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chosows · 9 days

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TRAIN RIDES 🚞

Hiromi Higuruma x Fem Reader

Summary: Due to attending your parents’ marriage anniversary, they have provided your transportation on a luxury train that will travel across the country. With your lack of experience in high-class transport, you found yourself lost upon boarding. While roaming around, you spot a man who looks like he could assist you.

Word count: 3.7k

Contains: Smut, face riding, cowgirl, missionary, cunnilingus, train ride, fem reader, descriptions of intimacy, smut, hookup, no established relationship, alternative universe: no curses

Note: i wish i was on a luxury train — cross posting tomorrow on ao3 because i’m too tired

Boarding a train was always an overwhelming task, especially when it was your first time on a luxurious train. It was huge, spanning across several carriages. Everyone around you seemed to know exactly where they were going, all suited up in formal attire while you were in casual clothing. Panic settled in as you watched the world move through the window, realising you’ll need to find your seat soon. You walked through the endless rows, peeking at the numbers, though none seemed to match the one you were given. You felt sick, it was mortifying knowing there were eyes glued to you as you dragged your suitcase behind you—you couldn’t make more noise if you tried. Entering a new carriage, you spot a man who isn’t glued to a piece of technology—your potential saving grace.

“Excuse me, could you check my ticket? I can’t find my seat.” You suck in your lower lip as you extend your hand, the man in the suit slowly lifts his head from his paperwork.

“It’s been fifteen minutes; have you been walking around the entire time?” His voice was monotone, but he didn’t intend to be brash—it seemed to be a sincere question.

“Yes, this train is too big. I knew I should’ve just driven.”

“You would’ve paid a month's worth of rent on gas; your seat is right here by the way.” He shifts his briefcase and you say your thanks, awkwardly scooting in beside him. As soon as you put your headphones over your ears, he struck up a new conversation.

“I’m Hiromi; it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Since you were unable to hear him correctly, you bat your eyelashes, causing him to crack a smile, “Hiromi. What’s your name?”

“Oh, sorry,” You turn your music on pause and share your name, apologising for your ignorance, “I assumed you were busy with all those documents.”

“I was skimming through my folder; I have to make sure I have everything prepared for my client’s case.”

“Very interesting, and probably extremely confidential.” You pout your lips, desperate for him to be quiet. It’s not him who is the problem, you are pleading to destress from the walk of shame you went on.

“That’s right,” He copies your expression, smirking to himself while he packs his briefcase again, “It’s a good thing I don’t have a wife.”

“Why?”

“I have to travel constantly for work, she’d get lonely.”

“Being single is better anyway; you don’t have to worry about keeping another person happy all the time.”

“That’s definitely one outlook.”

“I’m going to listen to my music now; it was nice to talk to you, Hiromi,” You say cheerfully, giving him a sincere smile before your eyes drift to your phone.

Rather than returning the courtesy, he simply nods his head. This train runs overnight, meaning the two of you are bound to spend hours by one another’s side. He was respectful and stayed within his boundaries; out of the corner of your eye, you could catch a glimpse of him flipping through a novel. Since you couldn’t afford one of the rooms this train has to offer, you begin dozing off beside him. Your head droops down and your phone crashes to the floor, but you don’t wake up. Hiromi glances at you, noticing you are fast asleep; with little to no other option, he leans over you and attempts to pick it up. Due to the abrupt grazing of your legs, your eyes flutter open and you find Hiromi hunched over.

“Your phone, sweetheart. I can’t reach it.” He points to your phone flat in the middle of the aisle and you scurry to pick it up.

“Thank you.” You check your screen for any cracks, then rest your head back against the seat; it wasn’t comfortable, but it would have to do.

“Are you tired?” Hiromi takes a sip of his water and then turns to face you.

“I’m exhausted—I just want to go to sleep.”

“I have a room if you’d like to use it; you should’ve told me.” He rummages through the pocket of his blazer and reveals the keycard—it’s one of the more expensive rooms this train possesses.

“Oh, you don’t have to. I sleep on trains all the time; I’m used to this—”

“If you’re tired, you need proper rest. I’ll take you to the room and you can have a look in; you might change your mind.” He stands up, meaning you also have to stand in order to let him out. Your suitcase and your purse are dragged along as he strides forward with the baggage, leaving you to sprint behind him.

Reaching the new carriage, you are taken back by extravagant decor—you almost forgot you were on a train. He beckons you over while he scans his card, allowing you to take a step inside. You were in awe, it had a double bed and a small desk space—it even had a dining table. The warm yellow lighting made the wooden interior appear cosy, much like the floral duvet—it reminded you of your grandparents’ home. You spin around to Hiromi who had taken his blazer off and loosened his tie, now realising how sunken his eyes were from lack of sleep. Perhaps he needed this more than you—it would be unfair to take something that someone else had spent their hard-earned money on.

“It’s lovely here, but I can’t take it from you. You’re going to need more sleep than me.” You clasp your hands together and provide him with a soft smile, only to hear him chuckle.

“Take the bed, it’s yours. I’ll be fine, I do appreciate your concern though.”

“Are you sure?” You sit down on the mattress, instantly melting into the rich memory foam. It moulds around you, cushioning every inch of your body.

“I’m certain. Why are you on this train—work-related?” Hiromi asks from the dining table, staring over at your limp body.

“No, family-related. I have to celebrate my parents’ wedding anniversary.”

“Sounds like it will be fun,” He rolls up the sleeves of his white cotton shirt, revealing the watch on his wrist, “It’s better than what I’m doing.”

“You’re a lawyer, right? Or did I make that up?” You roll over onto your stomach and lock eyes with him, growing comfortable in his presence quickly.

“Unfortunately. It’s a nightmare, I wish I wasn’t.”

“I’ve never met a lawyer before; law is one of the most desirable courses for young people studying. Guess they have their hopes too high.”

“Absolutely—far too high. They think it’s fun when they’re twenty, then it hits them full force when they’re thirty-six.”

“You’re thirty-six? I thought you were younger—maybe twenty-eight.”

“I’m flattered, but no. I’m thirty-six and I feel like shit to put it simply. I should’ve gone into finance.”

“Being a lawyer is more impressive. You look like you’re good at your job; you dress well and you seem professional.”

“I’m glad you think so, but I’m not the most professional out there—not when I’m out of work.”

“Do you live a double life? Lawyer by day, male stripper by night.” You motion your hands in the air and laugh, hearing him join in with your absurd sense of humour.

“Male prostitute, actually. It’s going to cost you for this conversation; I charge $10 per every five minutes.”

“Do you take card? I have no cash.”

“You’ll have to find a way to make some then.”

“You’re funny, Hiromi. Do you live in the town we departed from?” Your eyes drift up as he approaches the bed, locked on him without shifting.

“Live and work there; I have for a while.”

“Could I get your number? It’d be nice to keep in contact with you.”

“Give me your phone, I’ll type it in.” He takes a seat next to you while you pass him your phone, observing him as he creates the new contact.

“What brand is your watch? It looks fancy.” You poke his forearm and he places your phone down on the bed, rotating his wrist for you to see the watch face.

“Vacheron Constantin.”

“That sounds expensive—it’s gorgeous.” It was completely silver, gleaming in the light. He undoes the strap and puts it on you, allowing you to temporarily wear it.

“It was, the price isn’t important though. It looks pretty on you.” His smile widens, revealing his straight set of teeth. Hiromi isn’t a bad-looking man, he also has a similar sense of humour to you—you were lucky to have bumped into someone like-minded.

“It’s a little too big for me, I’ll have to give it back.” You extend your wrist forward then draw it away, taunting him playfully.

“I thought you were tired.” He continues attempting to grab your arm, but you dodge him each time.

“I am, you’re just too slow.”

After a back and forth of him trying to grab your arm, he pushes you flat into the pillow and forcefully grabs your wrist. You turn your head to the side, sensing yourself burn up from the contact; he was on top of you, removing the watch. When he’s finished securing the watch in place on his wrist, he notices how silent you become. He lies down beside you and groans, his hands resting on his abdomen, untucking his shirt.

“Have I destroyed this friendship already?” Hiromi clears his throat, then ruffles up his hair since it has gotten messy.

“No, far from it. I like to play around.” You raise your hand in the air, stretching your fingers and then the rest of your body in turn; the yawn you had been holding back finally escaped.

“People who play with me always lose,” He meets your hand mid-air and gets intertwined with it, shaking it side to side, “Especially when they’re sleepy.”

“That feels targeted.”

“Maybe it was.”

“A lawyer has never won against me; I suppose you’ll be the first to lose.” You bite your lip and roll over onto your side to meet him; a smug expression takes over his face, twisting his lips up into a smirk.

“I like your confidence.” He places your hand on his chest and shifts your position, now straddling him.

“Do you?—” Your fingers brush against his face as you loom over him, “—Your skin is so smooth, wow.”

“Yeah, I get quite a bit of stubble but I prefer the clean shave.”

“You’re cute, Hiromi.” You continue to stroke his face; his brows furrow after he hears your words and he chuckles.

“Cute?”

“Handsome, attractive—whatever you want to call it. You’re good looking and I like your personality.” You retract your hand and beam at him; his expression significantly warms, and the grip he had on your hips becomes lighter.

“I wasn’t expecting that; a lot of people find me to be bland. Speaking to someone with a similar sense of humour is refreshing.”

“If you’re bland, we must be two of the most boring people.”

“We probably are,” He snickers, his eyes drifting from your face and down your torso, “Maybe not you, but me.”

“I don’t believe that; I think you have a fun side, everyone does.”

“How am I supposed to flirt with a woman like you while I’m sober? You’re stunning; I don’t know what to say to you.”

“You’ve been doing a good job,” You play with his tie, loosening it while you wrap it around your hand, “Do you speak to many women?”

“You’re hilarious,” He scoffs, squinting his eyes while he glares at you, “I’m not that bad. I’m not used to flirting with new people, that’s all.”

“Were you never the type of clubbing guy?”

“I think it’s a waste of money—there’s hardly any class in a club; don’t take that the wrong way. I prefer more meaningful ways of meeting someone.”

“What’s a more meaningful way then?”

“Becoming acquaintances with a lost lady on a train, assisting her when she dropped her phone, and allowing her to take my room because she claimed she was so tired. Though I don’t think she was that tired, clearly.”

Thumping fills your ears as your heartbeat increases, drowning out all other sounds while becoming flustered by his statement. Hiromi had a way with his words; even the most basic statement uttered with the correct tone would prompt you to feel some type of way. It’s a powerful yet effective charismatic trait—likely one he uses in the courtroom. With a gentle hold on your jaw, he lures you down closer, brushing his thumb over your lips. Your lip gloss was smeared across his skin, but he continued the motion. You refrain from making the first move; if this is all a big game, you aren’t going to be the one to lose. He continues muttering out compliments under his breath, then draws himself just a centimetre away. His breath was hot on your skin. The sexual tension is at its peak; it’s bursting at the seams, begging to be released. Unable to stand it much longer, you press your lips to his and lose yourself in his kiss.

One hand is on the back of your head and the other is on the small of your back, pushing you as close as he can to deepen the kiss. You could feel his boner forming through his pants, though you were in no position to comment as the damp patch forming in your panties grew. An experienced kisser, but you believe these lips haven’t kissed many women. Hiromi had always been the long-term relationship type of guy until his last breakup; he had given up on finding love—it would only waste his time searching through women to find the right one. His hands slip under the fabric of your top and he unclasps your bra, sliding the straps down from your shoulders. To catch his breath, he breaks free from you and watches as you take your top off, revealing your exposed breasts.

“You are gorgeous,” He gropes your breasts, not enough to invoke pain but enough to generate a slight increase in pleasure, “Perfect even. A woman like you shouldn’t still be single—what type of man could fail you? I’d do anything to make you happy.”

“What type of woman could fail you?” You repeat his statement, altering it slightly. If you were Hiromi’s ex-girlfriend, you wouldn’t have hesitated to tie the knot as soon as you got engaged.

He didn’t answer your question—he was too focused on getting you out of your pants. After undoing the button, he tugs them down and reveals your panties. You hadn’t been expecting to end up in a scenario like this so you were in potentially your worst underwear set—it is far from sexy, but he doesn’t seem to care. Your chest was heaving as his fingers skimmed your inner thigh, hooking onto your panties and guiding them down slowly. While you were fully naked, he was entirely clothed. The power dynamic was in his hands. He pushes you forward, moving your hips further up his body just before his mouth.

“Don’t be shy, ride my face. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.” While you’ve been eaten out before, you have never been in this position. It was strange to experiment so suddenly, but your body was urging for his touch.

“Will you be okay?” You wrap your fingers around strands of his hair, hovering over him while waiting for confirmation.

“I’ve done this before; you have nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine, so will you.” He squeezes the flesh of your waist, reassuring you that you have no reason to doubt his word. He guides you as you lower yourself, planting your pussy on top of his mouth.

The first flick of his tongue gathered up your slick, but he gave you nothing more. He slapped your ass gently, widening his eyes to signal you to begin moving. You sway your hips as he works his tongue, building up an orgasm faster than you have before. Though you were poking fun at him earlier, you’re convinced this is the first pussy Hiromi has indulged in for a long time. He was starved, sucking your clit and lapping his tongue in all of the correct places. He knew how to stimulate you, and he knew just how to hit those sweet spots. You had taken advantage of your position, grinding against him as his hooked nose bumped into you. The sweet taste you provided was causing him to strain, his tip beginning to leak pre-cum in his freshly cleaned suit. He grumbles as you continue, his fingers grasping you hard enough to the point they leave indents in your skin. You found yourself moaning legitimately rather than forcing it—little whimpers flying out between your laugh provided by the satisfaction.

“Hiromi,” You mutter his name, his hazy eyes opening and locking with yours. He was intoxicated by ravishing your cunt, and his expression had pushed you closer to the edge of a climax.

The coil in your core had snapped before you had time to alert him you were cumming, resulting in a whine as he continued to collect anything remaining. Your eyes became half-lidded until the sound of his phone buzzing caught both of your attention. Hiromi couldn’t care less of who attempted to contact him while he still had you in his hands; he lifted you from his mouth and flipped you over, pulling your bottom lip down with his thumb. He spits what cum remains in your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself as he’s busy unbuckling his belt. No one had ever made you feel so mighty and then so belittled in the span of minutes, but you liked the treatment you were receiving. He wipes his face clean with the back of his hand and continues exploring every inch of you.

In moments, he was in his boxers. A faint trail of hair was present at the lower end of his abdomen, leading down into his boxers. Though he wasn’t in perfect shape, he was toned and his muscles were present. You could see the outline of his dick, switching your gaze between it and his face. He leaned over to pick up his briefcase, searching for his wallet. When he finds it, he pulls out a condom and tears it with his teeth, turning away as he puts it on. You close your legs over and he turns back to you, his entire length on show.

“I forgot how awkward this was,” He grunts as he scoots his way closer to you, prying your legs apart to situate himself between them, “Are you okay?”

You nod your head, unable to get words out of your mouth. He took your breath away; the fact he is embarrassed baffles you. Positioning his tip at your entrance, he allows himself to lubricate using your slick. Since both of you were breathing heavily, he locks his fingers with your hands and inches his way in, hushing you to remind you that there are other people nearby. You had completely forgotten you were on a train. He slips in quickly, finding an adequate rhythm to thrust into you. Hiromi enjoyed seeing your face contort as he hit you in deeper spots, but this position was growing old. A woman as divine as you deserves to be on full display. He continues to thrust into you in that position before pulling out and rolling over, planting you on top of his dick.

You slipped him back into your sopping hole and began to bounce, riding him in a way that chased your climax. The girth of his dick filled you up nicely, his tip rubbing repeatedly against a sweet spot found deep inside of you. He would groan as you rocked your hips, his eyes fluttering back to resist his cum from shooting into the condom. A true gentleman of the sort, prioritising your sexual needs before his—he was letting you use him without saying a singular word. Your walls begin to tighten around him, finding yourself coming undone for a second time this evening. As you begin to lose stamina, he takes control and begins pushing into you. You droop forward and snuggle your face into the crook of his neck, placing kisses and bites in areas the collar of his shirt would cover. One thing for sure is that you’re going to give him something to remember by the end of this train ride.

His face scrunched up as he released his load, moaning quietly as the condom filled up. He thrust you down on him a final few times before slipping out of you, his dick becoming flaccid. He pulls your head back and stares at your exhausted face; if you weren’t tired, you were now. Hiromi finds himself in a predicament as he realises he has nowhere to toss his used condom, so he rolls out of bed and takes it off, switching into his more neutral attire as you remain flat on the bed. The door to the room slams shut and you sit up, rubbing your eyes to prevent the drowsiness from winning. You climb back into your lingerie and put his shirt on, doing up the first few buttons. It was large on you, but it did the job of providing comfort. A few minutes go by and he returns, giving his full attention to the phone before he glances back your way.

“The trial got pushed back a few days; do you think there’s room for one more at your parents’ party?” He’s testing his luck—he’ll have nothing else to do in this city until the new date of the trial arrives.

“Don’t wear anything fancy then—I don’t need them asking me questions.”

“I won’t. That was good sex,” He sinks into the bed and pulls you into an embrace, tackling you to the mattress, “Do you want the whole cuddle thing or is it too soon for that?”

“It’s never too soon for a cuddle.” Your face lights up with a smile, squeezing him back while pressing your cheek into his chest.

“You lost by the way.”

“How? You initiated.”

“You came first. Since I won, I’d like to take you on a date. We can do anything you’d like; I have a week free.”

#higuruma x reader #higuruma smut #jjk higuruma #higuruma x y/n #higuruma hiromi #jjk #oneshot #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #alternate universe #smut

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daisynik7 · 7 months

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Cure for a Hangover

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~3.9k

cw: next-door neighbor Kishibe, age gap (I’m thinking at least fifteen years, Kishibe pushing mid-forties, reader is in her late 20s/early 30s), alcohol consumption, p*rn no plot, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl), blowjob, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, nipple play, pet names (sweetheart, angel, kiddo)

Summary: Kishibe is your mysterious, brooding, and significantly older next-door neighbor. You’ve lived beside him for a while now, only exchanging basic pleasantries out of politeness, never anything more. One night, he comes home drunk, or so he thinks. It’s not his door he’s slumped again; it’s yours.

Author’s Notes: It’s been a minute since I wrote for Kishibe and I really do miss it. This old man continues to do wonders to me, so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks! MDNI divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

Taglist: @batafuraikisu @neverlandlostchild @bloompompom @dprkento @a-listaire @man-knees @demonwoman (bc Kishibe using kiddo as a pet name is living in my head rent free thanks to you)

part 3 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

It’s not often that you’re met with a man slumped against your door, but here you are, staring down at your next-door neighbor, Kishibe, doing just that.

It’s past two in the morning now, and you’ve just come back from your own night out with your friends. You’re not nearly as drunk as you were three hours ago, after pounding glasses of Chardonnay while watching cheesy romance movies at your best friend’s apartment. And you’re certainly not as inebriated as the man before you, who absolutely reeks of liquor, even from a small distance away.

You inspect the scene thoroughly, unsure what to do in this scenario. Kishibe is basically a stranger to you. Sure, you’ve exchanged basic pleasantries here and there over that past year since you moved in. That’s as far as it goes. You have no idea what his profession is, though you have a solid guess as to what it could be, given his work attire and overall physique. While you’ve never run into one yourself, devils run rampart in Tokyo, hell-bent on causing chaos wherever they spawn. Kishibe looks like a Devil Hunter, whose job is to eliminate these monsters. It’s intriguing, that’s for sure, but you’ve never mustered the courage to ask him about it, leaving him to maintain his mysterious demeanor.

However, right now, you don’t see a Devil Hunter in front of you. Instead, it’s a simple man who is very drunk and very much in your way.

Deciding to help him, because that’s the only choice you have if you want to get into your apartment, you kneel down to search his overcoat, patting the breast pocket for keys. When you find nothing, you move to his pants, retrieving only his phone. His eyes are closed and he’s snoring, blissfully unaware of your predicament in his drunken stupor. You take this time to study his face. He’s looks much older up close; not only that, he’s even more handsome than you originally thought. There’s a prominent scar running from his mouth to his jaw, surely an interesting story behind it. You’re tempted to trace it delicately with your finger, but you ultimately resist the urge, snapping out of it to investigate his phone for any clues.

There are several missed calls and texts from a person named Kenji. You use the Face ID feature to unlock his phone, thanking the universe that even with his eyes shuts, it works. Not wanting to pry more than necessary, you check the most recent texts for the answer to your question: Where the hell are his keys?

Kenji: you left your keys at the bar, come back now. I’m closing up soon

Kenji: I’m not waiting for your ass

Kenji: I’m leaving, get them tomorrow

You read over the messages once more, groaning quietly to yourself at your dumb luck. Desperate now, you resort to the next logical step.

“Hey,” you say, tapping him lightly on the cheek, rousing him awake. “Kishibe.”

Slowly, but surely, he opens his eyes, half-lidded, struggling to focus on you. “Huh?” His breath is heavy with liquor, most likely whiskey. His voice is deep and gravelly, and you hate admitting that’s it’s almost sexy. Well, not almost. It is sexy.

Letting the inappropriate thought fade, you say, “You’re at the wrong apartment. This is mine.”

He blinks three times, opening his eyes properly to stare at you, expression confused. “Am I dead?”

