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harryslittlefreakk · 10 months ago

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my policeman

Summary: Harry is the police officer assigned to your case, though you are inexplicably drawn to one another 🤭 this will be the first instalment of a new series (if you guys like it lol)

Warnings: age gap romance, Harry is approx mid 40s and MC is early-mid 20s 🥰 smut!!

A/n: I hope you enjoy!! I really like this idea & the storyline so far for these two

You can join my taglist here! And my masterlist is here!! Happy reading 🫶🏼

“I need to speak to someone please, I’ve been mugged.”

You were panting, having run the ten minute journey to the police station from the bus stop. Someone had snatched the bulky work bag from your shoulder as you walked, then fled down a side street before you’d even had time to comprehend what had happened. Your natural instincts were to just run, and that’s exactly what you did. You ran until you stumbled through the police station doors, your heart still pounding with adrenaline.

“Styles!” the man behind the desk called out, an outstretched arm directing you to a closed door. You shuffled over, legs jelly after your spontaneous sprint. You weren’t sure whether to go through the doors or wait there, and the officer behind the desk had his back to you. But as you shifted awkwardly, the doors swung open, revealing possibly the hottest police officer you’d ever seen. He was old, older than you’d usually be interested in, but there was something about him. He was stocky and toned, grey streaks peppered through his deep brown curls. He smiled at you and extended his hand. "Officer Styles, but you can call me Harry.” Officer Harry Styles, the world’s sexiest police officer. You followed him down the corridor, into a tiny room with only a desk, a chair and a small sofa. It was cold and clinical, four grey walls lit by the same sort of lights you’d find in hospitals. It made you uneasy, but Harry’s eyes were laced with warmth as he looked over at you. "First of all, are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You whispered a quiet “yes”, your response barely audible, but Harry caught it. You felt vulnerable now, having been too close to danger and not realising it at the time. You’d lived in London for years, heard so many tales of rape and mugging but never experienced it yourself, or had it happen to someone close to you. You were lucky to only have your work bag taken and be left otherwise untouched, but you couldn’t help feeling shaken by the encounter. “I was mugged,” you told Harry.

“Did they hurt you?”

“No. Just took my bag.”

“M’sorry that happened to you,” he said. There was a slight northern twang to his voice, the kind that suggested he’d been in London long enough to start losing it, but been in the North long enough for the accent to be stubborn. “Did you get a look at them?” he asked, tapping his pen against the sheet of paper in front of him.

“No, they were already running before I turned around.”

“Where did it happen?”

“The bus stop near Florence Gardens, going towards the station.”

“What did they take? Any valuables?”

“My work laptop. And my lunchbox,” you told him, corners of your mouth turning up slightly at the thought of the thief finding your leftover pasta. “They were in my rucksack, I had my phone and keys in my pocket.”

“What does the bag look like?”

“Black, it’s leather. I can show you?”

You pulled up a picture on your phone and handed it to Harry, watching as he wrote down the details.

“Alright, give me 10 minutes to file this, okay? You’ll be okay waiting here?” He handed the phone back to you and stood up as you nodded, then strode toward the door, the glinting badge on his chest catching the light. You’d never had to deal with the police before, and always been a little bit scared of authority figures. But Harry was warm, he made you feel safe despite the circumstances that had brought you to the police station.

It wasn’t long before Harry was back, a thick puffer jacket now covering his torso and a huge tote bag slung over his shoulder. He reached out and gently placed a comforting hand on the back of your seat. “Come on, my shifts over so I’ll walk you home.” You smiled as you followed him out of the room, grateful beyond words for his company.

“Do you not have worse crimes to solve than my stolen lunchbox?” you asked him as you walked, somehow comfortable in his presence. “Not anymore,” he told you. “Been in the police for 25 years now. Did a lot of that but wanted to settle down the last few years, s’better for me like this.”

“Guess it’s nicer for your wife that you’re not out chasing murderers,” you quipped, earning a chuckle from Harry. "Yeah, m’sure she’d appreciate it if she hadn’t divorced me already," he said with a small smile. “I’m sorry,” you told him, glancing over to try to read his face. Truthfully, you were excited by the idea of him being divorced. It didn’t mean he was single, and it definitely didn’t mean he’d be into you, but it was one less hurdle in your mind. "It's alright," he said. "Sometimes things jus’ don't work out, you know?”

“Mm, I know. My flat’s just down here,” you pointed the way to Harry. He walked you all the way to the doorstep, staring up at the building. “It’s not the best area,” he told you. "Be safe, okay? If you need anything, or remember anything, don't hesitate to call," Harry told you, a touch of protectiveness in his tone as he took out his phone. He sent a text to your number so you could save his, then watched as you opened the front door. “Thank you Harry, for everything,” you smiled. “I’m only a call away,” he said, rubbing a hand on your forearm.

Jesus Christ. You collapsed against your front door as you got inside, heart racing from just a gentle touch. You’d get mugged every day if it gave you the chance to be around Harry more. The thought of seeing him again made your head pound, the fear and violation you felt earlier in the evening long forgotten.

Maybe it was a reaction to the weirdness of your evening, maybe it was a way to work through all the emotions you were feeling, but you found yourself reaching for your vibrator as you stepped out of your work clothes. Harry was all you could think about, his hands trailing down your body, his fingers pinching at your nipple, his mouth pressing hot kisses across your abdomen. You could almost feel him hovering over you, so close and yet not close at all. He would be authoritative, demanding you press the vibrator to your clit, his fingers beginning to pump inside of you as you writhed on the bed.

You were moaning into the ghost of his mouth, his nose brushing against yours as your core tightened, a rush of emotions filling you to the brim. It was too much, your toy working at your clit with the idea of Harry’s ringed fingers pounding at your pussy, your free hand gripping onto his loose curls. You were coming faster than you ever had, hips bucking as you screamed out his name.

It was borderline insane. Coming so fast and so heavily for a man you barely knew, crying out his name as if he were here, riding you through your high. You felt almost dirty as you chucked your vibrator to the side, too mentally preoccupied to even shower or eat before climbing into bed. You just wanted to dream of Harry, try to work through your delusions before you had to see him again.

—

Your thoughts of Harry came and went over the next few days. Your manager had suggested you work from home for a few days, your only route home from the office marred by your mugging. The four walls of your apartment felt too small, too closed in even before you had an imaginary Harry following you around. You’d tried to push him out of your mind, desperate to avoid a crush on a man you hardly knew. You did this all the time, it was a symptom of being chronically single. As soon as a man showed kindness towards you, you fell in love. Harbouring a crush on the police officer working on your case was bad news, and yet as you thought about him, his name flashed up on your phone.

“Hey, y/n. How are you?”

“I’m okay, you?”

“Better for hearing your voice.” You could almost hear the smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Listen, do you have time to swing by? Wanted to update you on a few things.”

“I can come now?” you offered. Working from home was slow, and you’d already completed your tasks for the day. So how could you wait any longer to see Harry again?

You looked over yourself in the mirror as you put the phone down, tightening your ponytail and smoothing a hand down the front of your top.

Harry was waiting in the reception area when you arrived at the police station, a big beaming grin sitting pretty between his dimpled cheeks when he saw you. Truthfully, he could have spoken to you over the phone, but he wanted an excuse to see you again. It was silly, childlike even, the way he’d racked his brain for reasons to call or message since he’d dropped you off at home a few days ago. He felt ridiculous, far too giddy over a girl far too young for him, but he couldn’t get you off his mind.

“We think we’ve located your bag,” Harry told you as he ushered you into the same room as before. “Really?” you squeaked. “It’s not 100% yet, but we have had a few more reports of thefts in the area. We’ve tracked down an address, and we’ll be going in this week.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you grinned, throwing your arms around him before your brain could stop you. Harry chuckled, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before freezing. You’d both suddenly remembered where you were, who you were, and yet neither of you wanted to step away.

Harry gently squeezed you before saying, "It's all part of the job,” a small smile on his lips. There was something unspoken in the air as you stepped back, your gaze meeting his. “Sorry,” you muttered. His eyes were soft as he looked at you, reaching out to gently tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You don’t have to apologise,” Harry told you, his lingering touch burning against your skin. You stared at each other wordlessly for a moment, tension heavy in the air, until a familiar call of Harry’s name broke the spell. You stepped further away from him, glancing down at the floor as the professional mask settled back into place on Harry’s face. “Thank you, Harry. I’ll see you later,” you smiled, turning your back on him.

—

You needed to distract yourself, arranging a last minute girls night to take your mind off of Harry. And yet, it was as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you. The man you were specifically going out to forget was standing on the doorstep of your apartment building, hand poised to buzz your intercom as you opened the door. “Harry-” you started, unable to find any other, better words.

“Come to dinner with me,” he said, gaze trailing up and down your body. You were wearing your ‘good’ jeans, the ones that sucked you in in all the right places yet showcased your curves in all the best ones. You had more makeup on than he’d seen you in before, though your freckles and beauty spots still peeked through. The oversized leather jacket slung over your shoulders obscured the top half of your body, but Harry didn’t need to see any more to know just how good you looked. “Please,” he added, holding up a single red rose.

“Dinner with you,” you repeated, a little stunned by his offer. “Dinner.. with me. Should we say it once more for good luck?” Harry laughed. “Maybe once more,” you smiled, pulling your phone from your back pocket. need to cancel, something came up x you sent quickly to your best friends. “Where are we going?” you asked Harry, eyes locking back onto him as he walked back down the path. “In first, questions later,” he told you, unlocking his car and opening the passenger side door for you.

“You’re acting very murdery for a man of the law,” you laughed, sliding onto the seat. “It was a test, and you failed. Should never get in a strange man’s car,” he joked.

The drive was mostly silent, except for the rhythm of Harry’s fingers tapping against the steering wheel. You were suddenly nervous, mouth dry and heart pounding as you watched the city become a blur. The sun was starting to set overhead as you drove further from home, street lamps and homes beginning to light up around you. Harry glanced over at you, brows furrowed as he tried to read the emotion etched onto your face. “You okay?” he asked, resting a strong hand on your knee.

“Shy,” you smiled weakly. It had only just hit you that you didn’t know Harry at all, couldn’t even think of anything to say to cut through the silence. You wanted the evening to go well, wanted to explore the connection you felt with him. But if you stammered and stuttered all night long, you’d have to go into hiding before a future with Harry even became a possibility.

You watched him as he drove, brows knitted in concentration as he navigated the busy streets. You hadn’t even paid attention to what he was wearing before, and as your eyes wandered over his body, your jaw went slack.

Harry wore a loose white dress shirt that although slightly oversized, seemed to fit him perfectly. He’d left the top few buttons open, allowing glimpses of his toned physique. As he moved his hands around the steering wheel, the material of the shirt shifted, revealing intricate tattoos that adorned his arms and chest. You’d seen a couple on his arms, but the amount that littered the tanned skin of his torso made your heart race. With each tiny movement, his tattoos peeked through the fabric, muscles flexing underneath the inked skin. He was handsome in a way that was new to you, rugged and yet soft.

There was something about his age that drew you to him, his years on you more a challenge than anything. He clearly knew how to act and had no problems going after what he wanted, a world away from the men you knew who were all still stuck in their fratboy mindsets.

“We’re here,” Harry said, resting a gentle hand over yours to pull you from your daydream. He’d pulled up in front of a quaint pub. The bold blue exterior was littered with bright flowers in hanging baskets and window boxes. A crowd of merry customers had spilled out onto the pavement outside, the warm glow from the pub washing over them. “This is so cute,” you told Harry, following him through the open door. “Officer Styles!” a man called out from across the bar. Harry greeted him with a firm handshake, turning his ear to the man’s mouth to hear him over the music. It wasn’t long before he turned back to you, grabbing a hold of your hand to lead you up the stairs. “I did some work for the owner,” he told you, pulling open another door. “Don’t live far from here so I come often now. Good food and good views,” he smirked, stepping out of the way to reveal the scene set up for you.

The balcony was slim, only just wide enough to fit two small tables. One was set up for dining, a bottle of red perched among ice in the middle. The other was covered in candles, wax dripping around a beautiful bouquet in the centre. It was secluded and romantic, the dream setting for your first date with what could be your dream man.

You talked and laughed for what felt like forever, voice hoarse from giggling at Harry’s jokes. The sharing plates he’d ordered sat cold and forgotten in front of you both, almost empty glasses stained pink from the wine.

A hint of a smirk played on Harry's lips as his eyes trailed over yours. “Quickfire round, since I have a feeling you won’t let me kiss you until we know each other better. Family?”

“My brother’s younger, he’s in uni. Parents live by the coast,” you told him, heat rising through your core at the very idea of kissing him.

“My mum lives up north, got an older sister too. Hobbies?”

“I like painting. Don’t do it as much anymore but..” you let your voice trail off.

“But you’re going to paint me?” Harry grinned, turning his back to you and peering seductively over his shoulder. “Draw me like one of your French girls,” he drawled, a mocking glint in his eyes.

“Nuh uh. Got to answer or you’ll never get that kiss.”

“I don’t have hobbies. I like working out and like puzzles,” Harry shrugged.

“Typical old man hobby,” you laughed. Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Well, maybe I am an old soul trapped in a sexy young body," he replied with a playful grin. "Can't complain about that, right?"

You nodded, still amused by his choice of hobbies. "You’re right, I can’t.”

As your conversation continued, you and Harry discovered more and more about each other. Your dreams, fears, and your favourite childhood memories. You laughed and shared stories, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment.

“M’not ready to let you go yet,” Harry smiled, looking out over the river. It was almost totally dark now, the last rays of evening sunshine nearly vanished behind the horizon. You smiled back at Harry. “"I'm not ready to go either," you admitted, rolling your bottom lip into your mouth as you looked over him, taking in the beauty of the scene. He was the definition of a silver fox. You’d noticed heads turning as you left the pub, young (and older) women captivated by just a glance of Harry. Being the girl on his arm felt good, even if it was just for the evening.

“Let’s walk,” Harry told you, his fingers intertwining with yours. You strolled down the riverside hand in hand, chatting mindlessly. Harry shared stories of his childhood, his years working for a local bakery before he moved to London and joined the Met.

You felt so much comfort and warmth as you listened to Harry. His stories painted vivid pictures in your mind, a glimpse into his past giving you some understanding of the person he was. As the two of you continued walking, the sound of the flowing river created a soothing backdrop to your conversation. The setting sun was casting a golden glow over your surroundings, and you couldn't help but feel a growing connection with Harry. It was as if time stood still, and the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

You found yourself opening up to Harry, sharing your own stories. He listened attentively, his eyes filled with genuine interest and understanding. It was refreshing to be with someone who truly cared about getting to know you on a deeper level.

As the evening progressed, the conversation shifted towards more lighthearted topics. Laughter filled the air as Harry recounted some of the funnier people he’d encountered during his career. His animated gestures and contagious laughter made it impossible for you not to join in. There was a boyish charm behind his manly facade, and the more time you spent with Harry, the more you realized how effortlessly he made you feel at ease. There was a natural chemistry between you, a connection that went beyond words. It was a feeling of familiarity, as if you had known each other for years.

As darkness began to envelop you, Harry gently squeezed your hand, bringing your attention back to the present moment. You both paused, eyes trailing over the other’s features under the moonlight. Harry tugged on your arm quickly, pulling you towards the wall. Your heart quickened as his gaze fell to your parted lips, his body gently pressing your back into the brick. The light cast a soft glow on his face, lust etched into every line on his face.

You felt as if you were floating somewhere outside your body as Harry leaned in, his warm breath mingling with yours. His lips brushed against your own, gentle yet filled with an insatiable longing.

You responded eagerly, your hands instinctively finding their way to his waist. The kiss deepened, becoming a dance of lust and unspoken desires. Harry's lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own, his hands roaming your body. It had been a long time since a kiss had ignited a fire within your core, and yet you were burning brighter with every touch.

The taste of him was intoxicating, warm wine, sweetness and desire on his tongue leaving you breathless. He pressed you further into the wall, your bodies molding together perfectly as if they were made to be intertwined.

It had started to rain at some point, though you were too consumed by the raw passion that existed between you to notice the soft raindrops running down your skin. All you could focus on was Harry’s tongue licking into your mouth, a silent promise of the yearning and desire that he felt for you.

He pulled your bottom lip into his mouth before you both pulled away, breathless and panting. The world slowly came back into focus, but the sight of Harry before you nearly made your heart stop. The rain had soaked through his shirt, the thin material now translucent and dipping and weaving over his toned abdomen. His curls were slick against his forehead, raindrops lingering on the end of his eyelashes. His jaw was tense as he looked over your face, one hand gently grazing your waist. He was mesmerising, powerful and yet vulnerable as he stood soaked through in front of you.

You reached out with a gentle hand, pushing the wet curls from his face. But just as your swollen lips parted to speak, the heavens opened above you. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over you and Harry, raindrops pelting you from every angle. You looked at each other in shock, a laugh tumbling past your lips.

Harry grabbed a hold of your hand and ran, the sound of your footsteps slapping against puddles breaking the silence of the now empty streets. You were barely able to hold yourself upright from laughter, falling into Harry’s body as your legs carried you closer to the car. His grip tightened on your wrist, guiding you through the dark paths.

As you reached the car, Harry fumbled with the keys, his hands shaking from the sudden cold. You stood beside him, shivers of adrenaline running through you. The rain smacked against the roof of the car as Harry unlocked it, pulling open the door for you. Even in the pouring rain, he was still a gentleman. You slid in quickly, the sudden warmth fogging up the windows.

You sat in silence for a moment, eyes trailing over each other as you caught your breath. A smile played on Harry’s lips as he looked at you, his hand coming up to brush your sodden hair from your face.

—

There was no way you could sleep. You’d been tossing and turning for at least an hour, the ache in your core too much to sleep on. All you could do was replay the evening in your mind, wondering exactly how you ended up alone in Harry’s bed.

“Here,” Harry handed you one of his T-shirts and some pyjama bottoms. “Shower’s through there, get yourself warmed up.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead as you headed into the bathroom, a tiny sigh of disappointment slipping past your lips. You were desperate for him to join you in the shower, craving more of his touch. A night of stolen glances and gentle touches had you burning up even before the kiss, but after seeing what Harry’s mouth was capable of, you were dying for more of him.

As the water washed over you, all you could think about was Harry’s lips on yours. The hunger in his eyes before he kissed you, the taste of red wine on his tongue.

—

“Would you not get in trouble for this?” you asked Harry, hands wrapped tightly around the hot chocolate he’d handed you. “Maybe. But once we have your stuff back, the case is over. They can’t say anything then,” he shrugged, turning to lean against the kitchen counter. He got more handsome every time you looked at him, as if that were even possible. Now, standing there with his old man plaid pyjama pants and a T-shirt tight against his muscular frame, you were left pressing your thighs together to keep the heat in. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Harry smiled from the sofa. You almost jumped out of your skin at his voice, having tried your hardest to creep silently into the kitchen. He looked adorable, tucked under a thick blanket with his long legs squashed up at the end of the sofa. “Just needed water,” you told him, grabbing an empty cup from the counter.

“Why don’t you want to share a bed with me?” you suddenly burst out, turning on your heel to face him. You weren’t going to beg, didn’t want to whine, but the words came out before you could stop yourself. Harry chuckled, padding over to join you by the sink. He pushed a strand of hair out of your face, cupping your cheek with his free hand. Pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, he whispered, “come on,” his voice low and husky.

You followed Harry out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, watching as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He patted his legs, signalling for you to join him. You straddled his thick thighs, eyes fixed on his as he looked over your body. In only his t-shirt and your tiny panties, you’d never looked more delicious to him. “I didn’t share a bed with you because I try not to sleep with women on the first date,” he told you, slipping a hand under your t-shirt before holding your waist with a firm grip. “And I wouldn’t be able to resist if I were in bed with you.” His eyes came to rest on yours, his pupils blown under thick eyelashes. “You don’t have to resist, Harry,” you replied, your voice small, barely slipping out past your heart pounding in your throat. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, one hand toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. His hand moved further up your body, thumb running over your nipple.

“Y’so beautiful,” Harry cooed, pulling your t-shirt off in one quick movement. He sat back for a second, an arrogant smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he gazed over you. Hunger was written all over his face, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

He leaned in, his lips soft as they brushed against yours. Gentle, yet fuelled by desire. His tongue moved around yours, a delicate dance that left you breathless against his mouth.

Harry’s hands roamed your exposed skin, tracing patterns of heat and need. His touch was electric, insatiable as he gripped and groped at every bit of skin he could reach. He moved with purpose, tracing the curves and contours of your upper body. Every touch, every stroke, sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

His lips left yours, trailing a path of fire down your throat, a trail of goosebumps left in their wake. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips smooth as he suckled and nibbled at the sensitive flesh.

You shifted slightly on his lap, his hard cock nudging at your folds through his pyjama pants. The room was filled with a symphony of whispered moans and ragged breaths as you rubbed yourself on him, the soft scratch of Harry’s pyjamas between your thighs only adding to your desire. You needed him in a way that transcended reality, a hunger that went beyond the physical. Your yearning was deep in your soul as Harry’s hands continued to explore you, his touch more than just a physical sensation. It was a language of its own, speaking unbridled passion.

He wrapped an arm under your hips, lifting you up just enough to slip his pyjamas down his thighs. His cock sprang up between the two of you, grazing your entrance. You whimpered as his tip touched you, your head falling onto Harry’s shoulder. He stroked a hand down his shaft, hissing as his thumb brushed over the angry tip. He started to move you, not expecting you to want to ride him, but you wrapped a firm hand around his neck and shook your head softly, pulling your face from his shoulder to meet his eyes. “Like this, Harry,” you whispered, shifting in his grip until his head lined up with your folds. You pulled your panties to the side, your juices warm against his head.

“You’re on birth control?” he asked, voice strangled as he resisted the urge to push into you. You nodded, sinking down slowly until his thick cock was deep inside of you, splitting your walls wide open. A deep cry fell from your lips as you stilled, his shaft throbbing as it settled into you.

“So fuckin’ tight, kitten,” he drawled, lips planting hungry kisses along your jawline. His eyes were fixed on the mirror behind you, watching his hand grip onto the curve of your ass. His free hand slid under you, easing you up ever so slightly. You could feel him everywhere, in your stomach and in your throat as he pushed deeper into you. Your walls were threatening to burst around his shaft, the size of his cock scratching an itch you never knew you’d had. It was pure ecstasy.

“Harry,” you whined, gripping him tighter as you pushed your hips upwards, starting to find your rhythm. The burn was white-hot in your core, tingles of pleasure spreading through your body as you bounced up and down on his lap. Your nails raked down his back as he fucked into you, deep whines and moans being pulled from your mouth every time Harry’s cock hit your sweet spot. His strong arm was guiding your hips up and down, his free hand still exploring your body as he pressed kisses along your throat. You still wanted more of each other, still searching each other’s bodies as if you had been starved of touch for years.

You were as close as you could be to him, your bodies melding together with every push of his hips. Your clit was rubbing against the fabric of your panties with every movement, every slap of your cheeks against his groin sending you further into your spiral.

“You’re mine, all mine, huh?” Harry mewled against your skin, his lips moving down to find your nipple. He sucked and licked around the bud, his lips swollen and hot. “All yours,” you whined, your orgasm creeping up on you after Harry’s dominant ownership. He held you tightly, your trembling legs heavy on his arm despite how light you felt. You were sure you could take flight in that moment, pleasure coursing through you with every buck of his hips. You threw your head onto his shoulder as you came, a strangled cry pushing past your dry lips.

Your walls tightened around his cock, his lips pressing a tiny moan into your skin. He flipped you over once your breathing slowed, the new angle pushing his cock deeper into you. Harry splayed a hand across your stomach, feeling where he was fucking into you. His eyes were dark as he looked down at you, watching the way your tits bounced with every rock of his hips. His thrusts started to get sloppier, his hips knocking into you harder as he came close to his high. You could feel him throbbing inside of you as he panted, jaw slack as he pulled out of you quickly. One hand stroked the length of his cock as he came, his come splashing violently all over your chest. You released the hand gripping his shoulder to swipe a finger through the puddle, licking it from your fingertip hungrily. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he drawled, chest heaving as he watched you.

You were more content in that moment than you’d ever been, silently thanking whoever had decided to steal your bag. If it was all an insane plan to get you here, covered in Harry’s come, you’d thank them every day for the rest of your life.

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hisbuni · 5 months ago

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𓂃 to fit in ˖ ݁ patrick bateman ⊹ dark, sfw content.

you were better than jean. your skirt fit perfectly, well organized, always on time, never spoken unless spoken to, but you were paul allen’s assistant.

c. readers skin is described as smooth n is called pumpkin twice. jean slander but i still love her.

patrick was disgusted by most things: people who felt they were better than him, women who weren’t slutty and didn’t know how to shut their mouths, anyone below him… the list could go on. but, you weren’t one of them. when he looked at you his sanity always began to slip. especially when you were speaking with your boss, paul allen. paul had a lot of things patrick wanted, and you were the number one thing.

your skirt always an appropriate length, heels arching your feet, pen and paper in hand readying for whatever paul needed, your shirts dipping just enough to see the swell of your breast, skin smooth, hair styled and you never spoke much unless you were spoken to.

you would look perfect on his arm- you would make him fit in perfectly. besides, replacing jean wouldn’t mean anything to him, she was a mess; her outfit never being what patrick wanted, her scheduling process always a slow, she never caught on to his jokes, and she was always questioning him. he was simply never satisfied with her. he wanted to be satisfied.

unlike what he was feeling now, as he sat mindlessly at the conference room table. it was full with business men unlike any other day but that was because of paul’s presence. conversation had been going around for a while, none of their conversations ever peaking his interest. “so how’s the fisher account?” bryce questions, fixing his suit against his body as he sits upright, in front of bateman. “fantastic as always,” his smile small as he speaks, “i’d tell you how i got it but i’d have to kill you.” everyone listening laughs, it annoys patrick, so he simply lets out a stiff chuckle, smiles and nods profusely. he even goes as far to comment quietly, “hilarious.”

as the laughing quiets down, the light sound of heels hitting the carpet floor gains patrick’s attention and some others. you’d already made it halfway across the room before any of them noticed. once you’d made it to the end of the table on patrick’s side where paul sat, you give the table a small smile. “sorry for interrupting,” you fix your eyes onto paul, “your reminder for your meeting at 1.”

paul glances at his watch, before looking up at you, pointing a finger at you in recognition, with a small smile and nod, “thank you.” patrick face is stern, eyes giving away the greed he feels when looking at you. they’re almost low as if he’s on cannabis, lips slightly parted at the looks of your wet ones. not noticing his gaze, you don’t hesitate to nod back to paul, and make your way towards the door, eyes of all colors following you until you can’t be seen. a light whistle sound comes from a couple men around the table, one of them being van patten. “mother of god, how’d you get her?” he speaks, leaning back in his chair a bit.

“who?” paul almost looks clueless for a minute, but the smile that cracks on his face gives him away. his coworkers still push the question. “seriously,” bryce insists, eager for the answer. “i’d definitely bang that,” mcdermott comments with a nod, and everyone follows shortly behind in agreement. “she’s marvelous,” luis comments, to the left side of patrick— while he sits annoyed for the second time since sitting down at the table.

after the conference “meeting” everyone went about their day of work, patrick’s being not very pleasant because of the lingering anger he felt about you not sharing him a glance in the conference room. so angry that he found himself hating the show he watching and began to be heavy annoyed by jean’s presence. the greed, lead him to your small office outside of paul allen’s office.

“do you need something, mr. bateman?” you call, from your desk, eyes watching him closely as he stands in your doorway. “call me patrick,” he says, giving a smile as he walks further in. “patrick…” you let the room run quiet for a second to looking down at paul’s schedule on your desk, “do you need to schedule something with-” he’s quick to interrupt. “no.” his tone is stern and irritated, but he lets out breath to calm himself. “dinner. the two of us,” he tells plainly.

you’re taken back by the sudden offer, and you almost let out a chuckle but you don’t. only cracking a small apologetic smile, “can’t. i have a boyfriend.” it was a lie, of course. you had to admit you found patrick quite attractive despite his indifference to the rest of the men in the office who have tried to either get your number or take you home. you could never really put your finger on why though.

“come on, pumpkin. you can do better than that,” he says, not being deceived by the known lie. you don’t comment on him catching you. “pumpkin? never thought i’d have a nickname like that.” you smile enduringly at the name he’d given you in this short time. ignoring your comment, he asks, “how about dorsia?”

you search his face to see if he’s joking, but he stands, waiting for your answer. “sure,” you smile giving him what he’s been waiting on. “paul saying their sea urchin ceviche is great. i’m excited to try it,” you comment, playfully, and patrick gives you a light chuckle. the mention of his name slight irritates him but shakes it off. “right. friday, i’ll pick you up.” he doesn’t care for a reply and turns to leave. his mind too busy worry about how he was going to get the reservation, but he’d kill for it, if he had to, just to have you.

