y/n.”

“one minute is already too long.” you mumble before kissing her again.

this time your kiss is slow and soft, not the same crashing of hungry lips against each other, it’s soft, sweet, and you two take your time since there’s no risk of being caught. no rush at all.

in contrast to your previous (rushed, aggressive, and heated) kisses, you both take your time to really appreciate each other’s intimacy.

the new comfort and absent feeling of cautiousness lets you savor the feeling of jihyo’s lips on yours: warm, soothing, and everything you didn’t know you needed. you taste the faint hint of strawberry off her while she cups your face, sliding her fingers to the back of your neck and rubbing her thumb against your skin.

a few minutes (you guess it’s been a few minutes, cant be that long, no? it’s been thirty minutes) pass and the two of you have your hands roaming around, the kisses get needier by the second.

hunger hurriedly takes over and you’re practically eating other’s mouths in no time. despite the change in pace and intimacy, you’re perfectly fine with it; if anything, it’s perfect how it escalated from a simple sweet kiss to whatever is making your cunt throb.

you blindly shift yourselves and jihyo backs up to lay down comfortably on the cushions of the couch. one thing you that made your breath uneasy was the way jihyo tangled her fingers in your hair, especially the way she tugged at it occasionally. her hand rested on your neck at first, then she moved it down to your waist and slid her nimble fingers under your sweatshirt, making contact with your skin. you whimpered unintentionally at the sudden contact, which was not only amusing—but also incredibly alluring to jihyo.

“you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you?” she mumbles, pushing a strand of your hair out of your face. “i think it’s cute how you’re on top of me, but you seem much more shaken up.”

you try to respond to jihyo, but a lump forms in your throat when she pulls back a little more and looks at you like you’re the cutest thing in the world. jihyo slides her hands further up near the middle of your ribs, making your breath hitch.

“didn’t know you’d be this easy to rile up spiderwoman.”

before you can try to respond, she closes the gap you groan into her mouth. with a swift press of her fingers against your skin, you part your lips for her to explore your mouth, then push yourself closer to her. her touch sends a shiver down your spine and the way her tongue takes over in your mouth drives you fucking crazy.

she makes her way down to your neck with soft kisses serving as a trail, then nips at your skin softly, eliciting a soft, breathy “fuck” from you.

jihyo pulls away and you whine. she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and looks into your eyes before mumbling, “you’re cute.”

you smile and your lips meet again, you pull away to murmur against her lips softly, “bedroom?” and jihyo hums in agreement.

the two of you get up from the couch, but your lips are almost unable to part from one another for more than five seconds. you bump into the walls clumsily, which makes you two laugh even as you groan into each other’s mouths—it’s all so heartwarming and cute—and soon you manage to make it to jihyo’s room.

now it’s jihyo’s turn to press you against the door again. you curse lowly as she marks up your neck again and try to feel for the light switch against the wall; you manage to light up the room despite your eyes closing from the overwhelming feeling of jihyo’s skilled lips.

she pulls away for a second and asks, “are you sure you want to-“

“fuck yes, please.” you answer immediately, then cut her off with a hungry kiss that leaves her stumbling back. you kiss her needily and fumble with the edge of her shirt before slipping it off, and when you pull away to gaze at her body you let out a breath of amazement.

jihyo laughs. “you kept teasing me about how i could undress you, but look who’s so eager to have me naked.” she asks, catching you staring at her in awe. you part your lips at the sight of her tremendously toned core and she snickers. “you like what you see?”

“love what i see,” you sigh, “shit, you’re beautiful.”

“let me help you out, i wanna see what’s under there again.”

with a swift movement, she slips off your sweatshirt and you’re both standing close to each other topless.

you were confident enough with your words and jihyo seeing your skin when you had that mask on, but now that it’s just you; you feel a little shy now that you’re a bit revealed in front of jihyo—despite still having a bra on—and you avoid eye contact.

her eyes soften. “you’re so pretty.” she sighs, then kisses you swiftly and sweetly.

the detective is a natural leader, and it’s showing now. she guides you to the bed while exploring the curves and grooves of your body, then she’s straddling you on her queen sized bed.

you pull away and jihyo looks at your dilated pupils—completely taking over your eyes.

“can i— can i take your bra off?”

“of course.” jihyo responds.

your fingers work to unclasp jihyo’s bra and holy shit you’re stunned. your eyes widen and you exhale in amazement.

as embarrassing as it is to admit, you’ve fantasized at the ungodly hours of the night and also during those boring moments at work about seeing jihyo like this. you thought you’d be fine in a situation like this seeing you’ve daydreamed about it—but fuck it’s better than anything you can imagine now that it’s really happening. you pause in your place, halting any action.

“cat got your tongue?”

“i— fuck you’re so pretty jihyo.” you sigh, “can i touch you?”

“of course,” and right after her approval your hand slides up from her waist to her chest.

the way she gasps as you brush your fingers over her nipple is music to your ears, and it does not help the way your cunt throbs. something about the way she groans roughly when you pinch her bud slightly makes you groan in response, muttering a small “holy shit” in response.

you press a chaste kiss on her breast and trail down with your tongue to swirl around the peak of her breast, taking note of what kind of action makes her breath shake the most. the only thing you want to do right now is make her feel good, make her feel the same as you.

“your tits are so fucking nice,” you say, and jihyo lets out a sound that’s a mix of a laugh and a moan.

a couple minutes pass of you shamelessly indulging in jihyo’s tits (something that you could get used to—something that you need to do often) and your lips find their way back to each other. then, jihyo pulls away and she look at you with lidded eyes.

“can i—”

“please,” you interject, “please.”

“whatever you’d like,” jihyo says amusingly, “let me take care of you. i’m gonna make you feel good, okay?”

you nod eagerly and she unclasps your own bra, biting her lip at the new territory revealed. she mutters a compliment and you simply whimper at her words. needless to say, your reactions have jihyo surprised and invested.

she works at your tits for a while, leaving a couple marks in between, under, and on them. you grip at her bedsheets and arch your back at the way she swirls her tongue skillfully around your sensitive areas, you’re practically drowning in bliss and she hasn’t even touched you where you need it most yet.

her lips leave a trail of pecks on your body as she lowers down, and when she reaches your soft tummy her hands tug your pants down.

“hyo, p—please…” you groan, “please touch me.”

jihyo hums and she presses a finger against your underwear, it makes your hips twitch.

she kisses your inner thighs and leaves you breathless, your eyes shut as you press against the mattress. she pulls away and slides your underwear off, tossing it aside carelessly and biting her lip when she meets your core.

a soft peck is pressed on your clit and you let out a stifled moan. gently, she slides her fingers along your walls. she smiles at how aroused you are, feeling the slick that dampens her fingers.

“god, you’re so wet y/n.”

“shut—shut up.”

“excited aren’t you?” she teases, “i like this side of you more than spiderwoman to be honest.”

before you can respond, she latches her mouth onto your pussy and the surge of pleasure makes you groan so loud that it even takes you by surprise. you bite your lip the more she lashes at your dripping center, sucking, slicking, and savoring the sweet slick that seeps out.

your hand immediately reaches for her hair the more she indulges in your pussy, and she groans against you.

you’re not sure how long it’s been since she went down on you, but you’re feeling that knot forming in your stomach the more she tongue fucks you and the more you whine. you’re completely lost in pleasure; a few points of contact from her nose to your clit and tongue to your walls and you’re sent over the edge.

a hoarse, strangled sound between a cry and a moan is heard from you, jihyo continues to savor your sweetness. you push your head back into the mattress and jihyo trails back up to you with kisses.

“holy shit,” you say breathless, jihyo grins while you recover.

“how was it?”

“i— think you know the answer.” you sigh as you prop yourself on your elbows. “i’ve um, i’ve thought about you like this before and— this is better than anything i’ve ever imagined.”

jihyo chuckles and you cup her cheek, then kiss her fervently. she hums into the kiss and you pull away, stroking her cheek with your thumb.

seeing as you’re spiderwoman, you’re naturally quick to recover. your hand moves back to her breast and you brush your finger over her nipple, earning a sharp breath from her.

“my turn to make you feel good.”

with a swift motion, you flip jihyo over and pin her down on the bed. she gasps at the sudden change, and before she has time to process much—you’re already occupied with her boobs.

blindly, you slider her pants and panties off with a quick motion and slide your hands up and down her legs. jihyo’s moans are on the louder side, and they’re strangled too.

you’re so eager to hear her come undone, so eager to leave her a mess. with thumb her clit once, then twice, and then stick your fingers inside—which has jihyo’s nails grasping at your shoulder and her breath shaking.

the more you pump in and out, the closer she is to breaking. you savor each and every moan that reverberates against the walls in her room, making sure the target the spots that make her curse louder than ever. her hands uncontrollably grip at your tricep, then your shoulder, and soon she’s gripping your hair, which has you groaning against her chest shamelessly while you mark it up.

“y-y/n, oh— i’m close, i-i’m— keep going,"

with the overwhelming sensation of your tongue swirling around her nipple and the way your thumb presses against her clit—she’s breathing heavily, shaking, and soon enough she’s trembling after a loud yelp. she mutters a string of curses and does what you had done before, sinking into the mattress and once you pull away from her chest to gaze at her; she pulls you in for a messy, sensual kiss.

the two of you stay like that for a while, kissing tiredly and sloppily before you fall over beside her on the bed.

“god, y/n…”

“did you like it?” you ask. the smug smirk on your lips makes jihyo sigh amusingly and she shakes her head playfully.

“of course i did.”

“we should…” you begin, “do this more often—if you’re fine with that.”

jihyo laughs and you lay your head on her chest.

“i’m more than fine with it, spiderwoman.”

when jihyo wakes up, she feels an extra warmth on the left side of her body.

she looks down and looks at the face squished in her chest which makes her smile immediately. you’re breathing gently and one arm is draped across her body, loosely resting above her waist.

“like my boobs that much?” she chuckles softly, tracing her finger along your soft skin. you grumble into her and sigh, waking up to the low sound of her voice.

you blink three times—though the first two times were slow and lazy—then shift closer into her. your hand presses her against you more, and you tangle your leg with hers before mumbling, “morning.”

she laughs at the lower tone of your morning voice and kisses your forehead. “good morning y/n.”

after rubbing your face against her shoulder, you push yourself up and prop yourself up on one elbow. jihyo laughs at your squinted, tired eyes before you tickle her with kisses on her jaw and neck.

“jihyo,” you begin—she hums in response. “do you think we rushed this?” you ask, referring to whatever relationship you two have now as you slide your along the skin over her ribs.

“hm, i don’t think so. you’ve already been saying a lot of suggestive things prior to this.”

“you liked it though.”

“maybe.” jihyo says, rolling her eyes. you drop back down onto the bed and return to nuzzling your face into the crook of her neck, kissing it once before closing your eyes again. “y/n,” jihyo says again, this time with a tone that makes you open your eyes again.

“yes?”

“what would your uncle say if… if he knew his detective slept with his niece?”

now your eyes widen and your body tenses. “shit.” you groan. jihyo laughs and you sit up quickly. “how bad did you mark me?”

“let’s hope there’s a store nearby that has concealer in your shade y/n.”

#twice x reader #twice imagines #kpop x reader #miinatozakiii #jihyo x reader #twice jihyo #park jihyo #jihyo imagines #twice #jihyo

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jinnie-ret · 1 month ago

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MY YOUTH | SKZ NINTH AU

stray kids x ninth member!reader (platonic)

<---------- back to my youth

<---------- back to main masterlist

chapter 6

genre: angst content warnings: bullying word count: 1.6k

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Lou began to feel like the trajectory of her life in this universe was heading down a path of one sick joke after the other. She had been holed up in her personal studio ever since the incident in which her childhood toy she was so attached to had been torn to bits. Lee Know had tried to comfort her but she was so overwhelmed that she had to leave the dorms. It left her with an odd feeling, one that didn’t quite sit right as she knew that she wouldn’t be feeling this way in her home world, but the longing that ached within her wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation. Her friends and family that had been left behind, seemingly nonexistent here. Seemingly, because Lou knew she couldn’t exactly go up to the boys and ask them about random people they would have never heard her bring up before. Or, on the other hand, she couldn’t ask about her ‘family members’ because she should know them more than anyone right?

The girl had become so absorbed into her thoughts that she had failed to notice the new object that had made itself home on her cluttered desk, an old floral notebook with a tattered leather binding at the spine. Until. the pages started flickering before her very eyes. The visual distraction was welcome, despite the unease and immense confusion that it caused. Dusty yellowed paper flickered until it came to a stop, landing on one page in particular. Ah, here it was, the next sick joke making itself known.

Marigolds.

These were the flowers she got yesterday. Lou gripped the book in her hands in disbelief, eyes scanning over the description of the plant, one that was presented in a time of grief. Surely not? Perhaps she had imagined the unnatural nature of the book. She could have subconsciously turned to that page. Yes, that must have been it. Lou was slowly convincing herself that there was no way that there could be a magic book in her grasp, even when she had been transported into a completely different universe. It didn’t matter for now, not when the three girls she wanted to see least had suddenly stormed into her studio, making her jump back into her chair and turn, hand on her heart.

Mina, Sora and Jiah, the younger girl of course hiding behind the older two who had dragged her along. In all honesty, Lou didn’t know why they were all still friends when it was clear there was a disconnect in beliefs - the beliefs being on tormenting her or not.

“Here, thought we’d be nice and give this back,” Mina plastered on a fake smile and proceeded to throw Lou’s notebook at her, hitting her against the head. Sora snorted from beside her at the disgruntled look on Lou’s face. The poor girl already had a heavy weight of thoughts and feelings to deal with, her neck hunched as she slumped over, pinching the bridge of her nose as she huffed.

“What? Not gonna say anything? I don't know why we even bother doing this if you’re not going to even react,” Sora kicked Lou’s foot to grab her attention.

“Pathetic,” Mina’s eyes scanned Lou, before nudging Jiah.

“Oh, y-yeah,” she looked up briefly before ducking her head down straight away.

“You bought me marigolds,” Lou blurted out, unable to get the thought out of her head, “why?”

“Marigolds?” Sora snorted, looking at her accomplices with incredulity, “you think I care about what type of flowers we sent you? Give me a break.”

“They were on discount,” Jiah added unhelpfully, yet it still led the other bullies further on their hateful discourse.

“Cheap, nasty stuff. All you deserve,” Mina grinned evilly, before practically snarling as she spat at Lou’s shoes.

“We did you a favour, really, tearing apart that ugly toy,” Sora sighed, inspecting her nails as if she was bored. Lou hoped that they would get bored one day. She was tired of their antics, the amount of times they dropped in to insult her before she performed Miroh for the first time was nearly more than she could count on her fingers.

“So you didn’t know what type of flowers they were?” Lou pushed away their comments, wanting to get to the bottom of this weird situation, her eyes boring into the gazes of the girls in front of her.

“Oh don’t tell me we’ve got a nerd here!” Sora rested her hand on Mina’s shoulder, leaning against her slightly as they both chuckled.

“We already told you we don’t care about that, idiot. Aren’t you more upset about your ickle lickle stuffed animal?” the latter pouted mockingly, bending over slightly and leaning forwards to squeeze Lou’s cheek, the pinch being a bit too hard.

“Get out!” Lou pushed her away, standing up with frustration, stray hairs flying in front of her eyes yet she still maintained her steely gaze.

“Woah! No need to get all angry,” Mina laughed loudly, enjoying the reaction she finally got.

“My members are still here, wouldn’t want them to see you acting like this, would you?” Lou instinctively bit back, not really knowing if her statement would affect the actions of the other girls but it fortunately did.

“We should go,” Jiah nervously looked behind her, tugging at the sleeves of Sora and Mina to get them to follow her. It was probably one of the only times they listened to the younger girl.

Lou was happy to breathe for a second with the disappearance of the trainees. She gathered her things together, her old notebook which she had finally gotten back, and the new mysterious flower journal that only seemed to bring her trouble and more stress. So the girls supposedly didn’t buy the marigolds on purpose, yet there was a connection to the real life events with how the book itself acted sentient for a short moment to show her what they truly meant. This was going to nag at her brain for a while, that was for sure.

By the time she shook it off, made the short nighttime walk back home to the dorms, Lou had checked her phone as she entered through the front door and saw the time on her watch. 03:25AM. How was it that time already? She didn’t even realise how the time had flown by.

“I’m sure she’ll be okay. I’m sure of it,” she heard Felix speak up from somewhere in the lounge. She took off her coat and shoes, only to see Bang Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin and Seungmin putting on their own jackets.