You bite your lip, holding back laughter. “No, you’re not.”

“Am I in heaven?”

You shake your head, repeating, “No, you’re not.”

“Then why is there any angel here with me?” He sounds sincere, and you can’t help but break out into a genuine smile.

“I’m not an angel,” you reply, giggling.

His lips curve into a cocky grin. “You sure? You look like one to me.” Cheeky bastard, hitting on you while he’s plastered. And look at you, finding it endearing when he does.

Slightly more relaxed, you slide the phone into his breast pocket, standing up to unlock your door. You can’t just leave him out here all night, so you decide to let him stay with you until he’s sober enough to call a locksmith. You jiggle the keys, turning the knob to open the door, and suddenly, there’s a loud thud, and then a delayed, “Ow.” He’s laid flat in the middle of your doorway, hitting his head on the hardwood. You feel guilty, not having the foresight to see this coming. His body is much sturdier than you anticipated.

You kneel down, apologizing. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

He winces, rubbing the back of his skull, then gives you a goofy smile. “I’ll be fine. Think I can get a kiss to make it feel better?”

You roll your eyes at him, once again unable to contain your laughter. “I’ll get you some ice. Let’s get you to the couch first, okay?”

Somehow, some way, whether it’s spurred by adrenaline or desperation to finally get some sleep in your own bed, you manage to haul him up by the armpits and drag him the short distance to your couch. You fluff a pillow and place it under his head, making it as comfortable as possible for him. “I’ll get the ice now.”

Before you can stand up, he grabs your wrist, gripping you tightly. “What about my kiss?”

“Nope. Not happening. I bet you don’t even know my name,” you challenge him.

He doesn’t respond, loosening his hold so you can get up. You fill a plastic bag with ice, returning to surround the back of his head with it. Eventually, he utters your name, eyes closed while he relaxes to your touch. He peeks at you with one eye open, waiting for you to confirm.

You nod, grinning. “So, you do know my name.”

“Can I get my kiss now?” he teases, gazing at you.

You shake your head. “Definitely not. I will not take advantage of a drunk person, that’s fucked up.”

He sighs, exhaling deeply, broad chest rising and falling. “Yeah, you’re right. I knew you were a good girl.”

You try not to hang on to those words, especially the last two, already fluttering below your belly over it. Grabbing his hand to replace yours, you instruct him to keep it there while you return to the kitchen to pour him a large glass of water. Within the short amount of time you’re gone, he falls asleep, his hand barely holding onto to the ice pack.

You smile to yourself, setting the glass of water down on the coffee table to continue attending to his minor injury. After a while, when you notice that there isn’t any bump or swelling developing, you stop icing him. He snores peacefully in a deep sleep, no sign of waking up anytime soon. As gingerly as you can, you remove his overcoat, draping it over the back of the couch. You set his phone next to the glass of water, for easy access. His tie looks tight around his collar, so you loosen it. Finally, you remove his shoes from his feet, laying them by the front door near your own pair. You’re certain he’ll wake up in the morning, feeling like shit, so you place a bottle of painkillers by his phone in case he needs them.

It's past three now by the time you’re dressed down in your pajamas and snuggled in bed. You keep the door ajar, listening to Kishibe’s steady breathing in the living room, treating it like white noise to help you fall fast asleep.

~~~

Kishibe wakes up with his head throbbing. He stares up at the ceiling, not recognizing it as his own. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that this isn’t his apartment.

He turns, seeing his phone, a glass of water, and a bottle of painkillers on the coffee table arm’s reach of him. Slowly, he sits up, grimacing from the pain, downing all the water in three large gulps. He checks his phone, thankfully still on its last leg of battery. It’s almost eleven on a Saturday morning and he’s sure Kenji, his bartender friend, is already awake, preparing for the day.

“Kenji,” he mutters, throat hoarse from last night’s festivities.

His friend first berates him for forgetting his keys, then laughs when Kishibe explains that somehow, some way, he managed to fall asleep on someone else’s couch. He could have woken up in worst conditions, that’s for sure.

Kenji agrees to stop by after running his errands, in about two hours or so. Beggars can’t be choosers, so Kishibe has no choice but to wait. When they’re phone conversation is over, he sinks back into the cushions, trying to piece everything together from just a few hours ago. He recalls snippets of it, and he grows increasingly embarrassed as the memories play vividly in his brain. He’s certain he called his neighbor an angel, and even more sure that he was begging her for a kiss. How shit-faced was he to compel him to do that? Obviously, very. How could he let his intrusive thoughts blurt out of his mouth like that?

Call it cliché or whatever, but yes, Kishibe is attracted his young, pretty neighbor next door. However, he’s held off on making a move because he doesn’t want to make things between them awkward. Once he crosses that line, their relationship gets more complicated. And the devil knows that Kishibe doesn’t do complicated. So, he’s content with gazing from afar, exchanging basic small talk with one another whenever they pass each other in the hallway. That’s as far as it’s gone with her, and that’s as far as it will go.

Of course, that’s all fucked up now thanks to his drunken antics from last night.

Before he can make his move, he hears a bedroom door creak open from behind him. She comes out, looking fresh out of the shower, dressed in skimpy pajama bottoms that are short enough to expose that tantalizing curve right below her ass. Surely, she’s doing this on purpose, right? She has to know how fucking sexy she looks right now, there’s no way she doesn’t.

He clears his throat, preparing to explain himself right off the bat to avoid an awkward confrontation. But he’s rendered momentarily speechless when she flashes a bright smile at him. “Morning, Kishibe.”

He huffs out a short laugh. “Morning.”

She steps towards him, sitting at the opposite end of the couch by his feet. Her shorts ride up and he’s sure he can see the lacey outline of her panties. Or maybe it’s just his perverse imagination, who knows at this point. “How are you feeling?” she asks, genuinely concerned.

He grunts. “Like shit,” he answers. “But it could be worse.”

“That’s the spirit,” she teases, patting his knee.

His head pounds from his hangover, though it’s his heartbeat that thumps loudly against his eardrums, aroused by her touch. He has got to control himself. Doing his best to distract her from the raging boner growing beneath his slacks, he asks, “What happened last night?”

She explains her account of the evening in detail, her voice soft and soothing, cautious of his current headache. She leaves out the parts where he embarrasses himself, which he’s grateful for, not wanting to relive the humiliation. When she’s done, she offers, “If you want, you can take a shower while you wait for your friend to arrive. I can get you some towels. I even have a toothbrush you can use.”

He raises a brow at her. “Are you trying to tell me I stink?”

“Do you need someone to tell you that you stink? I thought it was pretty obvious given the state you’re in,” she quips, matching his expression.

He laughs, genuinely amused by her response. “Yeah, can’t argue with that.”

She leads him into her bathroom, showing him how to work the knob for hot water, pointing out the shampoo, conditioner, and soap kept neatly on a corner shelf of her bathtub. She lingers for a bit while he starts the shower, then hands him a clean towel and new toothbrush. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Surprisingly, he makes it through his shower without succumbing to the temptation to touch himself. As degenerate as he can be, he still has some sense of respect and pride in him, enough to resist masturbating in his neighbor’s shower. He does, however, give her shampoo and conditioner bottles an extra-long sniff.

He dries off, scrubbing his hair with the towel, cleaning behind his ears with cotton swabs, checking his piercings. Towel wrapped around his waist, he brushes his teeth, making sure to go the full two minutes, scrubbing his tongue after. He hasn’t made the best impression so far, so he figures he should try to change that now, if there’s still a chance. Feeling fresh and clean, he stares down at his clothes in a pile on the floor. Even from where he stands, he can smell them, almost like they’ve been diluted in liquor and musk. Without thinking, he steps out of the bathroom, calling out her name. “Got any clothes I could borrow?”

She’s in the kitchen when he comes out, leaning over the stove as she cooks something that smells wonderful. She turns to face him, staring wide-eyed as he stands almost naked in the middle of her living room. Her gaze drifts down his bare body, lingering on his sculpted abs, then at the towel wrapped precariously around his waist. She snaps out of it in time, saying, “I don’t. Sorry.”

“My clothes fucking stink and I don’t want to wear them right now. Mind if I just walk around like this?”

“Sure. I mean, I don’t mind.” She focuses her attention back to the pan, continuing to cook what looks like scrambled eggs.

He knows this is a bizarre request, though this day couldn’t get any more bizarre than it already is, can it?

~~~

You’re not exactly sure how to refuse Kishibe’s request to walk around half naked in your apartment, so instead, you agree to it, claiming that you don’t mind. In actuality, you mind very much, simply because you can’t help but fantasize about the delicious sight beneath the towel. One wrong move like a bump to the hip is all it takes to see that pesky cover fall down. Geez, when did you become such a pervert? And for an old man?!

Desperate for a distraction, you maintain focus on the eggs in front of you. While he was in the shower, you decided to start breakfast, something hearty to combat that hangover of his. Scrambled eggs, toast, and sausage, comforting foods to soak up the remaining alcohol left in his body. He makes his way towards you, scooting a chair out from the table to take a seat. He strategically maneuvers himself to not accidentally expose you, though you really don’t mind if he does. Again, perverted thoughts, shame on you!

Finished cooking, you scoop the eggs out onto his plate and the other meant for you. He thanks you, taking a whiff of his breakfast, a small smile on his face. “Smells good.”

You pass him another glass of liquid, this one filled with an electrolyte drink meant for hydration after a night of drinking. “Drink this. It’ll help with your hangover.”

He eyes it suspiciously, then takes a gulp without questioning it further.

The two of you eat in a comfortable silence, ignoring the obvious tension hanging in the air. From your peripheral, you notice the glint of steel hooked to his ear lobe. Piercings, which you never noticed before. Sexy.

He ends up finishing his entire meal, popping a few painkillers to chase it all down. He even chugs the electrolyte drink, claiming it isn’t so bad. While you take the last few bites of your toast, he excuses himself to brush his teeth again. You’re surprised at how hygienic he is, considering how he appeared before you just mere hours ago, hunched against your front door covered in his own liquor-soaked sweat. You take the plates, stacking them in the sink to wash for later. How much longer is his friend going to take to arrive here? You’re getting nervous, thinking of other ways to fill this gap of time without making your attraction to him so obvious.

You sit on the couch, turning the TV on to a random sitcom with the volume low, listening to the rush of water from the faucet inside the bathroom. When it stops, you try to find a comfortable position to sit in. It’s only now that you realize how short your pajama bottoms are; they ride all the way up your thighs and you can practically see your underwear through them. It’s too late to change when Kishibe returns, still clad in just a towel, taking a seat on the other side of the couch a safe distance beside you. It’s silent for a brief moment, neither of you knowing what to say in this odd situation. You shift nervously, tugging at the hem of your shorts.

“Thank you,” he starts, avoiding your gaze, staring ahead at the television. “For taking care of me. Must have been annoying to deal with a drunken old man.”

You smile, relaxing. “It wasn’t so bad. Besides, I couldn’t just leave you out there like that. Someone could have taken advantage of you.”

“Like you almost did?” he smirks, facing you now.

Laughing, you meet his gaze. “You remember that?”

“I do.” He spreads his legs apart just barely, towel draped dangerously over his knee, almost ready to slip.

You swallow hard, avoiding a glance in that direction, heat surrounding your cheeks. “Well, I was a good girl, remember? I didn’t do anything.”

He hums, nodding slowly, eyes drilling into yours. “You were a very good girl.”

Your breath hitches and you find yourself gravitating towards him, scooting closer. He grins, the scar on his cheek curving with it, voice low and seductive. “You gonna be bad for me now?”

“Only if you want me to,” you purr, sliding your hand beneath the towel, up his thigh, arousal pooling between your legs. Fuck it. He wants it, you want it. There’s no denying it anymore.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, pulling you in for a kiss. His mouth is cool and minty against yours, the remnants of toothpaste lingering in his spit. You slurp it up, hungry for any taste of him. He removes the towel from his waist, shrugging it to the floor, leaving him completely naked. You glance at his lap and bite back a moan, amazed at how fucking big he is, way too eager to have him inside you, desperate to be filled to the brim.

“Not bad for an old man, huh?” he chuckles, wrapping his fist around the shaft, stroking it.

“Not bad at all,” you smile, stripping out of your clothes hastily, kneeling between his legs with your mouth open.

He feeds you his cock, humming when you surround him in your wet heat, swallowing him to the hilt. One hand grips the back of your head, guiding you gently up and down his shaft. “You’re filthy, taking your neighbor’s cock like this. Who knew you’d be such a slut?” he mutters, caressing the side of your face with his other hand. “Touch yourself while I fuck this filthy mouth. Get that pretty pussy wet for me.”

You obey, spurred on by his vulgarity, reaching for your arousal, rubbing your throbbing clit with fast fingers. His cock hits the back of your throat and you guzzle him down to resist gagging, drool leaking from the sides of your lips. He moans, bucking his hips slightly, enraptured by you. With his thumb, he brushes away a tear welling at the corner of your eye, pulling out halfway. “Don’t hurt yourself, kiddo. It’s okay if I’m too much for you.”

You release him completely, moving down to his balls, nuzzling your nose to them. “I can take it, don’t worry.”

He clicks his teeth, beckoning you on the couch, almost like you’re being scolded for something you weren’t supposed to do. You roll your eyes, sitting beside him begrudgingly. He leans close to you, hot on your ear, one hand sliding between your legs while the other continues to stroke his dick. “I want to touch you too. That okay?”

You whine in response, tugging him in for a passionate kiss. He massages deep circles around your clit, fingers squelching from your slick gathering along your entrance. “I want a taste,” he growls, splitting apart your thighs, staring at your glistening cunt.

You nod, sinking into the couch, relinquishing all control to him. You let your pleasured moans speak for you as he dives into your pussy, eating you out sloppily. His facial hair grazes against you with each careful stroke of his tongue and you ache to see his chin shiny with your cum. Eventually, he slips inside you, pumping two digits in and out, mouth still working your bud. Soon, it becomes too much and you’re gushing for him, whimpering his name with ragged breaths, soaking his face in your essence.

He chuckles, the vibrations resonating to your clit, causing you to twitch with overstimulation. “That’s my girl, making such a mess for me.”

“Fuck me, Kishibe,” you breathe out, craving to be stuffed full of him. You’re reeling from your high, and if he’s not inside you soon, you’re sure you’ll go insane.

He hoists you up onto his lap, precum oozing from the tip of his dick. “How about you fuck me? Show me how much of a slut you are.”

Too fucked out to argue, you lift up on your knees, position him to your wet hole, sinking down slowly. He slides in easily, pussy sleek from your previous orgasm. It’s better than you imagined, every inch of him stimulating every inch of you. You savor it, rocking against him slowly. He kisses along on your neck, trailing to your nipples to suckle on them. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans, thrusting up into you to match your rhythm. “Take this cock however you like. It’s all yours.”

You bounce on him faster, whimpering into his mouth as you kiss him. He palms your ass cheeks, squeezing them in his firm grip, delivering a few loud smacks that echo off the walls of your living room, stinging your skin. “Fuck, I knew you were a good girl. Knew it the moment I met you,” he growls, pressing his thumb to your swollen clit. “Always wanted you like this.”

You kiss him harder at his confession, your chest swelling, pussy fluttering. You’re approaching another climax, teetering on the edge. As if he senses it, he tightens his hold on you, fucking into you faster, deeper. “Come for me, angel. Come on this cock.”

And you do, clenching him with your orgasm, making him mutter, “Fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming with you.” He shoots his load inside you, filling you up, just like you wanted.

It takes a moment for the two of you to catch your breaths, relaxing into each other’s arms, exchanging soft kisses without speaking. You study his face again, similar to how you did just several hours before, when he was slumped against your door, drunk. You thought he was handsome then, even more so now. “How’s your hangover?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He smiles, nuzzling his nose to yours. “Much better.”

#kishibe #kishibe x reader #kishibe csm #kishibe smut #kishibe chainsaw man #kishibe x you #csm kishibe #chainsaw man smut #csm smut #to all the boys who live next door #anthology series

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tkingfisher · 1 year

Text

I have had a WEEK.

First Hound got into some chocolate. Ok, this happens to dogs all the time, it’s not baking chocolate, and I know perfectly well that it is not INSTADEATH. Online calculators by weight are like “Yeah, that’s nothin’.” This dog has eaten rotten toads, hardback books, cigarettes…she is a canine garbage disposal. She has also never been sick a day in her life.

Then she starts eating grass. Except Hound does not know what grass is, so she is just in the garden tearing off Random Leaves. I end up chasing her around going “That’s an elm! That’s sticky germander! That’s a rare Himalayan salvia! What are you DOING?!”

Obviously this happens at one AM. Because of course it does.

Then finally she makes a noise like a murloc having an orgasm and all the plants come back up.

Fine, I think. That’s that. Nature takes its course.

Which just proves that I am, in fact, staggeringly naive. The next morning, Hound is breathing shallowly and lethargic. We drive her to the vet school ER an hour away. We explain about the plants and the chocolate and the murloc noises to a nice young vet with a manbun who looks about fifteen years old. They take Hound back, and discover Hound is having severe arrhythmia. Which is a chocolate toxicity symptom. Except we all agree that the quantity she got hold of absolute should not have done that, but hey, maybe she has developed an unexpected sensitivity. They keep her overnight. I leave a large deposit on my credit card. We drive an hour home.

The next day I come pick her up. A nice vet who actually looks old enough to drink gives me a list of symptoms to watch out for, including extreme lethargy. They give me back some of the deposit. Hound comes home.

The next morning, she is extremely lethargic and furthermore, Not Eating.

In a hound, loss of appetite generally happens several hours after all clinical signs of life are extinguished. I drive her an hour to the ER. A nice vet who appears twelve says her heart is working perfectly fine, and suggests pancreatitis. Let’s do an ultrasound. Err…in a few hours, they’re kind of slammed. I go to a coffee shop and attempt to work.

The ultrasound fails because they can’t see around Hound’s stomach, which is enormously swollen. They do an X-ray. There is something weird in there. Foreign body, it looks like. Not blocking anything, just sitting there. “Foamy mass” is the term being used. It has air bubbles. Chocolate wrapper? Weird mass of leaves? (Oh god, was she eating frog eggs out of the pond again?) The vet decides to induce vomiting to get the prize out of this particular canine Kinder Egg. I sit in the waiting room and attempt to work.

An hour and a half later, the vet comes out and says, in awestruck tones, that they have given Hound two doses of their strongest emetic and she will not vomit. “This dog has an iron stomach!” she says. I explain about the toad and the cigarettes. She asks if they were at the same time. (They were not.) Hound stays overnight. I leave a second, larger deposit on my credit card. I drive an hour home.

The next day, the vet calls me, says “So I wanted to give you an update—oh crap! STAT TRIAGE! I’ll call you back!” and hangs up. Some hours later, she calls me back. No, the foamy thing is still there. Stomach is less swollen, though. They’re still hoping she passes it. By the way, did I know Hound has erhlichiosis? I did not, but at this point, nothing surprises me. Hound stays overnight again.

The next day, Hound is transferred to Internal Medicine. Her protein levels are weird, but she is not retaining fluid. (Yay?) If the weird foamy mass is not gone, they will have to perform surgery tomorrow. I leave a third, even larger deposit over the phone. Hound stays overnight again.

The next day, a new vet, of indeterminate age, but with a strong desire to make sure that I understand every single aspect of every single test begins explaining to me about blood protein levels and that they need to do a targeted ultrasound to make sure she doesn’t have a GI bleed. I am so deep in the hole at this point that I’m just like “Yeah, whatever, do it.” Hound stays overnight again.

He calls the next day to say that she has no bleed and no pancreatitis. What about the foamy mass?

What foamy mass?

The…the one that was…I saw the X-rays…?

Well, there’s nothing there now. Maybe she passed whatever it was. No blockages anywhere. They went over her innards with a fine toothed comb. She’s eating like a horse, incidentally. Would I like to take her home tomorrow?

I drive an hour. I get Hound. The vet’s working theory is an erhlichiosis flare-up brought on by chocolate shock. She gets antibiotics, anti-nausea meds, and special bland food in case her appetite decreases. I receive a tiny amount back on my deposit. We drive an hour home.

Hound, cognizant of her delicate digestive state, immediately attempts to break into the litterbox and eat cat poop. I deliver a lengthy lecture on the evils of dumpster diving. Hound gazes at me with great earnestness, then belches gently in my face. Learning happens to other people, not Hound.

The face of a canine garbage disposal who cost me more than my first car

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chelseeebe · 5 months

Text

everything has changed

you and steve were once the bestest of friends, cruelly torn apart when you’re forced to leave hawkins suddenly. fifteen years on, everything has changed and yet, nothing has changed.

i had this idea a while ago and then have recently become re-obsessed with the song so decided to give it a rewrite! it’s kinda giving seven x everything has changed and i love that. i have a sitcom level idea of a part two for this but i’m not sure it’ll ever come to fruition

18+. no smut but my blog is 18+ :) mostly just fluffy friends to lovers stuff hehe

‎♡‧₊˚

“you promise we’ll be friends forever?” steve asks, quirking his little eyebrows up. still so innocent, so unaware that the world was a cruel place.

