#honestly looks p realistic like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cowgurrrl · 2 months

Text

Sleeping on the Blacktop

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: guys we did it i wrote smut i actually like (ps this was edited but also not reread because I’ve been trying to write it for five hours so if you see any mistakes no you didn’t)

Summary: The Land of No Return [4.7k]

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, platonic expressions of love, the mortifying ordeal of being known, sexting, we finally get to know about reader's secret tattoos, smut, Joel the Menace makes his long awaited return with that dirty fucking mouth, mutual masturbation, phone sex (??(sure)), protected sex (no Miller babies for them) p in v stuff, June being indulgent with describing Joel Miller, anxiety, I think that's it??

Music floods the kitchen as you and Andie work on making the best "last supper but with women" possible. The lamps glow orange on the walls and create funny shadows when you dance together, pulling each other in and out to old jazzy tunes. You laugh when she throws a string of spaghetti at your fridge to test if it's ready a little too hard, and it splatters water everywhere. You, honestly, might be a little delirious. You're both in your pajamas, and you've been watching movies all day. You exchange what you remember from New Year's Eve and cringe at what the other fills in. You drink cheap wine from plastic cups and snack on chips as the food cooks.

It feels like high school again, with all the girlish giggling and inside jokes you trade back and forth, except this time, instead of her going back to her house ten minutes up the road, she's going back to her apartment half the world away. No matter how long you get with her, it's never enough. Thousands of miles and different schedules will do that. Keeping long-distance friendships as an adult is just as hard, if not harder, than making new ones.

When dinner is ready, you fix your plates and sit next to each other at your messy dining room table— the IKEA one she helped you build when Henry walked out with the first one— and eat. Paint stains the wood of the table, and half-finished works are scattered around the dining room, but you barely notice them as you talk. She tells you about the things waiting for her in Vienna: work, her cat, Oslo, and piano lessons. You don't have to pretend to be envious because you are. You have to go back to school and the Real World once you drop her off at the airport in the morning. You wish you could go with her.

"Alright, c'mon. Spill it. What's going on with you and Joel?" She asks in between bites of garlic bread. You laugh and shake your head.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Bullshit. Tommy told me he saw you guys."

"Speaking of Tommy," you pivot. "What's going on there? You two seemed pretty chummy." You raise your eyebrows at her, and a big smile takes over her face. She takes another bite of food to buy herself some time, but there's no way you're letting her off the hook, especially after all her teasing about Joel.

"Nothing. We were just… talking." She finally says, and you give her a look.

"Talking?"

"Yes. People talk. You should try it sometime."

"Was it talking like we are now or talking like Joel and I talked?" You hum, and she kicks her feet as she leans forward.

"So you and Joel did talk."

"Well, we probably would've if somebody didn't come barging in."

"Goddammit, I told him to wait," she groans. "Sorry, girl."

"Yeah, me too," you say, and she laughs. You bump her knee and give her a look. "Alright, your turn. What's going on with Tommy?"

"Nothing that could actually turn into anything."

"Aw, c'mon. Don't count yourself out so early."

"It's not counting myself out. It's being realistic. I live in Vienna. He lives here. I'm not ready to come back to the States, and he seems content, so there's nothing that can happen," she shrugs. "It was a fling. A very nice fling, but a fling nevertheless." She seems a little too sad for it to have been just a fling. They exchanged numbers, and you've caught her texting him several times. She said she did kiss him on New Year's Eve (before she threw up), but they didn't go any further besides flirting the next morning. You watched them test each other at breakfast, and he seemed just as interested in her as she was in him. They'd be cute together. She sighs and pushes her pasta around in her bowl like a dejected character from a period piece.

"Tommy is very handsome." You comment, and she grabs your arm, animating all of a sudden.

"Dude, I've been dying to talk about it. What the fuck are they putting in the water here? It's insane."

"It's annoying, right?"

"So annoying." She agrees. You laugh about it together and, finally, give her the details she's been waiting so patiently for. When you finish your story, her hands are over her mouth, and her eyes are wide. "Oh, my God. You have to get him back."

"I know, I know! He's driving me up a fucking wall." You say, taking a bite of food. It will get cold if you don't stop talking, but you also don't care.

"You could surprise him with some lingerie or something." She suggests, and you groan.

"God, I don't even remember the last time I bought lingerie."

"All the more reason to buy some."

"I don't know. I feel like I could just show up naked, and he'd be happy with that."

"He sounds like a keeper then."

"Yeah, I don't know," you shrug. "I like him a lot. I just… don't know if it's sustainable."

"Why?" She asks. You almost want to gesture around your messy apartment and half-put together life as if it will answer her question.

"I mean, he's a good guy, and we're having fun, but for how long? His kid's gonna be in at least one of my classes until she graduates. Not to mention, he has another daughter who is in medical school. We both work full-time. And then there's the whole having to keep it a secret thing. It could get really old really fast." You sigh.

"What if it doesn't?"

"What?"

"What if it doesn't get old? What if it ends up working out?" She asks. You take a deep breath. "You didn't even think about that possibility. Did you?"

"I just don't wanna get hurt."

"That's a very real possibility. Things could go wrong. He could break your heart. You could lose your job. Society as we know it could come crashing down, and you know what? The sun's still gonna come up the next day. The birds will still sing, and I will still be here," she says, putting her hand over yours. You purse your lips as you process her words. "You deserve nice things, kid. Don't count yourself out so early." She echoes your earlier sentiment, and you smile.

She's right. Of course, she's right. You don't let yourself think good things could happen because you're so focused on all the bad. She's known you for so long she can read your thoughts and know your habits before you can. What a horrifying and beautiful thing it is to be known inside and out like that.

"Maybe you should've been a writer instead of a musician," you say, and she laughs. You squeeze her hand and sigh as you look at her. "I'm really gonna miss you."

"I'm really gonna miss you, too."

"I wish you could stay."

"I know," she says. "But you need an excuse to come to Vienna, and I need an excuse to come to Austin, and if I stay, we lose that."

"I guess that's true."

"Besides, if I stop making trans-Atlantic calls, I think my phone company would be concerned." She points out, making you laugh. You know she's telling you what she's told herself this whole time. She loves Vienna, but you know she gets homesick. You know she's trying really hard to convince herself to get back on that plane. You don't push her about staying again. You just indulge in her presence.

"I love you." You say softly, and she smiles.

"I love you, too." She says.

It means so much more than just "I love you." It means, "I love you, and I want us both to eat well." It means, "I love you, and I can't imagine doing this life without you." It means, "I love you, and I know you have to go." Never any buts. Always ands, because love like this knows no bounds. Not borders, not time zones, not lifestyles.

You finish the dinner you made and clean the kitchen side by side before climbing into bed and staying up as late as possible to try and get Andie back on Vienna time. In the morning, you drag yourselves out of bed and sing in the car on the way to get coffee, and when the time comes for you to get her suitcase out of your backseat and watch her disappear behind glass doors, you hug her tight and tell her you love her again. She repeats the sentiment with another squeeze and deep breath that tells you how close to tears she is. Then, she turns around and doesn't look back to prove she's strong enough to leave. She doesn't need to prove anything to you. You always knew she was strong enough to do this.

The car ride back is emotional and lonely and tinged with the bass line of Ribs by Lorde, but your phone buzzes as you pull back into your apartment complex with tears staining your cheeks.

Thanks for letting us meet Andie. She's a really sweet person. I'm sorry she has to leave today.

You don't remember telling him what day she was leaving, but she might've told Tommy, and Tommy told Joel. You smile and text him back.

Thanks for taking care of us. She only had good things to say about you and Tommy. We'll have to all hang out again the next time she's home.

And then.

Thanks for checking on me. I really appreciate it.

Of course. I'm always a wreck when I have to drop Sarah off at the airport. I'm around if you wanna talk. Ellie's hanging out with some friends, and Tommy's on-site today.

You stare at the messages and debate your options. He basically just told you he's home alone and has nothing to do for the rest of the day. And yes, he is probably being sweet and really offering to talk if you're feeling lonely, but you also know how talking usually goes for you two. You smirk as you type out a message.

Just talk?

It seems like he can't type fast enough.

What else would you wanna do?

I think you made some promises you need to follow through on, Miller.

I guess I did.

Come over and I can do just that.

Actually, I have some work to get done :( maybe next time?

You lock your phone and bound up to your apartment, conscious of the sudden lengthening of time between messages. It's fun to imagine him trying to come up with a response that respects your boundaries but also lets you know how needy he is. He may have started this little game, but you're gonna be the one to perfect it. Thus begins the days upon days of not sexting, but not not sexting.

At first, it's just messages about how you miss him and wish he was around. He tries to find an excuse to come over, but you effectively cockblock him at every turn. Your response times get a little slower the more worked up he gets, so he has to figure it out on his own. You never would've thought Joel Miller, a man with gray in his beard and wrinkles lining his face, could be such a fast texter, but you figure there's nothing more desperate than a horny man.

Messages quickly escalate to pictures. They start off innocent enough: a picture of the painting you're working on, but your bare legs give away the fact that you're not wearing pants, a picture of him stepping out of a hot shower, his bare chest slightly red and glistening from the water, a picture of you wearing the burnt orange shirt he sent you home in New Year's Day with no bra on underneath. Then, you get a little bolder. After a quick trip to the mall, you pose in front of the mirror in a short delicate white night down with pretty lace details on the top, the hem barely hitting the tops of your thighs and showing off the large tattoos hiding there. You look hot, and imagining Joel's reaction to you makes you flush and rub your thighs together to get some relief.

It's true that Joel would've been happy if you showed up to his house wearing (or not wearing) anything, but when the photo pings to his phone, he's never been more grateful for Victoria's Secret in his life. His breath hitches in his throat, and he quickly tucks his phone into his chest like someone is gonna come up behind him and see what he's looking at. He's barely glanced at the photo and he's already straining in his jeans.

Goddamn, he texts back. You're so fucking pretty, baby.

You like it?

It's a dumb question, but you really don't care.

It's perfect.

What do you like about it?

Besides the fact that you're the one wearing it? I like that it makes you look like more of an angel than you already are, and I like that I can finally see those tattoos you've been hiding from me.

Bingo, you think to yourself. He was able to catch glimpses of the large pieces hiding on your back and shoulders at the art gallery, and when he picked up on New Year's Eve, you caught him staring at them each time. You thought he was following the inky lines up your body, but you couldn't be sure. Now, he's giving himself away, and you're practically buzzing with excitement.

You turn around in the mirror and arch your back, perfectly showing off your ass and the intricate tattoo lining your spine, and snap a picture. It's one of the largest ones you have, and it's also the easiest to hide. Besides, you definitely didn't get it for your own enjoyment. You live for moments like this. You send him the picture and smile as you type.

Like this one?

Your phone rings not even two minutes after he reads the message. You giggle when he groans into the receiver instead of greeting you.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me, baby." He says, his voice so deep you can practically feel it rumble against your ear.

"I told you I'd get you back." You say it like it's obvious, but he just hums. There's shuffling on his end, and all you can do is wait for him to say something else.

"What else have you been hidin' underneath all those little dresses, hm?" He asks. "Tattoos. The most fuckin' perfect tits I've ever seen. Anythin' else I should know bout? 'S your pussy as pretty as the rest of ya?" You didn't mean for him to hear you gasp, but he seemed pleased that he could pull such a sound from you without even being in the same room. Just like that, any doubt or reservation you had left flies out the window. You finally cave and slip your hand down your panties to glide your fingers through your folds. "Am I makin' you wet, sweetheart?"

"Fuck," you mumble. It's absurd how turned on you are by this whole thing. Your fingers slowly circle your clit, and your head gets so fuzzy you almost forget to respond to him. "Yes, Joel."

"Are you playin' with yourself?" He asks, and you nod even though he can't see you. "Poor thing. I wish I could be there to help ya. I'd have you spread open for me so I can touch you however I want. Figure out what you like and what makes you cry for me." You put him on speaker and throw your phone down so you can focus on gliding through your wetness, your middle finger pushing into you slowly.

"What... what would you do?" You ask, breathless.

"I'd start by usin' my fingers just to feel you out, and I bet you'd feel so fuckin' good. I'd play with your clit until you're beggin' me to put a finger inside you, and I'd slip two in slowly while kissin' your inner thighs and watchin' you squeeze my fingers," you moan as you listen to his raspy voice and fuck yourself to his words. You try to imagine what his fingers would feel like inside of you. How different compared to yours, how much better they'd feel. Goddammit. "Then, I'd use my mouth on you while my fingers move in and out. I'd lick you all over and feel you soakin' me when I suck on your clit." He says, and you return to rubbing said bundle of nerves, faster this time, as you become acutely aware of his labored breathing over the phone.

Is he touching himself? The idea of him holding the phone with one hand and fisting his cock with the other sends a wave of heat down your spine, and you keen into your own hand. A shaky breath and muttered curse leave his lips, and then you know for sure what he's doing. Your head spins, and you'd be embarrassed by how close you are just from his voice if you weren't entirely focused on the pleasure clouding your brain.

"Fuck, Joel-"

"I know, baby, I know," he coos sympathetically. Another lewd moan leaves you as you get closer and closer to the edge, stars threatening the corners of your vision. "Are you gonna come for me like this?" He asks, and you hum in the affirmative, not trusting yourself to form words. "Come on. Let me hear you. I wanna hear what you sound like when you fall apart." His voice is coming faster and breathier, a light growl at the end of his words. How are you to deny him that?

The speed of your fingers on your clit increases, but it's his own broken whimpers that finally do it. Your back arches as the waves wash over you, and noises you didn't even know you could make escape your lips. You can vaguely hear a broken sigh accentuated by a particularly hot whine from Joel's end. Henry was never as vocal or talkative as Joel is. None of your past partners have been. In the aftershocks of your orgasm, you have a quick passing thought that he might ruin dating for you. You might never want to see anyone else who doesn't treat you like this. You might be fucked.

"Joel," you say when you have control over your thoughts again. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat.

"Yeah?"

"Get the fuck over here now."

Joel's house is on the other side of Austin. With traffic, getting to your apartment can take anywhere from twenty to forty-five minutes, depending on how fast you're willing to go and how many red lights you can pass under. Joel gets there in fifteen. You're still in the flouncy dress you bought specifically to torture him, but by the time you open the door for him, you're much less interested in making his life any more miserable than you already have over the past week.

He doesn't hesitate to charge into your apartment, grab your face, and kiss you like his life depends on it. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and you open to him, clinging to him as his hands move from your face to the backs of your thighs to pick you up. You squeal in surprise and lock your legs around his waist to bring him closer and keep yourself from falling. Even though he obviously came over the phone at the same time you did, he's hard again and pressing against your bare pussy. He hisses when you grind against him, and his jaw clenches as he pulls away like he's in pain.

"Where's your bedroom?" He asks, wide eyes searching the hallway behind you.

"First door on the left." You say as you duck your head to kiss his neck. He sighs and indulges in the feeling of your tongue against his skin before he finally finds his feet and stumbles into your bedroom. You're halfway through marking him before he lays you down and immediately rucks his hands up your thighs, spreading them apart and making you whine.

"You okay?" He asks, stopping all movement to scan over your face for any signs of discomfort. You nod and reach for the buttons of his jeans.

"Yes. Just need you." You say.

"Are you sure?"

"Joel, I just came from the sound of your voice. Yes, I'm fucking sure." You say, a little frenzied as you pull at the hem of his shirt. He laughs as he pulls it over his head and quickly unzips his jeans.

"Feisty."

"Can you blame me?" You ask, and he shakes his head. He tugs his jeans and his briefs down at the same time and unveils all of him to you in one go. He's beautiful. You knew he would be, but seeing the graying chest hairs and the pretty happy trail leading down to his hard cock in between his strong, tan thighs is an entirely different thing. You reach for him, desperate to feel the weight of him in your hands, but he stops you by slipping the tiny straps of your night gown down your arms.

He carefully pulls the fabric down your body until it's pooled next to his clothes on the floor. His eyes fall to the black lines wrapping around your shoulders, and he draws his eyes to your collarbones and sternum, his breathing stuttering at the sight of you laid out under him.

"So much prettier than I imagined." He murmurs as he ducks his head to kiss the valley between your breasts. You smile and run your hands through his curls as he mouths at your chest, leaving red marks in his wake and making you press him closer.

"How many times have you thought about this?" You ask. Has he always wanted you in the way you've wanted him? You're almost positive he has. There's no other way to explain the reverence with which he's looking at you. He's so wrapped up in you it's almost suffocating. Every time you glance at his face, he's staring at you with soft eyes and blown pupils.

"Lost count." There it is. The confirmation. You grab at his ribs to bring him closer, pulling him over you to kiss him slow and deep. Despite the heat of him against you and the ache between your thighs, you both take the time to savor it. That is until his overthinking takes over. "I didn't bring a condom. Fuck, I was in a rush. I didn't think." He says quickly, like he's waiting for you to back out or push him away. You bring your thumb up to the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows and smooth it away, kissing his jaw.

"You think I would get you all worked up to not be prepared? C'mon, baby," you turn the nickname around on him, and he leans into your hand like a cat. "Top drawer." You say. He scrambles to your bedside table and grabs the first one he can find as you move onto all fours while he's distracted. You listen for the foil ripping and the subtle sound of the latex fitting over him. You can't stop the smirk from forming when he looks up and sees the sight in front of him.

"Fuckin' Hell," he mutters. Your back is arched perfectly, your hair gathered over your shoulder, and the tattoo you got done so many years ago is on display for him. "You are so goddamn perfect." He says as he presses his chest into your back and kisses your shoulder. He plants a few more kisses across your neck and back, making you wait longer than you already have, and just when you think you're going crazy, he slowly pushes into you and punches all the air from your lungs.

He's big. Bigger than anyone you've been with before, and he seems to know that. He rolls his hips, and you moan, gripping at the sheets under you for stability as you adjust. His breathing is ragged behind you, and he groans when you involuntarily clench around him. "You okay?" He asks, his voice straining. His patience and self-control should be fucking studied.

"Yeah, I'm okay." You assure him, and he nods. He starts to move slowly at first, but when you start whining and shaking under him, he snaps. You're both impatient. Months of following the rules and caring about what other people could think or say tumble out of your heads as he sets a rough pace. You've been dreaming about this and pushing it away since he walked into your classroom that day, and now that it's happening, you can't hide how desperate you are for him. You cry his name as he fucks into you deeply, no part of your bodies not touching, but it's still not close enough.

"You're so fuckin' good for me, baby. Jesus fuck," he moans into your ear, his uneven breaths echoing into your skull. "You feel so good."

He sits back and brings you with him, changing the angle and forcing him deeper inside of you as his hand snakes around your waist and dips to play with your clit. You curse loudly and dig your nails into his forearm as bright pleasure courses through your veins. "'M gonna come if you keep doing that," you warn, your voice high and strained as he adds a little more pressure.

"C'mon, honey, come on my cock for me. Please, I want it." It could be the slight whine in his voice or the fact that he's begging you for it, or the fact that the tight circles he's rubbing into your clit are making you see stars, but you come hard. You rely on him to hold you upright as he fucks you through your high, the slick between your thighs growing as his own orgasm washes over him, and he moans directly in your ear, an unexpected but not unpleasant gift. You think you could get off again just to the sounds he makes when he's coming.

You stay like that for a second, wrapped up in each other and breathing hard with him still inside you, before he finally finds the courage to slip out of you with only a tiny pained moan. He carefully guides you onto your back, your bones jelly, and kisses your cheek before he pads off to the bathroom to throw away the used condom.

It's quiet again in the apartment, but it's not lonely anymore. He makes himself at home in your space, asking if he can get water and snacks from your kitchen and walking around naked as the day he was born. "I wanna make sure you've got enough energy for round two." He says, making you laugh.

"Are you finally gonna make good on your promise to take your time with me?"

"Fuck yeah." He says, coming back to kiss your lips one more time before walking to the kitchen. It's like if he goes a few minutes without tasting you, he can't function, or at least, that's what he makes it seem like. You're more than receptive to the attention and can only watch as he walks around. Your trust in your legs is not strong enough to get up just yet.

In the domestic silence, it would be easy for your mind to run rampant with rogue thoughts and anxieties, but when Joel returns to the bedroom with snacks, bottles of water, and those stupidly sweet eyes, they get pushed to the back burner. He gets under the covers and pulls you into him, his warm body grounding you to this moment and not letting your thoughts stray. He presses kisses to your hair and your face every so often as you talk about everything and nothing.

Somehow, it feels natural, like you've been doing this the whole time or like everything was leading up to this. Maybe it was. Still, you'll need to talk about this. You know you will.

Just... not yet.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01

193 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 9 months

Note

Steve Harrington having a stutter? maybe Eddie and Steve are in an interview after revealing their relationship to the public (kinda ties with ur rockstar eddie drabbles?) and people make fun of his stutter. Hes always had it, he just doesn't talk in public so its a surprise to everyone that he has a stutter and that they actually get to hear his voice

So I know the request said he always had the stutter, but I wanted to do something head trauma related for this because Eddie is gonna get a little overprotective and says some stuff about his very amazing husband to be. I've never written a character having a stutter before, so I hopefully made it realistic. In my head, he struggled with some hard consonants and 'th', 'ch', and 'sh' sounds. - Mickala ❤️

------------------------------------------------------

“Everyone please give your warmest welcome to Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington!”

They walked onto the stage with smiles and waves, hands clasped between them as they walked to the couch they’d be sitting on for their interview.

They chose this talk show host, Hannah, because she wasn’t pushy, asked heartfelt questions, and wanted to get the genuine stories out there.

Steve had been nervous to be on any talk show, so he was the one who made the decision to be on this one and Eddie was happy to oblige.

Her viewers may not have been his usual crowd, but if it made Steve more comfortable, he didn’t really care.

“Wow, that was a warm welcome!” Eddie exclaimed.

He wanted to keep it light; Steve’s hand in his was sweaty and shaking, and he knew Hannah could see his nerves.

“I think everyone is just so excited to have you here! You’re not our usual guest, I’ll be honest, so you’re shaking things up for all of us.” She smiled before looking at Steve. “Now, let’s get the elephant in the room out of the way first. Steve, that ring on your finger sure is a beauty!”

He glanced down at it for a moment, smiling to himself.

Eddie proposed a month ago, on their week-long getaway to Greece, and as much as they tried to hide it, it was on the cover of every tabloid and online news article within 24 hours.

They hadn’t even come out officially yet.

It caused Steve to panic, and then Eddie panicked, and then they both decided to take control of their own narrative and do this interview.

“Th-thank you,” Steve replied. “Eddie did g-good, didn’t he?”

Steve’s stutter was barely noticeable when they were in a comfortable environment, especially since they’d been together for so long. But when they were in a stressful situation, or around new people, or both, it became more obvious.

Steve had already spoken to Hannah about it beforehand, said he wouldn’t mind talking about it as long as it wasn’t the focus of the interview. She agreed and said that she would follow his lead on everything, and Eddie warned her he wouldn’t hesitate to walk them both off the stage if Steve got uncomfortable.

“He did great! Honestly, I’ll have to get you to show my husband how to pick an engagement ring. Bless his heart, he tried. Luckily, we married for love and not his ability to know what I want in a ring.”

The audience laughed, and Steve couldn’t help letting out a small giggle.

“Soooo…tell us how he did it!” Hannah continued, eyes glimmering under the stage lights.

“Um.” Steve took in a shaky breath. “We were at a p-priv-vate d-dinner on the beach-ch.” Eddie squeezed his hand once, smiling over at him as he let him lead. “He s-sang me a s-song and th-then proposed.”

“How romantic,” Hannah rested her head in her hands and sighed. “Everyone in the audience is going to show this to their significant others for them to take notes, I’m sure.”