“Where are you going?” Lou quietly spoke up, her members so caught up in their own bubble they didn’t hear her get back.

“To look for you! Have you seen the time? Why didn’t you reply to our texts?” Bang Chan rubbed a stressed hand over his face before ruffling his own hair.

“Texts?” Lou had to pause for a moment, left hand patting against the pockets of her sweatpants and hoodies but she couldn’t find anything. Where was her phone? “Oh, I don’t know…”

“I tried calling as well. You just ran away. I was worried, we all were, Sunny,” Lee Know stood up from the sofa to get a better look at her, in case he could spot anything alarming.

“Is your phone off?” Seungmin looked at her knowingly, unzipping his windbreaker.

“Yeah, I was at the studio,” Lou shrugged. Maybe that’s why she had no idea where her phone was. She’d have to look into it, just something else to add to the mountains of issues she had to deal with.

“Told you she’d be there!” Han rolled his eyes, legs tucking into himself as he tiredly leant against the arm of the sofa. It was then she noticed how tired everyone looked, all because of her. Felix was sat upright, Jeongin next to him and although he was more reclined, their legs still touched for that extra bit of comfort. Changbin and Hyunjin were following in Seungmin’s footsteps, taking off their coats too, yet still standing attentively alongside Bang Chan.

“Now’s not the time,” Changbin tapped Han on the head through his hushed words.

“I’m sorry, I’m back now though. Can we just talk about this tomorrow?” Lou urged, not wanting a grilling from her members, her leader in particular, before she felt that fuzzy feeling she still hadn’t gotten used to. A flash blinded her vision before she was entered into a glimpse of a vision.

“Please, Hannie, can we just talk about it tomorrow? I don’t want to talk about it now,” Lou begged a younger version of her member.

“Flo, I’m worried about you. You need to tell me what’s happening, please. Something is wrong,” Han pleaded, his hand reaching out towards her before the vision was gone.

“Yah, Flo? Louisa?” Chan snapped his fingers in front of her face.

“You should get some sleep,” Hyunjin added when he saw Lou wasn’t off in her own world.

“Something is wrong,” Han whispered to Seungmin who nodded but rested his hand on his shoulder to show now wasn’t the time.

“We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” Lee Know almost sternly told Lou. She thought he had a right to feel that way, she had run out on him after all.

She quickly took herself off to her room, knowing where she was going this time. It wasn’t long before her head hit the pillow and she fell asleep, entering a dreamland - one she had not visited before.

<-- previous chapter next chapter -->

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tagged: @akitfffr @aeinzzzketchup @mirelys98 @itsjustkhaos @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143 @arumlilyeclipse

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finneyfinland · 3 months ago

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I Think We're Alone Now chapter 1

SUMMARY: Billionaire Reginald Hargreeves adopts 8 children all born on the same day of the same year. 7 of which were soon introduced as the umbrella academy. To you, the umbrella academy was nothing but a man using his power to traumatizes children. You'd know, as you were number 8. The Vampire

WARNINGS: mentions of child torture (experiments), starvation, body horror (vampire), cannibalism, child abuse

A/N: the newest season got all of us to come back to fix the monstrosity that was season 4, including me... we'll be starting from season 1, hopefully i can hold out

It's a surreal feeling to be standing in front of the very building you practically ran from all those years ago. You take a moment to observe any changes to the exterior of the buildings, climbing plants have started to take over. If you're stalling, you just hope it's not obvious. Your mind starts to scream as you open the front doors and step into the grand foyer. The interior seems to have been left stuck in time, the same design all the way down to the same decorative jar on the small center table.

The sliding doors to the parlor are open. You walk to the doors, leaning against them as you watch Mom. She looks to be frozen staring into the lit fire place. Although Mom is a robotic human model she was everyone's favorite caretaker out of the many others our family had run through in the past. Seeing her so broken down, her wiring clearly neglected has you feeling guilty. You sigh as you push off the door frame and turn to the grand staircase, walking up to the customized stained glass.

No one else has arrived yet, so you're left to re-explore by yourself. Up the stairs you can see that Mom's seating area hasn't gotten any much deserved upgrades. Just another harsh reminder of dad's shitty 'care' a bitter resentment from your past bares its ugly head as you stride to the doors leading to your dad's office. You step into his attached greeting room and stop before the offices sliding doors. Father's office was always off limits, no matter what your number was no one was allowed to step foot into the room. With a glare you pass the threshold you once feared. Just as boring and cluttered with random items and papers as you remember. Honestly after all the secrecy surrounding this room, it's a major let down. Just a chaotic room perfectly reflecting the man who once hid within it.

Filled with a new sense of confidence you stroll out the side door and move to the staircase leading up to the attic.

The windowsill where all your siblings used to hide away in has formed a thin layer of dust. Your ears faintly pick up your siblings heartbeats as they enter the house one at a time. You grab a nearby sheet and brush off the dust, pushing open the window before taking a seat. You're glad you remembered to apply your medical sunscreen before leaving your apartment.

The sun was always something to fear as a child. Your body was stuck appearing younger than your siblings and was always slow to heal your burns, so your generally abstained from the sun as an act of self preservation. Now as an adult the monster that was the sun has dwindled down to a bother, a pesky fly buzzing around your head. The last heartbeat to enter the house was Vanya's. Allison and Diego's heartbeats overlap each other for a second as Vanya lingers in place. You finally stand up from the window when Allison moves upstairs to dad's office where Klaus has been.

You meet Vanya and Pogo down in the parlor. "Miss (y/n), wonderful to see you after all these years". You embrace Pogo before pulling back. "Still moving around after all these years?" You jest, a light smile on your face. "I've still got a few years in me" he responds before excusing himself, leaving you and Vanya.

You smile as you turn to full face Vanya. "It's been so long! How have you been? Are you still playing the violin?" You rush out question after question, excited to talk to them after so long. "Uh yeah I'm still playing violin, I'm second chair but I teach classes now" a small shy smile returns to their face, not used to such intensity. "That's great! Is it mostly kids?" you ask, Vanya nods as their attention turns to the old portrait of Five. "Do you remember when we used to leave out snacks for him?" Vanya asks, you sigh. "Yeah, and how we always kept the lights on in case he finally came home and got scared". Vanya huffs out a laugh while shaking their head. You let silence linger as the two of you stare up at your old friend. You turn back to Vanya, "I'll be checking out our old rooms, if you wanna catch up feel free to come join me ok?" You gently clasp their shoulder as they nod before turning back to Five's painting.

As you walk back to your room you can hear Luther and Allison chatting in dad's office as you pass by. Oh course it's those two in dad's office. Father's favoritism was barley better than how he treated the rest of us, but still was prominent. Especially when it came to his number 1.

When you reach your room your met with your old notebooks and 'posters' full of the human blood system. Different posters for the arteries and for the skeletal system. Father had you learn the minimal amount of information to better use you for monitoring your siblings. Before Five left your training was mostly on enhancing your senses.

As a child you were prone to outbursts, body still not understanding where its food comes from. Because of this your siblings never wanted to get near you, not wanting to get attacked by you. The only ones not detoured were Vanya, Ben, and Five. Vanya was the outcast, with you one step away from joining them. You were the only person to understand their anger, a calm force beside them. The two of you had rooms right next to each other. With yours in between Vanya's and Luther's. You spent most of your time by their side. Ben was always afraid of his abilities, and made fun of because of that. Him and Klaus were always together, but when Klaus would become too much you were always there to comfort him. Understanding was strengthened by your ability to hear his heartbeat, knowing when to reach out a hand in the darkness of one's mind. Five was an enigma. He told you that he only stood so close because he's stronger than you. But when ever your dad's 'experiments' would stretch too long he would always roll his eyes at your deathly pale skin and shove his arm in your face, demanding you eat. "You're dead-weight to me as a weakling" he would state as you patched him up apologizing repeatedly. 'Dead-weight' he would always call you that as you were smaller than the rest of your siblings, and kind of a one trick pony. Him and Vanya always seemed to have a special bond, including you by proximity. Five and Ben were neighbors so when you were hanging out with Ben, sometimes Five would join in, most of the time only joining just wanting to listen and shit talk for a moment. You four almost had a little group.

When Five left the family seemed to dim. Missions went worse, not used to covering more space in his absence. Vanya's presence started to slow until you could only hear her practice her violin in her room alone. The two of you would leave the lights on every night, even leaving his favorite 'meal' out for him. Then Ben died. Father got worse, pushing us harder, acting as if we got Ben killed. The memorial service was nothing more than another chance for father to berate us, it was so obvious even Mom knew. When Ben died the cracks in the family finally started to break apart. Klaus started talking to the air and couldn't go a day without getting high, or drunk. Vanya started to disappear, gone from the house for weeks on end. Luther and Diego's regular fights escalated horribly. Allison was cruel, only cared about herself, and the next person she was going to rumor into getting her way. After your friends disappeared one at a time you decided that maybe father was right, you decided on not eating for weeks, up to months until you were too weak to move, being feed only by Mom supplying you with blood bags. No one was there to talk some sense into you. Your training had already primed you for a career in healthcare, so you decided to use your heightened abilities to help the people who need it most.

As soon as colleges would accept you, you left. Reaching for the closest ounce of freedom that came to you. Once you left, you never looked back. Too afraid to be met with the same scowl on your father's face. The flinches of your sibling when you got too close. Replacing them with the grateful smiles from your patients and their families. It felt good to be depended on, trusted wholeheartedly with the lives of loved ones. You went to therapy to try to form a better understanding of your mental traumas, and how to best handle them. Most people only take you seriously when your on the job, your body being about 10 years too young still. You tried to boost your aging to at least get closer to looking your age, to remove the baby face your basically stuck with. You shouldn't complain too much about your gifts. Immortality is something that would be sold off the shelves going for millions of dollars.

But not truly immortal you muse to yourself. You've only got around 10 years longer than an average human to live out your life, and you're happy to keep it that way. Your attention shifts as your ears are able to pick up your siblings conjugating in the parlor. You brush your hair out of your face as you walk out your room, moving to join the rest of your siblings.

You situate yourself on the couch next to Vanya, her being the only one of your alive siblings not deathly afraid of you. Luther starts to lead the group into a productive conversation. "So I figured we could have a sort of memorial service, in the courtyard at sundown. Just at dad's favorite spot". Everyone knew Luther was always the favorite, apparently somehow even more so than you all were aware of, even sharing a favorite spot under some tree out back. A piece of information that finally started to bring the realization to Luther as he sputters off, left personally hurt by our lack of connection. Klaus finally leaves the bar, joining us and entering the conversation. Luther tries to uphold father's rules, a goody two shoes till the end. Klaus falls into the couch next to you. "Listen up. There's still some important things that we need to discuss" Luther says, already starting up the age old infighting. Luther seems to believe that father's death wasn't just a heart attack, always needs to be a mission with him. Your thought is echoed by your siblings, not believing the grand mystery Luther's trying to make it out to be.

You sigh as Diego starts to aggravate Luther, already missing your quiet apartment. The several voices and heartbeats mixed with the revolting scent of Luther's mystery blood mix together to form a giant headache. You can already tell Klaus isn't sober, smelling sickness and keeping track of the inner blood workings of your sibling was always your job. Klaus's blood has been 'tainted' since our early teen years. "I can't just call dad in the afterlife and be like, dad could you stop playing tennis with Hitler for a moment?" It's no surprise to you when he announces his state of mind. You check out of the conversation as heartbeats and blood pressure rise all around you and they start to raise their voices at one another, not wanting any part of their dumpster fire.

You're ripped back into the conversation as the implications of Diego's words compute in your mind. Luther really thinks that one of us would kill our own father? Sure you hated the old man for everything he put you and your siblings though, but such a small detail of his monocle being missing wasn't nearly enough evidence to accuse you for murder. Luther's eyes seem to be lingering on you, your frown deepens. Still trying to make me out as a monster then you think to yourself. "Great job Luther. Way to lead." Diego and Vanya walk out, Klaus following suit in a stumble. "Sorry I'm just gonna go murder Mom, be right back". You stand up from the couch and wrap your arms around yourself, walking away with your head angled to the ground, following behind Klaus out the parlor and to the stairs, back to your room.

You lay your back against the headboard, eyes looking up at the same ceiling you prayed to every night for years, begging for your freedom. Or even a sliver of recognition from your father. A warm trusting smile from your siblings, anything. It's weird to sit within these wall while they're missing a key person. Your eyes slide to the window of your room with a protective cover over it. As a kid your skin was always in danger from the sun, the current cover is practically sheer, a major upgrade from your early days. The sun has started towards the horizon, clouds hanging in the winds.

A new sound joins the air, a women's voice rings out as a light techno beat straight from the 80's floods the room, through the walls. For the first time since you've arrived home a true smile graced your lips. You find your feet tapping to the beat, you sit up from the mattress as your body sways. Joy shines in the room encouraging you to your feet. Dancing around your room, carefree. Your smile brightens as your siblings heartbeats pick up with yours, creating a complementary second backing track to the song. You twirl around your room, entranced by the relief of pressure, wanting to savor the feeling. A piercing sound shatters the moment. You're quick to rush out your room dodging metal items being thrown through the air, seeing Luther and Allison step out into the hallway, just as confused as you.

You all run to the courtyard, followed by the rest of your siblings. "Looks like some sort of temporal anomaly, either that or a miniature black hole. One of the two" Luther says. Klaus runs out with a fire extinguisher before giving up and throwing it into the growing blue mass. Klaus runs back behind the group and grabs your arm. "Everyone get behind me" "yeah, get behind us" Diego says, trying to seem just has important as Luther. Suddenly a warping image of an old man can be seen in the center of the blue mass as winds pick up. Just then a body fall from the hole and it closes instantly. The winds clear as the group push to the small moving body on the ground. As the boy gets to his feet a shock rings through you, it's Five's heartbeat, only paired with a different scent, like gunpowder. The boy's face lifts up and you're suspicions are proven correct. "Does anyone else see a little Number Five, or is that just me?" Klaus says, trying to disconcert reality, or his powers finally seeping through. Five looks down at himself "shit".

#umbrella academy x reader #tua x reader #tua x y/n #tua fanfic #the umbrella academy x y/n #tua x you #the umbrella academy x you #the umbrella academy #dividers by saradika graphics #dividers by lavendergalactic

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iamjacksragingboner · 11 months ago

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Thinking about much too overbearing Soap again.

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: Light NSFW, no smut, slightly obsessive Soap, very much not proofread

A/N: Not too sure what this is, I haven't actually written anything in a while so this is just me getting back into it. Let me know if you have any ideas for where else this could go, but at the moment this is kinda just a standalone thing.

Part Two

Johnny is on military leave for whatever reason, and he needs some sort of purpose to fill his endless days with nothing to do. Hence, he practically lunges at the opportunity to help his pretty neighbour when he’s brought out of his apartment by the sound of metallic clanging on the door next to his.

Peeking his head out, he sees you struggling through the heavy door whilst trying, in vain really, to keep your foot off the ground with some too-tall crutches. What goes through his head in a millionth of a second can only really be described as misplaced eagerness to take care of you. Sure, he wants to help out and make sure you’re alright, to hover around you and fulfil your every waking need and desire while you heal, but he has his own rather dubious desires as well that he’d like to take care of. Fantasies—with you as the main focal point—that he’s spent plenty an evening fucking his fist imagining.

He’s by your side in a heartbeat, pushing the door open for you and grabbing the bag off your shoulder. “Here ye are, lass. Let me help ye with that- that’s it.”

As you breathe out way too many thank you’s and apologies that he insists aren’t necessary, he follows you into your apartment. Despite sharing many a hallway and elevator conversation, neither of you have ever set foot into each other’s apartments, keeping up that firm wall between friendly neighbours and friends.

Of course, that doesn’t mean Johnny hasn’t imagined what the inside of your apartment would look like, or what you fill your days and nights with. It’s cozy—lived-in would be a better term for it—dishes in the sink, a lumpy couch next to the window with a rather colourful and fuck ugly quilt strewn atop it. Your bed, much like his, was unmade, and there was a pile of unfolded clothes accumulating at the end of it. It was definitely a great deal more welcoming than his own sterile, almost untouched apartment.

"Sorry about the mess in here, it's just that with this broken foot, I haven't really been able to keep up with shit like cooking, and cleaning, and laundry, and groceries," you stopped to catch your breath. It sounded like the list could go on for a while, though Johnny had gathered that from the state of your apartment anyway. "Just set my bag down anywhere," you said finally, hobbling into the cluttered kitchen, "I'll get you a cup of tea or something."