“i promise!” you’d shrieked, toothy grin beaming over at him as you sat poised on the climbing frame. “we’ll write letters every week and in the summer you can come and visit!”

steve whooped with glee, the metal frame shaking from the force of his body, “okay! my mom has your mom’s number so i can call you,” grubby hands clinging onto yours.

you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug, wobbling atop of your tower. full of hope and your shared joy. oblivious to how the next 15 years would play out.

life hadn’t been so kind as to keep the two of you in contact. steve’s mom had tried to explain it to him, but his poor seven year old brain couldn’t quite grasp it.

it was only when he was older that he had realised what had happened.

you had been whisked away to california, your mother’s home state, far away from your dad. for your safety of course. his mother had warned him not to mention where you had gone to anyone, and he’d stuck by that.

and really, life had gotten in the way of thinking about you too much. basketball tryouts and getting girls into the back of his bmw had taken precedence over fading thoughts of freckly girls he once knew.

steve was at college now, admittedly tagging along with robin, but he was enjoying it. he played basketball, studied children’s education and had even scored himself a kinda stable girlfriend.

he’s sat in the library, book open and unread in front of him on the table as robin attempts to convince him to go out tonight.

“it’ll be fun! besides, i promised my roommate that i’d go.. y’know she’s having a hard time,” turning on the puppy dog eyes that more often than not, worked on him.

he groans, “i don’t know rob.. finals are coming up soon and i really need to get this down if i wanna graduate with you,” though he makes no effort to actually pick up the book, more interested in the coffee robin had used as a bargaining chip.

“steve,” almost warningly, “come for an hour,” nodding at him, as if to subliminally make him agree, “and then i’ll help you study all day tomorrow, okay?” tilting her head, bright green* eyes glistening at him.

“fine,” succumbing to her pleas, “but you owe me,” sending a glare across the table as he finally turns the page.

robin grins, happy she’d gotten her own way. again.

they walk arm in arm into the bar, squeezing through the crowd as they attempt to locate robin’s mysterious roommate.

steve sighs, whispering into robin’s ear, “why do i have to be here? just because your roommate is a lonely weirdo, doesn’t mean you have to drag me out too,” pouting like a petulant child.

she pinches his arm, causing him to yelp into her ear, “this is why i used to pray for the ceiling light to fall on your head in mrs click’s class,” pulling away from him as she spots whoever she’s looking for.

“wait.. what?” he calls out after her, weaving through the crowd to find her again.

she has her face buried into someone’s shoulder, blabbering about the busy bar and how good it was to get out.

robin pulls away, gesturing over to steve as this lucrative stranger meets his eye.

it’s you.

the little girl who had promised to be his best friend forever now stood before him, all grown up. he almost doesn’t believe it. in fact, he can’t. not until you speak, his name echoes around meaninglessly.

“what the fuck?” he gasps, still in utter shock.

“it’s really you? you’re.. oh my god, you’re steve of course you are,” wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug, the exact way you had fifteen years ago.

you even smell the same, a distinct sort of vanilla smell that takes his mind hurtling fifteen years into the past. he almost wants to throw up from the turbulence of it all.

“i can’t believe you’re here,” you gasp, still nuzzled into his shoulder, “this is so surreal,” now holding him at arms length, dissecting his face in the same way he was yours.

you looked the same and yet completely different. no more gappy smiles or sun bleached hair, very pretty. his seven year old self had thought so too, but your friendship had meant more.

“you two know each other?” robin perplexes, watching the scene unfold with zero context.

“we.. uh- yeah,” unsure of how much he can divulge, still under strict orders from his mom to never tell a soul where you’d gone.

“we were friends, i was born in hawkins so.. god, this is so weird,” you exasperate, letting go of his frame to talk to a bewildered robin.

“you’re from hawkins? you told me you were from california?” robins face twists in confusion.

“it’s a.. complicated story,” you look back at him, still trying to decipher if he was even real, “i moved away when i was young but we were like, best friends,” baring your teeth with your smile.

“well shit, i’ve got time,” robin laughs, sliding into the booth, she looks up at steve, “drinks on you.. you know, to celebrate,” wiggling her brows in that irritating way she did when she wanted something.

he dutifully obliges as you begin your story, he supposes that now you probably can.

your dad had moved out of hawkins a while ago, it wasn’t exactly a secret as to why you guys had just up and left so abruptly. steve had always hated him, made sure to glare daggers into his back when he and his mother would pass him in the street or in melvalds. he felt he owed you that.

plus steve was angry, angry that you’d had to leave him behind because of your dad. his tiny mind couldn’t comprehend that it was for the better, only understanding that it was your dad’s fault his best friend had been taken from him.

steve’s curious about california, how your life differed from hawkins. you play it off as nothing special but you smile differently when you speak of afternoons after school spent on the beach and learning to surf.

he makes some off-hand comment about making it out which causes your brows to furrow, “so did you,” tapping the table in front of him, “remember we would talk about college? living in a big house together?”

he chortles, almost choking on his beer, “yeah, with ten dogs and three cats,” shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all.

“wow..” robin butts in, “so you did this with other girls before me?” faux-offence written all over her face.

you beam, looking between the two of them, “so are you guys dating?”

steve does choke this time, sputtering as the bitter liquid slides down the back of his throat.

“no!” they chime in unison.

“jesus christ, you think i’d date him?” robin falls into a fit of giggles, it didn’t hurt his ego anymore. robin had very particular tastes and that very much didn’t include men.

“thanks rob..” he snarls jokingly, “i uh, i have a girlfriend.. just not robin,” he’s not sure why he’s apprehensive to tell you. christ, he’d only re-known you for five fucking minutes.

“sorry, i just assumed..” shrinking into your seat, desperate to change the subject.

he’s modestly pleased that you don’t ask any more about his girlfriend, which in turn makes him feel a rotten sense of guilt.

“yeah well, to assume makes an ass out of you and me,” robin adds, giving you a poke to your ribs for good measure, “and he’s definitely not my type,” her nose shrivelling up in disgust.

you snigger, poking robin right back as she explodes into her myriad of reasons why she would never date steve. she kept a list.

there’s a sickening feeling of affinity, like all the years you hadn’t been together just ceased to exist, they no longer mattered.

especially when your eyes meet as robin prattles on, like you’re sharing an old joke.

he doesn’t like this, doesn’t fancy his odds of coming out of this unscathed but that doesn’t stop him from shifting his chair closer as the night goes on. nor does it stop him from walking you home, supporting a tipsy robin on his arm.

and it most certainly doesn’t effect him when you hug him goodnight, nestling your chin into his shoulder the way you used to.

fuck.

steve climbs down the steps into the strange smelling studio, he hadn’t even known this ever existed. there’s art littering the walls, the shelves, just about any surface that was available.

you’re at the back of the empty room, dabbing a paintbrush onto a canvas, completely unaware of his presence.

“hey.. robin said you’d be down here,” he speaks softly, so as to not startle you.

you still jump, clutching your chest as you spin on your heel, “jesus christ,” panting rather dramatically, “you scared the shit outta me,” shock turning into a wide smile.

“sorry,” he chuckles, weaving through the easels, trying his damn hardest not to touch or knock anything over, “what ya’ working on?” peering at the canvas.

it’s a beautiful scene, a lone swing set lies in the middle, surrounded by a peachy-pink sunset. it’s reminiscent of something he can’t quite place.

“oh just..” shrugging him off, “some stuff for my exhibition.. i dunno if i like it yet,” downplaying the glorious work of art in front of him. as if there were any need.

“what are you talking about? it’s so good,” still clinging onto his backpack strap.

you shake your head, taking the apron off of your body, tossing it onto the hook full of other dirtied aprons. “i can do better.. anyway, did you trek all the way down here for a reason or..?”

he lingers by the painting for a second longer before turning to face you, remembering his actual aim, “yes! are you joining us for dinner tonight? robin wants you to meet all of our friends,” he offers, though he’s aware it’s not much of a deal for you.

“uh.. who’s gonna be there?” you ask, quirking a brow. he’s aware that you’re not exactly a social butterfly.

“well, nancy, jonathan, vickie.. argyle, if jonathan can convince him to come out,” they were all nice enough, if he and robin liked you, they definitely would too.

“i dunno..” wrinkling your nose.

“come on,” he pleads, “it’ll be fun.. they’ll love you. nance’s been begging me to get you out.. please?”

you shake your head, as if weighing up your options, “okay.. fine, but dinner’s on you,” as you drop the pallet into the sink for someone else to deal with.

“great,” he beams, there’s something to be said about the fact he still hadn’t introduced katie to the rest of his friends yet.. but he doesn’t wanna think about that.

his hand comes to rest on what he thinks is a dry desk, waiting for you to finish up, only to find his hand now covered in goopy white paint, “oh shit,” he fusses, pulling your attention from the sink.

“oh fuck, i should’ve told you that was wet..” looking between his outstretched hand and his eyes, a giggle bubbling on your lips as he stomps over to the sink.

“oh is this funny to you, huh?” joining you at the basin.

you run the hot water for him, grabbing the bottle of soap ready to clean his hand, “well it’s a little funny,” lips twitching while he stands like a lemon.

as steve normally does, he acts before he thinks, pressing his paint-covered palm to your cheek, only registering what he had done when you shriek in response, splashing water everywhere.

“you asshole!” you gasp, brows furrowed as you conjure up something for revenge.

that’s when you grab the still paint-covered brush and smear it over his cheek and nose, staining his features a daring bright orange.

“oh it’s like that is it?” he grins, grabbing your wrist with his clean hand, threatening to mark you again. “you don’t wanna mess with me, i’ve got the upper hand,” sticking his tongue out slightly, unable to shake the way your eyes still glistened the same.

“if you want me to come to dinner, you’ll put your hand down.. call a truce,” bargaining with him.

he obliges, holding his hands up in surrender, “okay.. okay, you win,” unable to contain his laughter as he washes the paint from his palm.

you shoulder barge him as you come back to the sink, pulling your clean brushes from the water and leaving them to dry on the metal board.

“we’re gonna have to swing by my room,” you smile begrudgingly, shoving your stuff into your bag, watching as he dries his hand.

“okay,” his grin still lingering, “personally, i think you should just come to dinner like that.. it looks great,” enjoying the ribbing that came with being your friend.

you scoff, practically pushing him out of the studio, ensuring he couldn’t wreck havoc on anything else.

the pair of you glide down the hall, steve filling you in on the guests that would joining you for dinner when a voice calls his name from in front.

katie bounds up to him, smile fading the second she sees the new colour of his face, “why are you orange?” face screwed up as she rescinds her offer of a kiss. he’s slyly thankful that your adorned his face now.

“oh we.. i- i tripped, got paint everywhere,” he chuckles, feeling like a scolded child.

katie hums, “right.. that’s kinda weird,” her eyes flit over to you and the paint on your face, “you trip too?” a judgemental look flashing across her features.

“no,” shrinking into yourself, “steve.. tripped,” doubting your own words, like your measly paint fight needed to be kept secret. but maybe that’s just how he felt, is that wrong?

he can’t decide.

“hmph,” katie frowns, her attention turning back to steve, “go and clean up.. you look like a clown,” before speeding off down the hall, ponytail flouncing around as she goes.

he just rolls his eyes continuing out of the building as you scurry along behind, “she seems nice,” sarcasm dripping off your tongue.

“ignore her,” brushing the whole encounter off, “she’s just.. pissy because i’m busy tonight, don’t take it personally,” offering a short smile. he glances at his watch, grimacing at the time, “oh shit, we’re late,” grabbing your hand as he starts sprinting ahead.

“i can’t meet your friends like this!” you holler, bounding behind him.

“they won’t mind!” he screams into the wind, dodging other students with a skill only possessed by someone who chronically sleeps through their alarm.

they really don’t.

in fact, robin bursts into laughter as you walk into the diner, “i’m not even gonna ask,” tapping the plush cushion for you to slide in next to her, steve follows closely behind.

the two of you share a look, an inside joke that was just yours. he liked that, it made him feel strangely important. like he was worthy of sharing things with just you.

everyone is lovely, obviously. he had no doubt that they would be. argyle corners you about california, discovering that it is a rather large state and no, you won’t have bumped into each other.

steve doesn’t want the night to end, he’s selfish like that. so he does the sane thing to ensure you spend as much time together as possible, walking you and robin back through campus, still adorned with paint.

“thank you.. for making me go,” you smile coyly once you reach your door, robin had already disappeared off inside, leaving just the two of you.

“no worries.. i told you they’d love you,” shoving his hands into his pockets, mostly so he doesn’t do anything stupid.

you chuckle, reaching for the door handle, “i’ve really missed you, you know? it’s like it’s all hit me at once,” shrugging your shoulders as if that were just some nonchalant comment he would ever be able to forget.

“i missed you too,” he adds, truly meaning it.

sure, he’d found friendship again but nothing had ever felt quite like you. it was different, and even now after years and years of being in separate states, with no idea that the other was even still alive, it all felt normal.

like you could walk back into that park tomorrow, sit on the swings and just natter away about everything and nothing like you used to.

“goodnight, see you tomorrow?” you smile, sliding through the door, waiting just long enough for his reply.

“of course,” returning the smile.

he hums all the way home, a child-like joy overrunning his senses. he thinks about you when he dreams, of sharing crayons and candy. high-pitched giggles and an unfaltering feeling of love.

it had been weeks of hanging out now, sharing tales from your childhood, robin was still struggling to understand that you were also from hawkins. “you’re just.. it’s crazy, you’re nothing like the usual hawkins dwellers and the fact that you were friends with him? wow..” she had muttered with a swift jab to steve’s arm.

she had had the bright idea of a sleepover, they hadn’t really been able to since moving to chicago, out of respect for their roommates but now her roommate was you, what was stopping them?

“why don’t we push the beds together?” robin blurts out, like a lightbulb had just gone ding on the top of her head.

you nod excitably, going to heave your bed across the room. steve pushes the end of the bed frame, connecting it to robin’s as she stands there doing absolutely nothing to help.

“phew thanks robin, couldn’t have done that without all your help!” steve quips, throwing his best friend a snide smile.

“shut up dingus, my nails are still wet,” as if that made it okay.

you smile at the two of them, stood in your pyjamas that steve had definitely not been gawping at. he doesn’t mean to, he knows it’s not like that. he has a girlfriend for christ’s sake.

that’s what he’s been telling himself anyway.

“you’re in the middle,” robin declares, looking at you, rather than him, “put your cold feet on somebody else for once,” before climbing into her side of the bed.

you slide in next, cuddling up to robin as you do. steve’s next, fashioned in his excuse for pyjamas, namely a chicago university shirt and his boxers. it probably wouldn’t go down well if katie were to find out but he didn’t particularly care.

there’s a joke there, something about sharing a bed with a lesbian and his childhood best friend but he can’t be bothered to think about it.

not when you turn over to face him, all smiles and warm cheeks, he has to remind himself that robin is on the other side of you, mumbling something about not waking her up early.

“goodnight,” you grin, relaxing into the pillow you shared as the light flickers off.

“night,” he replies, pulling his eyes away from your shadowy features, deciding that staring at the fuzzy ceiling was better than being a freak.

you roll over slightly, head falling onto his shoulder making his breathing falter, sworn to this position until you up and moved. it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.

he shouldn’t be thinking like this, you’re friends, old friends to be exact. and he has a girlfriend.

except, he awakens in the morning, stiff shoulder and a cricked neck, taking a peek at the other side of the bed to find robin had forced you into him with her sprawling limbs.

you rouse not long after he does, blinking at the light and hurriedly moving your head from his dead arm.

“oh my god,” you remark, “i’m sorry.. was i on you all night?” wriggling around the small space you held.

steve exhales, lifting his arm in the air in an attempt to get some blood flowing back into the extremity, “yup.. it’s okay though,” quickly rolling over to face you, “sleep well?”

“well, apart from robin’s foot in my back.. yeah, pretty well,” chuckling into the pillow as you shy away. he wishes you wouldn’t.

“then it was worth the dead arm,” returning your abnormally bright smile, you were far too chipper for this time in the morning but he didn’t mind. made a difference from the usual grump robin was in, for sure.

“you should sleep over more often,” you smile.

he heart soars, god he’d love to. “oh yeah? like we used to?”

the crinkle by your eye returns, remembering times gone by, “yeah, just like that,” speaking softly, as if it wouldn’t take an industrial alarm to wake robin.

“you wanna go get breakfast?” he asks, before this devolves any further.

“absolutely.”

there’s a knock at the door, tommy doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even make a half assed effort to pretend to care so steve huffs and gets up to answer.

you’re stood on the other side, already smiling as you wait. it’s a welcome sight, without robin he’s been a little stir-crazy, not yet brave enough to venture to your room without her there.

maybe he’s afraid that something would happen, maybe he’s not. he’s not entirely convinced that he’d have the power to stop himself.

“i just came to give you a ticket.. for my exhibition, it’s on saturday so.. if you’re busy i totally get it,” you fret, offering out the ticket to him.

there’s an undetermined feeling in his stomach, looking down at the paper ticket in his pal, warmth rushing to his chest at the fact you’d even considered him.

steve steps out of the room, closing the door behind him, away from tommy and listening ears. tommy and katie were friends somewhat, mostly by association through his girlfriend carol. anyhow, he wasn’t keen on him telling some misconstrued story to carol and then reaping the punishment from that.

“wow..” still starstruck that you had asked him. “i’ll be there.. wouldn’t miss it,” sliding the ticket into his pocket, mostly so he would stop looking like a weirdo for staring at it.

“okay,” you nod, smile up to your ears, “it’s only small..” here you go again, downplaying your talent as if steve would ever care.

“stop it,” he warns, jokingly rolling his eyes, “hey, i’ll walk you back.. i needa get out of that fucking room,” gesturing for you to take the lead.

you chatter all the way across campus, talking about everything and nothing, he wants to ask if that painting of the swingset will be there but doesn’t. letting you blabber on about composition and the asshole gallery manager that wants you to set up at 6am.

its only when you reach your hall that you stop, turning to face him with a genuine smile that makes his heart thud.

“it’d really mean a lot if you came..”

he nods, stepping closer only just, “i will, i’ll be there,” assuring you as much as he could. he meant it, too. there’s really nothing he could think of that would make him not go.

he allows his gaze to slip to your lips, he lets himself do that even though he shouldn’t.

studying the curve, the slight gap between your bottom and top lip, the way they twitch with what he hopes is anticipation.

you’re both inching closer, neither of you acknowledging what’s about to happen. the air is thick, silent even. a knowing sense that you’re either about to ruin everything or become something more.

two doors down, a door swings open, a voice bellowing out, “i’ll catch up!” before a boy speeds out, glancing at the two of you briefly before disappearing.

you clear your throat, averting your gaze, studying the dirtied floor, “okay.. i’ll see you saturday,” coy smile as you unlock the door and potter off inside.

steve stands there, blinking at the wooden frame as if you’d somehow materialise from the other side.

he hightails it back to his room, in some sort of daze as he attempts to reconfigure himself. his relationship and his friendship with you. nothing made sense.

he’s not sure it ever will again.

fuck he wishes robin were here. of course she’s at some stupid family reunion when he needs her most. his next port of call would be you and well.. that didn’t seem particularly helpful.

he errs on calling robin, floating around his room with no purpose. at least tommy was no where to be seen, unsure if he could’ve handled his beady little eyes and snooping questions.

katie would be waiting on him, he always stayed over on thursdays, at least he used to. before you were back i. the picture. before you had completely consumed his mind with your stupid smile and stupid face. both a distant memory and an important part of his current life. it’s fucking dizzying.

it’s not really stupid, he thinks he’s stupid actually.

steve does what he does best and decides to ignore his brain, grabs his keys and storms out of his dorm. he’s grateful that katie’s house is on the opposite side of campus from your building. that way he couldn’t accidentally wind up there instead of where he’s supposed to be.

she welcomes him in, a pink, frilly house that steve had always detested a little bit. it smelt too strongly of vanilla and the other girls always side-eyed him, bitter and judgemental over something he couldn’t figure out.

it’s now that they’re sat on katie’s satin bedsheets that he realises that he really, really doesn’t want to be here.

nevertheless, he swallows it down. putting on false pretences as they fake-watch the shitty rom-com she’d turned on to fill the silence.

“so.. have you got your suit for saturday?” katie asks, playing with his limp hand.

“yeah,” resisting the urge to move his hand away, “sorry- saturday? i thought it was tomorrow?”

katie had asked- or more precisely begged him to escort her to this senior send off ceremony. some bullshit sorority ritual that made zero sense to him.

“uh.. no, always been saturday,” she’s still smiling, still trying, “steve, i told you weeks ago,” her frustrations seeping out of her pores, spilling over onto her features.

“you said friday,” so sure of himself, so sure that she was wrong. how would he forget that?

unless something, or perhaps someone was shrouding his mind.

“well, what plans are more important than your girlfriend’s senior send off?” she asks, all defensive.

he struggles to answer, there’s no way he can really spin it to make it sound less bad, strangled noises drift from his throat as the words fail to form.

“exactly,” katie pouts, crossing her arms over her chest, “you’ll just have to rearrange.”

steve doesn’t stay over, makes up some shoddy excuse about needing to study to get out of it. she’s not happy, obviously, but when is she?

he’s grateful that the campus is quiet as he stalks back to his dorm, thoughts swirling through his brain. everything is so confusing, his cushy little college life had been majorly disrupted and now all of the plans he had made had come crashing down.

there had been conversations about finding a house after graduation, moving in together randomly starting their life and yet, that couldn’t be further than what he wanted.

at least now.

steve finally gives up, turning to the only person he thinks will rationalise his thoughts, robin buckley. who has pulled her grandmother’s phone into the private dining room just for this conversation.