#. ( patrick bateman )#american psycho imagine #american psycho x reader #american psycho #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x you #୧ nova

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brunchable · 21 days ago

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It's not a Meet-𝑪𝒖𝒕𝒆, it's a Meet-𝗨𝗴𝗹𝘆. 《Chapter 3: Kibble Thief. 》

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: It's not a meet-cute, it's a meet ugly, Grumpy Meets ✨️Sunshine✨️, Opposites Attract, Sassy Pet Matchmaker, Enemies-to-Lovers (Lite), Destined to meet again, Bucky is a hidden softie. Summary: Who gets the last Kibble in the grocery store? Rock-Paper-Scissors should settle that. A/N: This story will be OUTSIDE of MCU but Bucky's traits will be mixed comics/mcu. Also this will be updated every FRIDAY(AEST). I hope I tagged everyone? Credits to me for the Banner lmfao. credits to @ khaer for the divider.

The Emporium NYC bustled with the usual morning energy—customers browsing, displays perfectly set up, and staff ensuring everything was running smoothly. You strolled through, heels clicking softly against the polished floor as Lincoln, Maddie, and Rachel trailed behind, taking notes and addressing finer details, from updating store layouts to planning promotional events for the upcoming season. Officially the new CEO, you’d be overseeing each component, ensuring the customer experience was flawless, from aesthetics to the efficiency of operations.

As you rounded a corner, you came to an abrupt stop, causing your small entourage to halt behind you. There, by one of the benches near a fountain, was Bucky. He was crouched down, helping an elderly woman with her shopping bags, his eyes crinkling as he laughed at something she’d said. The sight of him, relaxed and genuinely grinning, made you pause, head tilting in mild fascination.

Bucky was… peculiar. You couldn’t quite pin down why; there was something about the way he carried himself that seemed at odds with the man you’d met—reserved and gruff, yet here he was, all warmth and easy charm. He looked completely at ease, like he belonged in this gentle moment, laughing softly with an elderly stranger.

You stood there, watching him as if trying to solve a puzzle. How could someone be so closed off one moment and so approachable the next?

A hand suddenly waved in front of your face, snapping you back to reality.

“Hey, you okay?” Lincoln asked, raising an eyebrow with a curious look.

“Oh!” You blinked, catching yourself. “Yeah, just… observing,” you replied with a small smile, glancing back at Bucky, who was still chuckling with the elderly woman, completely unaware of his unexpected audience.

After a moment, Bucky stood up, giving the elderly woman a warm smile as he handed her bags back. She patted his arm gratefully, and he gave a small nod before turning around, his gaze sweeping over the bustling mall.

Just as he glanced in your direction, he caught sight of your back as you continued walking, your little group following closely behind. From his angle, all he could see was the silhouette of a well-dressed woman in heels, surrounded by assistants, her focus already directed ahead, purposefully striding through the mall. He raised an eyebrow, thinking for a moment that the figure seemed familiar, but brushed it off.

Bucky continued his stroll, unaware that he’d just missed you by a few paces, each of you none the wiser to the other’s presence.

× × × ×

Back in your office—a space designed with clean lines, muted tones, and an impeccable sense of style—you sat at your desk, but your mind was elsewhere. The memory of Bucky by the fountain lingered, refusing to fade. You twirled a pen between your fingers, the rhythmic motion doing little to refocus your thoughts.

Through the glass wall, you caught sight of Lincoln, busy at his desk just outside. His head was bent over paperwork, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up as he worked. With a small sigh, you picked up the telephone on your desk, dialing his extension. A moment later, Lincoln’s phone buzzed, and he glanced your way before answering.

“Yeah, boss?” he asked, voice carrying just the slightest edge of curiosity.

“Can you come in here for a sec?” you replied, keeping your tone casual.

“Sure,” he said, hanging up before making his way into your office. He closed the door behind him with a quiet click, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the back of the chair opposite your desk. “Something the matter?”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before speaking. “You mentioned before that you’re into the Avengers, right?”

Lincoln blinked, looking slightly taken aback by the unexpected question. “Uh… yeah, I guess you could say that. Why?”

You leaned back in your chair, tapping the pen lightly against the armrest. “Is there a guy named Bucky? Perhaps?”

Lincoln’s expression shifted, a look of recognition crossing his features.

“Yeah, there’s definitely a Bucky,” he replied, nodding slowly. “Bucky Barnes—also known as the Winter Soldier. Kind of a big deal, depending on how much of a fan you are.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden enthusiasm. “Go on.”

“He’s Steve Rogers’ best friend and has, uh… kind of a complicated past. He has a bionic arm too—I heard they had to use the mind stone to remove the brainwashing a long time ago so yeah, that’s him—definitely has that ‘badass with a heart of gold’ type.”

Lincoln looked at you, curiosity clearly growing. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing,” you replied, shrugging as casually as possible. “Just curious.”

Lincoln narrowed his eyes suspiciously, crossing his arms as he gave you a skeptical once-over. After a moment, he leaned forward, clearly not about to let it go entirely.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

You cleared your throat, attempting to change the topic. “So… who do you like better? Bucky or, you know… Captain America?”

Lincoln didn’t hesitate. “Bucky, hands down. He’s cool.” He grinned, adding, “I mean, come on. Vibranium arm—but I don’t think he’s actively working anymore, probably laying low.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “I see… well, thanks for the info.”

With a smirk, Lincoln shrugged, giving you one last curious glance before heading for the door. As he left, you spun your pen between your fingers, lingering in thought for a moment. Finally, with a small sigh, you turned your attention to the computer and typed in Bucky Barnes into the search bar, curiosity getting the better of you.

× × × ×

After a long day at work, you decided to stop by Rhys’ office unannounced. Frustration lingered in your chest; he’d been dodging your calls and texts all day, and the unanswered questions had built a subtle tension you were eager to resolve. As much as you tried to brush it off, a part of you felt that familiar pang of disappointment, wondering if he’d really be there for you this time or if the gala would end up as another solo appearance.

Dressed in a high-waisted pencil skirt and a relaxed-fit blouse tucked neatly in, you’d opted for professional yet effortlessly striking. As you stepped into his office, Rhys’ gaze flickered up, eyebrows lifting as his eyes ran from your heels to the curve of your shoulders, lingering slightly longer than necessary before he met your gaze.

“Hey,” he greeted, leaning back in his chair, a hint of surprise coloring his voice. “Didn’t know you’d be stopping by.”

You gave him a small, tired smile, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe.

“Thought I’d save myself another text,” you replied lightly. “So, will you be coming to the gala next week?”

He sighed, glancing at his computer screen. “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I’ll try my best, but you know how it is. Busy, busy.”

Before you could reply, you noticed a figure off to the side, stacking a pile of files on a desk across the room. A young woman you didn’t recognize, dressed in a polished but slightly over-eager way. There was something oddly familiar about her—the way she held herself, the slight flicker of recognition as she glanced over at you before quickly averting her eyes.

Turning back to Rhys, you tilted your head, gesturing subtly toward her. “New assistant?” you asked, your tone light but curious.

Rhys glanced over, nodding. “Yeah, that’s Carly. She just started. Great addition to the team, very… efficient.”

Carly offered a polite smile, though her gaze didn’t quite meet yours. The vague familiarity nagged at you, but you pushed it aside, refocusing on Rhys.

“Don’t you think going to the gala with me is a good way to make it up to me?” you asked, keeping your tone light but with an edge.

Rhys sighed, leaning back in his chair, looking almost exasperated. “Baby, we went to dinner, I bought you flowers… I thought we were over that already.”

A flash of irritation sparked within you, but with his employees nearby, you bit your tongue, choosing to keep things civil. Instead, you offered a tight smile.

“Alright. Then just cancel our weekend together,” you said, tone even as you reached for your phone, texting Lincoln to prepare the car. Without waiting for a response, you turned to walk toward the door.

Rhys, visibly frustrated, hurried after you, catching your arm gently but firmly, turning you around to face him.

“Are you seriously going to act like this?” he demanded, his voice low but laced with annoyance.

“Act like what?” you replied, voice steady, but the tension between you was palpable. “Do you not like your own medicine?”

Rhys’ jaw tightened as he released your arm, his gaze hardening. He looked like he wanted to argue but held back, glancing briefly over his shoulder at his employees before forcing a smile.

Rhys let out a frustrated huff, his expression twisting as he tried to maintain his composure. “This is being petty. I have a few deadlines, alright?”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “So do I, and yet I’m going,” you replied, your tone sharp but controlled.

He let out a mirthless chuckle, rubbing a hand over his jaw as if trying to rein in his frustration.

“Look, it’s not the same,” he muttered. “You don’t understand the pressure I’m under right now.”

You shook your head, the familiar sting of disappointment returning.

“No, Rhys. I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand,” you said quietly. “Just—just keep your bare minimum away from me. I want someone who shows up with passion, not just a shrug.”

He opened his mouth, as if to argue, but you were done. Turning on your heel, you strode toward the elevator, leaving him standing in the hallway, his employees glancing away awkwardly, pretending not to notice the heated exchange.

As the elevator doors closed in front of you, you took a steadying breath, focusing on the feeling of moving forward.

× × × ×

The grocery store was surprisingly packed for a weekday evening, but you only had one item left on your list: Figaro’s favorite premium kibble. He definitely knows his social ranks for a feline. After a few minutes of searching, you finally spotted the last bag on the top shelf, wedged annoyingly out of reach. Standing on tiptoe, you stretched your arm, fingers just barely grazing the edge of the bag. No luck.

With a sigh, you jumped a little, just enough to brush the bottom of the bag but not quite enough to grab it. Just as you were about to give it one last try, an arm reached out beside you, snatching the bag with ease.

“Oh, thank you—” You turned, half-expecting to see a store employee, but froze when you realized it was Bucky, he looked at you, an eyebrow raised, holding the bag as if he were contemplating your gratitude.

“Thanks,” you said with a polite smile, reaching for it. But he didn’t hand it over.

“What?” he asked, looking down at the bag, then back at you. “Did you think I got this for you?”

“Obviously?” you replied, exasperated. “I was reaching for it!”

Bucky tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, I saw. Looked like quite a struggle.”

You huffed, hands on your hips. “So you just saw a lady struggling and thought, ‘Nah, I’ll just grab my own and let her suffer?’”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at you with mock seriousness.

“In my defense, I was here to buy cat food too. And besides,” he said, holding the bag up a little higher, “I’m the one who actually got it off the shelf.”

Your jaw dropped as you let out a disbelieving scoff. “So, what? You think you can just keep it?”

Bucky shrugged, giving the bag a little shake. “I don’t know… I think Alpine would be pretty disappointed if I came home empty-handed.”

“Oh, really? Well, Figaro’s basically feline royalty, so he deserves the best. And I was here first, thank you very much.” You narrowed your eyes, refusing to back down.

“Sure, you were here first. But I was the one who reached it.” He leaned back a bit, arms crossed, clearly enjoying this.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, reaching up again, trying to snag it from his grip.

He pulled it just out of reach with a faint teasing smirk. “You know, if you tried a little jump, you might actually get it.”

You rolled your eyes. “And you call me a Trash Panda?! You’re the one robbing me in public.”

He shrugged, looking you over with a mockingly thoughtful expression. “Well, if you could use those same Trash Panda skills you talked about, maybe you’d actually reach it.”

“Oh, so now you’re saying I should just climb the shelves?” You bit back a laugh, folding your arms with a challenging look.

“Hey, if the trash panda mask fits…” he replied, smirking.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, shaking your head. “Well, guess what, I’m not giving up. Figaro needs this kibble, so… how about we make a deal?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“Rock, paper, scissors. Best two out of three. Winner takes the kibble.”

He chuckled, clearly amused. “You serious?”

“As a heart attack,” you replied, holding out your hand, already set on rock.

He sighed dramatically but held out his fist. “Alright.”

You both counted off—“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”—and threw your choices. First round: you threw rock, he threw scissors.

“Ha! One for Figaro,” you said, grinning triumphantly as Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Beginner’s luck,” he muttered, shifting his stance.

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” you both chanted again. This time, you threw paper, but he threw scissors, a sly smirk pulling at his lips.

“Looks like Alpine’s back in the game,” he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

You narrowed your eyes. “Fine. One to one. This is for all the kibble, Barnes.”

You both held your fists out one last time, tension building as you chanted together, “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

You threw scissors… and his hand did some weird, twisty thing that didn’t look like a fist or open palm. It seemed to morph into rock at the last second.

You stared at his hand, utterly perplexed. “Hold on. What… what was that?”

He cleared his throat, trying to keep a straight face as he straightened his hand into a proper rock. “Uh, rock.”

You squinted at him, highly suspicious. “That didn’t look like rock. That looked like some sort of… ninja move.”

“Rock. Fair and square.” He shrugged, deadpan.

“Fair and square?” you repeated, scandalized. “You hesitated! I saw it. There was… like, a split-second where it was maybe paper or… or spaghetti hand. You can’t just—”

“Ha!—” he laughed suddenly, clutching the bag triumphantly. “Looks like Alpine’s getting her dinner after all.” Realizing he’d let his competitive amusement slip, he quickly cleared his throat and returned to his usual deadpan expression. “Uh, like I said. Rock.”

You gasped, pointing a dramatic finger at him. “Cheater! This is an outrage. Figaro and I will be filing an official complaint.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, barely hiding a grin as he clutched the kibble bag like a prize. “Good luck with that, Trash Panda. You know where to find me.”

“W-what?! This is unacceptable!”

He gave you a mock salute, turning to leave with the bag held victoriously at his side. “See you around. Better luck next time.”

× × × ×

You finally made it back home, juggling grocery bags as you stepped through the door. After Bucky’s so-called “victory” over the last bag of Figaro’s kibble, you’d stubbornly marched to a different grocery store just to get the brand he liked. And now, as you set down the bags, you couldn’t help but grumble, still ‘annoyed’ by the whole ordeal.

“Can you believe that guy, Figaro?” you muttered, pulling out the new bag of kibble and placing it on the counter. “Rock, paper, scissors? And don’t get me started on his weird ‘ninja rock’ move.”

Figaro, who’d been lounging on the windowsill, perked up at the mention of his name, giving you a lazy blink. He trotted over, sniffing at the bag with casual curiosity, clearly more interested in the kibble than your grocery drama.

“Yeah, I know, buddy,” you sighed, scratching his ears. “I went through all that trouble just to get this for you. Because some self-proclaimed ‘cat dad’ thought it was funny to mess with me.”

Figaro blinked at you slowly, his usual regal, unbothered expression intact.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” you continued, almost indignant. “He was laughing at me—like, actually laughing! And then he tried to pretend he didn’t. I swear, the nerve…”

You opened the bag, pouring a small amount into Figaro’s dish. He immediately sauntered over, sniffing it appreciatively before settling down to eat, clearly oblivious to your rant.

You huffed, pacing around the kitchen as you continued your one-sided conversation. “And then, he had the audacity to call me a Trash Panda. A Trash Panda, Figaro! Just because I had to take the recycling out one time. If anything, he’s the one acting like a sneaky raccoon, hoarding all the kibble.”

Figaro paused mid-chew, glancing up at you with a flick of his tail, as if he were considering whether to care about your grievances. Ultimately, though, he resumed eating, clearly finding the kibble well worth your extra trip.

“Glad you’re satisfied, at least,” you muttered, watching him with an exasperated smile. “But just so you know, if I run into him again, there’s no way he’s winning round two. Trash Panda, my foot.”

You sighed, finally plopping down on the couch. As you closed your eyes, Figaro leapt up, curling onto your lap, purring as if to say, You did well. Now, keep that kibble coming.

With a chuckle, you scratched behind his ears. “Yeah, yeah. All for you, buddy.”

× × × ×

Bucky unlocked his apartment door, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The memory of his grocery store “win” replayed in his mind, and he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he thought of you muttering something about a “trash panda” rebellion. But as he stepped inside, his good mood was interrupted by a startling sight.

There, sitting casually on his couch, was Nick Fury, his signature eyepatch and stoic expression in place as he stroked Alpine, who lounged contentedly on his lap, purring like she’d known him her whole life.

“Fury?” Bucky’s voice was laced with a mixture of irritation and surprise as he closed the door, eyeing the uninvited guest warily. “Breaking into people’s apartments now, are we?”

Fury didn’t look up, still scratching Alpine’s ears. “Didn’t break in. Used the spare key you left at the front desk. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Bucky sighed, leaning back against the door. “Something tells me you didn’t swing by just to bond with my cat.”

Finally, Fury looked up, his expression as unreadable as ever.

“Got a job for you,” he said, straight to the point. “Nothing big. Need someone with your… skill set. It’s important.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “So, you need me for a mission?”

Fury gave a curt nod, placing a slim folder on the coffee table in front of him. “Consider it a favor. Low profile, nothing flashy. Think of it as keeping yourself sharp.”

Bucky looked at the file, then back at Fury, giving a single, firm nod, his expression resolute.

“Alright.”

A flicker of satisfaction passed over Fury’s face. “Good. Figured you’d see it that way,” he said, standing up and straightening his coat. “Call it… preventative maintenance.”

Bucky gave him a sarcastic smile. “Good to know you’re looking out for me.”

Fury adjusted his collar, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t get used to it.”

With that, Fury headed for the door, but he paused, glancing back as if he’d forgotten something.

“Nice cat,” he added, nodding to Alpine. “She’s got good taste.”

Before Bucky could respond, Fury slipped out the door, leaving the room silent except for Alpine, who looked up at Bucky with wide, innocent eyes, as if nothing unusual had happened.

He let out a breath, shaking his head as he picked up the file Fury had left.

“Guess I’m not the only one with ‘friends’ stopping by,” he muttered, scratching Alpine under the chin. She purred, looking thoroughly unbothered, as if welcoming mysterious guests was just part of her day.

As Bucky settled into his apartment, he opened the slim file Fury had left behind. The first page was blank, but as he flipped it open, a small stack of documents fell out, including a photo. He picked it up, his gaze settling on a familiar face.

There you were, captured in a candid shot, your expression focused and composed, a faint smile touching your lips. Bucky felt a slight twist in his chest; he knew you looked good, but seeing you in an official document made it all seem… different.

He sighed, setting the photo aside as he turned to the profiles. The first file, marked with your family’s name, laid out the details of their empire. The Emporium, he read, the flagship shopping mall brand that had grown into a national luxury name, renowned for its upscale stores and sleek, modern architecture. A leader in the retail market, The Emporium was a prestigious name, built on elegance, exclusivity, and exceptional customer experience.

Finally, he found your profile. There was your name, the one he hadn’t known until now. Bucky murmured it to himself, testing the sound on his tongue. It suited you.

As he read, he found his initial hunch confirmed—your involvement in any of the suspected activities was highly unlikely. The profile outlined your recent appointment as CEO, noting your reputation for commitment and vision, as well as your focus on a flawless customer experience and dedication to preserving the company’s high standards. The report even highlighted your relative lack of experience with the inner financial workings of the empire, making it clear you hadn’t been involved with the questionable transactions.

Still, Bucky’s stomach clenched as he flipped to the next page. A profile on your older brother, marked with multiple instances of substantial, unusual transactions. The transactions were linked to shell companies 'known' to have Hydra connections. He sat back, fingers brushing over the file, his mind whirring with the implications.

He couldn’t deny the odd twist in his gut. The more he read, the more he realized he was being drawn into something that would involve you deeply. And the idea of you eventually finding out about his involvement gnawed at him. But for now, he told himself, he was only gathering information.

As he leaned back, closing the file, his gaze drifted back to your photo, a faint sigh escaping him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that when you eventually learned the truth, this mission might cost him more than he wanted to admit.

tags: @winchestert101 @lomlbuckybarnes @lveegsoi @itsshellzy @almosttoopizza

@aami98 @hextech-bros @hzdhrtss @winterslove1917 @infqnitysblog

@ayayaeyato @blackbirdwitch22 @mostlymarvelgirl @bohoooitsme @crdgn

@yiiiikesmish @jae0515 @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @nikey-no-likey @aami98

@almosttoopizza @hextech-bros @wisteriaandwafers @yiiiikesmish @marvelavengerspovs1

@ppbhquinn

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wxxpingangxls · 2 months ago

Text

WET

+synopsis; the hottest criminal solicitor is in town and she’s ready to fight tooth and nail to prove her new clients innocence. I wonder how he’ll thank her…

+content/warnings; black reader but little to no explicit detail, taboo relationships, stalking, peeping tom, death threats, begging, mentions of murder, graphic details, angst, cheating, reader smokes, semi public, oil massage, nasty and messy sex, squirting, brief toe sucking, running from him, pussy drunk Toji, mr munch, ass eating, Toji is grown and got stubble, face sitting, 69, mating press, doggy style, overstimulation

+pairings; Felon Toji x Lawyer!Fem Black Reader

+a/n; ending is rushed idk why 😞😞 but i hope you enjoy lovely’s!!!🩷

“So, Mr Fushi… Uh, so what exactly are we here to discuss today?” you stated, papers on the table and pen in your hand ready to note down.

He raised an eyebrow as his eyes wandered down to the bright diamond ring blinking at him on your finger. You were used to this behaviour. Felons and criminals acting cold and calloused as if you weren’t the one thing between them and their freedom.

“Look, I don’t want to be here either. But we have got to work together. There’s no point in you sitting on your arse, acting as if I don’t have better places to be. I could be on a trip to Barbados right now but I’m stuck here saving your arse-“

“You done?” he interrupted slyly.

“No, I’m not done. You’re wasting everybody’s time. It’s not my fault you decided to kill that guy at the bar. The court appointed me as your attorney and so I’m going to try my best to help you win this case but I can only do so much.” you huffed at the end of the long speech watching his eyes close in annoyance.

“Look lady, I’ve got a child to go back home to, I don’t have time for this. Can you get my case dismissed or not?”

“I was getting to that,” you stated with venom laced on your tongue. “We can always claim self defence. Given your history there’s not much else,” The question of whether he had a mental illness crossed your mind but quite frankly, you weren’t in the mood to converse with this fiend any longer.

“That’s a pretty ring ya got there… You married?” he questioned. His cuffed hands were lying in his lap. This man had stressed you so damn much that you hadn’t realised how, handsome, he was. Despite the ugly and completely unflattering appearance of the orange jumpsuit, you could see the tattoos that encapsulated his large biceps, big enough to crush your skull with. The man you were defending - or rather attempting to - had the meanest mug written all over his face. But you were a woman before you were a lawyer, and your heart was with another.

“Not yet, I’m engaged,” you huffed.

Toji scoffed before turning to face the large mirror. “Is that all Mr Fushiguro? If so, I’ll be on my way,” and without another word, you swiftly left the room, closing the door on the way out. The correctional officer walked out towards you. “Did he tell ya what ‘appened? Ya know with the guy?” You eyed the officer down, observing his hands that were stationed on his belt. “Exuse me? I’m not entitled to disclose that information,” you rolled your eyes as the click clacking of your heels echoed across the hallway.

“Hi baby, how was your day?” your fiancé kissed your temple as you looked down at the plate of food in front of you.

“It was okay,” you shrugged indifferently.

Your fiancé was the executive marketer of a large company. “I’m sorry to here that, I’ll be upstairs if you need me,”

You didn’t say a word as he walked away. In spite of the disturbing scene unfolding in front of your eyes on the TV whilst watching “The Perfection”, you couldn’t help but wonder how Mr Fushiguro was going. Sure he had a nasty mouth and the patience of a toothpick but there was something so intriguing about him. Maybe it’s because you were tired of you boring and plain life. You’ve always been like that.

It wasn’t anything new for you to leave something that was perfectly good to something subpar purely out of boredom and this was no exception.

The next few weeks consisted of you mostly signing papers, talking with your client, viewing crime scene photos and talking to detectives on the case.

The old Bailey loomed large and imposing, its grandeur echoing centuries of justice. Inside, the air was thick with anticipation and tension. You were a sharp and tenacious criminal lawyer, and this was no new information as you adjusted your barrister's wig, your eyes scanning the courtroom. Your reputation for winning impossible cases was well-earned, and today, your skills would be put to the test.

Toji Fushiguro, your client, sat at the defendant’s table. His presence was both magnetic and menacing, a dangerous mix that had everyone on edge. Accused of a brutal murder, his piercing green eyes betrayed no emotion as he watched the proceedings unfold.

Your first meeting had been fraught with silent judgments and unspoken words. You had read his file meticulously, aware of the gravity of the crime he was accused of. A single father found dead in at the bar, after a fight had broke out, all evidence pointing towards Toji. Yet, something about the case felt off to you, an instinct you couldn’t ignore.

You spent countless hours pouring over the evidence, every piece scrutinized under your critical gaze. Late nights at the office became routine, the flickering desk lamp being your only companion. Toji's file lay open before you, his eyes in the mugshot staring back with a challenge and scar in menacing smirk.

The interviews were intense. Toji, ever the enigma, offered little help. His answers were curt, often cloaked in sarcasm. But there was something beneath the surface, a flicker of vulnerability that intrigued you.

A ghost of a smile played on Toji’s lips. “You’re different from the others. They’ve all looked at me like I’m already convicted.”

"So? Why would you think I'm different? Let’s not forget why I’m here,” you stated.

Days turned into weeks, and your professional relationship took on a different hue. There was a dangerous allure in Toji’s defiance, a charisma that drew you in despite your better judgment. You guys would often find yourselves locked in heated debates, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day in court, you found yourself in a dimly lit pub, nursing a bourbon. The door creaked open, and Toji walked in, flanked by the ever-present guards. Their eyes met across the room, a silent understanding passing between them.

“What the hell are you doing here, Fushiguro?,” you said as he approached the table, your voice low.

“I needed a drink,” Toji shrugged, sitting opposite you. The guards stood discreetly nearby, giving them a semblance of privacy.

You arched an eyebrow. “Well then, get your damn drink and leave me be?”

Toji leaned forward, his eyes darkening. “I think you’re the only person who sees me as more than just a murderer.”

“Oh please, that’s my job as a defendant. You’re onto nothing,”

Your heart pounded in your chest. The line between right and wrong blurred, your connection undeniable and perilous. you knew you were treading dangerous waters, but something about Toji made it impossible to walk away.

As the trial progressed, your determination to uncover the truth deepened. You successfully discovered inconsistencies in the evidence, hidden motives that pointed towards another suspect. Each revelation brought you closer, your late-night strategy sessions charged with a mix of frustration and undeniable chemistry.

The day of the verdict arrived, tension palpable in the courtroom. You stood tall, closing arguments a masterclass in legal brilliance. You had laid out the evidence meticulously, casting doubt on the prosecution’s case.

As the jury filed back in, the room held its breath. The foreman stood, the verdict hanging in the balance.

“Not guilty.”

The words echoed, a collective sigh of relief from your team. Toji turned to you, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper in his eyes. You couldn’t show your true feelings, not here, not now. But the promise of something more lingered between the energy in the air.

As the two of you continued to stare, a bright blinding bling brought his attention back to the engagement right adorning your right finger.

A few weeks after the trial, life starts to return to normal. Your fiancé working hard to make you happy, however your client still plagued your mind.

Your routine became his script. He knew when you left for work, the route you took, where you got your morning coffee. You would catch glimpses of him sometimes—at least you think you do—a flash of his face in a crowd, the shape of his shoulders disappearing around a corner.

One evening, as you leave your office, you feel it again—that sensation of being watched. You quickened your pace, glancing over your shoulder, but the street is empty. You told yourself it’s just your imagination, but the fear lingers.

Toji followed at a distance, his footsteps silent. He knows how to blend into the shadows, how to remain unseen. Every time you turn around, he steps just out of sight, watching you with a predatory intensity. His mind races with thoughts of you, dark fantasies that he can't shake.

Despite the ever growing suspicion of a potential stalker, you decide to treat yourself to a massage at your favorite spa, hoping to find some peace. The soft music and dim lighting work their magic as you settle onto the table, your mind beginning to unwind. An all too familiar and soft female voice tickles your ear, “Hey honey, just give me five and I’ll be back to give you the massage of your life,”

“Hurry Tina, my back hurts,”

A few moments pass before the masseur enters. You hear the door close softly and the click of bottles being opened. Hands begin to work on your tense muscles, and you let out a sigh of relief. The touch is skilled, firm yet gentle, but there is something vaguely unfamiliar about it.

A whisper brushes against your ear. “Did you miss me?”

Your eyes snap open in shock. Toji’s voice is unmistakable. Your heart races as you realize the hands on your body belong to him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you hiss, trying to keep your voice steady.

Toji’s hands continue their work, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “I needed to see you. To feel you.”

“What the fuck does that even mean, you bastard? I thought you had a kid to go home to. Instead you’re here feeling me up. Have you no shame?” you whisper, torn between fear and a forbidden thrill.

“I know,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your ear. “But I can’t stay away from you. You’re in my blood, Y/N.”

“Bullshit, you bum,” you spit.