Setting your bag down on the kitchen counter with a thud, Johnny stares at you with furrowed brows. “Weesht, ye’ll do nothin’ of the sort, bonnie. What ye will be doin’ is sitting yer behind on that couch and proppin’ that foot up- must be mighty painful."

Before you'd even had time to think about protesting, Johnny had already swiftly guided you to the couch and positioned you lengthways, with your foot idle on the armrest.

You were speechless for a grand total of three seconds before you were getting up to stop Johnny from digging through your pantry looking for teabags. “Really, Johnny, it’s no bother,” you exclaimed, hobbling over on your crutches and stepping between him and the pantry to dig out the teabags. “Let me put the kettle on to boil and I’ll wash up a mug for you in the meantime. You go and sit on the couch.”

How you ended up back on the couch with Johnny now washing all of your dishes with an unexplainable amount of enthusiasm evades you. Hell, he’d even managed to tuck you in, and was rambling on and on to himself as he scrubbed at a bit of muck in your bowl.

“I mean really, it’s no trouble at all. Ye just sit there and look like a proper bonnie lass and let me take care of a couple things around yer place. Clearly you need the help. Ye’ll pay me back eventually ‘m sure.”

Only once Johnny had washed and dried all of your dirty dishes, put your dirty laundry in the machine to wash and made you and himself a cup of tea did he sit down beside you on the couch, propping your feet on his lap as if you were much closer friends than you were.

"I don't know how to thank you, Johnny, really. You didn't have to go to all that effort- I would've sorted it out eventually."

Johnny merely laughs, it's a barking, hoarse sound that grates your ears but warms your chest all the same. "Aye, but isn't it much easier if I sort it out for ye now, as opposed to yer 'eventually?"

You supposed that made sense, and it wasn't exactly unpleasant to have a handsome, built and cheery Scottish man flitting around your apartment, helping where he could. Still, you could have done it yourself.

Lying in bed that night, there was little time to sleep for Johnny when he was much too busy thinking about you, the poor bonnie lass. With his ear pressed against the wall, listening to your faint movements, he fucked his fist in desperation, thinking about all he could do to take care of you.

Within twelve hours, Soap is back, bright eyed and bushy tailed, carrying in several bags of groceries, meals planned down to the crumb for the next three weeks. The second he's put them in the fridge, he's darting to fold your laundry as you hobble around him. He bats your hands away when you reach to fold your underwear yourself, face flushed red with embarrassment as he pulls out one of your nicer bras.

Within a week, he's already made a copy of the key to your apartment, although that's not something you need to know about. He'll only ever use it if he's sure you've injured yourself and can't get to the door, or if you're out and he wants to roll around in your bed, bathing in your scent and leaving his own.

You do happen to take a fall one day, although luckily he's there to catch you, as he's been hovering around you like a fly any time you try to get up. He makes the decision then to stay the night, in case you want to make any trips to the bathroom and take a tumble in the dark.

When you offer him your bed to sleep in, he happily accepts, but the minute you begin to turn your couch into a makeshift bed for yourself, the face he pulls is not too far from a kicked puppy. He was, of course, under the impression that he'd be sharing your single bed with you, and you can't blame a man for being a little disappointed when he finds out that's not the case.

"Come on, bonnie," he all but pleads, "we don't want ye hurtin' yer foot layin' on that lumpy old thing. There's enough room for the two of us in yer bed, don't ye think?"

Despite being a little put off by Johnny calling your beloved couch old and lumpy (worn and well loved, you would say), you relent, and decide to share the bed with Johnny, under strict rules of course. "Don't try and cuddle me, don't get all up in my business, don't steal the blankets and above all else, don't touch anywhere you shouldn't be touching."

Johnny responds enthusiastically—which should've been a warning in itself that he hadn't heard a word you said—and practically leaps into the bed, patting the spot next to him with a dog-like grin.

You climb in a little hesitantly and settle down to sleep, under the impression that Johnny will obey these simple rules. The minute you feel a heavy arm slump over your waist and an even heavier leg hanging limp over your own, essentially trapping you against his form, do you realise that he had not, in fact, ever intended to follow your rules. The little grunting snores he would let out gave you some reassurance that he at least wasn't doing this consciously, even as his hands found their way across your chest and down your torso, even as his lips that were pressed against your shoulder stretched into a canine grin.

#soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap call of duty #soap cod #soap mw2 #john mactavish #johnny mactavish

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deceptive-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Five - Cold Eggs

W/C: 6K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety attack, mentions of drinking

Some early morning honesty on the rocks. Eddie is fucked. In every sense other than literal.

A/N: I'm getting giddy over these two please tell me yall feel the same

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The Munson bachelor pad wasn’t as boyish and messy as you initially thought. You were sober enough to make that observation. It was cozy, much like your own home and was around the same size. The kitchen was probably the messiest part of it however you didn’t get a peek at the bedroom which you assumed could also be very disheveled. There were cereal boxes left open on the counter, Cocoa Pebbles being the one that caught your eye along with a neglected box of Rice Krispies that laid on its side.

A few too many pots and pans cluttered the stove top and some empty cans of soup and Spaghettios were left to collect dust near the sink. His refrigerator held a collection of magnets, some being letters from the alphabet, although quite a few were missing, and others were ads from a pizza place and a few fruits and vegetables with cartoony faces. Among the mess on the counters, you also noted a few empty liters of soda and some crushed beer cans. Budweiser to be specific.

Other than that, the living room you’d been sitting in was tidy. There was a clearly used checkered blanket bunched up on the corner of the couch you’d been occupying for the past several minutes and a few car catalogs littering the coffee table along with a copy of Lord of the Rings, bookmarked with a coupon for ground beef clipped from the local ads. Next to that, an ash tray nearly overflowed.

His wallpaper wasn’t as ugly as yours, which you envied. It was maroon with even darker stripes alternating, creating a dark but homey atmosphere. The wall sconces on the other hand, we’re tacky. They looked more medieval than anything, almost like torches. The light wood floors contrasted with the walls and at your feet was a frayed rug that looked like it had seen better days. Not dirty, just tattered.

In the corner sat an acoustic guitar painted with the words ‘this machine slays dragons’ and next to it was an electric guitar, red with cracks of black. You’d never seen one like it before and it seemed to be well loved from what you’d heard every day, the endless guitar solos bleeding into your eardrums daily. At least he was getting his money's worth out of it.

You continued eyeing your surroundings, taking in the habitat that was Eddie Munson’s home when your gaze lands on a particular object that piqued your interest. It sat atop a shelf near the door, a lonely Garfield mug.

Before you could further examine the mug or even think of reasons as to why it was displayed, if it was even displayed, or perhaps it was abandoned in a hurry out the door, Eddie emerges from the bathroom just off the living room. His curls are now wet ringlets toward the bottom, and instead of wearing your puke, he wears a red sweatshirt that reads ‘Indianapolis, Indiana’ on the front along with some baggy black sweats. Despite his comfy clothes, his face is still decorated with that grouchy frown you’d grown used to. Did this man ever relax his face? His eyebrows were still pinched together either in thought or in irritation.

“I-um, I’ll wash the shirt and um the–the boots.” You stutter, rapidly standing from your perch at the edge of his couch.

Though still a little tipsy, more coherent thoughts flooded your mind. Guilt plagued you as you thought about the blanket of barf that coated his shirt and boots about a half hour earlier, abandoned on the front porch. You were smart enough to avert your gaze when he lifted his shirt off of his torso just to let it wrinkle up on the wood planks to be dealt with later. It wasn’t your fault that you’d caught a glimpse of the tattoos that adorned his body, some kind of dragon if you remember correctly, wound from his waist up to his ribs. The others you didn’t have long enough to distinguish their imagery, though there were several along with what appeared to be some scarring of some kind. You couldn’t be sure, the darkness from the night not allowing you a clear picture along with your hazy mental state.

“Don’t worry about it.” He dismisses while you bashfully sit back down on the edge of the couch.

It was hard to grasp whether he was pissed at you or just at life in general. You would take full responsibility for the vomit but everything before that was on him. Yelling at you over a pile of broken plates seemed far more degrading based on his tone, the way he reprimanded you and painted you as this stupid girl, unable to stand your ground. Maybe it was better that he fired you, you wouldn’t be subject to his obnoxious mood swings where he seemed to take everything out on you when shit hit the fan.

You continued watching Eddie move about his surroundings, taking in how he interacted with his day to day environment. What did he look like fully relaxed? Lounging around, playing his guitar without a care in the world. It was difficult to picture; the image of a moody man with a tensed facial expression the only one you could seem to conjure up every time rather than the vision of him with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, enjoying coffee out of that stupid Garfield mug. You wonder if takes his coffee with cream and sugar. Maybe just cream? Or just sugar? Maybe he drinks it black, that would be the most sensible option if you were going by his grouchy nature.

“Gonna find my keys, then we’ll go back to the bar to get yours.” Eddie decides, shuffling through some items on the kitchen counter.

The irony.

Agreeing with a hum, you allow yourself to lean further into the couch while trailing your finger over the faded plaid pattern, lines of beige crossing over white that temporarily held your focus. The clinking of empty beer cans against the linoleum counter can be heard, and then footsteps into the bedroom just off the living room to your left. Two idiots with misplaced keys under the same roof.

It feels as if the couch begins to mold around you, welcoming you into its springy cushions that otherwise wouldn’t be very comfortable but considering the night you had and the state you were in, you felt like you were on a cloud. Your thoughts drift back to curious visions of Eddie. What did his hair look like first thing in the morning? Was it as wild as you imagined? Curls sticking up every which way, frizzy and matted? Or was it somehow still perfectly messy? Boyishly messy.

Did he take those chunky rings off every night, leaving them on his nightstand until the morning? How many more tattoos did he have? What movies did he watch? What did he do for fun? You suppose plucking at his guitars was a main contender with the way it would constantly invade your ears. Obviously he read, your eyes catching that copy of Lord of the Rings on the coffee table again. Maybe he worked on cars too, based on those car part catalogs.

The image of him working under the hood of a car, all sweaty in some kind of tank top occupied your brain, his usually tense face hard at work with grease smeared along his cheek. And his hands. His hands would be coated in oil and he’d pull a rag out from his back pocket to wipe them off. Then he’d smile and reveal those deep dimples framing his face so perfectly. And then you would–

“Uh, Bambi?”

Eddie’s voice doesn’t do much other than cause you to stir in your sleep, snuggling a pillow while curling into yourself. You were nearly drooling, completely content. He couldn’t help but stare a little longer than necessary before realizing what a creep he was being. Was he supposed to wake you? If he was, he felt wrong doing so with how peaceful you looked. He rolled his eyes but truthfully, he didn’t mind having a guest for the night.

Maybe he’d be able to get some sleep for once.

–

Tossing around as the springs beneath you squeak, your mouth feels like it had previously been filled with sand. Not an ounce of saliva coated your tongue, you were severely dehydrated. You flung the knitted blanket that had rested on top of you off–when did that get there? You don’t remember grabbing a blanket before drifting off into a deep slumber.

This wasn’t even your house.

Collecting your thoughts, you recall that you had been sitting on Eddie Munson’s couch before apparently falling asleep. It was still dark outside, signifying that it had to be early in the morning which meant you’d only slept for maybe two or so hours. A lamp set atop a beat up side table in the corner was the only thing illuminating the room now. Sitting up and stretching, your bones ached from the way they were piled on top of each other in the position you had been sleeping in. Your right arm had pins and needles running up and down it from being cut off from circulation for so long.

The groan that threatened to escape you was held in your throat as you scooted forward, only to find a full glass of water right there on the coffee table. This was beyond embarrassing, this was humiliating. If you could scurry out the door and across the yard back to your place you would, but you were in this predicament due to your own negligence.

With no other options available to you, you gulp down the lukewarm water, just grateful that your tongue was no longer dryer than the Sahara desert. But it still wasn’t enough. Your thirst seemed unquenchable, at this rate you’d need approximately five more glasses. So you stood yourself up, legs shaky and stomach a tiny bit queasy, and wobbled over to the kitchen. You’d have to pace yourself to avoid throwing up a bunch of water since your stomach was so sensitive right now. Food was out of the question but water was a necessity.

Twisting the sink handle with a small screech of the metal, you fill the glass with a shaky and weak arm before sipping away.

Slowly. You remind yourself.

It must have taken around eight minutes to finish that second glass of water, coaching yourself through it the entire time. You grew tired of drinking it but persisted anyway. As you reach to fill a third glass, you’re startled by a figure in the doorway to Eddie’s room, unable to make out any features in the dim lighting. With a yelp, you manage to drop the glass in the sink, it clanking around noisily but thankfully, not breaking.

“Shit, why are you awake?” Eddie asks, hands raised in surrender as he emerges from the shadows.

“Why are you awake?” You counter.

He raises a brow, clearly wide awake. He didn’t even have that gravelly, sleepy voice. Maybe he hadn’t even gone to sleep at all. There was no evidence that his hair was any frizzier than before and his face didn’t have that puffiness to it when you wake up. It’s also possible that he just looked perfect when he woke up but if you’re being honest, no one really woke up perfect.

“I, uh, I was reading.” He admits, scratching the back of his head.

“Oh.”

An awkward silence trickles in, causing you to cross your arms as a means to close in on yourself, steadily backing up until you hit the counter behind you. Eddie maintains eye contact with you as he retrieves his own cup from one of the cabinets, filling it up and chugging it down with ease. You suddenly feel so out of place, like you were supposed to leave but there was nowhere else to go.

“I, um, I’m sorry for…for the puke. A-and for falling asleep. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You tell him honestly.

He only nods.

“I can go…sit on my porch until you go into the bar. And I’ll get my keys and be out of your hair.”

A few drops of water roll down his chin as he continues drinking, the back of his hand coming up to swipe the liquid away. He appears to be lost in thought, eyes concentrated on the counter in front of him where a few rogue Rice Krispies live. You let your legs carry you a few feet away, your goal being the front door until he speaks up again.

“I’m not gonna be responsible if you get eaten out there.” He grumbles.

“Eaten?”

Eddie looks you up and down as if to say ‘are you serious?’. To be completely honest, you hadn’t taken into account the wildlife that thrived throughout the area before you moved in. Now you were looking more and more dumb by the minute.

“Bears?” He offers an anxious head tilt. “We have fucking bears here, Bambi. You can’t just wander around in the middle of the night.”

“I wouldn’t be wandering.” Why were you trying to make an argument? Out of all the things you could fight him on, why were you choosing whether or not you’d get eaten by a bear? “I would be sitting on my porch.”

You felt like the dumbest woman on the planet and you knew you should’ve stopped talking but the words just…came out.

“Bears can reach your fucking porch, you know that, right?”

His large eyes bored into you in disbelief, his mouth slightly hung open as he awaited your answer.

“Y-yeah.” You gulp.

“God.” He scoffs, turning away from you, perplexed before muttering something under his breath that you happened to also catch. “Christ, they shoulda turned you away.”

“Who?” You pipe up, feeling a bit daring.

For a moment, he turns to stare at you blankly. It’s almost as if you’re the only two people awake and if either of you happened to raise your voice in the slightest, it would awaken the town.

“The assholes that sold you that house.” He just about whines, his voice an octave higher, frustration obvious in his tone.

The refrigerator light briefly appears over the blue and green tiled floor as Eddie opens it, reaching for something before turning around toward the stove and kicking the door shut.

“What–what do you mean? Turn me away? What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask in offense.

“I mean…” He cracks an egg into a pan, followed by another. “They shouldn’t have sold it to someone so clueless.” Another egg.

The shells are discarded in the sink, further cracking into smaller pieces at the impact he’d thrown them.

“What? Were they just supposed to reject me until someone more ‘qualified’ came along?” You try to catch his gaze, ducking your head as he reaches for the salt and pepper. “And–are you seriously making eggs right now?”

You earn a scowl from him as his pan begins to sizzle, his hand quick to grab a spatula from one of the pots on the stove to flip the eggs. This had to have been some weird dream or manifestation. And there they were again, those three numbers falling from his lips in a whisper as his eyes shut temporarily while his eggs simmered.

“I was already qualified before you came along!” He raises his voice, not quite to a yell but not very quiet either.

Silence.

Your eyes must have bulged out of your head, Eddie’s features softening by the second. Regret settled in his eyes, your face the vision of pure horror and all because of him.

He got impatient.

His therapist would be disappointed in him. And so would Wayne.

“I-I just…I was going to, um…” He starts calmly. “I was gonna buy it. And, and I was—” His breathing is now shallow, his eyes wet and pleading. “It–it was–I don’t–”

“Eddie.” You whisper, trying to break through whatever trance he was in.

