#reblogs off because this don’t a fucking debate

[lcvecove]

𐔌 　 ⁺　 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𓂃۶ৎ

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 , in which jude notices the work you’ve been putting in at the gym.

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. jude bellingham x gf!reader 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. flirty. cute. cheeky. groping. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. this is my first time writing for jude. I just got this idea with him and it would not get out of my head. I hope I did it justice and that the jude girlies like it. as always reblogs and feedback is appreciated and I hope you liked it <3

the front door opening steals jude’s attention from the match playing on TV, his gaze flicking toward the entrance just as you stumble through, arms weighed down with two brown bags filled with groceries. an automatic smile tugs at his lips.

he’d woken up to an empty bed and a note on your pillow — gone to the gym. stopping at the store after. love you, lazybones.

lazybones. he’d scoffed at that one, stretching his arm across the empty mattress where you should’ve been. but now, as he watches you huff dramatically, nudging the door shut with your hip, he thinks maybe he doesn’t mind being called that. especially if it means getting to see you walk through the door looking like that.

because, yeah — jude notices immediately.

the outfit is nothing new, just a sports bra and leggings, but something about it is different. or maybe, more accurately, you are.

he watches you set the bags down on the counter, then stretch your arms over your head, rolling your shoulders with a soft groan. his eyes drop, trailing over the curve of your body, the way your leggings cling to you just right.

fuck’s sake.

“hey you” you greet as he slides off the couch and saunters over to you.

“hey sexy” he mumbles, hands catching your hips and placing a sexy little kiss on your lips, that has your pulse stuttering and body leaning into him. he lingers, hands firm on your waist, thumbs brushing over the fabric of your leggings in slow, deliberate strokes. his touch is casual, lazy even, but there’s something unmistakable about the way his fingers press just a little harder as they drift downward.

jude’s hands are planted firmly on your ass by the time you pull away, both of you a little breathless. he squeezes the flesh, biting his lip as he leans to the side slightly, and it takes you a minute but your cheeks heat up when you realize what he’s doing.

“jude” you scold and his eyes shoot up from your ass, catching yours as he smiles sheepishly.

“what baby?” he asks innocently, hand still roaming over your backside.

you narrow your eyes, but jude just grins, completely unashamed, still palming at your ass like it belongs to him — which, okay, it kind of does, but still.

"don’t what baby me," you huff, swatting at his arm. "were you just checking out my ass?"

jude bites his lip, as if debating whether or not to lie, before eventually shrugging. "maybe."

you groan, covering your face with your hands, but he just laughs, spinning you in his hold so your back is pressed to his chest. his hands stay exactly where they are, fingers gripping at the soft curve of your ass, thumbs rubbing in slow circles over the fabric.

"babe," he mutters, voice thick with something dangerously close to awe. "I swear, it was not like this a month ago."

your face burns hotter. "jude."

"what?" his grip tightens, and you can feel his smirk against your skin as he dips his head to press a kiss to your shoulder. "I mean, you always had a nice ass, but fuck — this? this is next level. turn around for me will ya?" he asks, and you hesitate for a second before obliging him.

he pushes on your upper back slightly, urging you to lean forward slightly and you humour him by placing your elbows on the counter, back arching perfectly as he runs his fingers down your spine.

a low whistle leaves jude’s lips as his hands trail down, fingertips ghosting over the fabric of your leggings before settling firmly on your hips. his thumbs stroke at your waist, slow and teasing, before they move lower, kneading at the flesh with a kind of reverence that has your breath catching in your throat.

you let out a soft yelp when you suddenly feel a sharp sting on your left cheek, turning around just in time to see jude’s playful smirk, accompanied by that little glint in his eyes.

“sheesh baby” he says, running his hand over his face as if the sight of you alone is enough to wreck him. his palm lingers over his mouth for a moment, but you can still see his grin, all cocky and smug.

"you trying to kill me or something?" he teases, his voice dripping with amusement, though there’s something else lurking beneath it—something darker, something heated. his hands are back on you in an instant, fingers splaying over your hips like he can’t help himself. "you’ve been keeping this from me, huh?"

you scoff, rolling your eyes even as your stomach flutters. "keeping what from you?"

jude lets out a low chuckle, his thumbs rubbing slow, deliberate circles against your skin. "this ass, baby." his voice is borderline sinful now, thick and appreciative as his hands squeeze at the flesh, sending another spark of heat through you. "you been hiding it or what?"

your face burns, and you swat at his arm. "jude, shut up—"

"nah, nah," he interrupts, shaking his head with a smirk. "I think we need to talk about how you’ve been putting in work at the gym and didn’t warn me." his hands slide down to cup you fully again, his grip firm, his touch nothing short of worshipful. "like, you knew this was gonna do things to me, right?"

you groan, covering your face with your hands, but it does nothing to hide your flustered expression. "you’re so annoying," you mumble, and jude just grins, entirely unbothered.

"annoying, huh?" he muses, his hands never leaving you, his voice a slow, teasing drawl. "funny, ‘cause you don’t seem to be pushing me away."

you stay silent, and he chuckles again, dipping his head to press a lazy, lingering kiss to your shoulder. "you’re so cute when you’re embarrassed, y’know that?"

you groan louder. "jude—"

"alright, alright," he relents, though his hands still don’t budge. "I’ll stop teasing — for now." he pulls back slightly, only to spin you around so you’re facing him. his eyes flicker over your features before settling on your lips, and the playful glint in his gaze softens just a bit. "but seriously, baby —proud of you. you look fucking incredible. or should I say edible” he says, taking a little bite out of your bottom lip, soothing the sting with his tongue.

your heart melts at the sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes, and you bite your lip, suddenly shy under his gaze. "yeah?"

jude smiles, all charm, before leaning in to brush his lips against yours. "yeah," he murmurs. “you’ll always be perfect to me. no matter what. but I’m definitely gonna be your number-one supporter in this fitness journey — especially if it keeps coming with benefits like this."

you smack his chest, but he only laughs, pulling you closer, his lips finding yours again, lingering this time, deepening — because, yeah, maybe you don’t mind his little appreciation session after all.

𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. thank you for reading and feel free to drop by the inbox and share any and all thoughts <333

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 14

˗ˏˋ laundry day ˎˊ˗

"Doing laundry should be a normal activity—not something that brings out a whole new set of revelations about Jungkook you were not even fathoming. And you don’t know if it’s helping old ladies, tying your shoes or collecting stupid vynils—but you don’t like how it’s throwing off your whole perception of your annoying roommate."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 8k

content: laundry rooms, old ladies that have a vendetta against you?, jungkook being a decent human being, batman socks, vynil revelations, humanizing jungkook and not liking it

✧ author's note ✧

Hello again little gremlins! It’s your girl, Kiki—back with another dose of Jungkook being emotionally compromised and having weird feelings about vulnerability.

SO. This chapter is… fairly slow-paced, which, duh—have you read my stuff? I went HAM on the introspection here, but I think it was so needed. Sometimes we need this type of chapter to balance the narrative out. I think it’s worked out beautifully, but do let me know your thoughts at the end.

About the goal thing! In case you’ve been living under a rock (or you don’t check my Tumblr regularly—which, fair), I have decided to switch my update schedule system.

Previously, I had been working with a weekly schedule as you all know. This has been quite easy for me to maintain because I work with hyperfixations, and basically ADHD.

The thing is… it’s a 2 month cycle.

I’m basically on week 7/8 already.

And that brings me to The Point. Goal-based update system. Which just means I’ll continue posting as long as we reach the established goals in every chapter. I’m going to be creating a whole post explaining how it works, but, long story short—as long as we reach either the goal in Tumblr OR Wattpad, we’ll be getting more chapters!

This is basically a self-regulation thing. I am self-aware (luckily) and I know how to work with my ADHD—but for those who don’t know; it’s heavily tied to dopamine. Which just means (I’m not gonna get nerdy I swear), I basically need engagement to trick my brain into staying motivated. Otherwise dopamine hits get slowly weaker and at some point I literally cannot bring myself to write.

WHICH SUCKS. Because I do love my stories, and I love sharing them. But burnout is real and brains work in funny ways and I can’t really fight my ADHD or brain chemistry (trust me I wish I could). So this is how you guys are going to help me tame this bitch. WE RIDE AT DOWN. 🤝

And before anyone asks—no, this is not up for debate. This is not something I’m “considering” or “open to feedback on.” This is me taking care of my mental health and working with my ADHD instead of against it. It’s not an “excuse,” it’s just how my brain operates. If that bothers you… I literally do not know what to tell you.

Anyways, as always, I love you all, I’m reading all your comments and reblogs and asks, and do check the note goal at the very end! 🩷

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

It's fucking weird how some people's clothes have a gravitational pull, like they're magnets and your body is just helplessly metal. 

You're wearing his sweater. The same one that's been mocking you from your desk chair for the last twenty-four hours, just sitting there in all its navy blue glory, smelling like rain and testosterone and bad decisions. You don't know why you haven't tossed it back into his room yet. It's been staring you down all morning, a silent accusation of...something.

But now it's almost midday on Sunday, and your pile of dirty clothes has reached critical mass. Your laundry basket is basically a textile Mount Everest. You'd wear something clean, except there isn't anything clean left—not unless you count the questionable tank top you found at the back of your drawer that you're pretty sure you wore to a frat party sophomore year.

So. Jungkook's sweater it is.

You tell yourself it's just practical. Totally logical. It's uncharacteristically chilly outside, the first whisper of almost September creeping in, and you need something to cover your ridiculous pajama shorts for the trek to the basement laundry room. They're flowery and pale pink, paired with an equally ridiculous oversized t-shirt featuring a cartoonish sunflower with the words "HAVE A SUNFLOWER DAY!" emblazoned across your chest in neon yellow.

Not exactly the look you'd choose for running into anyone with functioning eyeballs, but it's Sunday, and your give-a-fuck meter is hovering at absolute zero.

It's not like you're going to run into anyone important anyway. Miguel the super probably won't be down there; he's usually sleeping off his Saturday night till at least 2PM. And the chances of meeting some hot neighbor—your future spouse who'll be so charmed by your sunflower ensemble that they'll propose on the spot—are basically nonexistent.

Actually, scratch that. 

Even if some dream person did materialize in the laundry room today, they wouldn't see the sunflower masterpiece because it's hidden under Jungkook's stupidly oversized hoodie. The one that somehow hangs past your shorts, making it look like you're not wearing pants at all, which is a whole different kind of disaster.

Whatever. It's warm. It doesn't smell like him anymore. (It does.) And you're just using it. Borrowing it. Temporarily occupying its fabric space.

You scoop up your overflowing laundry basket and wrestle it onto your hip. The elevator in this building moves with all the urgency of continental drift, so you opt for the stairs. Three flights down isn't horrible, especially since the laundry room is conveniently right next to the stairwell exit.

"Just put it in his room later," you mutter to yourself, adjusting the hoodie. 

You could've done that yesterday when he tossed it at you, but you didn't, and you're not thinking about why.

You check your pocket for quarters and detergent pods. 

The whole ritual is familiar now—Sunday laundry day, another week of adulting successfully completed without burning the building down or getting evicted. Not that the bar should be that low, but hey, after the month you've had, you'll take the wins where you can get them.

As you start down the stairs, the hoodie falls past your hand, and you absently tug it back up, trying not to think about how the collar brushes against your cheek or how the cuffs hang past your fingertips. 

And you definitely aren't thinking about the fact that you're surrounded by the scent of him with every breath you take.

Because that would be weird, right? Being conscious of wearing your roommate's clothes? The roommate you occasionally fuck? The one who took you to buy a vibrator yesterday before subjecting you to lunch with his overly-protective friend?

Right. Not weird at all.

You're just doing laundry, in ridiculous pajamas, wearing his hoodie because it's practical. That's the story, and you're sticking to it—even if the sleeves smell faintly of his soap when you lift your hand to push your hair out of your face.

The stairwell is quiet, just the echo of your worn-out sneakers slapping against the concrete steps. You shift the basket to your other hip, huffing slightly under its weight. 

Maybe you should've done laundry sooner. Maybe you shouldn't wait until you're literally out of underwear every single time. 

But then again, maybe you should focus on the stairs and not on the fact that your bare thighs occasionally brush against the soft inner lining of his hoodie.

Adulthood is just a series of mundane chores punctuated by questionable decisions. And today, apparently, that includes wearing Jungkook's hoodie to do your laundry.

No big deal. You'll wash your clothes, return his sweater, and the universe will continue spinning on its axis, completely unaffected by your poor wardrobe choices.

The door to the laundry room is propped open with a cinder block—probably Mrs. Patel from 4C forgetting to remove it again. You shift your basket one final time and head in, already mentally claiming the good dryer, the one that doesn't sound like it's harboring a demon when it hits the spin cycle.

It's just laundry day. Just another Sunday. 

And the laundry room is still a goddamn joke.

Because let’s be real—whoever thought six washing machines and four dryers could service an entire apartment building was either a sadist or never did laundry in their life. 

And on Sundays? 

It's like watching vultures circle a carcass—everybody desperate for their turn at the machines, glaring at anyone who takes too long to transfer their clothes.

Dona Ramirez is already there, of course. The seventy-something retiree who treats the laundry room like her personal kingdom and you like an invading barbarian. She's currently guarding the Good Dryer—the one you had mentally claimed seconds ago.

Just. Fucking. Great.

She looks up as you enter, lips pursing like she's just bitten into something sour. Her eyes travel from your face down to your bare legs and back up again, judgment radiating from her in palpable waves.

"Good morning," you mutter, aiming for polite but landing somewhere around constipated.

"Hmph." Dona sniffs, turning back to her women's magazine. "Young people these days. No shame."

You bite back the urge to point out that it's literally just your legs showing, not your entire ass. It wouldn't matter anyway. In Dona's world, anything above the ankle is basically pornographic.

Shifting your heavy basket to your other hip, you make your way to the only empty washing machine—wedged in the back corner, naturally. The one that sometimes stops mid-cycle like it's having an existential crisis. You slam your basket down with more force than necessary.

"Careful with the machines," Dona mutters without looking up from her magazine. "They're not getting any younger."

Neither are you, standing here taking shit from the laundry room gatekeeper.

"Sorry," you say, not sorry at all.

You start sorting your clothes, creating separate piles for darks and lights. Dona continues to flip pages, totally unbothered. Or maybe bothered. You can’t tell and frankly don’t care. 

As you're separating your darks, something catches your eye. Orange hair. Lots of it, actually, clinging to your black leggings and that navy shirt you wore when you were studying on the couch last week.

Griffin.

That little furry infiltrator has been shedding all over your clothes again. Despite the fact that your door is always closed. Despite the "no pets" clause in your lease that Jungkook blatantly ignores. Despite your best efforts to maintain some semblance of a cat-hair-free existence.

And yet...

You find yourself smiling slightly as you pluck a particularly long orange strand from your favorite black sweater. The traitorous little shit must have snuck into your room when you were in the shower yesterday. You'd caught him curled up on your bed when you came out, looking entirely too comfortable and completely unapologetic about the invasion.

He'd just blinked at you lazily, that slow "yes, I know I'm not supposed to be here, and no, I don't care" cat-blink that somehow manages to be both insulting and endearing at the same time.

You should be annoyed. You should definitely tell Jungkook to keep his feline menace away from your clean laundry basket. You should not find it even remotely charming that Griffin seems to have decided your clothes are his second-favorite napping spot (right after your pillow, the little asshole).

And yet here you are, pulling orange fur off your black clothes with something dangerously close to fondness. 

What the fuck is happening to you?

Maybe it's sleep deprivation. 

Or maybe it's the fact that Griffin is actually kind of cool, for a cat. 

He doesn't have that typical cat superiority complex—he just genuinely doesn't give a shit about anything except food, sunbeams, and antagonizing Jungkook. 

It's a lifestyle you can respect.

Plus, he has this way of curling up next to you when you're reading, just close enough to leech your body heat without actually admitting he wants your attention. It's like living with a tiny, furry version of his owner.

Not that you'd ever admit that particular observation out loud.

You dump your dark clothes into the washing machine, mentally calculating how much detergent to add. Dona shuffles to check her wash cycle, eyeing you suspiciously like you might try to sabotage her laundry when she's not looking.

"Cold day," she comments, which is probably the most conversational she's ever been with you.

"Yeah," you reply, not looking up from measuring detergent. "Came early this year."

She hums disapprovingly, like the weather is also your fault. "Wearing your boyfriend's clothes won't keep you warm forever."

For a split second, your brain halts. 

Boyfriend? What boyfriend? And then—

Ah. 

The hoodie.

Jungkook's hoodie that you're swimming in.

Something about her smug certainty, that look that says she's got you all figured out, makes you want to burn the whole goddamn building down. Or at least throw a very minor wrench in her worldview.

"It's my girlfriend's, actually," you say, the lie sliding off your tongue with practiced ease.

There. Take that, you judgmental old bat. Let's see how your 1950s sensibilities handle—

"Even worse," Dona sniffs, not missing a beat. "Girls these days, always stealing each other's clothes. You'll never build a proper wardrobe that way."

Wait, what?

You blink, momentarily thrown. That's... not the reaction you were expecting. No pearl-clutching. No horrified gasps. Just... practical fashion advice?

"I—"

"My granddaughter does the same thing," she continues, adjusting the scarf around her neck with arthritic fingers. "Comes home wearing her girlfriend's sweatshirts, twice her size. Looks like she's drowning in fabric. No shape whatsoever. You young people and your oversized clothes." She clicks her tongue. "In my day, we wore things that fit."

Well, shit.

So much for your brilliant plan to scandalize the old lady. 

Turns out Dona's not a homophobe—she's just a fashion critic. Equal opportunity judgment for all. How progressive of her.

"Right," you mutter, feeling weirdly chastised. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

"Hmph." She turns back to her laundry, seemingly satisfied that she's dispensed enough wisdom for one day.

You're still processing this unexpected twist when the laundry room door creaks open behind you, letting in a draft of cooler air. 

You don't need to turn around to know who it is. 

Something in the atmosphere shifts immediately—molecules rearranging themselves, air particles getting all excited, the very fabric of space-time bending to accommodate his presence.

Or maybe that's just your pulse doing that annoying thing where it decides to race for no good reason.

"Well, well, well."

His voice is sleep-rough and amused, and you can already picture the exact expression on his face without looking. 

That stupid half-smirk. That cocked eyebrow. That look that says he's caught you doing something you shouldn't.

You turn slowly, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fact that you're suddenly, acutely aware that you're wearing his fucking hoodie over your ridiculous pajamas.

Jungkook stands in the doorway, laundry basket propped against his hip, looking unfairly good for someone who's probably just rolled out of bed. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in tufts. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and those stupid gray sweatpants that look way too good on him, and his feet are bare—the absolute psychopath. Who walks around a gross apartment building with no shoes?

His eyes drop immediately to the hoodie, and his eyebrow arches even higher.

"Interesting fashion choice, Phoenix," he says, lips twitching.

Your face heats. "Laundry day," you say, as if that explains everything.

As if borrowing—okay, stealing—his clothes is a perfectly normal response to having nothing clean to wear.

"Clearly." His gaze sweeps over you, taking in the edge of your floral shorts peeking out beneath the hem of his hoodie. "Sunflower PJs? Again?"

"It's laundry day," you repeat, like maybe he didn't hear you the first time. Like maybe that's a valid excuse for looking like you raided a middle schooler's closet. "Everything else is dirty."

"Hmm." 

He steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him, and moves to the washing machine next to yours. 

Puts his basket down. 

Stands too close. 

“But the hoodie isn't yours."

It's not a question. It's a statement, delivered with that infuriating confidence he always has, like he's so sure of himself, so certain of how this interaction is going to play out.

"I found it in my room," you say, turning back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle selection. "Must've gotten mixed up in my stuff."

"For a whole day?" He snorts, and you can hear him starting to sort his laundry beside you. "Interesting that you decided to wear it instead of, I don't know, returning it."

"It was convenient," you mutter, jabbing at the start button. "And it's cold."

"Right."

You can hear the smile in his voice without looking at him, and you don’t know why you notice without even having to gaze at him. 

Damn your body and its complete lack of dignity.

"You're late, boy."

Your head whips around at the sharp change in Dona's tone. Not softer—definitely not softer—but different somehow. Like… Less venomous, more... familiar? 

The old woman is glaring at Jungkook, but it's not the same glare she gives you. It's like the difference between a loaded gun and a water pistol.

"Sorry, Miss D," Jungkook says, and there's something in his voice—a hint of warmth?—that catches you completely off guard. "Overslept."

"Hmph. Young people." Dona shakes her head, but there's no real bite to it. "My sheets need folding. These old hands aren't what they used to be."

"Sure thing." Jungkook nods like this is a completely normal request, like random old ladies demanding his manual labor is just part of his Sunday routine.

What the actual fuck?

You stare between them, waiting for Jungkook to tell her to fold her own damn sheets, or at the very least look annoyed at being bossed around. 

But he just continues sorting his laundry like this is fine. 

Like this is normal.

"You know her?" you ask, keeping your voice low as Dona bustles over to check her washing machine.

Jungkook glances at you, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"Since when?"

He shrugs, separating a dark shirt from a pile of whites. "Since I moved in? She lives on the fourth floor."

"And you just... help her fold laundry? Voluntarily?"

"Sometimes." He's not looking at you now, focused on his sorting with more attention than dirty clothes really require. "It's not a big deal."

"Is that why she doesn't look at you like you're gum on her shoe?"

He huffs a laugh. "What?"

"She fucking hates me," you whisper, gesturing discreetly at Dona's back. "Every time I see her, she looks at me like I personally invented avocado toast and killed all the mom-and-pop stores."

"Maybe you just need to help her fold her sheets," he suggests, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Or maybe you've charmed her with your stupid dimples and your fake nice-guy routine."

"Fake nice-guy routine?" His eyebrows shoot up, and he looks genuinely amused. "Is that what you think this is?"

"Obviously," you mutter. "Nobody is actually that helpful without an agenda."

He studies you for a moment. Then, speaks. "Yeah? What's my agenda with Dona, then?"

“I don't know yet. But I'm sure it's something nefarious."

"Nefarious," he repeats, and now he's definitely laughing at you. "Sure, Phoenix. I'm playing the long con with a senior citizen. Really working that angle."

"Wouldn't put it past you.”

"Right." He tilts his head to the other side, still smiling slightly. "Well, while I'm busy being fake nice, you might want to turn your machine on. You've been standing there for five minutes and it's still not running."

You glance down at your washing machine, which is indeed just sitting there, silent and unhelpful. Fuck. Your finger must have missed the start button in your rush to look like you knew what you were doing.

You jab the button again, harder this time, and the machine finally lurches to life with a groan that sounds suspiciously like judgment.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, "come help with these detergent bottles. They're too heavy."

"Coming," Jungkook calls back, and he's moving before you can say anything else, crossing the room to where Dona is struggling with an industrial-sized bottle of Tide.

You watch, equal parts confused and suspicious, as he takes the bottle from her. They exchange a few words you can't quite hear over the rumble of the washing machines, and then—what the fuck—Dona actually pats his arm. Like he's her grandson or something.

Like she doesn't find him utterly repulsive.

Is this why she likes him? Because he lets her boss him around and carries her detergent? 

That's... kind of pathetic, actually. 

You thought Jungkook had more of a backbone than that.

But still. It's weird. The cold, calculating part of your brain catalogs this new information, filed under "Jungkook, Things That Don't Add Up About." 

It's growing into a pretty substantial folder these days.