“He left out the part where I also bought him the fancy wine he wanted only for it to be the worst thing we’ve ever tasted and we ended up giving it to a couple further down the beach,” Eddie added, playfully nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah, w-well,” Steve shrugged, blushing profusely.

“What a letdown! Hopefully the other couple liked it,” Hannah laughed.

“They didn’t complain, but honestly we didn’t stick around for too long. We were freshly engaged and had much better things to be doing,” Eddie winked at the audience.

“Oh, I bet you did!” Hannah smiled before getting more serious. “So you’ve been together for a while?”

“We were friends when we were really young, and it grew into more when Steve was supporting me and my band in the local bar scene. We’ve dated for almost four years now.”

“Awww. And you’ll be getting married pretty soon, right?” Hannah asked.

“Yes, we d-decided on next March-ch,” Steve added. “Spring is when w-we met-t.”

“Lovely! I’m sure the wedding will be quite the party.”

“We’re keeping it pretty small, just family and our circle of friends. My bandmates will be there. Just us back at home with the people who love us,” Eddie smiled.

“I think that sounds wonderful.” Hannah clapped her hands. “So, Eddie, with all this excitement in your personal life, what’s it look like for the band?”

“I’ll be on tour with them for August and September, and then we’ll be working hard on recording the next album in October and November so we can have it out next year. I won’t be doing anything else until after the wedding, though. I promised Stevie I’d help him plan everything.”

The crowd cheered, and Steve spoke up.

“He also p-promised t-to visit the loc-cation with me in Novemb-ber so we’ll see,” Steve teased, seeming to relax quite a bit more.

The interview carried on, mostly focusing on Eddie’s band and some more casual talk of the wedding and future plans.

Steve never completely relaxed, but he seemed much more at ease as Hannah focused more on Eddie for a few minutes, smiling at Steve when he decided to add something.

“Alright, that’s all the time we have boys! It was lovely to have you and we’re so looking forward to your future together!”

The audience cheered, the boys waved goodbye, and they walked back to the green room to grab some water before going back to their hotel.

Eddie stopped Steve in the hall, ignoring the people passing by, and pulled Steve against him.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” he whispered against his lips before pressing a soft kiss there. “You’re amazing.”

“Eds, st-stop,” Steve blushed.

“Nope, wanna tell you all the time. You’re incredible.”

“F-fine.”

—--------------------

Steve is a lovely person, and I will not tolerate hate comments on anything related to the interview I did with him and Eddie. My team always does the best with reporting hate comments, so keep that in mind before posting something you may regret later. Any Eddie Munson fan should know that Eddie wouldn’t accept this disgusting behavior towards his fiance.

Steve could feel tears welling in his eyes as he read Hannah’s lovely public comment about some of the hate she’d been receiving in regards to their interview.

One comment in particular had hurt to see: a fan claiming that Eddie just felt bad for him and didn’t want to break up with him because Steve would run to the press with negative stories about him.

Eddie was still asleep, hadn’t seen most of what was being posted since the interview aired first thing that morning, but Steve did.

He liked Hannah’s statement and posted it to his Instagram story with a heart emoji.

He went through some responses from Eddie’s bandmates and liked them, too.

Steve is probably the best thing that’s happened to all of us, so any “fan” of ours who doesn’t see how awesome he is, consider yourself uninvited to any show. Gareth posted.

You guys better hope Eddie doesn’t hop on here and see all this or he’ll end up hunting you for sport. Jeff joked, though Steve knew that he may be more right than not.

Imagine being so jealous of someone that you decide to make fun of the one thing they’re self-conscious about. Couldn’t be me. Grant posted on all his social media profiles.

Then he saw Robin’s post and his heart stopped for a moment.

My best friend is the bravest person I know. He only has a stutter because he risked his life to protect me. If head trauma is a joke to you, then I hope you find new material soon. When Eddie sees this, he’s gonna lose his shit.

Steve let out a mix of a sob and a laugh, startling Eddie awake.

“What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?” he asked as he sat up in their bed.

“I g-guess p-people aren’t a b-big fan of me,” he said as he held his phone out towards Eddie to show him what was going on.

Eddie’s face flushed red with anger before he calmly handed Steve his phone back.

“Eds?”

Eddie silently reached for his own phone and pulled up his notes app.

Steve watched him type furiously for a few minutes, then screenshot a couple of times, and open Instagram.

“Eds…it’s fine. Not w-worth it.”

But it was too late, and Steve’s phone went off with a notification that he’d been tagged in Eddie’s post.

It was a series of pictures, the first being a picture taken of them shortly after Steve’s worst head injury, when he barely could speak at all.

The next few images were the screenshots from Eddie’s phone.

I can’t believe I have to say this, but here goes. Steve Harrington, soon-to-be Munson, is the best person I know. I am lucky to be able to wake up next to him, to call him mine, to be his. He is incredibly brave, incredibly loving, and much too forgiving. He will be much nicer than I will. He is not defined by his stutter, but it is a part of his life, and it does impact him much more than he should ever have to worry about. But that picture you just saw? That was a man who could barely even say my name. I thought I would never hear him even say my name again. I’ve seen comments making fun of how he talks, how long it takes him to say some things, his intelligence. And I won’t tolerate it. If you have anything negative to say about him, unfollow me before I block you myself. Fame means absolutely nothing to me compared to this man, and I won’t let him suffer through the bullying just so I can make some fucking music. See yourself out or see us be happy. Up to you.

The last image was a picture of them the night before, cozy in their bed, Steve looking into the camera while Eddie looked at him, so much love passing from him it was almost a physical presence.

“Eds-” Steve started.

“I love you. I won’t let anyone let you think for a second that I don’t,” Eddie said fiercely.

“I know. I l-love you, t-too.”

They both shut off their phones for the rest of the day, didn’t care much for anything outside of their bed.

Steve called Hannah to thank her for everything the next day, and she was grateful to hear from him. He explained that he wouldn’t be doing any more interviews, but was glad he’d had a positive experience with her.

“Do you think Eddie will come back to the show someday to talk about you?” she asked.

“I th-think you’ll reg-gret asking him back. He won’t sh-shut up about me,” Steve smirked to himself.

“He shouldn’t. You’re both so lucky to have each other.”

“Yeah. W-we are.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ficlet #request #rock star eddie munson #modern au #established relationship

640 notes · View notes

spacecowboyhotch · 4 months

Text

In Plain Sight, Ch 5: To Atomize

summary: nathan leaves his house to tell you he loves you.

pairing: nathan bateman x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, enemies to lovers (sorta), boss/employee dynamics, mentions of sick/dying parent, pining, dom/sub dynamics, mid love confessions, oral (m + f receiving), p in v sex, creampie, squirting, NATHAN’S SO IN LOVE AND SIMPY AND FREE

wc: 6,138

an: we've sadly reached the end of the main story. thank you thank you for all the support on this fic. a girl watches ex machina once and suddenly is writing 20+k for an asshole simp. i do plan to write the extras fairly quickly (the next month or so) and they'll vary in length. i hope y'all stick around for more of them.

You and Nathan are doing work out on the couch, your legs thrown over his. It’s all very domestic, something the both of you could get used to.

He doesn’t look up when he asks, “That date out— do you still want it?”

“I do but honestly, I don’t think it’s realistic. You like being out here, Emma and Phillipa shouldn’t be at home by themselves for so long— not to mention my mom.”

“You don’t talk about your mom,” He observes, his eyes rising from his laptop to look at you.

You continue your work as you talk, “There’s too much to talk about. And nothing at all.”

“And the vagueness returns,” There’s more bite in his voice than he wants there to be, but he can’t help it.

You notice immediately— going rigid like stone before you fix him with an empty gaze. “She’s dying. She can’t work. She sleeps most days. In the mornings before I come here, I read to her and when I get home I tell her I love her and kiss her goodnight. Is that specific enough for you, Mr. Bateman?”

Nathan just looks at you, his eyes for once, void of any emotion to tell you how he’s feeling. Nathan 3 months ago would have stormed away, or said something snarky. But, he just keeps looking at you. The silence makes you uncomfortable and your words replay in your mind over and over, guilt building each time. Your mother’s a tender subject, but Nathan is…more than anyone has ever been to you despite not making that clear to him. You open your mouth to apologize but he shushes, closing his laptop and then yours before he pulls you into his lap and holds you close.

He kisses at your temple, your forehead, your cheek, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

It shouldn’t catch you off guard, his affection and tenderness but it does. You melt into him even as your walls go up inside. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, honey. It’s not. Can you tell me what—“

“Cancer. Off and on since I was in high school.”

“You’ve been taking care of your sisters off and on since they were born?”

You shrug. It was true. In the moment, when you and your mother had made those decisions together— your father wishing and washing his way in and out of your lives whenever he felt like— they hadn’t seemed like a big deal. But, Nathan’s tone can’t help but make you realize how much you’d missed out on because of your duty to your family.

“Shit, honey.”

“It’s alright, Nathan,” You breathe. It’s not, it’s never been okay, but you’ve been telling yourself that for as long as you can remember.

“It’s not. You’re a good fucking woman. You and your family deserve better.”

“They do deserve better. My sisters don’t have a time remembering her like I do. Before she got sick. That’s fucked up isn’t it?”

“Yeah, baby, it is.” His hold on your tightens, a hand smoothing up and down your back. “Let me take you out for one night.”

“Nathan, I just said—“

He takes your jaw into his hands, intentional yet gentle with his grip as he guides you to look at him. Those big brown eyes are warm but firm. “We’ll do it in the city. I’ll pick you up from your apartment, you’ll be a phone call away. I’ll bring you home first thing in the morning. C’mon baby, you deserve a break. Let me give it to you.”

—

You agree to Nathan’s advances, like you always do these days. This date takes a lot of coordinating— but somehow it all turned out in your favor. Nathan jokes that it’s because of his god-like will. You’re just happy to take the breather when it’s presented to you. Emma gets invited to her first sleepover, Phillipa’s school is having a lock in. Somehow, Nathan had convinced you to accept him paying for one day of round the clock care for your mother so her usual nurse, Celia, could have a day off too.

You’re realizing that maybe you’re just as gone for him as he is for you. That you believe what he’s said about the depths of his feelings for you and maybe, you’re ready to take the next step and allow yourself to feel them openly for him too. How quickly the tide turns. How quickly Nathan had put in the effort to show how badly he wanted this— you. 3 months ago you could say with sincere surety that you did not like Nathan Bateman. And now…well you were sure you couldn’t deny loving him.

He tells you to dress formally— it lands you in your favorite black dress, the one that always gives you a boost of confidence and makes you feel good. You’re going to need if your racing thoughts about how your feelings have deepened are any indicator for how the evening will go. And maybe, once or twice, you’ve imagined Nathan peeling you out of it when your fingers slipped beneath your waistband late at night.

When you open the door, Nathan’s in a crisp white button down and slacks, a suit jacket draped over his shoulders— your knees nearly give out. So do his.

“Fuck me,” He breathes.

“My neighbors can hear you,” You remind him breathlessly, your face hot as his eyes slowly trace your figure.

“They should be lucky we’re not staying here or they’d hear a hell of a lot more. Fuck. You look incredible, baby.”

“My eyes are up here.”

“I’ve seen enough of those.”

“Nathan.”

“Can you fucking blame me? You walk out here in this tight little dress, one I imagine will stay on until after dinner, which is a fucking sin if you ask me. I’m giving commotion for the dress honey, it is what it is. Come here,” He reaches for you, snaking his arm around your waist so he can kiss you thoroughly. When he breaks the kiss he whispers, “Hi.”

Some of your nerves dissipate at his clear attraction to you, his sweetness. You smile against his mouth, bumping his nose with your own. “Hi. You look so handsome.”

“Thank you,” He murmurs, a smug grin spreading across his face.

“Patience and good manners, you’re a changed man yet.”

“Does that mean if I ask to feel you up in the limo, you’ll say yes?”

“My neighbors, Nathan,” You remind him sternly, though you’re still smiling.

“Stuffy old fucks probably need a good show.”

“Walk.”

—

The limo ride to the nearby docks is 40 minutes with the traffic — and he helps you out like a gentleman, guiding you to a moderately sized boat. It’s impressive, all cream and blues, the

“Nathan, why is there a helicopter next to this boat?”

“In case you need to get home,” He says simply, if that explanation is enough.

“In case— we got here by limo.”

“You’re a phone call and a 10 minute helicopter ride away from your family.”

How were you gonna make it through dinner without dragging him to the ground so you could ruck up your dress and fuck him? He was saying all of this, doing all of this so nonchalantly, like it isn’t the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you.

He leans in, mouth and beard tickling your cheek as his whispers teasingly, “This is usually where people say thank you.”

You lean away, giggling a little. Your tone is suggestive, “What if I’m saving my thank you until after dinner?”

“Finally gonna show me some of those methods? It’s been driving me fucking nuts, honey.”

“Depends on how good you are.”

Nathan bites back a moan. This is all so fucking surreal. Being out of his home, being with you. Learning more and more about you, seeing you. Being yours and you being his. It’s more than he could’ve hoped for. He thought he would’ve fucked up by now— and he has, but you held a selfless amount of patience in your heart. He finds himself feeling…grateful? It’s an unfamiliar feeling, one he pushes away from a young age.

“Don’t be filthy before dinner,” He murmurs lowly.

“You‘ve been eyeing my tits since you picked me up,” You challenge.

“I’ve been appreciating them, there’s a difference. You ever been on a boat before?”

You eye the boat thoughtfully, “My mom used to take me on the ferry. Does that count?”

Nathan hums. He hasn’t ushered you onto the boat just yet, the two of you standing out on the docks in the salty breeze. It’s nice, being out in the fresh air like this, the water dark as the sun finishes dipping below the horizon. He’d anticipated much more anxiety given his hermit tendencies but it was just you and him and the few staff he’d hired to manage the boat.

“Do you want to name it?” He blurts out all of a sudden.

“Name what?”

“The boat,” He nods towards the ship.

You frown, confused. “You haven’t named the boat?”

“I bought it last week.”

“Nathan, did you buy this boat to take me out on a date?”

“Yes I did,” He says with no shame.

All of that will be an adjustment, the blasé way that he spends money— especially when he spends it on you. You know that he has a fuck ton of it but still; you’ve never lived a life of luxury.

“Do all employees get this sign-on bonus?” You tease.

“Hush, cheeky girl. Name the boat.”

You grow thoughtful, and that thoughtfulness quickly melts into a melancholic, wistful feeling. You think about your mom. How she’s been swayed back and forth by the tide of life, doing her best to float above it all. It would be nice wouldn’t it, to name something after the woman you love most?

“Boats are named after strong women. So I think…Tiana,” You murmur, voice full of emotion. You clear your throat quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice.

But Nathan’s obsessed with you— and now that you’ve let him in, he can sense every push and pull. He maneuvers you so that your back is flush with his front. “I like it. Tiana…is that your mother?”

You don’t trust your voice. You simply hum, nodding a little bit as you press back against him.

He squeezes you tighter, “It’s perfect, baby. Absolutely fucking perfect.

He cups your jaw with one hand, guiding your gaze to his. He’s never seen you nonverbal like this before, never seen sadness in your eyes like this. It makes his chest ache. He guides your mouth to his, kissing you with gentle reverence you never would’ve guessed he was capable of until recently.

Nathan just holds you, letting you melt against him in silence for an undetermined amount of time. His worry grows. “Do you want to call the nurse before we sit down for dinner? Emma? Phillipa?”

Finally, you speak. “No. No, it’s alright. I spend the entire day away from all of them when I’m working for you— I can do this.”

“Just say the word, okay, sweetheart?”

You lean in to give him a soft peck of appreciation, “Yes, I will. Thank you, Nathan.”

Dinner is much more elaborate than it had to be— but this is Nathan you’re talking about, a man with practically the entire world at his fingertips. Of course a 10 course meal makes sense to him. Not that you’re complaining about a personal sized crawl through Italy; breads and antipasto, pastas of all sorts, wines that are perfectly paired, and to end your favorite dessert from the first time the two of you shared a meal together. Despite his underestimating himself and his chaste manner, you think that Nathan is good at romance. He’s great at romance. By the time you’re finishing the last bite, you’re warm and full, a little buzzed and most importantly— needy for him.

Your entire body is craving his. You’ve denied your desires and his for long enough. You need him, you feel like you might go insane with lust— with love, if you don’t have him.

“Are we sleeping here?”

“There’s a suite downstairs, or there’s a hotel nearby I reserved. It’s your call.”

“Here…here is good. Will you take me to bed?” You ask, nonchalantly.

Nathan chokes on the wine he’s sipping, setting it down to looking at you more intently. “Take you to bed,” He repeats.

“Yes, Nathan, take me to bed,” You practically purr at him this time, voice low and smoky.

Nathan has had lots of sex in his life, never been flustered or taken aback by anyone. He’s accepted that all of his past experiences go out the window when it comes to you, but he doesn’t expect such a strong reaction out of himself when faced with the opportunity to finally ravish you. He feels like if he stood up right now, his legs would give out like jello.

The way you’re looking at him— he’s sure no one has ever looked at him like this in his entire life. Carnal and hungry, like when you kissed him breathless in the forest, but more intense. It’s almost overwhelming. He’s never been consumed before, and that’s exactly how you’re looking at him. Like you’re going to swallow him whole. His cock twitches and he takes a deep breath.

“Come here,” He says softly, pushing away from the table and holding his hand out for you.

You stand, moving closer to him but don’t take his hand. “If I touch you…if we start here, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

Nathan feels winded. He squeezes his eyes shut, and nods. “Fuck, honey, alright. Follow me.”

Nathan guides you through the dining room and down a hall, not even bothering to mention what doors the two of you pass. His heart is pounding in his chest— he’s ready for this, been ready for so long and he wants this to mean something. He had been ready to wait as long as you needed in order for this moment to be everything it can be.

The suite he takes you to is larger than you anticipated it to be, but you can’t bring yourself to care. As soon as Nathan shuts the door behind you, you practically launch yourself at him, your hands starting at where his shirt is tucked into his pants. You ruck it up, leaning forward to kiss him.

“Whoa, mmm,” He hums into your mouth. His hands finally fall to cup your ass, kneading and squeezing the way he’s wanted to for hours now. “You been this desperate the whole time?”

“Have you?” You counter as you press him against the door, grinding your hips against his. You can feel him through the fabric of his trousers, and it makes your mouth water.

“Fuck, baby, lemme get you on the bed at least,” He breathes when he feels the way your hips rut.

You pull away, looking at him with bright but hazy eyes— like he’s just come up with some revolutionary idea. “The bed, right. Come here.”

You start to walk backwards, guiding him with you by his shirt. Once the back of your thighs hit the bed, you switch positions with him, encouraging him to sit down so that you can straddle him. Nathan feels weightless— this is like his dream come true. Just a couple months ago he was jerking himself off imagining a sight like this, and now he was living it.

Looking up at you, he feels warm. Fuzzy. Like he’s in the safest place he’ll ever be in. With his limited data and hope, trust— things he’s never had with anyone— he knows that he is. This is all he’ll ever need. You’re all he’ll ever need. He loves you so much it hurts.

“Baby,” He sighs, guiding your mouth down to his. Where your mouth is hurried and insistent, his is lazy and indulgent. He wants to savor every moment.

“Hmm,” You hum grinding down against his clothed cock in a move that makes both of you moan.

“I fucking love you.”

You lean away, eyes wide with alarm. Part of you, most of you, thought that to be true. Well— whatever he was capable of feeling that was close to love. He’s proved himself to you. All of his intentions, his actions, his words— no matter how haphazard he’s been in communicating them— have been pure. While just a few months ago you were sure Nathan could love no one but himself, you’re sure now that he’s being completely honest. It sends you further into your frenzy. He loves you.

Nathan Bateman fucking loves you.

You’re quiet for so long that he feels antsy. There’s no regret, no anger in his heart like he thought there could be when first pursuing you. But he is starting to feel small, like a nuisance like his parents made him feel all those years ago.

“Really?” You ask breathlessly, unsure if it’s from his declaration or your body’s response to being pressed against him like this.

He scoffs, squeezing your hips, “Really? You think I fucking—“

“Okay, alright, I love you too.”

“Really?”

You fix him with narrowed eyes. Of course you get scolded but he gets to do the exact same thing as you. It’s very Nathan. It makes you love him more.

“Nathan.”

“My really is fucking justified, I’m some asshole, you’re…you’re the moon. The sun. The sky. I’m not good at this poetic shit but I mean it.”

“You’re the sweetest, most thoughtful, insightful and just— kind. I know what you’re thinking, I know that something or someone’s taught you not to think that you’re kind and worthy but you are. Even if you’re an asshole and a clown, you are. And I love you.”

“We’re fucking corny and sickly sweet and so cliche. I could vomit,” He says, his grin wide and genuine.

You nuzzle into him, laughing softly at the tickle of his beard, “You would study it, see if it quantified any of your love for me.”

“So you think I’m disgusting,” He murmurs, using his grip on you to rock your hips down against his cock.

The pressure is sweet, and you shiver even as you try to get your voice even. “Am I wrong?”

He laughs a little, eyes fluttering when you help him rock you down even further, “No.”

You reach up to remove his glasses, bending to set them on the side of the bed— you didn’t want to break them, now with how you were about to ravish him. “Kiss me, Nathan.”

Usually, he needs to be told things once, twice, and again but this request Nathan obeys immediately. His hands start to travel up your body, fingers sliding under the fabric of your dress to expose inch after inch of your precious skin. His eyes are closed as he bares you to him, pulling down the cups of your bra so your breasts spill out, but he can feel how beautiful you are under his fingertips. Smooth and soft, fitting perfectly in his grasp. Every touch, every kiss is electric. His hands skate up your stomach, cupping your breasts before he takes your nipples between his fingers, rolling them gently.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, you feel so good. So good,” He mumbles into your mouth, his fingers still working, eager to hear the soft little sound you made.

You melt into him, nodding frantically as you continue to sip from his mouth. “You too.”

Nathan breaks away from your mouth, biting and kissing his way down your neck, sucking a faint mark into your skin. More. He wants more of you, and you more of him. He kisses a trail between your breasts before leaning in, suckling one of your nipples into his mouth. You taste so fucking good. Like honey and cocoa, so delicious. Not for the first time, Nathan thinks about how much he wants to consume you. Or be consumed. He can’t choose, his head is spinning and he’s getting more frantic, shaking beneath you as he sucks and nips at you.

You can feel yourself getting lost in him, but this isn’t what you’ve thought about all these months. He feels incredible, his mouth is warm, his hands sure. The pleasure that’s blooming all over your body is one you'll never give up. But, no, for all these months, you’ve thought about turning him into a whining, shivering mess. You’ve thought about making him cum over and over until he can think of nothing but you.

You lean away, cupping your face in your hands, “Wait— please, let me touch you. I get off all the time, but I haven’t touched a man in so long. I wanna see you.”

“Honey—“

Your hands fall, gripping his shirt and ripping at it. Buttons scatter as you work him out of the shirt, leaning in to coax his mouth open for you once more. “Let me make you cum. Please, I need it.”

“That’s what you want?” He asks skeptically.

“Yeah, and you’d give me anything, wouldn't you? You ask, tilting your head at him expectantly.

“I’d give you anything,” He confirms.

You slid out of his lap, reaching behind to unclasp your bra and discard it. It leaves you in nothing but black lace panties. “Then take your pants off.”

All Nathan can do for several moments is stare at you, his mouth agape, ready to drool. He could believe he’s died and gone to heaven, except he doesn’t believe such a place exists. And if he did, he would not end up in a place where he would be so privileged to be met with the sight of you. You're an angel in the most sinful way.

“Nathan,” You coo when he doesn’t move, a soft grin on your face.