He seemed stuck in his own head, eyes darting back and forth while he struggled to find words. The eggs were on the verge of burning which prompted you to reach over him and turn the stove off. The spatula he previously held clung against the tile.

“I-I–um, I was–”

It’s as if he isn’t even in the room, totally removed as the same few syllables fell from his tongue.

“I’m–I-I–”

“Eddie, it’s okay.” You attempt to soothe him. “Do you wanna sit down?” You ask, trying to catch his eyes but failing as he squeezes them shut.

Again with the counting.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

All under his shaky breath.

“I-I’m fine. ‘M fine.” His voice cracks, eyes opening timidly.

When you go to rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, he flinches, a gasp leaving his lungs. Forcing yourself a few steps backward in order to provide him the space he needs, you recognize a hint of fear within him. It’s not of you, it’s something else yanking at his thoughts.

“Sit down, let’s sit down, okay?” You instruct, gradually lower yourself, waiting for him to follow your actions.

Nodding, he slowly slides his back down the side of the counter, falling into a position where his knees were to his chest, hands resting against the floor. You join him, still keeping your distance but wanting him to know that despite the previous tension, you were being supportive through his episode. Whatever it may be.

“Breathe.” You tell him, just as he had done with you back at the bar. “In…and out.” You encourage him.

He follows, his breathing still labored but improving. Continuing for a minute or so, his shoulders finally loosen up, his face relaxing. You let him guide the situation from here, if he wanted to talk or remain mute. Either was okay.

Moments pass, the hard kitchen floor causing you discomfort that you willingly take, not daring to shift around too much as to keep the tranquility finally falling over the two of you. Instead, you take interest in the wood grain of the cabinets, eyes wandering around each curve like a maze, sometimes identifying shapes along the way. A dog’s face, a ghost, and occasionally the haunting silhouette of a human.

Sneaking a glance at Eddie, you find that his eyes are shut as he rests his head against the cabinet behind him, his hands fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie, tying little knots and then undoing them just to repeat the process. Your watch indicates that it’s 4:03 AM. You would usually be sleeping however you can’t really offer yourself much sympathy when it seems this is the norm for Eddie. He always had tired eyes though you’d never put much thought into it until now. He must not be sleeping. Which could also be a contribution to his moodiness.

“I’m gonna lose the bar.” Eddie speaks up from beside you, eyes still shut as he continues to fidget.

“Hm?” You turn your full attention to him.

There’s a pause, a moment of thinking. You can tell as he opens his eyes and side-eyes you, not with malice but more so to collect his thoughts. Lips pinched in between his teeth roughly, you could almost wince at the way blood surfaces from the poor abused skin. Not too obvious, but obvious enough as you await clarification, the tiniest bit of crimson seeping out from behind his teeth only to be left to dry out on his perfectly shaped lips. Then he breaks the silence with a heavy exhale.

“I, uh, I’m pretty close to losing it. Can barely pay the bills on the damn place. Been going downhill for a few months now.” He elaborates, spinning a ring around his finger repeatedly . “I was gonna use the rest of my savings that my grandpa left me to buy that house. Rent it out. I talked to a friend who’s really good with all that financial shit and he said I could get a steady income and most likely keep the bar running and profiting again.”

“Oh.” You whisper, a huge sensation of guilt overtaking you.

“Not your fault.” He sighs. “Guess I’ve been kinda taking it out on you.”

Now he avoids your gaze, far more interested in the cracked tile beneath him. A curse can be made out from just under his breath while he buries his head in his hands, running them up and down his face, almost as if to relieve some of his stress but having no such luck. His admission catches you off guard, not at all suspecting that this morning would turn into honesty hour.

“No.” You reply quickly. “I mean…yes. But I-I didn’t know. If I knew–”

“Don’t give yourself a stroke, Bambi.” He cuts you off, turning to look at you. “I’m not proud of how dick-ish I’ve been. It’s nothing personal though.” Eddie confesses, seemingly annoyed with himself.

Sincerity floods his eyes, a cry for help. But how were you supposed to help him? Before you can muster up some kind of response to his almost-apology, he continues.

“I-uh, I just can’t lose this bar. I inherited it from my grandpa and he had been running it for…years.” Behind his persistence, there’s hints of defeat. A bitterness that you’d come to recognize in the last few weeks. “And, uh, I didn’t know ‘im for very long but, I kinda feel like it’s my responsibility.”

“Didn’t know him for very long?” You asked before even calculating the consequences. You had no right to pry into his personal life.

His hands begin to move up and down his shins, a self-soothing gesture from what you can tell. Eddie was very fidgety, and you’d only just started noticing.

“Yeah.” He whispers. “I moved here like four years ago. Some bad shit happened back home and I–” There’s a moment of hesitation, a sudden panic lurking behind his gaze. “I can’t go back.”

You want so badly to ask him where ‘home’ used to be but decide against it. He had already willingly offered you more information than you would have originally been brave enough to ask for.

“Anyway, I never really knew my grandpa until I came here to live with him. He died last year. I’ve been trying to keep things afloat since then.” He explains, pinching the bridge of his nose with a shaky hand.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know.”

Genuine sympathy drips from your voice, the kind that felt like hot honey running down a sore throat during flu season. During the moment it feels…good. Comforting. In the way that only his mother ever was in the brief time they had together. And then the sting returns.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” The walls are rapidly raised once again and god knows when you would get to peek through the cracks again. “We should, uh, we should get to the bar so you can get your keys. And your car.” He suggests, pulling himself up from the floor with a groan.

“Wait–what about your eggs?” You mention, gripping the edge of the counter for leverage as you stand.

The eggs were long forgotten about, now all sad and cold in the pan. Unappetizing. One of the yolks had somehow broken among the commotion of Eddie’s panic and left a disgusting coating around the gaps, that eggy-wet-dog smell nauseating you. They were trash in all honesty but Eddie didn’t seem to mind, quickly lifting the pan and grabbing a fork to shovel them into his mouth.

You can’t fight the urge to stare, cold eggs and runny yolks being tossed into his mouth without a second thought.

“What?” He glances at you in irritation.

“You could’ve at least heated them up.” You complain, nose crinkled in revolt.

He rolls his eyes but his annoyance quickly melts away, a fraction of a playful smirk pulling at his lips, eyes gleaming with something captivating.

–

The scent of tobacco and motor oil invades your nose, the smells of Eddie’s truck, much different than the little pine tree air freshener in the car he’d driven you in last night. The engine rumbles down the road, startling the birds as he drives by. Some kind of guitar riff blares through the radio, his ringed fingers tapping along against the steering wheel. Instead of his sweatshirt and sweatpants, he now wears a long sleeve covered with his leather jacket along with some ripped up blue jeans. As far as you’re concerned, he’s way underdressed for the brisk morning air, only getting colder and colder by the day. Though, he may run hot and the drop in temperature just doesn’t faze him. Even so, it’d make you feel better if he at least put on a heavier coat.

Regardless, you can’t seem to control the shivers that rattle your body, your teeth nearly chattering, jaw clenched tightly. You were mentally scolding drunk-you for forgetting your jacket at the bar and though you were on your way there now, it didn’t do you any good with the way you were practically an ice cube. It was apparent that the heater of Eddie’s truck wasn’t very efficient as the air coming out was slightly warm but not warm enough to relieve the cold nipping at the exposed skin of your arms. You could see your breath, only further reminding you of how cold you truly were.

Attention was the last thing you wanted as you subtly moved your hands that rested politely in your lap, up your arms to offer the tiniest bit of skin-on-skin warmth. Any kind of relief would do. You only hoped he wouldn’t notice as you began to move your hands back and forth as a means to create some friction, more heat.

Buy a large, fuzzy, soft coat, ASAP. You note to yourself.

As a distraction, you begin to identify objects within the truck, a solo game of ‘I spy’ if you will. At your feet, there’s a small crate of cassette tapes. An impressive collection, mainly metal and rock from what you can see. Maybe a few folksy ones behind those based on the labels, John Denver being the one that stood out to you. Then, another car parts catalog on top of the dash. An empty can of Dr. Pepper in the cup holder. Or what you assume to be empty. A definitely empty cigarette carton abandoned in the other cup holder–

“Shit, here.” Eddie says, reaching behind into the back seat only to magically pull out a denim jacket covered in several patches and pins.

Evidently, you weren’t playing it as cool as you thought, clearly somehow exposing that you were in fact freezing. He showed no emotion as he urged the jacket into your reach, eyes still focused on the road. Your hesitation only had him pushing the denim into your hand, wordlessly cautioning you that he wouldn’t have your modesty or insistence that you were fine. Clutching the rough fabric in your hand, you pause to stare at him, as if he was going to change his mind any second. He doesn’t. Only keeps his eyes forward, brows furrowed in that grumpy manner.

His nose is pink again and you were willing to bet that the tips of his ears matched if they hadn’t been hidden by his wild hair. Even his cheeks were dusted with the lightest rosy shade. Fall looked good on him. You couldn’t even imagine how amazing Summer would look on him.

Quickly, you undo your seatbelt and shrug the jacket on. It’s cold from living in the truck all night but warms you up regardless, much cozier than your bare arms out in the open. And it smells like Eddie, a smell you can’t quite pinpoint to one specific thing. A little bit like cigarettes, maybe a hint of cologne, spicy but not overpowering, and a whiff of rubber. It almost smelled like a garage.

The sun was just rising on the horizon, the lake coming into view perfectly as if to put on a show. Hues of orange painted the sky, birds chirping and squawking as they announced the arrival of a new day. An apricot dream accompanied by peachy tones.

–

The Bourbon was a shell of itself at 5:00 AM. The morning was bright and early though the bar wasn’t ready to awaken just yet, not until the evening when it thrived. Until then, it slept peacefully throughout the day, forgotten about until Happy Hour. Ribbons of light snuck in through the blinds, illuminating the smallest sections of the tables and the floorboards.

The lights quickly took over that magical early morning feel as Eddie emerged next to you, hands tucked into his pockets while you scanned the room. And there they were, your keys. Sat right on top of the bar just as you had remembered. Your jacket, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Bummer.

You could’ve sworn you grabbed it from the back lockers before you declared war on Eddie last night. It wasn’t there either, your locker devoid of your belongings other than a pad of paper and a pen.

“Have you seen my jacket?” You ask Eddie, checking the barstools just to be safe. Nothing.

He had slipped right back into work mode, even at the crack of dawn. You suppose it's fair though, the information he had shared with you in the quietest hours of the morning resonating in your mind. Work never stopped for him.

“Hm? No, I haven’t seen it.” He answers, collecting the dirty rags from their designated bin behind the bar to start them up in the wash.

With a soft pout, you trace your steps in your head but can’t seem to recall where you’d left it, your brain failing you. Maybe it would eventually pop up again, it wasn’t anything special anyway. It just happened to be one of the heaviest jackets you owned so you would have to remember to stop by one of the shops to search for something equivalent. Beginning to pull your arm out of the sleeve of the jacket you currently wore, Eddie’s voice stops you.

“Just–keep it ‘til you find yours.” He says. Like he knew.

Were you that obvious? Girl moves to a random town miles and miles away from home only to be unprepared for the weather conditions in which you would think she would be aware of before committing.

“No, it’s–”

You immediately shut up when you see his expression, something that says ‘for the love of god, just listen’ with glaring eyes and furrowed brows. Instead of fighting him on it, you offer your gratitude in the form of labor.

“Um, I could stick around…and help. If you need.”

Your words float in the air, so delicate it makes him want to vomit; not out of disgust but out of confusion for whatever feeling was swirling around in his head, making him dizzy. Each word was too sweet, cavity inducing sweetness that he wanted to lick up like icing. He wasn’t used to being presented with such regard, a candied offer delivered right from your pretty lips to his ears.

“If I still have a job.” You add. Sugary syllables pouring from your lips unintentionally. He may have a heart attack from the amount of sugar.

Eddie collects himself, clears his throat as if to also clear his conscience, not succeeding. You’re so unlike everything that he knows. He knows of friendly conversation and boyish banter, endless nights followed by endless days without sleep, he knows of his shitty attitude that comes around more often than not, but he’s never been one to know pure kindness, a certain tenderness radiating from you and seeping into him. Sure people are kind to him, especially here. But you’re something else.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘course you have a job.” He affirms.

The small smile you grace him with makes him want to jump off of a bridge. Because he is such a cruel being, such a monstrous man awaiting further punishment from the universe for being much less than gentle with such a sweet-tempered, sympathetic human that may even be a gift from god himself if Eddie believed in all that.

And then Chrissy crossed his mind. He could not endure another loss. Chrissy was never even his but he used to mourn what could have been had she lived. Perhaps she was his first love. A miserable little middle schooler pining after Hawkin’s Sweetheart all the way up until highschool. And the moment he got close enough, she was gone, right in front of his poor traumatized eyes. It was enough for him to swear off love for good.

For some reason he was finding himself wanting to dial back on that promise. He had only known you for around two weeks and was going back on his own word. It was freaking him out, making him want to yank his hair out from the roots and collapse onto the floor. He felt like a teenage boy again, going through puberty and trying to work out all of his jumbled feelings and hormones.

You were staring at him expectantly and it was only then that he realized he had been lost in thought. A pool of thoughts actually. Maybe even having a revelation?

“You can uh…” He clears his throat, nearly hacking up a lung. “You haven’t…you haven’t eaten, have you?”

Internally, he’s scolding himself.

You’re gonna get hurt before you can even get close. People are not meant to love you, Munson. It’s been proven time and time again. Quit while you’re ahead.

He was too far ahead anyway. Would he ever learn his lesson?

People are not meant to love you.

“No.” You answer sheepishly. “But I-I’m fine!” You try to say convincingly. The reality was that your stomach was swallowing itself, the fact that your dinner had been four tequila shots was not favoring you.

“Bambi.” Eddie says sternly.

God she’s gorgeous.

He was fucked.

“Okay…fine. I haven’t eaten.” You admit. “But I can help out a little and then–”

“C’mon.” He demands, abandoning the bin of dirty rags to head for the kitchen.

And on the way, he reasons with himself as you follow.

Just be friendly. There’s nothing wrong with being friendly. We can be friends. Stop scaring the shit out of yourself. She wouldn’t even like you beyond that. No one would.

“So, what are you feelin’?” He asks, knocking his knuckles against the metal worktop.

“Oh, I-I don’t know. Whatever is easiest. You know what, I can just go get something from one of the shops, I’m sure that little pancake place is open by now.”

“You don’t trust my cooking?” He jokes, amusement written all over his face.

To be fair, he hadn’t given you much reason to trust him since you arrived. But somehow, layers were starting to peel back and you were getting the tiniest glimpses of his true self. And you’d be stupid not to indulge when he had practically propped the door to his mind right open. At least for the time being.

“Should I?” There’s a huge grin on your face, a stupid grin that you try to conceal but can’t. “I dunno, you kind of have me wondering if you’re gonna spit in my food or something.” You quip.

“Ouch.” Eddie feigns hurt by bringing a hand to his chest. “You think I’m that scummy?” He asks, raising his brow playfully.

“Oh, the scummiest.” You banter back.

“You’re breakin’ my heart Bambi.” He frowns before disappearing into the walk-in freezer, discarding his leather jacket on a hook on his way.

Truth be told he was breaking yours too, with his handsome face and his dumb smile, deep dimples you could think about for hours, and those eyes. They told a story, a tragic story that maybe he would never care to share. And that’s what broke your heart. Suffering in silence. You knew that feeling all too well.

“By the way…” Eddie shouts from the freezer before appearing once again. “I’m Eddie.” He sticks his hand out toward you, two eggs held in his free hand.

You look up at him, bewildered.

“I never asked for your name.” He reminds you with a shit-eating grin.

The Eddie you met weeks ago was gone as far as you were concerned. All within a few hours, he seemed to warm up to you.

The scary dog was rolling over…for you.

~end~

Masterlist

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiemunson95 @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson angst #eddie munson au #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things au #stranger things fic

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! It's me again 😅

I wanted to ask if you could write something about Steven with a blind girlfriend again. They haven't dated for too long, so one day she asks him if she could touch his face so she can like know what he looks like, and at first, he's a bit insecure thinking that she might think he's not beautiful enough, but then realized that she has a huge smile on her face while she touches him very delicately, and then he starts smiling like an idiot, and they just fall more for the other. And at the end, she tells him that he's so beautiful and handsome, so he can't help but blush and get nervous trying to tell her that he's not, but she convinces him with so many kisses💖💖

hii angel!! this is super cute! thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌 @thewinterv

touch

Steven Grant x f reader

wc || 0.5k

warnings || none, just fluff

masterlist + rules

taglist

As someone who is blind, by nature, you heavily rely on your other senses to navigate the world. The most prominent of the four, touch.