You turn back to your washing machine, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the cycle display, but you're still watching them from the corner of your eye. Trying to figure out what his deal is.

"You need groceries this week?" Jungkook asks, voice low but not quite low enough that you can't hear it. "I can swing by after my studio session on Wednesday."

"Do I look like I need charity?" Dona snaps, but it’s not fueled by anger. If anything, she sounds... embarrassed?

"Not charity," Jungkook says, voice even. "Just a neighbor thing."

"Hmph." Dona busies herself with folding a dishcloth. "Well, if you insist on playing delivery boy, I do need milk. And those crackers from last time."

"Got it." Jungkook nods, like this is just normal. Like he's not going completely out of his way for someone who doesn't even seem particularly grateful.

You frown, trying to make it make sense. 

Maybe... maybe it's a hustle? Maybe old ladies tip really well? Or maybe he's building up good karma because he's secretly done something terrible and needs to balance the cosmic scales?

The two of them chat for a bit longer, and you can't quite hear all of it, but you catch fragments—something about Dona's doctor's appointment, something about Jungkook's classes, something about a recipe for chicken soup.

It's all so... domestic. So weirdly normal. So completely at odds with the Jungkook you know—the one who teases you mercilessly, the one who fucks you against walls, the one with the sharp edges and the arrogant smirk.

You're so busy trying to reconcile these two versions of him that you almost miss it when Dona's voice rises slightly.

"...since Hector passed, and these new delivery apps, they charge so much..." Her voice wavers, just slightly. "...shouldn't have to pay an arm and a leg just to get groceries when you can't..."

Jungkook says something too low for you to catch, and Dona makes that "hmph" sound again. But this time it sounds different. Almost... vulnerable?

"Well," she says, louder now, "you're the only one who bothers to check. The others in this building, they see an old woman and they look right through her. Like I'm already a ghost."

Oh.

Oh shit.

Something uncomfortable twists in your chest. An emotion you don't want to examine too closely. Something that feels a lot like…

Shame.

Because that's exactly what you did, isn't it? You saw a grumpy old lady and decided she was the enemy. You never once considered that maybe she was just lonely. 

That maybe she uses sharpness as a shield. 

The same way you use sarcasm as one. 

"Not a ghost yet," Jungkook says, and his voice is gentler than you've ever heard it. "Still kicking my ass at dominoes every Thursday."

"Language," Dona scolds, but you can hear the smile in her voice. "And don't you forget it. I expect a rematch this week."

"Wouldn't miss it."

Wait. He plays dominoes with her? Weekly? What the actual fuck?

And now you feel even worse, because apparently Jungkook—the guy you've been dismissing as an arrogant player with no depth—has been spending his Thursday nights playing board games with a lonely old woman.

While you've been doing what? Watching Netflix and judging everyone's life choices?

Great. Now he's making you feel like an asshole without even trying. That's just perfect.

You turn back to your washing machine, genuinely focused on it this time, trying to process this new information. Trying to fit it into your understanding of who Jungkook is. 

It's not working very well.

When you hear footsteps approaching, you pretend to be busy. You don’t know why you can’t look at him in the eyes right now.

"Sheets are folded," Jungkook says, sliding up next to you. "World is saved."

"What a hero," you deadpan, still not looking at him.

"Someday you'll appreciate my many talents," he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Speaking of which, nice hoodie."

You finally glance at him, and yep—there's that stupid, self-satisfied grin. Like he's caught you doing something embarrassing. Which, to be fair, he has.

"It's practical," you say, tugging the hem down where it's riding up. "That's all."

"Sure," he agrees easily. "Very practical to keep my clothes. Much more practical than, say, returning them."

"You want it back?" You make a show of starting to pull it off. "Fine, take—"

"Keep it," he says quickly, and the way he says it—not teasing, not mocking, just simple and straightforward—catches you off guard. "It looks better on you anyway."

You freeze, hands still at the hem of the hoodie, not quite sure how to respond to that. It feels like a trap somehow, like if you accept, you're admitting to something. To what, you're not exactly sure.

"Whatever," you mutter, dropping your hands. "I'll wash it and give it back."

"No rush." He turns back to his own laundry, a small smile playing at his lips.

For a moment, you just stand there, watching him sort his clothes. Then you look away, annoyed with yourself for gawking.

"So," you say, as casual as you can muster,  "you're like, what? The old lady whisperer?"

He glances at you, eyebrow raised. "What?"

"You and Dona." You gesture vaguely in her direction. "The whole..." You wave your hand, trying to encompass whatever the hell it is you just witnessed. "...thing."

"The thing," he repeats, clearly amused. "Very specific."

"You know what I mean," you huff. "The helping her fold sheets thing. The grocery delivery thing. The dominoes thing."

His movements pause for just a fraction of a second, so brief you almost miss it. "You were eavesdropping?"

"It's a small laundry room," you point out. "And you weren't exactly whispering."

"It's not a big deal."

"Playing dominoes with an old lady every Thursday isn't a big deal?"

"It's just dominoes," he says, like that explains everything. 

Like it's completely normal to spend your free time entertaining your elderly neighbor when you could be, I don't know, literally anything else that twenty-something guys usually do on a Thursday night.

"And the groceries?"

"She has trouble carrying them up the stairs," he says with a shrug. "The delivery apps charge too much. It's not a big deal."

"You keep saying that," you note, studying his profile as he focuses very intently on separating a blue shirt from a white one. "But it kind of is. I mean, how many people in this building even know their neighbors' names?"

"Maybe they should. Maybe it wouldn't kill people to look up from their phones once in a while and notice the actual humans around them."

You blink, taken aback by the sudden intensity. "Okay, damn. Sorry I asked."

"No, I'm—" He exhales sharply. "I just don't like talking about it, okay? It's not a thing."

"Why?" you press, genuinely curious now. "Why is it such a big secret that you're apparently a decent human being?"

“It's not a secret. I just don't..." He shakes his head. "I don't do it for attention or whatever. It's just the right thing to do."

"So you don't want me to know you do the right thing?"

"I don't need a fucking gold star for basic human decency," he snaps, and now there's definitely an edge to his voice. "I'm not looking for a pat on the back. I'm not trying to—" He breaks off, stuffing clothes into the machine with more force than necessary. "Just drop it, alright?"

You raise your eyebrows, watching as he jams quarters into the slot with unnecessary aggression. It's almost like he's... embarrassed? No, that's not quite right. More like he's uncomfortable with you knowing this side of him.

Like he doesn't want you to think he's actually nice.

Which is weird, because most guys would be falling all over themselves to prove they're nice guys. To get those good-person points. To make sure everyone knows what a saint they are for helping the little old lady with her groceries.

But Jungkook seems genuinely annoyed that you found out. Almost defensive about it.

It's... interesting.

Weird.

"Fine," you say, lifting your hands in surrender. "Consider it dropped. Your secret identity as a decent human being is safe with me."

He exhales sharply through his nose, still not looking at you. "Thanks."

You both lapse into silence, the hum of the washing machines like tiny droplets of silence between both of you. 

Across the room, Dona is bustling around the dryers, muttering to herself about settings and temperatures. You sneaks glances at her, seeing her in a different light now.

Not just a grumpy old woman. 

A widow. 

Someone who lives alone and has to rely on the kindness of neighbors—specifically, one neighbor—for simple tasks like carrying groceries. 

Someone who's lonely enough that a weekly dominoes game is something to look forward to.

It makes your chest feel tight in a way you don't particularly like.

"Boy," Dona calls, breaking the silence. "What cycle for delicates?"

"Gentle, cold water," Jungkook calls back without hesitation, like he's some kind of laundry expert. Like this is a normal conversation they have all the time.

"Hmph," is Dona's only response, but you notice she follows his advice, adjusting the settings on the dryer.

"She likes you," you observe quietly.

Jungkook glances at you, then back at his machine. 

"She tolerates me," he corrects. "There's a difference."

"She doesn't even tolerate me."

"You've never offered to help with her sheets."

"I didn't know that was an option," you say, crossing your arms. "There's no sign-up sheet for 'Old Lady Sheet Folding' in the lobby."

He snorts, and just like that, the tension from earlier seems to dissipate. 

“Maybe there should be. Building-wide rotation."

"I can see it now," you say, following in on the joke. "'4B gets Monday sheets, 6A takes Tuesday sheets...'"

"'If you find yourself assigned to Wednesday sheets, please be aware that those are the cat-hair sheets,'" he continues, adopting a serious tone. "'Lint rollers will be provided.'"

You can't help it—you laugh. 

It's brief, just a small burst of amusement, but it's genuine. 

And when you glance at Jungkook, he's looking at you with a strange expression, like he's seeing something he didn't expect.

"What?" you ask, immediately self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says, turning back to his machine. But there's a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just wondering if I should sign you up for Thursday sheets."

"Don't you dare," you warn, but it’s too soft. "I have enough on my plate without adding geriatric sheet duty."

"Could be worse," he says with a shrug. "Could be Tuesday sheets."

"What's Tuesday?"

"Bingo night." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Dona goes hard on the snacks."

You stare at him, once again thrown by this glimpse into a life you didn't know existed. "You're kidding."

"Only partly," he admits with a grin. "But seriously, Tuesday is when she does her big laundry loads. Always complains about the folding."

"And you know this because...?"

"Because I pay attention," he says simply, like it's obvious. Like everyone should just naturally notice these things about their neighbors. "It's not that complicated, Phoenix."

There's no judgment in his voice, but you still feel oddly defensive. Like you've been caught failing some basic test of humanity.

"Well, we can't all be saints," you mutter.

"Not trying to be a saint," he says, a hint of irritation creeping back it. "It's just—" He exhales sharply. "Never mind."

You watch him from the corner of your eye, trying to figure out what button you just pushed. Why this, of all things, seems to get under his skin.

"Sorry," you say finally, surprising even yourself. "I didn't mean to make it weird."

“It's fine."

"It's cool that you help her," you add, feeling awkward but pressing on anyway. "Seriously. Not everyone would."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. "Like I said, it's not a big deal."

"Right." You nod, getting it now.

He really doesn't want the recognition. 

Doesn't want the attention for doing something decent. 

You both fall silent again, with Dona’s muttering as your only company. It's not uncomfortable, though. It's just... quiet. Companionable, almost.

Which is weird, because you don't do companionable silences with Jungkook. You do heated arguments and sarcastic exchanges and intense fucking. 

Not... this. Whatever this is.

"You ever play dominoes?" he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

You blink at the unexpected question. 

“Not since I was a kid."

He nods, considering this. 

"Dona's always complaining that two players is boring. Says it's meant to be played with more people."

You wait for him to continue, to make the obvious invitation, but he doesn't. Just stands there, pretending to be deeply interested in the cycle display on his washing machine.

"Are you..." You squint at him. "Are you trying to ask me to play dominoes with you and Dona?"

"What? No." He scoffs, finger pressing random buttons. "Just making conversation."

"Right."

"I'm just saying," he continues, eyes fixed on the machine, "that if you ever… I dunno, find yourself bored on a Thursday night… There’s always dominoes."

Is he… Is he actually inviting you to his weird geriatric game night?

And if so, why? 

It's not like you've shown any interest in spending time with the elderly. Or with him, outside of the very specific context of fucking each other senseless.

"I'll keep that in mind," you say finally, not committing to anything.

"Cool."

"Cool."

Another silence falls.

You don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you’re still wearing his hoodie. And he’s still standing too close. 

And for a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—you wonder what it would be like. To sit around a table with Jungkook and Dona, playing dominoes on a Thursday night. To see that side of him—the side that helps old ladies with groceries and remembers how they like their sheets folded.

It's a weird thought. An unfamiliar one. And you push it away almost as soon as it forms.

Because that's not what this is.

That's not what you are. 

You're roommates who sometimes fuck. You're not friends who play board games together.

"Boy," Dona calls from across the room, breaking into your thoughts. "What cycle for cotton?"

"High heat, Miss D," Jungkook calls back, and just like that, the moment—whatever it was—is broken.

He turns back to his sorting, and you turn back to yours, and everything goes back to normal. Or whatever passes for normal these days.

But you're still wearing his hoodie. And you're pretty sure you're not giving it back anytime soon.

Sometime later, you're leaning against the wall just outside the laundry room, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. 

Your thumb drags across the screen without purpose, not really taking in whatever the hell you're looking at—Instagram? Twitter? Does it matter? The washing machines finished twenty minutes ago, but Jungkook insisted on carrying both your loads like some kind of laundry martyr.

"I got it," he'd said, waving you off when you tried to grab your basket. "Go ahead."

So here you are, waiting, because it feels weird to just leave him down here with your underwear. Even though he's definitely seen your underwear before. In significantly more compromising contexts.

From inside the laundry room, you can hear the murmur of voices—Jungkook and Dona in what sounds like a heated debate about fabric softener. You catch fragments: "ruins the absorbency" and "smells nice" and "didn't raise my Hector to use that chemical garbage."

You roll your eyes. How is this your Sunday? Standing in a dingy hallway while your fuck buddy debates laundry techniques with a geriatric neighbor?

The door finally swings open, and Jungkook emerges, arms loaded with both laundry baskets stacked precariously on top of each other. His biceps flex as he adjusts the weight, and you're definitely not noticing that. 

"Ready?" he asks, nudging the door closed with his foot.

"Been ready," you murmur, pocketing your phone. "Some of us don't need an hour-long consultation about dryer settings."

"She has strong opinions about lint," he says, absolutely straight-faced, like this is a normal follow-up to any conversation.

"Fascinating." You push off from the wall, heading for the stairs. "Let's go before she recruits you for a lint task force or whatever."

He just grins, following behind you. 

The stairwell is narrow and poorly lit, with concrete steps that have seen better decades. 

You're a few steps ahead when you hear it—a dull thud followed by a muttered "fuck."

You spin around to see Jungkook stumbling backward, nearly dropping both baskets as his free hand flies to his forehead. There's an exposed pipe running along the low ceiling that you always duck under without thinking—you're not particularly tall—but apparently nobody warned Jungkook about it.

"Shit." The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and suddenly you're moving toward him, hands reaching out automatically. "You okay?"

He looks momentarily stunned, both by the impact and by your reaction. 

"Yeah, just—"

You're already on your tiptoes, fingers brushing his hair away from his forehead to check the damage. There's a red mark forming, but the skin isn't broken. His hair is softer than you expected, still slightly damp from his morning shower, and he smells like—

Wait.

What the fuck are you doing?

You freeze, suddenly aware of how close you are, of your fingers in his hair, of his eyes fixed on yours with an expression you can't quite read. 

Neither of you moves. 

His eyes dart between both of your pupils. 

"Um," you say intelligently, dropping your hands like his forehead is suddenly made of lava. "Be more careful. We don't need you more idiot than you already are."

Smooth. Really smooth.

His lips twitch, but he doesn't call you out on whatever the hell that sentence was supposed to be. "Thanks for the concern."

"I'm not concerned," you say automatically, already turning back toward the stairs. "Just don't want to deal with your concussed ass if you knock yourself out."

"Right." His voice follows you up the stairs. "God forbid you have to care about something."

"Exactly," you agree, not looking back. "Caring is for suckers."

You're halfway up the flight when you hear him grunt as he shifts the laundry baskets. It's a lot to carry, and the stairwell is narrow, but you're definitely not offering to help. That would imply you care, which you just explicitly denied. So.

There's a moment of shuffling footsteps behind you, then: "Wait a sec, Nix."

You turn, ready with some smart-ass comment about his head injury affecting his ability to climb stairs, but the words die in your throat. He's set both baskets down on the landing and is now kneeling on the step below you, looking at your feet.

"What are you—"

"Your shoes," he says, nodding at your sneakers. "They're untied."

You glance down. Sure enough, both laces on your ancient Converse are dragging on the concrete steps, a tripping hazard waiting to happen.

"I know," you lie. You didn't know. "I was gonna fix them later."

"Later, like after you face-plant on the stairs?" He's already reaching for your shoe, his big hands deftly gathering the laces. "With my luck, I'd have to call an ambulance, and they'd blame me for pushing you."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction of falling," you mutter, but you don't pull away.

Instead, you just stand there, weirdly frozen, as Jungkook—the guy who regularly makes you come so hard you see stars—ties your shoelaces like you're a fucking kindergartner.

His head is bent in concentration, dark hair falling over his forehead, partially hiding the red mark from the pipe. His hands move with practiced ease, looping and pulling. 

It's such a small thing. So mundane. So ordinary.

So why does your chest feel tight?

"There," he says, finishing the second shoe with a final tug. "Crisis averted."

He glances up at you, still kneeling, and something in his expression makes your stomach do a weird little flip. It's probably just the angle. The way the shitty stairwell lighting catches on his features. The lingering effects of morning caffeine making your pulse do stupid things.

"I could have done that myself," you say, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

"I know." He shrugs, pushing himself to his feet and picking up the laundry baskets again. "But you didn't."

You don't have a good response to that, so you just turn and continue up the stairs, acutely aware of him following behind you. The only sound is your newly tied shoes against the concrete and his slightly labored breathing as he carries the laundry.

It's weird. 

This whole morning has been weird. 

First the hoodie, then Dona and the dominoes revelation, now this—Jungkook tying your shoes like it's nothing.

Like these small, casually intimate gestures are just things people do for each other.

Maybe they are. Maybe this is all completely normal roommate behavior, and you're the weird one for overthinking it.

It's not like he meant anything by it. 

He's just like that, apparently—the kind of guy who helps old ladies with groceries and plays dominoes on Thursdays and doesn't let people trip on their shoelaces. 

It's not personal. It's not about you.

He's just nice sometimes. In between being an absolute asshole who drives you crazy.

It doesn't mean anything.

It doesn't mean anything at all.

You finally make it to the apartment door, fishing your keys out of the pocket of Jungkook's stupid hoodie and hold the door open for him because he's still stubbornly carrying both laundry loads, despite your begrudging offer to take yours back.

"I can carry my own shit," you'd said on the landing between the second and third floors, trying to grab your basket.

He'd just smirked and swung it out of your reach. "I got it."

"I'm not helpless."

"Never said you were."

"So give me my laundry, asshole."

"Nope."

And that was that. Because apparently this is the hill he wants to die on. Stupid, stubborn, impossible man.

Now he strides past you into the apartment, annoyingly unbothered by the weight of two full baskets. 

You absolutely do not track how lean his arm muscles are as he sets them both on the table near the main door.

You definitely don't track the line of his shoulders as he rolls them back, working out the tension from the climb. 

And you certainly don't follow a bead of sweat as it trails down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

Because that would be pathetic. And you're not pathetic.

He starts rummaging through his basket, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he looks up, confusion clear on his face. 

“Wait, I'm missing a sock."

"Huh?"

"A sock." He holds up a single black sock with little Batman logos on it. "I should have two."

You stare at him blankly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Did you see a sock drop or something? On the stairs, maybe?"

"Why would I be looking for your socks?" You cross your arms. "I have better things to do with my life than track your Batmans."

"Fuck it," he sighs. "I'm going downstairs again."

"Seriously? For a sock?"

"It's my favorite pair." He's already heading for the door. "Be right back."

And then he's gone, the door closing behind him with a soft click, leaving you standing there next to two baskets of laundry and feeling weirdly... abandoned? 

Which is ridiculous. It's a sock. He'll be back in five minutes. 

Get a grip, bitch.

You stare at the laundry baskets on the table. His and yours, side by side. 

Why did he insist on carrying yours? It's so stupidly... nice. And Jungkook isn't nice. He's arrogant and annoying and makes you want to pull your hair out. He's not supposed to tie your shoes or carry your laundry or play dominoes with old ladies.

It's throwing off your entire understanding of him, and that's irritating as hell.

You hate him. You definitely hate him.

Except that's getting harder to believe by the day.

The sound of a door opening breaks into your thoughts, but it's not the main door—it's Yoongi's room. Huh. Like seeing a bear outside hibernation season.

He shuffles into the kitchen, looking about as close to death as you've ever seen him. His hair is a disaster, sticking up in weird tufts like he’s barely managed to lay down on a horizontal surface. The bags under his eyes have bags. His t-shirt is wrinkled in that "I've been wearing this for days" way, and he's moving with the careful deliberation of someone who hasn't slept in approximately three centuries.

"Working?" you ask, because it seems like the only explanation for this zombie-like state.

"Unfortunately." His voice is rough, like he hasn't used it in hours. Maybe days.

He doesn't elaborate, just heads straight for the coffee maker. 

You don't ask. Not your business. 

Besides, you've got your own shit to worry about—like why you can't stop thinking about Jungkook carrying your laundry, or tying your shoes, or the way his hands moved when he was folding Dona's sheets.

God, you need a lobotomy.

Your gaze drifts around the apartment, trying to focus on literally anything else. It lands on the record collection displayed on the wall next to the TV. There must be at least thirty vinyl albums. You remember when Yeji was over last week, she mentioned them—commented on how eclectic the selection was.

You'd just shrugged and said they were Yoongi's. Because they had to be, right? Music producer, always holed up with headphones... it makes sense.

"Nice collection," you say, nodding toward the wall. 

You're not sure why you say it. Maybe to make conversation. Maybe to confirm your assumption. Maybe because some part of you suspects they're not Yoongi's at all, and you want to know what else you might have missed about Jungkook.

Not that you care about his likes or interests or anything. That would be dangerously close to caring about him as a person, which—ha! Absolutely not.

"Huh?" 

Yoongi turns around lazily, coffeepot in hand. He follows your gaze to the wall of records, and then—he scoffs. Actually scoffs, shaking his head like you've just said something so stupid he can't believe it came out of your mouth.

"Have you even checked them?" he asks, tone dry as the Sahara. "They're mostly Mayer."

You blink.

Mayer? As in John Mayer? As in the songs Jungkook plays on his guitar sometimes?

As in "Slow Dancing in a Burning Room"—the song he played that night in his room when he taunted you through text messages and you were stupid enough to actually walk in?

"They're Jungkook's," Yoongi adds after a beat of silence. "Not mine."

"Oh." The word falls from your lips automatically, small and insignificant, completely inadequate to express the weird reorganization happening in your brain. "But he doesn't have a record player?"

Yoongi just shrugs, pouring coffee into his mug. "Doesn't mean he can't collect them."

You stare at the vinyl collection with new eyes. Each album carefully chosen, meticulously arranged. A physical manifestation of something Jungkook cares about, something he values enough to collect even though he can't listen to them. Yet.

Something unwinds in your chest. A tight, small knot of... what? 

Surprise? 

Interest? 

Whatever it is, you don't like it. Don't want to examine it too closely. Because it feels dangerously like the beginning of seeing Jungkook as a whole person, not just the asshole who happens to be good in bed.

And that's not what this is. That's not what you are.

The door swings open, and there he is—stupid grin on his stupid face, waving a Batman sock in the air like he's just found buried treasure.

"Found it," he announces, triumphant. "It was stuck in the dryer door."

You give him the blankest stare you can muster. "Congratulations. Your sock journey is complete."

His grin just widens, completely unfazed by your sarcasm. "Thanks for the moral support, Phoenix. Couldn't have done it without you."

"I literally did nothing."

"Your energy kept me going."

You roll your eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck in the back of your head. He just laughs, that warm, rich sound that does absolutely nothing to your insides, and starts gathering his laundry.

"Later," you mutter, turning away before he can see the corner of your mouth threatening to twitch upward.

You grab your laundry basket head straight for your room, shutting the door with perhaps more force than necessary.

Safe in your own space, you fish your phone from your pocket—and see three missed calls from the same number. 

Ah. Barnes & Noble. 

Seems like you got the job. Which is good. Great, even.