“we nearly kissed,” he spits out, eyeing the group of drunk students passing in the hallway. wouldn’t it be great if it somehow got back to katie through some nosy busybody.

“what? when? why didn’t you call me sooner?” she demands, “why didn’t you kiss? oh my god steve harrington, you’re so useless.”

“uh.. what do you mean why didn’t we kiss? remember my girlfriend? who’d chop my balls off if i ever cheated on her?”

“who cares? nobody likes her anyway,” robin roars right into his ear.

“i’m not gonna even acknowledge that.”

“okay, well, did you want to kiss her?”

steve pauses, perplexing the situation. he doesn’t need to really, of course he wanted to.

“..yeah.”

“well there you go!” she shrieks.

“it felt.. weird, i dunno, i think she wanted to too,” he curls the cord around his finger, “and now katie wants me to go to this senior send-off thing but there’s the exhibition.. i don’t know what to do,” his shoulders slumping.

“wait wait wait, what do you mean it felt weird?” dismissing his dilemma. you know, the thing he had actually called her about.

“well it felt right.”

the line goes silent but he can still hear her faint breathing down the line. she’s thinking, probably attempting to sweeten up her words. but eventually she sighs, “i think you know what to do.”

“but i don’t! rob i really don’t! why do you think i’m calling you at fucking one am?”

she clicks her tongue and steve can picture what smug look she has on her face, it was a signature feature of hers, especially when she’d been able to prove him wrong. “you do. i think you called me because you wanted me to tell you what you want to hear.. but i don’t even need to do that.”

he wails into the receiver, all he’d wanted was a clear cut answer from his best friend. a little advice and maybe some confirmation bias, was that too much to ask for?

“you’re no help,” he scowls, patting his now empty pockets in search of more coins, “i haven’t got any more change.. i’m gonna have to go,” sighing as he’s left on his own with his head once more.

“you’ll do the right thing, steve. i know you and i trust you,” before the line cuts out, the dial tone screams out.

he slams the piece of useless plastic back onto the holder. that wasn’t helpful, rather just some weird, reverse psychology lesson. he feels cheated, his first option of just flipping a coin would’ve been more helpful.

his feet drag along the carpet back to his room, swallowing the guilt and all of the other confusing emotions he seemed to have accumulated.

it’s funny that even though robin hadn’t exactly said anything specific, he’d known what she was talking about. it’s even funnier that as he climbs into bed, all he can think about is you.

steve hangs back, stood at the back while the speech finishes. he doesn’t know what he’s doing here, what he’s supposed to be looking at or talking to, incredibly out of place.

no one pays him any mind, too interested in whatever this balding man has to say.

you don’t spot him either, keeping your eyes trained to the art director. he can tell you’re nervous, picking indiscreetly at your hangnail, chewing on your cheek. you’d never liked, or been particularly good at public speaking, steve was your voice for many years. not that he minded.

there’s lots of chatter, people walking around the small space with their hands behind their back, putting on this facade that they were art snobs and not just weird middle-aged people looking for something to do on a saturday afternoon.

they all sort of disperse, ogling the paintings and such. leaving him stood in the middle of the room like a lemon, wondering if he should just go over to you or wait until this had all finished.

but you meet his eye momentarily, head snapping in his direction when you realise who it is. your lips slowly curve into a smile, ditching the conversation to weave through everyone to him.

“you came,” you state, like there was ever a chance of him not coming.

“i told you i would,” he’s not one to break a promise. ever.

“no i know but, robin mentioned something about your girlfriend, she didn’t know if you were.. forget it,” throwing your hands about, ridding the air of your words.

he’s not exactly surprised that you’d have doubts, not after your almost-kiss the other night. he hadn’t seen you since, too busy with the exhibit to sit and dwell on it, he bets.

steve shakes his head, “nah, i had something more important to do,” full of unbridled exhilaration, it’s like his body knew he had made the right choice.

you flush, avoiding his eyes as you usually do when you’re nervous or embarrassed. “well.. thank you,” shrugging him off. he so wish you wouldn’t.

he decides to just lay it all bare, tired of skirting around the truth and minimising his obviously very real feelings. “this isn’t the right time but,” smoothing down his wrinkled shirt, “i just wanted you to know that i’ve wanted to do this for weeks and.. shit,” he sighs, cupping your cheek and moving in before you can protest.

your lips connect, sending flames through his veins, you’re not expecting it judging by the lack of movement on your part, stood frozen even as he pulls away.

“sorry,” the first thing he says, watching your face as you stand shocked.

he was so sure that his feelings would be reciprocated, had pretty much convinced himself that you were destined to grow grey together but maybe he’d got it all wrong.

his cheeks burn as you just blink, time slows and he wishes that the floorboards would just collapse under him so he could disappear forever.

in lieu of a reply, you smash your faces together again, this time steve’s not quite expecting it, your noses bang against each others. but he doesn’t move, his smile growing against your lips.

there are a collection of muttered oohs from the crowd. it was rather a lot for a saturday morning.

“sorry,” you echo, biting down into your bottom lip, “not the wrong time at all,” your eyes shining through your spindly lashes.

steve bursts into laughter, drawing an even bigger crowd of eyes as he does so. his eyes dart around the vaguely stunned audience, “hey look, find me after.. i’ll be here,” gently pushing you off to go and do whatever the hell it is that artists do at these things.

you nod, all dazed and smiley, immediately falling into conversation about a painting.

he’s only dozing when the door creaks open, too encapsulated by sleep to bother to open his eyes. you’re dead to the world, snoring softly curled into his chest.

a quiet gasp rings out from the door and then just as expected, robin bounds over to your bed, poking his arm that was both underneath your shoulders and hanging off of the bed.

he peeks a look at his slightly deranged best friend, the lamp was just bright enough to showcase her enthusiastic grin, “you did it!” whispering far too loudly, “i knew you’d make the right choice,” buzzing around the room.

she damn near jumps in the air, clicking her heels together like some freak.

steve just closes his eyes again, falling back into sleep with a grin on his face and you between his arms.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic

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atlasnessie · 5 months

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being with CHUUYA means being one another’s biggest supporters. the mafia is a scary place, it isn’t for the kind hearted and you know this well. it also isn’t a place for romance, though, it seems as if executive CHUUYA NAKAHARA does mind, just don’t embarrass him. “hey, you’re back. are you hurt anywhere ..? wha — i wasn’t waiting for you !! i just happen to be here. yeah yeah, whatever. get to the medics if you’re hurt. i’ll walk you.”

CHUUYA doesn’t have a lot of free time; coming home around five in the morning and then going back to work around eight. if he’s lucky, he’ll come home early and get a decent four hours of sleep. during those hours of rest, he can’t seem to grasp sleep the way he wants it. but seeing you, home earlier than him and bundled up with the blanket on your shared bed, CHUUYAS muscles relax. maybe he’ll get a few extra hours tonight. “hm ? sorry doll, did i wake you ? no ? alright. quit chatting, go back to bed. i’ll tell ‘ya how my day went when you wake up later, ‘kay ? love you.”

CHUUYA takes his job as a mafioso and a lover very seriously, understanding the concept of separating work from his home and love life. though, on days off, he’ll convince mori to give you one too, spending the day together. CHUUYA would buy you anything and everything. he knows you can pay with your own money, the mafia treats the both of you far too well, but he’s gotta spoil you every now and then, right ? “let’s go here. are you seriously askin’ why ? there was something you were eyeballing this fuckin’ whole week … don’t say you ‘don’t need it,’ love. come on, before it’s gone.”

CHUUYA NAKAHARA, once a strange fifteen year-old you met and rumored to be the vessel of arahabaki. he isn’t human, people would tell you, but you thought otherwise. his emotions raged like fire, pure and true. and for the longest time until dazai’s mysterious departure, you admired him from afar. CHUUYA wasn’t a ‘diamond in the rough,’ he was born as ‘the’ diamond, living amongst rocks and rubble that would crack into nothing. how you and CHUUYA came to be still remains a mystery to you. perhaps it was when you cried when dazai left and he tried to comfort you, telling you a bastard like him isn’t worth crying over, or when he dragged you all the way back to the headquarters when you were weak and shot in the legs during a mission. however it was, you knew it was meant to be, you and CHUUYA. hearts linked and intertwined, born and made to be with one another, like needle, like thread. “hiya, dollface. boss wanted to drop these off to you. he said you can do them tomorrow. when you’re done with everything, gimme a call and we’ll go out to eat. ‘ya cravin’ anything ?”

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd chuuya #bungo stray dogs chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya nakahara x reader #atlas writes !#this is smth similar to the dazai one !! i love chuuya pretend i’m doing a dreamy sighhhh

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sungbeam · 4 months

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𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞

nonidol!eric sohn x gn!reader

you can't figure out why eric's been acting different, but maybe you had nothing to worry about in the first place.

8.2k words, bffs2l, college au, reader is incredibly oblivious, swearing, pining, flirting, kissing, mentions of organic chemistry (yuck), eric sohn, fluff, one really bad that's what he said joke (sorry it was chenle), mentions of alcohol

a/n: to @mosviqu !! (requests are closed) hope you like this one, beloved :')) thanks for waiting

A midnight pool party wasn't exactly what you had in mind when you told your friends that you had just gotten off of work. You'd thought they were just having a game night at another friend's house, but it turned out, they decided to utilize said friend's massive backyard space, including his heated pool lined with LED lights at the bottom.

"Who the hell has LED lights at the bottom of their pool?" You voiced aloud in the car.

Ningning's voice wrapped around you from the full volume of your phone's speaker, "My friend from middle school and the one who got us into Yangyang's party the other night—Zhong Chenle. You remember him, right? We went to high school with him, too."

You definitely remembered him. How could you not? He had the most subtly rich personality you'd ever come across. You once thought he was wearing a regular, white Hanes T-shirt from the store (the ones that came in a six pack from Costco), but it turned out that it was a two hundred dollar Balenciaga top.

It was literally just a white shirt.

"Yeah, so we're just here with him and some of his friends," Ningning continued on. You could hear the sounds of merriment in the background, including music and bodies crashing into the pool.

You pulled up to your apartment complex, and it took a second for you to gather your belongings and scramble out of the car. You squeezed your phone between your ear and shoulder as you bumped the car door closed with your hip. "Who's there again? I know you and Winter, but specifically…"

"Uhhh—besides Chenle, there's Renjun, Yangyang, Sungchan, and Eric."

As you let yourself into the apartment, you paused. “Wait, Eric's back?”

There was a commotion on the other side and for a moment, you didn't hear what Ningning said. Then she returned to the speaker with a giggle in her voice, “Yn! We're playing Monopoly soon, but I'm only playing if you're coming over—oh shit, did you say something just now?”

You chuckled, dumping your bag on the kitchen counter and just barely stopping yourself from slumping over like your work bag. “I just asked if Eric was back. I thought you just said he was there with you all.”

“Oh yeah! He said he got back from LA a few hours ago. I don't know how he's not severely jetlagged, but you know what? He brought booze.”

“Sounds like Eric,” you mused. You wondered why he hadn't told you he was back in town. You thought he wouldn't be taking off until tomorrow morning, so that was when you were expecting him.

“—so?”

“Hm?”

“You coming over?”

“Yeah, yeah give me a few.”

One cup of crappy coffee and a change of clothes later, you arrived in front of Chenle's house just a fifteen minute drive from your complex. It was gated and tucked away, which made sense as to why they were able to make so much noise. You could hear the music out from the driveway.

Ningning emerged from the shadows of the side entrance to the house. Her eyes lit up at the sight of you. "Ahh, Yn! I'm so glad you're finally here," she squealed and skipped over to you in her flip-flops, wrapping her arms around you in a big hug. Your friend was dressed in a pretty, bandeau bikini top and bottom, her inky black hair falling down her shoulders like the flow of a waterfall.

You laughed as she pulled away. "Glad I could make it. Are we just going through the side gate or something?"

She nodded and guided you through the foliage. "Yeah. How was work?"

You figured that after your long shift, you probably wouldn't have much energy to actually go swimming. You'd changed into a bathing suit anyway and threw a T-shirt and shorts over it in case, but had arrived with little more than your wallet, keys, and lip gloss.

You gave her a shrug in reply. "Eh. It's work," you said, your voice barely loud enough to hear over the sound of water splashing and high-pitched shrieks. "It was quiet, at least."

"That's good," she nodded with a soft smile thrown over her shoulder. "Thank god you're finally here. Chenle decided he didn't wanna get his limited edition Jade Rabbit Monopoly board wet—” She gave an indulgent eye roll, “—but his game, his decision, I guess.”

You chimed in your agreement just as you and Ningning emerged on the side of the backyard that hosted your friends and their midnight pool party. From your vantage, you could count the heads present, including one Yangyang making a splash into the pool and getting water all over Renjun.

“Yn!” Winter raised a hand from where she sat cross-legged on a lounge chair.

“Yo, what's up, Yn?” Sungchan hollered from the side of the pool where the speaker was. He was fiddling around with whoever's phone was connected to the aux cord.

You grinned, greeting everyone with a big wave. “Hey, guys. Have you been out here for long?”

“Yangyang, I swear to—” Renjun's swear cut through the music to the symphony of Yangyang's screeching of absolute delight. The former brushed his wet hair back, rubbing the pool water out of his eyes. It wasn't until afterward that he greeted you back as you neared where he had been dragged into the pool by his friend. “Hi, Yn. Did you just get here?”

“I did! Where's—”

The back door to the house slid open and Chenle emerged dragging out a massive cooler of what you assumed to be drinks. Carrying the back end was Eric in a pair of dampened board shorts with his wet bangs hanging in his eyes.

“Eric Sohn! You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow morning, you poser!” You shouted in his direction.

Chenle and Eric's heads both whipped over toward where you and Ningning were. Chenle said something to Eric with a wide-ass monkey grin, then proceeded to drag the cooler the rest of the way without Eric's help.

Eric cupped the back of his neck sheepishly as he approached you. He must have recently gotten out of the pool, because there was still water dripping down the lines of his chest and stomach. “In my defense, the airline offered me money if I took an earlier flight,” he said with a laugh.

“As your certified best friend,” you mused, “I'm offended I wasn't the first to know about this update.”

“Okay, best friend, let me hug you to make up for it.”

Your eyes widened, “Eric, you're wet—”

“That's what he said!” Chenle howled with laughter at his own joke, and Ningning groaned in anguish.

“Okay and?” Before you could protest any more, he trapped you in his arms, pressing his dampened skin against your perfectly dry outer garments. For good measure, he nuzzled his wet hair against the side of your face, too.

“You're like—like a dog,” you laughed, playfully pushing him away.

Eric beamed and placed his hands on his hips. “Golden retriever to your black cat. Now, do I have to dump you in that pool myself or are you going to like swimming tonight?”

Your face pressed into a deadpanning line, which drew an even brighter sound from him. You couldn't help but smile; it was nice to have him back. “You're so annoying sometimes. I'm sitting on the edge of the pool only, and you can suck it.”

As you began making your way over to the edge of the pool, Eric trailed after you with his head shaking and a laugh lingering on his tongue. “Missed you, Yn.”

It was a good thing you were facing away from him right then. A smile split your face like a slice of watermelon. “Missed you, too, Sohn.”

You didn't see your friends again until the following Friday evening. It wasn't late enough to call it “night” nor early enough to call it “afternoon.” It was a timestamp somewhere in the middle when the sun had yet to decide if it would hide behind the buildings or peer through the alleyways. It was also when the Korean BBQ place in the university district was relatively bare, and so you and your friends could get away with scoring the big table in the back on the raised platform.

“I feel like a king,” Chenle said with a smile on his face as he breathed in the smell of beef on the grill.

Sungchan flipped over one of the pieces of chicken with his tongs. “Wait, so Yn, they're for real making you work the Friday night closing shift?”

All eyes turned toward your end of the table where you sat with Eric on your right, and Ningning and Winter across from you.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked, your dominant hand pausing your chopstick movements. “Oh, uh, yeah… I mean,” you added with a shrug, “it's not so bad most of the time. I think I would rather have me working than one of the kids.” The store you worked at was relatively understaffed, and your manager oftentimes hired high schoolers from the nearby district to fill in the spaces. There were rare occasions where rowdy customers came in during the latter hours of the night, and you would rather your younger colleagues didn't have to worry about that. (Even if you yourself also worried about rowdy customers.)

“Do you at least get a closing shift bonus?” Winter asked, her cheek stuffed with her last bite. “When I worked part-time at the corner store last year, they at least incentivized closing.”

“Usually when I work alone, yeah,” you said.

Eric's left arm came to rest over the back of your chair as he leaned forward to transfer a slab of short rib to your bowl. “Are you working alone tonight?” He asked, reaching past you to grab a piece of cucumber from one of the metal bowls of side dishes.

You placed the cucumbers between the two of you temporarily so he could have easier access. “I think so,” you said. “Unless my manager recruited someone else, but yeah, I think it'll probably just be me.”

The rest of the table turned to their individual conversations, especially as one of the waiters brought over an additional platter of meats to grill.

Eric murmured to you, “What if I just happened to show up at your work tonight?”

You turned your body slightly to face him, mutual smiles curling onto both of your mouths. “What, need a new first aid kit or something?”

“And a little dose of Yn Ln,” he said before popping a slice of fish cake into his mouth. He was still leaning in close to you, the twinkle in his eyes like a secret only you two knew. You were trying to not let the skin peeking out of his tank top throw you off balance; it was definitely just the heat and steam that made it glisten.

Your eyebrows shot up at his remark. “You're getting plenty of me now.”

“I need to make up for when I was away,” he replied as easy as it was for him to drink water. “I told you, I missed you.”

It was the fire from the grill, the heat of the room, the smell of the food. It was not Eric Sohn making your skin hot or your heart trip—at least, that was what you told yourself. He was attractive, yes, and he was one of your best friends. He was flirty, double yes, but he was still just a friend. (Right?) “Did you breathe too much LA air?” You joked half-heartedly. “You're acting… different.”

He shoved his bite into his cheek and gave you a shrug. “I think I'm acting exactly how I should be,” he said with a quirk of his eyebrows, then tuning into whatever topic Renjun had brought up—something about a party at Han Jisung's house.

Your head tilted to the side in dumbfoundment, but you returned to the rest of the group even if your brain was rewinding that conversation over and over again in your head. What did he mean that he was acting exactly how he should be?

For a moment, you turned back to look at him. His head was so close to yours, his body scooted forward on his chair to close that distance between his legs and yours. You couldn't read him—could only see the mirth in his eyes from Chenle and Renjun going back and forth in Chinese, as if he could understand. You weren't sure what you were looking for.

He glanced over at you then to meet your eyes. It was a split second, but that was enough to alter your brain chemistry, that you were sure his eyes flickered down to your lips. Then his eyes were away from you, having never dared a look at all.

It was about three hours later that you found yourself stationed behind the front counter at the store you worked at. After six, usually the crowd dwindled down when everyone was out having dinner or curled up at home for the night.

That left you with a few options to occupy the time. With the aisles less than crowded, you could hook your phone up to the overhead speaker and bop your head while stocking up the aisles. While Wednesdays were the main inventory days, some of that work spilled into Thursdays and Fridays depending on how much was delivered and who was on the schedule.

You were sorting through the candy aisle checking for expired dates when you heard the jingle of the bell above the front door. “Hi, welcome in!” You hollered from over the aisle, then broke into a smile at the sight of a familiar Los Angeles Angels baseball cap.

Eric tracked your voice and joined you in the aisle you were in, his tank top from earlier swapped out for a dark colored T-shirt under a corduroy jacket. He must have not wanted to come in clothes that reeked of food. “Hey you,” he said, walking over to ruffle your hair.

“Aye,” you chided half-heartedly and reached up to smooth out the hair on top of your head. “I didn't think you were being serious about stopping by,” you mused. You squeezed your hand to reach for the bars of chocolate at the far back. When you examined them and determined that they had reached the shelf expiration date, you dumped them into the shopping basket at your feet to be logged later.

“Of course I was being serious,” he huffed while perusing the bags of gummy candies hanging in the section next to you.

“Those are pretty good.” You pointed out a brand of lesser known gummies shaped like whale sharks. They had adorable, little smiles, but when they got damaged or melted… it was less adorable and less smile-looking. But they were nice and snackable, nonetheless.

He hummed in consideration and plucked a bag off the hanger. “How many of these brands have you tried?”

“Like… five or six,” you said. “I just kind of mark it as a store expense, and then me and the other person on shift share it.”

He chuckled, a smile flitting over his lips after examining the back of the bag. “Wanna share these with me?”

“Sure, man.”

That was how you found yourself at the front counter across from Eric, a bag of whale shark gummies split open between you. You had the store's to-do list binder open and were checking off the items you'd completed, all the while popping a poor whale shark into your mouth. Eric had found interest in one of the celebrity magazines displayed on the rack by the door.

It had so far been a slow night with very few customers coming in to grab a last minute case of beer or condoms. All the usual shit. However, time flew past a lot faster with Eric keeping you company. Even though the conversation you'd had with him at dinner earlier lingered in the back of your mind, it was quickly forgotten as he filled your time talking about LA, plans for the summer, and whatever you were up to while he was gone.