His words are intoxicating, and you find yourself caught in a web of desire and danger. Every stroke of his hands ignites a fire within you, a fire you thought you had extinguished.

You know this is wrong, that you should stop him, but your body betrays you, melting under his touch. The line between right and wrong, sanity and madness, blurs once more.

As Toji’s hands explore your body, you realize that you are no longer just in the shadow of doubt. You are in the shadow of obsession, and there is no turning back. Your mean words did nothing but further push him to make you his.

“If you want me to stop, you know the word,” he carefully caresses the skin of your lower back. You weighed out your options. You were going to be married soon, if you were going to live life you’d might as well do it now before it was too late.

You hummed in acknowledgment, before finally agreeing to his lingering touches. It was going to be a one time thing after all. He gently flipped you over so that you were lying on your back. “Just so you know, Toji, this is a one time thing. After all I’m engaged.” he ignored you as he grabbed your thighs so that they were touching your chest.

He watched as your cunt leaked out before he’d even touch you. His hands weren’t even that good. He figured it must’ve been a long while since you’ve been dicked down good.

He wasted no time before sucking on your bud, your moans being loudly ripped from your chest. “Fuck!” you knew it’d been a while since he’d had some pussy, but damn it couldn’t have been that long. He groaned out from your sweet taste. “My God, I didn’t think you’d taste this good…” he whined out.

He spat on your clit making sure his saliva ran down to your puckered hole, ultimately making a mess out of you. “Oh yes!” you moaned out before cupping your mouth. You had momentarily forgotten you were in public, but the shame of being too loud quickly left your soul as Toji continued to suck on your pussy.

His tongue entered your tight hole, expanding the tight rim. “You ever had your ass ate before?”

“Excuse me?” you sat up utterly shocked.

“N…No? What kind of question is that?”

“Huh…No wonder you’re such a tight ass…Literally…” he scoffed.

He continued his ministrations on your sweet cunt. “If we had some privacy I’d eat your ass out so good,”

You couldn’t even keep your legs up anymore, your orgasm was coming closer. Toji knew this well and started sucking and pulling on your clit. Your face scrunched up in pure bliss. Bliss you hadn’t felt in ages. “Mphm! Toji!”

“Yeah, that’s what I like to hear.” he groaned out in the response.

“Right there Toji! M’ so close!”

A harsh knock interrupted his actions as your abruptly sat up. “Y/N? Oh my Goodness? Are you ok?” Tina asked from the other-side of the door. She shook the door handle multiple times before banging on the door again. “Did you lock the door? Open it please!”

“Did you seriously lock the damn door?” you knocked the upside of Toji’s head.

“I wanted us to have some privacy,” he shrugged indifferently.

You rolled your eyes before groaning, “Hello? Who are you talking to because I know it’s not me,” Tina huffed out annoyed.

“No one, give me a minute I’m coming.” You ushered Toji out to hide behind the cupboard door. The plan was when Tina wasn’t looking, you’d have Toji sneak out then back to the front door. From the minute you met your client you count tell he was a fool. Did you think he was that much of a fool? No. No one could’ve predicted this amount of foolishness. You silently scolded the man as he stood behind the door, waiting for the right moment to sneak out.

One night, after a long bath, you slipped into your favorite silk bathrobe, its softness a comforting embrace. The moonlight filtered through the curtains as you stood by your bedroom window, looking out into the night, wine glass in hand. The city lights twinkled in the distance, but your mind was far away, consumed by thoughts of Toji.

Unbeknownst to you, Toji was there, hidden in the shadows outside your window. His eyes were locked on you, a hunger burning within them. He watched the way the silk clings to your body, every movement a tantalizing tease.

You sighed, running a hand through your damp hair, oblivious to his presence. Toji’s heart raced as he imagined what it would be like to touch you again, to feel your warmth against him. The memory of your pussy haunts him, a forbidden pleasure that he craves more than anything.

He knew this was wrong, that he should stay away, but the pull is irresistible. You were in his blood, an obsession that consumed him. His eyes traced the curve of your neck, the way your robe parts slightly, revealing a glimpse of the cleavage beneath.

Inside, you closed your eyes, lost in thought. Your fiancé was a good man, but he didn’t ignite the same fire in you that Toji does. You tried to push the thoughts away, but they keep returning, relentless and unforgiving.

Toji’s breath hitched as you loosened the belt of your robe, letting it fall open slightly. He gripped the windowsill, fighting the urge to break in, to take what he so desperately desires. His mind raced with dark fantasies, each one more intoxicating than the last.

You stepped away from the window, the cool air brushing against your exposed skin. Toji watched every movement, his body tense with longing. He knew he should leave, but he couldn’t tear himself away. You were his obsession, a forbidden fruit that he was determined to possess.

As you disappeared from view, Toji lingered a moment longer, the image of you burned into his mind. He will find a way to have you, to make you his. In the shadow of obsession, he waits, his desire growing stronger with each passing night.

Your ever growing need for Toji’s mysteriousness pulled you further into a dark pit you knew it’ll be hard to get out of. And if your fiancé was to find out, you’d surely be casted away as a harlot. You had to choose between your pussy and your head, and you had to choose wisely. Will you do the right thing and stay true to your fiance, rejecting Toji’s advances and promises to eat you out so good or will you go behind your husband to be’s back and sleep with the same murderer you helped avoid jail time?

For a minute, one might’ve compared your mental turmoil to that of Hamlets distain and hesitation upon hearing that his father was killed and now he was set to avenge him by killing his uncle but these were two very different situations.

But alas, you believed that you could have many men in your head but as long as you had your true love in your heart then you’re a loyal woman.

That’s exactly how you found yourself with your mouth full of his thick and slimy cock whilst smothering his face with your cunt. Sucks and slurps filled the room as the two of you got on with such harshness of enemies. The gargling of his dick filled the room while he moved his head back momentarily to watch as you clenched on his fingers, holes begging to be filled. He smirked as a glimmer of an idea flicked in his eyes, as they peered up to your winking hole.

His tounge slowly lols out before giving the tight hole a small lick. He let out a boisterous laugh as he watched you shudder and mumble to no avail. His deft fingers moved to your clit as he found a rhythm for his tongue to moaned against your puckered hole. You grind your pussy against his face, moans muffled by his thick cock.

Your clit throbbed as his fingers moved faster, never loosing their grip and his tongue keeping its rhythm. You groaned loudly and clearly this time, his dick was now limp and his cum was scattered all over his thighs and your mouth. You squealed out his name and his onslaught on your slick pussy only got more overwhelming for you and you had no where to move.

Your back arched from the overstimulation and your hands clenched at the pleasure he was feeding you. What you had done to deserve such a treat, you had no idea, but you weren’t complaining. Toji’s hands came down on your cheeks, rubbing and massaging the muscle as he did.

Tears welled up in your eyes and your belly tightened and without a word, he knew you were about to cum. He quickly swapped his tongue and hands, sliding a finger into your asshole and placing his lips around your sweet clit. The spiky stubble of his hair added to your stimulation , adding to your pleasure.

There was no holding back with Toji . He was here to show you how to feel good. “Move,” without warning he turned his head to the side, tapping your arse twice. You blinked your confusion away as his hands guided you so that he was looming over you. You couldn’t say a single thing before you felt that familiar burning of his girth stretching you out. Drool seeped from your mouth as he reached deeper.

“Ah ha ha. Feels good, doesn’t it baby?” he boasted.

Nothing but babbles left your mouth as he gently lulled you to silence. With a firm grip on your hand, and his duck fully sheathed into your deep pussy, he began his rough thrust. Fap. Fap. Fap. Fast paced thrusting in and out, knocking the wind from you. He had rendered you completely speechless which was almost impossible given the type of person you were.

“Lights are on but no one’s home…” he chuckled to himself as he continued to slip in and out.

You whined and squealed as you felt his curved dick rub against your g-spot. It was far too much for you, your cheeks were hot and throbbing, lips bitten and bruised and your throat dry and sore. Tears flew from your eyes and his fast thrusting never faulted but instead intensified as he realised where he was hitting.

“I know you didn’t try to fucking run from me,” he comments sternly. For a second you feel yourself go numb. All you needed was a moment to collect yourself. It was far too much is what you tried telling him, begging for a semblance of a break.

“You ever try that shit on me again, I’ll tie you up,” He flips you over with a firm grip on your hip, pushing your legs up your ears. “Toji? Toji!” you whine in estxasy and his dick reach’s deep. “Wait! Toji, Please!”

“Please what, girl?”

You opened your mouth to speak , but before you could, he started moving again, impaling you on the hefty limb. He watched as your expressions contorted from bliss to shock, upon feeling a wet and slimy tongue between your toes. This man was nasty, downright sick, and you loved every second of it.

A fat thumb lingered down to the small bud, before rubbing vigorously, He watched as your moaning became high pitched and your hips bucked. Your stomach sucked itself in as you tried escaping his grasp, squirming in his nearly painful grips. “Oh my- Toji, Wait! I’m going to to-!”

Your loud plea was interrupted by an obscene squelch and a splashing ad a stream of juices left your sore cunt and aimed right for the mans chest. He jeers as he saw your o-face falling inlove even further. It didn’t take a while for him to pump you full of his thick hot cum, and it certainly didn’t take long for your fiance to get the picture Toji sent of him eating your used up and stuffed cunt out.

It also didn’t take long for Toji to send a video of him stuffing you again in full nelson this time, making you hold the phone.

It also didn’t take long for Toji to get in trouble again with the law. You too hadn’t seen each other since that eventful night and he couldn’t help but be grateful, for if you knew just how nasty he was, you would’ve killed him yourself and he wouldn’t blame you.

After the whole debacle was dealt with, he found himself yet again being arrested, and on the other side of the conjugal line was you. Sitting prettily in your work attire, brand new engagement ring sitting on your finger as you discussed his charges. “I miss you Y/N” he’d say. “I wonder what you’re up to these days,” he’d enquire, knowing full well, if he was free he wouldn’t have to.

And whether Toji turned himself in on purpose after everything he’s done just to see your bright face again, or whether it was a pure coincidence that he’d just so happened to be arrested for something he had gotten away with for so long, you had no idea.

All you knew is that you regretted that night.

Well, not entirely.

234 notes · View notes

mydear-corinthian · 5 months ago

Text

love potion no. 9

sypnosis - attempting to make doctor jonathan crane be in love with you using your love potion

pairing - jonathan crane x reader (pharmacist!)

warnings - SMUT +18, p in v, fingering, creampie, jealousy, reader attempting to poison crane

notes - rushed & based of my fav song, divider by cafekitsune

main masterlist | cillian murphy masterlist

You've been working as the hospital's pharmacist for a while now. The experience was a fifty-fifty. How strange to work under the walls where high-profile criminals are admitted in the city of Gotham.

One day, while you were working on your regular evening shift, a tall man wearing rectangular glasses and a black suit let out a small cough as he approached the window of the pharmacy's counter. Setting your pen down, you looked at this man. Your gaze met his blue eyes. You noticed how his hair was neatly styled.

There was a moment of silence before you brushed up your thoughts. "Can I help you with anything, sir?"

"I'm here to get the prescription I need."

"And what's your name, sir?"

"Doctor Jonathan Crane."

Your eyes widened, and the pen in your fingers dropped as you heard the name.

That's Jonathan fucking Crane?

He looked younger than you expected to be. You thought that the head psychologist was old so he's the only psychologist in the asylum allowed to prescribe medication.

"I— Please give me a few seconds to find it, Doctor Crane," you stuttered, immediately standing up and wengoing the back of the cashier to where all the anti-depressants and anti-psychotic medicines were stored.

"Hurry up. I don't have enough time to wait," he replied, rolling his eyes out of irritation.

After a few minutes, you finally saw a brown paper bag with his name on it. You immediately grabbed it and then stapled it to ensure that the medicines were safely secured. You walked up to the desk, placing the paper box on top of it in front of Jonathan.

"Thank you," he said, looking at the metallic nameplate on your uniform. "Miss (L/n)."

After that first interaction, he has been meeting you up again in the pharmacy. Taking his usual prescription medicines. After a few more visits, he started to make a few more chats rather than greetings. Asking you how you were, when's your schedule, etc.,

During those visits, you cannot help but feel something. The way you blush every time he compliments you. The way his delicate fingers meet yours when you give him the medicines. Or the way how he just looks fucking good.

One day, you waited for Jonathan to grab his prescription, so you waited. It's been a few hours and no Doctor Crane appeared. Taking a deep sigh, you continued to do your inventory as you waited for him to come.

After a few hours of waiting, a woman knocks on the glass of the pharmacy's counter. You greeted, letting out a soft smile despite being sad for not seeing the psychologist yet.

"May I help you, ma'am?" you asked.

"I'm here to get Doctor Crane's prescription."

Your ears perked up as you heard his name. Your back stiffens as your eyes widen. Why is she here? Why isn't Jonathan here?

"I'm sorry, ma'am; who are you?" you asked in confusion. "I'm sure Doctor Crane doesn't want his prescription medicines to be taken."

The women laughed at your question and your eyebrows met together.

"Oh, I'm his assistant, silly. Maybe his soon-to-be girlfriend? Not sure yet."

What?

Your stomach churned. A mix of sadness and anger rolled up your mind. You didn't know that Jonathan was interested in anyone. You thought that you would have a chance with him. You felt ill.

You stormed out right away, grabbing the papaer box with his name on it. Putting it in front of her harshly.

Forcing on a smile, you said, "Here's the prescription, ma'am."

"Thank you." the woman replied, grabbing the paper box before walking away.

Jealousy is buried all over your body. Bur you cannot help but feel insecure. She was indeed pretty. For sure Jonathan likes her too.

But you also felt mostly anger and jealousy.

As soon as your shift ended, you hurriedly grabbed your bag and went straight to your small apartment. Turning the doorknob, you entered your apartment and removed your shoe. Grabbing a pen and paper from your cabinet, you wrote different formulas for making something for him.

A love potion.

It does sound silly but you were so obsessed with him and you want him that badly. You felt like he was yours and you were his.

The remaining days stayed the same. The same woman grabbed Jonathan's medicines. The same anger and jealousy never left you. You continued in your potion, grabbing all the hallucinogens that you needed from the rmaprimacyou will spend your night making it.

After a week, you finally finished creating the spray. You choose to make the smell the same as your perfume; to let him know that he is yours.

Arriving at the Asylum, you set your bag behind your chair as you start to do your work. There were a lot of customers that day so you kept yourself occupied.

Finally, his assistant arrived.

She approached the glass with the same cheeky smile. "Jonathan's prescription, please."

Fuck, are they in the first-name business now?

Straightening your back, you said, "I think I'll give it to Doctor Crane myself."

The assistant's head turned to your direction with a face in disbelief. She placed her phone down.

"Why?" she asked.

"Doctor Crane requested a new medicine and it contains rare chemicals and it needs to be taken care of properly. This is the last medicine in our inventory so I suggest I'll be the one to give it to him." you lied.

"Fine. I don't care with whatever medicine he wants anyway. Your pharmacists can take catfish that. I'll just go take a quick dinner break, anyways." she replied, rolling her eyes before she walked away while busy typing on her phone.

As she walked away, you let out a sigh of relief. You grabbed the paper box at the back and then the spray you placed on a small glass sprayer in your bag, hiding it in your pocket.

"Hey, Adeline, I'll just give this medicine to Doctor Crane; he requested it," you said, showing him the paper box with his name.

"Yeah sure, no problem. I'll cover the cashier for you." your friend replied.

Letting out a 'thank you', you exited the pharmacy. You didn't know where his clinic was so you tried finding his name on the big board on the entrance of the hospital that was filled with all the doctors and their clinic rooms in the Asylum. You got up the elevator and pressed the buttons. You're confident with this. You checked the formula all over again and gave you the same result but you cannot help but feel how your heartbeat thumped aggressively.

It will work.

You went out as soon as the elevator doors opened. The whole floor was quiet and there were only a few people there, mainly janitors cleaning up. You walked while looking at the small paper in your hand where you wrote his room number.

You stopped your tracks as soon as you saw his name on a sign on a black door.

Dr. Jonathan Crane, M.D, Psy.D, J. Crim. Psychol.

Letting out a deep breath, your fingers opened the door. The entrance was small. A long cushion was on the right while the assistant/secretary's table was on the left— which was empty. There was another door in front of you, which you think is his office.

You knocked three times on the door, fixing your uniform and your hair. You gripped your pocket tightly, securing it.

Your eyes met him as he opened the door. His outfit looked the same. His hairstyles led properly. His rectangular glasses shined. Jonathan's eyes then met yours.

"(Y/n)? What are you doing here?" he asked, not closing the door.

Fuck, he looks hot.

"I— I'm here for the prescription you needed, Doctor Crane," you replied, handing out the paper box with his name on your hand. "Your.. secretary said that she was busy so I decided to just give it to you instead of myself."

Jonathan's eyes still locking yours. "Oh. Well, thank you, (Y/n). Do you want to come inside?" he offered, taking the prescription in your hands gently, his fingers touching yours.

You felt a strike on your spine at the sudden short touch. Jonathan's touch was gentle and his hands felt soft.

"O-Okay.." you replied.

Jonathan opened his door widely, letting you come inside first and then him. His office was twice as big as the outside. His certificates hanging on the wall. A small scarecrow figure is displayed on the black shelves.

"Please, sit." Jonathan offered.

Nodding, you sat down. Your hand still clutching tightly to your pockets.

"How have you been?" he asked, leaning against his wooden table while you sat in front of him.

"I'm fine, Doctor Cra—"

"Jonathan. Jonathan is alright." he interrupted.

"Oh, right.." you nodded. "I'm fine, Jonathan. Lots of customers but still doing great. And you?"

"Same way either," he replied, removing his glasses as he looked at you and fuck, you find it so hot.

"So, your secretary.." you brought up the topic. "Is she your.. girlfriend?"

Your question made him laugh. Putting his glasses on he replied, "What makes you think that?"

"Well, she told me that she's your soon-to-be girlfriend so you know.." your hands never leaving your pocket.

Jonathan notices how your hands never leave your pocket. His eyes trying to know what you're hiding inside it.

"What's in your pocket?" he asked, changing the topic.

Fuck.

You sighed, giving up. You stood up and grabbed the spray in your pocket, spraying on his face a couple of puffs. You let out a relief.

His eyes squinted, attempting to rub the liquid off his face.

"How are you feeling, Jonathan?" you asked, walking towards him closely; your face getting closer to his as you trickled your fingers onto his soft face before letting your lips meet his. His hands gripped your waist softly as he kissed back, savoring each other's taste.

He finally opened his eyes and let out another laugh. You let go of him immediately, you were confused. It didn't work? But you were sure that the formula was right. You had the right chemicals. You had the best hallucinogenic chemicals in the city.

Unless..

"Let me guess.. love potion?" he asked, his lips painting a smirk on his face as he looked at you.

You panicked. "I— Why isn't it working?"

Your heels stepped backward while he moved forward. Your heart started to thump aggressively; you were panicking.

"Why isn't it working indeed." Jonathan's eyes grow wide as his lips curve into a smirk. "Well, there are only two options. Either your little experience was an absolute fail or I'm already in love with you."

The words coming out of your mouth left you gasping. He's right. There were only two options.

"But how about your secretary?" you asked.

Jonathan began walking much closer to you until both of your faces were inches apart; your waist hitting his desk. You can be sure that he can hear how loud your heartbeat is. You can smell his strong men's perfume from his neck and his wrists. You can see how ravishing his blue eyes really are.

"It's you. It's always been you." Jonathan confessed, his eyes getting soft as he looked at you.

After a few visits from the pharmacy, Jonathan started to take an interest in you. He observes how you tilt a strand of your hair to the back of your ear whenever he compliments you. How your things are always the same color which he thinks is your favorite. How your ears perked up whenever he brings small conversations about your expertise— medicines.

Jonathan's soft hands found their way to your hips, securing them; tthemknowow you were his. Your lower body sat on top of his black wooden table. His, then, lips crashed into yours again but delicately. You were shocked by the sudden confession and the kiss but you ignored it anyway; you kissed him back, gripping a fistful of his hair as the kiss deepened. The way his tongue met yours made you wet. He explored your lips and tongue, allowing him to savor your taste leaving a trail of kisses down your neck before sucking it, making you suddenly moan in pleasure.

"Ah yes," you moaned but immediately covered your mouth when you noticed how loud it was.

"Don't worry, love," he said in between kisses, continuing to mark your neck. "The whole room is soundproof. Scream all you want, doll."

The wetness in your panties became worse. Your breath hitched as he sucked that spot in your neck. His hands began to trail down to your thighs, his fingers tracing it. The tent in his pants began to be visible.

"Please— touch me, Jonathan.."

Jonathan's fingers now trailed in between your thighs, toying with your clothed clit under your skirt. The touch sends shivers down your spine. He can feel how wet you are and your white lacey panties.

His lips began to paint another sluggish smirk. "So wet for me already?" he teased.

"Please, Johnny. I need you," you cried in pleasure as his fingers started to massage your clit from your panties.

Jonathan removed your panties before throwing them off the floor. The cold air touching your sensitive cunt made you shiver. His thumb began to rub it slowly and then his pace fastened making you bob your head backward, your eyes closing as you felt the pleasure down there. The wet noise echoed all over the room. He then started to insert two of his fingers with no warning making you moaaloudud.

"Fuck!— Yes, Jonathan!"

You moaned as his finger hit that spongy spot there. Your toyed pussy clenching around his fingers. His thumb circling figure eights on your clit. Back arching, your legs squirmed.

Jonathan's fast pace made you feel the knot in your stomach tighten, feeling more wet. Your moans were getting louder and louder.

"Jon.." you moaned. "I'm close."

"Go on," he whispered, you can feel his hot breath on your neck. "Cum on my fingers."

Jonathan's pace quickened until your orgasm flowed. His fingers were coated with your white juices. Jonathan brought up his fingers to his tongue, licking it clean as he tasted your juice.

"Mhm, sweet," he smirked.

Even though you just came from your orgasm, you still have that desire for more. You want him to take you. You want to feel him.

Jonathan gave you a small sweet kiss before his hands found their way to his black trousers, unzipping them; his erection can be clear through his boxers.

"You want me that bad, huh?" he teased. "I think you're the one who drank that potion of yours."

His voice was deep, husky, and raspy which made you want him more. He removed his black blazer, leaving him with his white long-sleeved polo and a tie. You began to unzip your skirt as well, tossing it on the floor. He kisses you again deeply.

As soon as he removed his boxers, his cock sprung out. He was bigger than you expected and veiny. Jonathan began to align his cock to your dripping and aching hole and then inserted himself fully.

"Fuuuckkk—" he groaned as he felt your tight walls take him. "You're so tight."

You gasped as you felt his length take you; a loud hiss escaped from your lips.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt?" he genuinely asked as he noticed you hissed.

Shaking your head, you gripped his broad shoulders. "No— I'm fine. Just keep going."

Jonathan started to slowly thrust inside you, taking no rush which you appreciated. He was gentle. Your legs locked his hips as you embraced his shoulders with your arms.

"I've been dreaming about this since—" he let out a low groan as his hips moved closer to you . "..the day I saw you. Fuck, you're beautiful."

His thrust quickened, making you moan. Your tits were bouncing at every move he makes. Your eyes were completely shut, your head rolling back as you savored the pleasure Jonathan gave you. The way his tip hit your G-spot made you scream a series of the most pornographic moans you've ever done.

"Oh my god! Yes yes yes!"

A smirk on his face was formed when he heard your lovely moans in his ears. Your moans are probably his favorite note. His baby blue eyes met yours when you looked at him. The way he was still wearing his sexy glasses made you blush more.

"You feel so good, my love," he said in between his thrusts. "Fuck— you're mine, okay?"

"Yes, Johnny! I'm—fuck— yours!"

All you felt was nothing but love and ecstasy. Every thrust, every moan, every kiss, and every touch coming from him makes you feel weak and pleasurable.

The table you guys were fucking on aggressively moves at every movement the both of you do. His files, ball pens, and other items fell from the table but none of you minded as your business was focused somewhere else.

A feeling of wetness and and closeless throb in your stomach. Jonathan abusing your sensitive spot with his fat cock didn't help. Your moans and his grunts synchronize together as the both of you feel close.

"I'm gonna cum, love. Where do you want it?"

"Inside, please! Fuck! Fill me up, please please please!"

"My princess wants me to fill her up, yeah? Alright then."

After a few more aggressive thrusts, you felt your orgasm came. His cock was now stained with your cum as he continued.

"Gonna cum now, doll. Take it, baby. Yes yes yes!" Jonathan groaned as he finally came inside you. His dick spurts out his hot white cum inside your walls. Jonathan, then, pulled out; a mix of his load spilled out in your hole.

"Fuck, look at that," he said, watching it dripped to his black table.

Jonathan gave you another kiss but this time, it was passionate. His lips let out a series of compliments which made you flustered and blush at the same time.

"I guess I'll be the one who'll give you your medicines now," you teased.

"I look forward to that, my love."

After dressing up again, Jonathan guided you to the door, not wanting you to be late for your shift. As soon as he opened the door, the both of you were greeted by his assistant who just came in.

"Doctor Crane and... Miss (L/n)... Didn't expect you to visit here." the female assistant said, clearly not expecting you at all.

"Natalia, clear out my schedule this Friday. I'm going on a date with Miss (L/n) here." Jonathan said, making you blush at the sudden invitation.

His assistant's face turned into a frown and anger but tried to let out a fake smile before you and Jonathan left his clinic.

"Your assistant must be sad that I'm going out with you, Doctor Crane."

"Oh, baby... I'm only yours."

364 notes · View notes

system-to-the-madness · 10 months ago

Text

Secret Notes and Misunderstandings - Sugawara Kōshi x Reader

Pairing: Sugawara Kōshi x Reader (can be read as any gender, no pronouns used) Genre: fluff Word Count: 3 420 Warnings: Use of y/n, Tanaka and Noya Summary: You receive secret notes from someone. If only they were from your crush Suga A/N: I’m not really happy with the style of this one…

Masterlist

It had to be every schoolgirl’s dream, receiving cute notes written by a secret admirer, pushed into her locker every morning. And the notes were cute, they really were. Never creepy or offensive, just sweet.

It had started almost a month ago. One morning you had opened your locker, only to find a small note fluttering out. Not recognizing it, you had unfolded the paper that seemed to have been ripped from a Kanji exercise book. In an unfamiliar handwriting, using what seemed like a fine 0.3mm black ink pen, a few words had been scribbled down, making a smile pull at your lips.

“I’m too shy to tell you this in person, but your presentation on the United Nations yesterday was crazy good.”

You had folded the note back together, and placed it in your pencil case, where it made you smile every time you glanced at it.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Sugawara, your classmate, had grinned when he had passed you during lunch break on this way to the sink.

You had shrugged, your heart beating faster when you had realized that Suga had addressed you. The feeling that ran through your body at every interaction with him was so different from the feelings the note had sparked, so much better.

The notes had started that day, and there had not been one day of school since then, that there hadn’t been one shoved into your locker in the morning. Over time they had gotten more personal, leaving less and less doubt about the author’s attraction to you. He (and you knew it was a guy by the words he used), was never offensive or creepy, just plainly sweet, complimenting the hair clip you had worn the other day, or sometimes even admitting how he wished he would be brave enough to talk to you normally, without these notes.

And the more he revealed his own thoughts, his own insecurities and wishes, the more he revealed of his heart, the worse you felt. The notes were cute, sweet, and normally you would have been dying to know who went through all the effort just for your sake. Maybe you would have been trying to find out who it was and asked them out, just because you felt like after all the effort he had made, he deserved you take a risk too.

But no matter how much you wanted to feel excited and honoured by these notes, there was still Suga. Suga who was in the same class as you and your mysterious admirer, Suga who was working hard in every subject, who helped the other students when they struggled, who laughed loud and unashamedly in the breaks, who’s smile was warm like summer sun beams, even when it was only late February. So really it was Sugawara’s fault, you thought to yourself, that you couldn’t reciprocate the feelings these notes conveyed. If it weren’t for your stupid, stupid, unrequited crush on him, you’d have tried to get into contact with the author of these notes weeks ago. But your heart was hopelessly hung up on someone else, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself to let these feelings go.

So, when you stared down on what had to be the boldest note yet, you felt a little sick.

"I've been trying to work up the courage to ask you to sit with me for lunch for weeks now, but every time I think about getting up and asking you, I get so nervous that I can't even think properly anymore. Maybe I’ll ask you tomorrow. I want to make salmon onigiri, I know you like those. What do you think?"

The nervousness of the author as he had written these words and then pushed the note into your locker was basically seeping out of the paper into your hands, pleading you to be as nervous about him as he was about you. But instead, you knew he was just setting himself up for heartbreak. This had to stop. Now. You had allowed this boy to bring up his hopes for far too long now. You had to end this. Even if it would hurt him. Even when you would feel awful for breaking his heart. But it was better to end this now than to have him work up the courage to face you and then tell it into his face.