This is what responsible adults do—get jobs, pay bills, build sensible futures. Not collect vinyl records they can't play or help old ladies with their grocery shopping or carry their roommates' laundry just because.

Normal, practical, boring adult stuff. That's what you're about.

Except now you can't stop thinking about those records on the wall. About what else you might have missed. About who Jungkook actually is when he isn't being an infuriating, cocky asshole. About—

About nothing. Because you don’t care. 

He’s Jungkook. Rogue. The infuriating roommate of yours that leaves towels everywhere and can’t be bothered to clean his own mugs. 

You toss your phone onto your bed and start aggressively pulling laundry from your basket. 

You've got shit to do. Clothes to put away. A job to call back about. A life to live that absolutely does not revolve around wondering why your roommate collects vinyl records or helps old ladies or ties your shoes when they're untied.

It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

(Except that it might. Just a little. And that's the most terrifying thought of all.)

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[bows4tyun]

⛌⛌⛌ MANNERISM ⸝⸝ 강태현

pairing! - tradhusband!taehyun x wife!reader

warnings! - meandom!taehyun, sub!reader, unprotected sex, spanking as punishment, dirty talk, slut shaming, taehyun makes reader beg/apologize, big cock taehyun, taehyun calls reader baby

lexi adds! - requested by my darling @bambiihee (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) also love the coloring of the text bc it looks like yummy neapolitan ice cream :p not proofread!

feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

taehyun watched your every move like a hawk eyeing it’s prey throughout the whole party, watching the way you offered drinks to every guest. you seemed more like a maid than his wife but that’s how taehyun liked it.

he liked to have you well behaved wherever the two of you went, whether it’d be at his office or at your shared home where you were right now, he’d make sure you acted right and were seen as the perfect wife.

taehyun couldn’t deny the pride he felt when they complimented you for being so kind with everything you said and did.

however, this time it wasn’t how taehyun planned it to be.

for starters, even before the guests arrived you were already stirring up trouble. you wore a dress that taehyun completely disapproved of. the dress in question was a black dress of satin material, it looked stunning on you and hugged your curves beautifully. you absolutely loved the dress and taehyun did too but he wasn’t too fond of how short the dress was, it was way high up above your knees, half of your thighs exposed because of the length.

seeing you like this made him believe it was way too provocative for you to take care of the many guests.

with cold censure eyes taehyun spoke firmly, “go change your dress, it’s too short.”

his words left no room for debate or discussion yet you argued back, your tone sweet yet defying of him. “can’t you see the time? the guests will start arriving any minute, there’s no time for me to change.” with your statement, you walked past him and out of the room, which left him to provoke a feeling of anger rise in him the slightest bit.

now his eyes wouldn’t leave your figure, even if you were across the room and he was in the middle of a conversation with a coworker. he observed the way you went up and asked guests if everything was okay. yeah that was sweet of you but it wasn’t until his eyes wandered and he caught one of his strange coworkers purposely drop an empty plastic cup on the floor. out of the kindness of your heart, you bend over to pick it up for the man, accidentally giving him a free show without even realizing it.

taehyun always had a weird feeling about that man. It seemed that at every party that he hosted, he was always finding a way to talk to you or touch you in any shape or form, it pissed taehyun off how the guy couldn’t keep his hands off of his wife.

this made taehyun snap. he excused himself from the conversation and quickly headed over to where you were, handing the guy back his cup. when the guy thanks you with a smirk plastered on his face, taehyun pulls you by your arm, startling you.

angrily, he whispers into your ear, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

with a confused look in your eyes and a small pout of your lips you respond, oblivious of the situation at hand. “w-what do you mean…?”

“you know what I fucking mean. stop acting like a slut” his words are harsh and threatening, his eyes shooting daggers at you.

“I’m sorry…” you apologize, not sure of what you were even apologizing for but you didn’t want to anger taehyun any further.

“good.” he says, calmed down for now. “but don’t think that I’ll let you off the hook that easy, I have something for you after this.”

his grip loosens and he starts walking back as if nothing happened. but this wasn’t without him shooting a death glare at the man who had the nerve to grin at the sight of you. taehyun would deal with him later back at the office.

⸝⸝

when the party is over, you are walking all over the place, making sure you didn’t miss any trash that you were picking up. taehyun was in the bathroom before he came out, in a white tee and gray sweatpants that hung loosely on his bottom half, his hair was damp and messy from the shower he had taken, the complete opposite of how the guests had seen him.

you didn’t see him, too focused on cleaning as he leaned on the doorframe, eyeing how you would bend over to pick up a variety of trash left behind.

just as you’re about to get up, taehyun grips your hips, pressing his erection in the swell of your ass before he began to grind himself against you leisurely.

startled by his bold approach, you grip onto the edge of the nearest thing to you; the armrest of your couch. he grinds even harder than before, emitting a sweet soft whimper from your lips.

“fucking slut…” he mumbles under his breath but still loud enough for you to hear. “this ass is supposed to be mine only, right?” his voice is mellow yet presumptuous as he speaks in a low threatening tone.

you nod in response, knowing how taehyun became when he didn’t get an answer he liked. “a-all yours…” your words were quiet as you spoke, almost inaudible as your eyes were adorned with the small glint of fear.

before you knew it, a loud smack to your ass was heard, causing you to surge forward and grip tighter on the armrest. you whimper helplessly at the burning sting sensation left from the spank.

“louder”

“I’m all yours!”

“better but don’t expect me to soften up.” another smack to your ass. “start counting.”

once again, he spanked you but you know better than to not count the ones from before. “one!”

smack!

“two-!”

“with apologies. I want to hear them nice and clear, baby”

smack!

“three! I’m sorry…!” the stinging feeling seemed to catch up to you as you felt your eyes had a fresh coat of tears, you had to blink them away in order to get your words out without choking on them.

“sorry for what?” the sternness of his voice was minacious in the way he spoke, almost as if he enjoyed the sound of your pain, even just a little tad bit.

“I’m sorry for… being a slut!” your voice was almost filled with a waterfall of tears as you continued to endure your punishment just as you always did, not wanting to disappoint him.

after the words of true penitence have left your lips, you feel the cold evening breeze hit your ass as taehyun lifts your dress, exposing the red marks on your skin from the harsh punishment. he rubs the skin almost in a soothing manner, as if he felt sorry. he knew it wasn’t your fault that dirty bastard wanted to see you in such a vulgar manner yet he took his anger out on you. taehyun wasn’t the type to apologize in words so he wouldn’t be the one to say it.

“I think you deserve some cock for taking your punishment so well, hm?”

⸝⸝

your soft moans and whimpers along with the lewd wet sounds of love filled the room, the strong scent of sex not failing to linger as taehyun rutted his hips into you.

“hmph! s-so good…!” your grip on the sheets tightens as the tip of taehyun’s cock kissed your sweet spot with such affection, his way of apologizing for his actions.

“yeah? you’re taking it so well, fuck” more squelches of wet pleasure echoed throughout the house, your grip on his cock tightening as you squeezed him like a vice, milking his cock. taehyun hissed at the feeling, throwing his head back in ecstasy and his eyes closed shut.

he continued to smack your ass although softer than before. taehyun obviously didn’t want you to forget who was in charge here.

taehyun huffed out in immense pleasure, knowing that he was very close to release. his hips didn’t take a break, they quickened and so did your sounds of contentment. your knuckles had gone white from how tight your grip on the expensive duvet sheets but, who could blame you when taehyun’s thick cock was plowing into you as if his life depended on it? his brows furrowed as he focused on release.

“you want my cum?” he asked, not slowing down the pace of his thrusts in any way.

“yes! give it to me…!”

“you’ll have to beg for it, baby. life isn’t easy like that”

with no other choice and the only way to get the satisfaction you desperately needed, you begged. “please! taehyun give me your cum, fill me up! I need to so badly!”

“so badly, hm? okay baby, I’ll give it to you but only because you begged so nicely.” a smirk crawls to taehyun’s lips when he says this and he sees you look over your shoulder to meet your gaze with his, pleading eyes shimmering with delight as you continued to take his rough hard thrusts.

in a matter of seconds, you’re cumming on his cock, gushing over him and clenching around him oh so tight, it drove taehyun crazy.

taehyun is now determined to finish inside of you. he doesn’t even need to try. the sounds of your moans were like music to his ears as he looked down to gaze at where the both of you connected, such a beautiful sight to him.

an overly powerful thrust was all that was needed for his cum to fill you up, painting your insides completely white. now both of you are left panting to recover from your climaxes.

taehyun lets out a small hum of satisfaction, giving your ass one last small slap before pulling out and watching his cum escape and ooze out of your hole, dripping onto the newly cleaned floor. his strong arms turn your around and he pulls you into a affectionate embrace, kissing your forehead gently and brushing your hair away from your face. he lifts your chin up with a singular finger, his fierce eyes meeting yours.

“don’t let it happen again, okay?”

“I promise it won’t…”

his hands come to rest on your hips, his thumbs rubbing loving circles on your soft skin before he kisses you once more.

“I trust you to keep that promise, baby.”

taglist! - @hyunj00 @lovingbeomgyudayone @bambiihee @saejinniestar @beomgyusluver (pls lmk if you want to be added!)

[bloatedandalone04]

Tramp Next Door

➪the one where you and bradley decide to really give your cranky next door neighbor something to complain about.

Warnings: smut, smut, and more smut, mentions of anal - WOW I DID THAT, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (not really?), handjob, cum play/eating - I DID THAT TOO, filthy talk, just the dirtiest dialogue ever written on this blog, bitchy old neighbor, public sex kink?, voyeurism (kinda, not really)

Word Count: 2.6k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

You were a bit…sore from yours and Bradley’s eventful night last night. 

After months of saying you wanted to try it, you finally did. 

When you told him you were ready for him to take your second virginity, aka let him fuck your ass, he was beyond excited. He spent a good hour prepping you and doting on you like the perfect husband he is, and then when the time for penetration came, it only hurt a bit. And only for a few seconds, because he was so careful the whole time leading up to it, so of course he was careful during it, too.

With that being said, you were really feeling it the next morning when you woke up with a soft groan. You were still protectively wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, and you melted when you turned and saw his peaceful face. His eyes were still closed, his expression relaxed and stress free as he slept, and you leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips, careful not to wake him up. 

After you slowly and quietly untangled your body from his, you hobbled your way over to his flannel and covered your body with it. You threw on a pair of panties to go with the oversized shirt before making your way to the kitchen, where you debated sitting on an ice pack for a bit before beginning to make breakfast. 

You made bacon, french toast and muffins while your husband slept in, surely exhausted after last night, and you decided to eat on the back patio that overlooked the city. 

It had been almost forty minutes since you woke up when Bradley finally emerged from the bedroom, a tired yet happy grin on his stupidly handsome face as he stepped through the sliding door and joined you on the patio. “Good morning,” you grin and hand him a mug that says ‘I like her…’ with an outline of a cat next to it. 

He smirked back at you as you sipped from your own mug that read ‘I like his…’ with a literal rooster outline next to it. You had to buy the mug set the second you saw them, because come on. “Morning, baby,” he said back as he sat down on the bench at the table, his left hand patting his bare thigh for you to sit. “What made you decide to get up early and spoil me?”

You shrugged, moving to sit down on his lap. You winced a bit as you draped your arm around his shoulders, your eyes raking down his bare chest. “Just wanted to do something nice for my hubby,” you answered as you sipped your coffee before leaning down to kiss behind his ear. “And to thank you for being so gentle with me last night.” 

Bradley grinned up at you, “Of course, baby, but you don’t need to thank me for that. If you saw what I did last night…” he trailed off and brought his hand up to his mouth to bite down on his knuckles. You blushed and rolled your eyes as he laughed and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Trust me, babe, I’ll never forget how amazing you were last night, or how tight you were. That’s burned into my mind forever.”

Your blush deepened as you took another sip before setting the mug down onto the table. “I love you so much,” you mumbled as you leaned down to kiss him softly. “You’re my forever, baby.”

He smiled and pressed another kiss to your lips as his hand bunched up his shirt on your hip. “Forever and always, babe,” he murmured, looking up at you with nothing but love and desire in his eyes. 

You smile, reaching over to grab a muffin and pull it apart. You feed him a few pieces of it, laughing quietly as you brush the crumbs away from his mustache. “God, you’re a pig,”

Bradley hums in agreement, nipping at your fingers as they brush against his lips. “You married me,” he simply said and you huffed because he was right. At your silence, he grinned before setting his coffee down and running his hand up your bare thigh. “How are you feeling? Sore?”

You nod as his fingers brushed along the curve of your ass, his touch soft and perfect like always. “A little. But in a good way,” you grin. “In a really good way.”

He smirked, lightly patting you before moving his hand back down to squeeze your knee. “Good,” he rasped. “You spoil me, first with last night and now with this.” He gestured to the table and food, and you shrug again. 

“I love spoiling you,” 

Bradley smiled, trailing his fingers up and down your thigh absentmindedly. “Life would be so boring without you constantly keeping me grounded,” he murmured, leaning back against the bench that came with the table set. “Especially with how wild you make me in bed.”

You laugh quietly. “Well, you did propose to me in the middle of fucking a few years ago,” 

His eyes squinted at the memory, a teasing smile on his lips. “Ah yes, I’m a sucker for timing, huh?” He mumbled, sliding his hand under your thigh and pulling you more onto his lap. “Speaking of which, maybe we should take this inside and pick up where we left off last night.”

The suggestive tone in his voice had you blushing a bit and leaning in to gently bite down on his ear. “What’s wrong with right here? Scared our neighbors might see us fucking on our own property?”

He groaned softly, leaning back even more as he shook his head. “No…actually, there’s something about being out in the open that makes it feel even hotter,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t it be so hot if people saw how much we crave each other? Maybe it would even help spice up their boring lives.”

You hum, reaching down to palm him through his boxer briefs. “Definitely. Especially the old hag next door,” you whisper, reaching your hand past the waistline and beginning to stroke his semi hard cock. “Poor old bat. Probably been decades since she had a dick in her.”

Bradley groaned, twitching in your hand. “Yeah, probably,” he grunted, instinctively pushing up against your hand. “But hey, if she wants to live vicariously through us, who are we to stop her?”

You lift your hand and spit onto it before reaching back down and stroking him again, your thumb brushing against his tip as you kiss along his neck. “Remember that time she called me a tramp just for wearing shorts?”

His laugh is cut short as he sharply inhales when your fingers wrap around his cock. “Yeah, good ol’ Mrs. Whatman, always judging us for simply breathing. If she thought those shorts were scandalous, wait until she sees you riding my cock in broad daylight,” he teased, but he was also dead serious. “But seriously, what a miserable woman, huh? Thinking she has a say in what my wife can wear on her own property.”

You moan at his protectiveness over you, and you kiss along his throat as you give him a firm squeeze. “She hates us so much,” you purr. “She can’t stand the hot couple next door who fuck all night.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if she spent less time judging and spying on us and more time getting herself laid, she wouldn’t be so bitter all the time,” he muttered, pulling you so you’re properly straddling his lap. “And yeah, we fuck all night because every single time it feels like the first. Like last night, when I finally took your perfect ass.” 

His hands fumbled with the buttons on his flannel as he pushed the fabric aside and down your shoulders, the sleeves pooling at your elbows as he exposes your breasts to the sunlight. 

It felt a bit intimidating, but God if it didn’t also feel so damn exciting.

“Fuck, maybe tomorrow I’ll take you out into the front yard just for fun,” he thought out loud as his hands came up to grope your tits, his thumbs brushing against your nipples. “Let her hate all she wants. We’ve got each other and that’s all we need, babe.” His wedding band slid against your peak, the cool metal making you shudder as you push down his boxers and free him. 

Talking shit about your annoying neighbors with your husband was one of your favorite pastimes, especially since he had also been on the receiving end of one of her degrading rants. His was when he had music playing on his phone while he worked out in the backyard, and Whatman didn’t like that at all, despite it literally playing on his phone and not an actual speaker. 

So, justifiably, both you and Bradley couldn’t stand the woman who lived next to you. 

Your panties were beyond soaked at this point, your breakfast long forgotten as he reaches in between your bodies and pushes the damp fabric to the side before slipping one long, thick finger inside you. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,”

“I’m always wet for you,” came your whiny response, slowly riding his fingers as he slipped another one in. “Always ready for you.”

“Yeah you are,” he rasped, removing his fingers before taking his cock in his hand and guiding it towards your pussy. “Wanna see you ride me, baby. Give the broad another reason to hate the hottest couple in town.”

You moaned softly, then loudly when he guided himself inside your wet walls. “Fuck, baby,” you gasped, gripping his shoulders as you slowly began riding him. In the sunlight, your engagement ring - the one he bought the day after proposing because, again, he proposed in the middle of sex - shone brightly and casted translucent shapes onto his heated skin. 

Bradley looked hot as hell, his head tipped back and his hands tight on your waist as he guided the slow rolls of your hips. “Just like that, baby,” he grunted, “Ride me. Use my cock however you want.”

His words, the filthy things they were, made you even more wet, if that was even possible at this point. 

Even though you were nearly fully exposed, you didn’t feel shy or nervous at all. Any of your neighbors on either side of you could simply glance over and see you riding your husband’s dick before it was even twelve in the afternoon, but you didn’t care. In fact, it just turned you on more. 

You moan loudly and brace your hand on his scarred shoulder before lifting yourself up and dropping back down, setting a deep and achingly delicious pace as the sun burns down on you. “Feels so good, baby,” you whined, “Love your cock so much.”

Bradley groaned, “Fuck yeah, you do,” he muttered, already sounding a bit breathless as he gently gripped your ass so he didn’t make it more sore, and his concern for you was nearly too much sometimes. You were so lucky. “You love how good we fit together, huh, babe? Just like that…take it all.”

His hands grab your waist as he helps guide your movements, his hips pushing your thighs further apart so he could watch himself disappear inside you. “Oh, my God,” you gasped, closing your eyes as his thumb came down to rub against your pulsing clit. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Bradley groaned, lifting his gaze to your pretty face. “I love you, too, baby,” he mumbled as he fucked up into your sopping heat. “You feel that? Feel how much I love you? How much I need you?” 

He was panting now, sweat dripping down his forehead as your bodies came together in a faint slapping sound, and fuck you wanted your neighbor to see you now. See how much of a tramp you really were for your husband. 

You moan and lean in to kiss away the bead of sweat, and he groaned even louder. “We were made for each other,” you state as you ride him a bit faster. 

“Yeah, we were, babe,” he agreed as he throbbed inside of you. His hands hold you firmly in place as he takes it upon himself to rock up into you. “Fuck yes. Show everyone how perfect we fit together, how much we love each other.”

You cling to his shoulders as you let him fuck you the way he wanted, closing your eyes at the feeling of him. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop, baby,” 

He hissed softly when you dug your nails into his skin. “I’m not going to, not until you’re coming for me. Not until you’re creaming all over me,” he rasped, bracing his feet against the woven rug that went with the patio set. He leans back and lifts you higher, using the new angle to thrust deeper inside you. “Look at me, baby. Watch me.”

You open your eyes a bit, watching the way his brow furrowed and his teeth sunk into his lip as he guided your body on top of his. Your toes curled as you started to shake, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. You weren’t even sure if you had an audience right now, too mesmerized by Bradley’s handsome features to look around and check. 

“Look at you shaking,” he mocked, but there was a hint of pride in his deep voice. His thumb finds its way back to your clit, and he rubs it in time with his thrusts. “Come for me, babe. Show me how much you love being fucked by your husband.”

You moaned loudly, pulling on his messy hair he didn’t brush after waking up. “I love it,” you gasped, shaking harder as you felt yourself tighten even more. A second later you were coming hard, soaking his cock and abs as you whimpered. “Fuck, fuck. Don’t stop. Keep going until you’re filling me up.”

“That’s it…come all over my dick, pretty girl,” he grunted, more so to himself as he watched the way your arousal pooled at his base. His thrusts became more frantic as he held you tighter. “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so close.”

You moaned, licking along his neck and shoulders as you let him continue to pound your abused pussy.

“Oh, God, baby, that’s it,” he repeated,  fucking into you as he felt that knot inside him snap. He shudders as he fills you with his come, emptying everything he had as he weakly continued to thrust his hips. “There you go…take it all, baby.”

A content hum left your lips as you slowly rolled your body until he slumped back against the seat. You grin, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. “I love you,”

Bradley was still trying to catch his breath as he looked over your shoulder just in time to see Mrs. Whatman shut the blinds in her living room. “Yeah,” he grunted proudly, reaching out to guide his flannel back up your body to cover you again. “I love you, too.”

He gently lifted you off him and groaned as he saw the white ropes drip out of you and land on his thigh. “Well,” you murmur, reaching down to run your fingers through it. “Since breakfast got interrupted.” You grin before stuffing your fingers into your mouth. 

Bradley groaned and shoved himself back into his boxers. “Christ, you’re going to kill me one day,” he muttered as you dipped your fingers in his mess again, but he reached up and grabbed your wrist when you went to lick it once more, and he took your fingers into his own mouth and cleaned himself from your skin. “Damn, we taste good.”

“We’re perfect,” you grin and turn on his lap so you’re facing the table again, picking up the muffin you’d been feeding him before things escalated. “Now, where were we?”

[ladyloveroll]

(These are my ACTUAL notes from my friends birthday party full of people who absolutely did not know who the fuck Itachi and Kisame were or how pairing names work or what a ship is.)

Writing kisaita (on and off) for 15 years

Never get tired of the ship

Excellent, friendly people in the fandom to keep making content (Cynni)

Presentation is less about the specific ship and more about the general qualities that make their ship S-tier. You may find this echoed in your own OTP, IDK.

Powerful, badass characters who can kick anyones asses no problem, as depicted where they are casually taking a stroll after Kisame (who still has his little fo-hawk) casually takes down the four-tails

Kisame is noted as the ‘tail-less jinchuuriki’

Itachi is clearly a fucking powerhouse, we don’t need to debate that

Working with strong characters means you are more easily able to portray their weakness and explore that side of them since that rarely gets screentime

Auxiliary, not main characters

Main characters are harder to write because they spend a lot of screen time accomplishing their goal and doing Plot

Auxiliary characters are more malleable, and morally gray ones especially so

Depicted here are Itachi and Kisame, separately, being ordered by their villages to kill their own people. They carry this order out, but do not particularly like it. Nor are they particularly loyal to their own villages, despite carrying this order out. It’s hard to say where their loyalities lie.

The answer is WITH EACH OTHER OBVIOUSLY

Any ship that has a timeskip has LOADS of canon-verse material you can work with, especially if it feels like the characters have changed or their dynamic has changed.

For Naruto especially, WTF are Kisame and Itachi doing for three years? Clearly neither of them are out capturing jinchuriki. They aren’t seen lounging around Amegakure or Akatsuki headquarters. They are just traveling the world. Probably doing hits. Probably hitting on EACH OTHER WOOOOOO

Long time skips mean a few thing: 1) Canon divergence, 2) Canon compliant, 3) pre-time skip, 4) during time skip, 5) post time-skip; and that’s not even the AU’s

They clearly haven’t made any other friends during this time either so lots of relationship to explore

The Naruto franchise is notorious for retconning. Probably because Kishimoto (the writer) was pushed to create at a pace that was impossible for any sane or healthy man to keep up with.

Fanficition writers can take advantage of this poor writing by interpreting the character in a lot more ways than if the character was solidly written.