As midnight fast approached, the gummy sharks were finished and you whipped out the broom to begin cleaning up.

Eric idly scrolled through your phone to choose a song, skipping one after the other. “Can I help clean up or anything?” He asked after settling on a Dominic Fike song.

“Just sit still and look pretty,” you teased as you swept some dust and debris into a dustpan.

He smiled to himself. “That should be your job.”

There went your heart again, but thank god you were turned away from him. “Unfortunately, I don't get paid for that.”

“How much do you want?”

You turned your head over your shoulder to look at him, and he sent you a cheeky grin. You laughed loud at the ridiculousness, then returned to sweeping the aisle you were in. “You’re so stupid,” you said playfully. You didn't mean it… sort of. He was stupidly smooth, stupidly pretty, stupidly—

Eric grabbed the dustpan to trail after you. “Damn, I call you pretty and you call me stupid?”

“What if stupid is a compliment?”

“When is it ever a compliment?”

Despite the banter, the two of you were both beaming at each other in the lowlight. In no time, you had the entire store swept clean (for the most part), and you went to tuck the broom and dustpan into the back room. The clock struck just about midnight, too, and you swung the ring of keys around your index finger, your bag hanging off your shoulder.

Eric glanced up from where he had his nose buried in his phone screen. “Ready?” He asked, perking up like a golden retriever.

“Yep.” You stopped behind the counter to clock out. “Thanks for keeping me company, Eric. I really appreciate it.”

“Hey, what are f—” His voice broke for a second, and you sent him a look. He cleared his throat, “What are friends for?”

You finished clocking out on the computer, then slipped out from behind the counter and moved toward where Eric was. “Is that what we are?” You jested in reply.

His eyes went wide for a second. “What?”

Your head cocked to the side quizzically. “Is that what we are? Friends?” You repeated. When he still looked dumbfounded, you grimaced, “Was that lame? Yeah, that was lame. Let's just forget about that.”

You stepped toward the front door, but Eric placed a hand on your upper arm to stop you.

“Wait, Yn—”

You stopped with a hum in your throat, head turned back toward him. The two of you stood slightly closer now. Beneath the dim fluorescents, between the cold medicine and magazine rack, you searched this man's eyes for an answer he wasn't giving you. You could measure the length of his eyelashes from this distance, and you saw the shine mark on his lips after his tongue darted out to wet it.

“Eric?” You voiced quietly after he hadn't said anything. “Everything okay?”

Something shuddered in his expression and you swore his cheeks darkened in shade. “Nothing,” he said swiftly. “Sorry, it's nothing.”

Eric sat down across from you with a pair of headphones hanging around his neck and his hood thrown over his head. He nudged his black-rimmed glasses up his nose as he powered his laptop on. “Hey,” he whispered to you, his eyes darting around to make sure no one around you was bothered by his speaking.

The two of you were situated in the upper levels of your university library to study for your upcoming final exams. Most of the libraries on campus had a system in place where lower levels were meant as collaborative spaces with each level getting quieter in general volume. You and Eric were on the top floor, but at one of the desks tucked into one of the bookshelves. There were a few people around you, but they were hidden by walls and shelves, for the most part.

“I think you're fine,” you whispered to him in amusement as you uncapped your highlighter to mark a specific passage in the text you were reading.

Eric got up and quietly moved his chair to sit adjacent to you, rather than across from you. “What're you working on?”

“Just some research for a paper,” you replied. “You?”

“O-chem,” he said, and his entire being flopped over his closed laptop, his face crumpled in anguish.

You cooed silently and gently patted his hoodie-covered head. “You poor thing.”

Oh, organic chemistry. The monster it was.

When he still didn't pick himself or his laptop screen up, you leaned over to lay on top of him. “This is comfortable,” you muttered into the back of his hoodie.

You heard him hum in agreement.

“Dude, I don't even know how you're keeping up with your classes during baseball season,” you whispered and began mindlessly drawing flowers on his back.

“I'm not.”

You had to bury your face into his back to suppress your snort. “That's valid.”

“Thanks.”

“Awwh,” you murmured and wrapped your arms around his back. “It's gonna be okay. I promise.” Out of the two of you, Eric was usually the one with the sunny disposition, but it didn't mean you wouldn't jump at the opportunity to help him feel better. He deserved just as much tender love and care.

For a moment, you stayed in that position with your body covering his and your arms wrapped around him. If you weren't careful, you might have fallen asleep like that.

Eventually, you peeled yourself off of him and coaxed him to sit up with you. “Study for an hour with me and then we can get a treat.”

“Your face is a treat,” he said groggily, rubbing his eye from behind his glasses while yawning.

You covered up any signs of being flustered with, “Is that how you pull girls, Sohn?”

“No, that's how I pull you.”

You didn't need to feel your skin to know your face was on fire. He didn't even glance over at you, only sleepily smacked his lips together and pulled his laptop lid up with robotic motions. Maybe that was a good thing though. You still weren't too sure how you felt about his flirty remarks as of late, and they had yet to cease.

But… you looked over at Eric and he was already getting to work—you could deal with it later. It wasn't like it meant anything, right? Surely, the quickening of your heart and continually flustered state because of him meant absolutely nothing, right? Of course. And they definitely weren't signs that you liked his increased lines. Definitely.

(Who the fuck were you trying to fool?)

As promised, after about an hour passed by, you and Eric packed up your things to head out to find something to munch on. With spring slowly fading out into a pretty summer, the sun gleamed from its perch in the sky to warm the day. The trees lining the walkway were beginning to lose their flower buds in exchange for rich, dark green leaves.

A few minutes out from the university's main campus, you and Eric walked into a bakery that was frequented by many of your peers. It wasn't a complete surprise to see that nearly all of the tables inside were occupied by people with headphones in, laptops on, and books out.

You and Eric hopped in line, nonetheless, your eyes darting from the display case to the room to scout for an open table. Your fingers drummed against the strap of your bag. “You know what you're getting?”

He hummed. “The almond croissant kind of sounds good right now. What about you?”

“Might get a sandwich, to be honest,” you said. You hadn't had a filling breakfast, so you might as well make up for it.

“Which sandwich?”

“You're not paying.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully with a purse of his lips. “That's what you think.”

He did not pay for your sandwich.

While there was not a single open table inside, there were plenty of them outside. Eric wrinkled his nose at you as you were just about to take a bite of your sandwich. You stopped short. “What? Don't tell me you're butthurt, Sohn.”

“That’s such a weird word,” he said, gently pulling a piece of the croissant apart for him to put into his mouth.

“What, butthurt?” You could agree with that. It was kind of funny. “True, but it describes you pretty well.”

He laughed then, his eyes turning upward into pretty, little crescent moons. Since the two of you were forced to sit outside, the sunshine had an easier path to paint over your friend's face and make him look even more ethereal. A feeling worked its way into your chest at the sight of him like this. “Okay, honey. Whatever.”

You smiled around your bite, replying only after you'd swallowed it, “See? Butthurt.”

“I'm a good sport though.”

“Fine, I will admit that you're a good sport.”

His smile widened as if satisfied with that answer.

From within your bag, you could hear an aggressive vibration from your phone. You set your meal down to wipe your hands, then fished the device out.

At the sight of the text messages, your face morphed into one of mild amusement concealing a whole lot of “what the heck?”

Eric noticed your change in mood. “Something wrong?”

“Not necessarily?” You opened up the text chain that you had with Bae Sumin, one of your friends whom you met from a composition class you both shared in freshman year. “She's asking if you'd be interested in being set up for a date.”

You didn't know why there had been a spike of panic in your heart after reading it. It wasn't like you had any claim over Eric; that wouldn't be right to gatekeep him, especially when you didn't like him like… that, right?

His brows knitted together as he skimmed over the messages. When he was done he leaned away, his head already shaking. “I'm not really interested.”

“Really?” You asked curiously, withdrawing your phone back to your side of the table and mentally drafting a text message back. “Sieun's pretty nice.”

“I'm just—” he nudged his glasses up, letting out a breathy laugh, “—I’d rather figure that all out for myself, y'know? It's not like I don't think Sieun's a good person, but I…” He huffed, and it sounded almost frustrated.

You didn't know why you felt guilty all of a sudden. “You don't have to explain it to me, dude,” you said and began texting Sumin back. “If you don't want to, then you don't want to, y'know? It's better than leading her on.”

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“So you're not interested in anyone then?” You asked, in an attempt to slowly bring the conversation away from matchmaking. “You know what? You don't have to say anything—we can talk about something else—”

“I'm interested in someone,” he cut in.

You paused, surprised. You felt your pulse leap. Who? You wanted to ask, but instead inquired, “Really?”

He avoided your eyes. “Yep.”

“Oh.” Well that would make sense why he didn't want to be set up with someone else. Why couldn't he just say that in the first place then?

You gnawed on your bottom lip and couldn't help but think about who Eric could be interested in. There was a jittery flutter in your stomach at the thought. You didn't want to pry, but you were also curious as to who he was interested in. “Well, uh, good for you! I think that's really great.”

That… sounded so insincere.

Eric lifted his gaze to yours, and you felt a jolt run down your spine at the look in his eyes. “Thanks, Yn. I don't really know what to do though, to be honest.”

You frowned, tucking your phone away. “About—about the person? Or about your feelings?”

“I guess,” he said with a helpless gesture of his hands, “both.”

You pressed your lips together. It had been awhile since you were remotely interested in anyone either. And even back then, you were never the sort of person to speak up about your feelings with the person first. But this was Eric, and you wanted to at least try to help him. “Is this person not someone you think you should have feelings for? I guess I’m just asking why you feel conflicted or helpless.”

“Kind of,” he said, tongue in cheek. “They’re—they’re one of my—” He stopped himself. “They’re one of the best people I know, I just don’t think they feel the same way.”

“And so you don’t want to risk losing them should you confess?” You finished for him. You felt your posture droop with sympathy, and maybe a bit of envy. Who could this be about?

Eric scratched the underside of his jaw. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, I mean, if they’re as good of a person as you say, I think that they wouldn’t hold it against you or your friendship if you confessed and they didn’t feel the same.” If you were in his situation, you wouldn’t want to lose Eric ei—wait, what? Why were you thinking of it like that? You shook yourself out of whatever delusional headspace you found yourself in. “And in any case, maybe you can flirt with them, or hint to them your feelings and see how they respond.”

His eyebrow arched high. “I’ve definitely done that.”

“And?”

He smirked, a chuckle falling out of his mouth. “They may be one of the best people I know, but they’re as oblivious as a rock sometimes.”

Your own brows lifted. “Damn.” And you knew exactly how blatant Eric’s flirting style was.

Eric’s eyes caught onto something behind you, and you sat up to see what he was looking at. Just on the other side of the outside seating area, you recognized Mark Lee and Kim Jungwoo from Eric’s baseball team strolling past.

Mark lifted a hand, his mouth widening into a grin. “Hey, man! What’s up?”

Eric greeted his teammates with his usual cheeriness, clasping his hand with theirs.

“Oh my gosh, is this the—”

“The best friend,” Eric interrupted, his eyes darting to you. Both Mark and Jungwoo did the same thing, so now you were worried about why they were looking at you like that. “Yeah, this is Yn, my best friend.”

Jungwoo grabbed Mark by his shoulder and extended a greeting fist bump toward you. “Nice to finally meet you, Yn. Eric’s told us a lot about you.”

“Oh?” You glanced over at Eric before reciprocating the gesture. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Hope he’s only said good things,” you jested. Partly.

“Oh, all the good things; don’t worry,” Mark chirped. “We’ll see you at practice later, Eric!”

Eric lifted his hand in a wave as they continued down the street. “See you then!”

Once you were sure they were out of earshot, you picked up your sandwich again. “So you talk about me to your teammates?”

“All good things—you heard Mark,” he said with a laugh, but for some reason, you thought you detected a hint of uncertainty there. “How could I not talk about you?”

“Careful there, you’re starting to sound like you’re obsessed with me.”

“Well, maybe I am,” he shot back at you. He brushed the crumbs from his finished croissant onto the plate, reaching for the small stack of napkins between you two. “But seriously, don’t worry about what those guys said. They just like to mess with me.”

You lifted a shoulder in a meager shrug. “No worries, man. I’m obsessed with you, too, so the feeling’s mutual.”

You relished in the way his countenance noticeably lifted, his expression brightened, the corners of his lips curling into the apples of his pinkened cheeks like twin divots. All of a sudden it was just you and Eric, and you could forget about everything and everyone else.

“He said the L word?” Vernon let out a melodramatic gasp, which made it all the more funny since he'd said it with the most monotonous tone. His eyes had gone wide enough to see the white of his eyes though, and you practically doubled over because of him.

Ningning, unaffected by Vernon's silliness, nodded vigorously. “He said he loved her first! Isn't that crazy?”

You plucked out one of your opened water bottles from the fridge. “I don't think it's that crazy. Is it weird that I don't think it's that crazy?”

Vernon sank deeper into the couch cushion he sat on, eyes already drifting closed. “It's Kim Sunwoo; I don't think it's that crazy either.”

“Am I the only person who was shocked by this?”

“Yes,” you and Vernon answered at once.

Ningning rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine. I guess I can see it, too. But it's just weird because he never gave any indication that he even liked her.”

“He was probably just suppressing it?” Vernon offered with a yawn. “Maybe he's just got a lot on his plate. My friend Seungcheol's a little emotionally constipated, too, but it's 'cause he's been slammed by his work stuff.”

“Isn't it crazy that people our age are telling other people they love them already? Like, love-love, and not some kind of primary-school-playground-love.” You moved yourself to join your friends in your micro living room. There was a gathering of laptops and papers scattered on the coffee table, but no one had touched them since they'd been brought out. Finals week burnout was real and tangible.

“One day,” Ningning sighed, less so lovey dovey, and more so exhausted as hell. She leaned her cheek against the back of her knuckles. “I don't know if I wanna get married though.”

“I think marriage is cool,” said Vernon. He had now taken on a coffin position with his arms crossed firmly over his chest and his face tilted up toward the ceiling. “As long as it's with the right person.”

“Yeah, stuff like that can't be rushed,” you agreed. You weren't sure what your plans for the future were; you just hoped you had your friends by your side, at the very least.

All this talk about partners and futures had your mind turning toward your conversation with Eric from lunch the other day. Did he see this crush of his as a potential life partner? He deserved that—someone who loved him as much as he no doubt loved them. Where would that leave you? Didn't you want something like that, too?

“Let's not talk about marriage anymore.” Ningning fwumped onto her side over the remainder of the sectional that Vernon wasn't lying on. She'd clearly given up on studying, same as Vernon. “How's Eric doing, Yn?”

Your head perked up. “Eric? What about Eric?”

“Oh, I dunno.” She held her phone screen directly above her face as she scrolled through social media, her lips pressed together. “Chenle said that Mark said that he's interested in somebody.”

It seemed news traveled fast, but then again, you didn't know how long Eric had been interested in this mystery person. You blinked, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Ah, yeah. He mentioned something about that to me, but he didn't tell me who it was.”

Ningning turned her head slightly to face you and her eyebrow was flicked up toward her hairline. “You're serious?”

“Well, yeah. I'm not gonna force it out of him.”

Vernon peeked one eye open. “Dude, you know that guy would do anything for you, right? If you asked one more time, he probably would have folded like a lawn chair.”

You sent him a pointed look. “I'm not about to force him to give away something sensitive like that. I admit that I'm curious, but…” It just wasn't your business.

He frowned at you, then went back to his half-conscious state.

Were you missing something?

Ningning rolled over completely onto her side. “How about this: how do you feel about Eric being interested in someone?”

Why was this the sudden topic of discussion? You pursed your lips, eyebrows furrowing. “Is this a trick question?”

“Why would it be a trick question?”

You exhaled. “He said that the person he liked was one of the best people he knew, so I'm happy for him. Like I said earlier, it would be nice to know who it was, but I don't want to make him give up something if he's not ready to yet.” That would just be unfair.

Vernon opened his eyes again and turned to Ningning. “Doesn't this sound like an automated response?”

You deadpanned. “It is not an automated response. It's—y’know, why wouldn't I be happy for him?”

With a dead serious tone, your friends said simultaneously, “Because you're in love with him.”

That statement struck a match against your cheeks and set them ablaze. Your lips parted, words failing you. Because you're in love with him?

At your speechlessness, Ningning moved to sit up straight. “We think it's because you have feelings for him,” she rephrased, as if that was any better.

“I do not have feelings for him.”

“I think you do; you might be mistaking it as something else.”

You garbled with the words in your brain, but they slipped and fumbled and wouldn't line up correctly on your tongue. It was to the point that you had to put a pause on trying to come up with a retort, and rather, piece this together logically. There had to be a reason for why both Ningning and Vernon were on the same page with this.

It came to you then, slowly, like a train pulling into the station. It was every one of his flirtatious maneuvers to get you flustered, the bittersweetness you didn't want to acknowledge at the thought that he was interested in somebody else. It was that look in his eyes that you couldn't describe, the way he tripped over his words when it came to calling you a friend. The voice over the intercom was announcing the stop as the train came to a gradual halt.

“Oh.”

Ningning frowned slightly, her head nodding. Vernon was actually awake now. “Yeah.”

So what now?

You knew Eric just finished with his organic chemistry final when you found him passed out on your couch. You'd been out working for the majority of the day and passed him a set of spare keys to your apartment to let himself in whenever he was done so the two of you could start your long awaited movie marathon night. The sun had just set and you'd come with a bag of groceries to make dinner, but all you could think about was the guy snoozing on the couch, his tufts of hair sticking out of his hood.

Cute.

By the time he woke up, you had dinner fixed up, and the apartment was filled with divine aromatics. Some said the smell of food usually made chefs feel full, but you hadn't eaten properly since you left for your shift this morning.

The lump on the couch stirred as you turned off the stove and turned toward the sink to start washing the dishes. You didn't like washing dishes, but it was a necessary evil. Earlier, you’d found the evidence that Eric had helped himself to some of the instant noodles in your cabinets, leaving a note by the dishes in the sink: Sorry, I promise I'll wash these when I wake up!!

You knew he would have kept his word, but you also knew how hard he worked and stressed over that damn exam. It was no inconvenience toward you to wash just a couple extra things.

Eric rolled onto his feet and shuffled into the kitchen, his eyes fluttering to adjust to the warm lighting. “Hi,” he rasped, voice hoarse from his nap.

His chin found your shoulder. “I said I'd wash those,” he murmured, referring to the small pot you were washing now.

“I know. I thought I'd do it anyway.”

“You hate washing the dishes.”

Your movements paused for a second. The organ in your chest was galloping away again, but now you knew the reason. Your head shifted slightly as it bumped against his gently. “I know.”

He was quiet for a moment before his arms came around your form and settled across your stomach and waist. “Thanks. Sorry for the mess.”

“There was no mess, silly goose,” you told him.

“I'll wash the ones after dinner.”

You murmured, “It's okay, Eric. I know you're good for it.”

Eric let out a breath against your neck, his head tucking into the warmth there. “I love you.”

At once, you both froze. You felt his body tense up around you, and knew your movements had stopped completely. You'd both heard what he said crystal clear and even the volume of the sink faucet couldn't dismiss it as a trick of the ear.

“Shit.” He detached himself from you just as you finished washing. You reached for the dry towel next to you on the counter to dry your hands, then turned around to face him. His eyes were wide like he just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I didn't say that aloud, did I?”

You smiled through a small wince. “You kind of did.”

“What if I left and pretended I wasn't even here?—”

You stepped forward and grabbed him by the shoulders. You gave him a little shake, the smile on your face sweetening. “Hey, Eric. I love you, too.”

His lips fell into a pout. “No, Yn. You—you don't get it. It's—I… I love you.”

“I know,” you said and moved your hands up to cup his face. There was a wobble in his eyes as you said this, that puppy pout deepening. “And I love you, too.”

Eric wrapped his arms around you tight then, a breath of air pushing out from his lips in utter relief. “Oh my god, you have,” he stammered, “no idea how—just—” He pulled away from you and pressed his lips to the side of your face.

You laughed, your hand coming up to cup the back of his head.

His face was split wide open by a massive grin and his eyes, his beautiful eyes, gleamed like a pair of twin stars beneath the dim kitchen lights. “Do you know how hard this has been for me?” He exclaimed while throwing his hands up in the air. “Do you know how much pain I was in when you couldn't get the hint—”

“Hey! Normal people don't just assume that their best friend has feelings for them,” you stuttered out in your own defense.

Eric tilted his head up to the ceiling. “I have literally flirted at you, right to your face.”

“You have a flirty personality.”

“And you are oblivious.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, your head cocking to the side. “Agree to disagree?”

He sighed and the sound was something happy and bright. “Agree to disagree,” he replied. He smiled at you again, but the corners were softer and mellower, the tenderness shining through like the glow of a lamp covered in a fabric shade. “I've been dying to tell you since I went to LA; I just didn't know how.”

“LA?” You parroted.

“I just couldn't stop thinking about wanting you there with me,” he said like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I'd be in the hotel room, staring up at the ceiling with the stupidest smile on my face thinkin’ 'bout you, and then I'd realize I actually was in love with you. It would flip-flop between those two things all trip long.”