Although he did deserve a gentle let down, he didn’t deserve to torture himself before it. So, after your last class, you ripped out a page of your notebook and grabbed one of your pens. During class, between paying attention to the teachers’ words and the way Suga was bouncing his leg under the table on the other side of the classroom, you had mentally prepared what you wanted to write.

“Dear friend, thank you very much for all the notes over the past weeks. I have enjoyed reading them, but I’m sorry to tell you that I can’t reciprocate your feelings. I already have someone I like, and it wouldn’t be fair to let you keep hoping I will return your feelings. In fact, I should have told you this a lot sooner, and I’m sorry for the pain I’m causing you now. Let this be the last exchange.”

You had been tempted to add words of reassurance or comfort, but you were worried they might make him hope against hope that you would eventually return his feelings. When the last class was over, you used a thin strip of washi-tape and stuck the note to your locker so it was blocking the little gap in the door. This way the note couldn’t possibly go unnoticed by whoever had sent you the others.

The next morning rolled around, and you were almost nervous, when you took off your shoes and placed them in the rack, going to your locker to grab your books for the day. The note you had stuck to its door the day prior was gone, and you already feared someone else might have removed it, but when you opened the locker, no new note came sailing out. You were almost a little disappointed. But you had asked him to stop writing, so you had gotte what you wanted. This was for the best. Let him be disappointed or maybe even a little heartbroken, and by next week he would have moved on.

When you entered the classroom, you found, much to your surprise, that yesterday’s note hadn’t been the last. Instead, someone had placed two wrapped onigiri on your table, and a note underneath. Up until now, the paper had always been torn neatly out of notebooks, the signs evenly paced and written with precision. This time, even though it was the by now familiar handwriting, the page seemed to have been ripped out in haste, the words smeared over the paper, smudging the ink.

“I already made these, and I thought you should have them. If you don’t want them, leave them on the desk during lunch break and I’ll take them back. This is my last note. Thanks for your honesty.”

You bit your lip, staring down at the paper. You could tell his hand had shaken when he had written this note. While nervousness had seeped out of the other notes, this one seemed to ooze pain. He’ll get over it, you thought to yourself, over me.

Quickly you crumbled the note in your hand, pushing the onigiris to the edge of the table, not intending to eat them. With a few steps you made your way to the paper basked, discarding the final note of your secret admirer. On your way back to your desk, your eyes skipped over to where Suga was sitting, as always when you got the chance.

He sat backsided on a chair, arms crossed over the backrest, chin propped on his lower arm. He had taken off his jacket, leaving him in the short sleeved, white button-up of the uniform. Warm spring sunlight flitted in through the window, catching in his silver hair and making it gleam like star light. He looked angelic, you thought to yourself. Even though Daichi was telling him something, and laughing at his side, Suga barely seemed to listen, his gaze absentmindedly directed into the distance. He looked pale, you realized, pale and tired. Hopefully he wouldn’t get sick in the last weeks of the school year.

Suddenly his gaze drew away from wherever he had stared of to, and directed itself to you instead. You felt like your heart almost stopped at the way his coffee brown eyes bore into you, and feeling your cheeks heat up, you lifted your hand to wave at him with a smile. Instead of returning the gesture, he only seemed to tense, before tearing his eyes away from you and sitting up, saying something to Daichi instead.

Confused at his unusual reaction, you walked back to your seat, sitting down. The onigiri in front of you seemed to mock you, and far more frequent than usually your gaze flickered over to Suga during the day. His mood didn’t seem to better though, and in fact it grew only grimmer when he caught you staring at him once.

You were not the only one who seemed to pick up on his unusual behaviour, because as the bell rang for lunch break, you overheard Daichi ask him if everything was okay. Suga only answered he was fine, even though he sounded upset and annoyed, but the rest of the conversation got drowned out by the voices of other students.

Like every day, you left the classroom at the beginning of lunchbreak to refill your bottle at the water fountain in the hallway. Today you made sure to take an extra few minutes; hopefully giving the author of the notes you had received enough time to retrieve the onigiri from your desk. And sure enough, by the time you returned to the classroom, they were gone.

The rest of the day went by without any other incidents, unless one counted Suga’s terrible mood. Even across the classroom it seemed to rub off on you. Originally you had wanted to pay closer attention to the other boys, trying to see if anyone’s behaviour differed from usually which might give them away as the author of the messages, but instead your focus was entirely on Suga and what you could do to cheer him up.

When the last class ended, and you still hadn’t thought of anything useful to say to Suga, you just opted for a wave and a smile, as you usually did, bidding him goodbye before heading off to your club. But unlike all the other days, he ignored you completely, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth and your heart heavy.

It was already growing dark outside when you hasted through the corridors of the school again. Your club had finished only a few minutes ago, when you had remembered there was a book you needed for homework, so you were on your way back to the lockers. You had almost reached them, when suddenly the voices of two students made you stop.

“He explicitly said not to get involved,” the one nagged.

“But have you seen him? Can you really just stand by and watch him suffer like that,” the other voice replied.

Carefully you snuck around the last corner, finding two boys standing in front of your locker. Even in the dim light you could make out the one’s buzzcut and the other’s unruly hair. They were both in the year below you, you realized, and members of the volleyball team, teammates of Suga’s. The one with the unruly hair was trying to push a piece of paper through the gap below the door into your locker.

You were about to ask them what they were up to. After all, neither of them couldn’t have been the one writing the notes you had received; that person was in your class. You knew that from the references to your classwork he had been making.

“You know, he’s gonna hate you when he finds out you got involved.”

“So what, let him hate me! As long as he gets his girl! (Y/n) just has to give him a second chance!”

“Who am I supposed to give a second chance,” you asked out loud, stepping out from behind the corner.

The two boys jumped in surprise as your presence, the one with the unruly hair, quickly hiding a piece of paper behind his back.

“Well, you see, the thing is our set-,” he started, immediately receiving a harsh nudge from his friend.

“And what were you trying to push into my locker,” you added. Usually you were not very intimidating, but being a year older than them had its perks: they had to respect you. Demanding, you held out your hand.

The boy with the blond streak in this dishevelled hair shot his friend a side glance before stepping forward and dropping the paper into your outstretched hand.

“Have you been the ones putting notes into my locker,” you asked.

“Yes, well, no. Maybe. Sometimes,” the boy with the buzzcut answered. Tanaka, you remembered.

“What is it now. Have you or have you not?”

��Sometimes,” the other one – Nuka? Nayo? Noya? Oh yes, Noya was his name – answered. “Sometimes we delivered them for our friend, when you had club late and there was the chance of you running into Su-“

He got interrupted by another shove between his ribs. He coughed.

Biting your lip, you twirled the paper between your fingers. You could find out who had sent you all these notes, you realized. You just had to ask now. Tanaka would probably be quiet, but Noya seemed eager to make you like whoever had sent them to deliver them. But did you want to know? Did you really want to go to class tomorrow, look at the person who had written these notes and pretend you didn’t know?

“Please,” Tanaka interrupted your thoughts. “Can’t you give our friend a chance? We know you like someone else, but you’ll forget about that guy in no time, I promise! Our friend is like- he’s the best guy there is really. He’s smart, and patient, and funny-”

“Charming, good-looking, athletic,” Noya continued. “A little chaotic sometimes maybe, but he has like the biggest heart-”

You shook your head. “Listen guys, Tanaka-kun, Noya-kun. I appreciate your effort and I know you just want to see your friend happy, but as I already wrote him: there is someone else I like, and it wouldn’t be right to let your friend hope that my feelings will change eventually. That’s just not fair.”

“But you should’ve seen him today during practice,” Noya continued. “He was not himself! He was devastated! And Suga’s ready to let you walk away because he respects you, but I- we think-”

“Wait, wait,” you lifted your hands in the air, signalling him to stop talking. Your heart was racing. “Say that again.”

“He respects you and-”

“No, you said his name,” you disagreed.

The boys exchanged glances.

“He’ll kill you,” Tanaka mumbled to Noya.

“Did you say Suga,” you asked.

Their silence was answer enough.

All this time you had wanted Suga to notice you and all this time it had been him who had sent you these notes? And then you had rejected him? Was that why he had been so pale today, why he hadn’t smiled at you today? Because you had rejected him, not even knowing who you had rejected? Your heart dropped and the floor felt like it was giving way beneath your feet. You had to fix that. Somehow you had to fix this stupid, stupid situation.

“Do you have a pen?”

Tanaka rummaged around in his pocket, before handing you a blunt pencil. You took it anyway. Unfolding the paper you had taken from Noya, you placed it against the closest locker, flipping it to its empty side.

“What’s Suga’s favourite onigiri filling,” you asked, glancing at Tanaka and Noya from over your shoulder.

“Salmon,” they answered at the same time without hesitation.

You furrowed your brows. “Are you sure?”

“We talked about it just the other day,” Tanaka assured you.

“He said, he likes them because you like them,” Noya added. You exhaled slowly, trying not to laugh. This sounded so much like something Suga would say.

Putting the pen down, you began writing.

“Noya and Tanaka ranted you out. Don’t be mad at them, I made them tell me. Let’s eat lunch together. I’ll make salmon onigiri, I know you like those. We can eat outside under the plum tree. The blossoms are your favourite, aren’t they?”

Quickly, before you could change your mind, you folded the paper, and pushed it into Suga’s locker, making the two boys exchange wide eyed glances.

“What did you write,” they asked excitedly as you returned to your locker to retrieve the book you had come here for.

“Are you giving him a second chance?”

“You’ll see,” you answered with a smile.

The next morning, Suga was already sitting in the classroom when you entered, like he did every morning. When he saw you sitting down behind your own desk, he quickly exchanged a few words with Daichi, before walking over.

Pink was dusting his cheeks, the colour almost matching that of the plum blossoms outside. He was nervous, you could tell, fiddling around with a piece of paper between his fingers. Watching him walk over, your own pulse spiked. Yesterday you had been filled with confidence when you had written the note, but today it all seemed unreal. That was until he dropped the small piece of paper on the desk in front of you, leaning against the table.

For a moment you looked up at him, his chocolate brown eyes nervous but also filled with warmth as he glanced down to you, then you reached for the paper. He had rolled it into a tight scroll, probably an act of nervosity while he had waited for you. For the first time the note didn’t contain any words, only a doodled Smilie. The smile on your face was instantaneous, and quickly you looked back up to Suga, who was full on blushing now.

“I know, I said I’d stop it with the notes, but…” he shrugged bashfully, making you laugh quietly.

“No, that’s okay,” you let him know.

“I do gotta ask though- not that I’m complaining, just curious – what changed your mind?”

He’s still smiling, but you could hear the insecurity in his voice as well.

Inhaling deeply, you settled for the truth. “Turned out the guy I rejected was actually the guy I was rejecting him for.”

Suga just furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What I mean is,” you shuffled in your seat a little, wondering if the words would come any easier if you sat differently or if Suga weren’t nailing you to the chair with the intensity with which he was considering you now. “You’re the guy I was talking about in that note, the person I like. I didn’t know you were also the person sending me these notes.”

Finally, the last bit of hesitation seemed to melt away from Suga. “Lucky then, that I like you, too,” he teased, making your heart stutter and his cheeks tint an even deeper pink. “Sooo, are we eating lunch together?"

You nodded. “I made onigiri, like promised. Is salmon really your favourite filling?”

Suga laughed. “Yeah, it is. Always has been, since I was little.”

He was about to say something else, but was interrupted by the teacher, calling the beginning of the class.

Quickly he pushed away from your desk, winking at you mischievously. This Suga was so very different from the disappointed, heartbroken Suga from yesterday. You knew exactly which one you preferred. He turned around and hurried back to his desk, but not before dropping another note to your table, this one folded several times.

As the teacher began the class, you quickly unfolded the paper under your desk, reading the few words Suga had written down. This time they were a lot neater than the note he had left with the rejected onigiri the day prior.

“I mean it. I really like you too.”

And underneath he had drawn a tiny, almost hesitant doodle of a heart.

595 notes · View notes

sleepyparalysisdmon · 25 days ago

Text

Let Me Hear You Say

The three times that Minghao resists confessing, and the one time it accidentally slips.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption and being drunk.

This is part of the Three Times series. This one is inspired by this reaction.

One

“I’m here!” You bust into Minghao’s studio, tossing bags, a coat, and half a dozen other things down in a chaotic mess. “Traffic was terrible,” you moan, collapsing onto the small couch in the corner.

Minghao looks unimpressed with your dramatics as he peers over his canvas at you. “You sure do know how to make an entrance,” he muses. “What kind of trail of destruction did you leave on the way here?”

“Just a few things knocked over, I don’t think anything broke this time.” Some might think you’re joking, but Minghao knows you’re serious. You’re a bull in a china shop on a good day, and an F-5 tornado on a bad day. He secretly thinks of these comparisons affectionately. “What are you working on?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. I had some colors in mind and I just went with it,” he mumbles, stepping back to see what he’s done. You join him glancing over the canvas. You give him a wide smile.

“I like that shade of blue.”

“So predictable,” he chuckles. “Make yourself useful and mix me some more of it then. And don’t waste paint.”

“No promises!” You exclaim, taking his palette from him and going to the work bench that holds all of his paint collection. When you hand the palette back to him a couple minutes later, he examines the color closely. It’s so, so close that it’s nearly imperceptible. Bull in a china shop that you are, combined with the skills in some arts that you lack, he’s kind of proud of you that you’re willing to stand still and focus long enough to get so close. He doesn’t have the heart to correct you. He never does when he can tell you’re really trying.

But you’re pouting anyway, glancing between the palette and the canvas. “It needs more white.” He holds the palette above your head when you reach for it.

“No, it’s fine. I told you not to waste paint. It’s so close I barely noticed.”

You smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “You’re just saying that. It’s obviously too dark. Give it here. I’ll add a little more white.”

“No.” Minghao is already dipping the brush in the color you mixed. “I like this one better anyway. Don’t forget the ratio you used. I want you to write it down.”

“Okay,” you sing, grabbing a pen and paper from his work bench. Once you’re done, it goes it the collection of Y/N’s Colors, a special little spot in the corner stacked high with little scraps of paper. He wonders if you notice how often those colors reappear in his works. Probably not, which is just as well.

Two

It’s Minghao’s day off and you drag him to the art gallery. You say there’s a new collection that you’re interested in seeing. It surprises him, because it’s usually him that’s dragging you to places like this. It’s usually too quiet and not exciting enough for you, and you bounce on your feet, trailing behind him until he’s ready to go.

This time, you’re many paces ahead of him on the sidewalk, turning excitedly to get him to hurry up. “Since when do you rush for something like this?” Minghao asks, watching you bounce up the stairs to the entrance.

“You’ll see.” Your eyes are a little wild. You grab his hand and start tugging him like he’s not moving fast enough. Usually you both would start at the beginning and slowly make your way through the room, but you’re tugging him somewhere in the middle. You come to an abrupt stop and he nearly bumps into you. “This is the one I wanted to show you.”

You point to a photograph. It’s black and white and a little out of focus, but that’s the entire point. He recognizes the style and doesn’t really need to look at the little placard underneath the photo. “You didn’t tell me you submitted something,” he admonished, admiring your work.

You sort of squeal and shake his arm. “I didn’t think they’d accept it. I found out yesterday,” you talk fast. It’s only because he’s known you for a while that he can keep up with your motor mouth. “I guess someone had to pull out last minute and mine was a back up. It’s small, but isn’t it cool?”

“It is,” Minghao says genuinely. “This is great, Y/N. I’m proud of you.” He pushes you towards the photo. “Come on. Pose for a picture.”

“Oh, no Minghao. You know I prefer to be behind the camera,” you whine, resisting his shove.

“I won’t post it. It’s just for me,” he promises. You sigh, standing next to your piece. He snaps a quick photo before you decide to bolt. He lied a little. He didn’t post it on social media, not even his private accounts. But he did get it printed and framed for his studio. He hangs it up high so you won’t be able to reach it and get rid of it easily if you ever notice it.

Three

Woozi whistles when he flips through the pages. Minghao spins in the chair, waiting for a response. It’s not too often that he presents lyrics for the group’s use. He’s better at other forms of media, primarily visual aspects. Still, sometimes he tries his hand at it and gives it to Woozi to do with it what he will.

“I could use some of this,” Woozi finally says. “I’ll credit you if I do.”

“Don’t bother,” Minghao waves off. “You know that’s not what’s important to me.”

“I know,” Woozi chuckles. “You make it pretty obvious what’s important to you.”

Minghao raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, my focus is performance and choreography.”

“I know that,” Woozi rolls his eyes. “I meant, it’s obvious who all of these are about. You should really do something about that.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Minghao says shortly. “They’re just lyrics. They aren’t that serious.”

Woozi hums, though he looks a little bit entertained. “Denial is a really strong start, but not very convincing though. What’s so wrong with just telling her?”

“Tell her what? She’s just a friend.”

Another eye roll, and Woozi goes back to his computer. “Fine, have it your way. You can deny that, I guess, but you can’t deny the writing credits you’ll get.”

Minghao leaves the studio before he can be roped back into that conversation.

Four

Later that night, he agrees to go out with some of the members for drinks. He’s distracted and keeps taking whatever is handed to him, drinking faster than he normally would. He’s busy replaying the conversation with Woozi in his head. He’s never said it out loud, never admitted it, and no one has ever called it out so blatantly either. He’d always preferred it that way, maybe because then it doesn’t feel real and he can shove it to the back of his head to deal with later, or never. Something about Woozi’s direct comments make it hard to ignore, makes it feel real and it’s a little suffocating.

He’s nearly asleep at the table when he loses the grip on his glass. His eyes snap open, scrambling for it, but it’s not that it’s slipped. Rather, a hand his tugging it away. He recognizes the hand because he’s watched it mix paint for him more than a few times. He releases the glass and puts his head in his hand, rubbing away the headache that’s formed somewhere between his eyebrows.

You rub his back, voice teasing. “Having fun?”

“Loads,” he mumbles. “What are you doing here? I thought you had to work.”

“I did. I’m already off. Jun called and said you might need a ride home,” you say lightly. Minghao checks his watch and groans at the time. He’s lost hours dozing at the table, it seems. You laugh, patting his back. “Come on, you can crash at my place. It’s closer.”

He lets you throw his arm around your shoulder once he’s standing and he hopes it doesn’t look like you’re carrying him, though you kind of are. You help him into the car and even buckle his seat belt. If he were sober, he’d never let you do that, but he’s a little overwhelmed by how nice you smell when you lean in close. He must doze off during the drive, because he wakes up to the smell of your perfume again as you’re leaning over him to unbuckle him.

Inside your apartment, you help him out of his shoes and help him lie down on the couch. “Feel like you’re going to be sick?” He shakes his head and prays it will stay that way. “Okay, be right back.” In what feels like both a spilt second and a hundred years, you reappear with a bottle of water and a few aspirin. “Take these, get a head start.” He does as you say and then curls up into the pillow. A fluffy blanket comes over him.

“Thanks. Love you.”

You laugh and the sound makes the corner of his lips turn up. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said that. Who knew you’d be such a sweet drunk?”

“Just to you,” Minghao mumbles.

“Aww, am I special?” You chuckle, brushing back his hair.

He hums in agreement. “Yep. Love you. In love with you.”

You guffaw, standing up. “Okay, honey. Get some rest.” He’s pretty sure he’s asleep before you even turn the lights off.

He wakes up the next morning to the smell of coffee. It’s strong, mostly because when he opens his eyes you’re waving the mug under his nose. He rears back, groaning at the sudden movement because his head is pounding. You laugh, placing the mug in his hands. “Aspirin is on the table. Take some more. Breakfast is coming up.”

Later, in between bites, you ask, “So did you have fun last night?”

“I don’t know,” Minghao mumbles. “Don’t remember much to be honest. I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”

“It depends,” you smile, taking another bite. “Does confessing your love for me count as stupid?”

Minghao chokes on his coffee, nearly spraying it across the table. “I did what?”

“Yeah,” you say casually. “I don’t know if it was the alcohol talking, but you said ‘love you’ twice, and then ‘in love with you’ once. It was very sweet. You’re very sweet, even if you didn’t mean it.”

Minghao’s silent for a long time and you let him be, probably thinking he needs a minute to collect himself from the embarrassment. But you’ve got it all wrong. He kind of wishes he had the liquid courage he did last night. He can’t really look at you when he says, “I meant it.”

You stare at him for a few long seconds before finally smiling. “Good.” You’re up on your feet and he never knows how you have so much energy, but you’re bounding around the table and cupping his face, pressing the smallest peck to his lips.

He’s momentarily stunned before he’s pushing you back. “Oh, come on, Y/N. I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”

“I have a brand new one under the sink. You better hurry.” He does, jumping up to run to the bathroom. He can hear your laugh echo down the hallway and thinks this will probably the first and last time he’ll ever be relieved to have gotten drunk the night before.

#seventeen #svt #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #minghao #xu minghao #minghao x reader #the8 #the8 x reader

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headkiss · 2 years ago

Text

give you the moon

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: had you known getting your first tattoo would end up with you being in love with eddie munson, you might have gotten it a lot sooner.

word count: 17.8k

warnings: smut, probably inaccurate descriptions of tattooing processes (i tried my best!), strangers to friends to lovers, fluff

a/n: this one took forever but it’s finally done!!!! i’m sorry for the wait but hopefully u guys like it enough to forgive me :D

༄

You’ve always wanted a tattoo, and you figured now was as good a time as ever. Having just moved to Indianapolis, all by yourself, one change could lead to another.

New city, new apartment, new tattoo.

It may be irresponsible of you, but you settled for the first shop you found, the one closest to where you lived. A short walk away, harder to back out of. You knew you wouldn’t regret getting it, you just had to force yourself to sit through it, to commit.

The wind whips at your cheeks as you make your way to your consultation. You pull your sleeves over your hands and hope that it’ll be warm enough.

Once you’ve made it, the bell above the door rings to signify your entrance. A girl with brown curly hair sits at the front desk, a warm smile on her face. The place has dark floors, walls covered with different sketches that distract you for a moment.

“Hi! How can I help you?” The girl says, drawing your attention back to her. You walk the few steps up to the front desk.

“Hi, um, I’m here for a consultation,” you give her your name and the time of the appointment. “With Eddie.”

She shuffles about for a few seconds before finding what she was looking for, “yep, perfect. I’ll let him know you’re here. I’m Nancy, by the way.”

“Thanks, Nancy.”

She goes to the saloon type doors next to the desk, you watch them swing back and forth. You’re eventually drawn back to the art on the walls, eyes scanning the different styles and images. Your hands fidget with the ends of your sleeves.

A picture of the staff steals your attention next, Nancy standing next to a girl with shorter hair, their hands interlocked. Then, there’s a boy with brown hair and a kind smile. The one who really keeps you looking is the boy with long dark hair, his tattoos the most prominent.

A second later, that same boy is walking through the doors and calling your name.

“Oh, hi. That’s me,” you reply. Then wince at your awkwardness.

“Hi, I’m Eddie,” he gives you a close-mouthed smile, barely there. He’s even prettier in person than he is in that photo. “Follow me.”

He seems distant, sort of cold and you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Your nerves pick up even more.

He ushers you through the saloon doors, then through a room with three tattoo beds that’s filled with the buzzing of the machines and the other people from the picture and their clients. You end up in an office type room, certificates hang on the wall behind the desk.

Eddie takes a seat behind the desk that’s presumably his, papers scattered about and a cup overflowing with pens and pencils sitting atop of it. You stand by the door, shifting on your feet.

“You can have a seat,” he offers, gesturing to the chair facing him. He waits until you’re settled to continue. “So, is this your first tattoo?”

“Yes,” you feel nervous and you’re not sure if it’s the prospect of committing to the tattoo or if it’s the way Eddie’s gaze doesn’t move away from you.

“Well, I’m honored to be your first,” he winks, your heart stumbling at the innuendo. “So, what are we thinking?”

“The moon, on the back of my shoulder,” you pause, but he nods for you to keep going, to give more detail. “I wanted it to be a gibbous moon, almost full but not quite.”

“Alright. Got an idea for size?”

“Uh, kinda small. I think?” You huff, frustrated with your lack of an answer, “sorry I’m not so prepared.”

You stuff your hands under your thighs so that they’ll stop twisting in your lap. You cross your ankles and look down, slightly embarrassed at the way you’re acting in front of him. You were meant to grow in the city, to be better, but so far, not much has changed.

You don’t have friends, your job is slow, and you’re terrible with new people.

“‘S fine,” you think he’s being reassuring. “How’s this sound: we can try some circle stencils on for size now, then we’ll know for your appointment.”

“Okay. Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course. I’ll be right back.”

His exit gives you a couple of minutes to try and sort yourself out, to calm down. You want to be able to do this without the stumbles or hiccups that you’re so used to. You blow out a breath and wait for him to come back.

The way he carries himself confuses you, his almost detached nature making you overthink way too much. Although, he’s not being cruel or unkind, he’s just… you’re not sure if there’s a word to describe it.

He comes back with a couple of stencils, some sort of solution, a disposable razor, and paper towels.

“You’re gonna have to take your sweater off,” he says, setting everything down on the desk. When you don’t move to do so right away, he stares at you, waiting.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

You slip off your sweater, your tank top underneath riding up ever so slightly with the movement. You pull it back down and set your discarded sweater on the chair behind you.

“Which shoulder?” He asks, putting on a pair of medical gloves and grabbing the razor.

“Here,” you slip the straps of both your shirt and your bra off the shoulder you choose, turning in the seat to face away from him so he’s able to do what he needs to.

He brushes your hair towards the front of your shoulder, clearing the spot he needs. He cleans off the area, then shaves it to make sure the stencil will stick, all in silence. He’s quick to apply it, his hands gentle and his breath hitting your skin in a way that has you shifting.

“Don’t move,” he chides quietly.

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything more until he’s done, “okay. Have a look.”

There’s a mirror on one of the walls, and you walk over to get a good look at the size of the circle. You know it’s only the first one, but you think it’s perfect. It looks right and you’re excited to see it when it’s actually the design you want.

“I want this size,” you say, turning to face him.

“Are you sure? It’s only the first one.”

“I know, but it’s good. I like it.”

“I don’t want you changing your mind, okay?”

“I won’t! I’m sure, promise.”

He sighs, then wipes the stencil away and takes off the gloves with a snap. He takes his seat again as you put your sweater back on, goosebumps prickling your skin.

“When did you wanna book it for?” He asks.

“Whenever you’re free is fine, I’m not picky.” You don’t have anywhere else to be, really.

“You’re not the best at answering questions, huh?”

You think he’s trying to make a joke but all you manage to say is, “no, sorry.”

“You apologize a lot. You don’t have to,” he grabs something that looks like a planner then says, “I have a spot next week, if that works.”

Eddie tells you the specific day and time, and you tell him that it works. He hands you some papers to sign and read and bring back with you for next time. “Nancy will sort out payment and stuff at the desk. That’s it for today.”

“Okay. Thank you so much,” you make your way back to the front quickly, eager to go home and try and forget the entire interaction. He certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, and you didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He was quiet, reserved, and hard to read, but he was good, you knew from the drawings in his office. He was also intriguing; a puzzle you wanted to solve.

You sort out everything with Nancy, who makes you feel a ton better about your consultation. “You look far too worried,” she says.

“I just don’t think he likes me very much.”

“No, trust me, that’s just Eddie. He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure.”

“I hope so. Anyway, thanks, Nancy.”

“See you,” she says as you walk out the door.

That night, you cuddle up and fall asleep thinking about Eddie and his demeanor, his warm hands on your skin.

He couldn’t get you out of his head, and that rarely happened to Eddie. He was used to meaningless things and he can’t remember the last time he felt anything for someone.

Not that he felt anything for you. You’d only met once.

Eddie spent the night after your consultation drawing way too many moons in his sketchbook, staining his hands with ink and pencil.

It’s two days later when you hear from Eddie again.

Your phone rings just as you’re about to shower before bed, the sun long gone though the city stays bright with lights. You hug your robe tighter around yourself and walk to where the phone hangs on the wall.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” an utterance of your name, a tone you recognize. “It’s Eddie… from Corroded Coffin Tattoos.”

“Of course! Hi, Eddie. Was there something wrong?”

“Oh, no. No,” he pauses, you hear him shuffling around on the other line. “I had a cancellation tomorrow and thought you might want the spot?”

You hate that the fact that he thought of you makes your stomach whirl. Of course, he could’ve called countless clients before you, but you like the idea that he dialed your number first better. You twist the phone cord in your fingers.

“That would be great. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”

If only you knew, he thinks. If only you knew how much he really did think of you—it was almost infuriating. How one person could have such an effect on him when he really doesn’t know them at all. He knows that you’re pretty, and you say ‘sorry’ far too much, and you smell really good, that’s all.