There are a lot of different ways Kisame is written, and accepted as so

Itachi less so but we don’t have time for that

Retconning allows you to take a writers mistake and turn it into utter brainrot that ten other people (me) will reblog every 3 years

This one is kind of specific, but if you like angst then OH BOY this ship has a lot of potential for it

Any OTP that involves an angsty edgelord and a sadistic tagalong can indulge in either EXTRA ANGST and be able to balance out the angst with humor

The KisaIta ship has 4 great themes about it:

Redemption

Acceptance

Forgiveness

And Existentialism of course

Dynamic:

Sharkboy / lava girl

Edgelord / goof

Leader / follower

Maybe old? / a touch too young

Respect for each other

S-tier OTP because of strong themes and repeatable dynamics

Kinkfest here we come

S-tier OTPs must be able to withstand an intense variety of smut writing

Powerful level = able to handle pain and dish out pain

Body things? = more positions

The Shape of Water was one of the single best thing to happen to the KisaIta 18+ fics because (even though it existed before the movie came out) a lot more readers were into it now

Also, Kisame makes this ship work more than Itachi. He is fucking DEVOTED

at this point I was running out of my 10-minutes (THEY HAD THE AUDACITY TO PUT ME ON A TIMER) so i just backfilled the rest of the presentation with fanart and memes i like

Why do I like KisaIta?

I mostly write smut

They’re great at smut

I also like angst

They’re always great for angst, either character

Also look at them they are hot AF

Beefcake service-top vs. ‘shaped like a katana’ masochist

Healthy dose of hurt-comfort

They’re extremely flexible to write and so there’s a lot of stories you can create

thank you for not reporting me to the powerpoint police

[tastelikeglttrr]

excuse me, um, i love you {8}

ian smith x influencer! reader

authors note: korie posting back to back!? i know this is cray cray divas. i literally worked on this in the car otw to and from the dentist so like fuck it why not post it. im milking that restaurant scene so bad divas im so sorry lmfao but please if you have any ideas lmk!!! liking and reblogging helps a ton!

warnings: cursing, very descriptive kiss ig?

word count: 1,676

The tension is unbearable, thick like the air before a storm. Ian sits there, perfectly composed, like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows exactly what’s going to happen next and is just waiting for you to catch up.

It pisses you off.

You grab your drink, taking a slow sip just to give yourself something to do. “You’re really not gonna say anything else?”

Ian shrugs. “Not if you already know the answers.”

Your fingers tighten around the glass. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Ian smirks like he takes that as a compliment.

You exhale sharply, pushing away from the table. “You know what? Fuck it.” You slide out of the booth, grabbing your bag as you stand. “I don’t even know why I came.” Ian watches you, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t stop you.

That only pisses you off more.

You turn on your heel and storm toward the exit, ignoring the way your chest feels tight, the way your skin burns under his gaze. You shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t have let him drag you across the country just to sit there and act like he didn’t give a fuck.

The cold air hits you the second you step outside, sharp against your skin. You don’t stop walking. Not until you hear footsteps behind you.

Ian.

You roll your eyes, picking up your pace. “Please leave me alone.”

He doesn’t. “Where the fuck are you even going?”

authors interjection: that line was killing me as i was writing omfg 😭 ok proceed lmfaoo

You keep walking. “I don't know, but i really dont wanna be here ”

A beat of silence, then....“You’re being dramatic.”

That makes you stop. You spin around, heart pounding. “I’m being dramatic?”

“Yeah. You are.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Right. Because me being mad that you flew me out here just to sit in silence is so unreasonable.”

Ian exhales through his nose, stepping closer. “You’re mad because I didn’t chase you the second you walked away.”

Your pulse kicks up, but you keep your expression hard. “I shouldn’t have had to walk away in the first place.”

He tilts his head slightly. “You done?”

You glare at him, your breath unsteady. “Bitch? No!”

also laughed really hard while writing this.

Ian just watches you, waiting.

You exhale sharply, shifting your weight. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to act like you don’t care after everything.”

His jaw tightens just slightly. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, Ian,” you snap. “Maybe start with why the fuck I’m here?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you, like he’s debating how much to give you.

Then, finally—

“I missed you.”

The words hit harder than you expect. Your stomach twists, your arms wrapping around yourself like you can physically keep them out. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

Ian exhales, stepping closer. “I didn’t know how else to get you here.”

You blink. “What?”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking off to the side for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “I posted that picture on purpose.”

Your breath catches.

Ian tilts his head. “You wouldn’t have come if I just asked.”

You shake your head, trying to make sense of it. “So you. what? Tried to piss me off?”

His lips twitch, like he’s amused but knows better than to show it. “Worked, didn't it?”

i honestly wouldve crashed out wtf do you mean!?

Your jaw tightens as you glare at him, arms still crossed over your chest like that’ll somehow keep you steady. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

Ian doesn’t flinch. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s enjoying this. “Never said I wasn’t.”

You exhale sharply, turning away before you fall under his gaze. “I can’t believe I got on a plane for this.”

Ian moves then, stepping into your space before you can walk off again. “Then don’t waste the trip.”

Your head snaps back toward him. “Excuse me?”

He’s close now. Not enough to touch, but enough that you feel the heat of him, enough that your body betrays you. “Come back with me.”

You blink. “What?”

Ian tilts his head toward the street, toward where his car is waiting. “Come to mine.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “You think I want to be alone with you right now?”

His gaze flickers to your lips for a fraction of a second before he meets your eyes again. “Yeah.”

Your stomach flips, but you force yourself to roll your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Ian smirks like that’s the best thing he’s heard all night. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You hate that he’s right. Hate that even with how mad you are, you don’t actually want to leave.

Ian watches you for a moment, then sighs, his smirk fading just slightly. “Come on,” he says, voice quieter. “We don’t have to do this out here.”

The fight in you is still burning, but the cold is starting to creep in, and the way he’s looking at you—like he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t care—makes you waver.

Finally, you exhale, dropping your arms. “Fine.”

Ian’s brows lift slightly, like he didn’t actually expect you to agree. Then, with the ghost of a smirk, he steps back, gesturing toward the car.

The car ride is suffocatingly silent.

Ian drives with one hand on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road like he doesn’t notice the way you’re angled toward the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. Like he doesn’t feel the tension pressing down on both of you, thick and unrelenting.

But of course, he notices.

“You’re really doing this?” His voice is low, calm in that infuriating way that makes you want to snap.

You don’t answer.

Ian exhales, shifting slightly in his seat. “You’re mad.”

Still, you stay silent.

He hums, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Alright.”

That’s it. No coaxing, no trying to pull a reaction out of you. Just alright.

You dig your nails into your palms, your irritation bubbling over. If he wants to act unbothered, fine. You can do the same.

The rest of the drive stretches out in silence, only the low hum of the car filling the space between you. When he finally pulls up to his building, he puts the car in park but doesn’t make a move to get out.

Instead, he turns his head slightly, looking at you through the dim interior. “You done?”

You grip the door handle but don’t move. “Done with what?”

Ian smirks, slow and knowing. “Ignoring me.”

You clench your jaw, pushing the door open without responding. If he thinks he can pull you back in with that smug I know you better than you think act, he’s dead wrong.

Ian doesn’t chase you. He follows, slow and steady, like he has all the time in the world.

The air is thick with tension by the time you step into Ian’s apartment—a sleek, minimal space with dim lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. You barely take it in, your anger still simmering under your skin.

Ian shuts the door behind you, tossing his keys onto the counter like he hasn’t just dragged you across the country for this. You don’t say a word.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really gonna give me the silent treatment?”

You ignore him, walking deeper into the apartment, your arms crossed so tight it almost hurts.

Ian watches you from where he stands, his head tilting slightly. “You know that’s not gonna work on me.”

Still, you don’t respond.

A beat of silence. Then—

“I told you why you’re here.” His voice is calmer now, quieter.

You finally look at him, eyes sharp. Then, slowly, you shake your head.

“No, you didn’t.”

Ian exhales through his nose, stepping toward you. You don’t back away, but you don’t break your silence either. His lips press together, jaw tightening as he closes the space between you.

He stops just in front of you, his voice low. “You’re really this mad at me?”

You lift your chin slightly, holding his gaze.

Ian’s eyes flicker over your face, like he’s searching for a crack in the wall you’ve built between you. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but knows better than to push right now.

The silence stretches. The weight of everything between you presses down, thick and heavy.

Then, without another word, Ian moves.

His hands find your waist, his grip firm but not forceful, and before you can think—before you can decide if you even want to resist—his lips crash against yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate, a collision of frustration and everything unspoken. Your fingers tighten in his tee before you even realize you’ve grabbed him, pulling him closer like you’re trying to prove something.

Ian groans into your mouth, deep and low, his hands gripping you tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold you in place. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and your breath stutters, but you don’t pull away.

You should.

You don’t.

Instead, you kiss him harder, letting the weight of your anger, your confusion, your want spill into it.

Ian backs you up against the counter without breaking the kiss, his body pressed against yours, his fingers digging into your hips like he can’t get enough. One hand moves to cup your jaw, tilting your head up as he deepens the kiss, as if he needs you to feel exactly how much he meant it when he said he missed you.

And god, you do.

Your silence is long gone now, lost between the way his mouth moves against yours and the way his hands refuse to let you go.

But just when the heat starts to take over, when you can feel yourself starting to give in,

Ian pulls back, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours.

“I’m not gonna rush you,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I swear.” His thumb brushes against your cheek, gentle despite the way his pulse is racing. “But just be here with me.”

someone cooked here

someone = me

cooked = burgers

xoxo - korie

[venuslcver]

HIGH BY THE BEACH ⋆

pairing: boyfriend!pope x carefreekook!reader

synopsis: your boyfriend, pope, and you had been together for a while when he changes his mind about not going to college.

tw: fluff, implied sex, profanity (no use of y/n)

any type of interaction including likes, comments, and reblogs is appreciated! but ultimately not necessary. let me know if im missing any warnings!

“ok, baby! which one should i wear? this one or thissss one?” you questioned pope, holding two of your swimsuits in a display manner. one was a lilac-colored string bikini, the other being a cheeky, polka-dot one-piece.

you could never make a final decision for the life of you, only leaving it up to pope for his opinion. though, pope had known you long enough to know, whichever item you tend to show last was the option you had in mind. hell — most of the time you don’t even know that you prefer one option more than the others.

you wanted to wear the left one, pope concluded. no matter if it was clothing, makeup, nail color, or decor-related. not actually having input into the choices, he usually would just coax the answer out of you. it made it easier on him, besides he didn't give a fuck what you wore, because well... he would still find you beautiful dressed as the grinch. which you did a couple halloweens previously.

“uh… i don’t know — which one is more comfortable?” he asked, putting you on the spot, hoping to get an honest answer out of you.

clicking your tongue to the roof of your mouth in deep thought — lifting each and inspecting it. trying to remember if it was uncomfortable or not the last time you wore it.

“well i… mean. huh. why is this so hard?” you said truly debating both options. making your final answer, “i would probably go with the right one being more comfortable”

“probably… and i’m just sayin’ this as a thought…maybe it’s hard because you have too many swimsuits”

letting out an obnoxiously high-pitched scoff, you halted your attention from the bathing suit debacle to pope, who was leisurely laid back on your rope hammock swing that you had in your room. you never took kindly to anyone, including pope, criticizing your inability to get rid of things, especially your bathing suits.

“firstly, i don’t have too many swimsuits, and one could never have too many of them. secondly, even if i did — how could that possibly affect my ability to pick a swimsuit?”

awkwardly looking at you, pope reluctantly replied, “you can’t keep up with all of them, making you not even remember the last time you wore them… and the last time you chose the right one, you were complain’n the entire time”

ignoring his truthful statement altogether, you thought for a moment. he was right. the previous time, you ended up bitch’n the whole time about having to hold the straps of the one piece to avoid flashing innocent bystanders on the beach. which was the worst, considering the excitement that you experienced when in the water. flailing around without a care in the world.

a light switched when you came to this realization, noticing that you were rather harsh with your poor boyfriend, who did not deserve that in the slightest.

“oh my god! you are right!”, you said squealing, right into hugging pope’s sitting body.

taking his face into your hands, before hugging him again, “i’m so sorry baby! you know i didn’t mean that, right?”

staying firm in the hug, while he pulled himself out of the hammock, “yeah, yeah i know you didn’t mean it.”, pope said brushing your rudeness off. you and him rarely argued, and if you did, you were talking within the next half hour, easily.

looking up at him with doe eyes, and an innocent cast appearing on your profile. an all-knowing look that pope was very familiar with. one of the ways that pope and you were able to get over any kind of tiff was by admitting to being wrong and taking the proper steps to apologize.

for example, this one time pope got all panicked at the future and started freaking the fuck out. which led him to harboring that he was in the wrong and mishandled the situation at hand. before slipping his hand into you. well... two fingers but either way! pope was giving in that way, regularly lending a helping hand to you when in need. it wasn't an obligation as much as a want. you and pope were alike in that way. always willing to put others first.

"c-can i make it up to you?"

sooner than later making it to the intended place of hanging out, the local beach on the outer banks. looking into the surrounding area in your eyesight, the beach was practically empty. a lot of spring-breakers had vacated the week before. having access to almost a completely bare beach.

you helped pope set up on the beach, before laying horizontally on his vertically propped-up body.

pressing a kiss on the crown of your head, that was in his lap. when he did the leaning down motion, you pushed the pineapple in your hand, to his lips. silently urging him to take a bite. to which he did.

immediately snickering when it ran down his face, halting laughter when it dripped onto yours. lucky that the acidic fruit juices didn't collect in your eyes. either way, pope was quick to wipe it off your face.

oftentimes, pope and you were silent when hanging out. you wouldn't per say it was a con, because it was due to being around each other every second, when not at work. though, when pope's dad, heyward, was short-staffed, you would offer a lending hand. taking a couple shifts, with pope. even, visiting each other at work.

along with packing an array of fruits to snack on, you also brought a weed. one of the conversations you had meant to bring up was the future.

pope was wicked smart, at least, school-wise. his choice of friends was questionable. and as much as you love your shared friends— they tend to be dumbasses. pulling pope down to their level. to which, a couple foul decisions led pope to not attend college— as he previously intended.

one late night, he admitted that he felt like "all the work he put in was sliding down the drain". which riddled you with resentment towards your friends. not that you cared what pope did. only that he was happy— which he wasn't at all for a passing time.

"pope? can i ask you something?"

"yeah— what's up?"

"d-do you have any idea what you want?"

"what i want?", pope asked, not understanding the question at hand.

"want for the future?"

looking at you bewildered, pope had no idea where the loaded question came from.

"uh — besides being with you, i have no clue.", a tinge of sadness rolled off his tongue.

grinning at his, rather, romantic proclamation, "o-ok, well, um i was expecting a little bit more of an answer, b-but that works for me"

"i-i'm worried... like really worried", he admitted.

coming off your high, out of your own fantasy land— that was induced by his heartfelt statement, "why?!"

still supporting his weight with one arm, he took the other and rubbed his face, "why shouldn't i be? i-i mean i was going to go to college, b-but now I'm just working at my dad's restaurant"

pope tended to self-destruct when his fears kicked in, sending him into overdrive. sitting up, looking at him directly in the face, "h-hey don't say that! one, you know that your dad would not keep you unless you were working your ass off! you're like the smartest person i know, out of anyone in outer banks, or hell, anywhere! a-and we'll figure it out."

set on helping understand that he and you would be good, you pulled a small baggie out of your beach bag, "ok?"

"o-okay"

"now, let's get high. and forget about everything, ever."

although he wasn't completely sure, he knew that you would stay by him, meaning he would be completely fine. if the world ended that day, he wouldn't have cared as long as he had you. well, and he would prefer if he had the other pogues and his parents.

[the-most-humble-blog]

🛐 WANT A MAN WHO ACTUALLY LIKES YOU? READ THIS BEFORE YOU GET GHOSTED.

Ladies, do what you want — but if you're lucky enough to land a man you actually like? This is your glass ceiling obliterator checklist.

Because with men? It’s not vibes. It’s respect.

Let’s break this down into battlefield reality:

✅ STEP ONE: SHOW. UP.

No flaking. No ghosting. No “omg I forgot 😘.”

Unless Thanos himself had you in a headlock, begging for the soul gem in a last-ditch effort to avoid throwing his green murder-daughter off a cliff —

You better be at the damn coffee shop.

Men read effort like women read tone. If he smells flake? You’re done. Worse: You’re archived in the “fuck but never marry” folder. And you won’t even know it.

✅ STEP TWO: GIVE HIM THE ONE THING HE CRAVES MORE THAN SEX

No, not your OnlyFans link.

Respect. That means:

Make eye contact.

Don’t interrupt him.

Don’t speak to him like he’s your little brother who ate the last cupcake.

If he detects even a whiff of feminist TikTok brainrot — You’re done. Silent deletion. No appeal.

✅ STEP THREE: ACTUALLY ENGAGE (STOP SENDING DRY TEXTS)

Men do not like tension. They like clarity. The whole "men like a chase" thing? Straight from the same people who sell astrology-based therapy services.

Be engaged. Be warm. Be visibly interested in what he’s saying. That’s how the chemical lock clicks.

✅ STEP FOUR: TALK — BUT NOT LIKE A PSYCHOTIC TWEET

Speak in three full sentences minimum. No, this isn’t elementary school. It’s neurological pacing.

Gauge his ratio. If he hasn’t said more than five words in ten minutes? Pause. Reset.

Blame it on the alcohol. Or your period. Say, “Sorry, I’m talking too much.” Then ask him a real question.

No harm. No foul. Just reset the damn rhythm.

✅ STEP FIVE: BE PLEASANT (YES, IT STILL MATTERS)

Being pleasant isn’t submission. It’s social intelligence.

Smile when appropriate

Laugh if he’s funny

Self-deprecate if you catch yourself being a little too “main character”

Show real-time awareness of your energy

This earns more respect than any TED Talk ever will.

💥 QUICK CHEAT SHEET

SHOW UP – unless Thanos had you in a chokehold, get to the damn date

RESPECT HIM – no TikTok feminism voice, no snark, no fake equality jargon

ENGAGE – men like certainty, not games

SPEAK IN SENTENCES – minimum three per exchange, and let him speak too

BE PLEASANT – act like someone worth protecting, not correcting

FIX YOURSELF IN REAL TIME – no shame in calling your own foul

STAY IN RHYTHM – dating is a cadence, not a debate

🧠 TL;DR

He doesn’t want your résumé. He wants to know if you’re:

Grounded

Respectful

Interested

And capable of holding a conversation without making it about gender power dynamics.

You want a man who’d protect you with his life? Then act like a woman worth bleeding for.

💣 CALL TO ACTION

🔁 Reblog this if you’re tired of “dating advice” that gets you ghosted 🧠 Save if you’re ready to actually connect ⚔️ Send to your bestie who keeps “texting like a villain” 🛐 Bookmark this before another good man escapes your DMs forever

⚖️ LEGAL DISCLAIMER: This post is Blacksite Literature™, real-world dating cadencing, masculine reverence psychology, and tactical engagement survival strategy protected under artistic commentary doctrine.

If you’re offended: That’s not feminism. That’s ego reacting to truth.

🛐

[booliuu]

What if like Helen with an s/o that was bullies for having like a masculine upbringing or like a male name, kinda like his situation but with the opposite gender

Idrk, it might be too confusing soz

ohh interesting! i hope what i wrote is what your looking for anon :]]

ꪆৎ 𝙰/𝙽 : HEEEYYY IM BACK FROM THE DEAD! oh my gosh.. how long has it beeen since i last posted lol. literally last month or smth im so sorry guys 😭😭. college and life has been really hectic so im sorry for no posting in such a long time . my inbox is still open , its just going to take a while for answer them . sorry guys :( . It’s a little rushed so sorry about that. I’m so tired from work bro

my inbox is open for asks & requests!! if you like my content don’t forget to like , comment , & reblog. enjoy reading! ❤️

— edit: this is not pre read! had to write in this in a rush so i apologize if there is any grammar or spelling mistakes!😰

🩸. . . in my opinion, i think he’s in a bit of a state of shock and experiencing mix emotions because there is someone in the same “place” as he is. ( ik that’s a bit of a stretch since he doesn’t necessarily feel emotion like we do 😬 but lemme cook-)

🩸. . . what i’m saying is that, he doesn’t feel as lonely as before. lowkey kind of envy’s you a liiittle bit because you have something that he wants. if that makes sense…

🩸. . . since he has a shy aloof nature to him, it will would be awhile for him to start hanging out with you. (even start talking to you to be completely honest with you anon.)

🩸. . . this is off topic but i just want add this here. .

🩸. . . the reason why he is so reserved is because not only his parents didn’t really have the greatest communication style per say …

🩸. . . they sheltered him a lot in his youth. so majority of time he’s only talking to his parents. if he questions about this “rule” they always brush it off with some bs excuses like , “oh i’m just protective” or even teaching him stranger danger.

🩸. . . but in reality, his parents ..mostly his mom 💀 his dad was barely in the picture.. still had the mindset of having a boy instead of a girl, so they all keep him out of society in fear of people will “change” him from the way they think is right. of course their actions has consequences. .

🩸. . . his mom is a delusional mess to be frank. a fucking psycho tbh . if she see him talking to someone she deems “ suspicious” or “ no worthy as a friend” . then she’ll immediately pull him as side and will him tell not so nice things about the friend and quite frankly make him stop talking to them. yeaaa she’s not a great person as you can tell…

🩸. . . anyways! once after all his shyness rolls off. he start to approach you and make really awkward small talk. before getting awkward and running away just watching you from a distance.

🩸. . . slowly but surely he will come out of his bubble and gradually start talking to you. if you sense a bit of a invisible wall or there’s something in the air that you can’t put your mind around.. that’s because he is debating if he deems you trustworthy to be talking to you. ( BLAME HIS MOM-)

🩸. . . he doesn’t talking about his home life at all but if you start talking about what your going through . spilling all of your feelings out of your chest..

🩸. . . his reaction would be at first, he stares at you blankly . debating what he should do at the moment, all he can think about is your just like him in a way. .

🩸. . . his mind is racing. all he think about is how should he comfort you. he has a very hard time understanding human emotions . so best bet he’s not going to talk for a while.

🩸. . . with the state you guys are in, you start to feel embarrassed almost ashamed for telling your story. you mumbled a apologized , before getting up from your spot . suddenly you were tugged back to your seat.

🩸. . . you stare at him in shocked. you known him for a long time and you never see him in a .. how should i put this.. in a vulnerable state before. you’re so used to his cold distant nature that it took you a second to perceive everything.

🩸. . . after a few strained seconds , he opened his mouth just to utter the words to your surprise,“ i understand..” your eyes widened even more, his deep blue eyes looked away gathering his thoughts before continuing. he closed his eyes and mumbled“ your not alone …” . you stare at him in shocked before giving him a hug and slowly he returned the hug as well..

🩸. . . after that, let’s just say you guys friendship has greatly improved. and he’s willing to comfort you the best way he possibly can. he’s not the best at it but he’s trying.

ꪆৎ 𝙰/𝙽 : not going to lie , i really like this concept. had a bit of fun with it! thx for the ask anon 🫶🏻. working on the rest of the marble hornets headcanons i promised to write just an fyi!!

liuuboo2025♡ ﾟ if you like my content please don’t forget to like , reblog , and comment ^^.