Even though you were not able to see, you still found ways to feel grateful for all the other things in life, one of those things being your adorably sweet new boyfriend Steven Grant. You had only been dating him for the last couple of months, but there was just something so special and sincere about him that made you feel as though you’ve known him a lifetime. He was unlike any guy you’ve met before, one that was deeply compassionate and kind, one that was understanding and loyal.

With Steven you felt like you could do or say anything without the possibility of feeling judged, so today when you pondered the idea of his appearance, you felt as though it was safe to do so.

“Hey, Steven?” You ask, sitting up from the sofa to gaze in his general direction.

“Yeah, poppet?” He replies sweetly, placing his book on the desk and spinning around in his chair.

“I have a question.” You start, a smile spreading.

“A question?” He playfully responds, emphasising.

“Indeed.” You return, copying his tone.

He grins, scooting his chair towards you. “Go on.”

“Can I touch your face?”

“My face? You want to touch it?” He stutters in reply, his tone slightly awkward.

“Yeah— yeah, you know… so I can feel what you look like.” You respond, now somewhat uncertain with your question.

“You’re not gonna go thinking I’m ugly or something?” He chuckles, poorly hiding his discomfort.

“No. God, no. Steven, I wouldn’t dream of it.” You comfort, trying your hardest to reassure him.

He scoots along the cluttered hardwood, rolling his desk chair over to you. Gently picking up your hands, he holds them to his face, closing his eyes as he leans his head towards you. Slowly guiding your hands over his soft face, tracing over his eyebrows and brushing through the fluffy hairs. Your smile widens as you trail a finger over the bridge of his nose, feeling around. Whispering. “You have such a pretty nose.” Guiding your thumb over the outline of his lips, delicately tracing around the soft flesh.

“What?” You ask, hearing a soft muffled chuckle. “I don’t know… just you.” His own grin spreads as his eyes dart over your face, watching every slight reaction across your sweet features.

Playfully squishing his face together with a widespread smile. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I’m really not.” He mumbles, chuckling as he coyly tilts his head away.

Aligning his face back to you, gently shaking it to empathise your words. “So very handsome.” Leaning in, you pepper his face in short tender kisses, kissing all of the parts you thought were beautiful. “You’re so pretty Steven.”

You could tell by his lack of speech that he was processing your sweet words, thinking of ways to respond to the foreign feeling of being complimented. Whoever made him feel like he was otherwise, gave you great amounts of determination to convince him into believing he was handsome. You didn’t care how many times you had to repeat yourself, but you would do it for as long as he started to believe it himself.

#steven grant #steven grant fluff #steven grant x you #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant imagine #steven grant drabble #moon knight #marvel

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angelicadamposting · 5 months ago

Text

Eva Lean ཐི♡ཋྀ | (Ex?)Third Wife of Adam

art credit to nattycat08 on tumblr & insta @nattycat08

Basic Info

Real Name: Evangeline (Formerly Evangeline-Juliette Antionette de France) Preferred Name: Eva Lean (Lean as in the purple drink) Species: Sheep/Goat Sinner / Fallen Angel (Formerly Angel / Divine Soul) (Also Formerly Human) Sin: Blasphemy Physical Age: 22 Birth Date: November 26, 1780 Death Year: 1802 Cause Of Death: Yellow Fever Height: 4'11 ft or 150 cm MBTI: INTJ Gender & Pronouns: She/Her - Ciswoman Sexuality: Bisexual (closeted most of her life/afterlife or unaware) Romantic Interest(s): Adam <3, Sir Pentious, Lucifer (there’s Val somewhere in there too but not really)

Short Facts

Adopted Daughter of Marie Antionette

Princess Complex

Religious in life before dying alone

Married Adam in heaven

Was close friends with Lute

Used to share a sisterly relationship with Emily

Is Best Friend's With Angel Dust

Capable of playing the piano

Spent 200 years in heaven before falling

Reacted Negatively to the Exterminations, leading to her fall

Sold her soul to Valentino, working for him as a porn star

Doesn’t get along with/argues/bickers with Lucifer

Hides / Tries to hide the fact she’s a fallen angel from as many sinners as possible. (initially, only Valentino is aware due to her selling her soul to him + the exposing work she does reveals her scars to him.)

Valentino insists her scars be edited out, the camera angles avoid showing them as often, or that her hair cover them in all the content she’s featured in.

Likes♡

Reading

Sweets

Marijuana

Drinking / Getting High

Bread

Club Dancing

Ballroom Dancing

Shopping

Helping/Supporting Others

Cooking (Despite Failing)

Music (Listening or Playing Piano + Singing)

Fashion

Receiving Gifts

Dislikes ‹/𝟹

Being Kept in the Dark/Lied To

Senseless Violence (depends)

Being Alone

Surprises

Silence

Spicy or even just Unfamiliar Foods

Being Belittled or Disrespected

Cemeteries

‘Ugly people’ - Adam

Clutter

Being Woken Up Early

Personality Traits

Positive – Adaptable, Charismatic, Affectionate, Charming, Confident, Curious, Flirtatious, Nurturing, Intelligent, Observant, Kind, Playful, Sentimental, Witty, Sophisticated, Spontaneous, Passionate, Outgoing, Un-Selfish,

Negative – Addictive, Catty, Compulsive, Cocky, Often Cowardly, Cynical, Dishonest, Extravagant, Gluttonous, Frivolous, Fussy, Haughty, Impulsive, Jealous, Materialistic, Paranoid, Pessimistic, Rebelliously obedient, Reckless, Sleazy/Promiscuous, Self Destructive, Self Indulgent, Spoiled, Temperamental,

Semi Detailed Facts

Once her birth mother, who worked for the French royal family, passed away, she and her sister were adopted by Queen Marie Antionette & King Louis VXI

Despite never gaining a royal title, she developed somewhat of a ‘Princess Complex,’

Raised very religious, studying the bible and any religious scripture she could from the moment she was taught to read.

Never knew her sexuality in life, unaware and afraid to explore it. Only really realized she was bisexual after her fall from Heaven.

Died of yellow fever, with no suitors or children of her own. Nothing but her birth sister, and her love for God.

She married Adam, becoming his third wife, when in Heaven. Spending 200 years with him before her fall.

Cast from Heaven for referring to God as a 'pompous, overzealous, self-centered ass' for allowing the exterminations to occur in the first place. (Speaking Blasphemy)

Valentino was one of the first people she met once in hell, aside from other sinners she would party with. She sold her soul to him shortly after her fall, becoming a pornstar for him and revealing her past to only him.

She hides the fact she’s a fallen angel

Generally (& only initially) dislikes Lucifer, keeping in mind how he ‘stole’ Lilith and Eve from Adam.

Backstory (before Heaven)

Evangeline was born as a peasant in France, and her parents each worked beneath King Louis VXI and Queen Marie Antionette. At a young age, Evangeline and her elder sister were chosen to become Marie's daughter's playmates. A common practice for nobles of the ra to find a commoner to befriend their child to socialize with them, however, the Queen chose to do this to teach her daughter empathy. After several years of spending day after day at the side of the Princess, her mother passed away. Stricken with responsibility and a heart bigger than the public knew, Marie Antionette adopted Evangeline and her elder sister. Quickly moving the two into the Palace of Versailles and giving each of them new names based on her favorite books, Evangeline now being called Juliette by her adopted mother based on 'Les Lettres de Juliette Catesby (1759)' by Marie Jeanne Riccoboni.

Despite being treated with the same maternal care and affection as Marie's biological daughter, Evangeline nor her elder sister were ever granted titles. Instead, the two were often referred to by others in the palace as 'the girls who always accompany Princess Marie-Therese.' This never bothered Evangeline, the young girl only thankful for the affection and opportunity within the palace. Her new mother gave her access to literature, teaching her to read as soon as possible, and teaching her daughter how to love books just as she did. It was at this time that Evangeline began to read the bible and learn other languages.

When the political unrest within France grew and the royal family attempted to flee, Evangeline and her sister were sent to the countryside to live with their biological father until the family returned shortly after failing the attempt. The unrest only grew, however, resulting in the Queen instructing another member of the French Court to take Evangeline and her sister to safety. The two living with the Mackau family during the height of the revolution and during their adopted parent's executions, their biological father shortly following in their footsteps due to his association with the King.

It wasn't until age 17 that Evangeline was released from legal guardianship, and permission to use the pension from her deceased adoptive parents as she wished. For the first time, the young woman was on her own in the world, and her name had been changed back to match that of her biological parents instead of the royal family. She moved to Saint-Denis in Paris to live close to her sister, the only person she even knew anymore.

For years, the young woman lived alone, unsure of what direction her life was meant to go in. Everything had been set up for her, prepared for her since she had been adopted. Things were always taken care of for her, a future decided for her even when she was under legal guardianship by the Mackau family. Near overnight everything changed, her whole life flipped upside down and every adult with a parental role in her eyes was gone. She spent her days reading, visiting with her neighbors, and feeding the strays while her sister began a family, at least being married off. It wasn't until 1802 when a group of soldiers traveled through her city, ones she just had to run into on the street, unknowingly spread yellow fever throughout Saint-Denis.

Early winter that year, Evangeline passed away in her home with no one but her faith and sister at her side. Without even a good story to tell, the young woman went to sleep to never wake up in the mortal realm again. However, she instead awoke before the pearly gates. She was greeted by St. Peter, who quickly checked his book to find her name, and brought through the gates quickly. Passing through the gates, Evangeline's senses were overloaded by the bright aura that emitted off the grand, beautiful structures softly sat atop the clouds. Almost causing her to miss the other angels themselves, as her eyes danced from billboard to fountain and so on.

Timeline In Hell (After The Fall)

2002: Arrival. She woke up alone in an alleyway, wingless and unfamiliar with both her sinner form and the world around her. Stumbling lost, missing her husband, and confused about what to do with herself. Seeking shelter, or a place to stay and coming up empty-handed for over a year. Leading the girl who had once lived within the palace walls of Versailles and in a lavish mansion in heaven to sleep on the streets longer than she’d ever anticipated for herself. From the moment she’d been adopted, this outcome was something she had never even allowed herself to consider.

2003: The end of Evangeline. After a year of nothing but sorrow and uncertainty, Evangeline began to indulge in some of Hell’s most popular pastimes. More particularly, the drug and party scene. Finding herself diving headfirst into a realm that she convinced herself she had to belong, and after a short passage of time- She did.

Mid-2003: The birth of Eva Lean. Despite the initial sin that led to her fall being only blasphemy, Evangeline became gluttonous and lustful. Spending every night going from club to club, bar to bar, and partaking in every substance she could- Leaning into a persona based on how she came to find out history had remembered her adoptive mother. “Let them eat cake!” She’d cheer, relishing as the center of attention beneath the flashing lights, booming music, and between the swaying bodies of the crowd. The overindulgence numbed her from the memories of Heaven, from Adam and Sera’s betrayal, and from God’s bullshit. It didn’t matter anymore if she had a place to call her own, or a regular roof over her head– She’d just crash at whatever bar she ended up in by the end of the night. She shed herself of the identity she’d held onto for her whole living life and the centuries she spent in heaven– renaming herself Eva Lean after a particular purple concoction she enjoyed more than she should.

2004: Selling her Soul. Eva didn’t realize that her reputation had begun to grow, word of a descendant of Marie Antionette going unhinged was hard to miss for someone like Valentino. He beckoned her to where he sat one evening in a club, and in her inebriated, curious state, she waltzed over to him. Plopping down on the couch beside him, waving the red smoke that wafted from his cigarette as he began to offer her an opportunity not fit for an angel. But she was a fallen angel and one without anything. Val ensured if she worked for him, and sold her soul to him– She’d have a roof over her head, protection during the yearly exterminations, and all the money she could want. Even if she had been sober, it was a choice with only one clear option.

Pilot: Finding the Hazbin Hotel/Hearing of it. It had been over 10 years since Eva began working for Valentino. Her name, face, and body spread across the internet of hell in a way unfit for a woman of God. Although, the scars on her back were regularly edited out of everything she starred in. It wasn’t always glamorous or enjoyable, the work or living conditions but she didn’t even know what else she would do by this point. Valentino wasn’t always harsh with her, in fact, the overlord showed an almost soft side with the fallen angel behind closed doors. Careful to avoid causing anyone else to think he was playing favorites, of course. Eva enjoyed, no– relished in his attention. Even if she knew and believed it to be a facade, a ploy to get her clothes off and comfortable enough to keep being an obedient employee and pet. His chain was heavy on her throat and only felt lighter when he turned his attention to Angel Dust after his arrival to hell. She worked alongside Angel Dust, obviously not in the same films, but nonetheless. The two grew a friendship, relating to one another. Eventually, Eva would hear all about it from Valentino whenever Angel Dust moved out and started staying at the Hazbin Hotel. And she soon asked her friend what the hotel was all about. The concept intrigued her, although she didn’t believe in it being passed by heaven. She knew she herself was incapable of redemption particularly, due to already falling, but it would be interesting to offer assistance. She could get some space from Valentino when he was particularly aggressive or clingy for lack of a better word. Her soul’s owner had grown excessively attentive after Angel’s choice to leave, and it was becoming suffocating. Eva decided to visit this Hazbin hotel, greeting Charlie and expressing her interest in not being redeemed herself, but rather assisting sinners to take a more righteous path. Despite not being quite what Charlie had anticipated, or hoped to hear from the lamb, she was happy to accept help with the cause.

During the Series: Eva moved into the Hazbin Hotel, resulting in a less-than-happy Valentino, gaining a similar reaction to when Angel Dust joined the Hotel- Though, much less severe in truth. (cont)

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loraluna · 1 year ago

Text

Rating Rune Factory Wedding Dresses (Because I have some opinions)

Rune Factory (1)

10/10

I honestly think this dress is top tier in terms of design. The snowy white with pops of color, the scalloped flowy sleeves, the barely exposed shoulders, that lovely subtle headdress and veil, it's all so pretty and elegant to me. I believe it suits all the girls in RF1 beautifully, though I do feel like Tabatha (center) and Rosetta (right) are standouts~

Rune Factory 2

6/10

It's a very lovely design overall though I do think it creates a bit of an odd silhouette. There are still many elements to appreciate, like the lacey detailed edges and the bold but uncommon use of green. I also give them bonus points for containing a dress sprite of he/him character Ray (right) in the game's data (Trans RF character confirmed?) I think the dress best suits curvier girls like Yue (left) but it's also a real treat to finally see Dorothy's (center) lovely eyes~

Rune Factory Frontier

2/10

This dress really doesn't do it for me. I can tell they were going for more of a ceremonial robes vibe rather than a traditional wedding dress and from a distance it almost works but the outfit up close is just bulky and unflattering. Maybe if they fixed the headdress or gave the robe some really pretty accents or beading it could work, but as it is, it's probably the last thing I'd wanna be virtually married in. The one thing I do like is that it gives most of the girls a unique updo for their wedding day.

Rune Factory 3/RF3 Special

3/10

This used to be my least favorite RF wedding dress before that honor went to Frontier. The more I look at it, the more I realize that most of my disdain lies with the headdress and not the dress itself. The actual dress is fine, in fact there are some parts I really like, the sheer material on the upper arms for one, or the shawl, I just don't think it particularly looks like a wedding dress. That headdress though...oh boy, it looks like someone just glued a bunch of random sh*t they found to a headband and called it a day. It's just very cluttered and doesn't scream 'wedding' at all. If I have to pick a stand out it would probably be Raven (center) since her pose and hair color hide many of the design fails. Also Daria (right) because it seems like the sort of chaotic outfit she, herself would design.

Rune Factory Tides of Destiny/Oceans

5/10

This game didn't get the usual character portraits so the images aren't great, but my opinion on these dresses was very so-so, I definitely wouldn't call them ugly, and I do love the colors and rare use of a real bouquet, they just didn't seem to stand out all that much. Especially in terms of RF costumes. They seem a little bulky on the models but I honestly think they could have fixed that by just having character portraits. Not bad. Not great. Just middle of the road dresses. As standouts I'd pick Sonja and Electra (left and center). Their hair colors complement the dress and Electra is already suited to the poofy ballgown look anyway.

Rune Factory 4/RF4 Special

8/10

RF4's dress has a very ethereal, almost fairy-like look to it, which I personally find very gorgeous. It's pretty busy like many of the previous dresses, but unlike those, I feel like the elements here actually work together. The long flowy veil and blue rose accents are just beautiful, as is the detailed corset and neckpiece making up the torso. I'm not personally a huge fan of the flower petal looking design on the hips, but it does fit well with the whole aesthetic. As for standouts, It looks tailor made for Frey (left), but I definitely think taller, long haired girls like Dolce and Margaret (center and right) look amazing in it as well.