“Sorry,” He mumbles, a soft blush rising in his cheeks.

It’s adorable, it makes the heat in your lower belly burn brighter. You can feel yourself getting wetter for him by the second. “I thought about you like this so much.”

“Could've fooled me,” He heaves, trying to seem less affected than he is. That boat sailed the moment you asked him to take you to bed.

You laugh softly at his words, dropping to your knees and resting your hands on his broad thighs. “Don’t be snarky, baby, just let me make us feel good. You want that don’t you?”

Nathan shivers, even as your warm, honeyed voice glides across his skin. God he knew you’d be like this, knew he’d bend to your will so easily but to hear it and feel it. “I do,” He sighs, allowing you to guide him to sit down on the edge of the bed.

Your eyes are dark with hunger, and you lick your lips a little as you look up at him. “God, your cock’s so fucking pretty. Can I put my mouth on you?”

“You can do whatever you want to me,” He whispers earnestly.

You aren’t gentle or patient or thoughtful about letting him adjust. You take Nathan’s cock completely, so deep that he feels like he’s starting to enter your stomach. It takes everything in him to keep his hips down, a will that crumbles when you swallow, your throat tightening around him. The sound you make is a cross between a gag and a satisfied hum. You pull off without missing a beat, spitting on the tip of his cock and lifting a hand to grip and pump him.

“Mmm, shit, that’s really…that’s really fucking—“ Nathan babbles incoherently, words cutting off.

You start in on him again, your head bobbing up and down as you take him over and over again. The noises he’s making have you squeezing your thighs together. Soft and breathy and so so sweet. You peer up at him wanting to see how he looks. The flush in his cheeks is deeper and redder, his eyes somehow sharp and hazy all at once. Seeing him so vulnerable, gooey and nearing the peak of pleasure you don’t stop, sucking harder, allowing the tip of his cock to go deeper.

One of his hands falls to your shoulders, gripping it gently, “Wait— wait— fuck, hold on baby, just,”

Carefully, you pull off of him, wiping at the trail of spit that connects your mouth to his cock. You look up at him with those sweet little eyes, like you haven’t nearly sucked what little of a soul lies within him. “Hmm?”

“Wanna cum inside you, please.”

“This is you cumming inside me,” You challenge, kissing at the head of his cock.

“Inside your pussy,” He gasps, the vein that trails down the center of his forehead on display as he fights to stay still—as he holds back.

You rest your head on his thigh, looking up at him like he’s hung the moon. The sight alone almost makes him cum.

“Say, please,” You whisper.

“Please, sweetheart.”

“You’re so good, do you know that?” You ask him softly, reaching up to cup his face.

“Good?” He asks with a furrowed brow. The word directed at himself feels clumsy in his mouth.

“Good,” You repeat as confirmation. “So good that you’re gonna lay back against those pillows without another word aren’t you?”

Processing your words, he simply nods, helping you to your feet before he scoots back, propped up against the pillows, looking so devilishly handsome. If you stared at him long enough, you’re sure you could cum from just this sight. But why torture yourself like that, when you’re this close to having him buried inside you? Body humming with anticipation you crawl up the bed, straddling him once more.

“Do you want to feel how wet I am?”

“Yes,” He answers quickly before tacking on, “please.”

That sentence alone shows just how much Nathan Bateman is a changed man. Please without being promoted? Atop apologies and vulnerability and love confessions.

You hold your panties to the side for him, “Go on then. Touch me, baby.”

Nathan’s eyes track to where your pussy runs along his cock, burning hot. He reaches for you, letting his fingers sweat through your folds, causing both of you to moan. You’re so fucking wet, dripping, glistening in the warm lamplight.

“For me?” He asks, voice and hands trembling as he finds your clit, pressing his thumb against it.

“For you. Because you’re so fucking good for me. Good to me.”

Every fucking word out of your mouth pulls his closer to his release. He needs to be inside you, he can feel the clock ticking. “Can I fuck you now, honey? Please, I need to feel you.”

“Who knew Nathan Bateman would beg?”

“On my knees for the rest of my fucking life, baby.”

You can picture it, except in your dreams, Nathan’s beard is shining with your slick. Your breath catches, and you grow too needy to continue teasing him. It takes you just a few seconds to line him up with your entrance, giving neither of you time to adjust as you sink down on him completely. His back arches, huffing a heavy, labored breath. He’s sweating, he can feel it, his skin slick underneath your fingertips as your pussy grips him so deliciously tight. You’re dripping down his cock already.

“Fuck, honey—,” He laughs, squeezing at your hip, nearly pushing you off to hold on. “Fuck me, you couldn’t have— warned a guy?”

“Sorry,” You breathe, grinning down at him, “needed to fuck you.”

Nathan’s eyes roll as you rock your hips, completely breathless, “Shit—your pussy’s so fucking tight. So hot, you been saving this all for me?”

You bend, your nose resting against his as you gaze into him, “Savor it— don’t think. Don’t control. Just enjoy it, Nathan. Be with me. Give in to me. Say yes.”

“Yes,” He slurs, drawn out and drunk on you.

You guide his hands to either side of his head, holding them down by his wrists as you start to move, your pussy taking his cock the way your throat had with even more ease. The two of you fit together so perfectly, your cunt swallowing his entire length over and over, pleasure mounting higher and higher inside you. Nathan’s winning the fight against his body now. He’s happy to submit to you, it feels so good, so perfectly sweet, like he was made to be underneath you like this. But his body screams for release, to roll you over and fuck you hard until you squeeze his cock so tight there’s no choice in his cumming.

“Wanna cum…wanna cum in your pussy,” He whines, his hips lazily rocking up to meet yours.

“You will baby, I’ll let you fill me up,” You assure him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, teasing yourself and him for a moment as you close your eyes and let yourself really feel every single inch of him.

Nathan’s lips are parted slightly, pink and flushed, soft gasps leaving him as your hips grind down against his. You remove one of your hands from his wrists, leaning back so you have room to run your thumb over the swell of his bottom lip.

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” He says, his words syrupy, “feels good. So good.”

“Let me in there,” You murmur, tapping two of your fingers against his lips, and he opens wide immediately. You purposefully clench your cunt around him, a small reward for his obedience and he groans, his back arching as pleasure burns in his veins.

“I’m gonna soak your cock,” You tell him matter of factly.

Nathan’s eyes go wide, his chest rising fast as his lungs beg for air. No matter what he does its not enough. He’s drowning in you, there’s nothing he can do about it. There’s nothing he really wants to do about it. “Soak my—“

“Nice and wet, all over you. Gonna make us messier,” You whisper, like the sound of his cock gliding in and out of you isn’t already obscene. “You want that don’t you, Nathan?”

He doesn’t have words, just soft, needy sounds. Pleading round eyes. Shallow, noisy breaths. It’s all the answer you need.

“I know, baby. I know. Cum whenever you need to, I’ll make it,” The gentle tone of your voice doesn’t match the devious look in your eyes.

You know exactly what you’re doing. You know his cock aches with the need to release, know he’s fighting this because he never wants this to end. Know that he’s never been this deep in subspace in his life, that he’ll obey any command you give him.

You shift up on your knees, until you’re taking nothing but the tip, and then rock back, taking him as deep as you can. Bending to your will, Nathan cums with a sound that can only be described as sweet agony.

As he fills you up, your hips slip into a grind, pressing and pressing the tip of his cock against the sensitive spot inside you. You can feel it coming now, you know just how to twist your hips, just how long to rub at your clit to make it happen. Your thighs grow tight, your cunt clenching as it starts to milk him for everything he’s got. You gush around him, the sound so wet and filthy that Nathan thinks he might cum again. Your slick is everywhere; your thighs, your stomach and all over Nathan, his lower belly glistening with you. He looks down and groans again, need rising sharply in his chest. He wants to taste you.

“Let me taste you, please. Drown me,” He begs, one of his hands shakily reaching for where the two of you connect.

Your hands fall to the pillows on either side of his head, propping you up from where you’d since collapsed onto him. “Nathan, baby, you’re tired—“

But, Nathan is desperate— as desperate as you were when you asked him to take you to bed, you can hear it in his voice as he pleads, “Sit on my face. Please, please, please, baby. Fucking, please. Let me eat your pussy.”

Your lost to him and his begging. With the little strength you have left, you shuffle up, getting you thighs on either side of his head, gently lowering yourself down through the burn of your muscles. Nathan has another idea, weakly reaching for you and effectively smothering himself in your pussy. Its messy, the sounds of his mouth as he licks and sucks at your clit like a starved man. Like you two hadn’t just stuffed yourselves full at dinner.

“Nathan,” You mumble, trying to steady yourself by leaning against the headboard. His beard tickles against your thighs, but makes the work of his mouth even better, brushing each and every bit of your sensitive pussy.

Despite your plea, Nathan is insatiable, pulling you down by his grip on your ass. He’s gasping and whining into your cunt, like it's all too much and too little at the same time. He can hardly breathe with how firmly he’s got you pressed against his face, though he wouldn’t change his position for the world. He would happily die here if it was what you wanted.

He can feel your thighs shaking against the sides of his head and knows that you’re close to cumming. Doubling his efforts, Nathan switches from running his tongue through your folds to focusing solely on your clit, circling and circling in a maddening technique. When you fall apart on his tongue, he presses his tongue inside of you, eager to drink up every single drop of your sweet honey.

He feels like he’s cumming again, his cock jerking behind you though there’s nothing for him to release. He feels like he’s been split right open, all of his tender, vulnerable spots on display.

It takes several minutes for Nathan to come back to himself once you shift off of his face, laying your body against his. He’s gasping for air with tightly shut eyes, his entire body shaking. You run a hand up and down his chest, cooing soft praises as you try to soothe him.

He stares at the ceiling, steadying his breaths. “Jesus fucking Christ, baby. You’re the filthiest person I’ve ever met.”

You tilt your chin to look up at him, admiring the shine of his beard that’s completely covered in you. A mark that he’s yours. “Thank you.”

The grin on your face— you’re trying to fucking kill him. How many times has he thought since he’s started this endeavor of winning your heart and why is it not over now that he has? Your grin is smug, full of fire, the fire he’s wanted from the moment he laid his eyes on you. He loves you so fucking much. If this is what he gets, he’ll be better for the rest of his life. He’ll move to the city, do the house in the crowded suburbs with the picket fence, get married. Have kids, and attend the most boring PTA meetings that plan bake sales. Bake sales where he’d have to make cookies— real cookies, not the ones with coconut sugar and almond flour, and low sugar chocolate. If it was what you wanted he’d do it all. Any of it at the drop of a hat.

“What are you thinking about?” You trace small shapes on his chest, enjoying the post-coital cuddle.

“You.”

“What about me?”

“That you’re everything,” He says easily. It’s nice— the reservations, the anxiety that he had about all of this has faded in the shadows.

With you, Nathan gets to be completely honest, knowing that he’s safe. None of what his parents said was true. He’s not unlovable. He’s not selfish. He isn’t just a fuck up that can never amount to anyone’s expectations. Despite his mistakes, he’s allowed to be loved.

“Remember when I was just your employee?” You ask teasingly, snuggling further into him.

“Fuck, I was an idiot for months. Best thing I’ve ever had, dangling in front of me in plain sight.”

“Not Bluebook?”

“No.”

“Or buying that property?”

“No.”

“The money?”

“No.”

“Your freedom?”

He snorts, “My freedom?”

“You said I could do whatever I wanted to you,” You remind him.

“And I fucking meant it.”

“It doesn’t sound very…freeing. Very Nathan,” You muse softly.

Nathan’s quiet for a long time— so long that you grow nervous, afraid that you’ve said the wrong thing. Just as you’re about to sit up to apologize, he wraps his arms around you, dropping a kiss on your forehead, “This, sweetheart, is the freest I’ve ever been in my life.”

Fin

nathan taglist: @missdictatorme, @hon3yboy, @runa-falls, @campingwiththecharmings, @toracainz, @steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, @jdbxws, @crispysublimecupcake, @sub-aro, @faretheeoscar, @cupidysm, @whentheskyispinkandabitblue, @nova-ivy541, @sparkypantelones, @veritable-trash, @mangoslushcrush, @thhriller @tenderhornynihilist, @queerponcho

#genuinely couldn’t hold this in any longer #BUT ALSO ONE OF THE EXTRAS IS FINISHED SO #i listened well #nathan bateman x f!reader #nathan bateman x fem!reader #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman fanfiction #nathan bateman #ex machina fanfiction #in plain sight #not sfw #arson writes

256 notes · View notes

juyeonszn · 6 months

Text

I LOOK BETTER UNDER YOU

PAIRING choi chanhee x f!reader

WORD COUNT 2.62k

GENRES smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, TW: LEWIS STRUCTURES/CHEMISTRY TERMS 🤢🤢🤢, academic rivals to something idk, kev and jichang appearances, chanhee is a cocky little shit, vaginal fingering, edging, exhibitionism lowkey, there’s not p in v action but they are in a public space so…. take with that what u will

SUMMARY aside from excelling at literally everything else, choi chanhee was also really fucking good at getting on your last nerve.

MORE my brain hurts LOL anyway fawntober day???? 7 holy fuck that is actually insane… ANYWAY shout out reese for being my beta as always <3 and also shout out @sungbeam for the idea <3 laurv u bestie!!! pls reblog if u enjoyed :)

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri

You felt stupid. Never in your life had you ever struggled to learn a concept, usually understanding on the first go around. This was the case for a majority of your courses. However, for some reason you just couldn’t quite grasp Lewis Structures in your Chemistry class.

Everything else seemed simple enough, your professor explaining them in a way that made them sound easy. They were anything but. You found yourself stressing over whether or not you could fully comprehend the bonds between atoms in time for your midterm. With the way it was going for you, that hope appeared to get less and less realistic.

“Have you thought about going to tutoring?” Your friend, Kevin, asks as you sit across from each other in one of the library’s study rooms, your chemistry textbook opened up to the section on Lewis Structures.

“I mean, no, I haven’t. I just think they’d judge me, considering I have the second highest GPA in our department.” You huff, scribbling down even more notes on the concept, as if you didn’t already have everything you needed to know. God, being a woman in STEM was so hard.

“That’s your problem,” Kevin rolls his eyes, working on his communications homework simultaneously. “Your ego is too damn big. Maybe if you toned it down a notch and set aside your pride, you’d be able to grow the balls to actually ask for help.”

You’re offended, honestly. Because as much as he was right, he was simultaneously very wrong. It wasn’t that you didn’t have the courage to ask for assistance. It was the fact that your biggest rival was the person in charge of the science department’s tutoring lab. He had the highest GPA in your year and you couldn’t stand the thought of losing to him. Let alone showing your weak side.

Aside from excelling at literally everything else, Choi Chanhee was also really fucking good at getting on your last nerve. You were thankful that he wasn’t in your Chemistry lecture, lest he made fun of you for all the questions you asked pertaining to your struggles. He had a knack for crawling under your skin like a goddamn parasite, doing everything in his power to make sure you never felt a moment of peace as long as he was around.

You hated him. You hated him so much for all of the unnecessary competition and constant need to one-up you in every mutual category possible. You hated his overall overachievement to be better than you, to be above you at all costs. You hated his dumb pretty face.

So how could you turn to tutoring after all of that? It just wasn’t feasible. Kevin wouldn’t get it. He didn’t have an arch nemesis holding him back from success.

“That’s not it at all, Kev. But it’s whatever, I’ll figure this shit out myself.”

You could not figure that shit out by yourself. Midterms were a week and a half away, and you were still ripping your hair out over which structures were more dominant and other things of that nature. This was absolutely humiliating. Perhaps growing up as a gifted kid was the worst thing that could’ve happened to you.

With a frown permanently etched on your face, you glance over at your tablemate’s notes. He had messily scrawled examples of those damn Lewis Structures covering the sheet, eyes flickering back and forth between his notebook and the projector at the front of the lecture hall. Oh how badly you wished to be in his shoes, to decipher everything and anything to do with the dot structures presented to you.

Ji Changmin was by no means a genius. His intelligence levels were above average, but that was still below you. How could he understand this better than you? It made no sense. Then again, he was close friends with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. That had to be the reason why. His friend was practically the Einstein reincarnate.

This meant that you couldn’t even express your difficulties with him either. Chanhee no doubtedly knew that you sat beside his friend. If you asked for his help, it would obviously circle back to him and you’d never hear the end of it. You’d never unhear the taunting voice of Choi Chanhee teasing you for asking Ji Changmin for assistance with fucking Lewis Structures. There really was no winning here.

As the lecture draws to a close and your professor reminds you to study for the fast approaching midterm, Changmin clears his throat beside you with a raised eyebrow. You look at him with thinly concealed surprise. So much for being subtle.

“I saw you looking at my notes,” he snorts. “You know, if you’re having a hard time with this chapter, you should just go to the tutoring lab. I’m assuming you haven’t because Chanhee hasn’t gloated about it yet. But if you were curious, he won’t be there today. He has to go to some meeting for the newspaper. You know that guy’s got like ten different clubs he’s a part of.”

You’re not sure why Ji Changmin would be on your side with this. In fact, it kind of makes you skeptical. You didn’t know how credible he was, so why would you trust this information? For all you knew, he could’ve been attempting to lure you right into a trap. However, despite the bit of laughter he exhibited, he didn’t appear to be lying. You were usually a pretty good judge of character.

That’s how you found yourself showing up to the tutoring lab later that evening.

It was located inside of the STEM building on the fourth floor, along with some of the offices belonging to several professors. You chose to go later at night with the knowledge that most students would be gone by that time. The lab was available for use until 9 PM on weekdays, and it was currently 8 PM.

Your grip on the strap of your bag tightens as you push open the see-through glass door of the lab, grateful for the evident emptiness. Though it also worries you, because there were no tutors around either. Maybe the slowness of a Thursday evening encouraged them to head home early. You decide to wait a few minutes anyway, just in case someone shows up.

That was, unfortunately, a very big mistake. As you’re pulling out your notes and textbook, you hear the low creak of the door opening. You think you might keel over and die when you’re suddenly face to face with The Choi Chanhee.

His lips curl up almost menacingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well well well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Shut the fuck up,” your teeth grit together. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting or something? Why are you here?”

“Ended early,” he shrugs. “The tutors have a habit of leaving prematurely when I’m not around, so I wanted to see if there was anyone here. Guess it’s my lucky day, huh?”

This dude was a walking headache for real. You were seriously going to walk out of the lab with a migraine if he kept talking like he was so fucking smart. He was, but he didn’t need to know that you thought that. His own ego was large enough without you inflating it even more.

“I’m going home.” You state simply, mouth drawn in a straight line. You didn’t have the patience for his aggravating ass tonight.

“Am I really that horrible that you won’t accept my aid? I heard that you’ve been having problems with Lewis Structures. I may like to joke around, but I’m not really a masochist who likes to watch people suffer,” Chanhee chuckles with a shake of his head. “You’re just so easy to rile up.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, avoiding his piercing gaze. “But fine. If you’re actually gonna help me, I’ll let you just this once. I can’t afford to have this cost me a perfect midterm grade.”

He grins, something that looks conniving. You hate how much more attractive it makes him. You were thankful again for the fact that there were no other students present. It was embarrassing enough to be seen being civil with the worst person in the world.

Chanhee takes the seat beside you, turning it so he’s facing you. You keep your body squared to the table, flipping your textbook to the page on Lewis Structures and preparing a fresh sheet in your notebook. You feel your cheeks warm up with the attention on you, his arms still folded in front of him.

“S-So I don’t get the— um— I don’t— uh— I don’t understand the dominant— the dominant bonds,” your eyes squeeze shut, mortified by the amount of stuttering and fumbling over your words. “How do you— um— how do you determine them?”

He smiles at how cute you are, a shy side of you he’s never seen before. He was so used to you constantly arguing with him, used to you standing your ground and competing with him even when you knew he’d come out on top. He places an arm on the back of your chair, leaning in to read what was in your textbook although he didn’t need to. He just wanted an excuse to get closer to you.

“So you’re gonna want your formal charge to be as close to zero as possible. In order to calculate that, you’ll have to subtract the number of bonds divided by two and the number of electron pairs from the total number of valence electrons per individual atom,” Chanhee explains, pointing at the formula on the page. “How about I give you a couple examples to work on?”

You nod slowly, afraid your voice might betray you again. He jots down a few molecular examples on your notebook, pausing for a moment to nip at his lip and examine you. You blink, a little confused by the action.

“What are you doing?” There’s a slight crack in your tone.

“I have an idea,” he licks his lips. “To make this more rewarding for us both.”

Your brows furrow, his response further perplexing you. One of his hands situates itself on your thigh, your eyes widening. Of all days to wear a skirt, why did you have to choose today? You glance between his face and his hand, lips parted.

“Ch-Chanhee?”

“Yes, pretty?”

You don’t know why the nickname has your upper and lower heartbeats skipping, sweat forming on your palms. You’d always been too preoccupied despising him for being so much better at everything than you were. But right now, his fingers creeping beneath the denim of your skirt, all of that seemed to fly out of the window. You gasp as his fingertips reach the lace of your panties.

“I can make you feel good,” he says into your ear, thumb massaging your thigh. “I can make this worth your while if you do well for me.”

He was giving you fucking whiplash. One second he was teasing you for coming to the tutoring lab, and the next he was trying to coax you into coming quite literally. You think you’re the insane one, however, because you can’t conjure a logical reason to say no.

“Okay,” you breathe, shakily picking up your mechanical pencil. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

You begin to work on the first molecule he wrote out, trying to ignore his slender fingers pushing aside your underwear and rubbing your clit gently. Your bottom lip quivers when his lips make contact with your neck, kissing up and down softly with each circle of his phalanges on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Chanhee presses two fingers inside of your cunt, smiling against your skin when you whimper, nearly dropping your pencil. You fight back tears threatening to spill from your eyes due to lack of reaction, his digits so skilled at working your pussy and looping that knot in your abdomen. Your legs spread wider as you attempt to finish the first example as quickly as possible, so he can knock you over that edge that seems so close now.

“D-Done,” you shiver, lids almost fluttering shut from pure bliss.

Chanhee judges your answer, fingers halting their movements when he recognizes an error. You whine, that taste of sweet release pulled right from under you like a rug. He tsks, kissing your temple as if he hadn’t just denied you an orgasm.

“That’s not the dominant structure. Try again.” He instructs, not continuing until you’ve picked up the pencil and rewrote the Lewis Structure.

You ignore his palm applying pressure to your clit as his fingers thrust in and out of your drooling cunt, lips sucking at the exposed base of your neck, where it meets your shoulder. Your focus zeroes in on completing this structure correctly, rearranging the electron bonds until they’re right. You feel your climax returning when he praises you for getting it this time.

“Such a smart girl,” he murmurs into your collarbone. “Now do the other one.”

He doesn’t stop his assault, increasing the pace of his fingers while you scribble out numbers and draw electron pairs. Your orgasm inches towards you, like a freight train going at full speed. Chanhee curls his middle finger, tripping you up and causing you to write down a wrong number on accident. Ever the perceptive, he relaxes his wrist and retracts his hand, the band in your stomach loosening along with it.

“Please, Chanhee,” you cry, tears beginning to roll down your cheeks. “Need to cum so bad.”

“Mm-mm,” he scolds. “Not until you finish the structure properly. C’mon, I know you can be a good girl for me.”

You force yourself to persevere, bottom lip between your teeth when he slips his fingers back into your pussy. Pretending like you weren’t on the cusp of euphoria was making you dizzy, but it was necessary if you wanted to reach it completely. You couldn’t handle a third denial.