[runnning-outof-time]

Could you do "your more fun to miss" with John maybe angsty fluff but whatever works for you and your brain 😁

Thanks for sending this one in, anon!! And I need you to hear me out on this - I KNOW that the gif is of Joe Cole as Sean Wallace in Gangs of London, BUT this could ALSO be Modern!John Shelby … which is what I was going for in this blurb. I figured I’d think outside of the box for one of my John stories since no one is really reading them anyway… But if you are reading them…Enjoy! :) …oh and again, I just focused on the face he’s making rather than what the woman talking to him looks like - I felt the face really matched the situation haha. Ok, I’m babbling now..on with the story!

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration - find more stories here!

More Fun to Miss

Modern!John Shelby x Reader

Warnings: language, drinking, insinuations of cheating

Word Count: 1165

Summary: (Y/N) lets John have a piece of her mind when she sees him (against her wishes) for the first time in three weeks at a club.

“Don’t look now…” (Y/N)’s friend, Kara, began, making she sure had the woman she was addressing’s attention before continuing, “but that man has literally been eye-fucking you all night,” her grin grew as she finished her statement.

(Y/N)’s brows furrowed at her friend’s comment. Then she looked over her shoulder to see who she was talking about. The first thing that came to her mind when she located said man was fuck.

“What? Do you know him or something?” Kara asked upon seeing (Y/N)’s reaction to her observation.

“Yeah, I do,” (Y/N) answered with a sigh.

Kara looked over her friend’s shoulder to take another glimpse of the man before turning her attention back to the conversation. She bit on her bottom lip to conceal her grin as she debated whether or not saying what was on her mind would anger (Y/N) or not. After a few moments, she thought ‘the hell with it’. “He’s hot as fuck,” she commented, her grin in full view now.

“I beg to differ,” (Y/N) disagreed, sipping on her drink and hoping she didn’t look too disgusted.

“Well he’s been staring at you literally all night.”

“Yeah, that’s because he knows me too.”

“Care to share the details?” Kara’s eyebrows raised in intrigue.

“I’d much rather move to a different table,” (Y/N) responded, grabbing her drink in one hand and her clutch in the other before she stood from the table they were sitting at.

“(Y/N)! Wait!” Kara called, scoffing before she hurried to grab her things and catch up with her friend.

(Y/N) silently cursed the fact that the club was rather packed, which made it hard for her to find another open table. At this point, she’d much rather leave the place than go back to where she’d been sitting.

Her path was soon blocked though, and the second she looked up, she had to muster all of her restraint not to throw her drink in the man’s face.

“(Y/N)? I thought it was you,” the cocky shit that was John Shelby wasted no time in making conversation. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he asked with a grin.

“It’s been three weeks, John. Get the fuck out of my way,” (Y/N) dismissed his pleasantries, hoping that he could tell by the glare she was wearing that she wanted no parts of talking to him.

But, of course, John didn’t catch onto it. Or maybe he did and decided to continue the conversation in spite of her. “Three weeks too long, darlin’,” he commented, his eyes raking over her figure, “I’ve missed you.”

“You found him, (Y/N)! I knew you’d taken off for a reason!” Kara chimed into the conversation before (Y/N) could respond with a snide remark.

“I didn’t find him, he blocked my path, Kara,” (Y/N) muttered to her friend, hoping that she’d catch onto her facial expression and help her out.

“You’re a friend?” John asked before Kara was able to get a good look at (Y/N)’s face, succeeding at pulling her attention to him.

“I am! Who might you be?” Kara asked, her grin growing by the second.

“Oh she didn’t tell me about you?” John’s eyebrows raised in surprise, “I was sure she would’ve.”

“No, she didn’t, and I’m rather confused as to why,” Kara responded, frowning at John before she sent (Y/N) a glare and elbowed her side. This set (Y/N) off even more. You’re supposed to be on my side!, she menatlly screamed at her friend.

“Why didn’t you tell her, love?” John now directed his surprised gaze at (Y/N).

“Because contrary to your belief, John, you’re really not someone I’d scream from the rooftops over,” she spat back, eyes shooting daggers at him.

“The noise complaints we got from my nieghbors beg to differ, baby,” he cracked back, his words dripping with smugness. I outgha just throw this fucking drink at you, (Y/N) thought as she stared him down. If looks could kill, he’d be flat on the floor by now.

“I bet they come knocking for every girl you decide to take home to fuck,” (Y/N) decided against making an even bigger scene, keeping the glass gripped firmly in her hand as she snapped at him, “and they probably complain pretty regularly considering you take a different one back every night,” she paused, seeing the surprise return to his eyes. It egged her on even more. “You thought I didn’t know, huh? Thought I hadn’t caught on to it? Why do you think it’s been three weeks and I haven’t answered a single one of your fucking texts, John?” she let him have it, taking her frustration out on him all while getting more frustrated by how he was looking at her.

It seemed like he hadn’t actually heard a word she said, because he was too busy flicking his eyes down to her lips, watching them as she unleashed her anger on him while his grin grew smugger with each word said.

“Oh shit…” Kara’s voice was full of surprise as she looked between the two, the dots finally getting connected in her mind. “That’s why you wanted to go…” she said to (Y/N) then.

“Yeah, that’s exactly why I wanted to go,” (Y/N) answered her friend in a huff, finally breaking eye contact with the man she’d been standing toe-to-toe with. “And I’d like to leave now,” she added, her desperation returning as her anger started to make her feel sick. This was certainly not where she wanted to have this conversation.

“I’ll take the glasses back,” Kara told her, gently taking the glass that (Y/N) had had a white-knuckle grip on from the moment John stopped her. (Y/N) didn’t even realize she’d been holding it that hard until she moved her fingers and they were sore from the tension they’d been under.

The end was in sight now. All she had to do was wait a few more moments for Kara to return. Then she would be away from John Shelby forever.

But of course, John Shelby couldn’t let her get away without one last word. “Like I said, (Y/N)…I missed you,” he said to her, looking her over one last time - as if he was committing her to memory because he knew he’d never cross paths with her again. I hope my memory fucking haunts you, she thought to herself as she thought of one last thing to leave him with.

“Yeah, well you’re more fun to miss,” she sneered at him, looking him over once more also before she pushed passed him to the exit. Kara would have to find her outside because she didn’t want to be in his presence for one more second.

More fun to miss, indeed…although she wasn’t sure if she’d even miss him.

…ok so that was more angsty than fluffy, but the prompt took me on a ride and I had a bunch of fun writing it. I hope you don’t I strayed from your wishes slightly, anon!

**tags in reblogs so that hopefully the notification gets sent out

MASTERLIST

[keeksandgigz]

roll for initiative (part two of lessons in alchemy)

barista!eddie munson x fem!barista!reader AU

summary: You venture into your new position at Eddie's cafe, but you seem to be having a hard time. Eddie gives you hell for refusing to be trained. The confrontation comes to a head after you say something you shouldn't have. A heated game of DnD leaves you wondering about the purpose of this place. Things heat up after you and Eddie close the store alone.

cw: 6.8k words, swearing, modern setting, Eddie and reader being mean to each other, shitty description of a DnD game, teeny bit of angst (sorry), horny sexual tension, smut, spanking, choking, not quite piv yet, fingering, denial this is 18+ minors dni!!

a/n: Surprise! One day early because I'm an impatient little shit. i dunno how to play DnD i'm going off whatever my boyfriend tells me. also kill em all IS the best metallica album, argue with the wall. Debated on making it a two- parter but i wanted to get to the smut <3 pls like and reblog! feedback always appreciated and my ask box is always open if u wanna talk!!!

baby taglist: @corrodedcoffincumslut, @sleepy-bunnie,, @crybabyddl (let me know if you want to be added!)

Eddie's right.

You're indeed crashing and burning as you make those stupidly named lattes, but the rest of the crew is nice enough to help you along the way. Virginia really is coming into her own, quickly mastering every drink that is thrown her way.

Yet you can't shake off the feeling of Eddie stalking towards you, his hot breath on your face. How it didn’t scare you, rather, it excited you. You enjoy picking fights with him, ripping him apart and him doing the same to you. It's not healthy, but it helps with your anger.

“Those were three pumps of elderflower. I believe you need four for a large, sweetheart. Crashing and burning so soon?” he comes up behind you, startling you. 

“Get the fuck off of me before I throw this scalding hot drink at you” not when you're working. You cannot take his taunts while working. 

“Just checking up on you” he shrugs “maybe you might have changed your mind about me training you. I know these are not the dumb little detox drinks you do at your cafe. Which is really what makes the store much more interesting and attractive, doesn’t it?” 

“Eddie I swear to God” it becomes more than taunts. He seriously wants to fuck with your brain. 

“Jeff” he snaps his fingers towards the guy “I’m gonna go take my lunch, you’re in charge ‘til I’m back” his attention diverts away from you for a second, then back to you. “Could you be a dear and make me an extra hot flat white with almond milk? Add a couple pumps of Irish cream syrup in there. I’m expecting a white dot, after all if you’re so perfect you don’t need training that’s gonna be a walk in the park for ya, huh?” he leans against the counter and he’s so condescending it makes your knees tremble. 

“Yeah, duh. I’ll spit in it for ya too. Sounds good?” you panic a bit. Flat whites are not your forte. 

“I knew you’ve been spitting in my drinks, sweetheart. Kinda hot, to be honest. But that’s a violation, wouldn’t wanna get Jim involved, do we?” he raises his eyebrows at you, looking down at you, making you feel like a coffee bean on the ground. Kinda hot. 

“I was just joking, dickhead” 

“Hm. Better be. Another filthy word from you and I’m sending you home.” he whispers. “Alright, going on my lunch. Virginia, you’re off you can go home, Chrissy, take your last break in thirty minutes” and with that, he disappears to one of the tables, watching you make his drink.

That should be a form of cruel and unusual punishment. Just him staring at you, making sure you get his drink right. Pull two ristretto shots.

You aren't buzzing anymore, rather, your brain begins shutting off, drained by all the tension that has been building between you and Eddie. Two pumps of Irish cream. Maybe you actually aren't good enough to be here. Froth the almond milk. Maybe he's right, maybe you are meant to work in a mediocre cafe, making shitty drinks. Espresso first, then milk. You aren't good enough for this level of mastery. 

Fuck. No white dot. 

You tremble as you walk towards Eddie, sitting at his table, watching you bring him a cup of mediocre coffee. 

“No white dot” he says, looking at you with displeasure. 

“I’m sorry, I-”he interrupts you.

“You wanna get trained or are you gonna be a little know-it-all and then deliver me this?” he sips on his flat white. 

“Ok, fine. Train me, whatever.”Embarrassment overtakes you, wanting a hole to form under your feet and engulf you. 

He's right, he has been right all along. Tears begin to prick at your eyes.

“You okay there? Y’know I was joking, right? It doesn’t matter I just-” a spark of guilt lights itself in his throat, you look like you're about to cry. 

“Can I take a second?” you say, the knot in your throat threatening to snap any second. 

“Yeah, um go- go take your break” he breathes. Fuck, he's made you cry. 

You run off towards the back, wanting to disappear. Everything that has happened within those past two days begin to wash over you.

Your cafe is gone, the project you had worked on with your dad before he got sick, gone for the next year. And he’d likely not see it reopen.

Eddie being an asshole, holding a grudge on you because you took his customers, making your life a living hell. 

You sit in the back as you wipe some tears that fell from your eyes. Across the room, there's a door that you have not seen before, and it's ajar.

Curiosity gets the best of you, as you walk into a small, secluded room. It's full of beakers and jars of ingredients, really selling the whole alchemist thing. You look through the ingredients elderflower, rose, peppermint, honey, basil. Basil syrup sounds disgusting. 

You turn towards the work bench, noticing a bottle full of clear liquid labeled lavender syrup. You open it and immediately smell the astringent flavor coming from the bottle. You pour some on your finger and take a taste. Ew.

He needs a better lavender syrup recipe.

“The fuck are you doing in here?” Eddie’s voice makes you drop the bottle to the floor, shattering and spilling the astringent liquid on the floor. 

“Oh- shit sorry! I was just- i just got curious” 

“You can’t just come in here and act like you own the place. Curious my ass, you were trying to steal” he accuses, and that hurts you.

“You know I won’t fucking do that, I take my work seriously. Also your lavender syrup tastes like ass, and basil syrup? That sounds foul” you wince, stepping over the broken glass, to make your way back to the front.

He grabs your arm and stops you. “Aren’t you gonna clean that up? Broom’s in the closet” he says, offering you a smug smile. 

“Get the fuck away from me, asshole” you reply, jerking away from his grip. 

“Alright that’s it” is all he says before he slams you against the wall.

He's close. He's so fucking close. 

Your back slams against the brick, hitting a random canvas panel. You can feel his breath on your face, the smell of coffee and cologne inundating your senses. 

“You have been a fucking pain in my ass since you opened your dumb little cafe. You’ve been rude, unruly, untidy and down right mean towards me, and I’m fucking over it” he seethes, he has you caged in between his tattooed arms and all you can think of is tracing every line of his tattoos with the tips of your fingers.

“It’s been four fucking hours, y’hear me? Four hours and I’m sick of you. Y’think you’re cute? You’re a fucking brat, sweetheart, and I don’t like dealing with brats like you.” Your stomach feels funny, like you're taking on a challenge rather than a scolding.

“Clean your shit up and go home, I don’t wanna see your fucking face today. Come back when you have gained some common sense in that empty fucking head” he lowers his arms, but you aren't done. 

“Or what? You think you’re so scary, Eddie, with your stupid tattoos, your fucking stupid hair and your stupid satanic shirts. I don’t give a shit who you are, I’m employed to work here and you can’t fucking send me home because you don’t like me. I’ll fucking report you, freak” 

Freak. His breath hitches at that, years of high school bullying getting under his skin again, making him swallow hard at the unwelcome memory of being slammed against a locker on Monday mornings before class. He stiffens up.

“Alright” he swallows “clean this up and get back to work, I don’t wanna see you right now” you notice that his demeanor has changed, you visibly hit a nerve. Guilt pools at your chest.

“But what about- about the training?” you ask, voice hitching.

“I’ll get Gareth to train you, Virginia should have gone home already. That way we’re both happy. Take tomorrow off, I’ll see you Tuesday” and with that he leaves.

He keeps himself buried in his office until the end of your shift. He can't bear to stand the sight of you, not after you had called him a freak. That stung more than whatever stupid insult you could have flung his way. 

When you turn up on Tuesday, Eddie is nowhere to be found. 

“He took the day off,” Steve says. And you feel real fucking bad. You're scheduled for a mid- shift from three to seven.

“Hey” Jeff says “we’re closing early today ‘cause we’re doing a DnD campaign after. Since Eddie’s not here, would you mind taking over for me so I can start setting up? We close at six-thirty, so after that you can, like, sweep, do dishes and then you can go home” 

You aren't in the mood for a snide remark or a witty comment, so you just agree. “Is Eddie gonna be here tonight?” you ask. You’ve been trying to hound him to apologize for whatever happened the day before, it's clear he's avoiding you. 

He was supposed to be on the schedule. 

“Yeah uh” he replies “he’s our DM, so we kinda need him” he shrugs. 

“DM?” you froth a cup of oatmilk, turning towards him while he's making his drinks.

“Yeah. Dungeon Master?” he gives you a Isn’t that obvious? expression and goes back to his iced hazelnut macchiato. 

“Kinky” you retort, he laughs a bit. 

At six-thirty you lock up the store and you confine yourself to the back for dishes. Keeping an ear out for Eddie’s voice, hoping he’d show up before 7. 

Colette left with Steve to work on the Halloween menu and “I don’t fuck with that nerd stuff” said Steve, fixing his glasses after putting his coat on. 

“…no Henderson you don’t get it “Kill ‘Em All” is definitely Metallica’s best album, are you shitting me? …No don’t come at me with that “Enter Sandman” bullshit you’re so basic for that, you fucking poser” your ears perk up at that. It's definitely Eddie. 

You peek your head out of the back door to see him set up a big table, followed by a bunch of what look like  high school students as they sit down, with their spiral notebooks and pens.

A bunch of small figurines scattered on the cardboard mat as Eddie sits at the head of the table, pulling out a leather bound folder covered in stickers and a cardboard screen. 

They're serious about this.

You're too busy staring at the crowded table to notice Eddie running towards you.

"Daddy didn't teach you it's rude to stare?"

You press yourself against the green tile wall to let him pass, words caught in your throat as you follow him into his office.

"Apparently daddy didn't teach you that stalking is bad either. What is it? Need somethin'?" he spits out and you can feel the venom in his words.

"Yeah, I just" you clear your throat. Talking was hard. He cocks an eyebrow at you as he begins rummaging through his desk drawers.

"Well?"

"I just wanted to apologize for-"

"For being a bitch the other day? Took you long enough" he scoffs as he retrieves a small tin box containing what you assume are dice.

"Um- yeah. I guess that" you shrug and turn your feet to leave the door.

"I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. It's not a real apology otherwise, is it?" he has this ability to make you feel so incredibly small with only the power of his words. Like he's talking to a toddler.

"I don't think that's necessary, Eddie, I mean um- I have to get back to work" you protest.

"You can go back to work when you give me a full apology" he's ticking you off, gloating in his victory of you admitting defeat. The white banner you're waving slowly turning red.

"You're being a cunt, take the apology and go play your stupid nerd game" you snap, and you can see his lips curling in a wicked grin. Challenge accepted.

"All this talk of me kicking you to the curb for your filthy mouth really isn't sticking huh? Sorry sweetheart, can't accept an apology you don't mean" he shrugs, heading out of his office, you follow him suit.

"Eddie what the fuck?! Are you actually mental?" you want to strangle him, shove those dice so far down his throat he chokes and dies.

"I'd recommend you scrub those dishes really hard, I can still see the grime on the blenders. If you'll excuse me, I gotta lead my party through the rivers of Bagodan" he winks and then he walks over to his table, leaving you mortified.

You do a once- over with the dishes, while hearing Eddie's shrill voice screech and laugh every time one of his players miss. What's so fucking funny about a couple kids rolling dice?

"Looks like you've made it to the last river" he narrates in a solemn voice, deeper, hotter "Oh, but what is that? You hear shrieking from a distance. It's a sphynx. To cross the river you have to behead the sphynx and bring it to the king of Bagodan. Only then he will grant you access to the wings of Saurion the Elder, and you... will be... free" he says in a whispered tone.

"What do you do, my brave adventurers?"

"Shit" you hear one of the kids swear, he's tall with black hair. "We don't have enough hit points to kill the sphynx AND get through the king's palace guards"

"You’re astute dipshit, congrats!" says another, a girl, looking much younger than the rest.

"We would have had enough points if Dustin here, hadn't fucking sold his to the market for a stupid cloak" says Gareth, shoving the kid who you assume is Dustin

"it was aN INVISIBILITY CLOAK" Dustin yells. The room booms in laughter at the kid's tantrum.

It makes you think. About how you've never had a group of friends like that. Someone to share a common interest with. Sure, you have Colette, but you've moved to town just fairly recently, and you have lived and breathed work for the first two years. No friends to make when you're cooped up home buried in projects among projects. No friends to make when your dad is sick and you have to take him to the hospital on Saturdays for his treatment. You sigh a bit at that. Maybe your cafe exploding is the catalyst that is gonna bring you a new life, a new perspective.

Coming to a store that has unity as a top value really makes you reflect on how lonely your life has been so far.

"Alright children, let's take a break and you can talk strategy. Anyone want a drink?" He stands up from his chair and walks towards the bar. Startled, you go back to the sink and begin scrubbing.

"Y'know you can join us, right?" he leans against the green tile wall, looking at you.

"Join in on that nerd shit? No, thanks. My shift is over" you say putting the last blender on the drying rack and heading to the back.

He follows you "Okay, whatever. I just wanted to tell you it's gonna be me and you tomorrow. Chrissy said she can't make it. Something about midterms" and you roll your eyes.

"Fucking perfect. Tell me in what world does this shit always happen to me" you say exasperated, taking off your apron, which allows your shirt to rise just enough that it gives Eddie a peek of your tummy. Enough to make him gulp a little. Enough to distract him for ten seconds.

He shakes his head. "Listen, I'm not happy about it either, but let's keep it civil, okay? I do my thing, you do yours, we're outta here by 9 pm" he offers, leaning over the metal lockers.

You're not sure if it was the Dungeon Master demeanor he keeps on for the sake of his game or what, but he feels so tall. The thought of it makes you shiver. You put on your jacket.

"How you gettin' home?" he asks.

"Driving" you lie, your car broke down the day before, but you don't want him offering you a ride.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow for closing, then" he says, giving you a tight smile.

"Yeah, bye" you respond hastily, heading out towards the bus stop. Eddie keeps an eye on you through the store window the whole time.

Wednesday night at the "Mad Alchemist" is busier than you expected. Steve left for the evening, leaving you and Eddie to man the fort by yourselves.

Meaning you have to watch him flirt with every fucking customer. Young, old, boy, girl. His self assured demeanor is like a magnet to those coffee- hungry teens, the older women just blush and deliver him a meek "aw, stop it, Eddie" swatting the air and giggling.

Because you both have been so busy, it has not given you time to run your mouth and deliver him some snarky comment.

By 8pm, the store is closed. You have an hour to sweep, clean the counters, mop and do the dishes while Eddie counts the money at the register.

There is a tense quietness in the cafe. Almost as if you know that if one opened their mouths the world would explode. Or you’d start fucking, whichever one comes first. There is no noise aside from the register opening, the broom dragging across the floor and Eddie whistling.

After a day of talking, listening, screaming, shouting, the last thing you want to do is hear Eddie whistle. You let him do it, one minute, two minutes, five minutes in hopes he would get tired.

“Eddie, please” you whine.

“Helps me count money better,” he shrugs, beginning his atrocious whistling again.

You wait one, two, five minutes again. The noise of the sweep and the whistling and the money become too much for you, so in an exasperated rage, you kick the chair in front of you.

“Eddie shUT THE FUCK UP!”

The noise of the chair is the only sound in the building. Eddie stops counting, and stops whistling.

He's just staring at you. At the fallen chair. At the broom next to your feet. You find the floor to be really interesting.

“Pick it up.” Eddie’s voice is distant. A few seconds go by, and your eyes are still on the floor.

The sound of paper being put down and the stomping of heavy boots follow, until his boots arrive in your line of sight. You can't help but raise your head.

“What part of ‘pick it up’ does not register in that head? Hm? Do you kick chairs at home?”

Defeated, you shake your head.

“Do you call your daddy names?”

Another head shake.

“Do you spit in your daddy’s coffee in the morning?” his voice becomes a whisper, so, so close to your face. So close to your lips.

“I didn’t-” he cuts you off.

“I don’t appreciate liars, sweetheart. Did you spit in my drink?” he's cornering you, making you feel small.

You nod. “Only once, though” you defend yourself.

“Only once” he mocks, chuckling to himself “sixteen.” he mutters.

“Sixteen is the number of times, from the first time i stepped foot in your goddamn cafe, I’ve seen you spit in my fuckin’ drink” he seethes, no, growls.

“Now you’re fucking lying” you interject, finding a small crumb of courage within you.

“Don’t act cute, I’ve seen you. Pick the chair up” he says, his chin tilting towards the chair on the floor.

“I can’t pick it up if your stupid arm’s in the way, can I?” he grunts and moves his arm. You bend over and picked the chair up, breathing through your teeth. You're furious.

“Watch your attitude, here we don’t-”

You snap your neck around “You’re a fucking control freak, that’s what you are” you mutter. There's that word again. Freak.

“Don’t you fucking dare call me that word again” he's furious.

You turn around to face him. It's your turn to be close “Or what? You gonna spank me?” it's barely a whisper, looking at him through your lashes. A challenge.