You chuckled as you imagined Eric's starkly different facial expressions for each version of himself. It was an amusing thought. “Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for all the strife I put you through.”

His hands warmed over the sides of your arms. “Hey, honey, it was all worth it in the end.”

“You know,” you said, playing with one of the strings of his hoodie, and his hands came to rest around your waist loosely, “if the comfort and—the warmth and the happiness I feel around you is love, then I think I've been in love with you since the day we met.”

Eric's lips pressed in a deep pout again. “Come on! You can't possibly say that and not expect me to wanna kiss you.”

“I'm not saying no,” you teased.

There was that smile again. He licked his lips once and leaned over to gently press his mouth against yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let his softness consume you and ignite you all at once. It occurred to you that you were never scared of losing Eric as a friend—this was just what was next for you both.

When you both pulled away, your breaths still intermingling, his cheeks were a pretty, bubblegum pink color.

“Was that your first kiss?” You joked even though you knew full well it wasn't.

His laugh was low, but his expression brightened. “Might as well be,” he said, “it's the only one I wanna remember.”

Your tongue stuck out of the corner of your mouth as you carefully pulled the loops of ribbon through itself to create the perfect, matching bow to the one on the other side of your head. Chenle was hosting a start-of-summer party, and it was mandated that you and your friends attend (according to Ningning).

Through your mirror, your eyes caught a presence at your bedroom door. “Oh my god, you're so cute,” Eric groaned, turning to the side to melodramatically hit his head against the doorframe.

You melted into a smile. “Thanks. I wasn't really sure how they would look actually.”

“Well, they're perfect. You’re perfect. Please don't take them off.” He came over to join you were you sat on the floor in front of your body length mirror.

You wiggled around a strand of pink ribbon you had cut off earlier, but didn't end up using because it was way too long for a hair bow. “I've got an extra piece. Do you want it?”

He scoffed, a hand carding through his hair, “Of course, I want it.”

Very pleased with his response, you clambered onto your knees to decide where to put it. He was dressed casually with a loose tank top, board shorts, and a cap on backwards. You squinted one of your eyes closed. “I've got it.”

“You've got it?” He repeated with a chuckle, smile widening as you practically climbed into his lap. “Hi,” he said with your faces close to each other and his hands resting on either side of your waist.

“Calm down there, tiger,” you teased, “I'm just gonna tie it where everyone can see it.”

You looped the ribbon around his left bicep, his arm subtly flexing as you did so. You made sure the bow looked as perfect as you were capable of making it. With a little pat of your hand, you deemed that it was all set.

“Perfect,” he said with a nod of affirmation.

You nodded along with him. “I'd agree.”

“Hey.” He drew your attention over to him once more and his hands pulled you flush against him. There was a goofy grin on his lips as he gazed at you with wide, doe-like eyes that melted into pairs of molten chocolate. “Do you think…”

“Do I think?” You prompted, wrapping your arms around the back of his shoulders.

“Do you think that if I kissed you in front of our friends, they'd realize we were dating?”

A laugh fell from your mouth, and Eric had never seen something so pretty in his life. (There were few things worthy of being engraved on the backs of one's eyelids, but he thought he just found a view that was. He would chase your smile until the end of time.)

“What?” He beamed. “Good idea, right?”

“I thought we said we were soft launching,” you said, the smile yet to retreat.

“I guess,” he sighed dramatically and leaned back onto his hand to drape the other one across his forehead like a damsel in distress.

You went forward to kiss him. “You're cute.”

“Isn't that my line?” He teased. He licked his lips a little then, expression becoming thoughtful. “I know this is gonna be something different—this relationship—but at the same time, I feel like nothing's changed.”

Swoon. You went in for another kiss and lingered there a bit longer when his hand came up to cup the back of your neck. “It'll be different and the same,” you agreed. “Just better.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Definitely better.”

It was scary—this venture into new territory. It was something that both you and Eric would experience and discover together. But on the bright side, at least you were in love. Maybe that was all that mattered in the end.

a/n: everybody say 'thank god she expanded the plot'

tbz m.list

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munson-blurbs · 2 months

Text

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: News from an old friend had you wondering if Eddie's sour mood had turned downright destructive. (4.9k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, misunderstanding, coming out, vandalism, parental conflict, poverty, jealousy, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter seven: offense and defense

Your version of a truce came in the form of wallpaper panels and a bucket of glue.

You’d placed it on top of the canvas sheets that would protect the floor from any spills, though it wasn’t as if that was presentable, either. Still, you would be grateful for the splash of color rather than the stripped down walls that only highlighted the motel’s defeated aesthetic.

Like lipstick on a pig, your cynicism taunted, but one that you’ve stuck on a spit to roast.

Your fingernail picked at a small groove in the desk’s wood as if digging a hole to bury your anxiety. Despite the police sirens blaring in the distance, all you could hear was the sound of the mailbox clanging shut, trapping your acceptance letter and effectively sealing your fate.

Your breathing sped up and sent your heartbeat into your ears, inching you towards a point of no return where the world became hazy. Suddenly, Eddie’s mood was irrelevant; you just needed a distraction, even if that meant contending with his strangely defensive attitude.

But when eleven o’clock rolled around, a full hour into your shift. there was still no sign of him. You’d give him another thirty minutes before you knocked on his door; he had a job to finish, after all.

That was all it was: ensuring he earned his keep, preventing him from becoming the deeply feared charity case.

In the end, there was no need to intrude on him. Eddie shuffled through the lobby not even fifteen minutes later, seemingly without the intention of stopping to greet you. He looked straight ahead as though any eye contact would burn his retinas from the inside out. His tattooed arms were on full display in a black tank top, the holes cut down nearly to the waist. A chain hung off the side of his jeans, gleaming even in the harsh lighting. The whole outfit was a far cry from the sweatpants he’d donned during the wallpaper removal.

“Eddie?”

He stopped but still refused to glance in your direction. There was no use ignoring the confusion in your voice; he didn’t even bother waiting for the formality of a question. “Y-Yeah, I, um…I gotta run some errands.” His teeth dug into the inside of his cheek at his pitiful excuse.

Errands just before midnight? He certainly wasn’t dressed to make a last-minute dash to the corner bodega, nor would that take all night.

He was lying; that much was obvious. What evaded you was why. Was he embarrassed about his outburst at Eisen’s? Angry at you for freezing him out during the ride home?

“What about the wallpaper?”

“Oh. Right.” He softly chuckled, the kind that someone gives when they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

He didn’t stick around for further questioning, letting in a cool evening breeze when he barreled out the front door.

Aggravation clenched your fists. His lackadaisical approach to work was infuriating enough, but the way he’d attempted to sneak past you had you seething. Did he truly believe he could camouflage himself and walk out unnoticed?

The untouched wallpapering materials mocked you, taunted your optimism. Or perhaps it was naivety. You’d all but told him to piss off last night, yet you expected him to flounce into the lobby, eager to work alongside you–and only you–for the next few hours? The thought alone was so pathetic that you were glad no one else had been around to witness it.

You hoisted the panels and glue back to the supply closet, gripping them with palms slick from embarrassment and frustration. Tonight could have been an opportunity to clear the air about the Ben fiasco and resume your usual lighthearted conversations. His brusque laughter didn’t showcase the subtle dimples that pressed from the corners of his mouth into his cheeks, so unlike the genuine smiles that reached his eyes. Those warm eyes like chocolate chips on a summer day, except they melted you with each foray into his past, each glimpse into what made him, him.

Without them, the night was stagnant.

Amy’s Cafe was a favorite among the student population, especially during finals week. The coffee was usually burnt or weak, but it was cheap and conveniently located near campus, so it stayed afloat. Overworked baristas slid filled-to-the-brim mugs and to-go styrofoam cups to the edge of the counter, hissing espresso machines punctuating the pop music that was piped through the sound system. Exactly the kind of music Eddie would hate.

Eddie. He must have had an extensive errand list, because he still hadn’t returned when your shift ended. Your chest ached with a sadness that burned hotter than your curiosity. You no longer cared what he was up to, just that he preferred it to spending time with you.

Ben already sat at a small table when you arrived, the steam from his cup rising up and fogging his wire-rimmed glasses. He offered you a weary smile, one wrought with fatigue and a nervousness you couldn’t quite place.

It wasn’t until you plopped into the seat across from him, careful not to spill your own coffee, that you noticed the gray crescents below his eyes that weren’t there on Sunday. Stubble coated his cheeks and chin, more five o’clock shadow than beard, and you were hard-pressed to remember a time he’d seemed this disheveled.

“You look like shit.”

He raised his brows as he blew on his tea, sending tiny ripples through the citrusy-mint blend. “You sure know how to flatter a guy.”

Between the usual end-of-semester stress and whatever issues were simmering between you and Eddie, you lacked the patience to beat around the bush. “Seriously,” you insisted, “what’s wrong?”

Ben’s sigh held immeasurable weight, and you quickly understood why. “Eisen’s was vandalized last night,” he said quietly.

“What?!” Your blood ran cold. The mental image of the always-pristine shop abruptly destroyed marred your psyche.

He nodded. “Yeah. We empty the register at night and put the cash in a safe, so they didn’t get any of that,” he explained, a small consolation. “But they smashed the windows and graffitied the place. All of the shelves, our whole inventory…covered in it.”

“Is everyone…is your family okay?” If the alarm had sounded and Uncle Mo or Aunt Tam came running in…if the intruder was carrying a weapon…

“We’re fine,” Ben assured you. “I mean, we’re all pretty shook up, but no one’s hurt.” His bottom teeth scraped along his upper lip. “I swept up most of the broken glass after the cops left, but it’s gonna take a while to scrub off the spray paint.”

“I can help,” you volunteered without hesitation. “I can swing by on Thursday afternoon.” There were no formal classes this week; you just had to drop off your paper and then you could go to the shop.

“Thanks.” Ben kept his attention focused on his mug, dunking the bag aimlessly through the hot liquid. “Um, was your, uh, boyfriend with you last night?” When you wrinkled your nose, he elaborated. “That Eddie guy. He’s your boyfriend, right?”

You shook your head and tried to ignore the internal fluttering spurred on by the thought of Eddie being your boyfriend. “No. He just works for us.” Thirty-six hours ago, you would have referred to him as a friend, but you didn’t know if that was still true.

Ben cocked an eyebrow. “You sure? Because he seemed pretty…” He searched for the right word, “...territorial over you.”

Territorial. As if you belonged to him. The notion was almost humorous, considering his desperation to avoid you at all costs. If you were his property, he must be a very hands-off landlord.

“It’s not like that. He just gets competitive.” You filled Ben in on the wasp nest saga, even managing to pull a few chuckles out of him.

“Okay, fine.” Something in Ben’s tone informed you that he didn’t quite believe you, but he pressed on, both of you well-aware that your love life wasn’t the most urgent issue. “But was he around last night? Hanging the wallpaper or something?”

He wasn’t. You wished more than anything that you could offer an alibi, but you didn’t have a clue where he was.

It’s a big city; there were millions of places he could go besides Eisen’s. And yet you couldn’t name a single one, your throat bone-dry despite just taking a sip of coffee.

“N-No, but he wouldn’t—”

“I’m not saying he did,” Ben interjected, firmly but not unkindly. “It’s just, I dunno, a little suspicious that this guy comes to our shop for the first time, hates my guts for some reason, and then the place gets destroyed the next day.”

There was no denying how strange it was, especially coupled with his poorly explained absence. Something inside you insisted that it wasn’t Eddie, and you clung onto that hope.

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” Bitterness churned in your stomach and crept up your throat, and you knew it wasn’t from the coffee. Was there anything about the way he’d been dressed that provided insight into his whereabouts? Anything he’d mentioned in passing?

Despite scouring the depths of your brain, you came up empty.

Ben exhaled and squeezed his eyes shut like he was actively trying to forget the memory of the break-in. “Everything was completely smashed. Like someone took a baseball bat to it or something.”

You flashed back to last week when Eddie went after the wasp’s nest with Phyllis’s bat. Did he ask her to borrow it again?

Stop it, you silently scolded yourself. It couldn’t have been Eddie. He might be hotheaded, but that didn’t mean he would destroy Eisen’s.

Except he had trashed that hotel room because the manager issued a noise complaint. He’d seemed proud of it, laughing as he retold the story, like he’d carried out some meticulously crafted revenge plot.

Shit.

“You’re sure there’s nothing going on between you two?” Ben asked again, ripping open another sugar packet and dumping it into his drink.

“Positive.” Certainly not now when you were barely on speaking terms.You didn’t have time for a relationship; school and work kept you sufficiently busy.

Not that you wanted anything going on with Eddie. What would you even do together–go on dates at six AM after your shift? Hold hands across the lobby desk? Steal kisses in the supply closet? The two of you making out amongst piles of linens and a rusty toolbox? Your fingers tangled in his hair and your lips pressed to his; his hands gripping your waist and tugging you impossibly close? You couldn’t allow yourself to even consider it a possibility, to allow yourself to want it.

You noticed Ben giving you a wry smile, like he knew something you didn’t, and you snapped back into reality to volley a question back to him. “What about you? Meet any cute girls in dental school?”

His unexpected cloudiness didn’t match your breezy, teasing tone. “No cute girls.” He paused, mulling over his words for a while before talking again, so softly you could barely hear him over the muzak playing over the café’s sound system. “There were some cute guys, though.”

The admission hung in the air for a moment while you slowly absorbed it. Cute guys, not girls. So Ben was—

A soft throat clearing grabbed your attention; he was anxiously awaiting your response.

Reaching your hand across the Formica table, you draped your fingers over his and left them there. “How did you…know?” You winced at your own awkwardness. “Sorry, I meant, like, is this something you figured out recently? Or did you know back when we were kids?”

Ben laughed lightly, his shoulders sagging with relief. The worry of rejection left his eyes as he spoke. “Part of me always knew, I think. I just didn’t have a word for it.” He sighed, his breath trembling with residual nerves. “It’s not like we grew up talking about these things.”

He was right; you couldn’t recall a single time that his parents or yours discussed non-heterosexual romantic relationships. A man and a woman get married and have babies. The end. No mention of when two men or two women love one another.

“Have you told your parents?”

“No.” His voice caught, throat blocked with emotion, and he cleared it again. “I wanted to wait until I finished school and got my own place. Y’know…just in case.”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence.

“Would they really do that?”

He shrugged, his shoulders once again bearing the weight of the unknown. “I don’t think they’d kick me out,” he admitted, “but they’d definitely be disappointed. Like they did something wrong.”

“You know you can always stay with me if you need,” you said. “I’ll set aside a room for you.” Far away from Eddie’s, you added silently.

Ben’s smile was tight but genuine. “After all of these years, nothing’s changed.” He let out a hoarse laugh. “Does it get exhausting, being the best person ever?”

He was joking, trying his best to shift to a lighter tone, but the accuracy of his question had you temporarily reeling. You weren’t the best person ever, but it was exhausting constantly trying to be. He must have sensed that he grazed a nerve, his eyes softening as he leaned in. “You okay?”

You nodded, your head suddenly acquiring the heft of a boulder. The sound of the mailbox clanging shut and sealing your fate reverberated in your ears. And then Eddie had seen, had cleaned your smudged mascara so warmly that your skin simmered at his touch. Those same fingers might have grasped a can of spray paint or and wielded a bat with the intention of ravaging an innocent business.

“You always were a terrible liar.” Ben said. He knew you too well, a blessing and a curse. “C’mon—a secret for a secret.”

His permission had your own confession slipping from where it had been tucked away and spilling into the conversation. “I’m majoring in psychology and I’m going to study social work at NYU.” When Ben offered you a confused look, you humbly elaborated. “And, I mean, I know it’s not the same thing as your situation, but I haven’t told my parents about it either.”

The shame burned you, flames nipping at your neck.

Ben drummed his fingers against the mug’s handle, his nails making a soft cling. “The motel…” he trailed off, mutual understanding replacing the rest of his words.

Neither of you said anything else for a while, only taking small sips of coffee until you mustered up the energy to speak again.

“I don’t think they’d kick me out either,” you said, “but that might not matter. Without me to take over, they’d have to sell the place anyway.”

Ben thought for a moment. A teardrop of coffee trickled down the lip to the base, staining the white porcelain with a hazel streak. “Whatever happens, I’m here for you.” It was his turn to hold your hand, enveloping it in the comfort that can only come from a lifelong friend. “And if worse comes to worst, you can always bunk with me. As long as Eddie won’t mind,” he added with a mischievous edge.

You rolled your eyes as the heaviness evaporated. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He raised his brows. “You didn’t see the look on his face when I hugged you. I thought he was gonna knock me into tomorrow.”

“Whatever,” you said evenly, swiftly pivoting the subject to his own romantic endeavors. But the image of Eddie getting upset when Ben hugged you tugged at your mind for the rest of the conversation. You’d initially thought he was irritated about Ben encroaching on his job, but the hug came well before the offer to help.

Trying to figure out Eddie Munson, you realized, was like jamming a puzzle piece where it didn’t belong. He would remain an enigma until you found the right spot.

Afternoon bled into night, the overcast skies resulting in a noticeable absence of stars. Rain had been threatening to fall all day, but the humidity still bogged down the clouds when Eddie walked into the lobby at ten-thirty.

“Hey,” he said, raising one hand in an enthusiastic half-wave. His eyes met yours for only a second before pulling away. “I’ll just grab the paper from the supply closet.”

You tossed him the key and he caught it, clenching it in his palm. He smiled, victoriously but fleetingly once he realized it wasn’t being returned. Defeated, he trudged over to the closet. You normally would have followed and helped, but you were held down by what you knew–what you might know, you reminded yourself.

“You, uh, didn’t set up,” he said, shaking out the drop cloth and positioning it against the molding.

“Didn’t know if you had another secret errand to run.” The retort left your lips before you could stop it, and you pinched them together in a belated attempt to quell your anger.

Eddie bristled, his brush halfway in the vat of glue, but he quickly composed himself and got back to work. You focused your attention on your essay, scanning it for the millionth time in search of misplaced commas or missing words.

Perfect. It needed to be perfect.

Silence once again overtook the motel lobby, broken only by the sounds of Eddie slicing the wallpaper at the edges, not bothering to measure before adhering it to the exposed plaster, and the outside traffic.

You were comfortable with the prolonged quiet, though admittedly less so than before Eddie arrived a few weeks ago, but it must have gnawed at him. He started humming after only fifteen minutes, an unfamiliar tune, smooth in some places and staccato in others.

“Are you still mad at me or something?”

You loathed the way his voice startled you, your mind too deeply buried in your paper. It caused you to look up and lock eyes with him. His question was wrought with frustration, though you couldn’t tell if it was directed at you or at his own inability to decipher the situation.

“No.” Yes.

Eddie sighed and continued working. “Well, if you change your mind, just know that I’m sorry.”

His apology brought back memories of his previous attempt—though ‘attempt’ might be overstating it, and you didn’t want to bite back your response. “It isn’t me you need to apologize to.”

He didn’t bother turning to you when he spoke. “You’re talking about that Bill guy?”

“Ben,” you corrected him, willing yourself to unclench your jaw, “and yes. You were rude to him for no reason.” You pushed aside Ben’s explanation, an improbability in itself.

“I had a reason.” Venom dripped from each word. “Trust me, I could’ve done worse things than hurt his feelings.”

And as his grip tightened around the brush, one bluish vein bulging in his forearm, you remembered how gleeful he’d admitted to trashing the hotel. How Ben had said that Eisen’s looked as though someone took a baseball bat to it.

“The store was vandalized last night.”

All of the oxygen in the room evaporated. Eddie’s unamused chuckle, low in his throat, fissured the silent tension and made it palpable. Real. “And you think I did it.”

“I never said that.”

But you and he both knew that you didn’t have to; the slight tremor in your voice giving away your true intentions. Even if you weren’t outright accusing him, your tone had too much bite to be conversational.

He threw the brush to the ground and it landed against the cloth with an audible thud. “Whatever.” Another grim laugh, each step towards the desk had your heart sinking further into your chest. “Y’know, I’ve already had a pretty shitty week, and I thought talking to you could turn it around. Should’ve known better.” He wiped his palms on his blue jeans and procured a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, lighting one and taking a long drag.

You could only imagine the restraint it took for him not to exhale a cloud of smoke directly in your face.

It was a replay of the situation with Izzy’s mother, the assumptions that steeled you against her before you’d ever met and had you painting her as a neglectful parent. Her palpable worry was a slap across your face, and you felt that same sting now with Eddie.

Ruined it. With one stupid comment, you’d obliterated all of the trust built between you.

“Excuse me, but I have a very busy evening ahead of me,” he said, pointing the cigarette in your direction like an accusation of his own. “I’m supposed to commit arson in fifteen minutes, and if I have time, I might just murder someone.”

No doubt you were at the top of his list.

The realization of your mistake released an anchor of guilt down your stomach. You should have trusted your instincts, should have immediately eschewed any notion that he was the culprit.

You hated yourself for even considering it a possibility, let alone a probability.

“For a sophisticated city girl, you sure remind me of the small-town pricks I grew up with,” Eddie continued, spittle gathering at the corner of his lips. Rage burned in his eyes. “Guess none of those textbooks taught you how to ask questions, huh? Like, ‘Eddie, where were you last night?’ That might’ve been a good start.”

His words were submerged in a poisonous vitriol, purposefully launched with the intent to maim. And yet they weren't inherently aimed at you. Not all of them, anyway.