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay, see you-”

He hangs up before you can finish. You stare at the phone for a second after putting it back, wondering if that whole exchange truly happened, if you just dreamt up the whole thing. You pinch yourself until it hurts. You’re definitely awake.

You replay the conversation over and over, wondering why he hung up so abruptly, worrying about how you’re going to act tomorrow.

Eddie called you from his office, even though it was well past closing for the shop. He really needs to get himself together. He can’t be thinking so much about his client. About anyone, really. He can’t.

His head is resting in his arms when the door to his office opens. There’s only one person that never knocks and that’s Steve. He looks up and sees him leaning against the doorframe.

“Why are you still here, Steve?”

“Why are you still here?” He retorts.

“Got some stuff to do,” is all Eddie says.

“Your mood doesn’t have anything to do with the girl you just talked to on the phone, does it?”

Of all the people he could have been friends with, Steve was the most unlikely for Eddie, and yet here they are. Coworkers, and close friends. It’s almost annoying how quickly he can tell what exactly the issue is.

“I dunno. She won’t get out of my head,” Eddie shrugs, glancing down at the sketchbook he has opened on his desk, the one filled with drawings of your tattoo. “It’s annoying.”

“That’s a lot of moons, man,” Steve says as he walks closer.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe this is a good thing. I haven’t seen you with a girlfriend, like, ever.”

“Who said anything about a girlfriend?”

No, if anything, Eddie’s eager to get your appointment over with, to get you out of his head for good.

“Yeah, okay. Can't wait to say ‘I told you so.’ You know it won’t hurt to open up a little, man.”

Steve means well, Eddie knows he does, but the thing is it does hurt him. Or, it used to. He was used to being judged, someone the town saw as a character rather than a human. The best thing he ever did was move away, but that doesn’t mean he left the hurt behind, too.

You show up about fifteen minutes early for the appointment. You gave yourself far too much time, you think, because now you just have to sit and wait and the anticipation is making you more nervous the longer it goes.

The front desk was being manned by a different person today, “hi! I’m Robin, how are you?”

She talks quickly and with enthusiasm, like every word is exciting and important. You like her already.

“Hi, I’m good, thanks. I have an appointment with Eddie,” she nods in confirmation, looking down at the schedule in front of her. “I’m a little early though so… no rush.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, gives us more time to sort out the paperwork and stuff. He’s just finishing up with someone else so it won’t be too long.” She smiles at you.

“Here, I have these from my consultation,” you hand her the pages Eddie had given you to sign. You chew at the inside of your cheek as she reads over them hoping you filled everything out correctly.

“That’s great! I’ll just go tell him you’re here,” she goes through the familiar saloon doors, the buzzing of tattoo guns and light conversations slipping through.

When she comes back she informs you that he’s only going to be a couple more minutes, and instead of telling you to go take a seat, she asks, “first tattoo?”

“Yeah, I’m nervous. Mostly excited,” you give her a small smile, one that makes hers widen.

“Don’t worry! I had to take like five breaks for my first one and now here I am.” It’s then that you finally notice the ink peeking from her long-sleeve shirt, at her wrists, and on one side of her neck. “Eddie’s great, and I’m sure you’ve got great pain tolerance—I can sense it.”

You laugh, she’s somehow managed to make you feel much better in the short time you’ve been talking to her. Eddie walks out, greeted by the sound of your laughter and he almost stops in his tracks. Almost.

“Robin, stop chatting up my clients,” he says.

“I’m just being friendly, Eddie! You should try it out,” she replies.

You can tell it’s in good nature, because he ruffles her hair as he passes and leaves it there. From what you’ve seen so far, the workers here are close; a tight-knit group of people and you admire that friendship, long for it.

“Follow me,” he says. It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you because of your distraction, but when you look up you find him staring at you, waiting.

“Okay,” you trail behind him as he leads you to the bed furthest from the doors, the one tucked away in the back of the room.

“You eat and drink water before coming? I don’t want you passing out on me.”

“Yeah. Yes, I’m good.”

He looks at you like he’s unsure, but moves along anyway. Eddie’s only worried because you’re his client and he has to, no other reason. He can’t be worrying because he thinks you’re pretty and sweet and far too kind. There’s absolutely no way.

“So, I did a couple sketches,” a couple is an understatement. “Have a look and let me know which one you wanna go with.”

You take a look at the five he’s laid out, all as you asked. Gibbous moons, both waxing and waning, some shaded more than others, some simple outlines. The one that catches your eye is a happy medium, fine lines with dotting for shading. It’s beautiful, exactly what you envisioned.

“This one. It’s really good.”

He tips his head down, “thanks. I’ll go get my stuff and we’ll get started.”

He’s not gone for very long, though it’s enough time for you to watch one of the artists at work, the boy with the brown hair. You watched the way he moved the needle, only looking away when Eddie came back and grabbed your attention.

“Gonna do the stencil like before, so you’ll need to move your shirt,” he says, looking down at his station and getting everything ready.

“Would it be easier if I just, uh, take it off?”

That makes his hands hover, paused in his task. He tries to shake it off; he’s seen a ton of people shirtless at the job and he’s never been affected by that, so why should he be now?

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay,” you decide it must be easier without your shirt—less things in the way—so you take it off and try not to worry about it.

Eddie applies the stencil just as he did a couple days ago. Gentle, precise hands that you’ll feel the ghost of for hours after your appointment, you’re sure. His head bent close as he pushes the edges down so you can feel him breathing, catch his scent for a moment.

When he’s done, he holds up a wide handheld mirror for you to get a look at it without having to walk all the way to the mirror on the opposite side of the room.

Again, you’re impressed by his drawing, and seeing it on your skin makes you realize that you’ll carry a part of Eddie forever after this. His linework, his trace.

“So,” he prompts you to speak as your thoughts have taken you away, “what do you think?”

“It’s great. Really.”

“You’re sure that’s where you want it?”

He double checks every single detail. That you’ve picked the one you want, that it’s the right size, that you really want to do this. He does so until you’re laying on your stomach on the bed, positioned so he can work comfortably at your side.

“Okay, I’m gonna do a small line, just so you see how it feels,” he warns you, and you tense in anticipation. “Relax.”

“Sorry. ‘M just nervous.”

“You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

He manages to ease you with very few words.

The sound of the tattoo gun sounds louder when it’s so close, more daunting, but you’re eager to get started only to get rid of the anticipation. He draws a short line after giving you a quiet warning of, “here we go.”

It’s not nearly as bad as you’d expected. A scratch, a small sting, but it’s manageable.

“You okay?” He checks.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad.”

“Told you you’d be fine,” he says so softly you almost miss it.

Your head is turned to the side where he sits, and you can see him in your peripheral vision as he works. His legs clad in dark, ripped denim, the tattoos peeking through. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to show his forearms. You shut your eyes and try to stop staring.

He works quietly, though you can sometimes hear him humming along to whatever song is playing. You don’t try to make conversation because you don’t want to be a distraction.

It doesn’t take too long before he gets to the shading, telling you, “some people find this part a bit more painful. So you know.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He’s right, it is more painful and you find it harder to keep yourself occupied by looking around. You find it harder to ignore the feeling of the needle.

Eddie notices. He doesn’t know how, but he notices. Maybe it’s the way your eyes are squeezed shut at certain points, the hand of the arm furthest from him bunched in a fist. He decides he wants to ease the process for you in any way he can.

“So, why the moon?” He asks.

“Huh?”

“Why’d you choose the moon?”

“Oh, sorry,” you don’t see him shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I’ve always loved it, how it has a cycle. The way it looks in the sky. Just, everything. Looking at it was a way of reminding myself I’m alive, kind of. ‘Cause I can still see it. I guess I chose this one to remind myself that even if it’s not whole now, it will be eventually.”

He wants to pick at your brain more, because he thinks it must be a beautiful place to be able to describe things the way you just did. You talk like it means a lot to you and the fact that you shared it with him so openly when you’ve been so quiet isn’t lost on him.

“That’s really…wow.”

“Sorry. I kinda rambled there.”

“No, no. I’ve just never looked at it that way.”

He asks you more questions after that, trying his best to keep your mind off of the needle and on the conversation. He asks how long you’ve been in the city, then, why you moved, and you give him honest answers for all of it.

Not long at all. Because I needed to get out, to be somewhere nobody knows me.

That made him think of Hawkins, of every person there who called him a freak, who looked at him like one. He needed to get out, too.

“Alright, you’re all done, just gotta wrap it up for you,” he says, putting the gun down and wiping over your skin one more time. “Do you wanna have a look first?”

“Please,” you nod.

He likes the way the word sounds coming out of your mouth—he gives himself a mental slap for that.

You sit up and he holds the mirror just as he did before. You can't help but gasp when you see it, exactly what you pictured. He did such a good job that you resist the urge to hug him for it.

“Eddie, it’s beautiful.”

So are you, he thinks.

“I’m glad you like it,” is what he says.

“I love it. Seriously, thank you.”

“It’s my job. Let me wrap it and then you’re good to go.”

He does, carefully and with the same gentle hands that have become far too familiar by now. When he’s done, he takes off his gloves with a snap, and hands you a pamphlet and some cleaning products to use at home.

“Thanks again, Eddie. You’re really good,” you say, putting your shirt back on.

“No problem,” he flashes you a small smile, one you’ll hold onto. “Um, here’s the card for the shop. You know, in case you need anything. Just ask for me, okay?”

“I will, thank you,” you take the card from him, your fingers brush his as you do. The name of the shop is written on it in bold, sharp letters: Corroded Coffin Tattoos. Underneath it, the phone number.

You’re led back through the saloon doors and met with both Robin and Nancy by the desk. They’re talking with wide smiles and rosy cheeks, their hands tangled loosely.

“I don’t pay you two to flirt,” Eddie says, retreating back where the two of you just came from.

Robin slips away, presumably done with her shift at the desk now that Nancy’s back. She gave you a kind goodbye, and makes sure that you promise if you ever want another tattoo to go back there.

“How was it?” Nancy asks you.

“Good! I’m really happy with it.”

“That’s what we like to hear! Eddie’s great. He gave me my first tattoo, too. Robin was mad for ages and then made sure she gave me the next one,” she grins. “Anyway, let’s get you taken care of.”

You pay for the tattoo, and then, you’re off.

It’s times like now that you wish you had someone to talk to, because you’re having way too many thoughts about your tattoo artist that you might never see again and you need to know if you’re reading into things too much. You need to know if his hands linger longer than they need to on other clients, if you imagined the way his eyes stayed on you, too.

You settle for overthinking on your walk home instead.

You didn’t think you’d end up using the card Eddie gave you. Not unless you were calling to book another tattoo, but here you were, leaning on the wall by your phone and dialing the number.

It was just a quick question, really, but you were still nervous. You’d only gotten the tattoo yesterday and already you were calling.

You’d realized when reading the aftercare instructions he gave you, that you didn’t have any unscented, gentle lotion like it called for, and you wanted to know if he had any suggestions for what works best. You tried going to the pharmacy, but the options were overwhelming.

You ended up buying something anyway because of how long you spent there. A useless magazine that was the closest thing to you when you noticed how some of the employees were looking at you. Some girl reading way too many lotion labels.

Yeah, definitely embarrassing, and definitely something you won’t let yourself live down.

The phone doesn’t ring for long before someone picks up, “Corroded Coffin Tattoos, Nancy speaking.”

��Hi Nancy,” you tell her your name.

“Hey! How can I help you?”

“Um, Eddie told me to call and ask for him if I had any questions,” you explain. “I was wondering if he’s available for a minute?”

“He did?” She sounds surprised.

“Um. Yeah.”

“Huh. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead. I’ll put you on hold and let him know, okay?”

“‘Kay. Thanks, Nancy.”

Desperately, you try not to overthink what she said. That he doesn’t usually get his clients to talk to him for things as minor as this. Why would he want you to, then? You don’t know why every little thing he does sends your mind into a whirlwind of ‘why’s and ‘what does this mean’s.

It’s maybe two minutes—silence filled by your thoughts—before the phone is picked up again.

“Hello?”

You can tell that it’s Eddie.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you but I just had a quick question for you.”

Eddie knows it’s you; he’s not expecting a call from anyone else. Not that he was expecting yours, it’s just that you’re the only client he’s even told to ask for him. He tries to cover that up by saying, “who’s this?”

“Oh, guess I should’ve said. Sorry,” you remind him of your name, as if he could forget it.

“Don’t be sorry. What’s your question?”

He’s quick to get to the point, and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s eager to help, or if it’s that he’s eager to get the conversation over with. Nancy’s words replay in your head. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead.

“I noticed that for aftercare, it says to use gentle lotion,” he hums along, urging you to continue. “I wasn’t sure what exactly that meant and I even went to the pharmacy but I didn’t know which one was good-”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off. “I’ve got some here at the shop. Do you have time today to come pick it up?”

“Yeah! Yes, that’s great. Thanks so much, I promise I’ll get out of your hair after this.”

He doesn’t like the way that sits with him. He doesn’t want you out of his hair. He wants to see you again, he’s realized, and it’s almost too much for him to handle. The way he feels about you is brand new for him—never felt before. He wants to know everything about you.

“‘Course. See you soon, then.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

He hangs up.

You leave a bit after that. Not too soon, because you didn’t want to make it seem like you didn’t have other things to do, even though you didn’t. You’ve memorized the walk to the store at this point, and it doesn’t take you long to get there. You’re greeted by Nancy once again, only in person this time.

“Welcome back,” she says.

“Hi,” you smile at her, you hope it doesn’t look like a nervous grimace. “Um, Eddie told me to come here to pick something up.”

“Right, okay,” she stands, heading in the direction of his office, pausing to say, “he must really like you.”

Great. Some more material for you to analyze about Eddie and how he acts with you. It’s odd to have someone on your mind so constantly, to try and make sense of it. He has something about him that pulls you in, and you’re not sure how, or why, but you let yourself be pulled.

His hair is tied in a low bun when you see him, his bangs and stray strands of hair make it look messy, like he hasn’t had the time to redo it. And yet, he had the time to speak to you on the phone and now.

“Moon girl,” he says, lips turned up just enough to be noticeable.

“Eddie, hi,” your hands twist themselves into the sleeves of your knitted sweater. “Thank you for taking time for me, I know it was a dumb question.”

“It wasn’t. I’m glad you care enough to make sure you’re using the right things,” he says. He holds out the lotion, “speaking of.”

“Perfect. How much do I owe?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He probably shouldn’t make a habit of giving things away for free to girls he thinks are pretty and that confuse him way too much. For you, though, he’ll make an exception. It’s not like anybody else is driving him nuts like you are, anyway.

“No, you’ve done so much already. Please let me pay.”

“It’s fine, I promise that one bottle of lotion won’t hurt me.” But this possibly being the last time I see you might, he thinks.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he confirms. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Bye, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Bye, moon girl.”

You look down at your feet as he walks away, letting your hair curtain your face. You really shouldn’t be feeling so giddy because of a fucking bottle of lotion and a new nickname, but you are.

“Holy shit,” Robin’s voice comes from the front desk. You hadn’t noticed, but she must’ve walked out at some point during your quick interaction with Eddie.

You curse yourself and try to hide the smile that threatens to spread across your face. “Hey, Robin.”

“Well hello,” she’s looking at you like she knows something you don’t, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know how you did it but he’s never acted like that with any client. Like, ever.”

You don’t say anything, biting the inside of your lip to distract from the butterflies in your stomach.

“And, I’m so glad you’re here,” she changes the subject, thankfully. “Because Eddie mentioned you’re new to the city and god knows I could use friends who don’t work here and I wanted to know if you wanted to come for drinks sometime?”

Eddie spoke about you? Robin wants to be your friend? You can’t wrap your head around either of those things. It’s been so long since you’ve hung out with someone who wasn’t family. And even then, it was tiring, not fun.

You realize she’s still waiting for an answer when she clears her throat.

“Sorry, um. Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Yay!” She cheers. “What’s your number? I’ll call you next time there’s plans.”

You write it down on a scrap piece of paper for her, and she beams at you when she takes it.

“Eddie‘s gonna be thanking me for this one later,” she teases. “I think we’ll be great friends.”

You look at her smile, at her crooked tie that rests atop an oversized button up. You think she might be right about that.

As soon as you leave Robin and Nancy go to Eddie’s office. An intervention of sorts. They walk in without knocking (the door was open anyway) and stand in front of him with some look.

He’s pretty sure he knows why they’re both staring at him with knowing smiles, but he tries to ignore them and busy himself with some sketches.

Robin’s not having it, so she sits in the chair across from Eddie, kicking her feet up onto his desk.

“What do you want?” He sighs.

“Um, hello? Are we not gonna pretend that you weren’t flirting with her in your own, weird, Eddie way?” Robin starts.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come on,” Nancy joins the conversation, on Robin’s side as always. “You’ve never told a client to ask for you, or given them free stuff.”

“Yeah! And, you were all ‘see you around, moon girl, hey let me stare at you and then not do anything about it,’” Robin lowers her voice, imitating him very inaccurately.

“I don’t know. She was nice, that’s all.”

“Nice enough to break your little rule of being mister nonchalant. I think you like her,” she’s right, but Eddie doesn’t even want to admit that to himself, let alone his friends.

He doesn’t say anything, shifting in his seat. He knows they both mean well, but he doesn’t know what to think and an ambush isn’t necessarily helping that. The pit in his stomach he’s had since he realized he might never see you again hasn't lessened, and the memory of your perfume or the feeling of your skin hasn’t faded.

So, maybe you did have an effect on him, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter in the first place because he wouldn’t let it.

“Look, Eddie, we’re not trying to make you admit anything,” Nancy says, “we just noticed that you acted differently with her. Steve did, too, I’m sure. And it was a good different. You seemed less guarded, I guess.”

“What she said!” Robin adds.

“Yeah, thanks guys, but it’s nothing, okay?”

They share a look, one that Eddie doesn’t understand but he’s gotten used to their silent communications over time. He scratches at the back of his neck, nervous about what they’re thinking.

“Anyway, I got her number,” Robin says, holding the small paper you wrote on for Eddie to see.

He grabs it, staring at your handwriting and the small heart you added next to your name. He fights a smile at the sight of it, cute and lopsided and though he doesn’t know you well, it’s very you.

He clears his throat, handing the paper back. “I’ve got her number on file already.”

“It’s not for you! It’s for me and Nance. We’re gonna be friends,” she grins, proud.

“We’re probably gonna invite her next time we go out, and wanted you to know. Just in case you care,” Nancy says, explaining.

Just in case you care.

He does care, he thinks. He cares way too much for someone he’s met three times and knows very little about. He knows you’re pretty, you apologize a ton, you fidget with your hands when you’re nervous, and you like the moon.

He knows that he cares what you think about him, and that when you called the tattoo he gave you beautiful, it meant more to him than most compliments do. ‘Cause it was you who said it. It’s too much for him.

Maybe he’ll skip out on the next outing.

“That’s nice,” he settles for.

“She’s new to the city and she’s cool. Don’t you think, Eddie?” Robin asks.

He swipes her boot-clad feet from his desk in response.

“We just don’t want you to hold yourself back, that’s all. You never go on dates or anything, even though you’ve had many chances,” Nancy says, softer now that she sees Eddie’s mind is full.

“Thanks for caring, you guys, seriously. But I’m fine. I like being single.”

“So, just be friends with her, then,” Robin suggests.

Her and Nancy leave him alone after that, his mind a bigger mess than before and it’s completely surrounding you. He doesn’t understand how someone could make him rethink everything like he is.

I like being single, he’d said.

And yet, when he imagines going on a date with you, giving you flowers, complimenting your dress or your hair, he’s not sure how true that statement is.

Your days drag by. You work in a small café, and whenever you’re not there, you’re either wasting away hours in your apartment or taking aimless walks. It’s a never-ending cycle, a carousel spinning round and round.

The only eventful thing that happened to you (other than your new tattoo) was accidentally spilling coffee all over yourself at work and having to stick out the rest of your shift in wet clothes. Not necessarily something you want to remember.

You’re beginning to lose hope that Robin will ever use your number.

It shocks you when your phone finally rings. You try to convince yourself it’s telemarketers, a wrong number, anything not to get your hopes up. Lucky for you, it actually is Robin.

“Hello?” Is your automatic word when you pick up.

“Hi! Listen, I’m so sorry it took so long to call,” she doesn’t have to say it to know it’s her. Robin has a very distinct way of speaking; rushed and animated. “So, I actually lost the paper. Silly me! But, then I found it and I had to convince the others to want to go out. Anyway, you wanna come?”

“Hi, Robin. That’s okay,” you find yourself smiling. Your first real one in a while. “When?”

“Oh! I forgot to say. Tonight?”

“I can do that,” you try to sound excited, you hope she can tell.

“Perfect! Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll tell you the place.”

You reach for your notepad and pen and do your best not to drop the phone in the process. Somehow, you manage.

“Yep, ready.”

She rambles off an address, a meeting time, and then, “shit. Boss is coming, better act like I’m working. Bye!”

She hangs up, and you know who she means when she says ‘boss.’

You’ve been trying your best not to think of Eddie, but it’s easier said than done. You constantly think you see him in crowds that pass by. A head of long, curly hair here, a worn leather jacket there. It’s confusing and almost embarrassing.

This boy who you barely know, taking up so much space in your life.

You’re reminded that you’ll most likely be seeing him tonight, as long as you’re right in assuming that by ‘the others,’ Robin meant her coworkers. The thought makes you nervous, makes your stomach do things you aren’t used to.

Despite the time you had between the phone call and when you had to leave, you’re in a hurry to get ready. Picking your outfit was the hardest part, because you’d never been to the place before. You decided on a dress that was simple enough, a denim jacket that you’d probably end up taking off (you get warm when you drink), and your trusty Doc Martens.

Your makeup is a little messy, but you don’t have enough time to fix it so you act like the smudged eyeliner was purposefully done. Your hair was left down.

Walking through the doors of the bar, you’re a couple minutes late and a little out of breath from your rushing. You look around in search of a familiar face when waving catches your eye.

It’s Robin, who’s waving the most obviously, her arm swinging back and forth until Nancy pulls it down and says something to her. Probably telling her you’ve seen them and she can stop. It’s sweet.

You make your way through the crowd towards the booth they’d secured. The boy, who’s introduced to you as Steve, is sitting in the corner on one side, Robin and Nancy on the other. Eddie’s absence is noted, and you guess you must’ve looked confused because Robin spoke up and said, “he’s just in the bathroom.”

She beckons you to sit with her and Nancy, and you fall into conversation easily. Even Steve is easy to talk to and you’ve only just learned his name. Sometimes you worry you’re intruding in their group, an outsider. In a way, you are, because you don’t work with them nor have you been friends with any of them for a long time, but they have yet to make you feel that way.

It’s a far cry from the friends (or lack thereof) you had back home, in the best way possible.

When Eddie comes back, the first thing he sees is you. He’s shocked. Not because you’re there—he was well aware of you being invited—but because you look like you belong with his friends. You fit right in, and you aren’t even trying. Then, he notices your dress and he wishes he could ignore the feeling he gets.

He’s painfully aware of how pretty you are, and when you look over, as if feeling his eyes on you, you give him a small smile and wave. He walks over and slides into the booth next to Steve as casually as possible.

“You look nice,” he says. It’s the best he can come up with.

“Thank you.”

The two of you are too busy looking at each other and trying to figure out what to say when the others share some kind of look. Knowing.

Your nerves pickup when Eddie’s around and you scold yourself for it. You have no business feeling anything towards him, and yet, his very simple compliment will be the root of your daydreams for days to come.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” you think you need one. “What’s everyone else want?”

“I’ll help you bring them,” Robin says.

You both stand, and everyone tells you what they want. You make your way to the bar and wait your turn. The feelings you have towards Eddie are confusing, and you’re not exactly sure what they even are. Intrigue, attraction, tension. Whatever it is, it’s unfamiliar.

Robin leans on the bar beside you, noticing you looking towards Eddie before even you do. When you pry your eyes away, she’s smirking at you.

“He likes you, you know?”

“Who, Eddie?” You ask even though you know that’s who she’s talking about. “No, he doesn’t. I actually think he dislikes me.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding. I’ve never seen him act like he does around you, and I’ve known him a really long time. Seriously.”

“He’s just being nice,” that’s all it is, you’re convincing her as well as yourself.

“Please. I know he’s hard to read and seems kind of closed-off, but he’s warmer towards you than most people. He barely even talks to clients, usually.”

Everything she’s saying, you can tell she thinks is true, but if you let yourself think it, too, you’d be absolutely fucked. Your mind would go wild with scenarios and imagining what could happen. You’re doing enough of that as is.

“I don’t know, Robin.”

“You’ll see, trust me.”

Unbeknownst to you, a very similar conversation is happening back at the table. Steve and Nancy are trying to knock some sense into Eddie, to get him to realize it’s okay to let someone else in. He denies it all just as you did, his head a mess.

He realizes that you’re not his client anymore, you’re here as a possible friend, and it scares him. There’s no guise to hide under with his urge to care for you.

When you and Robin return with the drinks, you’re the one who hands Eddie his, and when his fingers brush against yours, just barely, he feels them tingle even after the contact ends.

You loosen up a little bit as the night goes on, and you do end up taking your jacket off. The spaghetti straps of your dress leave your tattoo exposed, and Eddie can’t help but look at it. He’s always proud of his work, but seeing it on you is different for him. He likes that his mark is on you.

Nancy and Robin leave first, walking out leaned into each other. The rest of you follow shortly after, Steve slipping out after a quick goodbye. When you stand, you stumble slightly. Eddie catches you, a hand wrapped around your upper arm.

“Let me walk you home,” he says, his hand trailing down your arm lightly before he pulls away completely.

“That’s okay, Eddie. Really.”

You put your jacket back on and struggle to find one of the sleeves, your arm reaching back awkwardly. Once again, Eddie’s quick to help you, pulling your jacket over and guiding your arm to the right spot. You thank him quietly.

“C’mon, it’s dark out.”

“You’re not gonna let me say no, are you?”

He shakes his head, that small smile you so rarely see making an appearance.

The walk is quiet for a bit, the chilled air of the night nipping at your skin, your arms pulling your jacket tight to your chest. He falls into step next to you easily, pace matching yours so he stays right next to you.

He can tell you’re cold, and he resists the urge to throw an arm over your shoulders and pull you closer to warm you up. It’d be weird, he thinks. You barely know him and he’s sure you’d much rather be walking with one of the girls right now than with him.

“Sorry for, like, intruding in your friend group.”

Though you haven’t felt like an outsider, you do feel bad about worming your way into their group that seemed to have stayed the same for so long. You feel bad for the change you caused, the shift.

“What? You’re not,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, moon girl. I am.”

He knows he might not be the most welcoming person, but he doesn’t mind having you around, really. What he minds is the confusion that comes along with it, which isn’t your fault at all. That’s on him.

“Okay. Thanks for letting me come, then.”

“I think Robin would have smacked me if I didn’t. Besides, you’re nice to have around.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the few drinks or if it’s just a fluke, but the bit of honesty slips out of him with ease. Eddie’s not a trusting person, he’s been through too much for that, but he has never once felt like you were judging him.

The rest of the walk to your apartment is filled with light conversation and small, awkward silences. Having him next to you does make you feel safer, though. You never know what could happen.

He walks you all the way up to your door. You pull out your keys and fiddle with them, your hand shakes when you try to insert it into the lock. You miss a couple of times and feel the embarrassment scorch you. You don’t know if it’s the cold, or the drinks, or if it’s him making your hands unstable. Maybe it’s all of the above.

Yet again, Eddie helps you. He comes up behind you, his chest hovering over your back, close enough to feel the heat of his body, not close enough to touch.

“Here, sweetheart” he wraps his hand around yours and guides the key into the slot, the pet name slipping out without him noticing.

You do notice, though. He says it so softly, and you think it’s your favorite word that’s come out of his mouth so far. It has your heartbeat picking up, a steady thump in your chest.

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

You turn around, leaving the key in the door for now. He’s much closer than you were expecting and he doesn’t back away. Your back against your door, your nose almost touching his.

Then, something shifts, and he’s leaning in and kissing you.

It takes you a second to get over your initial shock, but you recover quickly, winding your arms around his neck and kissing him back. He makes a sound against your mouth when you do, pressing you further into the door. He has a thigh between yours, his hands holding your waist tightly.

He kisses you like he means it, and you forget about everything else. You forget that this Eddie is the same one who puzzles you so much, that not long ago you were convinced that you’d never see him again. And yet, he’s here, kissing you sick in your hallway.

He sucks at your bottom lip, pulling away and letting it snap back into place, opening his eyes to look at you for a second, then he dives back in. Soon enough, he’s licking along the seam of your lips to open you up, and his tongue has your knees weak.

When you whimper into his mouth, he tenses.

He’s snapped back into reality, realizing that he just made out with you against your door. He pulls away, pushing his fingers into his hair. There’s a sudden change, though this one feels much worse than the one where he kissed you.