Rune Factory 5

9/10

I think this dress is beautiful as a whole, a bit more traditional and subdued than previous wedding outfits but personally I love it. The silhouette is flattering on everyone and the color scheme is unique among the other dresses by sticking with only warmer colors as opposed to the cool blues and greens of past games. I also love how the tint of the roses changes slightly depending on who's wearing the dress. All in all it reminds me a lot of the subtle elegance of RF1's dress and that makes it a win for me. For standouts I think Fukka's (center) complexion and hair go beautifully with the dresses colors. Ludmilla (right) also looks divine with the rosy aesthetic~

What's your favorite wedding look from the RF series? Who wore it best? Comment or tag if you feel like dishing some opinions of your own (Or just answer my poll ;)

#rune factory #rune factory 2 #rune factory 3 #rune factory frontier #rune factory tides of destiny #rune factory oceans #rune factory 4 #rune factory 4 special #rune factory 3 special #rune factory 5

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gatitties · 2 years ago

Note

oo i'm glad that you do ! Then may i request him, Chifu, Baji ( seperated i guess ) with the Autistic ADHD reader thing ? Like reader is the Toman first division friend and also. Thank you

Secondly may i ask if requesting a similiar requests bothers you ?

─Ryusei, Chifuyu & Baji (separately) x autistic/adhd!reader

─Summary: your day to day with three big idiots and your little condition

─Warnings: none

Of course I don't mind, request whatever you want! ;)

Ryusei Satou

─ He probably met you while you were beating up some idiots who were bothering you.

─ You had many relaxation methods when your mind was overwhelmed in some situations, but that day you found your fists useful.

─ It's probably his fault that you're now in the first division of Toman, even if you don't like getting involved in physical fights at such a level, at least you had Ryusei covering your back.

─ He's not worried about your condition, they are just more reasons to play little jokes or make fun of you, if you have a habit of arranging objects in a certain position he will move them from one place just to annoy you.

─ Even though he brings you back to the real world when you start staying silent for too long, he knows it's not good to spend so much time lost in your mind.

─ Whenever he can, he makes jokes about your poor concentration.

─ He has one of these small sensory pieces on his key chain to lend you in case you feel too anxious or overloaded with the atmosphere of the place.

─ He likes to make fun of you because he's your friend, but if some other idiot with intent to offend you does it he'll beat them up before you know it.

─ He is the typical friend who will never show his feelings directly but who will always be there for whatever you need, instead of greeting you with a handshake or a hug, he hits you on the shoulder.

─ He will definitely laugh at you if you stumble on the street while your mind was wandering on different topics, also rest assured that he will have a folder full of videos of you saying a lot of nonsense in your moments of lucidity that make him cry with laughter.

Chifuyu Matsuno

─ You met him during classes, in his bully days, with his great pompadour.

─ He got mad at you because you simply commented out loud that his hair looked ugly like that, just your mouth ignoring your mind and letting your thoughts escape once more...

─ They punished you two for arguing in class and from there a beautiful friendship arose, he began to be your personal bully for those people who made fun of you for your condition, although he discovered that you didn't need anyone and offered you to join Toman with him.

─ He brings you back to your senses when you dissociate too much, he helps you most of the time with your concentration problems, he respects your little hobbies or routines a lot.

─ As if you needed to tidy up your desk a certain way and some idiot would mess it up to bother you (probably Ryusei) and he would rearrange it so you wouldn't be bothered by 'clutter'.

─ If you call at three in the morning because you just had a nervous breakdown or started to overthink a lot, Chifuyu will be there just five minutes later without hanging up the call.

─ If necessary he will call the reinforcements, that is, Peke J, to help you relax.

─ He will be patient when you can't express yourself correctly with words, don't stress about it, he can always find another way to understand you.

─ Which leads you both to create a small sign language that only both of you understand, can understand you with just a look, that and he began to notice your manias when you felt anxious or uncomfortable to get you out of the situation.

─ Type of friend you can count on for everything, good or bad, and with whom you spend more time in his house just for his pet.

Baji Keisuke

─ You were neighbors, at first he didn't like you because you seemed weird, but his mother forced him to hang out with you.

─ At first he was very hard on you, but as time went by the jokes or offensive comments decreased, he did a lot of research on your ADHD and how to deal with it, after all he had become fond of you.

─ He apologized for being an idiot, you forgave him because you were just children, although he continues to make fun of you, it's much more different.

─ Surely it was he who dragged you to be part of Toman, whether you like to fight or not, you were part of the first division next to him, you were also friends with Mikey so there was no discussion.

─ He'll definitely hit you with his rubber band when you start to disassociate, he'll slingshot it straight in your face, never misses.

─ You don't have enough with your intrusive thoughts and this idiot will drag you down the worst path to do all kinds of stupid things that float through your mind, he's like the devil on your shoulder.

─ He doesn't mind listening to how you ramble on different topics that you exchange from one minute to the next, twisting the conversation into a thousand other things.

─ Baji may not know how to write, but he is very astute when it comes to noticing things, he will get ofensive around other people if he notices your discomfort with them.

─ He will turn your house into a second 'sanctuary' for stray cats, you can't complain either because many times having kittens running around your room makes you relax, empty mind, only cute animals.

─ The typical friend who doesn't stop calling you 'bro' and makes you remember a specific greeting to greet you, although he won't say anything if you forget or change something in that handshake.

#tk #tokyo revenger x reader #tokyo revengers #reader insert #headcannons #ryusei satou #chifuyu #baji #ryusei #matsuno #keisuke #x reader #reader is not specified so...#fem reader #male reader #gn reader #sfw #adhd

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adobe-outdesign · 9 months ago

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I'm loving all the neopets posts, would you ever consider reviewing my not very popular favorite the ogrin?

Ogrin have a reputation for being an "ugly" Neopet, but in all honesty I don't really get why. I can get why they're not super popular, as they're not overly cute nor elegant, and they don't really have a distinct visual hook compared to some Neopets—but ugly? Not so much. There are a few things that could be tweaked, but I still like Ogrins as a whole.

Visually, they're kind of like an okapi of sorts, in that they're ungulate-like and have stripes only on the back part of their bodies. However, they also have a few unique features, such as having paws instead of hooves. I like this, as it makes for a more interesting creature design.

The body is broken up pretty well into three shades of the same color—darker accents for the fur, the base color, and tints for the face, underbelly, and paws. This helps with contrast and readability. I also feel like the stripes could've been the same color as the fur.

As a whole, the stripes are the one issue I have with the design—they feel a little cluttered in such a small space and they already have a lot going on with the rest of their bodies. They're interesting, but I feel like they would've looked a little stronger without them.

Ogrins were released not too terribly long before customization, so they look about the same other than the markings not quite reaching the tuft of fur on their cheeks in the customized version and a wider stance.

Favorite Colours:

Robot: Robot Ogrins have a really neat look, giving them an incredibly intense expression and some really slick plating over their bodies. I do think they're a smidge too detailed—the weird blades on their forearms, extra lights on the tail and haunch, and head light could've all been dropped—but it's still neat looking. I do wish it had a mane-like structure on it though, as it doesn't read much like an Ogrin without it.

The uncased version is also interesting, with fun spring-like horns and a neat looking jaw. However, it doesn't really look like it goes under the cased version at all, and between the two, the cased is the stronger design.

Tyrannian: Ogrins already have a pretty prehistoric look to them in a sense, so the Tyrannian Ogrin works out well. I like how the stripes have been increased to be longer and cover more of the leg (once again, very okapi-like), and details like the spots on the fur, claws, and a longer beard. However, I do take a bit of issue with the head—the mohawk should've also been spotted for consistency, and the face needed a far more grumpy, more caveman-like look to it.

Chocolate: My favorite part of this design are the little chocolate shavings that form the mane, which is a fun concept that works really well. It also sports a nice white chocolate drizzle for the stripes, whipped cream fur, and has a nice drippy look around the base of the paws. It's cohesive and looks really good (and delicious).

BONUS: Unsurprisingly, I also have to give a shout-out to the giraffe design with the spotted Ogrin. It's super simple but looks very nice, and the spots feel a bit more cohesive than the stripes did on the original design.

#neopets #neotag #ogrin #neopet reviews

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roosterbruiser · 2 years ago

Text

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

✯ 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 "𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧" 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐘𝐨𝐮 (𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲) ✯ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You and Jake go to your house after a night of celebrating your high school graduation. Things get cloudy quickly. ✯ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.7K ✯ 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✯ 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞 #𝟏 ✯ 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐞 #𝟏 ✯ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩, 𝐓𝐗 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝟐𝟒𝐭𝐡, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟖

The ugly little radio on your cluttered desk is on right now, playing very lowly.

Free Bird by Lynyrd Skynyrd is playing now and you’re bobbing your head along as you steady yourself by gripping the edge of the desk. You’re definitely drunk--can feel the beer pulsing in your veins. You can feel the lining of your stomach practically deteriorating in a pool of Busch Lite.

“Careful now,” Jake teases quietly, chuckling. “Don’t disturb all your study materials.”

He’s saying this because your desk contains precisely zero studying materials--and it never has. It has random Monopoly cash with little notes written on them, expired nail polish, a few empty containers of Bug Juice, some plastic butterfly clips you stole from the local beauty supply, a dinky slinky, soda-flavored chapstick you also stole from the local beauty supply, and a couple bottles of Citrus Mistress that are all half-used.

“Didn’t need to study as hard as you,” you quip, “and we still graduated with the same GPA. Life is such a mystery.”

“What’s a mystery is how you sleep on this tiny bed,” Jake groans softly, trying to get comfortable on your unmade bed.

“Well, I’m not a six-foot baseball player,” you respond, shrugging. “So that definitely helps.”

“Aren’t you supposed to have Southern hospitality or somethin’?” Jake complains, a smile still tugging on his lips.

It makes you giggle. You and him climbed in through your bedroom window only ten minutes ago and already he’s insulting your hospitality--rightfully so, really. You’re not doing much to make him comfortable in your cramped and unruly room. Not that you ever really have to--he has been coming in through your bedroom window a long time and doesn’t ever require an invitation or welcoming. He’ll moan all day about your tiny bed, but will still sprawl himself out on top of it and rifle through the books you keep at your bedside. You will sometimes even come home from work and find him already there in your bedroom, blowing cigarette smoke into the little blanket you keep at the end of your bed just like you always do.

“Can’t help the way I was born,” you sigh, tapping your finger on the worn wooden grains as you search for a matchbook among all your clutter. “Which was apparently without hosting skills.”

Jake laughs, shaking his head softly.

“So, it’s in your DNA to be so rude all the damn time?”

You nod, grabbing the matches finally. They were hiding beneath a few Dum-Dum suckers.

“Exactly,” you breathe, shooting a grin over your shoulder.

Jake’s grinning at you, pretending to roll his eyes.

“Smells like fuckin’ oranges over here,” Jake mumbles.

Of course he’s also pretending like this fact bothers him--like he isn’t fighting an overpowering urge to bury his face in your quilt and smell you. He doesn’t even love the scent of that body spray you practically bathe in--he only likes it because you wear it, because he associates the smell with you now. He can never remember the name of your body spray--something dumb like Orange Cream Dream or Obscene Tangerine--but he could pick that scent out of a line-up.

“Anythin’ else you wanna complain about?”

You peer at Jake from the corner of your eye, biting your lip. He thinks for a moment before shaking his head.

“Not presently.” He smiles.

“From now on, you can start submittin’ your complaints to the official complaint box,”' you tell him, cheekily nodding towards the overflowing wastebasket stuck beside your desk. “Your feedback is valuable to us here at Filly’s Lodge.”

“Noted,” Jake says with a grin. “Love that face, too. Service with a smile!”

You poke your tongue out at him, ignoring the burning in your cheeks.

Jake smells like springwater and cigarettes. He’s sitting on top of the tired quilt that covers your twin mattress, leaning against the wall lazily with a half-smile on his wet lips. Whenever he leaves, carefully climbing out of your bedroom window and over the buttonbush that sits below it, your bed will smell like him. You’ll be able to bury your face in the quilt, that worn cotton pressing into your cheeks and lips, and pretend like he is still here.

You think he’s still high and know he’s still drunk.

“Wanna play Misty,” Jake whispers, narrowing his eyes at you as you try to fruitlessly strike a match. “C’mon, I’ll play quietly!”

You’re drunk, too--drunk enough that you keep having to lean against the wobbling three-legged dresser and blink away the bleariness in your eyes. But you’re not drunk enough to take his words at face-value. He can’t play his guitar quietly any easier than you can fucking light this match.

“Is it that you’re stupid or that you think I’m stupid?” You whisper. “Just tryin’ to get the full picture here.”

The match finally strikes in a wisp of sulfur; you light the candy-scented candle and settle it on your dresser before shuffling across the carpet to the bed. Jake doesn’t move from his spot in the middle of the mattress, limbs strewn all about. They’re thin and sinewy, still paled from wintertime.

“Oh, Filly-girl,” he moans lowly, collapsing into you when the bed dips beneath your weight. The springs groan and you know, even as drunk as you are, that it’s too loud. “You’re a mean little thing, ain’t you?”

“Hush up, Seresin,” you hiss in a whispered tone, leaning your head on his chest. “You’re too damn loud without Misty in the mix.”

“You love how loud I am,” he accuses.

“Or you’ve just broken me down finally,” you sigh.

He grins.

“I may be good at makin’ nice with all them horses at the Carolina’s,” Jake starts, stretching his fingertips towards the ceiling and giving you a fleeting glimpse of his taut belly, “but I don’t think I’m good enough to break you, Filly.”

This pleases you enough for heat to rise in your cheeks--if you’ve never been anything, it’s shy. It’s difficult for you to hide whatever emotion you’re feeling--it’s always written clear as day on your face. Even if it wasn’t, you’re sure that Jake would be able to figure it out in a few seconds flat.

“Damn straight,” you tell him with your brows blanched. “No one is. It’d do you good to remember that, too.”

He mockingly salutes you, which has you batting his hand away with a giggle.

His weight is a familiar one, one that is as regular to you as a cigarette after lunch or a swim in the spring. He’s warm and you know that it isn’t just because of all the beer he drank--he’s perpetually radiating heat, oozing out of his body in thick and suffocating waves. He’s laughing a breathy sort of laugh, his aspen-colored eyes hazy and far away even as his nose nudges against yours during his bid to regain his posture.

God--his breath smells yeasty. His saliva must be thick with alcohol; it makes spit gather under your tongue just thinking about what his mouth must taste like. And when he’s this close to you, falling sideways into your body so that he’s very nearly on top of you, you can smell him exactly: the American Spirit cigarettes he smokes but doesn’t like, the muddy water of Silver Spring, the musty smoke from your bonfire, the marijuana you smoked, the beer he drank, the dirt you laid upon.

“M’fallin’,” he mumbles once he realizes that he’s on top of you.

“You’re fallen,” you correct, carefully slinking out from under him. “All over my bed, might I add. Scoot over!”

“Sorry,” he slurs, rubbing his eyes and raking his hands through his shaggy locks. Then he gives you a grin, one that is toothy as it is wide. It’s the kind of grin that usually prefaces something brash and stupid. “Watch how shhhh, quiet I can be when I play guitar,” he whispers, raising his eyebrows as he sits up against your chipped wall again.

The world is fuzzy as he pretends to grab Misty--which is not actually physically on the floor or even in this room, for that matter--and settle her over his lap. Your throat is caked in beer still as he even pretends to tune, closing his eyes like he’s trying to really hear if she’s ready to be played. There’s a bubble in your chest--one that is bloated and filled with all the noise that you’re trying very hard to keep behind your grinning lips--and you’re afraid it’s going to burst when Jake starts strumming his faux-strings.

“This one goes out to my best friend, Filly,” he says to his invisible audience, leaning up against the wall when he starts to slump over again. “She’s a pain in my ass and the love of my life,” he finishes.

“Really know how to make a girl swoon, don’t you, mustang?” You tease him, rolling your eyes to the high heavens but letting your cheek rest against the warm skin of his shin anyway. His leg hairs, the ones that you’ve teased him about since they first arrived in middle school, tickle your cheeks.

You’ve been calling him mustang for a long, long time. Neither of you really remember when it started: it was sometime after you met in the quaint carpeted Sunday school classroom at Silverkeep Baptist, but sometime before you were old enough to steal cigarettes from your mama’s purses. You’ve always been a bit of a precocious child, unruly mop of curls a mirror of your quick wit and tenacity. Mustang just falls from your mouth so easily--partly teasing and partly not.