He exhales, crossing his arms “You know what? That’s the best idea you’ve had since you’ve stepped foot in this place. Bend over the table” He whispers, and you freeze.

If there is a definition to fuck around and find out, you're it.

“Seems you might be a bit hard of hearing, sweetheart. I said bend over.” he says, more gently, yet keeping that domineering aura to him. He nudges your arm.

You quietly follow through.

“Now you’re following orders. Before I start I need to know you’re okay with this” he whispers, caressing your back in an almost soothing manner.

You nod.

He tuts “None of that shit. I’m not doing anything until I have your green light. With words”

“I-” words suddenly become hard. You swallow and breathe through your nose “I’m- I’m okay with this”

There is no denying you're extremely turned on, in addition to being revved up by your previous fight. It feels like wildfire spreading itself from every tip of your body, finding a home right between your legs.

“Alright, good. If you want me to stop we can stop at any time, just say ‘chainmail’” he says, looking around to check if the blinds had been lowered. He has a safeword. He knows what he's doing.

“O-okay” you say with all the power you can muster.

“You wanna act like a toddler, sweetheart? I’ll treat ya like a fuckin’ toddler” he says, before delivering the first smack right on the meat of your left butt cheek.

You’ve tried spanking before, with previous partners, but this is different. The smacks are calculated, like he knows where to hit. A yelp escapes you.

“Need ya to count” he says, caressing the area he just hit.

“‘Kay, fuck. One” you exhale, still feeling his handprint on your ass. The red hot sting from the impact leaving tiny pinpricks through the fabric of your jeans. 

Smack. Two.

“How ‘bout this?” he stops, speaking to no one, really. “How ‘bout I give you one spank for every time you’ve spit in my coffee, hm?”

That makes you tremble a bit. Sixteen slaps. 

“I dunno if I can, I mean I-” 

“Then you know what to say if it gets too much, right? Say ‘Yes, Eddie, I do’” his voice makes your knees give out as his other hand, the one that isn't squeezing and groping your ass, makes its way into your hair and pulls. 

“Ow- Fuck, Jesus Christ Eddie!” you yell, but the pull at your scalp makes you wish he’d drop the antics, pull your pants down and fuck you immediately. 

“Not what I wanna hear, sweetheart. Try that again” He smacks your ass again, pulling his hand out of your hair to hold your back down from the waist. 

“Three, fuck. Yes, Eddie, I-I do” you exhale and prop yourself up on your elbows. 

“Good girl,” he says. Good girl. He could easily smack you in the face and that is would shock you less. Where the fuck did he learn all this shit?

By the time you’ve reached spank number ten you think you're ready to tap out. Tears welling in your eyes, making your vision go blurry. You're turned on, but Eddie’s heavy hand is becoming too painful.

He notices you trying to squirm away from him with every hit of his hand, all he says is “You know what to say, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

But you let him keep going. Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen.

The last slap feels like the roughest, leaving in its wake the phantom of a heavy hand. His hand rubbing circles on your ass, almost like he doesn't feel ready to stop touching you.

You turn your head around, so you're able to see his face.

“Mmmm, so what now?” you ask, still hazy “Gonna take me home, Eddie? Finish the job?”it's like your brain has forgotten who you are talking to.

“C’mere” he says, sitting you down on the table, your ass rough and sore under the fabric of your pants.

You can feel the slick feeling between your legs through the seam of your black jeans, hoping he’d move you to keep going, take you home, his office, his van, anywhere. 

His body settles between your legs as his hands run through the expanse of your stomach, your back. Your hands make their way to the buckle of his belt, trying to quickly undo his jeans. Eddie inhales as if to convince himself to stop you as he grabs your wrists and pushes them to your chest, his belt left unbuckled “Not tonight,” he murmurs.

You pout in protest.

“Aww, you’re pouting” he mocks, a dry laugh escapes his lips. It brings a twang of embarrassment "pouting 'cause I'm not letting you take my dick in your mouth, sweetheart?" he taunts. 

“I‘m not pouting” you mutter, looking at the floor. His hands grab your chin, lifting your eyes to make you look up at him. He looks so tall standing over you like that, eyes still glossed over, pupils blown from the spanking he’s just given you. 

“You look at me when I speak to you, yeah?” Oh fuck. You know better this time. 

“Yeah” you croak out, nodding your head in case he doesn't get the message. 

“Yeah? You liked getting spanked? Being put in your place?” his demeanor never fails in making you feel impossibly small.

The hand that holds your chin travels down your neck and you lean into his touch, in the way his hand wraps itself around your throat, warm and rough. Who are you to say he isn't gonna strangle you and kill you? 

But the feeling of his hand around the column of your neck, covering its whole surface area feels too intoxicating, like you want him to make you stop thinking. Your breath hitches. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t have my rings on. With the way you’ve been running your mouth you would’ve more than deserved it” his grip on your neck going from resting to actually applying pressure to the sides of your throat. You gasp. 

He just watches you, eyes glossy and desperate while you try to press your thighs together to relieve some pressure. Poor thing. He almost feels bad for you. The way he sees you keen into his touch, labored breath, watching your chest rise and fall slowly. 

“We can’t do this here, Eddie. The health violations” you say,  barely a whisper, mustering whatever breath and thought you can. Your brain feels foggy and fuzzy with the slight pressure of air being constricted. He chuckles. 

“Didn’t you go to UCLA or something? Aren’t you supposed to be really smart?” his tone is mocking, you swallow at the embarrassment, hand letting up on your throat to grab your hand. He isn't here to be soft with you. He is here to make a point.

“Me choking you got you actin’ all dumb already?’M impressed. C’mon get off the table, we can’t be here” he says, making you stand up. 

“Where- where are we going?” you feel winded, and you haven't even done anything. He leads you through the cafe, the bar, the back of house, where the drying dishes sit abandoned on the rack. Right at the threshold to his back office, the cold green tile arch pressing against your back.

“I don’t know, but I really wanna kiss you right now.” and you feel like your breath has just gotten knocked out of you. He wants to kiss you?

"You wanna- huh?" he slams you against the wall, just t prove a point "Shut the fuck up" he says as he puts his lips on yours. Famished, animalistic.

There is no room for gentleness. No room for sweet caresses and soft praises. His hands groping and feeling your hips, grinding into him. The friction against his tattered jeans make a whine escape you. Too much and not enough.

His teeth clash with yours as you both open your mouths, the way he tastes made you dizzy. His mint gum and cigarettes inundate your senses as you pull at the hair tie that is keeping Eddie's unruly hair in place.

Reaching under the mane of hair, you pull at his nape, where his curls are smaller, more defined. He groans.

His nose skims your jaw and licks at the hinge between the bone and your neck, making you yelp. A small oh escapes you when his hands work to untuck your shirt out of your jeans, his cold hands sneaking past the barrier of clothing to touch at the skin of your stomach, the sides of your breasts.

His mouth is warm against your neck, tracing every ridge, every line, every mole, 'til he reaches the juncture between your neck and your shoulder and he bites.

"Eddie, you fucking freak don't bite me" you hiss, head thrown back as he lifts your shirt up, leaving it completely abandoned on the floor.

He moves you off the wall and into his office, mouth not stopping his assault on your neck, stumbling towards his cluttered desk. With one move, a space big enough for you to sit is created. His shirt comes off in the process. His pale chest, skinny, but toned and littered with tattoos, is the only thing you are able to pay attention to.

"I hear that fucking word come outta your mouth again I'll-" he begins.

"You what? More spanking? Consider me terrified" you interrupt, all an evil plan to egg him on. Blinking your eyes up at him. He is seething.

"God, do you ever shut up?" he asks, a groan leaving his lips continuing to kiss you, teeth and tongue and spit, his hands coming out from under your shirt to grab your chin.

You look up at him, hair wild and unruly, eyes blown out, a wicked glint in his eye, almost like he's plotting something.

“Open your mouth” he says, and you looked at him, a puzzled look on your face. He squeezes your cheeks in response, forcing your mouth open. “You fucking brat” he mutters.

You keep your mouth open, expecting his finger, something. Instead, a glob of spit makes its way onto your tongue. He spit in your mouth. You throb.

“Eddie what the fuck-” you begin, but he interrupts you.

“You didn’t seem to mind spitting in my coffee, did you? Consider this a payback. Swallow it.” he smirks against your lips, lightly tapping his fingers on your cheek, not quite a slap. You obey immediately for the first time that night.

His hand travels down to the seam of your jeans, your breath becoming more labored with all the building tension from the night.

“Eddie…please” you whine, arching into his hand, not wanting to pull back anymore. You want release, brain hazy with the feeling of being under him, the way his rough hands are touching you, exploring you, grabbing and groping at the curves of your body as you arch into him.

His hand begins moving back and forth, the heel of his palm making direct contact with the seam of your pants, forcing a strangled whine out of you.

You grind your hips in sync with his hand, as the other sits on your cheek, cupping it, moaning in his mouth at the small amount of friction he's giving you. “Can I take your pants off?” he asks, soft against your mouth. You’ve never nodded so fast in your life.

He quickly makes work of taking your shoes and jeans off, pooled at his feet while his hands caress and grope their way up your thighs.

“You’re cute when you’re not being a cunt, you know that?” he whispers against your mouth, hand ghosting over your panties, practically feeling the heat radiating off of you.

“Fuck you, Eddie,” you say through gritted teeth, motioning to hit him in the chest. He stops you, grabbing your wrists with his hands.

“I suggest keeping that filthy mouth at bay if you really want me to do something about that big, wet patch on your panties, hm?” he whispers, licking your bottom lip, his hand still keeping an iron grip on your wrists.

“How ‘bout you stop being a cunt and fuck me?” you’ve had enough of his teasing and taunting.

“Who said anything about fucking?” he chuckles, his hand moving down to grope at your ass. “No, see, that would be improper, don’t you think? Fucking your boss in his office. You kinky bitch” he delivers a sharp smack down to your ass, reviving the dull sting from the spanking earlier.

“You’re not my fucking boss, Eddie. Stop talking and- ohmygod”

His other hand begins massaging over the crotch of your panties, making direct contact with your clit over the fabric. “Made you this wet from spanking you? Think you might have actually been the freak this whole time, sweetheart.” He hooks his fingers on the sides of your panties “Lift.” He taps your thigh, you immediately lift your hips to let him take your panties off.

He laughs when he sees the mess that he’s made of your pussy.

“Fuck stop- stop laughing” you whisper out while his hands begin to spread your legs further.

“I think you secretly love me laughing at you. You think you’re so tough, bein’ all mean, callin’ me a freak like it doesn’t turn you on just imagining how much of a fucking freak I really am, huh sweetheart?” he skims your jaw with his nose, his words making you shiver as you clench around nothing.

His free hand sneaking its way around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you squeak.

Your hips lift off the desk, looking to find some kind of stimulation aside from Eddie’s cruel teasing touches.

He looks at you through his dark lashes “What is it, baby?” baby. baby. baby. The nickname makes your head spin.

“Eddie, I- fuck- please! I need-” your hips arch off the wooden surface as you feel his fingers prod your entrance.

“You need my fingers? Can you ask me nicely?” you want to kill him. He's reveling in the torture that he's putting you through.

“I f-ucking ah hate you” but you aren't really sure if you believe that yourself.

“You hate me sweetheart? I’m hurt. You won’t mind then if I just leave you here, do you?” he caresses over your inner thigh, the tips of his fingers coated in slick, clear arousal.

“No!” your hips lift once again “your fingers…please” His smile is pleased as one of his fingers enter you.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Good girl.” He's making your head spin, a choked noise leaves your lips as he pumps his finger in and out, finally getting the stimulation you need.

“More” you whisper, his other hand still on your throat.

“So greedy. Y’gonna thank me? Say ‘thank you, Eddie’”

At that point you can't even think about acting up. “F-fuck. Thank- thank you Eddie” and with that, he adds another finger.

God, you already feel so full and teetering the edge.

“Good girl. Now that I think about it, I believe you owe me an apology” he begins, his fingers working mercilessly inside you, while a string of breathy ah ah ahs are all the sounds you could muster.

“You were so mean to me the other day, I didn’t appreciate your tone while you were trying to apologize” he taunts, his fingers prodding deeper inside you. A small yelp escapes you.

“You were- you were ah” his fingers curl on your g-spot and your vision goes white.

“What was that? I was what, baby?” he begins to thumb at your clit, smiling like a maniac at the state he's reducing you in.

“Oh yes there” no idea how you're gonna finish your sentence.

“Feels good huh? Needa finish what you were saying, sweetheart, can’t have you going stupid on me just yet” his hand on your throat moves up to your cheek, delivering a couple light smacks to your face. You clench.

“Fuck, uh, you we-were being a oh god cunt” you say, mustering all the mental strength you can.

“Is that right? Funny how my fingers are in yours right now and you don’t seem to complain.” He laughs to himself, his thumb speeding up its assault on your clit.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I just need you to say ‘Sorry Eddie, I won’t be a bitch to you again.’ Can you say that or is your brain too fucking far gone to understand a single word i’m saying?” he teases, which briefly brings you back from the ecstasy of Eddie’s fingers working wonders on you.

“Fuck you, Eddie” you hiss through your teeth, immediately regretting it at the feeling of the coil in your belly beginning to tighten.

“Oh. It’s like that then. Alright” he simply says as he picks up his pace. Head thrown back as you revel in the feeling of nearing the edge of your release.

“Oh shit, get-getting close” you breathe.

“Apologize and I’ll let you cum” he smiles, a wicked show of bared teeth that only makes you both want to punch him and fuck him.

“Fuck n- Oh God- ‘m not apologizing for- for shit” you arch your back, trying to make yourself cum before he changes his mind.

“Fucking apologize” he insists.

“Fuck you” you say, followed by the unwelcome feeling of emptiness as he takes his fingers out. You really thought he was bluffing.

An empty ache grows in your stomach, feeling unfulfilled and disappointed. You sit there in disbelief, as he cleans his fingers off with a tissue.

“Pity” he shrugs “Get dressed, I’m taking you home” he turns around, heading towards the front.

You throw the box of kleenex at his head. You miss.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?” you jump off his desk, ignoring the dull throb between your legs as you put your panties and jeans back on, following the trail of your clothes he left in his wake.

“Could’ve said sorry” he just says, closing up the register, while you put on your shirt and shoes “C’mon my van is around the back” he offers, grabbing his keys.

“I’m not fucking getting in your car. I can drive” you protest.

“Yeah, uh huh, you and what car, you fucking liar? Saw you at the bus stop the other day, and your car isn’t in the parking lot. You either let me drive or you can sleep in here tonight.”

You let him drive you home. The sound of Judas Priest blaring through the speaker only makes the stubborn silence between you two louder.

The ten minute drive to your house feels like an hour, as you itch to get off the dingy van and take care of what he left unfinished.

He finally parks up in front of your house, you quickly book it towards your door as he shouts “You’re welcome sweetheart” before you fumble with the keys and enter inside. He stays there until you do.

Your dad was asleep already, so you crack his bedroom door to check up on him. You sigh. Everything seems to be alright.

Once all the lights are off, you run towards your room. Still in disbelief of what happened with Eddie, you strip off your coffee- smelling clothes, wincing at the thought of Eddie’s hands sneaking under your shirt, his fingers hooking on the sides of your panties.

The feeling of hatred and arousal battling each other off while you recall his stupid smiling face as he removed his fingers from inside you. The dull empty ache as you came down from the euphoria of his touch and words.

That night, you kick yourself for not saying sorry to him.

[shybunnie20]

Eddie Munson x Alt!Fem!Reader

★Teaser ★My Masterlist

Summary: Eddie seeks Steve's assistance in wooing you, but it doesn’t go the way he intends.

Author's Note: This was so fun to write! I don’t think it turned out particularly angsty tbh. There's a little bit of Halloween in it, 'tis the season.

Proofread to an extent. 90s AU. No use of Y/N. Reader is vaguely depicted: wears black, has tattoos and piercings (no amount or locations indicated for either), enjoys spooky movies, and likes metal music. Happy ending!

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: brief mention of alcohol consumption, contains profanity.

The sun hangs low, blowing kisses of dusk through the streaky panes of Family Video. Inside the store, the sporadic popping of kernels sets the tone for the evening shift.

When it comes to this job, unboxing shipments of snacks is the one task that manages to hold Eddie’s fleeting attention, simply because it gives him an excuse to wield a box cutter. Alas, today is not one where a shipment has been delivered. He’s more or less getting paid to hang out and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Leaning beside the register, Eddie lazily flips through a dated issue of Rolling Stone magazine. He’s not even reading the articles, just skimming the pictures.

In the documentary section, Steve is busy restocking the shelves. “I heard Keith’s giving out a plaque for 'Least Productive Employee' this year. If ya ask me, I think you’ve got Robin beat.”

“That’s debatable.” Eddie licks the pad of his finger and flips the page. “You’ve got it handled, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but there’s plenty of stuff that needs to get done before we get slammed tonight.”

Eddie raises his head and a smirk slowly overtakes his bored expression. “I’m doing my part. Someone’s gotta keep the front counter company. It gets lonely.”

“Aw, how touching. Of all things, you’ve found true love with a piece of furniture.” Steve scoops up the bucket of go-backs and sidesteps to the neighboring genre. “That’s got to be the closest thing you’ve ever had to a relationship.”

Burn, but an accurate one. Eddie isn’t a Casanova but there’s nothing wrong with that, not at all. He’s got his hobbies and friends, what point is there in trying to convince the town that he’s up for a little romance? Besides, the absence of encounters means that flirting isn’t in his wheelhouse.

Eddie looks down at the face of his Casio, reading that it’s nearing seven o’clock. “Hey, do we still have a copy of Beetlejuice around?”

“I doubt it. All of the spooky flicks have been going like hotcakes since Halloween is around the corner.”

As customers trickle through the door, Eddie shifts to the computer system and types hurriedly on the keyboard. “Fuck, it’s gotta be here.” He abandons the register and searches the store.

Steve opens a case and snaps it closed, entirely oblivious to the commotion until Eddie whizzes by in his peripheral vision. “Okay, this is a whole new level of obnoxious. Why are you so hell-bent on finding that specific movie?”

“Because she’s probably gonna wanna rent it, and if we don’t have it…” Eddie trails off as he flies by on the other side of the store.

“Cool your jets, turbo.” Steve notices that more people are coming into the store so he waves Eddie over. The last thing they need is a lawsuit because an old lady got plowed down. “Seriously, what gives?”

Wheezing at the end of the aisle, Eddie hunches over and bows his head. He grips his knees for dear life while he tries to catch his breath. “There’s this girl.”

Steve’s feathered brows mirror the nosey tone of his voice. “Who is it? Do I know her?”

“I doubt it. But she stops in every Friday night.” Eddie coughs.

“News flash, butthead. It’s the busiest day of the week, that’s not exactly narrowing it down.” Steve feels a creeping presence over his shoulder. Speaking of old ladies; he peeks, just to find an elderly woman encroaching on his personal space to view the titles that he’s blocking. “Sorry,” he says halfheartedly before directing his coworker toward the register with a toss of his head. “Is it Tara P.?”

“Nope.” Eddie follows and plops on the stool furthest from the computer. “She wears a lot of black, has tattoos, piercings-”

Steve shakes his index finger. “Okay, yeah, I know who you’re talking about now. She’s always dressed for a funeral."

“I know, isn’t it hot?” Eddie sighs dreamily while he tugs at his green coil key ring, stretching it as far as it’ll go.

Steve shudders dramatically. “I mean, if you’re into that kinda thing. Gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“I’m definitely into that.” Eddie gnaws on the soft pink flesh of his lips as he pauses. “There’s this aura around her, y’know? Not just her looks either, it’s her energy too.”

“Dark and brooding, huh? That’s what gets ya going?” Steve switches to his customer service voice as he checks out the elderly woman with minimal back and forth.

“Yeah, whenever she’s around my hands get all sweaty.” Eddie looks down at his large palms that are growing slick from discussing you. “She hangs out at the bar where I play. God, just seeing her makes my heart sing.” He loses himself in thinking about seeing you at Wraith. You’re the only one that he strives to impress but he has yet to. You dance to other bands but not Eddie’s. Sometimes you nod your head to the beat, though it’s never enough for you to acknowledge his existence.

“Pass me a barf bag. She 'makes your heart sing?'"

“Whatever, dude. It’s not like you’re gettin’ any action with your so called Harrington charm.”

“Excuse you.” Steve looks at Eddie pointedly. “I almost got that girl’s number on Monday, thank you very much. She was totally digging me.”

Eddie chuckles mockingly and tilts his head. “Was she, though? ‘Cause she left without giving you her digits. How many more times do you have to strike out before you finally throw in the towel?”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who canoodles furniture. Don’t come for my manhood. At least I have the balls to make a move.”

“So many moves, and yet, so few takers!” Eddie throws his head back and laughs boisterously.

Steve groans. “Put a sock in it." 

Speak of the devil. Eddie spots you walking into the store, just as you always do at this time. “Oh god.” He gulps and his joints lock, freezing time and space simultaneously. His mouth is slightly agape as the world comes to a standstill. His vision narrows to a tunnel, rendering him deaf and mute.

Steve snaps his fingers in front of Eddie’s face. “Jesus, man. Try to act somewhat normal. If you even know how.”

Eddie does not know how especially not after being literally snapped out of his trance. His palms are clammy, his breathing is rigid, and he’s dizzy as all hell. “Look at her,” he whispers. Christ, you look so fucking pretty today.

“Are you trying to catch flies, dude?”

“No.” Eddie scowls, tightening his lax jaw. “Fuck off.”

Steve takes notice of your figure moving down the aisle and turning in their direction. “Duun dun,” he begins to imitate the Jaws shark theme. “Duuun dun,” As you approach from the other end of the store, Steve gets progressively louder. “Dun dun dun dun dun-”

“Quit!” Eddie barks through gritted teeth and kicks Steve’s calf. “Don’t be an ass.”

“Ow, that was uncalled for.” Steve bends over to rub his leg in an attempt to soothe the ache.

“Jesus Christ! She’s coming over here.” Eddie paces in the cramped area, nearly colliding with Steve when he pivots. “What the fuck do I do? I don’t know how to be Mr. Cool Guy.”

With your chosen film in hand, you are in fact approaching the register. Steve’s voice becomes discernible as you get nearer. “...if you keep acting like such a wuss. Grow a pair and just-”

“Shut up! Shut it.” Eddie makes it appear as though he’s doing something productive to the snack display, but he’s really just shifting the packets of Skittles around.

“Just this,” you say while setting the tape down. Then, you dig into your purse. The atmosphere feels tense, to say the least. You’ve clearly interrupted something. It’s plain to see on the other employee’s tomato-red face.

Steve offers a straight-lipped smile and scans your membership card. “Find everything alright?”

You hum in response. While he carries on with the transaction, you notice how peculiarly still the other guy is. “Hello.” You greet him softly, hoping to ease the atmosphere.

Eddie’s hands come to a halt and he looks up at you with wide eyes. “Heh.” He meant to say hey but only the first letter made it out alive. As you pay for your purchase, his mouth is still moving and he doesn’t know why. “That’s a good one.” He gestures to the movie.

You startle inwardly, not having anticipated an actual conversation to start. He seems nice enough. “You’re a fan of scary movies too, I take it?”

Eddie nods timidly. He flexes his fingers to combat the overwhelming numbness that’s plaguing his hands. His heart is beating so goddamn hard that it’s on the verge of bursting through his chest and landing wetly at his feet. “Yeah, I like them. They’re good. Really good.”