In that moment, you were everyone who had ever accused him of a crime he hadn’t committed. You were the security guards who ‘kept an eye’ on him when he went shopping, the middle-aged women who scowled and clutched their pearls at his tattoos, the people in his hometown who wrote him off as a devil-worshiping freak.

Guilty until proven innocent.

The fingers on your left hand slotted between the gaps on your right and pressed into your palm, a distraction from the lump forming in your throat. Crying was not an option, it exposed your vulnerability and opened you up to further ridicule. The only thing worse than Eddie using your tears against you was if he took pity on you; there was no way you could handle that level of humiliation.

“Eddie, I—”

You’d finally found your footing in the conversation, and it was promptly clipped. “Just assumed that I was off breaking and entering. A little blue collar crime is nothing new for trailer trash like me, right?” He shook his head in faux disbelief. “Is this how you’re gonna treat your clients?”

That final comment was a lit match that ignited a powderkeg within you, and since you refused to shed a single tear, it exploded in the only other way possible.

“You,” you jabbed your finger into his chest, no longer caring about whatever professional boundaries you might be crossing. Those had flown out the window once he’d purposely dredged up your insecurities. “You are the one who bailed on your job with the lamest excuse I’d ever heard and expected me not to get suspicious.” Your heart beat double-time, pumping raw anger in lieu of blood. “And you are the one who bragged about trashing a hotel room when the manager had the audacity to enforce a rule.”

Eddie took a small step back, your biting reply an arrow to the gut. Perhaps even he felt it, too; the way he’d taken his tirade over the line. Gray flakes fell from his cigarette and onto the desk, the ashy clump having grown too heavy for gravity.

You weren’t done, despite his apparent surrender. “You’re not my client. And I’m not Nancy Drew, so don’t act like I’m responsible for solving your bullshit mysteries.”

His nostrils flared as he regained his composure. “Asking a question isn’t—” a door creaking open and subsequent irritated footsteps halted his retort. Both of you broke eye contact to watch as Phyllis padded up the hallway and into the lobby. Irritation accentuated her smeared-lipstick frown, and she pulled her robe across her body, tugging on the belt in frustration.

“I don’t know what this little lovers’ quarrel is about,” she hissed through clenched teeth, dragging an arthritic finger between you and Eddie, “but it’s killing the mood. So if you could wrap it up, we’d greatly appreciate it.”

You nearly choked on your tongue, and pink splotches decorated Eddie’s stubbled cheeks.

“We’re not—”

“It isn’t—”

But Phyllis had already stalked back to her room, never one to keep a gentleman caller waiting.

Neither you nor Eddie said a word for a few seconds, the heat of embarrassment still nipping at your bodies. A lovers’ quarrel? Phyllis clearly had a convoluted sense of romance if she thought you and Eddie were lovers.

Eddie shattered the silence first, mumbling something nearly unintelligible about needing an ashtray. The dam that restrained your snarkiness had apparently buckled and burst, because when he turned to leave, his back to you, you called out, “see how easy it is to tell me where you’re going?”

He stopped, the cigarette between his fingers now ash down to the filter, but he didn’t turn around. His voice was low in his throat, a slight tremor as he spoke. “That’s real rich, coming from the person whose parents think she’s going to school for hospitality.”

That was low, but unlike his comment about accusing your future clients, this one was true. There was nothing you could say in response, no rebuttal would suffice. You hated the way words stilled in your chest, wishing you could fling insult after insult about his failed music career, but you were simply too tired.

You managed to stave off your tears until he had fully rounded the corner, burying your head in your hands to muffle your sobs. Pathetic. That’s what you were: a pathetic mess, bold enough to start an argument but too cowardly to finish it. And so there you stood, elbows digging into the wooden desktop until splinters pierced your skin, the distance between you and Eddie growing with each passing second.

Holding your own with other guests was usually second-nature for you, but other guests weren’t Eddie. They weren’t hanging around the lobby and asking you about your hopes and dreams. They weren’t willingly offering up their most vulnerable selves just to reassure you. They weren’t tagging along on errands and turning ordinary subway rides into small adventures.

They also weren’t sneaking around and making watered-down excuses, then painting you as the bad guy for doubting their intentions.

Half of you ached to apologize; the other half wanted to toss him and his trash bag luggage to the curb and not look back.

Warm tears slid down the slope of your nose until you tasted their salt on your lips. Stopping them seemed an impossible task, your mind hovering above your body like a separate entity altogether. Your breaths were jagged and uneven, an irregular pattern of shallow inhales and strained exhales.

There was no sense in throwing yourself a pity party, not when you got yourself into this mess. If you were going to wallow in your own misery, you could at least be productive while you cried.

Eddie had barely started the re-wallpapering, so cleaning up was not a daunting task. You rolled the paper back around the tube, keeping it tightly wound for easier transport. It was clunky; you had to adjust it twice in the short distance to the closet, but you managed to get it there with it unraveling.

A gentle scrape across the desk made you peek out from behind the closet door, your red-stained, swollen eyes landing on Eddie once again. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lower lip, his fingers clenched around the jet-black lighter you hadn’t noticed he’d left behind.

He saw you, too, his lips forming a tense smile.

“Forgot this,” he said, holding up the lighter with a little shake. The jaded lines of his face softened when he clocked your tear-streaked cheeks, and that minor show of sympathy had you eager to crawl beneath a rock.

You waited for him to say something, anything, but he just let his gaze fall to where you were twisting the lid back onto the glue. Tucking the cigarette behind his ear and covering it with a curtain of curls, he hoisted the bucket and brought it back to the supply closet.

“Thanks.” It was safe yet genuine, not an invitation for a conversation nor a dismissal.

Eddie shrugged. “S’fine,” he lisped, the cigarette placed back between his lips as he lit it. “Needed to clean up anyway.”

Optimism—whatever you could muster up of it—rattled against your ribcage like a prisoner yearning for freedom. If he cared about cleaning up, maybe that meant he was going to finish the job another time. You didn’t dare ask him, only nodding your head in acknowledgment.

Friends fight, right? Your nagging need for reassurance poised the question on the tip of your tongue, but your fear of looking desperate anchored it there. I didn’t ruin everything, did I?

The flick of the lighter sparked a flame, Eddie’s hand protectively cupped around it. “Well, um, g’night,” he said, giving an awkward half-wave.

“Good night.” Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. But you didn’t manage that addendum, and Eddie retreated to his room.

When you slept that morning, you dreamt that he turned back around.

taglist (now closed ♥):

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

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mixsethaddams · 1 year

Text

Steve was having a really bad day.

He forgot to pass on a message to a co-worker which, ok, wasn’t the end of the world exactly, but it made his insides squirm.

He forgot to write a list for his boss which, again, nothing that couldn’t be rectified, but it made his palms itch.

A customer yelled at him over something out of his control and he had to stand there and take it because what is retail if not the first circle of hell.

Steve sat in the break room and wished his coffee was hotter while he ran his hands through his hair.

“It’s just one of those days,” he told himself over and over. “It’ll be over soon,”

He wasn’t working the next day so he was counting down the very seconds until he could dart out the front door and not have to come back for a whole forty hours.

Things didn’t improve after he swallowed his lukewarm coffee and went back to his duties. Everything he said seemed to land wrong. Everything he did seemed to need redoing. It felt like his co-workers were annoyed with him even though he knew that realistically they had no reason to be. Steve’s jaw was sore from clenching it shut, trying not to burst into tears right there in the store and hold it together at least until he got to his car.

Even staying an extra fifteen minutes after he should have left to help someone finish a task they were struggling ended up being the wrong thing to do. Why did he stay? Had he clocked out? He should have. Did he not know that overtime needed to be approved a day in advance?

Steve let the feeling of the latest failure of the day wash over him as he grabbed his things and left after his shift.

Eddie wasn’t even going to be home when he got back. He was running a campaign for his D&D group which was being hosted in Gareth’s place a full fucking two hour’s drive away. Eddie was just going to be staying the night there and coming back tomorrow, instead of driving home when they finished. It made sense. It was going to be a ten-hour session and they didn’t even start until almost noon. It was just something that happened every other week and Steve usually enjoyed having a few hours to himself but today he would have killed to have his boyfriend waiting for him.

Steve’s lip wobbled while he drove. His eyes were misty and he was blinking rapidly to keep them clear. He was determined to get home before fully breaking down. He just wanted to order dinner, wrap himself up in every blanket he could find, and watch the latest episode of Married At First Sight. When he finally got back to their apartment, his phone pinged with a text from Eddie.

“Hope work was ok! I’ll call you before I go to sleep later? We’ve got about four hours left”

Steve sighed at the screen. Eddie always called him to say goodnight when he stayed at Gareth’s. Usually Steve loved it because Eddie would be a little bit drunk after having some post-session beers with his friend and they’d giggle together on a video call until Eddie’s eyelids drooped. Tonight though Steve wasn’t sure he could handle the reminder that he was alone when he wanted so badly to be held.

“Long day. Probably just crash soon as I’m home”

“You good?”

“Just tired. Hope you’re having fun :) “

Steve regretted the food he ordered for dinner. He wanted the orange chicken but for some reason he ordered sweet and sour pork. It wasn’t bad, it was fine, but the chicken was his favourite and it almost felt like a form of punishment for his bad day. So now Steve was crying uncontrollably over a container of rice. He felt so stupid but it was just one more thing that had gone wrong for him today. Crying at this point didn’t even feel cathartic. It just gave him a headache and made his throat dry.

He didn’t finish his food, and he didn’t watch TV. Steve dragged himself to his bedroom, leaving his clothes in a pile in front of the dresser he grabbed his sweatpants from, before he took a pill for his headache and fell, unshowered, into bed. It was still bright outside.

Steve felt the bed dip next to him. For the briefest moment a kind of raw panic gripped his chest and he was too scared to open his eyes. It wasn’t until he felt a familiar brush of fingertips over his temple, sweeping strands of hair out of his face, that he calmed down.

“Stevie?”

Eddie whispered it softly and Steve opened his eyes. The room was dark, but there was a navy blue hue, like the sun was only barely below the horizon, that meant Steve could still see Eddie’s outline.

“What time is it?” mumbled Steve.

“Almost nine,” said Eddie gently, still rubbing his hand through Steve’s hair.

Steve scrunched his nose. Nine? That wasn’t right? It wasn’t bright enough to be morning. He peered up at his alarm clock, still flashing the same date it had been when he closed his eyes before fitful sleep.

Steve sat up quickly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, panicked again. “Why are you here, what happened?”

Steve knew Eddie’s D&D sessions never cut short for anything less than a national emergency so he was instantly on high alert. Eddie driving all the way home was even more concerning. Steve gripped Eddie’s arms, he was still wearing his leather jacket. It was cold from being outside. He lifted the edges of the jacket as if he was checking to make sure Eddie was all in one piece.

“Nothing happened,” soothed Eddie. “We just finished up early,”

Steve was still looking over Eddie’s body like he was expecting to find a missing limb or something.

“What?” asked Steve, confused. “Why?”

Eddie shrugged.

“Wasn’t feeling the vibe,” he said easily. “I plugged the plug and said I needed to get home,”

“You never finish early,” said Steve. “And you never drive home. What happened?”

Eddie sighed.

“Why don’t you tell me?” asked Eddie gently, reaching up to cup Steve’s cheek.

Steve gulped.

“I don’t…” stuttered Steve. “Nothing, what do you mean?”

“Baby,” said Eddie firmly.

Steve chewed his lip to stop it trembling.

“I just had a bad day,” said Steve quietly. “You didn’t need… You could have stayed out there,”

Eddie gently pulled Steve forward, so he could rest his head in the crook of Eddie’s neck. Steve breathed in the well-known smell of cologne and cigarettes smoked outside. He practically melted into it.

“Thought this might be where I was needed more,” murmured Eddie, twisting around on the edge of the bed to allow Steve to relax more comfortably into his hiding place. “Looks like I was right, hmm?”

“Ruined your game though,” said Steve, muffled against the leather of Eddie’s jacket. “I just had a bad day,”

“It’s not ruined,” assured Eddie as Steve’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Knowing I left you here by yourself after a bad day is what would have ruined it,”

“I didn’t even say anything,” sighed Steve. Eddie was running a comforting hand over his back.

“You didn’t need to,” said Eddie. “Soon as you didn’t ask for a more solid time to expect me to call you, that’s when I knew,”

Steve sniffed back a tear.

“So dumb…” said Steve, frustrated almost more than ever with himself now. “I’m sorry, this is so fucking dumb,”

Eddie shushed him gently.

“No it’s not,” said Eddie, nuzzling into Steve’s hair. “Sometimes things creep up on you like this. It happens,”

“I wish it didn’t,” admitted Steve, pulling back to look at Eddie.

Eddie rested their foreheads together.

“I’m always here for when it does, though,” said Eddie softly.

Steve closed his eyes and let Eddie take him into another embrace, holding him tight for what could have been seconds or hours.

Steve didn’t remember when Eddie finally slipped his jacket off. He didn’t remember feeling him sliding into bed next to him, gathering him up and holding him as close as he could. Steve just remembered the feeling of Eddie heartbeat against his own chest, the sound of his breathing, his fingertips scratching gently against Steve’s scalp.

All Steve knew was feeling safe. Protected. Like one bad day was no longer drowning him because now, he remembered how to keep his head above water.

#steddie #my writing #seth writes #steve x eddie #why yes i did have a bad day and project it onto steve harrington

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st4rbwrry · 1 month

Text

━━━ 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑒. a.h

warnings 𑄽𑄺 6.4k. fem reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, murder mystery, aki is a chef, oral [ f + m.], sneaking away, marijuana use, praise, fingering + finger sucking, aki's tongue is pierced, sexual acts happen quick, mentions of depression, brief mention of emotional/physical abuse, reader is desperate for help/attention, parental neglect, grooming, minors aren’t allowed.

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; another old piece of mine i never fully finished and now posting yrs later!

“okay, i'm out!" aki is shouting as he tosses his white chef coat over his shoulder, book bag on the other, the cool breeze of spring blowing through his raven hair the minute he opened the tall glass door that led to the front of the restaurant. his friend, also a coworker, is busy, in the mix of gathering dirty dishes and clearing trash bins but still sends him a farewell, a quick, 'see ya tomorrow. good job today!' till he's off to his bus stop. he was thankful he got out early, just before five in the afternoon meaning the sun hadn't set yet.

he sighs, extremely worn out, in dire need of a steamy hot shower and a greasy pizza while laying in the comfort of, finally, his own apartment he worked entirely too hard to gain. the commute to his place in brooklyn, new york became rather annoying due to rush hour traffic at this time. having to take the bus then switch to the 'n' train, hopping off and walking fifteen minutes until he finally reaches his destination. his second goal was to afford a vehicle to save him money instead of wasting it on expensive monthly metro cards.

aki's lived here his entire life, growing up in the bronx, not much different. he loved new york, but not their uppity expenses. the fact that he's paying nearly two grand for a 600 square-foot apartment with no in-unit laundry nor a gym at that, was nonsensical. did he want to reside here forever? yes. he'd feel homesick if he ever were to leave. having the opportunity to travel seemed like a much better alternative, that way he'd still have his home but be anywhere in the world doing what he loved, and that was cooking. aki hayakawa was twenty-six years old, earning his master's in culinary arts at the culinary institute of america, also known as the C.I.A.

his ultimate dream was to open his restaurant, which he would name after his tragically deceased mother. a terrible accident in which he dreads the memory of. falling endlessly into a black hole, hearing nothing but the sound of his own fear, the breaking of his bones when it interacted with brick interior, the feeling of his heart thumping excessively against his chest as he continued to drop deeper like a rock that was chucked down an empty well. this emotion he knew all too well; failure. when he lost his mother, it felt as if the world crumbled beneath him, malicious dark vines slithering up to grab him by his ankles and pull him down a bottomless pit of nothingness.

he tasted the agony, the anger, the sadness, and even the hate from the fact that she was gone and never coming back. countless tantrums, anxiety attacks, and depression summed up the apathy of it all. it took him six years to realize that drowning in pain would never help him gain the strength that he knew she wanted him to have. by letting her witness the pain he was going through from above, he was hurting not only her . . but himself. so to overcome the tragedy, he kept himself busy with cooking. going to school, earning his degree, and the current job he had with his best friend since middle school.

school was probably the greatest thing he'd ever done to reinvent who he was as a person. cooking is a delicate yet challenging obstacle to undertake, yet, it's so therapeutic to him. the nature of it all, being able to witness what he can do for many people, bring laughter and happiness—it's a beautiful thing. when aki was small, he and his mother would give back to people all the time. whether they were donating clothes to the homeless, or feeding small pigeons pieces of bread on a sunny day as they flew to the gray pavement, awaiting a feast. they always cared about others. they would experiment a lot, going to food markets just to come home and whip up a good meal which they would then donate to the less fortunate. that's when he learned how humble he felt to give back to those in need.

he wanted to show his mother his achievements, to push himself and become a world-renowned chef, just like gordon ramsey—without the aggression. he wanted his name plastered on articles for his extraordinary talent, talked about on tv, in fact, given his own cooking show on foodnetwork. aki grew up watching that channel, an obsessive enticement his mother could never break the young boy from. he was making recipes at the age of twelve, and learned how to cook at eight. eggs were the first thing, usually everyone's first, then as time progressed, he grew from simple pasta dishes to revitalizing gourmet meats, and anything french. just recently he schooled himself on how to create wine. every day he learned something new, and that was the beauty of culinary.

"hayakawa! come here!" star yells as soon as she sees the tall man emerge through the front door, ready to start his morning shift, raspy voice laced with slight panic, instantly making the man run to her out of worry.

"what's wrong?" he furrows his brows.

"look who just fucking walked in," she grabs his bicep, pulling him closer to the front counter. aki curiously follows where her finger points, seeing a slim man with black curly hair dressed properly in a white and black suit. silver and sapphire rolex on his wrist, his pale green eyes scanning through the lens of his glasses at the menu while he sips his water. expensive.

"i have no idea who that is," aki blinks, making star gasp.

"he's alexander bodari, one of my favorite authors of all time. remember the novel i told you i was reading, about this girl who was kept in this lunatics basement and almost murdered?"

aki's eyebrows raise. "the book dylan bought you for your birthday, right?"

"yeah! that's him. oh my fucking god, i'm so nervous, whew," star begins to fan herself, nearly having a breakdown. aki grabs her shoulder and chuckles.

"chill out, star. you don't have to serve him if you don't want to."

"of course i do! i just. . . can't," she frowns.

"you can, you've done it many times before. this isn't the first celebrity we've come across."

star sighs, nodding. "you're right, i can do it."

"good girl," aki smiles, patting the top of her head. star catches his wrist and scowls.

"fuck off."

"aki," another voice calls to him, this time it's the head chef, also known as his boss. aki greets him with a small, 'good morning, chef' before waiting for his response.

"i'm guessing you know that alexander bodari is here," lane says, arms crossed over his broad chest. aki nods. "i want you to cook for him."

aki and star share a glance of shock.

"uh, why me. where's dylan?"

"he's not feeling well so i gave him the day off. you're the only one here that's near his level, and he's a higher-up man, so i want you to cook for him. star will cater to his needs. we're kinda short-staffed today, and i trust you two will handle it properly."

"yes, chef," they say in unison.

star was only a waiter, working here for four years while aki earned his position two years into her time. the last thing the woman could do was cook, ironic since she worked in a restaurant with very talented people. lane would've asked her in a heartbeat if she was as skilled as aki. aki was known for making dishes at the top of his head, so if anyone asked for a special, he was the one to ask. before they began to serve anyone inside, aki gave star a small prep talk before sending her out. eventually, she got through with taking his order without stuttering or sweating. when she walked back into the kitchen, actually shoved the doors open with a joker smile on her face, aki cocks his head at her.

"you—"

"he wants your special!" she screams, doing a goofy dance, and skipping in her spot.

aki's face drops. "are you deadass?"

"yes! when he was looking at the menu, he saw your four courses on the back and chose your mom's stew! fucking a, man!"

aki is still frozen, weakly giving star their signature handshake, smile slowly easing onto his face. "my mom's stew? seriously?"

"yeah. chop chop, get to it."

aki was persistent. no one's ever ordered his mother's stew, which made this day very special for him. even if the dish was only on the menu for a month, it still meant a lot to him. he made sure there were no distractions, taking a tender chuck roast and cutting them into cubes, seasoning them well while throwing in worcester sauce, balsamic vinegar, garlic cloves, bay leaves, and beef broth. making a slurry with flour and water to thicken the stew. adding onions and potatoes. it was a simple yet fulfilling dish he looked forward to every sunday.

"deep breaths," star whispered as she carried the steaming tray of stew plated professionally on a porcelain oval-shaped bowl. in a way, it felt like she was telling not only herself but him. it's a rarity that people order his courses, and serving this to an author, a bestseller, a man worth millions, made him giddy. he was cheesing like an idiot, pushing star out the double doors to the dining area.

although as soon as she walked out, that's when doubt clouded his gut. did he put too many seasonings? is the meat tender enough? what if he doesn't like it? will he write about it on his author blog? god, he hoped the potatoes weren't hard. he had only tasted the broth, it tasted just like his mother's. what if. . .