He’s been calling you Filly for as long as you can remember. It’s what everyone has always called you; your daddy started it up when you were young and you grew so used to the name that you preferred it. You even had teachers calling you Filly by the second week of kindergarten. It just suited you.

“Every now and then,” he answers cheekily, giving you a grin that could blind a driver with his white teeth and wet lips and dimples and tan skin. “Shh, m’playing my lady.”

You aren’t sure if he means you or imaginary Misty--he definitely means Misty, though.

You’re biting your lip hard, numb from the terrible beer Hyde was able to snag from the corner store, batting away the glassiness of your eyes as Jake pretends to stroke his guitar. He’s good at it, even if his guitar isn’t really in his arms. Lord knows you’ve seen him play enough times to imagine what the tune would sound like had he really had Misty sitting on his lap now. He’s good at a lot of things, which both endlessly annoys you and enamors you. He’s the best damn pitcher the Silverbullet’s have ever seen (and probably ever will see now that Jake’s aged off the team), he can handle more of that piss-tasting beer than anyone you know, he’s charming as a TV weatherman, and he ain’t half bad at riding all those horses he tends to on the Carolina’s farm on the edge of town.

He’s still strumming that pretend instrument while you watch on, pretending to be annoyed. Really, though, you’re the opposite of annoyed: you’re overjoyed to be in here with him. He’s not supposed to be in your bedroom, especially without your parents knowing, especially this late, especially when the both of you are drunk.

But the two of you are too excited to not be with each other right now. You graduated high school today, sweating through your polyester robes, walking across that rickety stage holding each other’s arms, celebrating with Hyde and Ruth with an entire afternoon (and evening) of drinking and smoking on the banks of Silver Spring. And when Ruth and Hyde decided to finally call it quits, Ruth whining about how early church was tomorrow morning and Hyde hardly able to keep his eyes open, you and Jake had silently agreed to keep your party going privately.

So that’s how the two of you have ended up in your little bedroom, half on top of each other, Jake serenading you silently, your giggles hardly muffled by your wet lips.

Free Bird finishes and Me and Bobby McGee by Janis Joplin begins quietly.

“Any requests from the audience?” Jake asks, pretending to scan over a crowd as he looks over at your overflowing hamper and your drugstore makeup and your mismatched socks and your crate of old records. “I’ll take what I can get!”

“Play Free Bird,” you mockingly call to him, grinning when he spurts out laughter.

You’re definitely not sober and even if that fact had been lost on you earlier, the shiver that tickles your spine when his throat opens up and vibrates like that would basically be a flashing red neon sign that says you’re drunk! And also the fact that the two of you are being audacious enough to laugh out loud when your parents are sleeping a measly twenty feet away through two flimsy plywood doors is a screaming indicator.

“Don’t know if I have a fourteen-minute guitar solo in me tonight,” Jake says quietly, raking his hands through his hair and finally dropping Misty back into the air she was born from. “What else can we do?”

The two of you both know the logical answer: go to bed. Jake should really get up and out of your bed while he’s still sober enough, walk on down to his house, climb into his bedroom window, and get a few hours of shut-eye before church.

But neither of you are willing to leave each other.

“Drink?” You suggest with a shrug.

Jake points at you, lips pursed.

“I like the way you think, Filly-girl,” he says.

So you sink to the floor again, trying hard to be quiet as you push through all your old stuffed animals and candy wrappers and dust bunnies to pull out the dwindling case of Blue Ribbon you’d gotten ahold of a few weeks ago.

It’s lukewarm at best, especially since your room is always so hot, but it’s all the two of you have right now.

“Here,” Jake slurs, gesturing for both cans. He pops yours open for you so your fingers don’t get wet, never mind the droplets that landed on your quilt. “Drink up, buttercup.”

The two of you unceremoniously clink cans before swigging the liquid. You can’t drink it without grimacing, even if you don’t exactly mind the temperature of it. It’s just that it tastes like fucking piss. Jake is too drunk to care about what it tastes like, but even if he did, he’s sure that twist in your lips and pitiful squint of your eyes would numb his tongue.

“That’s good stuff,” he teases and you laugh again.

He really loves that sound, even when it’s whispered.

“We’re livin’ the high life over here,” you whisper, biting your lip hard. “How’s your day today?”

It tickles him that you’re asking as if you weren’t with him all day.

He sighs, deciding to play along as he rests an arm behind his head, taking another long drink of the beer as you sip on yours.

“Fine. Nothin’ much happened. Graduated high school. Smoked some weed. Drank some beer. Went swimmin’.”

You nod, taking another drink, still trying to conceal a toothy grin. Your cheeks feel warm and fuzzy--probably from consuming another beer.

“Sounds like every other Saturday,” you tease.

He nods, taking another drink.

“Just another day in paradise, I guess,” he says. Then he looks at you with his eyes very soft, with his face very open. “How’s your day?”

You know why he’s asking you. It’s because today marks the beginning of something that feels a lot like an end. It’s something that makes your belly ache just to think about. Today, the two of you graduated high school in the same building you started kindergarten together in. This will be your last summer with both of you living in Silverkeep because come August, he’ll be going to the University of Austin on a baseball scholarship--a full-ride. And you--well, you’re just staying here.

“My day’s okay,” you tell him, trying not to let your face reflect the bitterness that has suddenly settled in the pit of your belly. “Ready for this summer.”

At the mention of summer, and because of the way your lips twitched into an unintentional frown and your eyes getting glassy, Jake sighs.

“Still got a weddin’ date in you?”

That makes you smile. He’s really, really glad to see that little gap between your front teeth. He’d do just about anything in the world to see your lips curl upwards, to see those cheeks of yours turn pink as an apple.

You are mildly surprised, though, that it’s you he’s taking to the wedding.

“‘Course you do,” you tell him with a smile, throwing your hair over your shoulder as you adjust to get comfortable on your little mattress. “Wouldn’t make you go to that weddin’ all on your lonesome.”

“You’re a saint,” he says with a grin.

The wedding the two of you are talking about is his oldest sister’s wedding. Harper Seresin is marrying Curtis Bennett, who is ten years older than her and looks and acts it, late in the month of July. Harper, who still lives at home, drives Jake absolutely up the wall. So does his other older sister Callie and his younger sister Brandy. Jake reckons the only people that don’t drive him crazy are you and his mama, who you affectionately call Mama Fran.

“Yeah, I’m pretty much the best,” you sigh, pressing your face against his legs. “Gonna make me slow dance with you, mustang?”

Carefully, you begin to stroke his leg. It’s honestly an absent movement, just something that you do to feel close to him, something you do without even really thinking about it. But you’ve grown so comfortable to the feeling of his soft sandy hairs against your skin that it soothes something in your chest that seems to always ache.

“Hell yeah I am,” Jake says. “Gotta show you off!”

You roll your eyes--ignore the stuttering of your heart. You take another drink and he can feel it against his ankle when you swallow. It’s such a fluid and soft movement, one that makes his own throat feel tight.

“Sorry in advance for when I step on your toes,” you sigh, smiling coyly.

“No, you’re not,” Jake snorts quietly.

You laugh--your breath is warm against his leg. It’s the warmest thing in the entire room despite the lack of air conditioning in your entire house, despite how stuffy it is in here, despite the rickety fan in the corner blowing warm air over his face.

“No, I’m not,” you confirm.

He’s grinning at you now, basking in the warmth of your flushed cheek against his naked shin. He’s certain there are little stars in his eyes as he lets them rest on the sweet curve of your nose and the pucker in your lips as you flutter your eyes shut to think of what to do next. Your face is a familiar one to him--one that he can hardly remember a time before, when he didn’t know those long lashes and that little gap between your front teeth. Everything about you is familiar; the sound of your open-mouthed laughter, the feel of your chipped fingernails against the skin of his scalp, your skin against his skin.

He can’t help himself--he knows he’s drunk, he knows it only exacerbates his throbbing need to touch you all the time, but he submits to it now--as he leans forward just slightly to let his thumb rest against your lips. He’s not even thinking about his girlfriend right now--Hell, he hardly thought about her at all today. He left Emmaline in the dust today to spend the first day of summer break with his friends--but really, he ditched Emmaline to spend the first day of summer with you.

“Like your lips like this,” he says quietly, pretending like your spit on the pad of his finger isn’t making it hard for him to breathe.

“Like what?” You ask softly, voice thin.

Your heart is starting to race--you can feel it pulsing behind your eyelids.

“Naked,” he answers after a moment, throat impossibly tighter.

What he means is that he didn’t like that Barbie-pink lipstick you wore to graduation, the one that came off in crumbs. He didn’t like your blue eyeshadow either or the way it coated your freckled cheeks when you blinked. Or the neon blush on your cheeks or the smudged glittery eyeliner haphazardly smeared on your eyelids. He likes your face like this: open and bare.

The only thing he liked about that cheap-ass Barbie-labia lipstick was that you were unable to stop disturbing it, so it kept ending up smeared in the corners of your mouth or on your teeth. So Jake, being the Southern gentleman he is, corrected it for you. Which meant that he got to touch your mouth--which felt unholy and downright sacred. Once, when it was smeared across your teeth, he told you to snarl before he let his thumb run across the silky wetness of your teeth. Under the Texas sun on that stupid little football field with all of your graduating class (which was a whopping twenty-seven students), he was sure he was going to melt from the heat of your mouth on his finger alone. Especially when you had quickly kissed his finger, effectively staining it in the shape of your mouth, in a very you-way of showing gratitude.

Your breath is hitched right now as he stares at your lips.

He’s drunk, you remind yourself. He’s drunk, he’s drunk, he’s drunk.

“Naked, huh?” You whisper, trying hard not to just open your mouth and let his finger come inside. “Reckon that’s scandalous, what with your girly-friend and all.”

You’re teasing him to mask the throbbing between your legs. You suddenly wish you weren’t on this bed with him, the bed that hasn’t been big enough to fit both of you since you were in eighth grade, the bed you two always squish together on.

You gulp your beer, finishing half of it.

But Jake knows you--knows you better than anyone else in the entire world. So he knows that when you tease him, when you call Emmaline Odette his girly-friend with that little bitter lilt in your voice, when your eyebrows blanche, when your lips part wetly that you’re defending something. He isn’t precisely sure what it is that you’re defending, but it’s something big--something soft.

Jake is just drunk enough to say it to you, just drunk enough to get it off his chest the way he’s been wanting to since, what feels like, the dawn of time. He feels like he’s just the right level of lovesick and inebriated to say fuck Emmaline, I’m in love with you. If he was sober, he would feel instantaneously guilty. Emmaline isn’t a bad girl--she’s just prissy, which is why you don’t like her. And it isn’t Emma’s fault that she’s prissy, that she’s never really struggled in any capacity. It also isn’t her fault that she’s just a placeholder--a placeholder for you.

“You’re right,” Jake says finally, pushing aside all thoughts of Emmaline and the voicemails she’s probably left for him on his family’s phone despite him constantly asking her not to do that. “Maybe I should just break up with her.”

You’re shocked for a moment--shocked enough to laugh dryly. But his face is unchanging as he gazes down at you: his eyes soft and wickedly beautiful in the plastic lamplight of your room, his lips pink, his finger still pressed against your mouth.

But then something changes. Your spine is tingling as you straighten it, fingers wet against the aluminum can in your clutches. You’re something between nervous and audacious.

“Didn’t know you wanted to break up with Emma,” you whisper, unwilling to move your mouth away from his finger.

When his thumb comes down to grasp the point of your chin, when he practically holds you in place as his eyes darken, your toes curl into the cotton pillow they’re resting on. If your mama was in here, she’d be sighing and groaning about you laying on your bed without showering--especially since you were swimming all day. But right now, as Jake gazes down at you and lets his middle finger rest on your bottom lip too, you don’t care about any of it.

“Do you want me to?”

Jake has put the ball in your court--he knows it and so do you.

“I don’t know what I want,” you answer.

It feels layered and you suppose it is. You don’t like Emmaline as much as she doesn’t like you. Girls like her, with their clean hair and manicures and thin eyebrows and bedazzled jeans, aren’t friends with girls like you. You haven’t had a new pair of jeans since your freshman year of high school, you bite your nails when they’re too long, and your hair is too rambunctious to even try and brush. You two are as different as silk and leather; one of you is much tougher, but more people prefer looking at the softer one.

It isn’t that you want Jake to be alone, even if you don’t love when he has a girlfriend. Of course you don’t like it--you’re in love with him, you think. Of course you’re not gonna like any girlfriend he has. But he’s a good sport when there’s some plaid-wearing boy sniffing around you and you try--not very hard, but still--to be good for him.

“You don’t like her,” he says and he isn’t angry when he says this. He’s not accusing so much as stating.

“No, I don’t,” you say, nodding.

You’re an honest person--a brutally honest person. He likes that about you. You don’t dilly-dally around.

“You don’t hide it very well,” Jake tells you.

You nod again.

“No, I don’t,” you repeat, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Do you? Like her?”

Jake shrugs before he even means to. He knows that he shouldn’t be shrugging when you ask him if he likes his own girlfriend. But he can’t help but be honest with you--he’s always been honest with you.

“She’s fine,” he answers. “She’s probably gonna be pissed that I wasn’t with her tonight.”

He says this like he doesn’t already know that she’s pissed. They had argued about it earlier that day, just like they’d argued about him walking with you instead of her, just like they argued about him pointing to you in the crowd before hitting home runs instead of her. He couldn’t help it--it was just in his blood to think of you first.

“Probably,” you answer. “She gonna leave one of those pissy messages on your house phone again?”

Jake groans and smiles at the same time.

“How’d it go again? What’d she say that one time?” You’re laughing, basking in this feeling right now, laughing with the boy you’re in love with about the girl he’s dating.

“This really reflects poorly on your character,” Jake imitates Emmaline, letting his voice raise a couple octaves--just because he knows it’ll make you laugh.

And you do laugh--the pretty, pretty laugh that he swears he hears in his dreams sometimes. It’s a beautiful one--a perfect one.

“Oh, that’s good,” you breathe, still giggling. “What a fuckin’ princess.”

“What--you don’t think me missin’ our eight o’clock phone call reflects poorly on my character?”

He still has his finger pressed against your lips--it’s grown comfortable there. There really aren’t many places on your body that he hasn’t grown entirely comfortable touching and your mouth is no exception; he pulled every single one of your baby teeth because it made you too squeamish.

“She reflects poorly on your character,” you whisper, a boldness biting your tongue. “Don’t you worry about what she says ‘bout you when you’re not there?”

Jake’s spine prickles at the thought.

The Odette’s are probably the richest people in Silverkeep--like the kind of folk that could afford to live really anywhere else. The first time Jake went over to her house, the big old brick thing with freshly-painted shutters and bright green grass, he was afraid of drying his hands on the monogrammed towels in the guest bathroom. He felt dirty when he was around her--even if he’d just bathed. Even having sex with Emmaline was like taking a shower; he felt cleaner after.

“Well, now I do,” Jake laughs dryly, pinching your lip softly.

You don’t move away, just blinking up at him.

“You should,” you tell him honestly, fingering the tab of your beer can. “She ain’t our kinda people.”

Jake tuts, shrugging again. He knows you’re right. He really, really knows you’re right. And really, you’re the only person brave enough to say that about him. Your family is poor and so is Jake’s. Your parents work themselves to the bone to give you guys off-brand cereal and cramped bedrooms, neither of you have cars, all of your clothes are stretched to the limit, and a portion of both your paychecks go towards the house payment. Emmaline’s never worked a day in her life--if she didn’t want to, she probably would never have to. Jake knows this. And he’d be lying if he said the tightness in his chest was only from being so close to you.

“Can’t say that,” Jake says, but his voice is thin. “We’re all supposed to love each other, right? Or whatever hippie-shit Hyde’s always preachin’.”

He’s trying to make you smile, but you’re not. You’re suddenly worried about what Emmaline says about him when he’s not there. You’ve wondered the entire three months they’ve been together what she sees in him. It isn’t that you think there’s nothing about him that’s attractive--Hell, you think everything about him is achingly perfect. But it’s just that girls like her usually date boys that get regular haircuts and drive big trucks. They don’t usually date the fatherless boy that works his tail off shoveling horse shit to lessen the financial burden on his mama.

“You deserve someone nicer,” you tell him finally, your voice quieter than before but just as serious. “Someone that won’t make you get your license.”

Jake nods along, not disagreeing with you.