“Agreed.” While you tuck your wallet away, a polite smile rests on your face. “I was actually in the mood for Beetlejuice but it doesn’t look like you have it.”

Your smile falls. The sight causes Eddie’s pounding heart to twist and plummet to his ass. He’d give you every copy on the planet if he could.

Steve listens in over the sound of your receipt printing. His brows arch in genuine surprise that Eddie knew you’d want that movie tonight. Creepy, but impressive nonetheless. “Sorry about that.” Steve tears the paper from the machine and hands it to you. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe.” You nod, accept the receipt, and pick up the tape. “Have a good night,” you say to both of them and head out.

Once you’re through the doors, Eddie clutches Steve’s forearm to ground himself in reality.

“Ugh!” Steve yanks his arm away to escape the muggy grasp. “That’s gnarly, man.”

“Do you believe me now?” Eddie wipes his sopping palms on his jeans.

“Oh, I believe you, especially after witnessing that. I’m pretty sure Henderson has more game than you.”

Eddie returns to the stool with a plop and rubs his face, sighing. “Just kill me already. Put me out of my fucking misery.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time.” Steve laughs to himself. “Anyway, back to Little Miss Dead Inside. What’ve you tried?”

“Nothing. I don’t think she even knows my name.” Eddie drops his hands and slouches in defeat.

“You gotta give her a reason to.” Steve continues conversing from over his shoulder while he checks out another customer. “What about notes? Y’know, old-fashioned love notes.”

Eddie scrunches his nose. “I don't about that.”

“It’s right up your alley, Shakespeare. Besides, the ladies love melodramatic shit like that.”

Eddie suddenly perks up. “Wait, I could be totally anonymous! She could figure it out on her own. That way she comes to me and I don’t even have to approach her.”

“That’s not what I said at all.”

“This could totally work.” Eddie motions to Steve’s head. “Who woulda thought there’s a few marbles rollin’ around in there.”

“Ha-ha. Don’t think I’m helping you.”

“The hell you aren’t.” Eddie hops up on the counter beside the register. He swings his legs with newfound optimism and tears open a package of red vines. “You’re obligated to help since it’s your idea.”

“I absolutely am not, and I have no interest in being inadvertently bitten by some vampire chick. Leave me out of it.”

“C’mon, I’ll owe you big time,” Eddie begs with his mouth full of waxy candy.

“You have to clean the restroom for two weeks.”

“No fucking shot.” Eddie points with a half-bitten licorice rope. “Pick something else.”

“Do you want help or not?”

Eddie did indeed want help, so he agreed to the bullshit terms and conditions. He can scrub a toilet, no problemo. Honestly, he’d polish a hundred of them with a toothbrush if that meant you’d step into his life. You’re worth cleaning toilets for.

After closing up shop for the night, Eddie sits at his desk in his bedroom until the early hours. He writes draft after draft, struggling to find words that are forward and inviting without coming on too strong right off the bat.

Upon your arrival the following week, Eddie is shaking like a leaf. He listens to your interaction with Steve while being partially concealed behind a tall cardboard cut-out. Despite not being able to see you, he can see your lips forming the words in his mind. Your voice alone is making him weak in the knees. Eddie’s certain that if you don’t hightail it out of here soon, they’ll buckle and his cover will be blown.

Once he’s certain you’ve left, Eddie releases the breath he’s been holding since you walked in. “How’d it go? She didn’t see you put the note in there, right?”

“Why are you even asking? You eavesdropped the whole time. Yeah, it went fine, she didn’t notice.” Steve grumbles.

Eddie chews on his thumbnail. “Okay, cool. Shit, what if she thinks it’s creepy? What if she thinks it’s the lamest thing ever? Fuck, what if-”

“Dude.” Steve closes his eyes and holds his hands out. “You’ve gotta stop.”

In the comfort of your home, you plop down in front of the VCR and open the case that holds the reels of this evening’s entertainment; a movie you’ve rented a few times before, but not enough that you could quote it. Instead of a hard plastic shell, your fingertips find wrinkled notebook paper. Your brows furrow as you inspect it, shredded pieces dangling from where it was yanked from the spiral binding.

You unfold it three times.

In the aisles of the video store, I've found a treasure unsurpassed. Not on the shelves, but in your eyes, I fell so fast.

It’s a prank, whatever the fuck this is.

Never in your life have you ever thought about Steve, like, at all. You’re aware of his reputation, that he apparently has the tendency to be douchey and arrogant. But the more you think about it, he’s nothing like that when you interact at Family Video. Maybe he’s not that judgmental and he sees past your midnight exterior. This note is stupidly genuine and endearing. Who would’ve thought he had it in him? Certainly not you.

That’s the thing, though. Steve isn’t your type and you’re certainly not his. But you can’t recall a time when he’s ever looked at you like you’re some kind of freak. Most guys do, that’s something you’ve grown used to over the years and learned to ignore. This poem basks him in a new light, and you’re not quite sure how to process it.

Like clockwork, you’re back again but this time your chest is thrumming. The note could’ve been a fluke or maybe it was meant for someone else, you’re not entirely sure. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to be the intended recipient. Right now, it would be ideal to appear composed but you’re already wearing an unusual expression—a pleasant one—while you make your way to the drama section.

Tonight, it’s Robin and Eddie holding down the fort. As your combat boots scuff across the forest-colored carpet, Eddie can feel your arrival in his bones. He’s immediately seeking you out and when he locates you, he just about faints. Admiring from afar while manning the register, his mind races. Kissing is what’s on the curiosity menu tonight. Eddie wonders what flavor of toothpaste you prefer. If he could just get a little taste…

You meander your way around the shelving and through the dotting of customers. Eddie snaps his head in the opposite direction to avoid being caught staring. The sudden motion causes a pinch in his neck and he winces.

Lost in his own little world for a minute or two, Eddie’s attention is violently brought forward when you place a tape down in front of him. He buffers, noticing how you look subtly disappointed all of a sudden. He can’t imagine why, but he hates it with every cell in his body. Eddie fails to greet you and instead, he stares at your wine-painted fingernails as they tap the surface of the case.

“Is he not here?” You glance around with a lack of determination.

“Steve? Er, no. He called in sick.” Eddie clears his throat harshly, all of the moisture drying up in his mouth by the millisecond.

“Oh, okay.” Over your other shoulder, you admire the new promotional display that was put out during the week.

He seizes the opportunity to slip the second note into the case. His hands viscously tremble despite his best efforts to steady them. “Not to worry though, I can check you out way better than that walking hairdo.” Stop while you’re ahead, man. “Ring you up, I mean. I can ring you up better… than him.” Jesus fucking Christ.

“You’ve got quite the mane yourself. I like your curls.” A smile blooms as you look into the chocolate pools he has for irises. You can’t help but giggle at how bug-eyed he becomes from your compliment.

“Uh, thanks.” Eddie bites back the cheek-splitter of a smile threatening to form. His trembling hands tingle unbearably from being able to make you laugh, despite not knowing what he did to earn it. He grabs a packet of M&Ms from the rack and slides it across the counter to you. “Here, free of charge.”

Your tightly sewn brow is accompanied by a slight pout. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense,” Eddie insists. “Everything’s on the house.”

“Is this some loyalty reward thing you guys do now?”

“Right on the money.” Eddie winks.

“Sweet,” you chirp. It’s as though your spirit has been replenished by saving a few bucks. “Do I get one of those little punch cards? I love those things.”

With the way your eyes are shimmering over a stupid piece of paper; Eddie would build you a house made of punch cards if that’s what you wanted. “Yeah.” He searches aimlessly. “But, uh, we haven’t gotten them yet.”

Your gaze finds his name tag and then returns to his flushed face. The corner of your mouth quirks as you notice the faint freckles dotted across his cheeks and nose. “Okay, well, thank you, Eddie.”

“No need to thank me, I should be thanking you! You’re a valued customer!”

“If you say so. See you around.” You exhale with amusement and turn to leave. 

Eddie holds his palm open as a farewell gesture until you’re out of sight. He then brings his hand directly to his forehead in a ruthless smack. “You’re my favorite customer,” he mocks himself in a nasally voice.

With the press of a button, the register drawer launches open with a thunk. He nonchalantly retrieves his wallet, plucks out a five-dollar bill, and tucks it under the stainless steel clip to pay for your 'free' movie and candy. Eddie finds Robin staring at him with a knowing look on her face. “Not a fucking word, Buckley. Not a word.” He glares, to which she throws her hands up in defense.

You couldn’t possibly wait until you got home to see if there would be another note. As you hop into the driver's seat of your car in the parking lot, you find an identical piece of folded paper. Your heart pitter-patters with the assumption that Eddie is in on it and he did Steve the favor of delivering this one for him.

With your illuminating smile, Baby Ghoul, you're the moonlight in my darkest night.

This note takes you by surprise for a different reason. It feels far more personal to be bestowed with the cutest goddamn nickname you’ve ever been given; ghouls are so metal. You obsessively reread it through the duration of your movie, while you brush your teeth, and as you lay in bed. You’re swooning over each messily penned letter, memorizing the spots where the ink drags and smudges.

It’s a bit difficult to imagine Steve saying this to you, but your insides are lurching at the thought. You hold the note to your chest and squeal.

The following visits are heavenly. Eddie loves seeing you bounce around on the balls of your feet like you’re on cloud nine. It’s becoming damn near impossible to fight the urge to smile because he knows that you’re looking forward to his imminent written affection.

Note after note, confidence simmers in his belly from seeing how the expression of his feelings is affecting you. To know that he’s the reason you’re glowing like this is turning his brain to pudding. Not tapioca, though. Ew.

With wide puppy dog eyes and a glossy lower lip, you present your past-due rental to Steve. He sucks his teeth, crosses his arms, and scolds you playfully. You successfully get out of paying the fee by simply batting your lashes at him.

Steve is eating this shit up. While you might not be his flavor of choice, he’s suddenly feeling open to sampling the femme fatale vibe. You’re beautiful, he wouldn’t waste his breath denying that. Not to mention, you’ve got a great sense of humor, considering you’re laughing at his awful jokes. That’s something he will admit—they’re bad.

Eddie doesn’t have to hear the conversation to know what’s unfolding. He feels like he’s gonna hurl when Steve leans down to shorten the distance between the two of you. He's supposed to be the middleman, not stealing Eddie’s thunder. In hindsight, there haven’t been any hints at his identity and Eddie’s been too chicken shit to give them to you except for the other day when he had no choice.

To put it simply, he’s torn. Eddie wants to scream that he’s your admirer, that he’s the one who dreams of you, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He can’t possibly reveal that it isn’t dashing Harrington who’s pining for you, but instead, it’s the dork. That would be a world-crushing level of disappointment.

This deal turned out to be a massive ego boost for Steve. The conversation is easygoing and it quickly progresses past small talk. The best part is that you haven’t even mentioned the notes. You think he’s some poet when in reality, he doesn’t even have a clue of what they say. You’re smitten without him having to bend over backward to impress you. He’d be nuts not to take advantage of it.

During closing time, Eddie stomps around while collecting the flimsy trash bags full of receipts and candy wrappers. For the past hour, he’s been pondering ways to 'take care' of Steve. Sadly, it would be tricky to avoid raising suspicion if he suddenly disappeared, but hey, a guy can dream.

After dishing the silent treatment all night, Eddie finally speaks up. “You think you’re pretty clever, huh?”

“What?” Steve briefly looks up from counting the cash drawer.

“Cut the crap. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Eddie drags a clunky vacuum out of the cramped utility closet and unwraps the lengthy cord.

“It’s not that serious. Look, it’s not my fault that she’s into me.”

“Is all that hairspray finally soaking into your brain? She’s not into you,” Eddie growls, throwing the canary-colored cord to the carpet. “She likes the person who’s writing to her. Last I checked, that’s me.”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, but she thinks it’s me. She’s happy, I’m happy. I don’t see a problem here.”

Eddie stares daggers. “The problem is that you know how I feel about her. The shit you’re pulling is really fucking unfair.”

“Life’s not fair, buddy. It’s not like you’re gonna do anything about it.”

“We’ll see about that,” Eddie mutters, clenching his jaw as he turns around to plug in the vacuum.

“Will we? I don’t think I’ll live to see the day.”

It’s Saturday night and Eddie’s praying to every conceivable higher power that you’ll be here. You don’t come to Wraith every weekend, but when you do show, he’s nothing short of a nervous wreck.

He peeks out from behind the velvety black curtain of the concrete stage. Eddie’s heart stops when he finds you in your usual booth. You look hot, so so hot. It’s already hard enough to perform in front of you but when you look like this? Oh, brother.

Every year, you look forward to coming here on Halloween. Your friends have gone all out with their costumes and the hours you spent getting ready were well worth it. The typical dark and dingy ambiance is heightened by the plastic skulls and bones strung from the ceiling. Your drinks emit wisps of dry ice fog and each table has a bowl of candy.

Seated at the end of the booth, your eyes drift from your drink to the floor. There you find a pair of dirty white Reeboks. Your gaze travels up the lanky figure shrouded in navy coveralls.

Eddie twists his ring around the base of his finger and the glide is effortless, thanks to the premature perspiration. “Hey.”

“Uh, hi. It's Eddie, right?” Your expression reflects a mix of hesitance and confusion, though you maintain a kind demeanor. 

“Yeah.” She remembered my name. Eddie motions to your getup. “I like your costume. Elvira?”

While you may not be sporting a ceiling-high black wig, your costume is unmistakable. “Right on the money.” You flash a pert grin, quoting him from the other day. “And you’re a…”

“Supposed to be Michael Meyers,” he clarifies, pulling a plastic knife from his oversized back pocket. “The mask was too hot to wear so, I guess I’m a killer repairman?” Max’s borrowed mask was indeed suffocating.

“Or a plumber who secretly dreams of being a professional chef.” You shrug, your irises glistening with humor.

Okay, so far so good. Talking to himself in the mirror for an hour is really paying off because he’s not a bumbling idiot for once. He could be imagining things, but it looks like you’re leaning closer. Maybe you’re just trying to hear him better over the music. He shouldn’t be overanalyzing your body language but it's the only thing keeping him vertical.

Eddie wants to prove Steve wrong but most of all, he wants to tell you how incredible you are. He’s not sure that you’ll want to talk to him after this. You might be hurt when you realize that you’ve been misled and he’s not the one you want. There’s only one way to find out.

The sound of his band getting set up beckons him. “Show time.” Eddie shakes jazz hands with the toy knife still in his grip. Of course, he just had to make it weird.

While he’s playing through the usual set with Corroded Coffin, you don’t pay them any mind, per usual. Their final song is a new one. Eddie may lack the confidence to confess, but he’s gonna sing this with all of the moxie he’s got.

In this world of shadows, what else is there to do

Wanna explore life’s cemetery with you

Your haunting beauty tells no lie

The one thing I cannot defy

The familiarity of the lyrics floods your head. You look up and find his dark, gleaming eyes locked onto you. Your heart leaps in your throat as he repeats the verses. Eddie leaves no room for uncertainty, confirming that the lyrics are pulled from the notes you’ve received. The tone of his voice is raw and passionate as he sends his affection across the room.

As soon as he steps off stage, you’re on a mission to find him. He feels a tap on his shoulder and turns to find you beaming at him. Eddie finally allows himself to do the same, all the while blushing with exhaustion and anticipation.

“Hey, again.” You stare down at your shoes and scuff them against the floor. “You sounded great up there.”

“Yeah? You liked it?” Eddie swallows hard.

Your eyes snap back up to his. “All of it, every single word.”

“I’ve got like half a notebook’s worth of stuff like that. Is that weird?” Eddie chuckles and rubs the back of his neck.

“Far from it.” You tilt your head toward the bar. “I’d love to hear what else you’ve got to say.”

Eddie hovers his hand over the small of your back to guide you through the crowd. “I’ll sweet talk you until the sun comes up, Baby Ghoul. Anything for you.”

Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡

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[bloatedandalone04]

French Kisses

➪the one where jake gets a day off while on deployment, and he meets a cute girl in a french café who refuses to start anything with him because of the distance, but little do you know, in a couple months, you and jake would be a lot closer than you thought.

Warnings: fluff, swearing, more fluff.

Word Count: 4.3k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

When Jake and the rest of his squadron were allowed to leave the aircraft carrier for the day, he was beyond thrilled to get out of the small bunk he shared with the one of the most boring people he’s ever met. 

Derrick Howard, aka Mustang, was the least charismatic person Jake had ever talked to in his life, and the guy couldn’t hold a conversion to save his life. Two weeks of bunking with that guy, and Jake was nearly desperate for actual real human interaction, instead of the robotic nature of his talks with Mustang. 

When the carrier docked in France, Jake slipped on the nicest outfit he brought, which wasn’t that nice, but he didn’t think he’d get to be anywhere but that carrier for the next two months, so he worked with what he had. Jeans and a grey Henley.

He pulled on his jacket to really pull together the bland look, then he was following after the rest of the aviators as they flooded the dock. One by one, each pilot wandered off either on their own or with someone else, and soon enough it was just Jake and Derrick. “Hey,” he said, looking at Jake with a bored expression. “Wanna see if we can find a bakery? I’m dying for some actual food and decent coffee.”

Jake held back a cringe as he debated on whether or not he wanted to spend his day off with boring fucking Derrick, or if he wanted to brave France on his own. 

Before he could decide that though, a girl walked by both of them, and fuck were you stunning. The sundress you wore fell to your mid-thigh, and the baby blue fabric was probably the prettiest thing he had ever seen, other than the girl wearing it. 

Jake watched as you smiled at both him and Derrick before turning and walking into a small coffee shop near the dock. Instead of rejecting his bunkmate, Jake quickly nodded and slapped Mustang on the shoulder as he followed after you. “Yeah, man, let’s go into this one,” 

Inside the shop, you were standing by the display case, your lip caught between your teeth as you looked over the various options. You were leaning over a bit, giving Jake the perfect view of your thighs as you stepped closer to the glass enclosure that held all sorts of pastries and treats. 

You clearly hadn’t noticed that Jake had come in after you, and he had no idea if Derrick followed after him, but he didn’t care as he watched you stand up straight. Just as you turned towards the barista, he stepped forward, and that’s when you bumped into each other. 

“Shoot, sorry,” you laughed quietly, bracing yourself by grabbing onto his arms as he reached out to steady you. Your face flushed with what Jake guessed was embarrassment as you looked up at him, then your expression softened and a brief flicker of realization crossed your features. Yeah, he was the guy you smiled at thirty seconds ago, the same one who followed you in here after one look because you were far too captivating to him. “Hi.”

Even your voice was pretty, though it definitely didn’t sound like French was your first language. Maybe you were visiting or on a vacation here, either way, Jake already found himself liking France a whole lot more than that fucking carrier. 

Jake’s grip on your elbows loosened once he made sure you were stable, then he dropped his arms back to his sides, though a bit hesitantly. “Hi,” he said back, smiling down at you, “Don’t worry about it. I’m Jake.”

He held out his hand to you as you returned his smile, holding eye contact with him before he began to feel a bit awkward that you had not taken his hand yet. Before he could pull it away, you quickly looked down at it with an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, sorry,” you apologize a second time as you take his hand and give it a soft shake. “I’m Y/n.”

Jake laughs and lets go of you before leaning against the counter beside the case. “It’s nice to meet you,” 

Your smile grows a bit as you look over at him. “You too,” you say back, stepping more to the side so you weren’t blocking the line. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Jake furrows his brows as he nods with a grin. “What gave it away?”

“Well, you don’t sound like you’re from around here,” you say with a teasing grin, and Jake really fucking hoped that Mustang wasn’t somewhere nearby waiting for him. Only a few sentences in, and already you held a conversation better than that guy. “But then again, some just don’t.” 

Jake smiles and nods. “Yeah, no, you’re right. I’m definitely not from here. I’m on deployment right now and was given a day off. Figured there were worse places to explore than France,” he joked and you laughed quietly. 

“That’s true,” you confirm before your expression turns curious. “Deployment? You’re in the military?”

Jake glanced around at the small shop for a few seconds before he answered, “Yes,”

“You fly planes?” You ask a follow up question, “Sorry, my bad. Jets?”

He let out a quiet laugh before nodding once. “Yes, ma’am,” he said again and grinned at the faint blush that took over your face. He did a quick look at your left ring finger and found it bare of any jewelry, and his grin grew as he decided to change the subject. “Are you here alone or meeting someone?”

“I’m here by myself. I try to switch up my palate from time to time and try the coffee from other places,” you replied and he hummed before he began looking over the menu of drinks he couldn’t read.

“Tell me, Y/n, what do you do for fun when you’re not trying all the coffee shops in France?” 

You shrug as you look back at the case of pastries. “Oh, you know…this and that,” you start before looking back at him. “I’ve been trying to get as much exploring in as I can. I’m moving in a few weeks since I got a new job. You’d never guess, but I’m really good behind a bar.” You gestured down to your dress and Jake laughed as his brows lifted in surprise. 

“Well, looks like there’s more to you than meets the eye,” he hums. “A bartender, huh? I can see it, actually. Good at holding a conversation, easy on the eyes, a damn pretty smile. You seem to meet all the requirements. I have no choice but to believe you can make pretty good drinks.”

The smile you gave him at that proved his words right, and you quickly looked away as your face flushed once again. 

After a few seconds of a comfortable silence, Jake clears his throat and inches slightly closer to you, hoping that his next words aren’t too forward or too soon, but he also didn’t really care. “You know, I’m here for the whole day. I don’t have to be back until late,” he began, waiting until you looked back at him and met his eye again before continuing, “You’d be saving me a really boring night with my bunkmate if you were to let me take you out to dinner later.”

Your smile falters a bit as you reach up to play with the strap of your purse. “Something tells me that you’re not used to hearing the word ‘no’,” you say with a quiet laugh before giving him a guilty look. “I really hope you don’t take this the wrong way…you’re one of the nicest looking men I’ve ever seen, and you seem sweet enough, but you won’t be here tomorrow. I mean, I won’t even be here soon, I’ll be on my own in San Diego. I’ll probably never see you again after today.”

Even though this sounded close to a rejection, Jake was too focused on the fact that you just told him that you’re moving to San Diego. Where he lived. Still, he didn’t want to mention that yet. “Oh, I get it,” he nodded before trying his best to hold back a smirk as he added, “You’re seeing someone.”

You huff out a laugh of surprise before shaking your head. “I’m not, I swear,” you quickly clarify before he could tell you that he was just joking. “I really want to go out to dinner with you, but I’m going to try and save myself the heartbreak of falling for a guy in the military. Especially since we don’t live anywhere near each other.”

Not yet, he wanted to say, but instead he murmured, “Fair point,” 

You gave him a small smile, and you looked so guilty, but then he further processed your words. 

“San Diego?” He questioned, briefly remembering the time where he overheard Penny mentioning to Maverick that she was hiring someone to help her manage the bar, and he didn’t want to believe that his luck was that good, but he still added, “I’ve been there a few times. What bar are you gonna work at?”

You moved around him and placed your coffee order, and Jake also placed his and quickly paid both yours and his drinks. “Thanks,” you laughed, and that pretty pink tint was back on your face. “Um, well, you might’ve been there since you’re in the military. It’s a place called The Hard Deck. Apparently it’s a hotspot for every military personnel or something.”

Jake’s mouth turned upwards as he stepped off to the side with you as the barista got started on his and your order. “The Hard Deck?” He echoed, “Never heard of it.”

“Oh,” you hummed, leaning back against the wall as you looked up at him, “Well, there you go.”