"aki," star walks back in, an even wider grin on her a-symmetrical face this time. he blinks, realizing that he's been standing here for three minutes now. "he wants to see the chef."

he's dumbfounded. "me?"

"no, lane. yes, you!" she's squealing like a girl, and sometimes he forgets she is one, even underneath her blunt features and boyish sense of style.

he's clearing his throat now, strolling mindlessly towards alexander bodari's table, greeting himself and waiting for his constructive criticism.

"you're aki hayakawa?" the man questioned, lifting his glasses back onto his face.

"yes, sir."

"i just have to say," alexander chuckles, softly clapping his hands. "this may be one of the best stews i've ever had."

the tenseness in aki's shoulders relaxes, and he's sighing with relief, alexander noticing and laughing. "i'm really glad to hear that, sir."

"did you create this on your own?"

"it's actually my mother's recipe. it's my favorite. every time i make it, it reminds me of her."

"that's really ironic because this reminds me of the stew my mother used to make," he grins. "yours is the first that i haven't seen carrots in."

aki laughs. "my mom hated cooked carrots."

"mine did too," he fixes his collar. "is this your restaurant?"

"no, no. i'm just a cook here. i plan on opening my own soon. i already have my master's."

his brows raise. "wow, that's amazing. wow old are you?"

"twenty-six, sir."

"well, you're definitely going places," he compliments and aki feels even more satisfied. "say what, i'm having this pre-book release, about a hundred guests. i was wondering if you would like to cater the party. i'll pay you however much you want."

it's like the whole world collapsed on his chest. he'd never gotten an opportunity like this, especially this big. to cook for so many famous people at once was a blessing. he could really show off his skills if he took this offer . . . and did. after thanking him, exchanging contacts, and then handshakes, aki lets the man finish his meal before jogging back into the kitchen to scream about it to aki, lane, and the rest of the crew. alexander offered star to come along to serve, but unfortunately she couldn't, seeming as she'd be out of town for family matters that day.

alexander, of course, knowing she was a big fan signed a copy of his book she already had in her bag and letting her know she could help the next time he had an event. that made her happy enough. the two of them couldn't wait to finish their shifts today, taking the train to star's place and planning dishes all night, even cooking them to get them just right. alexander was hosting the party at his penthouse down soho. and aki had a week to prepare himself.

୨♡୧

cashmere sweaters, silk gowns, and jewelry that most likely cost more than his savings account roamed the lovely terrace of alexander bodari's home. every inch of it screamed filthy rich. rows of tables were set outside, the dark night sky making the moon shun brightly amongst the glass centerpieces filled with calla lilies and moss. white cloths, sterling silverware, and porcelain dinnerware. the terrace itself was elegant; freshly cut bushes trimmed as squares, a marble three-tiered italian water fountain placed in the middle. roses, dandelions, tall plants ranging from bamboo, snake plants, and pothos. alexander was very in touch with nature and his spirit. it's crazy he writes about the things he does.

speaking of, the book he was presenting that would be released in august was titled, 'to riven a magnolia.' he wouldn't quite reveal what it was about yet, wanting it to be a surprise, but did read an excerpt from the novel. aki only paid half attention, big words throwing him off plus he wanted to set the food table properly so guests could take what they wanted after his reading. aki didn't go all out since only seventy-two people were available to make it, and he didn't want any meals that would make anyone too full to converse, so he kept it simple yet exquisite. each guest received a slice of japanese fluffy cheesecake with a side of strawberry and mandarin orange tanghulu. beef wellington, and a six-sided cream garlic bread.

he received praise all night long. people gasping and thanking him for the food, giving him all sorts of compliments making the man blush like a child. at one point he held both sides of his face in his palms when a woman and her husband approached him to talk, way too shy, and the woman flirting with him didn't make it go away. eventually, her husband dragged her out of his sight. the night went on, classical music played as people sipped their champagne and talked about their wealth, their yoga classes, their thousand dollar dogs, golf, marketing . . . aki hopes he never becomes this way.

as he's pouring an elderly lady a glass as she rambles about baking, he notices a woman he's barely seen all night. he's disoriented, eyeing this girl leaning up against a vintage roman painting reaching the ceiling once the lady departs. brown eyes; the first captivating part of her body he captured. they appeared lonely, bored perhaps as they scanned through the crowd of people, soon landing on another pair, his own. the godly woman stared at him longingly. aki had no business nearly losing his shit under her gaze. wow. she was truly stunning.

one feature that stood out the most were the freckles scattered from the bridge of her nose to the swell of her cheekbones. pretty. her black hair styled protectively in butterfly locs that grazed her collarbones, seeing the industrial piercing hiding behind a piece. her lashes were long, naturally extended. heart-shaped lips were full and pouty, the upper lip brown while the lower, salmon pigmented. an emerald satin mini dress loosely clung to her alluring brown skin. cowl neckline, ruched waist, and an open back partially revealing the red dragon tattoo painted on the side of her hip. black suede gucci heels strapped prettily around her ankles, showcasing her white painted toenails. a three layered gold necklace on her chest. this woman, you, were the rationale of celestial.

it was the moment you smiled at him, tilting your head slightly to the side while tapping your ombré acrylic nail amongst the glass of your champagne, calling to him while he thoughtlessly followed, that aki would realize he had made one of the worst mistakes in his life.

"you're pretty."

it's the first thing you say when he walks towards you, offering a piece of cheesecake with a cheeky smile. aki is taken aback, chuckling nervously, palms already clammy the minute he approached you.

"pretty?" he's perplexed.

"that's what i said," you say, taking the gold fork from his palm and cutting a slice to taste, widening your mouth while maintaining eye contact. the man swallows.

"uh, i've never gotten that before. thank you."

you're too busy eyeing him to say a thing. even if he dressed in simple black skinny jeans and same color tee, a silver necklace tucked beneath his shirt, sable combat boots, and a white apron around his waist . . he looked damn good. his eyes were blue, somewhat smoke gray, dark hair long and straight, the top half tucked into a small messy bun on the back of his head. a few loose strands swaying around his cheekbones. he was tall, shoulders broad, forearms and hands slightly veiny. you gazed at his hands holding the plate for you, wide and rough, fingers long.

"you don't seem to be enjoying the party," he says, knocking you out of your daydream.

you hum with displeasure. "he's a fake."

aki furrows his brows. "sorry?"

"alex, he's unoriginal. most of his novels are stolen by people he pays to keep quiet," you side-eye him while downing the last drop of your champagne, slowly licking your lips. his eyes flicker there for a split moment.

"how do you know?"

the question makes you quiet, tapping your glass. "think of it like this; everyone starts off as a cocoon. eventually as time goes by, we evolve into butterflies. the cocoon represents our innocence; the purity and unawareness of what's to come in life. once we sprout into butterflies, we become tarnished, facing the real world and learning to adapt to its cruelty. life can be beautiful, but it's always painful no matter how happy or dismal we are. it's our choice to fly in the direction we want for ourselves even when the harshness of life beats us down. butterflies only live for so long. we disintegrate after inhumane amounts of stress, loneliness, or tragic events that take a toll on us, removing the power of staying beautiful. we show beauty to the public but don't feel it when everything around us is falling apart. but we can't make life harder on ourselves by dwelling on what we can't have rather than pushing for what we can have."

aki is speechless, half-understanding what you meant. "are you saying alexander is a butterfly that can't fly?"

"he's more like a mosquito, latching onto those who want to sprout into a butterfly but sucks the nutrients from them for his pleasure. he's a fraud. he'll never be a butterfly because he simply can't."

"did he steal from you? is that why you resent him?"

"no," you bluntly state, although aki doesn't believe you.

he takes the fork from you, cutting you another slice before holding it towards your lips, waiting for you to bite. you looked like you needed it. the drowsiness in your eyes may have indicated that you were tipsy. you giggle, shaking your head before he feeds you, your big eyes captivating him more. "is there something you want?"

"you."

aki nearly chokes and he's not even the one eating, your bluntness throwing him in a spiral of emotions.

"am i beautiful to you?" you lean closer, aki swallowing, scanning his surroundings. most of everyone remained in the living area, the two of you far behind a wall near the glass door of the terrace. he could smell your scent better, a sweet smell of caramel. soft skin shimmering with glitter.

"very."

"so what's stopping you? you got a girlfriend or somethin'?"

"n-no, it's just. i barely know you."

"that's part of the thrill," he watches as your small wrist turns and your palm is flat outward. "come upstairs with me."

like any man would, his feet walked on their own, stupidly following behind you up the black marble staircase, hand in yours as his eyes watched your hips switch.

"what's your name?" that should've been the first thing you asked, idiot.

"[♡]."

"i'm aki."

"i know who you are."

that's right, alexander introduced him to everyone after his reading right before supper. things felt like they went too quickly. aki didn't know who he was at this moment, completely floating out of his body and letting you take over like a spell. he was entranced. one thing leads to another, you're locking the door to one of the four bedrooms here. aki's sitting on the bed while you walk around, talking to him more about anything. his age, his aspirations in life. nonsense, basically. until he notices something.

a room with an open bay window revealing the late-night city of new york, stars in the sky, skyscrapers high. the breeze is warm, the air making the fabric of your dress rise just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the pink thong you wore. he's gulping, your legs shifting and a grin coming on your face as you see the tint of red blush across his cheeks. you're leaned against the window, toes pressing into your other foot, a gold anklet with the first letter of your name clasped on your skin. your shoes were off, and in between your two fingers sat a blunt, maybe about three inches now since you were too busy talking, letting it burn away.

once you flick it out the window, you fully turn to face him, sharp nails skidding up your thighs teasingly slow until the hem of your dress rises fully, and he's staring at the belly button piercing you have. your thick thighs, your curves, and your nipple when you moan and lift your arms to stretch and one of the straps falls down your shoulders.

"oops," you're pouting, and aki's had enough. he got it now. he understood why you wanted him to come up here. the liquor buzzing in your veins, and going straight to your clit like a drug. you wanted him the moment you saw him. you needed him, for more reasons than one.

aki was always one to put a woman's pleasure before his own. so when he saw you drop to your knees to crawl towards him, dainty hands trailing up his clothed thighs until you're undoing his belt and he's biting his lip. . . he was drawn in further. pulling him out of the confinement of his jeans, holding his pulsating dick in your hand, darting your tongue out, and pressing it flat to the aching head. he's squeezing his eyes shut when he's deep in your throat after a while, moaning around him and twisting your hand along as your mouth glides. his hand is in your hair, gathering some of it in his large fist while leaning back a bit to see those gorgeous eyes of yours stare into his, slightly watery. he liked that. he liked you.

"nnn, baby. like that," he's throwing his head back, jaw slacked as he tried to keep his voice down, not daring to let too much slip out regarding the guests below them. eyes back on you, he's watching as your hips gyrate in the air, desperately needing to be touched.

it's so foreign, this level of intimacy. it's been so long since he's had his dick buried deep in anything. sure, he masturbates like any other human being, but it's a rarity. he's so consumed in work that by the time he goes home he's knocked out in slumber, not even thinking about grabbing his fleshlight to fulfill his pleasure. the last time he had sex was at the beginning of his freshman year of college. it was some girl in his cutlery class who invited him over for late-night drinks, leading to more than just that. it was frequent until he realized he was failing courses because of the distraction and had to get back on track, so, he called it quits.

now he's pulling you up, feverishly pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss, lips smacking, tongues bumping. you're keening when his thick fingers clasp around your throat as you straddle his waist, clinging to his shirt you eventually pull over his head. it's as if the both of you forgot that people were here and might hear you, but neither of you cared. aki's not even scolding you when you're moaning too loud the second he has you beneath him, your clothing still on, barely, and his jeans and briefs clinging to his ankles, your knees to your chest as his hot mouth latches around your puffy clit, back arching off the plush mattress.

the metal from his pierced tongue rushing against you as he holds the back of one of your thighs to keep them up, grunting and swallowing your arousal. you're whining so much it has his dick twitching, pulling on his hair not helping either. you're rocking your hips with urgency, legs twitching after he lifts his head to spit, collecting his saliva with two fingers before curling them into you, holding your stomach down while he shakes his fingers. that alone has you convulsing around him, tears in your eyes as you whimper his name and squirm helplessly, his lips kissing your inner thighs.

coming down from your high, aki's already propping himself behind you, turning you on your side while he laid on his, leveraging your head with his forearm underneath your neck, fingers in your mouth you suck while glaring at him. he curses, monotoned voice rasping, "don't do that."

"do what?" you hum, wrapping your lips around them again and moaning.

aki clenches his jaw, lifting your right leg to open you up before slipping inside, hearing you gasp as you adjust to the stretch. both of you groan in unison, turning your face to the side to kiss him while your nails clawed at his hip, then his ass as he rolls into you, too horny to be gentle and snapping his hips hard against your ass, grunting, "i heard you, girl," and drilling faster. your eyes scroll to the back of your head, aki swallowing the breath out of you as he sucks on your bottom lip and chokes you, the two of you whining in each other's mouth, muffling the noise although the skin interaction didn't cease.

he's brutal, a different person when in this form of bond. dropping your leg and reaching between to rub at your clit, heavy breaths on your neck as he hides his face there. you can easily smell the citrus scent of his shampoo, his scent overall a main attraction when he stepped toward you. . . like lavender. when he's nearing his climax, he gropes your chest, slurring, "be a good girl and cum all over me, baby. can i feel it this time?" and you nod, doing just as he says, his taunts and praises making your gut swim with butterflies.

you try not to scream as he licks and bites your neck sloppily, dazed. instead, you grab a pillow nearby and stuff part of it in your mouth, aki's face hovering over you as tears leak from your eyes and you cum hard, harder than you ever had. aki holds you close by your waist, taking a few more pumps before he furrows his brows and slowly pulls out, cumming on your flush skin with a hiss. by this time, his hair had fallen down his face completely, and even in your fucked out state, you reach up to rake through it with a lazy smile. aki chuckles, kissing your forehead before building the strength to find a cloth to clean you up. luckily, there's an en-suite bathroom, giving him access to warm water and toiletries.

fixing his posture in the mirror, he's rubbing his face and adjusting his clothes to appear as he did when he arrived; neat and professional. although what he just did wasn't so classy of him. he fucked some woman he barely knew at a millionaires home. work, he was working. not here for personal pleasure. he wanted to slap himself for being so easily enraptured. no one had to know about it. he only hoped not a soul downstairs heard what went on.

he's good to go, done scolding himself and turning off the bathroom light before stepping out. he finds you perched up, sipping a miniature bottle of crown royal you found in the bedside mini-fridge, sniffling your nose and blankly staring out the window. aki comes forward, gently grasping your thigh and gliding the wet cloth over your skin, the silence awkward.

"dandelions.”

aki's eyes slowly drift to your face, staring in confusion. "what?"

he notices how eerily slow tears built up in your eyes, gripping the bottle harder before exhaling. "dandelions," now you're finally looking at him, the coldness on your face making him anxious. "that's where his body is."

your voice is like vanilla. it's one thing about you that he grew infatuated with. it's one of the many reasons he was captured by you, brought to where he was now. standing at the bedside as he watched tears pool down your broken face. body? what body? he grew cold, nervously eyeing you as you sniffled, standing to fix your hair, dress, and walking around the bed to slip back into your heels.

“wait," he goes to grab your arm when you try to walk out the door. "what the fuck are you talking about?"

the deadness in your eyes scares him even more, and he's panicking when you say, "alex."

“alexander?!" he shouts, dragging you away from the exit, hands on either side of your shoulders as he eyes you, his own wide. heart pumping drastically. "what did you do? where is he?"

"by the dandelions on the terrace," blunt, again. as if you aren't phased at all by his reaction. "follow me."

he's stunned, unable to fully process what you were telling him. he already assumed the worst when the term 'body' came to light. though his heart raced heavily in his chest, his feet blindly dragged in your direction. cautiously watching your every move in case he had to protect himself. fuck, he didn't have any weapon. then again, he's sure he could easily handle you, knock you out if he needed to. lock you in a closet and alert the hundreds of guest just below their feet. that's right, there are still people here. and if you mentioned alexander, how the fuck and when the fuck did you have the time to . . . kill him?

"[♡]," he began to speak your name, but your head was in the clouds, ignoring anything that came out of his mouth as you cut into a passageway that led to a grand master bedroom, then facing the terrace you spoke of. he was nervous, your neck turning to eye him as you step onto the gravel, blankly staring down at something. he couldn't see from where he stood, matter of fact, he didn't want to see.

"he's here," you say. "he's here."

aki has no choice but to advance forward, wanting to squeeze his eyes shut from the upcoming scare of a human’s body. and not just any human, the alexander bodari. a flaccid arm sticks out from beside a bush, palm facing the sky, details of a struggle bruised into his hand as the skin in the area seemed peeled. aki’s heart drops the closer he gets, hand covering his mouth as he stares down at the lifeless body laying in a pool of blood. the aluminum wire draped around his neck stained with blood gave aki the answer he needed when it came to the cause. you strangled him to death. the question remains; who are you and how were you affiliated with alexander? most importantly, why’d you kill him?

“i don’t understand,” is all he can get out.

“the proof is in his first novel,” you utter, and he’s still confused. “the story about the woman who’s trapped in the psychopaths basement? it was about me.”

aki couldn’t grasp the thought of you being the woman from the novel star always talked about. that you had been the victim of his story. that it was a real life phenomena. that he met you, slept with you, and now you want him to, what . . . cover up a murder in a house filled with two hundred guests?

“he painted this image as if he was the most prestigious man on the planet. he made money off of real events. events that played out by torturing me, and using me to get his ‘creative juices flowing.’ he needed a test subject. he was a sick man who deserved to die,” tears pour down your face, the anger in your tone thick and pent up from years of pain and sorrow. “he was my father’s partner. my father despised me simply because of my resemblance of my mother and my rebellion against him. when he died from heart failure, in his will, he married me to alex.”

“that’s fucking. . . sick. i didn’t think that was possible in this day and age.”

you scoff with agreement. “yeah. he watched me grow from a preteen to making me his wife. sick bastard for sure.”

aki wants to vomit from this information. still unable to wrap his head around any of it. his hands sit on his hips as he stares up at the sky and blows a raspberry, try to keep his nerves together. you watch him with sadness, and maybe regret. you weren’t intentionally planning for this to happen. though part of you wanted someone to save you. to see the real you and rescue you from this torment.

“i know this is probably the last thing you expected to happen. i apologize for dragging you into this. i just didn’t know what else to do. i felt hopeless. and i refused to let his popularity run by making another fortune of a sick novel.”

“did he attack you?” he asks.

“he didn’t,” you clarify. “i think i just finally snapped. granted, tonight of all nights wasn’t the correct setting.”

aki makes a face that reads ‘fucking clearly’ as he rubs both palms down his face. he doesn’t know whether to run and call you insane or feel sympathy for a victim. but, murder is murder. and now, standing here with you, that’d make him an accomplice. as scary as that was, he couldn’t risk his future career. but he was stuck in a pickle. he wanted to help you.

“there are clear signs of struggle, so we have to make it look like an accident,” aki suggests, but immediately, you shake your head in disagreement.

“they won’t believe that. he’s one of the wealthiest men in new york. it’ll be a huge investigation.”

“then the only answer would be to tell the truth,” he finalized.

“the . . truth?”

aki nods, pulling you toward him and stepping away from the body, chills still going up his spin and goosebumps on his arms. “listen to me, you can tell the world exactly who you are and what he’s done to you. you have proof. transactions, marriage certificate, i’m sure there’s documents for days in his computer that can prove what he’s put you through. there’s evidence somewhere.”

“and if i tell the world, who’s to say they’ll believe me?”

“i believe you,” aki says. your eyes fill with hope, and thankfulness. “people will have their opinions, but we know the truth. do you have anyone else that can be your alibi?”

you think long and hard, until it hits you. “the maid. she’s been working for him ever since i moved in after my father died. she’s fed me, helped me heal wounds . . even get rid of his unborn child i lost after too much stress.”

“jesus christ,” he bows his head in disbelief. “where is she now?”

“luckily, the kitchen. the woman with the braided red hair. she promised me she’d always protect me. after his book succeeded he became nicer to me, gave me a ‘real’ marriage. she was like his mother, always scolding him when he raised his voice at me or wouldn’t let me live my life. it’s all so depressing.”

“okay. it’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” aki comforts you as you begin to sob once again, cradling your head in his chest.

the night ends in the blink of an eye. aki takes you into another room and wraps a blanket around you as you sit on the edge of the bed and wait for the police. he finds the woman you spoke of, pulls her to the side and informs her of the tragedy above. she herself looks relieved. not at all shocked by what played out, as if she knew you’d go through with it. aki guesses he truly was a horrible man. and to think he would’ve worked for him in the future. the police arrive shortly after the woman goes to check on you, insuring that everything would be okay, and that she’d stick to the full story. the police instructs everyone the leave the premises, aki being questioned for a full hour, this home becoming a crime scene, and all of their faces full of black ink on the daily news the next morning.

aki will never forget the chilling smirk on your face as they removed alexander’s body from the terrace. it was . . haunting.

#aki hayakawa smut #aki smut #aki x reader #aki hayakawa #aki x you #aki x y/n #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki hayakawa x y/n #csm smut #csm #chainsaw man #aki csm #౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ ⋆ 𝑀𝒪𝒞𝐻𝒜’𝒮 𝑀𝐼𝒩𝒟. ✧｡˚

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