Chanhee speeds up his fingers, adding his thumb on your clit for extra stimulation. It was like he did enjoy watching you suffer. Perhaps he really was a masochist. You scrawl the last electron bond of the structure, releasing the pencil from your grasp and throwing your head back with a low whine. He hums in appreciation at a job well done.

“Oh my god,” you moan softly, looking down at where his hand disappears in your skirt. “Feels s-so good.”

“Yeah?” Chanhee goads, peppering kisses on your jaw and nibbling at your pulse point. “Ready to cum for me, pretty? Gonna cum all over my fingers?”

You can’t even reply, his cocky voice filling your head as he finally permits your orgasm, walls convulsing and clenching around his digits with a wail. It hasn’t even occurred to you that you’re in a very public, very open space, where anyone could walk in at any given moment. Your brain is too foggy from your overstimulated cunt and the comprehension that Choi Chanhee just fucking fingered you to even consider the consequences of the location.

It only takes a few seconds for you to come to, your body catching up with your head. You look at Chanhee with eyes resembling those of a prey cornered by its predator.

“Why is your hand still inside my skirt?”

“‘S warm down there,” he shrugs with a sly smile. “Besides, I’m not really done with you yet.”

“What are you talking about…?” You trail off, throat dry from how winded this guy was making you.

“You still need some practice before your midterm, no? And I kinda wanna see how pretty you look under me.”

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz smut #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz smut #the boyz chanhee #the boyz new #tbz chanhee #tbz new #choi chanhee x reader #choi chanhee smut #chanhee x reader #chanhee smut #juyeonszn #fawntober.2023🎃

223 notes · View notes

luffyvace · 2 months

Text

Ciel Phantomhive relationship hcs~

He looks so goood in the new artsyle! The animation studio did black butler justice!!

gonna do undertaker and Alois next maybe Sebastian too 😉

Okay in these hcs your whatever gender you want but your an earl/noble ;}

also Lizzy is your friend and she introduced you to Ciel

okay now that that’s cleared

when Ciel first met you let’s be honest here he probably didn’t fall head over heels in love with you 🗿

cmon guys let’s be realistic

but he certainly did live up to the expectation of the phantomhive hospitality!

he was very thoughtful and caring of you as his guest~

and your comfort definitely took priority!

your were throughly impressed!

he held a small smile as he chatted with you and gave a mini tour

he admits to himself he finds you to be very beautiful/handsome

onwards to after the courtship! :)

when you first start dating it’ll be the phantomhive hospitality all over again

…times 100.

Sebastian might as well be your butler by the way he’s making your butler/maid look

LOL

your pillows are fluffed and your sheets and blankets are warm and clean each day

(thanks mey rin 💗🗣)

the food is always scrumdidiliumstious (scrumptious)

you play many, many games to keep you from being bored

any drink you want is in your grasp

whatever you want to do—as long as Ciel’s not busy—sounds wonderful to him! 😊

if you annoy him like how Lizzy does in the anime you’ll never hear of it

and I mean- don’t get me wrong he’s not perfect

especially not someone such as him, who has a lot of stress on him

so you might here a huff (that you weren’t supposed to hear)

but he’s sure to make it up to you quickly 💖

his love languages are acts of service and gift giving

half because those two things can be materialistic which ngl is kinda easier for him

particularly when it comes to showing love and affection

and half because he feels really good when he gifts you something you love

even if you don’t have a grand reaction he still feels satisfied

and acts of service is easy too!

he can simply tell Sebastian to do whatever it is you want!

even though you have your own butler/maid- 😃

AHAHHAHA

He most certainly won’t like pda

If you initate it he won’t shove you off obviously

he loves you!

and that’ll ruin his reputation!

but when your back at the manor he’ll gently break it to you that he’s not comfortable with it and it’s not that he doesn’t love you it’s just that!-

he also plays it very safe when it comes to what you do in the public eye

everyones looking for him to screw up

Even more so because he’s so young

to which he always make sure to use utmost care and delicacy when out and about with you

honestly I feel Ciel would like someone who’s a bit more patient or calm

at least don’t be bouncing off the walls 😞😭

he enjoys going on walks in his or your garden

I think he would be happy with traveling as well

somewhere relaxing and quiet

less bustling with chatter and carriages

It’d make a perfect anniversary gift for him *hint hint* 😉

even though I’m sure he’d have more than enough activities for you all planned

i know you two’ll work it out 💕

Ciel absolutely keeps you away. from Alois

he tells you who he is (some things) and all so you don’t get too curious

so please, don’t be curious.

that killed that cat! :P

Ciel would want you to try out Earl Gray but if you don’t like it he wouldn’t mind indulging in what you like 👍

Ciel doesn’t believe himself to be the best possible candidate for a partner out there

Even though he believes he needs to be. for you.

what you think?

when you hear the word ‘love’ he’s the first person that comes to mind ♥︎

:3 cute.

Yus undertaker next ♪( ´▽｀)

92 notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 5 months

Text

Where the Heart Is, Part 5 - Eddie Munson x Reader

Part 4

Summary: It’s your Spring Break and you and Eddie are headed out on a road trip. With a large looming question that you want to ask him hanging over your head, will you find a reason why you shouldn’t ask it, chicken out, or go through with it?

Note: I can’t believe it’s been almost a year since I started this story. Honestly, it was never supposed to be a series. I thought it would be a one and done cute little story. But I was amazed by the number of people who said they’d love to see a continuation, and now here we are! Part 5 is the last part, but rest assured, there will be a epilogue soon to come.

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), oral (m and f receiving), previously agreed upon somnophilia

Words: 17.5k

[Where the Heart Is masterlist]

The countdown to spring break is almost at its end. For you and Nancy, the timer headed for zero is just about to take its victory lap. Both you and your best friend have elected to take the Friday before break off, giving you a jumpstart on your vacation. The two of you only had one class each that day, and they were classes you could afford to skip.

This way, Nancy can catch an earlier flight back to Indianapolis and get started on her and Steve’s romantic little getaway to Chicago, and you and Eddie can get your road trip down the Atlantic coast started before some of that other Spring Break traffic weaves its way onto the major highways.

Bags are already packed and shoved into the corners of your respective dorms, only the essentials you’ll need for the night and in the morning not zipped away yet. Nancy has a pretty early flight out of Boston in the morning and Eddie’s catching the red eye in, so morning is going to come quickly for the three of you. You get to sleep in a little bit longer since Eddie is renting the car you’ll be taking on your road trip at the airport, then driving it down to pick you up on campus. You’d be a fool not to take advantage of those extra minutes of beauty sleep while awaiting your handsome prince to arrive with his chariot.

The dark morning will arrive sooner than either of you’d like, so it was decided that you and Nancy would have a nice, long dinner together in the dining hall before retiring to your dorms to relax and try to get some sleep. Realistically though, you knew you wouldn’t be able to relax until you triple checked you had everything packed that you needed, and even then, the excitement of seeing your boyfriend would keep you awake.

“How many bathing suits did you pack?” Nancy asks you as she drizzles the ranch dressing onto her salad. The dining hall is at about its usual capacity, just a bit louder than normal since everyone is high on the prospect of their impending freedom.

“Three,” you answer Nancy as you spear a rogue grape with your fork. “I had two that I brought with me to school, then that one I got when we went to the mall together the other week.”

“Oh yeah,” Nancy says. Even looking down at her plate full of colorful salad can’t hide the smirk Nancy’s got going on. “That was a great buy.”

“Because you picked it out,” you say through a laugh.

“And Eddie will thank me.” She gives you an innocent shrug of her shoulders and stuffs some lettuce and spinach in her mouth.

The heat in your cheeks increases even as you shake your head at your friend in amusement. The two-piece did look good on you, though. It’s hard for you to admit when something—especially a bathing suit—looks good on you, but Nancy did well picking this one out for you.

“What about you?” you ask Nancy, eager to have the conversation turned away from you. “Enough dresses for all that fancy schmancy Stancy stuff you’re going to be doing?”

Nancy breaks into giggles at your words, the rhyming scheme including the amalgamation of her and her boyfriend’s names being the cherry on top.

“Yes,” she finally answers when she’s able to speak coherently. “I’ve got some nice outfits with me. But you make it seem like we’re going to the opera and Windsor Castle. It’s just Chicago. Theatres and restaurants and lots of rats walking down the roads.”

“Make sure to tell them that their pizza is too thick there,” you say, making Nancy roll her eyes.

“I’m not getting into a fight about pizza in Chicago—I’d like to make it to sophomore year here, you know.”

“And away from that friggin’ asylum,” you say, jabbing a fork over your shoulder, in the general direction of where your dorm building is.

“Yes, thank God,” Nancy concurs with a sigh of relief. She pops a cherry tomato and a basil croton into her mouth and looks as though she’s deliberating something while she chews. “So, when are you going to ask him?”

You knew the question was coming but that doesn’t make you any less twitchy when you hear it.

“I don’t know,” you admit, eyes suddenly finding the fruits and cheeses that roll around your plate interesting. “I’m nervous…”

It’s not until Nancy reaches over and places her hand on top of yours that you realize you’ve been shaking.

“Hey,” Nancy starts softly, ducking her head so she can meet your gaze and give you a comforting smile. “You’re just letting him know it’s an option. You’re not forcing him into anything.”

“I know,” you answer softly. And you do. The fact that it’s a big step is what’s been circling your brain as of late. Would he want it? Would he be ready for it? Are you ready for it? It’s these questions and more that plague your mind every time you try to sleep at night. Yet with all those hours spent pondering, an answer still never comes to you.

The early spring night still has a bit of a chill to it as you and Nancy make the journey from the dining hall back to your dorm building. The two of you part at your room, hugging one another tight enough to potentially cut off some air supply.

“I want to hear about everything when we get back,” Nancy says. She pauses for a moment before amending her statement. “I want to hear about almost everything.” The smirk she gives you has you playfully swatting at her and shooing her down the hall towards her room.

“Bye!” Nancy calls as she rounds the corner.

The warmth of your dorm room envelops you as you step inside, and triple check your luggage yet again to make sure you have everything you’ll need on your trip. Once you’re satisfied, you pop your VHS tape of Grease into the VCR and curl up in your bed.

Listening to Frankie Valli sing Grease is the Word is the last thing you remember before you drift off, drooling on your pillow.

Usually when your alarm wakes you up all you want is to shut it up for at least another hour. But today, the overly shrill chirp has you bright-eyed and bushy tailed as soon as you hear it. It signals that it’s time to see Eddie, which is the best wake up call you could possibly ask for.

You’re pretty sure you get dressed in record time and nearly trip over your own feet as you shuffle to grab your duffel bag and throw the strap over your shoulder. The stuffed backpack that looks like it’s about to burst at the seams gets balanced precariously on your shoulder as you snatch your keys up from your desk.

No one told the elevator that you’re supposed to be meeting your boyfriend now, so it takes a year and a day for it to finally ding and let you know it’s ready to take you downstairs. If you weren’t carrying enough to inevitably make you trip down the stairs, you would’ve hoofed it down to the ground floor by now.

The cool spring morning air greets your skin, and your eyes hungrily search for the familiar mop of curly hair you’ve been dying to see. When your eyes finally catch on him standing near the curb, you have to do a double take. There he stands, handsome as ever with that million-watt smile and intoxicating eyes. But you were expecting to see him standing next to a car, not a van. It’s about the same size as the one he has back in Hawkins, only this one isn’t in dire need of a tune up and a wash.

Smile never leaving your face, your eyebrows pinch together in confusion as you walk towards him. He meets you halfway and takes the bags from you, setting them on the sidewalk before yanking you into his arms and holding you tight against his chest.

“God, I fucking missed you,” Eddie mumbles into your hair.

Instinctively, your arms wrap around his lithe waist, a giddy giggle bursting out of you at being in your boyfriend’s embrace once more. It feels simultaneously like just yesterday and a year since you’ve seen him.

“Hi, handsome,” you speak into his neck as you burrow your head there. The familiar scent of cigarettes, a hint of weed, and what can only be described as Eddie floods your senses and it almost brings you to tears how happy you are to be with him again.

“Hi, my gorgeous girl.” Reluctantly, Eddie pulls back, only so he can cup your cheeks in his large ringed hands and press the sweetest and most seductive of kisses to your lips. It’s almost enough to have your knees buckling right then and there in front of your dorm building.

As you slowly recover from the kiss, your eyes are drawn back to the blue and silver van parked a few feet away from you. It’s oddly reminiscent of Scooby Doo’s Mystery Machine.

“I thought you were getting a car, baby,” you say as you pick your backpack off the ground.

“Well,” he says as he hefts the strap of your duffle bag over his shoulder, “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Surprise me?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you follow Eddie over to the vehicle.

He yanks open the back door of the van and your jaw drops at the sight. It’s piled with so many pillows and blankets that it looks like he robbed a Bed, Bath, & Beyond. They’re all illuminated in an array of colors as well, as Eddie has clipped multi-colored Christmas lights up around the rim of the ceiling. It looks like the perfect little haven made for just you and Eddie.

“For one,” Eddie says as he shoves your bag over to the side where his are, “it’s cheaper than getting a place to stay every night. Two, it’s uh, cozier.” The mischievous glimmer in his eye has you smiling.

“Cozier, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says as you drop your backpack in the back of the van as well. “More private. Just you and me, cuddled up close. We can even open the door and look at the stars…until we lock ourselves in for the night.”

“I like the way you think, Munson.” You slip your arms around his neck, and he wastes no time wrapping his around your waist.

“Glad to hear it, baby. Let’s see what other fun ideas I can come up with on this trip.”

The first stop before you really get on the road is the grocery store. You quickly realize that Eddie intends to have more food in the van than actual luggage.

“Eddie,” you admonish with a laugh as you peer inside the cart. “If you buy one more bag of chips there isn’t going to be any room for us in the van.”

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Eddie says with a snap of his fingers. He turns down the next aisle, forcing you to follow in his wake. Your boyfriend snatches up a can of whipped cream and you’re not sure how he expects all the cold items you’re buying to fit into the small cooler you have.

“What is that even for?” you ask, eyes scanning for what the whipped cream could possibly be sprayed on top of.

“Oh, you’ll see.” Eddie playfully gives your ass a light smack before pushing the now-heavy cart toward the checkout counters.

Once the two of you officially commence on your road trip, you immediately realize you underestimated how hard being the navigator was going to be. The large map is stretched out across your lap and half of the dashboard. The sound of crinkling paper is a constant in the car as you fuss with the map, turning it this way and that to figure out how you’re supposed to be looking at it.

“Please don’t have us driving off a cliff,” Eddie begs. “I’d like for us to make it to North Carolina in one piece.”

“Cliffs? Nah. But will I inadvertently tell you to make a turn that leads us to Midtown Manhattan? Very possibly.”

“Why?”

“Les Miserables opened on Broadway not too long ago,” you say with a shrug.

Eddie lets out a guffaw of laughter and shakes his head. “Not until you and me go to see Metallica together, babe.”

Despite all the food the two of you just purchased, the first stop you make is at a diner in New Jersey for lunch. You’ve been on the road for about four hours and your legs are aching to move.

A long groan emanates from your throat as you hop out of the van and stretch every muscle that you possibly can. There’s a sign just down the road from the diner and if you squint, you can make out what it says.

“Welcome to Woodbridge. Cool, guess we’re in Woodbridge.”

Eddie knocks the driver’s side door of the van closed and walks over to your side. Pinching his thumb, forefinger, and middle fingers together and shaking them in front of him, Eddie says in the worst New Jersey accent that you’ve ever heard, “Welcome to Joisey!”

Lunch is a nice break from driving, but you two haven’t made it terribly far yet so you’re eager to get back on the road. Unfortunately, it isn’t long before the two of you drive right into the middle of a raging storm.

At first, you’re okay, just hoping the storm will pass by quickly and you’ll be in the clear. But it seems the further you get into it, the darker the skies get and the heavier the rain pounds against the windshield. A particularly loud clap of thunder makes you jump in your seat and let out a little yelp.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says, taking one hand off the wheel and reaching over to take one of yours. “It’s okay.”

You flinch and shake Eddie’s hand off of yours, the motion only making your anxiety worse.

“Please put both hands on the wheel!” you beg, voice wobbling.

“Okay,” Eddie says as he places his hands back at the ten and two positions. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t want to make it too obvious because you’d probably just yell at him to keep his eyes on the road. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

“I just…” you trail off, pausing to take a breath. “I don’t like driving in storms. It makes me really, really nervous.”

“All right,” Eddie says, purposely keeping his voice even and calm. “Look, that sign right there says there’s a rest stop in two miles. We’ll pull off there and wait for it to pass, okay?”

“O-Okay,” you stutter.

In your opinion, it takes an agonizingly long time to go those two miles. But finally, Eddie takes the exit for the rest stop and finds a parking space close to the picnic area—that is currently flooding. The thunder is still roaring above, and the rain sounds like a white noise, blocking out anything else.

“Hey, c’mere.” Eddie nods his head towards the back of the van and unbuckles his seatbelt. He maneuvers himself between his and your seats and manages to climb into the back. You take a deep breath and follow him, instantly falling into his open arms. Eddie grabs a blanket and wraps it around your body, holding you close against his chest. “I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay.”

“I-I know,” you sniffle.

Eddie presses a few kisses to the top of your head and rubs his hand up and down your arm soothingly. Being in the hollow bed of the van seems to make the echo of the thunder louder than it was while you were driving. The way you tense up even further in Eddie’s hold has him furrowing his brow. He reaches over and flicks the strings of Christmas lights on.

“You know, these are the ones we bought together,” he tells you. “When you came to stay for Christmas.”

“R-Really?” you ask, mildly trembling.

“Mhmm. Was worried security at the airport would question me about what I was doing with half a dozen strands of lights, but apparently, they have bigger problems.”

You give a huff of laughter in response, but Eddie can tell that it’s forced. His eyes scan the back of the van and land on his guitar case tucked up against the back of the driver’s seat. He unwraps one arm from you and reaches to bring it closer. Impressively, he unlatches the clasps with one hand and slips his guitar out.

“Here, princess.” Eddie gently moves you so you’re nuzzled up into a pile of blankets and settles the guitar in his lap. He clears his throat and starts to gently strum at the strings, plucking them harder to amp up the volume and hopefully distract you from the loud sounds of the storm.

It works. The more you focus on Eddie, both watching and listening to him, the calmer you feel yourself become. A small smile tugs at your lips when Eddie throws a wink your way. He plays and plays until his fingers start to cramp, the storm outside still trying to outshine him. With a sigh, Eddie sets his guitar back in the case and scoots over to you in the mass of blankets. He snuggles up into the pile with you and you curl into his side, laying your head right over his heart.

“Thank you,” you say, just loud enough to be heard over the rain.

“Of course, sweet girl.”

The rain somehow sounds soothing when you’re nestled up with Eddie. His hands softly trail over your body, relaxing you further.

Eddie looks down at you and a small smile curls the edges of his mouth when he sees your eyes growing heavy. He wracks his brain for a slow, soft song that could help lull you into a nap. Gently, Eddie lays his head against yours and begins to hum Open Arms by Journey. Before he can even finish the song, your eyes are fully closed, and your breathing has evened out. Eddie knows he won’t be able to move without waking you up, but he doesn’t mind one bit as he holds you in his arms. His right arm, left arm, hell, his whole body could fall asleep, but he still wouldn’t move a muscle.

The first thing you think as you start to wake up is how comfortable you are. Wrapped in soft blankets, strong arms around you, and your head resting on your boyfriend’s chest. Slowly, you open your eyes and blink them a few times, the multicolored little lights looking blurry to your adjusting eyes.

“Well, good morning.”

Stretching your muscles as much as you can in your cocoon of blankets, you tip your head up to give Eddie a sleepy smile.

“Mm, it’s not really morning, is it?” you ask, still somewhat groggy.

“No, it’s only been a couple of hours.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” you say. “Much more relaxed.” The source of your original anxiety comes back to you and only then do you realize that there’s no sound of wind, rain, thunder, or anything at all.

“Good.”

“Thank you for helping me,” you say as you sit up, letting Eddie move for the first time in hours.

“Always, baby,” he says as he shakes his arms out, trying to get the blood flowing again.

Slowly, you crawl over to peek out the front window from between the seats. You’d swear it was like there was never a single raindrop with how lovely it looks outside.

“The sun looks so pretty now,” you remark, squeezing one eye shut as the bright light hurts your still-sleepy eyes.

“Oh!” Eddie says with a snap of his fingers. “That reminds me.”

You turn your head over your shoulder to see Eddie rummaging through an old, red duffle bag emblazoned with the Marlboro insignia on the sign. The tip of his tongue pokes out in concentration as he continues his search, and you just sit back on your heels and watch him.

“What’re you look—”

“Aha!” Eddie raises his fist above his head in victory, accidentally bumping it against the roof. He lets out a small huff of pain as he zips the duffle closed with the other hand and turns to face you. “Come here.”

As best as you can in the cramped space, you turn and crawl on your knees in his direction. When you stop in front of him, you look up at him expectantly.

“Okay. I was a good dog and obeyed my command,” you tease. “Do I get a treat?”

“Actually…” Eddie trails off, a smirk spreading across his lips. “You do.” Eddie grabs one of your hands and holds it palm side up. He gently places a small black velvet bag in your hand, then curls your fingers around it.

“What’s this?” you ask when he releases your hands. You inspect the bag but there’s no name or any indication of where this came from or what it is.

“It’s called a gift.”

You glare at him from beneath your eyelashes before focusing on the object in your hands again.

“Smartass,” you mumble. Carefully, you open the bag and something tiny and silver tumbles out into your palm. You set the bag down and pinch the gift between two fingers to get a closer look at it. It’s a charm for your bracelet. A small sun stares back at you, shiny silver rays haloing the circle.

“You know,” Eddie says, voice unusually sheepish, as you inspect your present. “Since we’re going to the beach for Spring Break.”

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. Each charm on your bracelet stands for a special moment in your relationship with Eddie, and this is no different. The fact that he wants to commemorate these moments as much as you do gives you a fuzzy feeling far better than the cozy nap you just took. You lower the charm so you’re able to see your boyfriend’s beautiful face. “I love it. Thank you so much.”

Eddie catches you as you practically throw your body against his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his neck. Emotions aren’t always the easiest to express, but you hope that you’re conveying just how touched you are by the strength in which you’re holding onto him.

“Good,” Eddie says as he runs his hand up and down your back. “Do you want me to put it on you?”

“Yes!” Reluctantly, you let Eddie slip out of your arms and present your left wrist to him. He easily attaches the fourth charm to your bracelet, and it joins the music note, telephone, and “E” that already reside on your favorite piece of jewelry.

“There ya go,” Eddie says as he watches you admire your new addition.

“How did I get the sweetest boyfriend in the world?” you ask as you lean forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I guess you’re just that amazing, huh?” You feel his breath hit your lips as Eddie lets out a small chuckle. “Mm, what do you say we get back on the road?”

In your own perfect little bubble with Eddie right now, you forgot that the two of you were even headed somewhere. It even takes your mind a second to remember where, because it’s so filled with Eddie.

The beach, you remind yourself. We’re going to the beach in North Carolina because Eddie’s never seen the ocean and that’s another “first” checked off his list.

“Yeah, I guess we should.” As you climb back into the passenger seat, you notice the clock on the dashboard. There’s a slight grimace on your face as you turn towards Eddie, who is buckling himself back into the driver’s seat. “I don’t think we’ll get there by sundown.”

Eddie’s eyes go from the clock, to the meticulously positioned map on the dash, then to you.