“Probably good to have a license,” he tries softly, shrugging.

“You don’t have a car,” you say with a pointed look.

You don’t say it, but you know that he probably won’t have a car for the foreseeable future. The only way he’d be able to afford a car is if he won the lottery or if someone died and left him money.

“Fine,” Jake sighs. “Then who should I be with?”

You’re turning pink again--you can feel it flooding your face and chest. And you’re overwhelmed by the scent of him, by all the places your bodies are touching. So you just blink up at him, hoping that he can’t see the lump in your throat.

And Jake is looking down at you with a sweet sort of softness, one that is usually attached to his level of drunkenness. He’s seems to have hit that sweet spot right now, that spot that makes him feel lovely and brave and scared and elated all at the same time. Just looking at you, looking at the flush in your cheeks and the slight tremble of your lower lip underneath his fingers--it makes him want you bad.

He retracts his grip from your mouth, aching for the warmth and familiarity of your lips, but pushing through it. He picks up your hand, carefully detaching it from your beer can. He holds your fingers, his heart thumping in his throat, and glances down at your fingernails. They’re bitten things, always short and never even. There’s little half-crescents of dirt beneath them, too, because there isn’t enough time in your day to care about something so trivial.

“Someone who’ll get some dirt under their fingernails?”

He’s not sure why he’s said it--but he has and now it’s lingering in the air. And it isn’t regret that he feels slinking up his frame, no, not at all. It’s a strange sort of relief. He’s said it--or at least suggested it. He’s never gotten so close to just blurting it out. But this will work for now.

You’re certain that your heart stops for an entire minute as you stare up at him dumbly. You’re in a state of total disbelief right now because as much as you two touch each other, as much as your harbor feelings for him, as in love with you as you are, you’re entirely sure that it is one-sided.

But you know, know with your entire heart and every other organ in your trembling body, that there is dirt under your fingernails right now.

And then he softly brings your fingers up to his lips, his eyes flickering shut as he kisses your knuckles. Now you really can’t breathe, really can’t move because you’re sure that if you do, this fragile thing will collapse.

Jake feels the same, just inhaling your skin while you’re allowing him to, just trying to memorize the placement of every bone in your sweet hand, just trying to remember the exact way you smell. He can’t look at your face--terrified that you will be horrified.

But you’re not moving away from him. You’re not moving at all.

He lets your hand fall back onto the bed and it lays there limp because you simply don’t have it in you to pick it up--you’re entirely paralyzed right now, trying to blink yourself back into reality.

Then he touches your mouth again and you let him, trying to hide the hitch in your breathing, trying to swallow the bundle of nerves sitting thickly on your tongue. And this time, he doesn’t ask--he just presses until your lips are parted and then swipes his thumb across your teeth. There it is--that little gap he loves so much.

“Someone with a gap between their front teeth?”

You nearly moan out loud. Your thighs are burning because you’re pressing them together so hard, suddenly desperate for some sort of friction. In fact, you’re paralyzed all except for an ache in your core that is starting to radiate all across your body. You’ve felt this before, sure, having a handful of romps with boys here and there. But it’s never been from something as simple, something as sexy, as Jake touching these little parts of your body.

“What’re you doin’?” You ask, voice trembling.

And Jake retracts immediately, heat flooding his cheeks, a sick feeling washing over his body at the very notion of making you uncomfortable.

But then you reach out and grab his wrist. You’ve touched his wrist before--Hell, you’ve touched just about every spot on his body. But right now, wrapping your fingers around those bones and that skin and feeling that quickened pulse, it feels very intimate.

“I didn’t say stop,” you breathe.

And maybe it’s because you’re drunk still, though significantly more sober from his touch, and maybe it’s because he’s drunk and a little bit high. Maybe it’s because he’s looking at you with such softness, his eyes wide and swimming in sweetness. Or maybe it’s because you’ve only dreamed about moments like this one.

But you lead his hand back to your parted lips, eyelashes trembling terribly as you press his fingers into your mouth and let them fall on your tongue. His response is immediate--a little gasp catching in his mouth, his eyes bleary and wide, his cheeks reddening.

You almost can’t believe that it’s happening; his fingers are in your mouth and you’re tasting his skin, all that dirt and beer and water and oil dissolving in your warm saliva. It slides down your throat as you very softly suck, swirling your tongue on his fingertips, blinking up at him with big eyes.

He can’t believe it’s happening either--watching your tongue work around his fingers like you were born to do it, your lashes trembling ever so lightly as you look up at him, your body radiating heat. His mind is swimming and his heart is pulsing and his cock is starting to throb, but above all of that, all he can think about is you, you, you, you, you.

So he takes his fingers out of your mouth slowly, basking in the feeling of your tongue sliding across his knuckles, and catches a glimpse of that saliva coating his fingers before he lets his hand float down to your chest.

Your breaths are rapid as you eagerly await his touch, suddenly dizzy with want for him. And he looks up at you as his fingers tug at the hem of your dress, the one you outgrew a few years ago, and you just nod. Of course you do--you’re desperate for him.

His hand snakes beneath your dress, skirting across the curve of your hip and stilling when they land on the hills of your breasts. Your bra is honestly ill-fitting, too, and he already knows that from swimming earlier. He knows that you’re wearing yellow cotton underwear, too, and that they’re probably dried of spring water now but wet with arousal.

Jake indulges that overwhelming desire to get closer to you. He moves clumsily and so do you, tangling in each other with bated breaths, trying to fit on your stupid twin bed.

Then the two of you are laying nose-to-nose, looking deeply into each other’s eyes, each of you too afraid to speak for fear of breaking whatever trance has fallen over the both of you. You’re close enough to kiss each other, but you don’t. He just rests his forehead against yours and you nudge your nose against his softly.

His hand is still under your dress, hovering your breast. And before he can change his mind, before he can ruin this perfect moment, he swiftly pulls the flimsy fabric of your bra aside and lets his palm cover your exposed breast.

Your moan is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard--it’s raspy and breathy, even better than your laugh, even better than your silly singing voice. His entire body reacts to the sound like some sort of dog-whistle. His shoulders relax, his heart practically melts in his chest, his cock jumps, his legs tense.

Your breasts are just as soft as he imagined they’d be--supple and wanting beneath his palm. And when he pinches your nipple, lets it pebble between his fingers, you moan again. Now he’s beginning to ache with want, growing desperate for some sort of gratification. But he’s still too afraid to make any sudden movements, like you’re an animal that’s easily spooked.

That’s the precise moment that you reach out for the first time and tangle your hands in his hair. You’re breathing hard, eyes shut, heart racing, beads of pleasure swirling around in your belly. You’re so close to him, so achingly close, but it is not nearly enough for you. You have to touch him in more places than just your noses, have to feel him all against you and all over you.

So you let your fingers grip those shaggy locks, bask in the little sound in his throat, try not to let tears cloud your eyes when he grows confident enough to press his knee between your legs to effectively part them.

“Jake,” you whisper, entirely breathless as he pinches your nipple again.

“Don’t,” he whispers, shaking his head, pressing down harder on your breasts and relishing in that sweet sound again and again.

“We shouldn’t--I can’t, you have a--we can’t…” You’re trying very hard to make sense as you speak to him but it’s proving to be very difficult, especially when he presses his naked leg up against your heat and gives you that sweet, sweet friction.

He shakes his head again, his beer-scented breath fanning out over your face.

“Stop talkin’,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut. “Unless you don’t want this. Then you gotta say it. You gotta say that you don’t want it.”

You’re silent. You want this bad--you want it so bad that your fingers are starting to tremble. You want it so bad that your mind is totally empty except for thoughts of him. You’ve already submitted entirely to him and his hands.

“Okay,” you whisper, nodding.

He grins, eyes still shut as he shakes his head lightly.

“I said stop talkin’,” he whispers.

“Sorry,” you return in the same hushed tone.

And usually, you wouldn’t be so malleable. You wouldn’t be so easy to render silent. You wouldn’t usually be so compliant. But you feel like you’re in some sort of dream-state right now, like you’re floating between this realm and a better one, like things are finally going your way. Because as unreal as this feels, you know that it is real. You know especially when his breath puffs against your face as he laughs softly and when a laugh bubbles out of you, too. This is real; it’s you and it’s Jake. It’s his hand and your breast. It’s his leg and your clothed cunt.

He’s silent after that, just looking at your face as he kneads your breasts and rests his forehead against yours. Your eyebrows are pinched and your lip is bitten and he can see that little gap between your teeth. And he can feel how warm you are between your legs, can feel wetness gathering in your underwear as he presses his leg up against your cunt. And your fingers are softly tugging his locks as you moan quietly and all those little touches and sounds are making him painfully hard.

All thoughts of Emmaline have dissipated entirely--not that he even thinks about her very often at all.

Your lips are so close to touching his. You can almost feel the outline of his bottom lip against your top lip, can almost feel how wet his mouth is, can almost feel how warm his tongue is. But for some reason, you’re not kissing. You’re just hovering over each other, moaning softly, panting into each other’s mouths.

The Killing Moon by Echo & the Bunnymen is playing now.

“Can I?” Jake asks, letting his fingers dance across your belly again and land on the band of your underwear.

Silently, you nod. Your heart is in your throat again, beating erratically. But you want this--you know in your bones that you want this. You want it so bad that you could cry. You’re glad that you’re not totally sober, glad that you have a bit of beer loosening your joints.

Jake is so turned on that he could explode, but he’ll be damned if he won’t savor every single moment of this. He lets his fingers slip beneath the cotton underwear and keeps a careful eye on the hitching breaths in your chest.

He moans softly when he feels your cunt for the first time. Here is a place he has never touched you before, maybe one of the only ones. And you are perfect, he knows it without even seeing you up close. The little stubble you have there pricks his skin as he carefully slinks his way to your folds.

You’re gripping his hair, hips bucking towards him, eyes screwed shut when he lets just his middle finger carefully part your lips. Pleasure explodes in your body, hot as a gas stove, and you have to bite down hard on your lip in fear that you’ll wake your parents up. But it feels so fucking good just having his one finger against your wetness, pressing down on your clit.

“Fuck,” Jake whispers, shaking his head softly, shuddering.

He’s fingered his fair share of girls--being on the baseball team has its benefits--but he’s suddenly nervous to mess this up. You’re the most perfect person he’s ever met, the most perfect person he’s ever touched. He wants you to feel good and he wants to be the one that makes you feel good.

You, on the other hand, have never been touched here. There was that one boy at the drive-in about a year ago that got a little handsy, but he never breached the waistband of your panties. This is entirely new pleasure for you, one that feels paramount and out of your control. You’re not sure if you loathe it or love it yet, so you just rest your cheek on the bed and gasp for air like a fish out of water.

And Jake is moving closer to you, pressing his hips against your body. You can feel how hard he is, how uncomfortable that must be. But you’re too nervous to reach down and touch him, too paralyzed with pleasure to even move at all.

Jake is panting now. You’re so wet and silky, hips moving subtly to meet every movement of his hand. And you’re breathing so loudly, redness gathering on your chest, mouth endlessly parted.

This still feels like a dream.

But it’s the best dream he’s ever had.

He moves quicker, the pace something that he knows Emmaline and the other girls have liked, and presses his nose into yours as you grip him harshly. You’re so hot, squirming beneath his fingers, moving closer and farther from him at the same time.

You’re not necessarily uncomfortable right now, but you feel like you’re rapidly approaching it. He’s touching you almost too perfectly, going almost too fast, pressing that one spot so harshly that it’s too much. And you’ve never been touched here by him or any other man and that thought alone is making you dizzy. You feel like something is approaching rapidly, like all of this is about to come to a head, and you’re afraid of what that is.

So you clamp your legs together, pushing yourself against his chest. He removes his hand at once, jolting back into sobriety momentously. And he’s searching your face as it pinches, as you recover from almost cumming on his fingers, as you try and catch your breath.

“Y’alright?” He asks, shaking his head softly as you swallow hard.

You’re hot with embarrassment now, trying desperately to get some moisture on your tongue. Jake is worried he crossed a line, worried that you didn’t want it as badly as he did. But then you’re hesitantly looking up at him, shaking your head softly, and he knows that isn’t the case.

“It--it was too good,” you whisper, pulling your dress down over your thighs as you swallow harshly again.

Jake sighs, his shoulders slumping. So you did want it--he didn’t cross a line.

“You ever done that before?” He asks.

You both move to prop yourselves up on your elbows, still looking at each other. Jake subtly lets his fingers air out against his shorts as you pull into yourself with your hair mussed and eyes bleary.

“No,” you answer honestly. “Not with anyone else.”

He nods. He didn’t know that.

“Should’ve taken it easier on you,” he whispers.

You’re burning under his gaze, squeezing your thighs together as aftershocks of pleasure ricochet through your still-taut body.

“Maybe,” you whisper.

Then it’s quiet for a moment.

Jake’s still trying to gather his thoughts and you’re still trying to get your heartrate back down. Both of you are in a state of disbelief, reeling at how quickly that all went and how sudden it was.

Neither of you will ask what it meant. Neither of you will tell the other that it isn’t just hormones and alcohol that made you feel the way you did just a few minutes ago. You’re both stubborn people and your boots are faster than your brains. Neither of you are the admitting type, especially when it comes to big things that matter.

Because for Jake, the worst thing that could happen is that he hurts you. He says something dumb and he makes you cry or he does something you don’t like. And maybe you’ll forgive him, but you probably won’t because you don’t like to forgive people. He wants to be on your good side for the rest of his days. And if he fucks up and tells you that he is in love with you and that every other girl he’s ever touched has just been a temporary fix, he’s afraid that it will frighten and hurt you.

And for you, the worst thing that could happen is that he doesn’t feel the same way you do. You’ve been in love with him for so long that the feeling has almost become a part of your personality. You are hopelessly in love with his shaggy hair and his stupid calloused fingers and his laugh and the dimple in his left cheek and the hair on his legs and the way he looks when he rides his bike. And if he didn’t feel that way about you then you would be turned inside out.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jake asks softly.

He had planned on staying before it all happened, planning on crashing on your bed and waking up in a few hours to walk home to shower before church in the morning. But now he isn’t so sure.

He’s blinking at you, wishing that the two of you were still touching. He’s bracing himself for your answer, bracing himself for that stiffness in your limbs and the bitterness in your tone when you tell him to get out.

But none of that ever comes, none of that ever happens.

You shake your head, your eyes soft and your lips parted.

“No,” you tell him. “Stay.”

And, really, it’s the most vulnerable thing you’ve said. Your mind is still clouded with a billion different words and thoughts and worries. What had he thought of the way your cunt felt against his finger? Had he wanted you to touch him? Is he just drunk right now? Had you really dreamt the whole ordeal? Was it going to happen again? Was he going to say anything about it? But you will never ask these things to him and it’s because you’re far too afraid that he will answer.

“Okay,” he tells you.

He’ll stay.

It’s something between awkward and familiar as you two settle back down on the bed together. You’re lying close to each other, which you always do anyway, but now there’s a hesitance on either end.

He’s looking into your eyes, trying to gauge what you feel, trying to figure out what the right thing to say is. But nothing is coming to his busy mind, no words are biting at his lips. So he just leans forward slightly and rests his forehead against yours.

For right now, it’s enough for both of you. Just to have that point of connection, just to touch skin against skin, just to know that the other feels the staleness in the air too--it makes you both sigh into the bed. Even with all these unspoken minutes and actions between the two of you, all these confusing little moments, the both of you accept this small touch.

You move a little bit closer to him and he moves his arm to rest across your body, which is a familiar motion. He weighs you against the bed and you sigh into his mouth. Your breath still smells like cigarettes and beer.

“I’m breakin’ up with her tomorrow,” Jake says as your eyes flutter shut.

He’s still watching your face, watching the way it finally goes slack in the pink light of your bedroom. You barely react, just nod very softly.

If you were braver, you’d say why? If you were braver, you’d say good.

But instead you just whisper, “Okay.”

Neither of you are certain what the morning will hold. But Jake’s holding you and your arousal is dried on his fingers and there’s finally saliva on your tongue and you know you’ll be okay. At least for right now, you’ll be okay.

Just as you fall asleep, crossing that threshold of dreamland with a rapid pace that always sparks envy in Jake’s belly, he leans forward and dusts his lips against your nose. Just the very tip of it, that warm place that he’s kissed before. And you don’t move at all, barely even to breathe. Then he falls asleep, too, letting his forehead rest against yours.

Neither of you stir once.

✯ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

✯ 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝

✯ 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

✯ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @hazyretina @violetta-ximena @illicithallways @winterrebel04 @chicomonks

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