There are too many things in his head. Thinking he shouldn’t be doing this or that you’ll hate him for it. You’re about to open your mouth and ask him what’s wrong when he speaks first.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he steps back until he’s against the wall opposite from you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Eddie-”

“No, shit. I’m sorry. Good night.”

He’s walking away before you can say anything else. You stand frozen for what could be minutes before finally letting yourself into your apartment. Closing and locking the door behind you, you lean your forehead against the wood and wonder what the fuck just happened.

You’re not sure what you did wrong to make him have to leave so suddenly, and you know it’ll torment you constantly. Replaying in the back of your mind. The worst part is, you were ready to invite him inside, to let him do whatever he wanted with you. He was gone before you could even get there.

Eddie feels awful for leaving the way he did, and he thinks about turning around and knocking on your door the whole way home. He never does, though. He’s sure you don’t want to see him.

You both have a fitful sleep that night. Blocks away, both tossing and turning in bed with that kiss plaguing your minds.

Robin and Nancy’s calls grow more frequent over the following couple of weeks, and in turn, so do your encounters with Eddie. You’ve become closer, would like to say you’ve become friends, even. Though, nothing like the kiss that the two of you choose to ignore happens again.

You chalked it up to his tipsiness, he tries to forget it altogether.

It’s not because it was bad, or unwanted. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Eddie’s so used to kissing meaning absolutely nothing, leading to more every single time. Your kiss, though, was completely different. It made him feel more than he knew he was capable of.

He’s surprised that you have yet to say something about it, especially considering the way that he left. It’s a two way street; he doesn’t bring it up at all, either.

He wants to. He wants to be able to explain himself to you, to tell you why he had to pull himself away so quickly. Only, he’s not sure how. He doesn’t know how to explain the way he finds himself drawn to you, the reason he kissed you, or the feeling that runs through him every time you lock eyes. If he can’t even make sense of it himself, how is he supposed to make sense of it to you?

He can’t even bring himself to tell anyone about it because he knows, as much as they try, it won’t help.

Tonight, you’re all piled on the couches in Steve’s apartment (it’s the nicest one) eating pizza straight from the box and chatting. It’s nice to be a part of a true friend group. You’ve never had anything like it before.

“Eddie, you left your guitar here, you know?” Steve says.

He plays guitar? Fuck.

“Shit, yeah. I did.”

“You know what that means,” Robin draws out the last word, shimmying her shoulders.

“No. Absolutely not,” Eddie shakes his head.

“Please! Serenade us, Eddie.”

They go back and forth for a bit and your gaze switches between the two of them like you’re watching a game of ping pong.

“I’d like to hear you play,” you pitch in.

Robin—of course—wears a smirk. She’s been trying to get the two of you together since she saw how you interacted, and she knows Eddie won’t say no to you. He couldn’t if he tried.

“Really?” Eddie asks softly.

“Yeah. I didn’t know you played,” you shift in your seat, “I’d love to hear it. If you want.”

He fiddles with his guitar pick necklace, which you catch. Maybe that should’ve been a dead giveaway that he’s a musician, but you’d never noticed it before, usually hidden by the collar of his shirt.

Eddie’s not usually a nervous person, but the prospect of you listening to him play has him feeling that way. He’s never worried so much about how someone looks at him, or what they might think. With you, he worries because he wants to impress you, he’s realized.

“Yeah, okay. Just for you, I’ll go grab it.”

Just for you. You turn your face away to try and hide how it affects you.

He asks Steve where he left it, and goes off to retrieve it. You watch him walk away until he disappears behind a corner. There’s something about him that pulls you in, something you wish you could figure out. You know you like him, it’s quite obvious, but it’s the kind that has thoughts of him crowding your mind and that has you overthinking every word.

“You guys are paining me, I hope you know,” Robin says.

“We’re just friends. Seriously.”

“Are you sure about that?” Steve adds on. Nancy tends to just observe when the topic of you and Eddie is brought up. She’s a rational person, and she’s trying to let it work itself out naturally. Though, she’s sure it will work out eventually. Hopefully sooner than later.

Eddie comes back before you can manage a reply, holding an acoustic guitar decorated with messy, white, painted-on lettering that says ‘this machine slays dragons.’

He sits down and tunes the guitar first, focused on his task. It gives you a chance to look at him closely, lets you get away with it because the others are watching him, too. Waiting for him to start to play. When he does, you’re transfixed.

Your eyes don’t stray from him at all throughout the song he plays. His fingers move with so much ease, his rings catching the light. It’s no surprise that he’s talented with his hands, just look at the art he creates on people’s bodies everyday. But, this is another layer to it, a piece of him that made you want to see more. Made you want to collect every jigsaw piece until you had the whole image.

You think you could listen to him play for hours on end and never get tired of his strumming. Yeah, you really do like him.

When he finishes, everyone gives him a round of applause, and he hopes his hair does enough to cover up the blush that blooms on his cheeks. He looks to you first, and you’re beaming, looking at him like he’s just done something groundbreaking.

“That was amazing, Eddie,” you say.

“It’s nothing special,” he replies.

“It is. You’re really talented,” you sound so sincere it squeezes his heart in a fist. “Double talented, actually.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

He lets it slip again, and you soak it up. Eddie tries to avoid the looks from his friends, especially after the pet name. Surely, they’re all wearing smug smiles and plotting ways to talk him into giving whatever the thing between the two of you is a go.

He sets the guitar aside, clearing his throat amidst the awkward silence. You look at your lap and frown at the run in your tights that you just noticed, avoiding being the first to say anything.

Every new detail you learn about Eddie only makes you like him more. You’re still not sure if he even considers you a friend, but you certainly consider him one. You would ask but decide to save yourself the stress of having to bring it up. The worst part is, the idea of him not liking you hurts more than you’d like to admit.

The silence is eventually broken, and the floodgates of conversation have opened back up. You and Eddie both let out a breath of relief, synchronized in secrecy.

When you get up to leave, Eddie suddenly has the urge to go, too, and he offers to take you home. Much like the time before, he doesn’t let you decline the offer. He’s just being nice, you think to yourself, he would do it for anyone.

This time, he drove, and he opens the passenger door for you when you reach his car. It smells like him inside, sandalwood, something sweet, the underlying smokiness of cigarettes that you don’t mind when it comes to him. He has a pair of dice hanging from his mirror, though they’re twenty-sided instead of your average six.

“You’ll have to give me directions back to yours,” he says, starting the car. “I remember the area, but…”

Yes, he remembers the area all too well. It’s where he lingered after he sprung a kiss on you and then walked away. It’s where he jerked himself around mentally trying to decide whether he should go back to you or just go home.

“Don’t worry, I can be your map.”

The drive is silent save for the music humming through the speakers and your occasional instructions on which turns to take. It isn’t awkward, you don’t think. It’s comfortable in the way that you don’t feel the need to fill it.

One of Eddie’s hands reaches out and lightly tugs on your skirt, “this looks really nice on you.”

He pulls it away after he says it and you wish he didn’t.

“Oh,” you look down at the fabric, something you’ve owned for years, worn when you can’t figure anything else out. It’s never been anything special, but now, you feel like it might be. “Thank you.”

Eddie feels inclined to compliment you all of the time, he’s learned, but he often lets them float in his head rather than say them to you.

He parks on the street by your apartment complex soon after, but you don’t get out right away. You unbuckle your seatbelt and place a hand on the door, but he stops you.

The sight of your building has him thinking about the night you kissed for what feels like the thousandth time. He wants to kiss you again and he clenches his fists to ground himself. If you’re any bit as torn up about it as him, he wants to know. He also wants to try and explain himself to you, even if he still isn’t sure how.

“Hey. About that night,” he doesn’t have to specify. You know exactly what he’s talking about. Your hand lets go of the door handle, settling in your lap. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

“You are?”

You don’t want him to be sorry, or to feel bad about it. You only want to know what you did to scare him off the way you did. You also want him to kiss you again.

“Um, yeah. I shouldn’t have just sprung onto you like that.”

“Why did you?” Is what you say next.

“I dunno. You just looked so pretty, and I had the urge. The drinks gave me the strength to do it, I guess.”

He hadn’t been drunk, not one bit, but he doesn’t want to use the alternate explanation just yet. He doesn’t want to say ‘I kissed you because you confuse me more than anyone else. Because I’ve never felt so bent out of shape because of one person. Because you were looking at me like you wanted me to, and I can’t say no to you.’

He could, but he doesn’t want to.

“You think I’m pretty?”

He nods, almost ashamed about it.

“I think you’re pretty, too, Eddie,” his eyes lock onto yours, “and I’m not sorry you kissed me at all.”

“What?”

“I liked kissing you. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come inside before you left.”

You don’t know where your candidness is coming from, but you can’t stop yourself anymore. You’ve wondered and wondered what could’ve happened that night had he stayed, and by the way his gaze flicks down to your lips, you think you might find out.

The car suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker, when he asks, “does that offer still stand?”

You nod, he shuts off the car. You both get out, walking up to your place in a sort of haze. Neither of you know what will come from any of this, you’re going in blind and it’s as exciting as it is nerve-wracking.

Things slow down once you’re inside. It’s as if a fog has cleared and now, you’re both painfully aware of everything you’re doing, or saying. His eyes flit around your apartment in silence, looking at your bookshelf, noting the lack of personal photos.

You cut in before he can comment on your place, “can I get you anything? Water, or…”

When he responds, it’s not to your question. Instead, he asks you one: “how’s your tattoo healing?”

He’s been curious about how you’re feeling with it ever since he caught glimpses of it that night at the bar. You pause by your small kitchen island, looking him over before you can manage to reply.

“Oh. Good, I think,” you shrug a shoulder, “I don’t know enough about tattoos but it hasn’t bothered me much.”

“I can look at it, if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

You say it as if he would be going through lots of trouble to do so, when in reality he’s using it as an excuse to get his hands on you. Tattoos are familiar, not foreign the way his feelings for you are. It’s an excuse to ease himself into whatever this is.

“‘Course I am, let me see.”

“Okay. Light’s better in the bathroom.”

He follows you into your bathroom, and you wish you’d taken into account how small it is because you’re forced to be close to him and it’s making you nervous. The anticipation and unknown a flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Shirt off,” he says, his voice smooth.

You listen, because it’s hard not to when he sounds the way he does. You turn to face the mirror and peel your shirt away, tossing it to the ground when you do. You’re suddenly very aware that your bra isn’t the nicest you own, and your instinct is to cover it with your arms.

Eddie stops you, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, his hands wrapping around your wrists gently, pulling them down. “Don’t you dare. You’re beautiful.”

He looks away after he says it, but you can tell he means it. It’s in the way he makes sure you’re looking at him when he speaks, the way he squeezes your wrists reassuringly before letting them go.

For a second, he forgot why you’re even in the position you are. He forgets that he’s meant to be looking at your tattoo until you say, “how is it?”

“Right, yeah,” he looks it over, and he’s satisfied to see that it looks exactly how it should at this stage. “Really good, actually. You’re doing a great job.”

The compliment warms your insides.

“Thank you.”

“Want me to clean it for you?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He does, disinfecting it first, after finding your products on your counter. He’s gentle as usual, his hands a welcome feeling. Then, he applies the layer of lotion slowly, almost like he’s trying to tease you. It’s working.

His hands trail down your arms when he’s done, his head dipping down to press a kiss on the top of your shoulder. The first one is soft, a barely-there push of his lips against your skin. The next is a bit firmer, his confidence growing with each one.

They trail over the curve of your shoulder, his hands still running their paths up and down your arms, raising goosebumps in their wake, his chunky rings cold. He kisses his way up your neck, your head lulling to the side to grant him more access and your eyes fluttering shut.

Everything he does is filing you up more and more and he’s barely even begun.

“Eddie,” you sigh when he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

He has no idea what’s come over him, but there’s no hiding the effect you have over him anymore. As soon as he got his hands on you, even just to clean your tattoo, he knew he’d be addicted.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yes, it’s- feels nice.”

You would be overthinking if you weren’t so distracted by the feeling of his lips on your skin. And when he uses a hand to tilt your face towards his and kisses you, you’re not sure there’s a single thought left in your head.

There’s something about him that makes everything more intense. You feel like all of your senses are captured by him and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The smell of his cologne, the taste on his tongue, the feeling of his hands on you and his long hair tickling your skin. All of it.

Eddie pulls away to let the both of you breathe only when it’s absolutely necessary. He’s drunk on every kiss he gets from you and he doesn’t mind one bit. He wonders what you’re like in bed, what sounds you’d make for him, and he can’t stop himself from asking, “can I fuck you?”

The words are spoken between heavy breaths, puffed out against your lips.

“Yes. Please.”

Please, you say. As if you would even have to beg him. You have no idea what you’re doing to him and it only makes him want you more. He pushes his hips against your ass, letting you feel how hard he is and you whimper, you fucking whimper and he’s so gone.

He pushes you down to bed over the counter with a hand on the center of your back, and you obey easily. You’re practically squirming with want, the dampness in your panties growing with every move he makes.

Then, he flips your skirt up, his hands running over the tights that cover you before ripping them in the middle.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says.

He keeps a hand on your back, though its drifted much lower, and the other sneaks its way between your legs, cupping you over your underwear before pressing his fingers against you. You can't help but moan at the feeling.

“Soaking already, sweetheart?” He taunts.

“Eddie, come on.”

“What is it?”

“You’re teasing me,” you huff out, your cheek pressed against your cool countertop.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

He hooks his fingers in the fabric covering you, pulling it aside and going right back to his teasing. His fingers run up and down your slit, dipping into where you’re wet only to pull away and circle your clit; just enough to give you a taste, to have you wanting more.

He’s winding you up and up and up and you think you might pass out if he doesn’t make you come soon.

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got you.”

It’s then that he pushes one finger in, his rings that still sit around his fingers only add to the intensity. He works a second one in quickly, your cunt sucking him in and he can’t even imagine how good it’ll feel when he gets to fuck you for real.

He’s quick to learn what you like, what makes you pulse around his fingers or moan a little louder. You had no clue that things could ever feel this good and when his thumb finds your clit, you’re absolutely done for.

Your breaths come out hot, bits of condensation gathering on the counter, “fuck. Oh my god.”

“Feel good?” He asks even though he knows damn well it does—your reactions are telling enough. He picks up the pace, his fingers pressing against that spot that has your knees going weak. He wraps his unoccupied arm around your waist to hold you up.

“So, so good, Eddie. Gonna come.”

“Go on, all over my hand, sweetness. Then I’ll fill you right up, how’s that sound?”

Your response is caught in your throat, a whine bubbling out instead.

“Quicker you come, the quicker I’ll give it to you,” he tacks on.

The thought of him fucking you after this drives you nuts because if just his fingers feel this good, you can’t even imagine what his cock will be like. Your orgasm washes over you, eyes rolling back.

He works you through it, steadily slowing down and easing away to give you a break. He pulls his fingers away, chuckling at the noise you make when he does, and sucks them clean. Then, softly, he’s leaning down and kissing his way up your spine.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“You okay?”

“More than okay. You’re really good.”

“‘M not done yet, babe.”

He stands back up, but he pulls you along with him so you're no longer resting on the counter. Hands on your hips spin you to face him, and as soon as you do he surges forward to kiss you. It’s quick, like he’s making sure it’s still okay to keep going.

His touch trails up to the band of your bra—which is askew, but still on. “Can I take this off?”

You nod, but he waits for a verbal confirmation before unclasping it and pulling it away from your chest. It joins your shirt on the ground.

You’re suddenly very aware that you’re half-naked and he isn’t. You tug on his shirt, eager to even the score, “you too.”

“Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

He peels his shirt over his head, and you realize that you’ve yet to see his tattoos so closely. You reach out, tracing them lightly with your fingertips. First, the bats that adorn his forearm, working your way up to his shoulder, then down his chest. He lets you, happy to have your hands on him.

While you’re occupied with his tattoos, he looks you over, free to stare without worrying if you’ll notice. His eyes travel across your face, the slope of your nose, the shape of your lips. They go down your neck, a canvas he plans to leave his mark on, and down to your chest that’s now bare.

The sight is enough to remind him of how hard he is, straining against his jeans. He kisses you again, heavier this time, and lets his hands cup your tits, squeezing and thumbing over your nipples. You moan into the kiss and he can’t control himself any longer.

He lifts you up to sit on the counter, close enough to the edge that you’re forced to wrap your legs around him.

“You still want this?” He asks.

Your hands go to his jeans, popping the button open and lowering his zipper slowly, “yeah, Eddie. I want this. I want you.”

I want you. Eddie doesn’t know why the words make his heart go all fluttery, why they make him look at you like you’ve put the stars in the sky just for him. He kisses you all over again.

You fit your hand between his jeans and his boxers, and you gasp into the kiss when you feel just how big he is. He’s wide, and you know the stretch of him will be a kind of burn that hurts so good. You stroke him over his boxers first, but quickly grow impatient to see him.

You tuck your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them and his jeans down enough to free him. You pull back only to be able to look at him properly, leaning your forehead against Eddie’s bare shoulder, your bottom lip bitten between your teeth because he’s pretty everywhere.

He kisses the side of your head, tender in the midst of the heat of it all.

You think, despite his initial distance, Eddie’s one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. He shows it in the small things he does. Offering to take you home, the gentleness of his hands, his constant checking in on you to make sure this is what you wanted.

Yeah, you like him a whole lot.

Your hand wraps around his cock, jerking him slowly at first. A tease, he thinks. And then you pick up your pace just a bit and he thinks he might come before he even gets to be inside you and as much as he would love to see your hand covered in him, it’s not what he wants right now.

He’s never wanted anyone like he does you and he knows that information will have him overthinking later, but right now, it just makes him desperate to have you.

“Fuck,” he grabs a hold of your wrist, “as good as this feels, sweetheart, you gotta stop or I’ll come and this’ll be cut short. You don’t want that do you?”

He tips your chin up with his free hand, pecks your lips quickly before giving you the chance to respond.

“No. Want you to fuck me,” you say.

“Dirty girl.”

He reaches for a condom in one of your drawers when you tell him where to find them. When you bought them, you were almost embarrassed, because what were you expecting? Certainly not this.

He’s back on you before you really feel his absence, running his hands up your thighs, under your skirt, and tearing the hole he’d already made wider.

“You want me to stop, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Pushing your legs apart further to make room for him, he reaches down to paint himself up and down your slit, pushing himself in only when he’s teased the both of you sufficiently.

It’s a welcome stretch, one that’s better than anything you’ve ever felt in situations like this and you wonder why you didn’t move away sooner, if this is what it led to.

Eddie leans forward, resting his hands on the counter on either side of you, close enough that his arms brush against you. His face is close to yours but he doesn’t kiss you, no, he breathes the air you do, swallowing any sound you make.

His first couple of thrusts are tentative, slow, but when you wrap your arms around his neck and speak a quiet, ‘faster, please,’ he dives right in.

Somehow, he manages to know just what you need, and he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you still as he moves harder, quicker. Both of you are still half dressed, your clothes in disarray and his are pushed to his knees. You’re both so wrapped up in want and it shows.

“Fuck me,” you whine as he hits that spot inside you, like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“Thought that’s what I was doing, sweets.”

“Eddie.”

“I know, baby. You’re doing so good.”

He knows your orgasm is creeping up on you, he can feel it in the way you pulse around him, squeeze him tighter, bury your face in his neck so that your moans are pushed into his skin.

If he could, he thinks he’d get the sound of them permanently etched into his mind.

“Taking it so well. You wanna come, sweet girl?”

You nod against his skin, “yes. Yes, can I?”

He snakes a hand down to rub your clit, to push you over that edge and says, “let go. Give it to me.”

It’s like his words were what you were waiting for, the breaking point to let you finish. It’s enough to make your moans get caught in your throat and your eyes squeeze shut, seeing stars.

“Oh my god,” you choke out.

“That’s it,” he works you through it, and only when he’s sure that you’re on the comedown does he let himself finish, too.

He pulls your head from his neck with a hand cupping the back of yours, kissing you to really seal the deal, coming with a grunt into your mouth.

When he’s spent, he rests his forehead against yours, running his hands up and down your back soothingly, “you okay?”

“Mmm. Amazing,” you reply, dazed with a fucked out smile on your face. “Why’re you good at everything?”

He chuckles, kissing your cheek before pulling out, “maybe I’m just good at them with you.”

Discarding the condom and pulling his boxers back up—removing his jeans completely—he then finds a small towel and wets it in the sink. Meanwhile, you take off the rest of your outfit, figuring he’s seen enough already. He cleans you up first, delicate hands and a soft apology when you wince from the sensitivity.

He picks you up when he’s done, your legs wrapped around his waist and your head dropped against his shoulder. It feels natural, he thinks, to take care of you the way he would a lover. You feel like you belong there, in his hold, and he knows that you’ve changed him in a way.

His reluctance to get into any kind of relationship seems to have flown out the window now.

The door across the hall is the first he tries, and he guessed correctly when he finds your bedroom on the other side of the door.

He lays you down on your bed, and you pull the blankets up over yourself, lazily. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at Eddie the same way, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s not because of the sex, though it was notably the best you’ve ever had and you’ll undoubtedly think about it constantly. It’s because you have feelings for him. Real, true, romantic feelings that run far too deep for you to ignore.

He goes to leave, but you catch his wrist, “you can stay.”

“What?”

“I want you to stay with me. If you want to,” you say.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

He doesn't even hesitate, and he tries not to think about what that means for this thing he knows is blooming between you, its petals unfurling slow and steady. He slips into bed beside you, welcoming you when you snuggle into his side.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Night, moon girl.”

You’re both fucked, literally and figuratively.

You wake up the most well-rested you’ve felt in a while. Flipping onto your back, you stretch out, and it’s only then that you feel the emptiness on the other side of the bed.

For a moment, you’d almost forgotten Eddie had been there in the first place. Then, you remembered you were, in fact, naked. The slight ache between your legs was enough to have last night coming back to you in a rush.

You wonder if maybe Eddie had to leave for work, but you don’t find a note or any indication of his departure. Instead, you hear the clanking of pans and plates coming from the kitchen.

You throw on a fresh pair of underwear and one of your oversized sleep shirts that sits at the top of your thighs. You’re still groggy, mind slower with sleep, but you’re awake enough to hear Eddie humming when you open your bedroom door and step out into the hall.

There he is, standing by your stove, cooking breakfast. You rub your eyes to make sure you’re not dreaming. Or seeing things.

He moves around like he’s been using your kitchen for ages, and his presence warms the space that you’ve had such a hard time getting used to. You recognize the song he’s humming to be the one he played on the guitar. The corners of your mouth lift up.

“Eddie?” You call quietly, careful not to startle him while his back is turned to you.

“Oh,” he faces you, frying pan in his hand, “morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

“I’m making us breakfast, I hope that’s okay.”

Is he kidding? It’s the most okay thing anyone’s done for you in a long time and you don’t know whether you want to cry or kiss him. He’s unlike anyone you’ve known, and you can’t believe how different he is now compared to when you first met.

His guard was up, short responses and little emotion. It’s a stark contrast to now, to the way he stands clad only in his boxers and his shirt from the night before, flipping a pancake like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You don’t know how he could even keep the saccharine boy hidden, it seems to ooze out of him now.

“It’s- Eddie, this is really sweet.”

The tips of his ears go pink.

He doesn’t know what possessed him to cook for you, or why the sincerity in your appreciation makes him blush. All he knows is that he thought it would be nice to make you smile, and that there’s something in his chest that seems to expand when you do.

“I hope you like pancakes,” he says.

That morning is the moment you realize you’re falling in love with Eddie Munson.

It’s been weeks since that night, that morning. Somehow, rather than put distance between the two of you, you and Eddie have grown closer. You think he’s one of the best friends you’ve ever had, even though you haven’t known him very long.

You’re not falling in love with him anymore. No, you’re deep in it now.

Of course, Robin was able to draw it out of you, and after all of her assuring you that there’s absolutely no way Eddie doesn’t feel the same, you still can't let yourself believe her. You’ll bever come back from it if you find out he doesn’t when you’ve built up your expectations.

So, you keep them low. He’s your friend, that’s all it’ll ever be and you know it. Or, at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself every time you catch yourself getting a little too lost in him.

You’re meant to be meeting the gang at the tattoo shop and then head somewhere for drinks all together. Because you’re not only close with Eddie now, you’ve found yourself friends that are real and true. Sometimes you find yourself wondering what your life would’ve been like had you been in high school alongside them. You think it would have been much, much better, but you have them now and that’s what matters.

You knock on the door when you get there, the shop already closed and locked up. You’re quickly greeted with Robin’s grinning face on the other side of the glass. She lets you in and wraps you in a brief hug.

“I think you should start working here just so I don’t have to miss you at all in between plans,” she says, stepping back and locking the door again.

“We both know I don’t have the skills for that, but I missed you, too, Robin.”

“Not as much as you missed me, I hope,” is how Eddie chooses to announce his presence.

“Hi, Eddie.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Robin scoffs at him, “can you not steal my thunder for once, please.”

“I’m not allowed to say hi to my friend?”

He looks at you when he says friend, like he’s sharing a secret. Only, you have no idea what it might be.

“Whatever. I have to go get Nance since she went home to change,” she gathers her stuff from the desk. Then, she points to you and says, “I better get a very detailed life update later.”

“You know you will,” you say.

“‘Kay, see you soon!”

She leaves after that, and Eddie’s gaze is already fixed on you when you turn towards him.

“C’mere,” he nods towards the doors that lead to the back room, where the station he tattooed you at is all set up.

“What’s this?”

“I want you to give me a tattoo.”

Your eyes widen, “sorry?”

“I’m serious. Doesn’t have to be big, it can be a dot if you want,” he gently nudges your chin with his finger, closing your mouth where it was dropped in surprise. “I wanna teach you.”

Your friendship isn’t the only thing that’s grown since that night. Eddie’s become more touchy with you, too. An arm slung over your shoulders, a hand on your thigh or the nape of your neck. Though this touch is small, it doesn’t fail to leave a lasting effect where it was placed, a warmth, like a drop of sunlight. It almost distracts you from what he’s asking.

“Eddie, I can’t. I’ll mess it up.”

“Babe, I’ve got loads of tattoos. Trust me, it’ll be fine,” he moves his hand to your shoulder, gives it a squeeze. “Plus, you’ve got a great teacher.”

It takes a bit longer for him to convince you, but he succeeds in the end. It’s hard to say no to someone you’re in love with, especially if that someone has really good puppy dog eyes.

Before you really even process it, he’s on the tattoo bed, a pant leg rolled up, shaving a small patch for you to use as your canvas. He does all of the prepping necessary, and even goes as far as to put the gloves on for you.

He explains it all slowly, repeats whatever you ask him to, and promises to guide you through it all. You’re incredibly nervous—who wouldn’t be?

“Relax. You’re gonna be a natural, I know it.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’ve got good hands, sweetheart,” he drops one of his eyelids in a wink.

The flirting is something else that’s become more frequent. You think he’s flirting, that is. He doesn’t act the same way with the rest of the group and you know that, but you also need to not get your hopes up. Still, the butterflies come alive.

You draw your stencil, settling on a very simple rendition of the sun. A small circle with short lines as its rays. It’s fitting for him, you think. As much as he seems like midnight on the outside, that boy is dripping in sunshine.

It also goes with the one he gave you, but that’s just a bonus.

Once it’s applied and you’re sat on the stool, in position to begin, he explains it all over again. He knows you’re nervous, but he isn’t at all. He’s excited to have you do this, to wear a piece of you on his skin.

His hand wraps around yours on the tattoo gun for the first line, guiding you so that you can get the feel of it. He lets you take over after that, assuring you that there’s nothing you could mess up enough to have him dislike it, as long as you’re the one doing it.

As he watches you work, your tongue poking out between your lips in focus, he feels his chest swell. He’s never liked anyone the way he does you, and he’s never let someone untrained tattoo him, that’s for sure. There’s something in him that seems to brighten when you’re around, and he doesn’t know how to put it into words.

He wishes he could pluck the moon out of the sky and hold it in his hand, only to be able to give it to you. Since he can’t do that, he hopes his heart will do good enough. He loves you, that he knows, he just can’t bring himself to say the words out loud.

He’s warmed up to you quicker than ever, so much so that the people around him have noticed. That means something and he knows it.

“I think I’m done,” you say after a bit.

“Yeah? Let’s see this work of art then.”

He sits up, bends closer to his leg to get a look at your handiwork. He’s silent at first and it makes you nervous.

“What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” he says.

You know it’s far from perfect. The lines aren’t even, nor are they all straight. But he says it like he means it, believes it, so you let yourself smile at that.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m super sure.”

He wouldn’t have ever picked out the sun for himself, but knowing that you would has his walls crumbling even more—if that’s even possible with you.

He does the cleaning and the wrapping, and you’re happy to observe. Just as he’s finishing up, Robin and Nancy walk in, Steve not far behind.