“Nah, we’re too far out,” he agrees. “We don’t want to push ourselves and we’re not in a hurry. How about we drive a little more for today, then see if we can find a place to park it for the night?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

There’s no more bad weather as you drive down the interstate. The skies are bright blue and powdery clouds float by from time to time. There isn’t much to look at outside the windows, as the highway is surrounded by woods on both sides. Watching pine tree after pine tree go by in a blur can only entertain someone for so long. Occasionally, you’ll see a deer or two out at the edge of the trees, and you squeal in delight each time. It startled Eddie the first couple of times, but he finds your enthusiasm and joy so endearing that he doesn’t care one bit.

The road stretches on ahead of you, seeming like it will never stop; you’ll be passing the same handful of cars forever until you collectively fall off the edge of the earth. There are signs for exits every few miles, but nothing more interesting than some fast food, gas stations, and hotels.

The dimmer the sun’s light becomes in the sky, the more you pay attention to the signs you’re passing. Maybe there will be a campsite or a rest stop where you’ll be able to spend the night. But the further you drive, the more agitated you become at not seeing a suitable place for you to stop. Just as you’re about to tip from agitation into anger though, you pass a sign that gives you an idea.

“Hey, Eds? Try taking this exit here,” you say.

“You see something?” he asks as he checks his mirrors to make sure he can safely switch lanes.

“Yeah, something that might work.”

As Eddie pulls the van off onto the exit ramp, you keep your eyes peeled for a sign of which direction to go now. A blue sign with an arrow pointing right comes into view and you nod your head in that direction.

“This way.”

“Uh, babe?” Eddie says as he pulls out onto the highway. “This seems like a busy little area. I don’t think there’s gonna be any campsites or rest stops down here.”

“Well, apparently there aren’t any on this stretch of the east coast,” you sigh. “But, no, I had an idea. Just keep going this way.”

Eddie has no idea what you could have come up with, but he trusts you, so he follows your directions.

Just after driving two miles down the road, you spot it.

“Ah, there!” You point to the tall building that seems to rule over all the smaller buildings surrounding it.

“A hospital?” Eddie asks. He furrows his eyebrows as he looks at the building, sure he must be wrong about what this place is. But no, there it is on the sign: Mary Washington Hospital. “Why are we at a hospital?”

“Well, think about it,” you say with a shrug. “People are parked at hospitals all hours of the day. It’s not uncommon—especially in front of the emergency room—for families to wait in their car when they’re waiting on someone who’s being seen inside. There are security guards around and it’s pretty well lit, so it’s safe. We’ll just need to hang one of the blankets up to block out any light from coming in through the front windshield.”

Eddie can’t help but smile as he listens to your reasoning. He’s always known how smart you are, but sometimes the overt cleverness sneaks up and takes him by surprise.

“That is so smart, sweetheart. And we could always walk in and use the public bathrooms in there,” he adds.

“Exactly! And…” you trail off as you try to crane your neck around the area. “Aha! A McDonald’s just across the street. Food and more bathrooms there.”

The van pulls into the parking lot of the hospital and you both decide it’s better to park in the emergency room parking lot, though nowhere close to the building because that’s for people who come here with actual emergencies.

“All right,” Eddie says as he puts the van into park. “Hungry?”

“A little, yeah,” you say.

“If only we had gummy worms,” Eddie laments, dramatically flopping his head back as if this lack of sugary treat has killed him.

“I’m so sorry the grocery store by my school didn’t have gummy worms, Eddie. When I get back, I’ll write a formal complaint.”

Eddie peeks over at you and nods. “Tell them they’ve lost a customer forever.”

“I told you that you could’ve just gotten the gummy bears tho—”

“They are not the same!”

Once Eddie calms down about his lack of gelatin annelids, the two of you get out of the van and walk hand in hand to the crosswalk that will lead you across the street to McDonald’s. There was plenty of food in the van—minus what Eddie had already eaten through today—but, as Eddie pointed out, the van does not have French fries and McDonald’s does. It was a foolproof, winning argument.

The two of you decide to order for one another, pinky promising that whatever it is will come with fries. Eddie orders you a chicken nuggets meal, and knowing the size of his appetite, go with a Big Mac for him. Deciding that he wants to squeeze in on the same side of a booth as you, Eddie playfully squishes you between his body and the wall once you’ve chosen a table.

As much as you are enjoying your nuggets and fries, Eddie keeps distracting you every few minutes by resting his hand on your upper thigh. It causes you to almost spew soda out of your nose. Of course, this only makes it funnier to your boyfriend, who takes it as a sign to keep teasing you. Next, his arm “accidentally” brushes up against the side of your boob, which has you giving Eddie major side-eye as you bite into an overcooked, crispy fry. At one point, you look down to realize you have Big Mac Special Sauce both on the inseam of your pants and on the shoulder of your shirt. You can’t even recall one of his hands touching your shoulder at all. Leave it to Eddie to find a way, though.

After you’ve finished your dinners and probably overstayed your welcome at the table once all of your food was gone, you and Eddie take your time walking back to the van. It’s fully dark out by now, but as you’re right on a major highway, there are tons of lights around. There’s actually a bit of a glare between the lampposts, the car headlights, and all the lights illuminating from within the different shops and restaurants.

You stroll hand and hand up a few blocks, giggling together about nothing in particular, until you come to a stoplight and Eddie presses the button that alerts the crosswalk that you’re waiting there to cross the street.

“I don’t know about you,” Eddie whispers into your ear. There isn’t a need to whisper since there’s no one around, but you know his intentions when a shiver runs down your spine and he lets out a low chuckle. “But I think I’m ready to get back into the van. Hmm? Maybe spread some blankets out in the back? I’d say change into our pajamas, but I’d really prefer we wear nothing.”

“That sounds like a plan to me,” you say with a coy smile. A grin lights up Eddie’s face and it sends another shiver through you. You lace your fingers with his, soft skin meeting his rougher callouses, as the orange hand on the crosswalk sign fades into the white walking figure.

When you get back into the parking lot of the hospital, Eddie is practically skipping over to the van. An airy giggle escapes you when he yanks open the back door, bows, and gestures for you to go inside. He climbs in after you and makes sure the back doors are securely closed and slides the lock into place.

“Just you and me now, baby,” Eddie says as he turns towards you.

“Whatever shall we do?” you ponder with an over exaggerated shrug and shake of your head.

“Well,” Eddie says as he gets on his hands and knees. It’s amusing to see him crawling in the small space, blankets and luggage getting knocked around. “First thing we gotta do is hang a sheet up separating us from the front seats. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna let anyone who might be passing by get a glimpse of my girl in a compromising position. Oh, no. That’s all for me.” He practically purrs the last word, and it has your toes curling in your shoes.

Eager to help him and get this show on the road, you grab a maroon sheet out of the massive pile of linens and hand one corner to Eddie. He reaches up and touches the ceiling right behind the passenger seat. The strands of lights are being held up by tacks and it’s easy for Eddie to finagle one to hold up the sheet as well. After watching how he did it, you copy Eddie’s actions and hang the curtain up on the driver’s side.

Eddie purses his lips and plucks out one more tack that wasn’t necessary for the lights and uses it to fasten the middle of the sheet to the roof.

“Perfect,” you say. Now no one can see the two of you back there, and you’ll be protected from the sun coming in and blinding you in the morning.

The blankets scattered around the bottom of the van have shifted and bunched into piles from the way you and Eddie had been moving around. Trying the best he can in the cramped space, your boyfriend layers the thickest of the blankets one on top of another to provide some cushion for the two of you to lay on. You toss some of the pillows up towards the front of the van and they land with a light thump, brushing against the curtain.

Eddie is still inspecting the blankets around him, but you’ve decided it’s been long enough, and you’ve run out of patience. With no preamble, you whip your shirt off over your head and toss it in the general direction of your duffle bag. That certainly gets Eddie’s attention. His eyes are drawn to you like moths to a porch light. Hungrily, he looks you up and down, finding every bit of you even sexier than the last.

“Pants,” he growls. Who are you to deny him? It’s difficult in the limited space, but you manage to slide your jeans off and lay down on the downy bed of blankets.

Eddie’s own shirt joins yours, tossed aside as he crawls over you and hovers his body mere inches above your skin. He’s so close yet way too far away.

“Pants,” you repeat his command.

A cocky smirk grows on his plush pink lips, but he does as you say. He balances his body weight on one forearm while undoing his handcuff belt and fly with his other hand. The way he wiggles his hips to get the jeans off has you getting even wetter than you already were. His eyes glance down first at your bra and panties, then his own boxers that are covering his burgeoning erection.

“I suppose you want me naked now, huh?” he asks.

“No.” The smug smile along with the unexpected word has Eddie furrowing his brow in confusion. “I believe I requested you bring a certain piece of clothing with you on this trip?”

It takes Eddie a moment but when he realizes what you mean, he gives a playful roll of his eyes and chuckles.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it,” he feigns annoyance as he reaches over for one of his bags that is just beyond your head. How he’s doing this all with one hand is both impressive and hot. The muscles of the left arm ripple and move beneath his pale skin as that limb holds the weight of his entire torso up.

Completely on purpose, Eddie pulls the hockey jersey out of his bag and lets it fall flat on your face. The peal of your laughter makes him smile as he slowly pulls the rough material down, letting it reveal you bit by bit. First, the hair, then the eyebrows, then your eyes that shine as they meet his.

“I really think you should dress up as a fairy or a hot elf for me since I’m doing this for you,” Eddie says as he slips the Boston Bruins jersey over his head. Silently, you wonder if he’s worn it at all since the two of you bought the jerseys together in Boston. Anytime you watched a game on that tiny little screen in your dorm, you’d wear yours.

Eddie brings your attention back to the present as you watch him kick his boxers off and resettle himself over you.

“Noted,” you reply to his comment, already thinking of places to look for such an outfit.

“Ready to be fucked by a hockey player?” Eddie teases as he reaches down and lets two of his fingers dip below the waistband of your panties.

“Mm, no.” It’s hard to focus on your words when Eddie’s hands are desperately close to where you need them to be. “I-I’m ready to be fucked by my hot as fuck boyfriend while he wears a hockey jersey.”

A self-satisfied smirk graces Eddie’s features as he brings his body back down to hover over yours.

“You’re still wearing too much,” he whispers, his breath tickling your lips.

“Let me fix that, then.” You arch your back just enough to unhook your bra, and Eddie is happy to help you slip it off your arms and all the way off. The panties are tricky since Eddie’s body is so close to yours, but writhing your body just right gets the trick done—as well as turn your boyfriend on even more.

Eddie dips his head and starts leaving a trail of barely-there kisses from the curve of your shoulder all the way up to your jaw. Tension you weren’t even aware you had releases from your body, melting away under his touch. Soft lips climb to behind your ear, causing you to let out a shaky breath. You’re so busy focusing on the feeling of Eddie up near your head that you’re taken by surprise as your boyfriend presses his hips down against yours, pinning your pelvis between him and the blankets.

“Fuck,” you whine out as his hard cock presses up against your thigh.

“Mmm, what’s the matter, baby?” Eddie croons in your ear.

You’re tempted to play the brat; tell him that nothing is wrong and pretend he’s not driving you as wild as he is. But it’s been far too long since you’ve seen him–you can play games later, now you just need him.

“Please, Eddie,” you plead, voice edging on desperate.

“Please what?” You can practically hear him smirking against your skin.

“D-Don’t tease me. Not now,” you beg.

“You just need me that bad, huh?” Eddie knows he’s playing a dangerous game; he needs to be inside of you. But he loves getting you all worked up. The way you whine and writhe beneath him is addicting, and Eddie looks forward to when he can tease you like this for as long as he’d like. For now, though, he’ll pretend to give in to you.

“I gotcha baby, don’t worry,” he says softly, sending a pleasant tingle throughout your body.

A large hand grips your hip and gives it a gentle squeeze before he slides his fingers underneath your thigh and hikes your leg up. Letting that hand slip down to your core, Eddie drags two fingers through your folds. He lifts his head up so he’s able to look you in the eye. The cocky look on his face shouldn’t be as sexy as it is.

“Already drenched for me, aren’t ya, Princess?” Without giving you time to answer, his fingers disappear, and he brings them up to his mouth. “So fucking good.” He makes sure to lick all of your arousal off before leaning in and capturing your mouth with his own.

The moan you make is muffled against his lips as his tongue darts out for a taste of you–of your mouth this time. Your hitched up leg wraps around Eddie’s hips, which causes his cock to brush right over your clit. Instinctively, your hands reach up and grab onto Eddie’s shoulders, fisting the material of the jersey. The pressure with which you’re hanging on to him is sure to leave a number of bruises on his shoulder blades in the morning.

Eddie cups your face as he deepens the kiss, letting his tongue explore every inch of your mouth that he’s missed for so long. All the time apart just makes him even more grateful that you’re here in his arms now. Every ounce of yearning and love is conveyed through the kiss, both of you understanding all of this without a word needing to be spoken. The safety and security you find in one another leaves you sure beyond a doubt that Eddie’s soul is tied to yours. Wrapped up in a bright red bow, double knotted, never to come undone.

Feeling like a branding iron on your skin, Eddie slides his hand down from your cheek, trailing over your shoulder, breast, tummy, then down between your legs. Your back arches up into the scratchy material above you, reacting to the feeling of Eddie positioning himself at your entrance. The pleasurable stretch as he pushes into you has you clinging to the man you love, bliss overtaking you at the joining of your bodies again.

Only the way your lungs begin to feel on fire could have you pulling away from Eddie’s mouth. You gulp down air as he bottoms out. Frizzy curls tickle your neck and chin as your boyfriend’s head drops down to your shoulder. His grunts and groans as he pulls almost all the way out are music to your ears.

“Feel so good,” you mumble into his hair.

“God, you too, Princess.” The two of you moan in tandem as he thrusts back into you. “So fucking perfect.”

“Missed this. Missed you.”

A low chuckle rumbles out of his chest. “You’re stuck with me for the next week. And in pretty close quarters.”

“Good,” you say, wrapping your other leg around Eddie’s. “Want you close as possible.”

“Don’t think we can get much closer than this—oh, fuck, you’re so tight.”

“This. Off. Now.” Your words are stilted and choppy as you tug on the hem of the jersey. He looked hot in it and fucked you in it, but now it’s time to see him fully naked, scars and all.

He obeys, quickly shedding himself of the clothing before dipping back down and gently nipping at your neck.

You lick over your lips as Eddie picks his head back up, staring into your eyes as his hips begin to move back and forth, rocking your bodies together with every breath he takes.

The way those big brown eyes never leave yours, even for a second, makes this moment all the hotter. The drag of Eddie’s cock against your walls as he stares into your soul, seeing every little part of you, has you feeling lightheaded with joy.

“I love you,” you breathe out more than speak.

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

Eddie gives a few more slow and steady thrusts before he begins to pick up the pace. Whimpers tumble out of your mouth, your eyes squeezing shut as Eddie pounds into you again and again and again. He slightly adjusts the angle of his hips and that causes him to hit that special spot inside of you just right.

“Yes!” Your shout echoes around the hollow van, but neither of you care. If your eyes could roll so far back they’d fall into your brain, they would right now as Eddie leads you to pure ecstasy. A particularly hard slam of his hips against yours causes your walls to clench around Eddie’s cock, evidence of just how incredible he’s making you feel.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie moans, throwing his head back. He closes his eyes as his teeth gnash at his bottom lip. “So tight, so wet.” When your walls give another spasm at his words, Eddie knows what direction to take this dirty talk in. “Oh, you love when I praise your pussy, don’t you, baby?”

The only response you’re capable of is a feeble nod of the head. It’s not enough of a reaction for Eddie though, so he keeps going.

“Such a perfect fucking pussy. God, so fucking pretty and it tastes even better. Do you know I thought about that every day?” Eddie smirks when you look up at him, eyes blown out, lost in lust. “It’s true,” he continues. “I’d come home from work and wrap my hand around my cock. Think about how unbelievably good you taste, baby. Such a sweet fucking pussy. And it’s all mine, right? Say it. Fucking say it’s all mine.”

“I-It’s all yours,” you stutter.

“Goddamn right.”

A fingertip gently presses against your throat, and you look up at Eddie, his hair swaying back and forth with every rock of his hips. The rough calloused finger slowly and delicately trails up your neck, the curve up to your chin as you tilt your head up, and finally stops right beneath the edge of your chin. Eddie has positioned your head so you’re looking directly in his eyes. The look that finds you there is possessive, protective, and a little domineering. It almost makes you cum on the spot.

“That’s my good girl.”

“Oh fuck, Eddie, I’m gonna cum.”

A triumphant smile graces his pretty lips. It only seemed fair to him to go for your weakness, with how you clenching around him already brought him so close to finishing. He needed to even the score.

“Gonna cum with me, yeah?” Eddie asks. Fuck, you better hurry up then, he thinks.

“Y-Yes, Eddie.” You nod your head and slide your hands up until your fingers tangle in his hair. The feeling of his curls wrapping around your fingers is something you missed almost as much as having sex with him.

“Good girl,” Eddie praises again, only nudging you further towards the end of the cliff.

“I can’t last m-much longer,” you moan and Eddie silently thanks God. He knows he’s about thirty seconds from bursting.

“Okay, baby. Come on. Cum for me.”

With one last cant of his hips, the spark catches. The feeling of his warm releasing coating your walls only intensifies your own orgasm. Breath gets caught in your chest as the wave washes over you. Eddie’s hips keep pumping throughout it, but once he’s spent, he feels like he can’t move a muscle.

You lay there beneath him, watching his chest rise and fall and the small beads of sweat sliding down his chest. He looks so perfect like this. At that moment, you realize this is a sight that will forever be stored in your memory. Spent and happy, tired yet exhilarated. What makes it even better is that it’s because of you. This is far from the first time you’ve slept together but it’s still a dizzying, mystifying thought that it’s you that makes this beautiful, wonderful man feel so good. God, how you wish he never had to pull out of you.

As if not wanting that contact between the two of you to end either, Eddie leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead before resting his own forehead against it.

“Stay here,” you whisper.

“Where exactly do you think I’d go?” he whispers in reply, huffing a small laugh.

“No,” you say, only slightly louder. “Stay on top of me. Inside me.”

“Yeah?” Eddie looks at you in concern, his eyebrows pulling slightly together. “I’m not hurting you?”

“Very much the opposite,” you assure him with a smile.

“Okay.” Eddie slowly lowers until most of his weight is on top of you. He nuzzles his head into your neck, and you reach up to stroke his hair.

Both of you know he’ll just naturally slip out of you as his cock softens, but right now it feels so good to have a little extra time to be connected in this way.

“Love you, baby,” Eddie mumbles into your neck. From the slight slur of his speech, you know he’s falling headfirst into sleep. The yawn you let out tells you that you’re right behind him.

“I love you, too, handsome. Goodnight.”

A soft sound comes from Eddie, maybe a small groan of acknowledgment. But you chuckle to yourself because you know he’s already fast asleep.

When you wake up, you see that clearly you and Eddie move around much more in your sleep than you would’ve thought. The two of you are not even close to being in the same positions as when you fell asleep. Then, he was on top of you, and you were gently stroking his hair. Now, you’re on the blanket face down, laying on your tummy, and Eddie is sprawled out like a starfish, his left arm slung across your lower back.

There’s a pounding between your eyes that makes you wince; you notice now that you’re more fully awake. A sharp, stabbing headache radiates up to the very top of your head.

“Fuck,” you mutter.

“Hmm?” Eddie says, his head popping up like a daisy out of the ground. “Whasgoin on?” He pushes himself up onto his elbows and lets out the world’s longest yawn.

“I just woke up with a horrible headache.” You reach up on top of your head and try to put pressure on it, which sometimes will relieve your headaches. No dice this time.

Eddie frowns and tilts his head to the side. “I don’t think we bought aspirin at the grocery store.”

“Must be the one thing in the store you missed,” you joke, trying to smile through the pain.

“Oh, my girlfriend is so funny.” Eddie’s voice is monotone as he picks up a pillow and throws it at you–but he makes sure to steer clear of your head. “Come on. Let’s get dressed and we’ll find a pharmacy. Gotta be one on this road somewhere. Seems to have every other type of establishment.” Suddenly, Eddie perks up and his eyes widen. “Ooh! Do you think there’s a game shop where I can get some new dice?”

Slowly, with your hand still pressed against your skull, you lift your head up to stare him down.

He sighs and rolls his eyes in response.

“Well, no shit, after we get you some medicine.”

After you’ve washed down a few Advil with some orange Gatorade, Eddie does look up and down the main highway to see if there’s a place he can find a new D20—in your favorite color he assures you, trying to appeal to your less-than-happy state from the pain. He comes up empty, so he just figures he’ll get some souvenir dice somewhere in North Carolina.

When he pulls the van onto the main highway, he glances over at you and sees you resting your head back against the headrest with your eyes closed.

“Are you gonna try and get a little bit more sleep, babe?”

“No,” you say. “Just resting my eyes, trying to get rid of this headache.”

He reaches over and gives your thigh a quick squeeze of affection. A few silent minutes go by before Eddie clicks on the radio. All of the stations are unknown to him since this is a new area, so he turns the dial to scan through, looking for some music to suit his tastes. Shot in the Dark by Ozzy Osbourne comes in through some static and Eddie excitedly keeps the station on. He keeps it at a reasonably low volume, but it’s still enough to prick the pain pulsating behind your eyes.

“Eds, can we turn the music off? My head is pounding.”

Your boyfriend glances over at you before looking back at the road. He shifts in his seat before responding.

“Uh, it kind of helps me concentrate on the road, babe,” he says. “Cause like, yesterday we were talking, and it kept my mind focused. But the quiet, it um, makes me wander off.”

“Once the Advil kicks in, you can play it again.” Part of you realizes that his reasoning is solid and fair, but your annoyance tolerance is way down.

“Well, how long is that gonna take?” he asks.

“Jesus, Eddie,” you snap. “I’m not a doctor. It shouldn’t be too long. Just please.”

With an irritated huff, he smacks the button that turns the radio on and off. Silence fills the van and though it may be peaceful for your ailing head, the tension in the air makes you feel ill in a different way.

I know this is just a dumb little fight, you think to yourself. But what if we keep having dumb little fights? Will they add up and become bigger fights? What if we end up arguing more than speaking civilly to one another? Would this be what it’s like to be sharing the same space as him for a while? What if we don’t work together in any other way than seeing each other every few months? Shit, now I’m not sure if I should have the conversation with him about Boston. Nancy would be calling me a coward right about now, and she’s probably right. I’m blowing everything way out of proportion. Too many “what ifs.” But…what if I’m wrong? Thinking about all of this while my head is throbbing is not a great idea, anyway. Now my mind is wandering. Maybe Eddie had a point about the music.

Eventually, the pain in your head begins to ease, which brings another matter to your attention.

“Uh, Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we pull off at the next rest stop?”

“Yeah.”

The cold reply is well-deserved, but it still irks you. Refusing to be the one to break this new silence, you cross your arms over your chest and watch out the window, waiting impatiently to see a sign for your next respite.

Fortunately, it’s only about two miles up the road. Eddie parks into a spot close to the bathroom and you hop out without a word. Once he sees you disappear into the building, Eddie gets out of the van so he can stretch his legs. Long arms reach up high over his head to stretch out the other muscles in his body. He twists his torso and feels his back crack with a satisfying pop. His eyes catch on the vending machines as he’s facing the other way.

“Hmm,” he hums to himself as he walks over to it. Yes, there’s a ton of food in the van, but maybe Eddie can get one of your favorite candies for you. It’ll be like an olive branch.

A few minutes later, when you come out of the bathroom, your eyes catch on the vending machines across the way. Maybe a peace offering in the form of food would be the best way to make up. You secure the bag of Skittles and head back down to the van. Eddie sees you, his eyes drop down to your hands, and he lets out a laugh.

“Looks like you and I think alike,” Eddie says, brandishing a KitKat.