His smirk grew a bit as he looked back around the shop, his eyes latching onto Mustang, who was still standing outside and looking as lost as ever. Jake almost wanted to laugh at the poor guy. “Listen, I really want to go out to dinner with you too, and though I’m not going to pressure you or anything, I also want to learn more about you,” he says and looks back down at you. “So, if you’re willing to have dinner with me, I think we could have a fun and carefree time together. No expectations, no pressure, just two people sitting at a table together before we’re forced to go our separate ways and get back to reality.”

Your brows furrowed as you squint your eyes, and Jake knew he got you. “Okay,” you gave in just as your order was called. Jake reached over and grabbed both cups, holding yours out to you as he lifted a brow. 

“Okay?”

You took your coffee from him and nodded. “Okay,” you said again before sipping on the hot drink. “We can go out to dinner. I know a good place, it’s not far from here, actually. It’s called Fran’s.”

“Great,” Jake grinned, following after you as you walked towards the exit. “Wanna meet there for seven?”

You turned to him and nodded again, “Sure. Thanks for the coffee,” you murmured, giving him one last smile before walking past him. “See you later, fly guy.”

Jake watched as you walked down the busy street and disappeared in the swarm of people, and he really hoped you were actually planning on showing up tonight. Fuck, what if you didn’t? Should he have asked for your number?

Before he could get too lost in his head, Mustang came up next to him. “Dude, what the hell? You completely ditched me,”

“I said we should go in there,” Jake scoffed and nodded towards the small shop he was just in with you as he sipped on his coffee. “It’s not my fault you didn’t follow me. You should go check it out, the coffee’s more than decent.” He lightly slapped Derrick’s shoulder before turning away from him and wandering into the crowd as well. 

-

At six forty five, Jake was already at the restaurant you chose, and then he realized that he doesn’t speak French, and he had no idea how to ask for a table. 

So he just leaned against the bricked exterior of the restaurant and waited for you. He didn’t have anything formal to wear other than his dress whites, so he was currently wearing dark jeans, the jacket he had on earlier and a dress shirt he stole from Mustang. If there was one thing that guy was good for, it was the fact that he brought an outfit for every occasion for some reason. And thankfully he was the same size as Jake. 

Not long after, his eyes met yours as quickly walked towards him on the sidewalk, a smile painted on your red lips. “You’re early,” you observe as soon as you’re standing next to him.

“So are you,” he said back as he looked down at your black dress. It was pretty and you looked stunning in it, and suddenly he was feeling underdressed. “You look gorgeous.”

You grinned up at him as he guided you towards the doors of the restaurant. “Thanks. You look great, too,” you said as he held the door open for you. 

He watched as you effortlessly spoke French to the hostess, and he shouldn’t have found that so attractive, but here he is, then he was being led through the restaurant. 

Once you were sitting at a table, Jake was having a hard time reading any of the options on the menu, and he glanced over at you. “So, you’re fluent in French?” He asked as you looked over your own menu. 

“Kind of,” you laughed, setting it down after a few more seconds. “I moved here when I was a kid, and I picked up the language pretty fast. I’m from Virginia, originally.” 

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded, giving up on the menu completely. Thank fuck it had pictures, because Jake was fully prepared to just point at what he wanted instead of trying to pronounce it. “I know a guy who spent some time there.”

“Yeah, it’s great,” you hummed, sipping on the wine you ordered for both you and Jake. “I miss it.” 

Jake leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours as he asks, “Are you excited about moving to good old San Diego?” 

You nodded with a grin, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, I think the change will be good for me. I’ve been here most of my life, but twenty three years in the same place can get kind of bland, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” he agreed, reaching for his wine glass. “I have a good friend in San Diego. I’m sure he’d be happy to show you around and help you out if you ever need it. His name’s Bradley Bradshaw, it’s fucking dumb, I know.”

You laughed and covered your mouth as the waitress came over again. “Yeah, that’d be great,” you said before placing your order. Jake ended up doing exactly what he knew he would and embarrassingly pointed at a picture on the menu, but you laughed again, so it was worth it. 

“Hey, maybe I’ll see you in San Diego sometime,” he said once the waitress walked away. 

“Yeah?” You beamed, “You visit your friend a lot?”

“Something like that,” he smirked. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Where are you from?” You asked, and you sounded a bit embarrassed, as if you couldn’t believe you hadn’t asked him that yet. 

Jake waved you off and sat up again. “Texas,” he answered simply then immediately changed the subject, because all he really wanted to do was learn more about you. And maybe he wanted to keep it a secret that he didn’t spend too much money visiting Bradley since he lived a few blocks down from the guy. “So, have you always wanted to be a bartender? Or is that just like a hobby?”

You thankfully didn’t bring the conversation back to where he lived after that, and after an hour of sitting at that table with you, Jake felt like he could spend another five in that exact spot. You were so easy to talk to, and you were beautiful and so his type. And you were single. And so was he. And you were moving to San Diego, the same place he’d return to in a couple months. It was almost too perfect. 

Outside the restaurant, Jake was about to come up with a way to spend a little bit longer with you when you turned to face him. “Do you want to sit by the water with me?” You asked, “I don’t really want this to end yet.”

Jake smiled before clearing his throat and nodding. “Yeah, I do,” he answered, then looked down at your bare arms. “It might be a little cold, though. You sure you don’t want to sit somewhere warmer?”

You waved him off with a scoff. “Please, this is nothing,”

Soon after that, you and Jake were sitting side by side on a bench by the dock, and you were failing to hide the way your body shivered in the cool night air. “See,” he laughed, shrugging off his jacket. “I told you that you’d be cold.”

You rolled your eyes as he draped the jacket on your shoulders. “Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled, giving him a grateful look before glancing over at the water. “Maybe I just wanted to wait here with you and send you off when the time comes.”

Jake felt a warmth take over his body at that, and he looked over at the massive aircraft carrier too. 

“You have to live in that for, what, two more months?” You questioned as you pulled his jacket tighter around your body, and Jake felt a sudden need to protect you as he took in the way the fabric covered your entire top half. 

“Yeah,” he answered, sighing at the thought of going back to his bunk tonight. “It’s not so bad. Gets me out of my house.” 

You nod and bite down on your lip as you look back at him. “Thank you for tonight,” you said quietly, “It was…fun, and I really liked talking to you.”

Jake smiled down at you, letting you inch a bit closer to him. “I really liked talking to you too,” he mumbled, forgetting about everything else around him as you captured his full attention. 

A few minutes passed before you spoke again, and this time your voice was even quieter. “You’ll be careful, right? When you go back and…do whatever it is that you do,”

“Yeah,” Jake rasped, and you were now nearly pressed against his body. “I’ll be careful. I always am.” 

You nodded and looked up at him with your pretty eyes, and Jake couldn’t stop the way his head dipped down a bit. Your gaze drifted lower to his lips, and then you were leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. It was definitely the most gentle kiss Jake had ever participated in, but it felt right. You weren’t some girl he was chatting up at The Hard Deck, nor were you one of the tag chaser’s he’d indulged with in the past. 

You were the sweet and beautiful girl he happened to meet on the one and only day off he had on deployment, and that made you special. 

After a few seconds, you pulled away with a sheepish smile on your face. “Thought you wanted to save yourself a heartbreak by not falling for a guy in the military,” he whispered, and your smile grew. 

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, “Just be gentle about it.”

Jake wanted nothing more than to kiss you again, but he saw a few of the other aviators beginning to make their way back to the ramp that led onto the carrier, and he sighed. “I’ll be gentle about it,” he promised, reaching up to gently stroke your jaw. “I have to go.”

Your smile faded a bit as you nodded and began taking off his jacket, but he stopped you,

“Keep it,” he said, stepping away from you. “Give it back to me the next time you see me.”

Your brows furrowed and you watched as he began walking towards the ramp as well. “What if we never see each other again?” You called out after him. 

Jake turned to face you, still walking towards the edge of the dock. “Then at least you have something to remember me by,” he grinned and you returned it, and that was the last thing he saw before he got back on the carrier.

-

Two months later, Jake was back in San Diego, and he tossed his bag into the back of Bradley’s Bronco before hopping in the passenger seat. “Thanks for picking me up,” he said as the dock began fading into the distance. 

“No problem,” Bradley mumbled as he began driving the familiar route to the best bar in town. “You sure you don’t want me to stop by your place first? I think Y/n will appreciate you more once you’re freshly showered.”

Jake smiled and shook his head. “Fuck off, I showered this morning,” he grunted before his expression softened. “How’s she doing?”

Bradley glanced over at him with a smirk. “She’s fine,” he answered. “She received quite a warm welcome on her first night at work by all the guys.”

A pang of jealousy shot through Jake’s body at that, and he sat up a bit straighter. “I believe it,”

Bradley laughed as the bar came into view. “Don’t worry, she hasn’t looked at most of them twice since then. You’re the only one on her mind for some reason,” he muttered and Jake rolled his eyes. “And before you ask, yes, she still has no clue that you live here. And that you go to The Hard Deck nearly every fucking night.”

Jake’s smile was back as he reached over and bumped Bradley’s shoulder with his hand. “Thanks, man,”

And thank fuck for email, because the night Jake met you, he emailed Bradley and told him that you were moving there in a few weeks and would be working at The Hard Deck. He mentioned that he may or may not already be falling in love with you, and asked the Bird Man to look out for you and help you adjust to the new change. He also said to not mention the fact that Jake would be back there soon enough so that he could keep this whole secret going, and thankfully Bradley was more than willing to do all of that since Jake literally saved both him and Maverick during the last mission. 

“Yeah, but since I helped out you and your little French girlfriend, we’re even now, okay?” The brunet grunted as he pulled up in front of the popular bar. 

“Yeah, we’re even,” Jake agreed, nodding for Bradley to go in first so Jake could hide behind him. Bradley was a bit broader than Jake, not by much, but enough for the blond to be hidden for a good few seconds if he trailed close enough behind him. 

Once the two men walked through the doors, Bradley made a beeline to the bar, and Jake quickly followed after him. When the slightly bigger man ordered his beer, Jake was finally allowed to hear your sweet voice again after two months, and you sounded exactly like how he remembered. 

“Anything else?” You asked as you reached for the drink, and Bradley nodded. 

“Yeah, actually,” he answered, stepping aside and slapping Jake rather harshly on the shoulder to help get him out of the daze he was starting to feel stuck in. 

Jake cleared his throat, refusing to embarrass himself in front of the girl he hadn’t stopped thinking about since the day he met her. “Make it two,” he said once he found his voice, and he gave you a small smirk when you quickly turned to look at him with wide eyes. 

Your brows lifted as a big, beautiful smile took over your face. “What are you doing here?” You breathed, nearly dropping Bradley’s beer as you quickly set it down on the surface of the bar. 

Jake’s smirk turned into a genuine smile as he saw his jacket draped over a stool behind the bar, then he was looking back at you. “I live here,” he answered as if it was the easiest question he’d ever been asked. 

Your brows furrowed and you let out a quiet laugh. “You said you lived in-”

“No,  I said I was from Texas,” he corrected and was rewarded with another pretty smile from you. 

He was grateful when Bradley read the room and reached for his beer, mumbling, “Just put this on his tab,” before giving Jake another encouraging slap as he walked over to Nat. 

Once Jake was alone with you at the bar, he placed his hands on the surface and leaned over, and thankfully you leaned in as well. His eyes searched yours for a few seconds, seeing a mix of emotions in your pretty irises; surprise, happiness, relief. “Thanks for taking care of my jacket,” he teased quietly and you laughed before a look of realization crossed over your face. 

“Have you been planning this for the last two months?” 

Jake shrugged. “I told you I’d be gentle about it,” he murmured, then you were leaning all the way in and grabbing onto his shoulders. He met you halfway, and then you were sharing your second kiss that felt just as right as the first one.

[taintandviolent]

JUST seen that you reblogged the angsty prompts!!! so i’m coming at you with another request - forgive me </3

maybe ‘you scare me’ with kai !!!

warnings: Kai being Kai.... y'know. language. kinda dialogue heavy? maybe? I don't know.

In Kai’s basement, a presidential debate is on in the background, the words blurring together, drowned out by the sound of your own heartbeat, your own pulse throbbing in your head. Feeling dizzy, you stood next to the table, hands hovering over it. Kai waited. Patiently. Too patiently, as though he had all the time in the world – which you knew he didn’t. He acted as though he did and that unsettled you to your core. 

After a shaky breath, you looked from the seat to him and back again. “You scare me.” 

“I know,” he affirmed with a smile. He gestured to the seat across from him. You finally took a seat, knowing that once you put your elbow on that table, pinky out, there was no going back. You hesitated, but Kai urged you down with a nod of his head. 

It was just you two now. No one else in the world. You pulled the chair out, settling into it, with your hands in your lap. Kai’s smile, which had started to fade, generously returned, beaming at you proudly. You’d taken the first step; that was worth celebrating. You’d been honest with him without even taking his pinky… what a champion you were.

“I’m proud of you.” 

With his elbow resting on the table, he extended his pinky towards you. It waited there, like a death sentence. 

“Take it.” A beat. “I said, fucking take it!” 

You tried to steady your hand as you lifted your own pinky to his, curving it around his digit.

“What do you want?” You asked, starting off the questions. 

“I want you to stop being such a weak, pathetic bitch. You’re weak and afraid. Afraid of your own desires.”

You clenched your jaw, setting it hard. You weren’t going to confirm an insult. 

“You think you’re a sly little fox, fooling everyone.” 

You blinked back tears. Now he was getting too close. 

“The reason that I scare you, Y/N, is because I know you.” 

Your lips pursed, hot breath rushing out of your nose. You shook your head. 

He yanked you closer with your pinky, and whispered. “I want nothing but fucking honesty. That’s the whole point of a pinky swear. You’re not that stupid, are you?” 

You shook your head again, slowly. 

“That’s better. Now. I know you very well, and I know what you crave… but why don’t you tell me?”

You swallowed, and ran your tongue along your lips, wetting them as they’d gone dry with anxiety. “You.”

[late-to-the-party-81]

Fit for a Queen

AN: My last little ficlet for @steverogersbingo and I’m revisiting Dom Steve and his Brat reader from I love you, then I hate you (and then I love you more). This went a bit more angsty and a bit softer than previous parts, but it shows their developing relationship.

Beta’d by @drabbles-mc!

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Challenges and Bingos: SGR Bingo July Adoptable  - Face sitting

Summary: It should have been easier now that your relationship with Steve is public, but of course it’s not and you have a lot of feelings to navigate. Luckily your boyfriend is supportive.

Relationship: Steve Rogers x Administrative Shield Agent Reader

WC: 1.2k

CW: Angst, Rumours, Bad language, Steve being a sweetheart, Implied smut.

“Sit down, sweetheart.” Steve looked at you, arms crossed over his massive chest as he leant against his desk.

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, Captain. I have a job to do, you know? I’m not here to be at your beck and call. If you’re going to fire me, get on with it.” You didn’t know why you were feeling so defensive. No, scratch that - you did know. Yours and Steve’s relationship was public now and although the other Avengers had been supportive but otherwise nonplussed, the same couldn’t be said for your other colleagues. You’d already heard whispers about how soon it would be until you were promoted, and people wondering if you were sucking Stark’s dick as well. 

You’d been trying to work off your frustration by balancing some spreadsheets - which on reflection was probably not the best tactic - when the message had popped up on your screen from Steve asking you to come and see him. It had only increased your ire, because it had also increased your anxiety. Was he going to call it off? Was he going to fire you? Your thoughts started to race and by the time you got to Steve’s office you were a ball of anxious, angry energy.

Steve sighed at your waspish tone, and a small pang of guilt rolled around in your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you apologised. “It’s just that I have a lot to do today, and there’s stuff going on, and…”

Steve stepped forward, placed his hands on your shoulders and guided you to a chair. “Please,” he said softly. “Sit down.” You did so with a huff, but you stayed perched on the edge, your right leg jiggling. Steve grabbed hold of another chair and pulled it nearer, sitting as well so he wasn’t looming over you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, face full of concern.

“Me? I’m fine.” You smiled to enforce your false bravado, but it was clear that Steve wasn’t fooled. He reached out for one of your hands, encasing it in both of his.

“I’ve heard the whispers.” His confession was quiet - tentative - as if you were a bomb he was trying to disarm.

You jumped back to your feet, pulling your hand from his loose grip and started to pace up and down. “I fucking hate them all,” you bit out. “No-one has ever questioned my ability to do my job before, and now every decision I make, every piece of work I hand out, is being debated. My competence is being brought into disrepute.” You threw your hands in the air. “Maybe this was all a colossal arse-nugget of a mistake? I got too greedy and I’m paying the price.”

Steve was on his feet and in front of you in seconds, one hand gripping your waist and the other cupping your cheek. “There is no way this was a mistake.” He dropped his head and kissed you hungrily. The anger inside you shifted into desire and you kissed him back with all the ferocity that had built up inside you. Your tongue battled his and your teeth nipped at his lower lip as your hands fisted into the front of his shirt. 

When you broke apart you were both panting, the evidence of Steve’s own ardour prodding you in the hip. Shame rushed through you, and you took a step back. “I-I have to go,” you stammered out and rushed from the door, smoothing your blouse as you went so as to not add any more grist for the rumour-mill. 

You were snippy the rest of the day and unsurprised when you heard whispers of a ‘lovers tiff’. Bunch of bastards. You avoided everyone the best you could, even Steve, your isolation giving you a small modicum of peace. At least, when it came time to go home the weather outside was kind and your commute didn’t make your mood too much worse. However, in a move that you should have anticipated, as you exited the elevator on your floor, you found Steve, in his signature lean, outside your door. You nudged him to the side with barely a glance and without a single word as you unlocked your door and stalked inside. Steve’s footsteps were heavy behind you. You shed your coat and kicked off your shoes before making your way through to the kitchen, where you quickly filled the kettle and placed it on the stove.

“I spoke to Stark,” Steve rumbled from behind you. “It’s not fair that you’re being harassed like this, and I’m not seeing any comeback.”

“Welcome to Misogyny 101, Rogers,” you replied, a defeated tone to your voice. Now you were in your safe space, your walls were collapsing and you knew you were on the verge of tears. You clamped your hand over your mouth to muffle the sob and then Steve was behind you, turning off the stove and wrapping you in his arms.

His hands rubbed your back and he let out gentle shushing noises as you hiccuped into his shirt. “They’re all a bunch of fucking cunts,” you mumbled into his chest and you heard Steve snort in amusement, a sound that never failed to bring a smile to your lips.

“It’ll die down soon I’m sure, sweetheart,” Steve placated. “All we need to do is wait for Tony to do something ridiculous, which as he hasn’t done anything like that in two weeks, it’s due to happen anytime soon.” Your lips twitched up a bit more against the cotton pressed against your face. “I’m sorry that this is happening to you.” He moved, putting a bit of space between you, so he could cup your face in his palms and tilt your face up. You must look a state, you thought.

“You are so special to me,” Steve continued, “and it pains me that people aren’t treating you with the respect you deserve.”

“You can’t do anything about them,” you shrugged. “Saying something would just make it worse.”

Just then, a twinkle appeared in Steve’s eye. “I might not be able to do anything about them, but I can at least show you that respect.” He swept you up into his arms and you let out a shriek at the surprise of it. He was inside your bedroom with a few strides and placed you down on your feet. He quickly discarded his shirt and for a moment you were mesmerised by the sight of his chest as he lay down on your bed. “If they won’t treat you like a Queen,” he said, “then I will. Clothes off, your Highness.”

You tilted your head to the side in confusion, but began to unbutton your blouse. “What on earth are you going on about, Steve?”

With a smile he gestured towards his face. “Your throne awaits, Your Majesty. I want you to come and sit. Let me worship you.”

Oh! you thought. This was a new dynamic. This was Steve just giving to you because he wanted you to feel good. As you shimmied out of your skirt, you could feel more tears prickling at your eyes.

“Uh-uh. No tears,” Steve reprimanded with a wag of his finger. “No unless they’re orgasm related.”

You smiled softly as you climbed onto the bed, dropping a kiss to his lips. Steve’s arms came around you and pulled you close, with a not-so-subtle grope to your ass. “A throne, hmm,” you mused. “A girl could get used to this.” Steve smiled at you, and then without warning he lifted you to settle over his face.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” he commanded.

So you did.

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[seralu]

Seraia I wish you didn't delete your reblog to me about Nick being comforting more than 95% of men I was going to agree and respond but then I fell asleep, and then my gifs went out as a scheduled post so I wasn't asleep I'm sorry if you felt ignored or like your take was unwelcomed, NO! 💔

Anyways you're so right, I was figuring out a way to write how I felt, but yeah! I'd rather be in a room with Nick than most men, it reminds me of how the other day I said it's interesting how radical feminist RFH on Twitter is always interacting positively with Nick and in another post, tweeted out how she'd love to "queen out" with Nick (so real btw) despite thinking completely opposite things from each other. I think it's not just us Nickstorians who feel a sense of comfort just because we like him, it seems to be other women too who don't even share his misogynistic beliefs either.

I kept thinking why, and I do think it's because we know he doesn't want anything from a woman when he speaks to them, his asexuality in other words. We all know when a guy talks to a woman, it's often because he wants something from her, that something usually being sex, so it feels inauthentic every time a man speaks to a woman. But with Nick, he doesn't want a relationship with them, whether due to the possibility of him being gay or just his asexuality alone, either or, we know he doesn't really want anything from us when he talks to us, so it's almost like you can weirdly let your guard down, and have an actual conversation with him without thinking in the back of your mind "is this guy trying to fuck me?".

He isn't afraid to not come off as super "chad" or masculine, like when he'll listen to "gay" songs, aka songs perceived as gay by his audience lol and he doesn't gaf and actually will tell off his audience for thinking that, "If you don't like this song, fuck you". It's refreshing, it's nice. It's authentic. He's not trying too hard to be someone, he's just himself, sometimes to his detriment, but I think that factor is weirdly appreciated by women. Anyways I'm rambling, I hope I made somewhat sense, I kind of just went where my mind took me with this one. Anyways, love you! <3

omg stop I overthought whether I missed the point of your original post LMAO

I totally agree! Most of the time when a man speaks on me, I immadiately put my guard up in case they’re hitting on me, which makes me super anxious around them because men often get violent when they are rejected. In Nick’s case…. since I’m not a twink or a cute asian girl (thinking back to Kathy Zhu and when he debated feminists on Adin’s stream), I think I’m safe!

I definitely also appreciate when a man is authentically himself, as I don’t have to try and read between the lines to guess their intentions because most men are not very straight forward at all. When someone is authentic, we can more easily predict how they will behave and any ulterior motives they might have. As we know how we behaves, this also adds another level of predictability to his behaviour, e.g. I wouldn’t say something stupid which I know would piss him off. Which also allows us to feel in control of the situation, as we know farrr more about him, his insecurities, his behaviour, than he would know about us.

I also often feel that people on the far right, get very uncomfortable and quiet around people whose existence challenges their world view. Thinking back to how Nick hates to be recognised in public, suggests a sense of shame and discomfort with people in real life recognising his bigoted views.

Final point, this one’s a bit offensive to Nick, I’m sorry Nick, but to me, he doesn’t present a big physical threat. I mean this brother is allegedly 5’5, same height as me, and probably has the same muscle mass as me as well. Also, flashback to the KFers dogging on Nick’s ability to throw a milkshake. Forgive me Nick, I still love you regardless 💔

Your ask made perfect sense, don’t even worry, I’ve also started just rambliiing on here as well so hopefully I’m making sense as well.

Love u too Naz <3