“I leave you guys for not even an hour, and now you have a tattoo?” Robin says, though she doesn’t even sound surprised.

Eddie thinks his feelings swell and grow every single time he sees you, and he thinks they might just boil over and pour out of him before he even gets to figure out what to say. That won’t do. You deserve more than that.

You deserve to be taken on a date, to be appreciated and taken care of properly, and that’s what he needs to do. The only problem is, he has no idea how to go about it all.

There’s only one person he can think of who will know exactly what to do. The expert in dating; Steve. Eddie calls him into his office.

“What’s up, boss?” Steve says, leaning against the doorway the way he always does.

“Close the door, would you?”

“Shit. Am I in trouble? I may have spilled some ink the other day but you can barely even see it, swears.”

Eddie shakes his head, making note to take a look around his station later. He’s used to Steve’s clumsiness, though, it’s part of the reason he wanted dark floors in the shop.

“No. That’s not- I need your help.”

“Oh. Okay, hit me.”

“I want to ask her out. I just don’t really know, um, where to take her or whatever.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to say your name for Steve to know who he’s talking about. He’s painfully aware that he’s been quite obvious with his affections, especially ever since the night you had sex. He’s always itching to have his hands on you in some way, stealing you away from other conversations, all of it.

That night was like a wake up call for him, a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. He knew there was something about you before that, but it became concrete.

He’d never felt so connected to someone, nor had he been so eager to take care of them afterwards. Hell, he’s never even slept in the same bed as his hookups. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s slept over at all. Then, there was you, asking him to stay and he couldn’t say no to you. He didn’t want to, either.

“You know her better than I do, man. But, flowers, you gotta do. They love that. Do you know her favorites?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“That’s fine. Get a good mix. Other than that, you should just be honest, that’s what Robin always tells me,” he shrugs. “Why don’t you just call her now?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Come on! She’s gonna say yes. She gives you those lovey-dovey eyes all the time.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Out.”

“Not even a thank you?”

“Thanks, Steve. Bye.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he leaves Eddie’s office, shutting the door behind him again. He, along with Nancy and Robin, knows that you and Eddie will end up together, it’s obvious to everyone except you two, they only want to help it along.

Eddie really hopes that their pestering will be worth it in the end. That you’ll feel the same.

He stares at the phone sitting on his desk for what feels like ages before he musters up the courage to actually call you. He had your file open on his desk, your number written out on one of the forms. He finally picks up the phone and dials it.

Luckily, you weren’t at work. You’d been thinking of Eddie more and more each day it seemed. How he looked at you, the secret smiles that he saved just for you, the way he touched you, the way he felt-

The phone ringing cuts off your train of thought. You walk over and pick it up, prepared for it to be Robin or Nancy since they’re the only ones that ever call you besides your boss. The voice on the other line is neither of them.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s Eddie.”

As close as you’ve gotten, for some reason, no phone numbers have been exchanged. You wish they had been, because hearing his voice crackle through the phone is a much nicer sound than most.

“Eddie, hi. How’d you get my number?”

He twists one of his rings around with his thumb. He’s glad you can’t actually see him, because you’d surely be able to tell that he’s nervous.

“It’s on file in the shop. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I like talking to you,” you say, soft and sincere. “What’s up?”

“I, uh,” he shakes his head, trying to figure out exactly what to say. “Are you busy tonight?”

“No, I’m not. Do you guys want to do something?”

“Not exactly,” he says.

Your heart beats quicker in your chest, because you think he’s about to ask you out, maybe. If not that, then at least ask you to do something with just him, which is close enough for you to consider it a win. You smile like an idiot.

He clears his throat and continues, “I wanted to know if you’d want to go out… with me.”

It’s happening, you think. Something is shifting as you speak, the feelings you’ve tried to suppress for so long are itching to come out.

“Like a date?” You ask. Just to be sure.

“Yeah, moon girl. Like a date.”

“I’d really, really like that, Eddie.”

He thinks you can probably hear the smile in his voice when he says, “yeah? Me too.”

He tells you he’ll pick you up, to wear whatever you like, not to worry about being over or underdressed, ‘you’ll look pretty either way, trust me,’ he’d said.

When you hang up, you’re trying not to jump around and squeal like a thirteen year old. It’s difficult to contain your excitement, your nerves, your hope. It feels as if a door is opening. A door to more nights like that night, more mornings with shared breakfast, more kissing, more than friends. More, more, more.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s wondering how he’ll get through the rest of the work day when his head is filled with the promise of seeing you.

After much debating on what to wear, no thanks to Eddie’s sweet yet vague instructions, the buzzer sounds in your apartment. You make your way over, one shoe on, the other in your hand. You press the button and speak.

“Hello?”

“Hey, moon girl.”

“Eddie,” he only said three words and you’re already smiling. “Come on up.”

You rush to get your other shoe on, luckily finishing up just as he knocks on your door. There’s a moment where you’re almost expecting someone else to be on the other side, to have been dreaming the whole date up. Luckily, it’s real.

Eddie stands in the hall, pretty as ever. His hair is in its usual mess of waves and curls, his classic leather jacket and denim vest duo are on, and in his hand, a bouquet of flowers.

He notices you looking at them and holds them out, “these are for you.”

“This is really nice, Eddie. Thank you.”

You take them from him, holding them up to your nose to smell them (and also to hide how wide your grin is). He stands by the door, a ball of nerves, and watches you put them into a big cup, because you never had a reason to buy a vase until now. He decides next time, he’ll deliver the flowers in a vase just so you have one.

He holds your hand on the way down, opens the car door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before closing it, he tells you in at least three different ways how beautiful you look during the car ride alone, and he drives with a hand resting on your thigh, your fingers toying with his rings.

He’s an absolute dream.

He takes you to a small restaurant, fancy enough for a date—though you think being with Eddie, no matter where, would be enough for you—but casual enough that you aren’t too worried about the people around you being judgemental. You sit in a booth and instead of across, Eddie sits beside you. He keeps a hand on your thigh during your meal, too.

In his car once more, you’re sitting in the parking lot with music playing through the speakers. Eddie hasn’t made a move to start driving you yet, and you haven’t even thought about going home. You haven’t ever been on an official date before, but if you had, you’d say with absolute certainty that this is the best one.

You sit sideways in the passenger seat so you can look at him, and Eddie’s head is turned toward you, his cheek against the headrest.

“Have you had a girlfriend before?” You ask.

You don’t know why the thought comes out of your mouth. You’d been thinking it, though. Robin’s always hinting at how different he is with you, at the fact that Eddie’s never brought a girl he’s liked around his friends. You’re curious.

“No, I haven’t. Why do you seem surprised?”

“It’s just, you’re really good at this.”

“At what, sweetheart?”

“Like, going on a date. And… other stuff, too.”

He shifts in his seat, resting an elbow on the center console and leaning closer to you. Much, much closer. Your noses are almost touching and you can see the way his eyelashes frame his eyes.

He nudges his nose against yours, “what stuff?”

You know he��s teasing you, trying to make you give him more detail because it’ll make you go all shy or embarrassed. To him, it’s cute, and he’s been trying not to kiss you all night. He was going to wait until he dropped you off like a proper gentleman, but he figures making it through dinner is good enough.

“Eddie,” you draw his name out, almost whining.

“Tell me. Come on, please? You can’t just bring it up and not share.”

The hand of his that isn’t resting between you comes up to push your hair over your shoulder, then slides around to hold the back of your neck loosely.

“God, okay. Um, you’re a good kisser. Like, really good,” he leans in and pecks you for that, pulling away just enough to let you keep talking, your lips still brushing against his. “And, I love your hands.”

“My hands?”

“They’re very talented. You know, ‘cause you’re an artist, and all.”

He huffs and shakes his head. Enough of the teasing, he leans in and kisses you deeper this time. Your hands move and grip the sides of his jacket, holding him close to you.

You kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and it’s enough to have you panting and warm all over. His hand squeezes your neck gently before he pulls away, his lips slick with spit, swollen and darker from your kiss. You’re sure yours don’t look much different.

Eddie drops his forehead against yours, takes both of your hands in his, “do you want to go home?”

You shake your head.

“Can I show you my place, then?”

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

He’s not saying it to get you in his bed, though there’s no doubt that would be a bonus, but he doesn’t want this date to end. There’s also a part of him that wants to see you in his apartment, let you into more of his life.

He’s only ever been to yours, and he doesn’t have the whole group over at his, so you’ve never seen it. He thinks, if he’s really going to give this a shot, he might as well let another wall crumble down for you.

The drive there is fairly quick, and yet again, his hand finds your thigh. This time, though, he lets his fingers hold on, rather than just rest in your lap. You like it a lot.

Eddie’s apartment isn’t what you expect. You thought it’d be decorated like the shop: dark colors, black and white art, hints of red. His place is much warmer, much homier. It suits him perfectly.

He has a huge record collection, a whole wall of his living room dedicated to the shelves and the player itself. He also has a shelf for his books. Some more worn than others, letting you know which are his favorites of the bunch.

You trail your fingers along the spines, admiring his collection. He lets you, standing not too far away, enjoying how you look in his space.

His bathroom is much like yours, small and plain, but it’s tidy save for some products of his strewn about the counter. His bedroom is so obviously his that it makes you smile. From the rings and other jewelry sitting atop his dresser, to his dark gray bedding, to the guitars that are displayed proudly, to the desk pushed into a corner with pages upon pages spread about.

You gravitate towards that desk without a second thought.

There’s something so intimate about seeing his art station in his home, much different to his office at the shop. Here, he can let it be a mess, and can draw whatever he pleases.

“Is it okay if I look at these?” You ask.

“‘Course,” he says. He walks up behind you, lets his hands hold your sides loosely and rests his chin on your shoulder. You revel in the warmth of his chest against your back.

You pick up some of the loose pages, looking at the different pieces. Skulls and flowers and landscapes and so much more. He can do it all, you think. You can see so much detail, the strokes of his pencil, and it’s clear how much talent he has.

“These are all beautiful, Eddie.”

He turns his head to peck your cheek, “thank you, sweetheart.”

You reach for a worn sketchbook next, the cover peeling at the edges and the pages nearly full. It flips open to where it seems to have been used the most, the spine broken. What you see makes you gasp quietly, but Eddie’s close enough to hear it.

Covering the pages are drawings of the moon. Over and over again he drew them. Some are big, taking up an entire page, and some are scrawled into corners and empty spaces, like he couldn’t stop adding them. All of these drawings for your tattoo, and he’d only shown you a few.

“It’s weird, right?” Eddie says, hiding his face in your neck.

If he’s honest, he forgot that sketchbook was even there. He couldn’t forget about the drawings you found—you’d taken up so much of his thoughts after meeting that he couldn’t stop drawing the fucking moon for you. There are so many and he’s embarrassed by it, because he really was screwed after the first day even when he refused to see it.

“No, it’s- these are all for me?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout you, so I drew these,” he speaks into your skin. “I was trying to avoid my feelings for you, but clearly, that didn’t work. You wouldn’t get out of my head and I had no idea why.”

You turn in his hold, leaving the sketchbook open on his desk. You look at him, the way his cheeks are pink at your finding of his drawings, the way his eyes flick between yours.

“I love them. Every single one,” I love you. “I thought about you a lot, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. So much. You made me nervous at first,” you admit, your hands fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

“I’m not used to, um, opening up to people and all. I’ve never even been in a relationship,” his hands come up and grab yours, like he needs the comfort. “You make me want to try, though.”

You have to say it. There’s no way you can’t, not when he’s looking at you with those eyes filled with something.

“I love you, Eddie,” his eyes widen, he freezes. “You don’t have to say it back or anything, I just really needed to tell you. You’re the first sense of comfort I’ve found since I moved, and I don’t think I would have felt at home without you and I love you.”

No matter how scared he is to be with you, because he wants to be someone worth being with and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he can’t ignore the fact that he loves you right back. And he hasn’t said those words to many people in his life.

It’s big for him, so big that he’s stumbling over his words but he tries anyway.

“Oh my god,” he kisses your knuckles, “I love you, sweetheart. My moon girl, fuck, I love you, too. I’ve never done this before, but there’s nobody else I’d want. Nobody.”

You feel so many things at once. Relief and happiness and a thousand fireworks in your gut and in your heart. You grab his face with your hands and drag him down to kiss you.

It’s broken by your smiles, your teeth bumping into each other but neither of you care one bit. He holds your wrists gently, returns your kiss with ease. He’s delicate with his touch, so, so perfect with his lips on yours.

He only pulls away to ask, “will you be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

You nod vehemently, “been yours since you kissed me the first time. Probably even before that.”

You’re not worried about the ‘told you so’s you’re sure to get from your friends, or what happens next because you know whatever it is, Eddie’s gonna be there.

“Think you had me the minute you started talking ‘bout the moon.” He just didn’t know it yet.

༄

if you enjoyed, please leave a reblog or let me know what you thought! it helps loads more than you think <3

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suckerfordylansstuff · 3 months ago

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Not a date - Steve Harrington

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader

Summary: Dustin is certain you're dating someone. You, on the other hand, are not so sure.

Word count: 2.5k

Notes: As you can see we're changing the style with this new post. You could consider this kind of a small prequel for "A date like no other", but mostly, I just wanted to write more of Dustin and Y/n's relationship (more will follow, inspiration has hit me). Plus, it was fun playing detective. Hope you enjoy! 💕

!This piece goes along my Steve Harrington series "New Journey", but can also be read as a standalone!

Timeline: After the winter dance, but before their first date.

“I have gathered you here today on an important issue.” Dustin was pacing around Mike's basement while all the rest of his friends followed him with their eyes “It is crucial that we take upon this matter with focus and determination. Not to mention stealthiness since a bit of spy work is going to occur.”

“Dustin, why are we here?” his dramatics had Max over the whole thing very quickly.

“It has come to my attention that my sister, my own blood, has been seeing someone behind my back and simultaneously lying to me about it.”

“And?” Lucas asked, not understanding his friend’s anger.

“What do you mean and? This is it!”

“You’re mad your sister has finally found someone?” Will was trying to understand Dustin’s motives.

“I’m mad she hasn’t told me about it. I mean, why would she do that? I certainly tell her everything.” his pacing hasn’t stopped from the moment he entered the basement.

“Maybe because she wants to focus on the new relationship and not on her little brother’s obnoxious opinions?” Max told him with a smile, making Dustin stop in his tracks.

“You’re new, you don’t get a say.” he pointed in her direction and continued his pattern on the floor.

“Dustin, what do you want us to do?” Mike sighed when he saw Dustin place large papers on top of a chair, opposite to them, a pen in his hand as he settled beside them. It reminded him of their teacher, and not in a good way.

“I want you to come with me and spy on her.” he removed his first blank paper, revealing a calendar with colorful dots on certain days “It all started a month ago. I realized she began going out a lot more than usual. I mean I love my sister, but let’s be honest, she doesn’t have many friends.” he pulled out another paper, this time a pie chart with all the colors they had previously seen on the calendar “So, I began tracking her behavior. When she would go out, when she would return, and try to figure out with whom. So far, I’ve noted 14 outings in the span of 29 days… She went out with Jonathan twice, once with Nancy, once with you, Max, and you, Eleven, for girl’s night. Three times with all of us and another three with me. That all makes 10. The other 4 are a mystery to me.” with each sentence, each ‘clue’, he was pointing the pen at every chart so the rest wouldn’t get lost

“When she hangs out with friends, I have noticed Y/n coming back at a decent hour, say around 10:30, at least 11:00. However, when she’s ‘on her own’ those hours defer.” the new paper showed the said hours with a big question mark at the end “I have caught her sneaking into the house well after 1:00 am! Clearly, she’s not out there on her own. But I haven’t been able to figure out with whom. I checked with both Nancy and Jonathan telling me that they had not seen her those specific days. She’s clearly with someone doing something, but when I ask her about what she did and where she went she outright lies to me, saying she was with Jonathan and/or Nancy.” he let the last paper fall flat on the chair, the pen rhythmically hitting his other palm “It is our mission to figure out who she is meeting on these days, so I can evaluate if I need to step in and help her.”

The kids all looked at one another, trying to see if they wanted in on this. His thinking could be correct, but the thought of him being wrong and giving them the chance to mess with him is what sealed the deal.

“Alright, we’re in.” Mike announced for all of them. Dustin’s face immediately lit up.

“But how do we know when their next meet-up is?” Lucas asked him.

“Already ahead of you my friend.” he began organizing the papers he had used, stacking them into his bag before putting it on “I overheard Y/n talk with my mother, saying she’s going out. Again, wouldn’t outright tell me with whom. So that’s why I came here, to find out if Nancy had any plans. As it turns out she did. But not with my sister, with Jonathan. Right?” his eyes fell on Will.

“Yeah, they are hanging out at ours.” Will confirmed Dustin’s words.

“Okay, so that excludes them from this ‘secret meet up’.” Max thought out loud.

“Precisely.” they were now getting out of the house from the basement’s door, making their way to their bikes.

“So… Where is she?” Eleven asked, her small voice was now loud enough for all to hear, turning their heads at once to look at Dustin.

Dustin wasn’t sure at the beginning where his sister would be. She had mentioned she would leave around 8:30. Now, he had left earlier to check on her small lie at the Wheeler’s, so their first stop was at his house to check if her car was still there. It was, which meant either of two things. She either walked to their meeting place (which was unlikely of her after everything that had happened to them, walking somewhere alone was a no-no for his sister). Or the person she was meeting picked her up. It left a lot of options open so he decided to head inside with the rest and look for more clues.

His mom greeted them, chatting a bit with the kids while Dustin looked around for any indication as to where she went. He noticed that her sneakers were missing, telling Dustin that they weren’t going somewhere fancy, so maybe their destination was the theater or maybe grabbing a bite somewhere.

“Hey, mom. I was thinking of eating the leftover pizza from last night after I come back. Y/n didn’t eat it, right?” he looked over at his mom, Tews on her lap as always.

“Oh, no, Dusty, she specifically said that she didn’t want to have anything since she’ll be going out to eat with her friends.”

Bingo.

Dustin excluded from the options list the diner where you used to work. Too many people knew you there and the secrecy wouldn’t last. So, they began roaming around the town trying to get a glimpse of you. They succeeded after a couple of tries. Lucas had caught a glimpse of your figure inside the burger place. You were sitting in a corner booth in the back of the store, your face bright, not only by the lights of the place but by your present company as well.

“Holy shit. Dustin was right.” Max climbed out of her bike, staring at the older sister of her new friend.

“Of course I was. Can you see who she is with?”

“No, his back is turned.” Lucas tried to wiggle around in an attempt to see who was with you. They couldn’t go

We’re gonna have to get inside.” Mike noted and Dustin agreed.

“Not all of us, we’ll draw attention. Will, you’re coming with me.” the said boy wasted no time and followed his friend toward the entryway.

“Why him?” Mike called out, annoyed he wasn’t getting in on the action.

“Because he’ll be quiet, unlike you.” Dustin whisper-yelled.

They get inside and make their way to the end of the front counter. When they peaked at the back, they had a clearer shot at the two figures. Dustin could clearly see your big, bright smile, but the guy you were with was sitting opposite of you, meaning they could only see his back

“We still can’t see his face.”

“Wait… I know that hair.” Dustin’s eyes squinted as he focused on the person in question. The waiter had approached them, his lips moving, probably asking them if everything was okay. It was then when the mysterious guy turned his head, making him visible to him, a relieved sigh falling from his lips “Oh, it’s just Steve.”

He and Will went outside without alerting you, joining the others once again.

“Okay, people, crisis averted. It was only Steve, just a friendly meet-up.” he announced to his friends before he grabbed his bike, ready to return home.

“Sure.” Max smirked his way, suddenly making a frown appear on Dustin’s face.

“Uh… Dustin? I don’t think this is very friend-like.” Mike was pointing to the restaurant. Dustin turned and met the horror. Steve had now switched his seat, joining you on your side. His arm was around your shoulders, your faces way too close for his liking. And then it happened. Steve kissed you.

Dustin was waiting for you to return back home. He was in the dark, his mother fast asleep, not realizing her own son was stewing hot. He was ready. Ready to tell you he knows your secret and ready to express his anger. He liked Steve, he didn’t like showing it, but he did. He was funny and honest with him, and a guy. He had a guy friend. Someone whom he could rely on when seeking advice. He knew he could come to you about everything, but sometimes he felt too embarrassed to say certain things. He was getting older, more ‘mature’ as his mother had said, and Steve had been through those things before, therefore could give him the advice he needed.

He liked Steve, but now he was afraid he was going to lose him… and you. You always wanted to be in a relationship and now that you were in one, you were going to spend all your time with each other, forgetting all about the party and mainly him. Or you would eventually break up and he would have to choose your side, his sister’s, and forcing him to say goodbye to his friend.

It all felt unacceptable to him, so he had to tell you about it.

Finally, he heard a car stop outside. After a couple of minutes, your keys were daggling as you opened the door. He watched you come inside, a lingering smile on your face as you took off your jacket and placed it on the hook beside the door. You were in the process of taking off your shoes when he decided to intervene.

“Hello, sister.”

He startled you, a small yelp coming from your lips as you squinted your eyes to see where your brother was hiding “Dustin? What are you doing in the dark? Do you know what time it is?”

“Do you?” he countered back, catching you by surprise

“What?”

“How was your night?”

“Oh… It was really fun actually, thanks for asking. But this still doesn’t answer my question as to what you’re still doing up.” your arms were now folded in front of your chest, thinking you had the upper hand here.

“Oh, I just had a simple question really. Who were you with?”

It took you a second to form your question, confusion rising inside you “What?”

“I was over at Mike’s today and I stumbled upon Nancy.” Dustin stood up from the armchair and walked closer to you as he explained “I asked her if she was on her way to come get you, but she told me she wasn’t meeting with you. She was actually going to meet up with Jonathan for a date at his place.”

“Oh…” was all that came from your lips.

“I know who you met tonight. I followed you and found out you are secretly dating Steve.” his finger was accusingly pointing at your figure. He didn’t know what reaction he was really expecting from you but it certainly wasn’t what you said next.

“I’m not dating him, Dustin.”

“Wait, what?”

“We’re not dating.” you shrugged your shoulders and sat down on the couch.

“But he kissed you. I saw it!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, okay? It’s all very confusing.” your head your resting on top of your palms. You looked defeated, confused, sad, a whole different side of you than the one he had seen at the restaurant. He slowly approached you, sitting next to you. You looked up and saw him looking at you, a silent invitation to explain “It all started after we dropped you off at the ball. We happened to dance a little and it ended in a kiss. After that, we’ve been hanging out as much as we could and, yes, I admit, some kissing has gone down, but I don’t know what we are.”

Dustin noted that your voice was small but your feeling big “Do you like him?”

You looked up and locked eyes with your brother. You hadn’t been able to tell no one this, and you had no idea how much it was eating at you to get it out before this conversation “Very much.”

“Then I’m certain it will all work out.”

And just like that Dustin had forgotten all about his speech. He could still remember the way you smiled at him, thanking him with a big hug. It was the same smile when you picked up the phone, a couple of days later, Steve’s name falling from your lips. It was a soft one, your focus entirely on the voice coming from the phone, from his friend. When you finally hung up, a small shriek sounded all around the room. After just a moment he found out you were excited, beyond excited because he had asked you out on a date.

“Didn’t you go on one like yesterday?” he had asked.

“This is the first time he uses the word date, Dustin. The first time!”

He secretly smiled at your antics, even if in front of you he called it gross. When you returned home after that so-called ‘first date’, bliss was written all over your face. The next day, you all were meeting with the party for a campaign, the first time you would include Steve in your game. The first time he would see you two together officially for the first time. It was funny seeing him make all the wrong decisions and getting himself killed in the first thirty minutes. It was hilarious seeing you and him bicker about what you should do next. Steve making it his business to judge you all based on your actions. And it was certainly sweet when he would cheer with you after a successful roll. It didn’t seem all that different to him; your behavior.

It was after the campaign when Steve was talking his ear off on the way to their house about what movie you should see at the next movie night with the kids, that it truly hit him. Nothing would change. You would still be his sister and Steve would still be his friend. It couldn’t be that bad. Especially, if he saw his sister so happy every day.

If you want to be tagged just ask!

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington fanfic #dustin henderson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x you

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biting-miguel-ohara · 3 months ago

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Being Logan’s good boy is…

A/N: Apparently ftm!Reader with Logan is like, my new kryptonite. So that’s what I’m writing now. I wanted to try my hand at a more headcanon-y style, so here you go

Written with an ftm!Reader in mind

It’s being so good for him. Sitting on his lap while he grades papers and tests

Letting him rub along your thighs a little with his free hand. Feeling the little tingles in your core as he rubs a little too high

Shifting in his lap to try and relieve the growing ache between your legs, only for him to grip your thighs and tell you to hold still

Obeying him for as long as you can until it’s just too much. Finally breaking and begging him for something more

It’s whimpering as he runs his fingers along your crotch, stroking over the fabric. Teasing you until you’re unable to keep from squirming

Listening to him scold you, even as he pushes down your pants and unzips his fly. Making him put down his pen so he can lift you up and settle you on his thick cock

Whining softly at the stretch, but you’re oh so wet and it just slides in so perfectly. Filling you up exactly as needed

It’s cockwarming him until your head feels fuzzy. His little shifts and rolls of his hips turning your insides to mush

And when he’s finally done with his papers?

It’s sobbing and moaning as he takes you doggy style on the bed, thrusting into you so deeply you can feel him in your belly. Drooling onto the pillows as he grips your thighs so tightly. Knowing there will be bruises in the morning

Best of all, it’s snuggling with him once it’s over. Nuzzling into his side, tucked under his arm. All safe and warm and cozy. Happy in the knowledge that no one else gets to know him like this. Only you

#wolverine #logan howlett #ftm!reader #logan howlett x ftm!reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x ftm!reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #ftm reader

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sadnightforus · 10 months ago

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[10:59 AM] “Hey… HEY!” Riki whispers to you while you both are listening to your teacher who is busy explaining and breaking down about world’s history.

According to your seating position, you’re sitting in front of him, though, you’re sitting on the right side of the school twin desk and he sits at the left, not vertically aligned to each other. It has never been a problem for the both of you, as the seats aren’t far away.

The fact he cares to disturb you during class is both annoying and questionable, as he rarely does, unless it’s an important business.

It startles you out of your trance, as you snap your head to look back at the guy who is now staring at you.

“What?” You ask, a bit irritated that you’re pulled away from the board. Your fingers stop working to write more notes, but try to keep your ears alert, invade when your teacher mentions any relevant information that might be on the exam.

“You dropped your pen.” He answers, maintaining eye contact despite the forbidden rule to not talk during class.

You look up, observing your desk, realizing that your pen is indeed long forgotten as it must’ve fallen off some time ago when you were trying to take notes during the lessons. You don’t say anything, but instead place your pencil on the top, lowering your body a bit as your right arm works itself to retrieve the school item back to where it belongs.

However, a piece of folded paper catches your attention as you don’t remember that any of your classmates litter or there are trash as all of you have mandatory cleaning duties as a group.

Curious, you pick it up and place it onto your table, unfolding it to see the note was written in a messy handwriting, the writing style that belongs to none other than your friend, Riki.

‘To the cutie whose student number is 9, will you be forever mine and my valentine? - N.R (student number 14)’

Your student number in this class is 9. His student number is 14.

You feel like your world spins, but in an agonizing slow manner, the one that is sick and both ecstatic from the realization.

You recall back to every moment that you both share; a lot of occasions where you’ve gotten too close to him and subtly held his hand under the excuse of your hands being cold, but never once did both of you want to let go of the fingers lacing motion.

Or wore his jacket because you didn’t bring yours and it happened to be chilly (you shamefully admit that you just wanted his scent to linger on you).

Or when he bent down to tie your shoes because he noticed you’d trip with your shoelaces not being properly kept in place.

Or when he gently wiped your mouth because you have ice creams on the corner of your mouth as you both skipped school that one time.

You smile to yourself as you remember and get mushy as you now know that your love wasn’t always one sided.

Giddily, you begin to write your response under his words. And when you’re done with it, you hand Riki the now shared response note as you notice that his eyes were trained on you the entire time.

And as he opens the note to see the response ‘To the boy whose student number is 14, yes I’ll be yours. And I hope to spend every Valentine with you. - Y/N (student number 9)’, you giggle as you see that he can’t help but his face dusts in every shade of red, eyes now glistening with sparkles as he has received the best news of his life.

COPYRIGHTED BY SADNIGHTFORUS, 2024

A/N: if you ask me, pure insanity

reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated!