“I’m sorry I was crabby,” you say, sticking out your bottom lip. “Can I buy back your affection with some Skittles?”

Eddie pretends to consider it as he taps the chocolate bar against his chin thoughtfully.

“Okay. But only if you give me a kiss.”

“Done.”

You hand him his Skittles, he hands you your KitKat, and then you wrap your arms around his neck and lean into his body. The warm and safe feeling of him encircling your waist with his arms sends butterflies erupting from your belly.

“I love you,” you whisper before leaning in and pressing your lips firmly against his. The kiss is returned enthusiastically, and you can feel him smiling against your mouth.

“I love you, too,” he says once you part.

The sound of a child crying has the two of you separating. Eddie opens his mouth to say something when his eyes catch something over your shoulder.

“Hey,” Eddie says, but not to you. Gently releasing you from his grip, your boyfriend steps around you and crouches down to be at the level of a boy who can’t be more than five or six. “Are you okay?”

“I-I can’t find my mommy,” he says through the loudest sniffles you’ve ever heard. He rubs his eye with a small fist, his chest rising and falling quickly with his shallow breathing.

“Where’d you last see her?” Eddie asks.

The way Eddie tilts his head and speaks so softly and calmly to the child makes something inside your heart flutter. While there’s a little boy lost and crying in front of you, you do your best not to smile, though you’re suddenly filled with a strange sense of joy.

“Okay,” you hear your boyfriend respond to whatever it is the child said. He presses his hand against his own chest. “My name is Eddie. I’m sure we can find your mom.”

“Drew? Drew!”

A woman’s voice calls throughout the parking lot and your head turns in her direction.

“Are you Drew?” Eddie asks. When the little boy nods, Eddie smiles at him. “Then I think we found your mom. See? That was easy.”

You’re able to flag down the woman and let her know her son is about three cars down with your boyfriend. She sighs in relief and follows you over to her son. Drew runs into his mother’s arms and Eddie stands back up. The mother can’t thank you enough, though you assure her that you’d just stumbled upon him a few seconds ago.

Once they walk away, you sidle up next to Eddie and wrap your arm around his waist.

“You’re good with kids.”

A strong arm wraps around you and pulls your chest flush against his.

“I mean, I’ve learned that if you’re mean to them, they tend to cry and scream. I hate that shit.”

Back on the road, it’s smooth sailing for a while, but eventually, you run into traffic. It’s spotty in a few places, slowing down and speeding up again. The red taillights that keep popping up every so often are not as fun as the Christmas lights blinking behind the curtain at your backs.

After about an hour of touch-and-go stopping, the whole stretch of highway comes to a complete stop. Eddie finished his Skittles long ago and his frustration has been growing ever since. Leaning forward, you pop the radio on and scan for a song that might calm him down. If there’s one thing you know about your boyfriend, it’s that music is a balm for his soul. Head by Prince comes over the sound waves and it sparks a brilliant idea in you.

“Baby? I think you need to relax.”

He sighs and drops his head back against the headrest, his hair bouncing back in reverberation.

“Easier said than done.”

Even though he isn’t looking your way, you feel yourself blush at what you’re about to suggest. As if he didn’t basically fuck you to sleep last night.

“I think I might be able to help you with that, though…”

At the sound of your seatbelt unclicking, Eddie looks at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “What are you doing?”

You slide out of your seat and onto your knees on the van floor. The last time you attempted to do this Dustin rammed the back of Eddie’s van. Hopefully this attempt goes better. Eddie raises an eyebrow at you, still unsure about what you’re doing until you shuffle close enough to pull at his belt.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie moans. A smile lights up his face and he’s scrambling to help you shove his pants and boxers down his hips. Just the idea of you giving him road head already has him half hard, so it doesn’t take very much to start getting him worked up as you pump him with your hand.

“Want you to feel better, Eddie,” you say, looking up at him with the most innocent eyes you can manage. The way his cock twitches in your grip boosts your ego. You lean down and lick a stripe up the side of his cock.

“Shit,” Eddie hisses.

You press soft kisses all the way up his length, only to take him into your mouth as you get to the tip. Eddie’s foot presses harder on the break as he watches himself disappear in your mouth.

“Fuck, I better put this in park.” He shifts the gear since the traffic isn’t moving anyway, and you can’t help but chuckle around him. It sends a vibration up his cock that has him reaching down and clutching the back of your head.

Your pace starts out slow, bobbing your head, taking him a little bit deeper each time. Eddie’s thick fingers tense against you and it encourages you to take him in as far as you can, until your nose brushes against the dark curls at his base. His hand is warm against your head, firm, but not pushing you.

You pull off, breathing heavily, and dive back in to swipe your tongue over his balls the best you can from this position.

“Holy shit.” Eddie lets go of you and he rubs over his face with both hands. You’re pretty sure his soul is about to leave his body when you suck a ball into your mouth. You let it go with a pop, only to engulf him in the wet warmth of your mouth again.

“My God, you’re fucking perfect.”

He’s painfully hard against your tongue. It encourages you to bob your head faster than before, eager to get Eddie to his release. It’s not long until his breathing turns shallow, and you can feel his legs tensing up beneath your hands.

“G-Gonna cum, baby,” he warns you, giving you time to pull off if you want. But you don’t. A soft hum around him lets him know that you want him to finish in your mouth. That’s all he needs, a groan emanating from the back of his throat as he cums down yours.

You do your best to swallow everything he gives you, only pulling off when you’re satisfied with your own work. As you sit back on your knees, you bring your hand up to wipe off anything on your face that you might have missed. Eddie’s panting, pressed back against the seat, a lazy smile on his face as his gaze shifts to you.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he says.

“More relaxed?” you ask, tilting your head to the side with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs with a laugh. “Definitely feel better.”

Once traffic gets moving again, the rest of the highway is a breeze. When it starts to get dark, there’s not much farther to go until you reach the coast. A few miles before you get there, you spot a cozy little restaurant that looks like the perfect hole-in-the-wall kind of place for dinner. You’ve both been holed up in the van all day though, so you hop into the back and change into different, nicer clothes. As you’re looking for your new outfit in just your bra and panties, Eddie comes up behind you and promises to return the favor for relaxing him so much earlier. It takes all of your mental energy to put those new clothes on instead of taking the little left that you’re wearing off.

How you manage to hold your ground, you’re not sure, but you do. The air this close to the ocean is a little chillier at night so you opt for a nice purple, long sleeved shirt, and Eddie slips his leather jacket over one of the multiple Metallica shirts he packed. It’s not a far walk from the van to the front door of the restaurant, but Eddie insists on holding your hand the whole way there anyway. Keeping up his streak of being a gentleman, he opens the door and gestures for you to walk inside. The instant you step over the threshold you’re greeted by the scent of baking bread and something cooking that’s heavy on the garlic. It immediately gets your mouth watering.

“Hi, how many this evening?” the hostess asks as you and Eddie step up to her small, sturdy podium.

“Two,” you say.

“All right, you can follow me.”

Eddie laces his fingers with yours just for the twenty foot walk over to where you’re seated. The hostess leads you between tables covered in white tablecloths with small copper lanterns sitting in the middle of each. The lighting in the whole restaurant is dim, but it adds to the calm and quiet ambiance. The beautiful orchestrations coming from overhead speakers are the cherry on top of this romantic scenery, which is most definitely the vibe they were going for.

Before Eddie steps around to his side of the table, he pulls your chair out for you. There is never a shortage of sweet gestures with Eddie, but you’re not sure if you’ve ever been in a place this nice with him. The chivalry plus the romantic setting has you feeling giddy and bubbly.

Once Eddie has slid you in closer to the table, he notices a shiver and the way your shoulders hunch up. He slips his leather jacket off and gently drapes it over your shoulders. You’re not expecting it, so it startles you at first, but then you just giggle as you wrap it tighter around you.

“Thank you, handsome,” you say as he takes his seat on the opposite side of the table from you.

“Your waitress this evening will be Miranda, and she should be with you shortly,” the hostess informs you.

“Thank you,” you say before she walks back towards the front of the restaurant.

Now that it’s just the two of you together, you take advantage of looking around the place. Three of the interior walls of the restaurant are made to look like gray stone—you wonder if it actually is and have the sudden urge to touch it. The fourth wall is an accent wall, painted a deep red. Waiters walk around in white button-up shirts and black ties. It’s such a charming little place and you’re glad that you get to experience it with Eddie.

Miranda, your waitress, comes to take your orders, and by the look of confusion on both your and Eddie’s faces, she tries to explain what some of the fancier sounding dishes are. She’s very kind and thoughtful without being condescending. A perfect “mom” temperament, you think.

As soon as she leaves with your orders, Eddie reaches across the table and takes your hand in his own. His thumb traces patterns on the palm of your hand for a few moments before purposefully tickling your hand. A small squeak escapes your lips, and you yank your hand back. Eddie chuckles and when you look up at him, ready to give him some kind of witty remark, it dries up on your tongue. The way Eddie is looking at you steals your breath. There’s a smile on his face and his eyes are crinkled in the corners, but it’s the way his eyes are focused on you. The look could be described as nothing less than adoring. Heat rises to your cheeks at the unwavering attention. Normally anyone looking at you this long would make you uncomfortable, but this is Eddie. There is not a thing about him that has made you uncomfortable since you met him.

“What’re you thinking about?” Eddie asks, tilting his head like an inquisitive puppy.

“You. How I’m still not sure how it’s possible to be this happy.”

The honesty of the answer and the sincerity in your voice cause a wave of emotions to crash over Eddie as well. Again, he reaches over and takes your hand. But this time all he does is lace his fingers with yours and simply hold it.

Small soft conversations are held between the two of you as you wait for your food. But more than with words, the two of you silently communicate with one another. The squeeze of a hand, a facial expression, or the look in the other’s eyes. When silence settles over your table it’s not awkward in the least. It’s comfortable. It’s you and your person, just being together. Being in his presence is all you need.

Ironically, when the food arrives, you talk more. Before, your mouths weren’t busy, yet there were sparse words spoken. But now that you both have to talk between bites—of spaghetti in his case and eggplant in yours—the conversation flows open and freely.

“All right,” Eddie says as he twirls some pasta around his fork. “Five movies you’d wanna watch together. Because you want to show it to me or just because you wanna watch it in general. Go.”

“Oh jeez,” you say with a sigh. “There’s just so many great ones out there. Okay, let me think… Little Shop of Horrors—the new one. Um… The Outsiders, one of my favorites.”

“Because of Rob Lowe?” Eddie asks, a smirky smile on his face.

“No. Well, not just because of him,” you say. “Hmm…oh, The Shining. I’ve never been able to finish because I always get scared. But that just gives me an excuse to be held by you, though.”

“I’ll protect you,” Eddie promises with a wink.

“My hero.” You blow him a kiss, then try to think of two more movies. “Some Like it Hot. Can’t go wrong with a Marilyn Monroe flick. Let’s see, one more. Oh! And E.T. I always cry at that one. And want Reese’s Pieces.”

“I think I can provide those for a movie night,” Eddie says.

It’s wonderful to talk about future plans with Eddie. Yeah, there are the bigger questions to be asked when you intend to be committed to a person, but these smaller, more detailed don’t-have-to-be-too-far-in-the-future plans are great fun to think about. Planning what you’d like to do for his next birthday, or thinking of places that you’d love to vacation together. Just to have these thoughts, ideas, fantasies about doing all these incredible things with the person you’re in love with is enough to make you feel lovesick.

After you’ve eaten enough eggplant that you feel you’re close to bursting, you set your napkin down on the table and slip Eddie’s jacket from your shoulders.

“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna use the bathroom,” you say as you stand up and hang his jacket on the back of your chair. As you walk past Eddie in the direction of the restrooms, you lean in and press a quick kiss to the top of his head before you keep going.

Eddie smiles to himself and tries to get the last few noodles on his plate to cooperate and get on his fork. Someone clearing their throat gets Eddie’s attention and his head snaps up. An older lady with snowy white hair and a pageboy haircut sitting at the table next to yours leans in towards Eddie, trying to get his attention. She’s seated on the far side of the table, just like you, so it’s easy for Eddie to spot her. He can see the woman’s husband in his peripheral vision as well.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says, an apologetic look pinching her face, “but I just wanted to let you know that you two are adorable.”

The words instantly have Eddie grinning like a madman. He’s momentarily flustered, and that’s a feat very few people accomplish.

“Thank you,” he finally says.

Now, the husband turns towards Eddie and leans over as if he’s going to let the younger man in on a secret.

“You be good to her,” the man says, kindly, but firm enough to make his point.

“Oh, there’s no worry about that,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. “I’m going to marry that girl someday.”

The woman clasps her hands together under her chin and looks at Eddie with eyes that he can practically hear saying, “awwwwww!” Some heat rises to his cheeks, but when you walk back up to the table, he does his best to compose himself.

You slip Eddie’s jacket back on, reveling in the warmth and scent of your boyfriend. As you’re debating on whether or not you want one last bite of the eggplant, the woman seated at the table on your right catches your attention.

“I just have to say,” she starts, with a melancholic smile, “you two remind me of me and my husband back when we were young.”

For some reason, that comment makes you more emotional than any other compliment she could have paid you. An older and seemingly happy couple sees themselves in you when they were young. It brings you visions of an elderly you and Eddie sitting outside on the front porch, watching your grandchildren play in the yard. A soft rain begins to come from the sky and all the kids run up onto the porch to take cover. Eddie snatches up the youngest and holds them prisoner in his lap while he tickles them. You have to force yourself out of that daydream because you’re making yourself emotional.

Soon after, the older couple gets up from their chairs and bids you and Eddie a goodnight before they leave. Just as the two of you are discussing if you should order dessert or not, Miranda delivers a hot fudge sundae to your table. For a brief moment you wonder if she’s a mind reader.

“Um, we didn’t order this,” Eddie says, clearly confused about the confection as well.

Miranda beams, the corners of her eyes crinkling up the subtle crow’s feet around her eyes. She looks as if she has a huge secret, and she can’t wait to share it with someone.

“George and Rhonda wanted to send this over. The couple who was seated here next to you.” Miranda points to the table the elderly couple were sitting at. “They’re regulars, but I don’t think they’ve ever ordered anything for someone else before.” She seems so overjoyed just at sharing this news, but her eyes light up with an extra spark as she remembers something. “They also paid your bill.”

At first, you’re sure that Miranda isn’t talking to you and Eddie. This type of kind gesture is something you’ve only seen on television or movies. The warmth of tears begins to build behind your eyes and your throat feels tight as you turn to look at your boyfriend. He looks just as baffled as you do. Though, where you look overwhelmed and emotional, Eddie looks flustered. His mouth keeps opening and closing, wanting to say something, but is coming up blank.

“Wow,” he finally manages, all other words failing him.

“Are they still here?” you ask, clearing your throat once you hear how shaky your voice is.

“No, they left a few minutes ago.”

Eddie knocks a chunky ring against the table, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. His face is slightly pinched, clearly thinking about something.

“You said they’re regulars, right?” he asks.

“They are,” Miranda affirms. “Come in at least twice a month.”

Eddie’s head swivels to you and he raises his eyebrows. “How does writing them a thank you letter sound?”

His absolute thoughtfulness once again astounds you. Sometimes you think about how rough the beginning of Eddie’s life was, and how it definitely hasn’t been a piece of cake since then either. His heart has been played with, broken, crushed—and that doesn’t even include any physical pain he’s gone through. But he still has this kind heart that’s never been beaten out of him.

“I like that idea,” you agree. Now you wish you had brought your purse instead of just shoving your wallet in your pocket. There’s a pen and probably thirty scraps of paper in there. “Miranda, do you have a pad and pen we can borrow?”

“Of course.” Miranda looks equally moved by Eddie’s proposal, and she doesn’t even know the half of how incredible he is.

After Miranda returns with a pen bearing the restaurant’s name and a receipt pad, Eddie hunches over the table, tapping the pen against the surface as he thinks of what to write. Inspiration strikes and Eddie scribbles against the paper. Silently, you wonder if you’ll have to rewrite it if your boyfriend’s chicken scratch is illegible.

Eddie slides the pad over to you and you lean in to read it.

Dear George and Rhonda,

We already couldn’t thank you enough for your kind words to us, but now we’re pretty speechless with the dessert and paid bill. We asked Miranda to give you this note the next time you’re here so we can at least show you a fraction of how grateful we are.

That’s where the note stops, so you pick up the pen and write beneath his words.

This is possibly the nicest thing that’s ever been done for us. You’ve put the cherry on top of our first vacation together…and I’m not just saying that because there’s a cherry on top of this sundae we’re staring at right now. We wish there was some way that we could repay your goodwill. I guarantee you that we’ll find a way to pay it forward though.

You show Eddie to get his approval on it. Once he nods in agreement, you both sign your names on the bottom. Both of you are still stunned as you walk out of the restaurant full of ice cream and hot fudge.

The night sky is a black canvas dotted with intermittent sparkles shining down as you walk back to the van with Eddie. Even with how far you are away from the beach, you can smell the salt blowing in the wind.

Eddie jingles the keys to the van as he slips the keyring over his forefinger. Instead of opening the door, he leans up against the multicolored siding and tugs you by your hips until you’re pressed up against him.

“How’s watching the sunrise over the ocean tomorrow morning sound?” he asks.

“Literally can’t think of a better way to show you the beach for the first time.” You wrap your arms around his neck and lean in to press a few chaste kisses to his lips.

“It’s really nice out,” Eddie says, looking up at the sky and around at the sleepy coastal town. “What do you say we find somewhere to park the van and I’ll climb up and put a blanket on the top so we can lay there and look at the stars?”

You stare at him without answering, which has him cocking an eyebrow. When you start poking his chest and shoulders with your finger, he becomes even more confused.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Proving that you’re real,” you say.

Eddie huffs a laugh and tugs you forward by your still outstretched finger. He squishes you against his chest, completely engulfing you in his arms.

“Is that a yes?”

The perfect spot to park the van for the evening is only a few blocks from the beach, in the back of a motel parking lot. There are cars parked closer to the building, but there’s no one out walking around or making any noise to disrupt the sound of the waves crashing against the beach in the near distance.

This is the perfect time to ask Eddie the question you’ve been intending to on this trip. Realizing that you’re really about to ask this, to possibly take this step, or possibly feel disheartened and a bit rejected, has your stomach tying itself in a knot. Maybe it’s too soon. Maybe you should ask later in the trip so if he says no then it won’t be a gray cloud looming over the rest of Spring Break. No, you decide. It’s going to be now.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“I, uh, was wondering if–I mean, I wanted to ask, uh, if…do–uh, um...”

As your rambling trails off, you feel Eddie’s fingers intertwine with yours where your hands lay between your bodies.

“What’s gotcha tongue tied, baby?” he asks.

“I want to, I mean, I’m trying to–to...” You’re just flustering yourself at this point and let out an irritated sigh.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Eddie assures you, rubbing his thumb against the side of your hand. “Why don’t I go first, huh?”

“Okay.” You weren’t aware there was something he wanted to say.

Carefully, Eddie maneuvers onto his side so he’s facing you. When you move to do the same, he helps you stay steady until you’re lying face to face. He leans in and presses a kiss to your nose, making you wrinkle up your face and let out a small giggle.

Eddie raises his right hand to slip his mood ring off and holds it up between the two of you.

“Can I give you this?” he asks, soft voice almost carried away on the breeze. “Mostly because I would love for you to wear my ring, but maybe also a little bit so I can know what your mood is.” The last part is a joke, but also kind of not.

Words fail you again, so you nod enthusiastically. “I would love to wear it.”

Eddie slides it onto your left thumb–the only finger it won’t fall off of–and brings your cold fingertips up to his lips.

“I’ll love you forever,” he whispers.

“That’s how long I’ll wear this ring.”

“Yeah?”

“I promise.” You kiss the stone set in the ring and Eddie gives it a kiss after you.

The courage to ask Eddie what you wanted to has come out of hiding now that his ring is on your finger. It asks you why you were ever scared to ask him in the first place. It’s Eddie.

“So, I wanted to ask you something. Or—talk to you about something. Well, kind of both I guess…” You’re blabbering again, but it’s a bit more cohesive this time. Now it's more a matter of not knowing how to phrase it.

A warm and encouraging hand lands on your upper arm and rubs up and down soothingly.

“It’s okay, baby. Take all the time you need.”

“You, um, you know how I’m coming home for the summer, right?” You internally cringe, knowing you’re not off to the best start.

“Yeah, isn’t that how semesters work?” Eddie asks with a playful smirk.

“All right, Mr. Smarty Pants,” you say with a playful slap to the chest. “Then you know that I’ll be going back again in the fall.”

“Unfortunately,” he says.

“Well…when the next semester starts, Nancy and I are going to get an apartment together,” you explain.

“That’s a good idea. Both of you had such shitty roommates this year and you don’t wanna take that chance again.”

“Right! Exactly.” You say it a bit too loud, but you reign yourself in. “So, Steve’s actually going to come move up to Boston and live with us. He and Nancy will have their room, I’ll have mine.”

Eddie isn’t sure how to react at first. He’s not entirely sure how he feels about that because, one, it feels like he’s losing another friend to Boston. Two, even though Steve is a great friend, Eddie is a little uncomfortable having his girlfriend live with another guy.

His silence has your courage ready to slink away with its tail between its legs, so you just keep going before it goes back in hibernation mode for good.

“And I, um, I was wondering—I mean, Nancy and I have talked about it, of course, and only if you want to…”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie interrupts with a chuckle. “You can say anything to me, you know that.”

“WouldyouwannamovetoBostonandlivewithus?”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Uh, h-how would you feel about maybe moving to Boston too? Nance a-and Steve would have their room, and w-we could have ours. I know we haven’t been together a long time or even known each other a long time, but…I don’t know. It doesn’t feel too fast for me. I mean, it might for you, I-I don’t know. If someone had told me five months ago that I’d be ready to live with a guy after four months of knowing one another I’d have said they were crazy. But…here I am. I-I don’t want you to feel pressured or rushed or anything like that, I just wanted to put the offer out there in case you want to think about it or—”

Eddie silences your rambling by cupping your face and pressing his lips up against yours. It lasts a few seconds before he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours.

“There is nothing that would make me happier than falling asleep next to you every night and waking up next to you every morning.”

His answer has a load lifting off of your shoulders that you hadn’t realized was quite this heavy. Between relief and happiness, emotion bubbles up until there are tears streaming down your face.

“Are you sure?” you ask, wanting to make sure. “You c-can think about it.”

“I did,” he says seriously. “Only took about a second because I’m so sure. I’d love to live with you, baby.”

You bury your face in Eddie’s neck, careful not to be forceful enough to knock him towards the edge of the roof. He rests his head against yours as you cling to him, the tears still flowing.

“I love you so much, Eddie.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. So fucking much.”

He chuckles as he holds you even closer, causing you to peek up at him.

“What?”

“Just thinking how it’s good I got this van, huh? Getting us used to sleeping practically on top of one another.”

“Eddie, we can get a bigger bed, we won’t have to sleep—”

“Oh, we most certainly will.”

Eddie is the first to wake up the next morning. He doesn’t want to move from the pile of blankets he’s lying on. That causes some confusion in him, though. When he fell asleep, there was definitely a blanket on top of him, and not nearly this many under him. Forcing himself to open his eyes and move from his comfortable position, Eddie sits up and looks through squinted eyes to see what shape your bed area is in.

Somehow the blanket Eddie fell asleep beneath is now under your head. You’re also practically curled into your own duffle bag on the side of the van. He’s still not sure how he ended up laying amongst the mass of blankets, but he shrugs it off.

The muscles in Eddie’s back and abdomen thank him as he stretches his body over towards the maroon sheet acting as your bedroom door. He moves it aside to see the sky just beginning to wake up. Perfect. The faint call of seagulls calling and waves crashing to shore tugs the corners of his mouth up in a smile. He’s actually going to see the ocean today. Another first, with you, the only one he’d want to experience all firsts with.

A sound comes from you, but Eddie isn’t sure if it’s a yawn or a hiccup. He chuckles and turns back around to see you roll onto your back. One of your arms goes up to rest above your head, the other resting across your stomach. When your legs move, opening slightly to adjust your hips, an idea forms in Eddie’s mind. He did say he was going to repay the favor from when you gave him road head yesterday. Plus, he remembers your exact words after you woke him up with a blowjob back when he stayed with you in January: “Waking up with you between my legs sounds insanely hot, actually.”

As stealthily as he can manage, Eddie crawls over and slowly spreads your legs wide enough until he can kneel between them. The Megadeth t-shirt of his that you slept in last night has ridden up a little in your sleep, so Eddie doesn’t need to adjust that before he slowly and gently hooks his fingers into the sides of your lacy green panties. He takes his time, not wanting to wake you or inadvertently rip your underwear. It’s challenging to get the panties over the curve of your ass, but Eddie manages. He also manages to take his time to feel your ass up properly.

Once he finally gets the garment all the way off you, he breathes a sigh of relief. Hopefully this would be the hardest part. He starts to wonder how you pulled down his pajama pants and boxers when you woke him up like this a few months back. But then it hits Eddie: he sleeps like the dead.

The blankets on the floor make it easy for Eddie to slide down to his stomach quickly and quietly. When he goes a little too far back, however, he needs to army crawl his way back until he’s close enough.

Gently and carefully as to not hurt you or jostle you too much, Eddie spreads your legs further apart until your pussy is on display for him. A low groan reverberates through Eddie’s chest and he’s not sure how he’s going to be able to keep himself quiet while enjoying his favorite thing to eat. Eddie wraps his left arm under your leg to steady himself before he goes in and takes the first lick of your delicious pussy that he’s been craving since the last time his mouth was down here.

Eddie moves your right leg so it’s resting over his shoulder, and it gives him an even better vantage point as he spreads your labia to get a look at the goods beneath. He swears, this must be how happy the kids felt when they found those Golden Tickets in their damn Wonka bars. Elation and excitement is dancing up and down his veins.

Determined to waste no more time, Eddie dives in properly and instantly moans against your clit as he relishes in your taste. His addiction is being fed and he’s not sure how he’s been able to go this long without it. His long tongue runs over your entrance, dipping in a few times just to be a tease. Your leg over his shoulder moves just slightly and the smallest of grunts comes from above him. Eddie doesn’t plan on taking his mouth off of your pussy long enough to check if you’re awake or not, though.

Eddie tilts his head up just slightly and flicks your clit with his tongue before wrapping his lips around it. Now, you’re really starting to get animated. More indistinguishable noises and small movements. When Eddie goes back to lapping at your hole, he makes sure his nose bumps up against your clit. A pleasurable moan that Eddie’s come to know very well fills the air.

“Oh, fuck, Eddie,” you whine as you arch your back. “God, that feels so good.”

Now that you’re awake, Eddie kicks it up a notch and starts to devour your pussy. He buries his face so far between your legs that you wonder how he can breathe. A string of involuntary moans and whimpers fall from your lips as you turn your head to the side and squeeze your eyes shut.

The muscles in your body begin to tighten and you try to tell your body that you don’t want to cum yet, that you want to keep enjoying this. Looking down was a mistake though, because the moment you see Eddie’s head between your thighs you feel like you could cum on the spot.

With your top teeth digging into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, you reach down for the crown of Eddie’s head with one hand, eager to grab at it and get your fingers lost in the frizzy mess.

“E-Eddie?”

“Mm?” He hums the responses against your pussy, too busy trying to taste every bit of you. There’s no time for words when his mouth is occupied for a far better reason.

“Look at me. Want you to look up at me,” you say, shallow breaths and little whines punctuating the sentence.

Eddie does as he’s told and lifts his head a bit so he can cast his eyes up and meet your gaze. The way that those molten chocolate eyes never waver, never look away while he keeps pleasuring you is your tipping point.

“Ah, fuck, fuck,” you stutter, your one hand gripping onto Eddie’s head for dear life, and the other one clutching at a plush blue blanket so hard that your knuckles turn whiter than the whipped cream you shared at dinner last night.

Two thick fingers breach your hole, and the tongue focuses solely on your clit now.

“Eddie, I’m not gonna…I-I can’t,” you ramble. “Can't hold out. Gotta cum.”

Moaning as if he was the one getting the best oral sex of his life, Eddie pulls away from your pussy to say, “Cum on my tongue, sweet girl. Please.”

Your hips want to jerk, and your legs want to close around Eddie’s head; somehow, you’re able to resist. The vice grip he has on you probably has something to do with it.

With one last moan of your boyfriend’s name, your back arches off the blanket below you and a feeling of euphoria crashes over you. Eddie helps work you through it, pumping his fingers as sparks shoot off behind your closed eyes and your breathing turns erratic. The high spreads all throughout your body, and as it fades, leaves complete satisfaction and tranquility in its wake.

Eddie slips his fingers from your pussy, the sensation causing a brief moment of longing in your otherwise content body. Lazily, you blink your eyes open to see the two fingers that were just inside of you in Eddie’s mouth. He winks at you, causing you to give a breathy chuckle, your breathing still trying to return to its normal rhythm. There’s a soft thud next to you when Eddie plops down to lie at your side. You waste no time scooting closer and laying your head on his bare chest. A comforting arm wraps around you, and you return the gesture by placing a few soft kisses along a particularly deep scar on his chest.

“Morning, beautiful,” Eddie says quietly.

“That’s one hell of a way to wake up, handsome.” You tilt your head up to grin at him, only to find him beaming right back down at you.

Heaving an overdramatic groan, Eddie takes you by surprise and pulls you impossibly tight against his chest, arms holding you prisoner there.

“Can’t breathe.”

“Geez,” Eddie whines, “what’s more important? My hugs or your precious air supply?”

The goofy and flirty tone keeps up as the two of you get ready for the day. Being in such a cramped space, the two of you keep bumping into one another as you look for your swimsuits. Eddie takes advantage of the moments of closeness by stealing kisses. His surprised face is priceless when you turn the tables and steal one from him.

Once you’ve got your bathing suit out, laying on top of your pile of clothes, you shrug out of your shirt. As you pick up the swimsuit, you see Eddie staring at you from the corner of your eye. A loud chuckle busts out of you as you look over to see him ogling your boobs.

“Aren’t you used to seeing them by now?”

Eddie shakes his head and makes grabby hands for you. “No. Gimme.”

You roll your eyes but let him grope your chest as you pull the dark green bathing suit up your legs and over your ass. Eddie’s hands are forced out of the way as you situate the top of your suit to get it to sit right. He may let go of your boobs, but he gives your ass a smack before changing into his own bathing suit.

“Have you had enough?” you ask once his trunks are on. “Can we go see the ocean now?”

“Never enough. But yes, let’s go.”

It’s only a few blocks to the beach and Eddie finds the prime spot since it’s so early in the morning. Sandy dunes littered with beach grass block your view of the ocean, but the sound and smell are unmistakable. The call of a seagull adds to the symphony of waves as you and Eddie get out of the van. A glimpse at Eddie’s face shows he’s grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. It makes your heart skip a beat as you slip your hand into his. He tosses both of your towels on the opposite shoulder and gives your hand a squeeze.

“Ready to see the ocean?” you ask.

“Let’s do it.”

The two of you walk onto the small boardwalk that takes you over the sand dunes. The excitement is practically radiating off of Eddie as you get to the peak of the dock. You’re paying more attention to him than where you’re walking, so you hope you don’t trip.

The moment Eddie’s eyes first see the water, his hand reflexively tightens around yours. His entire face is lit up, his eyes bright and smile infectious. It makes him look years younger, his inner child filled with glee. With every step closer to the water, the antsier he gets. The beach is mostly empty, not a whole lot of people are here to watch the sunrise. And those who are waiting for the dawn are so spread out that you can barely hear the laughter that blows along with the gentle breeze.

You find a spot far enough from the water and kick off your sandals. Eddie follows your lead and spreads the two towels out, though they’re going to get covered in sand anyway. The sun should be rising any minute, heating up the already decently warm air. You trail your eyes from the purpling horizon to your boyfriend. Pale fingers fidget with the hem of his t-shirt and you immediately realize what’s going on in his head.

“Hey,” you murmur. His gaze shifts to you and you step forward and rest your hands on his chest. “You don’t have to take it off if you don’t want to. In fact, I think I want you to keep it on. I know there’s nobody around us now, but if some hot girl comes by later, I’ll have to kick her ass if she tries to steal you from me. But I also wouldn’t be able to blame her. All this…” you slip your hands beneath his shirt and drag your fingers over his abdomen, “is too fucking hot. I’d have to take a run at you too if you weren’t already the love of my life.”

Eddie playfully rolls his eyes at you, but the dusting of pink along his cheeks makes you think you made him feel at least a little better. You’re proven right when he slips his tee off and lets it fall to the towels. Unable to help yourself, you drink in your sexy boyfriend’s body, biting your lip as you scan him up and down. When your eyes trail back up, Eddie is looking out at the water with a mixture of longing and hesitation.

“Wanna go in?” you ask. His eyes meet yours and he looks a little surer.

“Is it going to be cold?”

“Probably, babe.”

“Keep me warm?” he asks.

You pretend to think about it, your forefinger tapping your chin.

“Nope.” You giggle and gently push him in the direction of the water. He gives you a playful glare in return. The sand wriggles between your toes as you start to walk backward, making your way towards the water. Giving Eddie a reassuring smile, you outstretch your arms and offer your hands to him. It only takes him a few seconds before he’s following down after you, gladly slipping his hands into yours.

A wave rushes the shore and you let out a peal of laughter as it engulfs your feet. Eddie yelps in surprise, making you laugh even harder. Your grip on his hands tightens slightly, silently telling him not to run away, to keep going with you. Though his muscles tense up and his shoulders bunch up towards his ears, Eddie keeps his hands firmly grasped in yours.

The farther you walk in, the water level rises up your legs. A wave breaks against your back, but the look of alarm on Eddie’s face registers in your mind before the large splash. Once you start to laugh at the wetness now all over the back of your body, Eddie visibly relaxes. Now that more of you has been subjected to the cold water, you crouch down into the sea, gently tugging on your boyfriend’s hands so he’ll join you.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Eddie lowers his body down and shudders at the chill that washes over his skin. Slowly, you move a little deeper, making sure not to get too far away from the shore. Strong arms wrap around your waist and tug your chest up against his. Your natural response is to slip your arms around Eddie’s neck.

“Congratulations,” you say just loud enough to be heard above the ebb and flow of the ocean around you. “You’re no longer an ocean virgin.”

“Just popping all my cherries with you, huh?” he asks with a smirk.

“Wouldn’t I be the one with the cherry popped?” You wrinkle up your nose and Eddie gently nips at it.

The first rays of light appear over the horizon and the two of you adjust yourselves so you can both watch it while you languidly rock back and forth in the waves. Silence falls between the two of you as the sun inches its way higher. The blue-black of the predawn bleeds into a pink and orange tapestry for all in its presence to admire. The thought of watching a sunrise was never something you’d thought of as emotional before. But as you rest your head against Eddie’s and feel his grip tighten around you, a warm, glowing happiness bubbles up within you. This is the closest anything in life can come to perfection, you think.

Once the sun finishes its debut for the day, Eddie nuzzles his nose against the side of your head until you look up at him. The moment you do, he leans in and presses his lips against yours. The kiss is soft and slow, lazy and cozy. It ends when both of you are smiling too widely to keep your mouths together.

“Can we have more firsts together?” you ask.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well,” you start, “I’m assuming we won’t always wanna bunk with Nancy and Steve, so maybe we’d get a place of our own someday? It doesn’t have to be in Boston; we could even move to Indiana so you can be close to your uncle, or—” You cut yourself off as you realize you’re rambling on. But your boyfriend looks far from annoyed; in fact, the look in his eyes is nothing less than adoring.

“We can figure that out,” he reassures you, pressing another gentle kiss to your nose. He pauses before admitting, “I’ve never felt safe like this before. There’s just something about you.”

“I’m gonna take it that you like this something about me.”

“Good guess.”

“Eddie Munson, I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. More than anything.”

#Eddie Munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #WTHI

165 notes · View notes

genericpuff · 6 months

Note

Omg hiiii, I absolutely love Rekindled! You're so talented, and the story you're making for Persephone is so intriguing! A lot more than whatever trashfire Lore Olympus has become.

That being said, what was the moment you stopped liking LO Persephone? Have you always disliked her, or was it gradual? Or just a specific moment that made you go "yeaaaaah.. she's not it ;-;"

(And bonus question if I can ask, but how do you draw hands?? I hate them with a passion, but unfortunately hands are pretty necessary T^T)

aahhh thank you so much!!!

honestly, I was a pretty big fan of LO up until the trial arc. Like, you've all seen me hate this comic with a fiery passion, but the only reason I'm able to do that is because before I hated this comic, I loooved this comic. I'd literally be counting down the hours until new updates, I loved the art, and I was too smitten by the appeal of the series to notice its writing problems, I just loved the romantic drama and the H x P ship, and yes, I loved Persephone, I loved her design, her personality, and I felt so 'seen' by her struggles, both with her trying to pave a path for herself and the SA plotline. I was even (regrettably) one of those people who would lurk in the antiLO tags and think "wow, these people are dumb, can't they see how brilliantly written this is ?? they're nitpicking!"

But then the trial arc happened which involved writing a plot that didn't put the romance front and center anymore - now that Rachel had to actually write something complex and logic-driven, the blinders started to fall off and I went wait... maybe Rachel doesn't know what she's doing. Persephone choosing her own lawyer? And it's Hades, one of the judges? Why are they suddenly establishing Thanatos as Hades' adoptive son? I'm not a lawyer, but I know that's not how any of this works and it really tipped me off that something was amiss, that Persephone was having all of her solutions conveniently handed to her on a platter and all of the other characters were suddenly being made to look like assholes just to make Hades and Persephone the heroes.

And then... Eris happened.

See, one of the things I loved most in the story was Persephone's character arc concerning the Act of Wrath. I write stories about characters with dark "personas" all of the time. So it was something I had frame of reference for, I really loved the premise of Persephone earning her name through this act of violence and while it was dashed with the opening of S2 revealing it was "all an accident", I was excited to see how the trial arc would bring about new information and confirm who was telling the truth about what "really happened" with the Act of Wrath. If the courtroom drama wasn't gonna be realistic, I could at least hope for some good 'OBJECTION!' reveal that would finally put to rest once and for all what really happened, and maybe Kore would finally embrace this 'dark side' she had.

So for the actual twist to suddenly reveal itself as... 'actually, this one goddess we've never mentioned before blessed you with wrath. why? idk she just did. anyways she's the reason you have wrath and that's what made you commit the act of wrath. problem solved.'

And that was where the twisting of 'faith' happened. When I went through the subconscious realization of , "Oh no, Rachel doesn't know what she's doing and it took me this long to notice. Oh no, maybe those antiLO freaks had a point-"

That said, there was a glimmer of hope in the midseason finale. Persephone was sentenced to remain in the Mortal Realm to carry out her mother's duties and I thought, "great! This will be Persephone's Rocky moment! She'll have to prove herself without the help of Demeter or Hades! This is gonna be awesome!!" During the hiatus, I was VERY excited to see where the story was going, I still had so much hope and I figured the mishandling of the trial arc was just a bump in the road. The series was still good, it was just going through a rough patch, these things happen.

And then it came back and it all went downhill from there. There was a 10 year time skip with very little insight as to what happened. Minthe and Daphne were just suddenly back to normal. They were referencing some food shortage or terrible event that happened during Persephone's reign that they never explained in explicit detail. And now, all of a sudden, Persephone was just returning to the Underworld, where Kronos had suddenly taken over. I had cautious optimism but throughout it, I was really seeing the cracks that were already forming opening wide. A lot of what I had to say wasn't positive anymore, I literally couldn't understand what the reasoning was behind these writing decisions and I couldn't find myself rooting for Persephone anymore, everything just seemed to convenient and easy for her to make her seem like the "strong and confident" character the comic claimed her to be.

The S2 finale was my breaking point and I think it was for a lot of other people too. That was pretty much where my 'transformation' from passionate stan to passionate critic happened, and it happened alongside the creation of the UnpopularLoreOlympus subreddit which would become my new 'home' within the community. After seeing how much the story had gone downhill, it made me realize in hindsight just how awful and one-note Persephone is, how she really never cared about anyone but herself and Hades, how her mother did, actually, have a point about her being practically groomed into a relationship with a billionaire slave driver, how she was very intentionally drawn to look like a child in ways I couldn't believe I had never noticed before, the list of "awakenings" goes on. And it sucked! It sucked to have that realization that the thing I loved wasn't just imperfect, but incredibly problematic in its writing and art choices. And just like when I loved the comic, I couldn't just let go of it, I had to understand to some degree why this happened.

It happened because Persephone was always being written as a one-note, easy to project onto self-insert character. A Wattpad protagonist. Not an actual representation of the Goddess of Spring, but a blank slate for the creator and the fans to imagine themselves as purely for the power fantasy of hooking up with a rich and abusive guy.

That was when I made my first piece of LO art intended to be an 'edit' - a redraw of Persephone's rebirth as the Dread Queen from the S2 finale, an ode to the Persephone I was hoping to see but never got. The rest from there is history.

youtube

I know I'm being SUPER dramatic about it but this was literally how it felt to go through the realization that this comic - and its characters - wasn't as good as I thought it was, and I think that's a sentiment that's shared by a lot of the 'haters' in this community. LO was a big part of my life and even some of my friendships with people, so when it went downhill, it felt like such a hit to the gut. It's still a big part of my life, albeit in the opposite direction, but I still wonder sometimes over the "what ifs", what if the series hadn't turned out this way? What if I had never realized its flaws? Rekindled is basically a love letter to those what ifs, satisfying the feelings I never got to keep with LO, and giving me a reason to count down the hours on Saturday nights again. I'm glad it's made that same impact for others, too <3

#lmao this turned into some really deep catharsis post #i never explained how to draw hands #i'll make a post about that in a bit lmaooo #this is what happens when i'm given free reign in my blog posts #i go off way too much JFDKASLFJDKSLA #but it's a story i like to tell because it reminds me why i do all this to begin with #lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #ask me anything

159 notes · View notes

jeonqkooks · 1 year

Text

our beloved summer | jjk (06)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, kissing (omg k1ss1ng omg WHO IS IT ??? 😦), tbh this is the only warning i wanted u guys to read cuz 6 chapters in and we finally get sum action i feel like that's a win lmaooooo, jimin being Real as fook, unbeta'd cuz uhm i'm a godless menace who should be conked on the head, once again we are severely lacking jk in his own fic lol i'm owning up to this 🤗 BUT! this is probably the last chapter where jk feels like a side character lol apologies my dudes

rating: PG-13

word count: 8.1k (honestly i wrote obs6 just so i could get to obs7 lmao that's why it's a lil bit shorter)

note: my apologies if this sucks. you are legally allowed to stone me if you hate it. but i hope you don't hate it. but if you do hate it don't tell me just stone me lol 🤐 why am i so unhinged with this update

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I can see you starin', honey Like he's just your understudy Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

Exile - Taylor Swift (ft. Bon Iver)

The picture is fucking terrible.

“Jimin, what the fuck,” you grumble, staring at the huge framed photo on the wall, taken on the day of the opening party. You, Taehyung and Jimin are gathered on the floor of the dance studio, with boxes of takeout neatly sitting between the three of you. “I look like ass.”

Jimin barely glances at the wall, just continues to stuff his face with the dumplings that you ordered. “You look fine,” he says absentmindedly, mouth full, continuing to munch on the food despite your little dilemma.

“Bitch, I have my eyes closed.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I look like I’m in the middle of a sneeze.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, squinting at your photographed self again. The more you look at it, the more irritated you become.

Realistically, you know nobody would pay enough attention to notice the immortalized visual of your fluttering eyes, and you yourself wouldn’t care about it that much. Maybe you would even laugh in good spirits and poke fun at yourself as you often do. Make a meme of it for the group chat.

“What’s the big deal?” Jimin asks.

You shrug petulantly. “I told you. I look like ass.”

Yeah, true, but it’s also more than that.

It’s the fact that the person standing next to you looks so good that you must voice your grievances. It’s the fact that he looks so much more than just good.

The guys stop eating to look at you. You wonder just how much of what you’re feeling is written all over your face. Regardless, they don’t comment on it.

One of them clears his throat, shaking the whole thing off.

“Did you tell Yoongi anything yet?” Jimin asks.

You poke at a lone dumpling with your chopsticks, popping the ‘p’ when you say, “Nope.”

“Damn, Y/N,” Jimin scolds you. “It’s been three weeks. He doesn’t want to push you for an answer but the man has got to be suffering.”

You flick a piece of spring onion garnish at him. It lands on his hair, a single bit of green sitting among golden locks. “I don’t know what to tell him!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jimin shakes the onion piece from his head and chucks it back at you. “Obviously you say yes!”

You exhale through your nose, then take a bite of your dumpling. You nibble on the fried dough, stretching out the silence, delaying your response.

It hasn’t even started, and it might not even start. But you’re already thinking about all the things that could go wrong. Yoong is your friend, first and foremost. He’s a good friend, and you would be crushed if you lose that relationship.

What if he hurts you, or you hurt him?

Sometimes, people are meant to hurt each other even if they don’t mean to.

Yoongi hasn’t seen your pieces in all of their jagged glory, how they’re only meant to reflect the light but never be healed by it. He’s still blissfully unaware of the ugly thoughts that have a home inside your head, and you’re afraid if you let him in, he’d realize it’s a place he doesn’t want to be. It’s hard to love a broken thing. You wouldn’t want to love you either.

Maybe this is the real reason that’s been holding you back all this time. Maybe it isn’t Jungkook - though he certainly isn’t absolved - but it’s you, and how you just don’t know if you’re someone who deserves to love and be loved. You’ve felt inadequate more times than you can count. You’ve been left before. Who’s to say it isn’t going to happen again?

You’re well aware that this is a bad way to look at things, but can anyone really blame you? You still have a heart, and despite how fragmented it is, you still want to protect it.

“I know that look,” Taehyung says, parting your fog and pulling you back to him. “You’re overthinking again.”

You roll your eyes. He knows you so well, but does he have to call you out every time?

“I’m not overthinking. I’m regular thinking.”

“Right. And to normal people, that’s overthinking.”

“It’s just…” you wonder out loud, gaze on the floor. “What if I go all in, and Yoongi sees me for who I am and thinks that I’m just an utterly sad person who can’t be loved? That I’m too much work when he’s got literally thousands of people throwing themselves at him left and right?”

Taehyung stares at the side of your face as he bites the inside of his cheek. His tongue soothes the spot, his jaw clenching once. “He’s not going to think that.”

“You don’t know that,” you say, the corners of your mouth tugging down.

“You’re not unlovable just because one person didn’t love you right. So stop it with that bullshit, because I love you,” he says, voice serious. Even Jimin stays silent as he listens to his friend, his eyes flickering between you and Taehyung. “And Jimin loves you. Hobi loves you.”

You merely blink, because you hate it when he’s right. In all fairness, you understand. This is the same thing you would tell him if the situation were reversed.

You deflect anyway. That’s what you do best.

“You don’t count,” you tell him with an unserious scoff, your tone starkly contrasting his. “You’re my family.”

You taste something bitter as soon as the words leave your mouth. You should know better than anyone, that just because someone’s your family, doesn’t mean they have to love you.