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thehighladywrites · 1 year ago

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The Airhead Chronicles

…and the date

-> pairing: cassian x bimbo/ditzy reader

-> summary: finally the day is here, you’re going on a date with cassian!! now you just have to prepare and get ready for it. Cassian is prepared to finally ask you some questions and the mention of your secret friend rubs him the wrong way. But how does the date go, and who on earth opens the door at Cassian’s friends house?…

-> warnings: suggestive themes, nsfw, smut, super fluff, light angst, public sex, yeah, none of you care about getting caught fucking in a restaurant, oral (m.receiving) , bargain tattoos, almost oral (f.receiving), wing play, daddy kink

-> amara’s note: I think this is one of my fav things to write, I really love ditzy reader, she's so fun and cute.

part 1 part 2

Startled by a sudden knock, you quickly stood up, intrigued by the unexpected visitor. Opening the door, you were met with a smiling man.

“Hi there pretty lady, are you Y/n?” he asked. After exchanging pleasantries, he handed you a paper and a pen, insisting you sign.

Curious, you replied, “Oh, what’s this for, I’m pretty sure I didn’t order anything, or did I?” Sensing your confusion, the man stepped closer and pointed a finger at a dotted line. “Just sign here, baby. How about I come in and show you?”

Normally, you'd agree to some help because you didn’t really like reading long and confusing papers, but with your date approaching, you looked at him apologetic and declined.

“Sorry, maybe next time. I'm getting ready for a date with this really hot guy, and I have a lot of things to do. But why am I signing this?”

His face turned sour, and he threw a bouquet of flowers at you, muttering something about a special delivery before you signed. He left without saying goodbye, and you tilted your head, wondering if you said something to upset him.

The confusion quickly left your mind when you looked down, eyes wide, and heart beating faster as a huge smile spread on your lips. The bouquet was wrapped around white and pink baby breaths and peonies. You let out a shriek of happiness as you spun around and smelled the fresh, fragrant flowers. They were unlike anything else, handled with care and professionalism.

Scurrying to the kitchen, you pulled out a vase from your cabinets as you filled it with water to put your flowers in. While you fiddled with the petals, you saw a note attached as you opened it.

Reading the note, your eyes lit up with excitement. You twirled around, a broad grin on displayed, absorbing the message:

“Can’t wait to see you tonight, beautiful. I will pick you up, just be ready by 8. - Cassian.”

You halted your twirl, taking a deep breath.

Fucking Gods, you had to look absolutely stunnig, like drop-dead gorgeous. The sexiest dress was a non-negotiable, paired with a cute bag. Your hair needed to be freshly styled, and ohhh, a fresh set of nails was a must, even though it hadn't been a week since your last set.

Let’s be real, you knew you were pretty and didn’t need someone to tell you that, but it was nice to hear nonetheless, especially from Cassian. It was weird, you had known him for just over a week and already you felt a connection to him.

With your plans set, you dove into the whirlwind of preparation. The closet became a battleground of choices as you sifted through dresses, searching for the one that screamed "fuck me right now, please." The chosen outfit hung proudly on the door, awaiting its moment. A stunning sheer black dress with a v-neck, a thigh-high slit, and the best part - it sparkled.

Your hair received the full treatment of preparation and care, making you wonder how you’d display it tonight—curls, an updo, low bun or straight? The decision was as crucial as the dress itself, because what if you wanted to blow him? A ponytail would be ideal, but if you were gonna be fucked missionairy then a ponytail would be super uncomfy. Maybe just some curls then? Yes, you definitely wanted some bouncy curls resulting in you pulling out your hair rollers and pins. It was such a pain to put them on because your arms hurt from keeping them up but you didn’t care. Finally, a cute little bag accompanied the ensemble, adding that perfect touch paired with some simple heels.

The urgency for flawlessness led you to contemplate a fresh set of nails. Despite the recent pampering, the allure of perfection beckoned, and you found yourself on the way to the nail salon. After all, a week felt like an eternity when it came to looking drop-dead gorgeous.

As the appointment at the nail salon progressed, you debated between daring and classic shades. The manicurist, familiar to your frequent visits, skillfully crafted a fresh set that made you smile so hard, your face started hurting, letting out an excited sound.

With your nails perfected, you rushed home to continue the transformation, hair and makeup being the last step. Your dress clung to you like a second skin, accentuating every curve. Your reflection in the mirror confirmed your pursuit of drop-dead hotness. Smiling at yourself you adjusted your hair before putting on your jewelry, marveling at the final result. You really hoped Cassian would compliment you otherwise you’d die. His attention was so addicting and you wanted to be around him every single second for some reason.

Glancing at the clock, you realized the incoming arrival of Cassian. The butterflies in your stomach intensified as you added the finishing touches, ready to open the door to a night filled with excitement and allure.

“Hi Cassie!!” Your smile subdued a bit as you shifted nervously when he just stared at you not saying anything. Should you have worn something different? Maybe gone with the pink you wanted? Maybe he didn’t like your hair…

Cassian stood at the door, his eyes widening as he took in your stunning transformation. His brain seemed to short-circuit, and he simply stared at you with his jaw open, momentarily lost for words in the face of your breathtaking appearance. The snug fabric around your frame made blood rush to his cock, a reaction that almost tempted him to slap his own face. "Am I some kind of teenager or something, gods," he thought to himself, caught in the unexpected whirlwind of emotions your presence stirred.

“Hi sweetheart, fuck, you look absolutely breathtaking,” he managed to exclaim, a genuine smile lighting up his face. He spun you around, getting a good luck at you as your perfume filled his nose. Blushing at the compliment, you replied with a happy smile. “Thank you, Cassie. I'm so excited for tonight! Where are we going?”

He offered his arm, and you linked yours with his as you both stepped into the night, ready for the date that awaited. “Don’t worry your pretty, little head about it, it’s a surprise, sweet girl.”

Thank fuck he held you, because you could barely stand with the way your knees wobbled. The urge to just shove him in an alley and give him some life-changing head was just too strong. Cassian looked soooo freaking hot, dressed in a well-fitted suit.His hair had been put in a half bun, arms looking soooo massive, and an inexplicable desire to bite them tugged at your thoughts.

Caught in the spell of his side profile , the world around you seemed to fade into the background. Cassian’s voice became a distant hum as your eyes glued to him.

Your mind went hazy as you found yourself daydreaming about him, captivated by the allure of the moment.

Cassian halted mid-sentence in his talk about the restaurant when he noticed your silence. Curiosity painted his expression as he looked down at you, only to find you hazily looking up at him. Your plump lips were slightly parted, and your eyes were wide and sparkly, lost in a momentary enchantment.

Cassian was going to treat himself to some of Rhysands expensive liquor, it was truly something magical about his restraint. The way you looked up to him made his cock painfully hard. There was something submissive and desperate in your gaze. Before he cancelled the night and took you to his room to fuck you senseless, he broke the silence, chuckling, “I must be boring you with all this restaurant talk. What’s on your mind?”

You blinked, snapping out of the enchantment, and mumbled while feeling warm. “Um, no, not at all, Cassie. I was just… appreciating the view.”

His eyebrows lifted in playful surprise, “The view? Of me?”

You nodded with a secretive grin, “Guilty… I mean I can’t help it. You look so handsome. Now tell me about the restaurant.” The conversation resumed, but the sparkle of that moment lingered, adding an extra layer of magic to the evening.

Your brows furrowed as you read the menu. What on earth was an entrecôte? Foie gras? Was that some sort of joke? It was infuriating and you just wanted some food. Looking up at Cassian, you noticed he had already decided and was looking through the wine list. Feeling helpless, you whispered to him, “Um Cassie, I don’t know what this means. If any of this means mushrooms and cilantro, then let me know, they’re super yucky.”

He took your menu and brought your hand up to place a kiss on it, “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I’ll take care of it. How does chicken sound?” You nodded, grateful for the escape from the decision-making. Ugh, was being pretty and living too hard? You just wanted to exist without thinking about annoying things.

Cassian certainly eased it for you.

“Uh-huh, yes please,” you replied. He tilted his head, a playful smile playing on his lips. “My, what good manners you have. A good girl indeed.”

The echo of Cassian calling you a good girl sent a shiver down your spine, nearly sending you into a dreamy state. Resisting the magnetic pull of his warmth became a challenge.

Would it really hurt though? Cassian had rented out an entire section of the restaurant for your date, the only other person you’d see during the whole night was a waiter who kept away unless he was serving you food.

Unable to resist any longer, you inched toward him, lifting yourself. Cassian, sitting manspread, welcomed you onto one of his thighs. As you settled, his arm snaked behind your back, keeping you securely in place as you slung your arm over his shoulder while the other traced circles and shapes on his chest. The world outside this private bubble faded, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared warmth and intimacy.

The waiter discreetly approached, and Cassian smoothly placed the order, his attention never wavering from you. The world outside this secluded moment ceased to exist. He was so content he almost forgot one of the reasons he had been so desperate to see you again. Placing a sweet kiss on your cheek and neck, he asked.

“ I’ve been wondering,” he began, his eyes holding a mixture of curiosity and concern, “ There’s not a lot a know about you, and i’d like to change that. I mean have you always lived in Velaris?” You hummed and answered cheerfully, “ No, I used to live in the Hewn City but a friend helped me move here. My family still live there but they think I live in the Day Court, since Velaris is a secret city and all.”

He observed you carefully, wondering what possible friend could’ve gotten you into Velaris without him or the inner circle knowing? Velaris wasn’t some place one just moved to, it was a secret and protected city, warded against anyone who wasn’t welcome. Your answer only made him more curious.

“Yeah, your friend helped you? Do they live here?” You giggled as you looked at him with a “duh” look.

“Of course my friend still lives here, what a silly question! We meet once a month to catch up and he sometimes brings the family to our get-togethers.”

“ How fun, sweet girl. You’ll have to introduce me to your friend, yeah?” you leaned in as his arm became a comforting weight around your waist.

“Yay, that would be so much fun! He’s like this super old guy that I work for but I promise he’s really funny and his wife is such a sweetheart, I love her.” His heart thundred at the excitement you unknowingly pushed through the bond, making him crack a huge smile. Heavens, your were so adorable, he wanted to see you smile forever. “Is he a good boss then? What is it you do for him?” Flashing him a secret smile, you leaned in conspiratorially as you started playing with the buttons of his crisp white shirt.

“I wish I could tell you Cassie, but it’s tip-top secret and I’m bound to never, ever in a million years tell a single soul. I even have this cool tattoo for it.” You whispered as if afraid anyone would hear you before pulling down the strap of your dress and showing him the bargain tattoo.

Cassian's expression froze, his mind racing to fathom the deal you might have struck. Did you grasp the consequences of Night Court's bargain tattoos? The kind of searing fucking pain that awaited anyone attempting to breach its secrecy? The instincts that come with a mating bond made him feel murdereous at the thought of anyone striking a dangerous deal with his mate.

He didn’t want you experiencing the pain of accidentally telling him about the bargain, so he dropped the subject completely, picking up new things to talk about. While waiting for the meal, you tried to attentively listen as Cassian, the general and commander of the Night Court as he had told you, told you the tales of his thrilling adventures and loving family. But he sometimes used big words that made you tilt your head in confusion, he had however noticed it early on and switched to more simple terms, ensuring your understanding of the topic.

Of all of your years living, you had never felt so safe and cared for as you did here with Cassian. Sure your parents never laid hands on you but they certainly didn’t like you very much, calling you incapable and downright stupid. It hurt you, it really did because you tried but it simply wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Cassian, this gorgeous man, noticed you didn’t understand but he didn’t outright dumb it down for you.

He… just used another word with the same meaning he explained and it really made you happy. Because for some reason, his approval and attention was necessary for you to function and you literally couldn’t imagine him ever being disappointed in you.

After dessert was served, Cassian told the waiter and the chef that you were done eating and paid the bill, leaving a generous tip. They left you all alone in your section and the seclusion made you more bold. You certainly didn’t care if anyone saw you blowing him or anything but… it felt more intimate doing in just for him. You were still sat on his thigh as he spoon fed you the delicious chocolate cake.

Chills ran down your arms upon locking eyes with Cassian, and from your position, you explored his face, fingertips tracing a scar along his eyebrow. Your hand moved over his cheekbones, jaw, nose, and finally, his flawless lips. Drawing close, you both whispered intimately, “Can I kiss you, sweetheart?” he rasped, to which you replied in a hushed tone, “Yes, please, Cassie.”

With a tender murmur he said, “my perfect girl,” his soft lips met yours.

As the kiss unfolded, time seemed to slow, encapsulating you both in a world of shared warmth and intimacy. Cassian's lips, soft against yours, the room faded away, leaving only the electric energy between you two. You had kissed plenty people before, but nothing felt as addictive and pleasurable as this.

Cassian’s body shaped perfectly against yours as he pulled you on his lap, making you straddle his hips, legs on either side of him as your dress bunched. His hair was pulled out of his bun as you dragged your manicured nails across his scalp.

He out out a groan as his hands found your hips, his hold tightening as he ground upwards making you moan at the contact.

Breaking the kiss, Cassian's eyes held a newfound tenderness and hunger. “You're something else, you know that?” he whispered, his voice carrying a mix of admiration and affection. A shared smile lingered between you, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken emotions that had just passed between your lips.

A loud shatter was heard as you looked up panting, absolutely forgetting that you two may have a section rented out, but you were still out in public and if anyone wanted to stretch their legs, they certainly wouldn’t miss you grinding in Cassian’s lap, lips puffy and hair tousled.

Cassian couldn’t have cared less even of he tried to. Being the lord of bloodshed, the general leading the armies of the night court, and one of the greatest warriors in the history of Prythian granted Cassian liberties in his eyes. Unlike ordinary fae males, he wasn't restricted from openly displaying affection for his mate at any time or place. There wasn’t a person on earth that could tell him what to do with you.

Fucking in public didn’t scare him or make him feel embarrassed. No, Cassian fucking loved the thrill of being caught. Loved the little voice in his head telling him that someone would be walking in on him pleasuring his mate, your face scrunched up in pleasure as someone catches you, your heartbeat quickening at the taboo scene.

But he’d never in his life put you in a position that made you uncomfortable, he’d rather chop his cock off. So he looked at your face, searching for any fear.

“You okay? Wanna stop, baby?” The thought of you getting off his lap and feeling shame or embarrasement was enough to make him feel nauseous. But that all quickly left when you looked down at him with blushy cheeks, a wide grin on your face as you laughed. “Wow, that sounded really close. Guess you better fuck me quickly Cassie, we wouldn’t want someone to catch us, now would we? I mean that would be soooo bad and we’d be kicked out, right?”

Cassian easily detected the false concern written all over your face. There was a blend of amusement, warmth, and hunger in your expression. You playfully pouted, furrowing your brows in mock thinking as you tilted your head.

Looking up darkly at you he flashed you a feral grin, furrowing his brow in mock thinking. “Of course. It would be very, very bad if someone caught me with my head between your legs, I mean whatever would we do?”

You stood up, hopping up on the table in front of him, propped up like a post-dessert treat with your legs spread infront of his hungry gaze.

“ Let’s find out. I think you missed some of your dessert, baby. Come eat me up, Cassie…” He put his hands around your ankles as he removed your heels, then hissed when he felt your stocking-clad foot rub against his strained cock. Your eyes caught his wings ruffling as curiosity prompted your question.

“Cassie, why are your wings so big? Can I touch them or would it hurt?”

His wings rustled, then tightened in instinct. Illyrian wings were absolutely not to be touched by anyone without invitation, they were to be protected at any cost. His people had been taught to never let anyone get close enough to them, often punching first and then asking questions if someone ever touched them.

“No, sweet girl, they wouldn’t hurt if you touched them. It’s just a sacred part of me that I as an Illyrian protect with my life.” You observed the intricate patterns on his wings, fascinated by the interplay of light and shadow, gold and read hues swirling.

Cassian, sensing your curiosity, continued, “Touching them is a privilege reserved for the one I’ll one day trust deeply, a gesture of profound connection between two mates.” His gaze held a promise, hinting at a deeper connection yet to unfold. You slumped slighty as you realized that you probably weren’t his mate and quickly lowered you rising hand.

“Oh, okay then. They seem really cool anyways, your future mate is quite lucky huh?” Your eyes met his own filled with longing and hope.

Growing up in The Hewn City, the stories of mates filled your imagination, creating a yearning for a connection forged by The Mother Herself. However, your parents swiftly dismissed any ideas of such fantasies, emphasizing a more practical approach to your future. The concept of a deep, equal partnership and lover was a cherished daydream, overshadowed by the reality your parents presented.

Amidst gossip with friends about the mysterious idea of mates, your parents insisted on abandoning these fairytales. Their focus remained fixed on preparing you for a marriage that would secure wealth and influence, mirroring the traditions of countless pairs in the city. The prospect of bringing shame to the family loomed as an unthinkable consequence, one that could lead to disownment or in some cases death.

You were incredibly fortunate to have made a friend that helped you out, otherwise you’d probably be some unhappy bride whose only task would be baby-making and keeping quiet.

Your eyes filled with tears as you started thinking about the male infront of you. If the bond hadn’t snapped for you yet, then you probably weren’t mates and it made you sick thinking that there was someone else out there who’d snatch Cassian up. A hand brushing up your calf brought you back to reality as you were met with eyes filled with worries.

“No, hey, what's going on, sweetheart? Why are you crying, hm?” Cassian asked, concern etched across his face. Overwhelmed by sadness, you slumped forward, letting out deep sobs.

"Don't think m’your mate, Cassie. I really, really wanna be with you forever, but you'll probably choose your mate if they ever come along. Also, I probably have a mate somewhere, and I feel like we shouldn't keep going because I'm falling for you, like really hard, and I really don't think I'd survive it if we ended things before they even really started.”

Your wrecked sobs made him sick with guilt. The realization that he was the cause of your tears hit hard. His hands found their way to your back, gently caressing it as he tried to provide comfort. Unable to bear it any longer, he blurted out the words before more sobs could escape,

“ I’m your mate. I felt the bond snap the first time we met, baby. I didn’t want to you to feel like you had to accept the bond or feel pressured to discover it. I wished for you to find out on your own, at your own pace. And I’m truly sorry for the pain i’ve caused you. If I had known this was something you really wanted, I would’ve told you straight away, sweet girl. I was wrong to assume and I’m deeply sorry. Please forgive me?”

Cassian’s words hung in the air, a revelation that shifted the atmosphere between you. Stunned, you looked up, eyes searching his for any sign of anger or irritation at your sudden breakdown or any deception. His gaze, however, held a sincerity that echoed in the depths of your shared connection, held a mix of pain, guilt and sadness paired with hope.

“You’re really mine? My mate?” the question was carried by your whispering voice. Cassian nodded and confirmed,

“Yes, i’m yours as you are mine.” The words triggered that golden bond, snapping the thread of life and love deep in your chest. Holding a hand to your chest, you looked at him breathing deeply.

“Mate. You’re my mate!” you shrieked and kissed all over his face, ending with a big kiss on his lips, making him laugh.

“Um, so can i now touch ‘em?” you questioned as you nodded your head in the direction of his massive wings. His back straightened and he explained,

“My wings have never been out during intimate encounters with females. It makes me feel vulnerable and I don’t like it. But for you… for you I’d pluck the stars from the night sky if you asked me. Go ahead, sweetheart but be careful they can be quite-”

He didn’t even finish his sentence when he felt your warm hands caressing the ridge of his leathery wings. Cassian twisted in his seat when you went over a certain spot. His whole body flashed with warmth, leaving a trail of goosepumps as his stomch flipped.

His face revealed delight, accompanied by low groans as your nails traced over the delicate wing. Intrigued, you inquired about the sensation. He leaned in, softly blowing air near your ear, eliciting goosebumps and a slight arch in your body.

He knew he’d come undone if you kept touching him so he picked you up, swept everything away from the table and put you on your back. Perhaps he should’ve been more quiet because when the waiter hurriedly came to check on the broken dishes, he received a savage snarl, so unlike the usually levelheaded male.

“ Get. Out.” Your mate gritted towards the poor fae. He’d make sure to leave another huge tip, but he didn’t have time to think of it now that the bond was so fresh and there was a male staring down his half naked mate. Cassian finally turned his attention to you when you grabbed his cock through his slacks.

“ c’mon mate, need you so bad, please.” you grabbed the back of his head, smashing his lips against yours as you whined and mumbled about needing his cock inside you. Any sort of foreplay was out of the question, you’d play later. You felt like you might literally die if you didn’t feel him closer to you right now.

You were consumed by an overwhelming desperation, feeling as if you'd burst out of your skin without his immediate presence. The ache for more of him intensified, a desperate longing for his touch to ravage you entirely. Tears welled in your eyes as you begged, desperate to be fucked right there, yearning to be claimed by your mate.

The desperation in your voice spurred cassian on as his hands skillfully removed his belt, pulling out his hard cock as he slid in and out, again and again and again. Rocking the table as he thrust into you hard, filling you up deliciously. Your mouths found each other in a deep kiss as you pulled his hair, earning a deep groan.

“You’re so fucking beautiful all spread out for me. My precious mate,” he mumbled against you.

“mmh, harder please- fucking me soo gooddd” You moaned. The pleasure was building up in your belly making you squirm against him “Please, daddy, let me cum.”

He halted all his movements, pulling you out of your bubble of pleasure. Why did he stop? You felt your high fizzle down as you felt tears in your eyes. “Cassie, why did you stop? I almost finished… s’not fair” you whined, crossing you arms as you looked away, feigning disbelief and anger.

You seriously hadn’t noticed what you called him? Were you fucked out already? Well, whatever. Cassian’s ego boosted immensely at the fact that you had mindlessly called him daddy.

“You’re so good for me, such a beautiful, beautiful girl. My mate makes me proud.”

His praise made you simultaneously melt against his body yet tighten around his cock as a new rush of slick gushed out of you. Bringing his one hand to your nipple while the other played with your clit, Cassian was determined to make you cum then take you home. It had to be your house because he really couldn’t promise he wouldn’t attack Rhys or Azriel if they laid their eyes on you, let alone saw your vulnerable, fucked out state.

The simultaneous pleasure made your head spin as you grabbed his arm to steady youself.

“feels..” you swallow the glob of saliva pooling on your tongue. “f-feels s’good, daddy. m’gonna cum…” His thrusts didn’t slow down as he was met by your relaxed expression - your eyes had crossed as your tongue lolled out a bit, making you drool. A few more pumps and he felt his knees wobble with intensity. You screams of pleasure were muffled by his hand as you came.

“gotta be quiet baby, lest someone catches us” groaning out the last part, Cassian pumps once, twice and finishes deep inside with as he slumps forward, head nuzzled against your neck, breathing in your intoxicating scent.

Driven by the fresh mating bond, he succumbed to a primal urge, covering your naked and relaxed form. Desperation fueled his actions, and protective instincts surged as he struggled with the dilemma of getting you home without causing harm, his every move tinged with the urgency of preserving your safety.

Wanting more, you pull him closer and wrap your legs around him. “daddy, i want more. please let’s go home because the table is kinda uncomfy n i wanna be on my bed instead.” Hands slither around you, pulling you up with as you clung to him. He drops a stack of money on the table to cover what he destroyed plus an appreciation for leaving him alone, gods know he would’ve shown no restraint if that waiter had been a little more bold.

“ s’okay cas i got this,” the whole restaurant fades into black before a cozy porch is replaced with the murmur of the restaurant. You’d winnowed home but not inside, leaving you right outside the door.

“ Sweetie, is your house warded or are you capable of winnowing inside too?” you shook your head and giggly responded,

“ mm, no, my house is protected from bad guys and only people i want can get inside. My friend fixed it for me, he’s super nice and you should totally meet him sometime.” The mention of another guy leaving your lips was enough for Cassian to make his eyes twitch but you looked so happy so he just nodded in agreement.

Opening the door, you welcomed Cassian into your cozy house. As he stepped in, his widened as his eyes roamed across the spacious hallway featuring a body-length mirror, perfect for a quick self-check before heading out, you told him. The hall led to a spacious living room with high ceilings exuding luxury, and the massive kitchen boasted pink appliances, a charming detail that seemed to define your style, he noticed.

His smile widened as he took in the cutesy and predominantly pink decor scattered throughout the house. It was a unique touch that resonated with your personality. As you guided him up the stairs, he marveled at the size of the home, realizing it was quite spacious for a single person.

Passing by several empty rooms, you finally opened the grand bedroom. The king-sized bed with frilly white sheets and an array of pink pillows dominated the space, surrounded by what seemed like an army of stuffed animals, a table adorned with the flowers he sent you this morning. Turning to the left he say your huge closet with clothes littered over the floor. You ran and closed the door behind you, leaning against it as you let out a nervous laugh, “ oh, that’s just my closet. it’s a bit messy so let’s just not look there.”

You bit your lips as your eyes squinted in the dim light. He looked so delicious and you wanted more. wanted your mate, closer. Despite being mere feet apart, an insatiable need for closeness overcame you. Closing the gap, you kissed him, reigniting the connection that began at the restaurant, determined to continue it throughout the night.

The night with your mate unfolded in a series of intimate moments, he put you in new positions and taught you pleasures you never imagined. His expertise left you in a constant state of bliss, with every moment dedicated to mutual satisfaction. You had slept for about an hour or two before going at it again when he stood up and stretched, the sight enough for you to tackle him and ride him right there on your fluffy carpet.

As dawn approached, you marveled at the fact that you had enough restraint to let him slip away and prepare breakfast. The lingering sensations and shared experiences had created a bond that extended beyond the physical, making the morning after feel like a continuation of the enchanting night. Now you laid in the protective arms of you lover, looking at him while biting your lips to keep from pouncing in him.

“If you keep staring at me like that, we won't leave the house ever,” you looked away from his gaze, blushing furiously.

“Maybe I don't wanna leave the house. I wanna be with you forever and ever, cassie” you whispered, nestling closer and kissing his cheek, a familiar gesture of affection.

He chuckled warmly, deeply and kissed you back before your broke the kiss.

“Cas, you mentioned your friends live here. Can I meet them? You spoke about them like you really, really love them,”you inquired, sensing a shift in the air as his grip tightened around you.

“Another time, sweetheart. Right now, I need you alone. I can't even think about leaving you,” he confessed, his tone carrying a protective intensity.

“Do you know much about the mating bond?” you explained that you knew it was two people fated together in a perfect match but that was all your parents allowed you to know. He nodded and explained,

“A newly mated couple can be very... let's say, unstable. There have been many cool and collected males and females who lost their minds when someone laid their eyes on their mate for too long. Sane people have abandoned all critical thinking wherever their mate is involved. Their first and only thought is their mate’s safety and happiness. People have died for provoking newly-mated. So, please, give me a little time because there's a very likely chance I might kill someone for looking at you a bit too much." This…frenzy will cool down after a while but it’s very intense when it’s so new.”

The gravity in his words conveyed the depth of his commitment and the primal instincts that fueled it.

You were fucked in the head for sure because the realization that Cassian would fiercely protect you, even kill someone for you, sent a thrilling shiver down your spine, an unconventional yet undeniably arousing form of desire.

Without a word, you shuffled down, ready to express your gratitude and desire in a way that words could never fully convey, letting your mouth and hands express your love and gratitude.

—

For almost three weeks, you reveled in the cocoon of intimacy, exploring every inch of each other's souls and bodies within the confines of your shared space. Cassian's presence became a comforting constant, and there wasn't a single room in the house that he hadn’t fucked you in. Repeatedly.

However, the inevitable reality of his responsibilities tugged at Cassian's conscience. His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkening slightly as he confessed,

“I hate to say this, baby, but I have to go back. My family is looking for me, and they're worried.”

A pout formed on your lips as the idea of him leaving weighed heavily on your heart.

“You really gotta go?” Your doe-eyes mirrored the sadness and pain of his departure, glossing over in tears at the thought of him not being by your side.

One look into your eyes and he knew there was no chance he could leave you.

“You know what, fuck that. There's no way I'm leaving you. So how would you feel about meeting my family?”

Cassian dropping the idea of meeting his family made you think. Would they like you? He always spoke highly of them, and it got you wondering if you'd measure up. You knew you weren't the brightest tool in the shed or however the saying went but you hoped they'd see something in you that's good enough for him. The old voices of your parents kept echoing in your head.

"You're only good if you keep your mouth shut."

"How did I end up with such a dumb daughter?"

"You’re prettier when you don't talk."

Cassian sensed your unease, and he gently took your hands, looking into your eyes with a reassuring smile.

“Hey, don't worry about a thing. My family will adore you as much as I do. You're more than enough, just the way you are.”

His words carried a sincerity that eased the knots in your stomach. You peppered kisses all over his face and mentally thanked him for the reassurance.

He laughed, kissing you and repeating those reassuring words until it was time to leave. Putting on a cute, blue summer dress, you skipped alongside him, blissfully unaware of the imposing aura he now exuded due to the fresh bond.

As the beautiful estate by the river came into view, you marveled at the picturesque landscape. Holding a homemade cake in one hand and Cassian's hand in the other, you both approached the door.

However, huge confusion struck as your eyes widened upon seeing who opened it.

🏷️ taglist: @justasillylittlegoofyguy

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