Taehyung reenacts the blinking guy meme before chuckling, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “Ouch.”

“You two are getting nowhere,” Jimin interjects. “Just call Yoongi.”

“And say what?” you ask.

“I told you. Say yes. God, you’re so dense sometimes.”

You reach over to jab a finger into his side, making him hiss and shuffle away from you.

“That wasn’t nice,” you grumble.

“Well, somebody’s gotta say it.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised for a few seconds before he lowers them and grows more stern. “Come on, Y/N. You know you don’t want to say no, or else you would’ve turned him down already. You said you wanted to start dating again. Yoongi is practically on his knees offering himself to you. What are you waiting for?”

There’s a voice in the back of your head - tiny, barely audible - that whispers, Who are you waiting for?

“Fuck it, I’ll say it,” Jimin continues. “It sucks balls that Jungkook hurt you, but you can’t let that affect you for the rest of your life. Not everyone is going to hurt you. You’re not even giving Yoongi a chance just because someone else did you dirty. If you keep always thinking about the worst possible outcome and banking on it to happen, then you’re never going to get anywhere. I love you, dude, but y’know.”

You stare at Jimin with your mouth slightly open, stunned into silence. When you glance at Taehyung, he’s surprised too, though probably not as much as you.

After a couple of minutes, you say, “Wow.”

“Tough love. I have my moments.” Jimin shrugs casually, like he didn’t just drop a truth bomb on your head. “But also…” He picks his phone up and types something in. Your phone instantly buzzes with a notification.

“Open the link I just sent you,” he says.

“You are literally sitting across from me.”

“Just open it! I made you a playlist.”

“Aw, Jimin, that’s so cute,” you coo softly, reaching over to pinch his cheek before he swats your hand away. You unlock your phone to see what Jimin made you, because that is some friendship hall of fame stuff right there. However, when the link redirects you to your music app, your smile immediately drops.

Aaand he’s back.

You stare at the screen for a good ten seconds to try and find your bearings, flabbergasted at something that is quite honestly very on-brand for Jimin if you think about it. “You made me a playlist called Dick Appointment with an eggplant emoji and the tongue out emoji and it’s mostly just Yoongi’s songs. Even the playlist cover is from his Valentino shoot.”

“So you can get it on while Agust D plays in the background!” Jimin grins, and you could just smack it right off his face.

“Park Jimin, who raised you? You are vile.”

“Validate me,” he demands. Oh, you would smack him. You really would. “I spent hours making that playlist.”

“It’s literally just Yoongi’s songs.”

“Yeah, but I had to curate an experience. I can’t just dump every song into a playlist and call it a day. I gotta make sure they fit the vibe.”

“I literally just heard the most profound shit from you not even two minutes ago.” Then, you turn to Taehyung with an exasperated look on your face. “Why would you let him do this?”

He just waves a dismissive hand in the air, like Jimin isn’t even there. “I’m not responsible for the stupid shit he does.”

Jimin crosses his arms in front of his chest, both eyebrows raised dramatically as he gapes at you. “You both suck. From now on, you can make your own sexytime playlists.”

“Nobody even asked you to do that!” you cry.

“Yeah! Which makes me an even more considerate friend,” he says. “Ugh. Whatever. Go call Yoongi.”

“You want me to do it now?”

“Yes. Because I know you’ll wuss out when you’re alone. You can stay and put him on speakers for us to hear or you can go out into the hallway. Come on, chop chop.”

“No, I have to text him first,” you protest. “What if he’s busy?”

Jimin narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, but allows you this after a moment. “Fine.”

You take out your phone from your bag that’s lying carelessly on the floor to draft a quick message to Yoongi.

[12:59] You: got a minute?

The three of you go back to the food, abandoning the previous topic of conversation in favor of something lighter and meaningless or else you would go crazy waiting for Yoongi’s reply. After you’re finished, you and Taehyung are in the middle of putting away all the empty containers and soda cans when your phone buzzes again.

You go to grab it to look at the notification, hands already starting to sweat.

[13:17] Yoongi: for you? always :)

You turn back to the guys to find them already looking at you. Jimin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively while Taehyung just stares at you.

“Time to get your whore on,” Jimin says in an exaggeratedly sultry voice.

You turn to Taehyung for help. “He’s bullying me.”

“Ignore him,” your best friend tells you gently. “Go call Yoongi.”

When you take your phone out into the hallway, you make sure to go to the far end of it, near the main entrance so the two dorks can’t eavesdrop. You’ll tell them everything once you come back anyway, but you don’t want them within earshot while you’re in the middle of it.

Yoongi picks up your call on the third ring. In the background, your ear picks up on some chatter.

“Hey, princess,” he greets you. Then he holds the phone away from his ear to tell someone that he’d be back in a bit.

“Hey,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Just at a fitting. I have an ad campaign to film next week,” he answers. “Did you call just to get my whereabouts?”

“No, I… If you’re busy, we can talk later.”

“We’re still in the middle of lunch break anyway. What did you want to talk about?”

You briefly regret not taking a minute to psych yourself up before. You suck in a deep breath, which eases your nerves for just a second, long enough for you to say, “Yes.”

You’re met with brief silence from the other end of the line, which only makes your palms more clammy than they already are.

“Yes?” he echoes confusedly. “Yes what?”

“Yes,” you say again. “To…”

The silence commences once more, and lasts longer than you think you can handle. Then, you hear him stop in the middle of a breath.

“Oh.” A subsequent chuckle in response to the lightbulb that must’ve been switched on. “To that?”

“...Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

It feels like you two have invented a secret language that nobody else could understand. A single syllable, bouncing off the metaphorical walls of your conversation. Two idiots sharing the same brain cell.

“Yes?” he continues to prod, but at this point, you know he’s just teasing you.

“Yes! God, stop making me say it again. We sound so stupid.”

He graces you with a hearty laugh that makes you fight back a sheepish smile, even though there isn’t a single soul in sight to witness it. Yoongi makes you so fucking shy for some reason. Your nerves dissolve momentarily as you lean against the wall, your index finger running along a crack in the paint.

“Hmm, I wish you would’ve told me this in person,” he says, his voice soft.

“I can’t handle you in person. You’d tease me so much.”

“Because you’re adorable when you’re flustered, that’s why.” He waits a second before adding, “You’re blushing right now, aren’t you?”

“You’re being overly confident, Min.”

“Maybe,” he responds easily. “But am I right, though?”

“Shut up.”

When Yoongi said he would cook for you, you almost gasped.

“You can cook?” you had asked. It wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation or anything, but you suppose you’d never given much thought to the hidden sides of him.

“Y/N,” he laughed then. “I’m a great cook. I could probably make a pretty decent career out of being a chef.”

“I didn’t know that,” you told him sheepishly.

“There’s a lot of things you still need to know about me.” It sounded like a promise. Like I’m willing to show you me. Like I’m willing to take the first step if you’d be in this with me too. “Does that sound like a good idea? You, me, dinner at your place?”

“My place?”

“Yeah, so you’ll be more comfortable. I’ll come over.”

This one simple gesture shouldn’t affect you that much, but it does. You appreciate that he’s considerate even when it comes to the littlest things. You swell with gratitude for the thought he puts into this, into putting your comfort first. It made you feel a bit better about yourself, calmed your stormy sea of thoughts enough to rationally accept the fact that he genuinely cares.

Regardless, it doesn’t stop you from spending most of the day obsessively cleaning your apartment. Even - and especially - your bedroom, although you’re sure that is not where the night will end. Every surface is spotless, not a single speck of dust to be found. It’s like the goddamn Pope is coming over for a house inspection.

You haven’t had a first date in… fuck, how long has it been now? Nine years? It’s almost been a fucking decade already? You honestly can’t tell if that’s embarrassing or not.

But you remember the last time.

College, freshman year, with Jungkook. His yellow piece of sticky note that he slipped inside your favorite book. His adorably flustered expression when he timidly stood in front of you in the campus library. The way he was trying so hard to be confident and charming throughout your first dinner together. How he ran back to you after saying goodnight.

No.

You shut your eyes and shake your head, warding off any Jungkook-related thoughts before they could send you spiraling. You can’t reminisce about your ex while waiting for someone else to show. Yoongi deserves better, and that’s what you’re trying to be.

You’re not exactly sure how nice you should dress tonight. Yoongi told you that you could be clad in sweats for all he cares. If the dinner didn’t hold any connotation other than platonic, maybe you would’ve really donned your loungewear like you were merely having Taehyung and Jimin over for pizza.

You’d completely forgotten all the things people worry about in the early stages of dating, when you want to impress the other person but don’t want them to think that you’re trying too hard.

Calm down. It’s just Yoongi. He’s seen you ugly crying with mascara running down your face, for fuck’s sake.

In the end, you opt for a sweater and a comfortable skirt. Casual.

Yoongi rings your doorbell about ten minutes later than when he said he’d be there, holding a bag full of groceries. The visual alone makes you bite back a giggle and subsequently fail. You believe this is what people would call husband material.

You take his coat and guide him into your home. “Welcome to my humble abode,” you say shyly, gesturing around as you lead him into the kitchen to show him where everything is. Why are you acting like this? This isn’t you. If Taehyung or Jimin could see you right now, they would probably laugh. Hoseok would straight up be rolling on the floor.

You barely breathe as you watch Yoongi take in his surroundings. It’s intimidating, even though you know it’s just Yoongi.

“I actually don’t know what I expected, but I like it. It’s very you,” he comments, smiling.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that it’s cute,” he says, throwing you a wink as he leans against your kitchen counter.

You avert your gaze immediately. “Oh… Thanks,” you reply, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “So, uhm, what are you making? How can I help?”

“Just sit down. I got this.”

“Yoongi,” you say his name in protest. “I want to h-”

“I’m trying to romance you here. Let me do that,” Yoongi says, his smile turning lopsided as he starts emptying the contents of his grocery bags. Even though his tone is light, the gentle reminder of tonight being a date shuts you right up.

You take a seat at your dining table, though you can’t really sit still. As Yoongi starts working, you absentmindedly talk to each other about your day, about his campaign, about Seokjin’s album. At one point, you get up to creep over to his side when the smell of whatever he’s making becomes more prominent. You try to peek at the pot, curious, but he just shoos you away by bumping his hip against yours.

When you give him a small pout, you pretend not to notice the way his eyes dart to your mouth. You retract yourself from his personal space, choosing a spot on the other side of your kitchen island, staring at his back as he works.

You watch him expertly navigate your kitchen like he’s been here before. When he’s finished, he makes you sit down, not even letting you help bring the food to the table.

“What is it?” you ask once he’s settled in his seat, everything plated in front of you.

“Kimchi jjigae,” he says, a proud look on his face. “My mom’s recipe.”

It’s endearing, and it makes you smile.

For the most part, Yoongi lets you eat in peace, though there’s still a couple of flirtatious comments here and there. Every time it comes, you bite down on your bottom lip to try and snap out of that daze before you cough, as if that would help tone down the colors adorning your face. There’s no verbal response from you, and it seems like Yoongi doesn’t expect one either, because he just chuckles. You think he must notice the palpable nervousness that radiates off of you, but it’s not like you’re doing a very good job at hiding it.

You’re taking baby steps and he knows it. The fact that you even agreed to this at all is already major progress.

When you’re done eating, he clears the table while he asks you to open the expensive bottle of wine that he brought over. It does wonders for your nerves.

Three glasses in and you’re visibly more relaxed as you both sit on the couch in the living room, facing each other. There’s a small smile on your face that you can’t help, maybe it’s some of your inhibitions wearing off as a side effect of the alcohol.

You glance around the room, and you take in the sight of Yoongi sitting here, this close to you. He feels bigger than your small world can handle.

“You know,” you start. If the wine didn’t make you more mellow, you probably wouldn’t be saying this. “There are thousands of people thirsting over you every day.”

Yoongi tilts his head, swirling the wine in his glass. “Really?”

“Don’t you look at the internet? I personally know two girls from college who are on the Yoongi Marry Me train,” you say matter-of-factly, like you aren’t borderline tipsy in front of him.

You aren’t an avid Twitter user, but every time you check the damn bird app, Yoongi is almost always trending. In every single one of his posts on social media, there is always an influx of comments asking him to marry them. Not only that, when word first got out about you collaborating with Agust D back then, people you knew - both old friends and acquaintances - practically bombarded your messages to see if it was true, and to ask if you could get them an autograph.

Yoongi stretches out his legs until they brush against yours. Your stomach flips even though it’s only your legs that are barely touching.

“The what train?”

“You seriously don’t know about the Yoongi Marry Me movement? Look it up. It’s a whole thing. People would do anything to, I don’t know, hold your hand or something.”

With an amused look on his face, he holds your gaze. “Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you do all of that just to hold my hand? Because you don’t have to, y’know.” He brings the wine glass to his lips, partially hiding his face from you, and you don’t know whether he’s doing it for your sake or his in preparation for the words he speaks next. “But I would do it to hold yours.”

You’re sure that your cheeks are burning bright, your stomach twisted in knots. It’s the wine, but it’s definitely the effect of his words too. You stare at Yoongi in surprise; no matter how many times he openly flirts with you, he’d still elicit the same reaction from you. It’ll be hard to get used to it. He just always seems to know what to say to make you blush like a schoolgirl, which you resent but you can’t deny the sparks of excitement that make your fingertips tingle.

Yoongi is smooth, and it’s even worse - or is it better? You haven’t decided yet - that you know he means every word he says. It makes you feel… wanted. It’s good to know that he’s being genuine, and to know that Yoongi isn’t the type of person who would ever pull the rug out from under you.

Yoongi is… stable.

You suppose, after everything you’ve been through, that stability is what you need. It’s good for you.

You try to swerve around the thoughts, to avoid them at all costs, but deep down you know now that they’re glaringly true.

That love is stored in two bags of groceries, so filled to the brim that some onions almost fall out. Love is stored in every flick of his wrist holding a knife, slicing the sharp blade across your cutboard. Clean cuts, yet he’s never this way when it comes to you.

Love is stored in a fond smile and adoring eyes when he sees how you cradle your expensive dishware like it’s a newborn baby before you set it carefully on the table.

Love is stored in a Yoongi-shaped silhouette, dancing over your countertops with practiced precision in every movement, filling in the cracks of your home. The love in him is reserved because you, like the moon when it crescents, still have a ways to go.

When he stands at your door an hour later with his coat in hand, you wait for him to speak first.

“Performance review?” he asks. “How did I do?”

“I… liked it. It was nice,” you say honestly. But you still feel the wine in your system, and it makes you bold enough to tease him for a change. “But it was my first date in a while, so it’s hard to tell if that opinion is objective.”

He rolls his eyes fondly. “Do I qualify for a second date then?”

You hum in thought, making him wait on purpose. “Yeah, I guess,” you say, feigning nonchalance, which earns you a hearty laugh.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asks, hopeful.

“Don’t know yet,” you answer, though you’ll probably end up going home and catching up on a kdrama. “Are you coming in tomorrow?”

“Just in the morning. I have a shoot in the afternoon.” He shifts to lean his weight on his other leg, tipping his body closer to you. “But I can pick you up after.”

“Yeah? And where would we go?”

Yoongi shrugs in earnest. “Just drive around? Grab a bite?” he thinks out loud, tilting his head slightly to one side for emphasis. “I could take you to that popup store you mentioned.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “You would stand in line with me to buy a novelty mug?”

“Pretty sure we wouldn’t have to stand in line if I gave them a call,” he says, grinning. “One of the perks of the job, y’know.”

“Must be nice,” you laugh, then shift to lean just a tad closer to him. You look at him for a brief moment before you agree, “Yeah, okay.”

You and Yoongi stand there at the door, each of you on either side of the threshold. This would be an appropriate moment for a kiss, you think. That explosive first kiss, if this were a movie. Exhilaration courses through your veins. You feel it from your head to the tips of your fingers to your toes. The feeling is rendering you a mere teenager again.

It’s exciting because it’s new. You have the entire book ahead of you, waiting to be written. At this point, anything could happen. You’re a blank canvas waiting to be drawn, a blank page hoping to be written.

Wait.

Back up.

A kiss?

A kiss?!

With Yoongi?

You’re thinking about kissing Yoongi?!

Fuck.

Fuck?!

It’s the wine.

Your thoughts knock against each other like bumper cars, echoing loudly in your brain that it almost gives you a headache.

You stay still as Yoongi leans down, your heart racing while your brain just keyboard-smashes. You can’t tell if you want him to kiss you or not, but when he only presses his lips against your cheek, you feel two emotions at once.

The first is disappointment, the second is relief. They press down on you with almost equal force, and you’re not really sure which one weighs heavier.

Baby steps.

You blink when he pulls away, and he just smiles fondly at you as if he can read your mind.

“Goodnight, princess.”

You watch him until he’s in the elevator, until the doors close and the lift descends. Even when you know that he must be on his way to his car and that someone else is making their way up, you stand there, with your hand loosely wrapped around the door handle, your breathing slightly erratic as you process what just happened.

Déjà vu?

It’s oddly reminiscent.

You’ve been here before.

Part of you thinks he’ll burst through the elevator doors, or rush up the stairs if the lift is occupied, and come back to grab your face and kiss you senseless.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook knows you’re probably waiting for Yoongi.

He’s seen Yoongi pick you up after work almost daily over the past couple of weeks, and it’s driving him insane. Even on the days that Yoongi comes to the studio during the day, the guy is all over you, so much so that he doesn’t even bother being a nuisance to Jungkook anymore, which just makes him a thousand times more insufferable.

Something is happening.

He can’t weasel shit out of Jimin anymore because Jimin has been especially tight-lipped after accidentally spilling Yoongi’s confession to you.

Because that should be him in Yoongi’s place. Or should he say his place, and Yoongi is just a placeholder. An imposter.

Because it used to be him that you smiled shyly at.

Jimin’s words have been plaguing his every waking hour since he was forced to hear them. If she wants to choose Yoongi, let her do that too. It feels like he’s rewinding all of your memories, retracing them with cautious fingers only to find that his every footstep is being erased to make room for someone else.

An abandoned dirt road, while you walk down a flower-filled path holding someone else’s hand.

Like you’re stamping him out.

Like he was never there at all.

Not only are you denying him a chance, you’re giving it to someone else. When he tries to move at someone else’s pace, all he gets is left behind.

It’s not about Yoongi; or at least, it’s not just about him. Yoongi doesn’t even really matter to Jungkook in this equation. It’s about what Yoongi represents. An idea of a person that Jungkook can never be.

A bigger life. A stable present and an even brighter future. Yoongi is everything better than him.

And that’s his own problem to deal with, not anyone else’s. At the end of the day, no one has to live with his insecurities but himself.

But still, he can’t help it. Whenever he sees you with Yoongi, his eyes burn. Please don’t let him take my place, he wishes every time, you’re the only good thing about me.

It’s jealousy, sure, of course it’s there.

But what if you realize what everyone else already knows? That Yoongi is better in every single way. That Yoongi is the person who really deserves you.

What if you start to see Jungkook the way he sees himself?

You hating him - despising him with every cell in your body - is a thousand times better than you deeming him unworthy.

“I talked to Jihyo,” he speaks up suddenly, when it’s only the two of you.

“Okay,” you answer, never taking your eyes off the page in front of you. You must have circled the words daisy a thousand times already, wracking your brain for anything that rhymes. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this, but good for you.”

At this point, you wonder if you should just avoid the studio for the time being. It’s empty here again. You resent Seokjin for drowning in concept photos. You resent Namjoon for leaving Jungkook here to fend for himself, but it’s only fair, because Namjoon was only supposed to give him a helping hand, not take over the whole thing. You even resent Yoongi a bit, for not being here right this second.

“I talked to her,” Jungkook says again, ignoring your sass. “She won’t give you a hard time anymore.”

This makes you look at him. You never asked him to do this. You never asked him to do anything. In fact, you have only ever implored him to sit still and leave things alone.

“She never gave me a hard time,” you say. Sure, you don’t appreciate being given the death glare first thing in the morning, but it’s not something that you can’t ignore. It doesn’t actively affect you, and the only reason Jihyo does it is because of Jungkook.

Because he broke things off with her?

Because he gives you more attention?

Ugh. Attention?

This is the stupidest and most childish thing you have had to think about in ages.

“You said she acts differently toward you.”

“And aren’t you the reason why?” you counter. “Because you two were fucking?”

Jungkook visibly winces at your words, like he did when you mentioned it the first time in the break room. You don’t mean to be snarky; you’re just stating the facts. They were hooking up.

You don’t harbor any ill will toward any of his past lovers, and that includes Jihyo. You know she doesn’t have anything against you either, at least not on a personal level because you don’t know each other well enough to do so. She’s just someone you pass by every day on your way to the elevator.

“So why did things end?” you ask just for the sake of it, since he was the one who brought it up. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious.

He hesitates for a moment. “She wanted something more and it wasn’t the same for me.”

It’s stupid that the tiny voice in the back of your head resurfaces, hoping that you were the reason why he couldn’t pursue things with another woman.

Jihyo isn’t you, that much is clear. You never asked for anything more from him, not once from start to finish. He was always the first one to pour love into you. It’s arguable which one of you loved the other more - maybe you loved each other equally, just in different ways - but it was a fact that Jungkook always took the initiative. He made the first move so you wouldn’t have to. He gave you the option to match his affection, and never have to worry about being left out to dry.

He took initiative, right until the very end.

You bite your bottom lip, then give him a curt response, “Okay.”

Your phone vibrates with a text from Yoongi but you don’t open it just yet. You look at Jungkook, who only looks back at you. His lips part slightly as he searches for the right words, or any word at all. It’s like you’re asking him to navigate a minefield when all he has to do is be honest. Even if he told you that he fell out of love with you, it wouldn’t be that bad. You would be hurt, yes, but you wouldn’t blame him. You would understand. It would be a reason.

Silence fills the room, save for the continuous tapping of your pen on paper.

He says your name, pleading. “I’m trying here.”

At Jimin’s party, Jungkook said you were someone important to him. You don’t doubt that he meant it, and that’s what infuriates you the most. You’re important, but he keeps running circles around you and making your head spin. You’re important, but everything he’s done makes you think that you’re the opposite. You’re important, just not important enough to get an explanation.

You know he’s genuine about everything he says, but that’s not enough. You can’t sustain yourself on just his words alone.

It’s another cycle of the same conversation, running over and over and over again. He’s reaching out but he’s holding back. You’re still getting nowhere. You don’t know how many times he has to make you ask this, only to not give you any clarity at all.

If there is a trait of Jungkook’s that you both love and hate at the same time, it is that he doesn’t know when to quit.

He texts you every day even when you don’t reply - one for good morning, and one for goodnight. He gets you a chai latte every day, which doesn’t do shit for your concentration because there’s not enough caffeine in it. He gets the door for you whenever you go into the same room together. He hounds your every waking moment. He makes sure that he’s the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thought that crosses your mind before you go to sleep.

I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

You suppose this is him, showing up again. In a lot of ways, it’s selfish. But it’s an effort too. Now your phone is full of meaningless messages that remain unread.

You barely glance at him. It’s routine at this point. He tries in ways that you don’t bother acknowledging anymore, because you figured that the best course of action is to let him wear himself out. When he has had enough of it, when he deems his efforts to be enough to absolve his guilt, he’ll stop. He has to.

But at what point does it stop?

At what point will you stop wanting to give in to him? Your mind rages wars with itself every time you feel his eyes on you, and you have to kill the urge to not turn your head and look at him too. At what point will you stop wanting to go to him and let him in again? At what point will you stop unconsciously making him a priority?

All of this, you supposed, is to say: Do you still love him?

You know that if you sit down and get to the root of it, you’ll find an answer you don’t like. Even in this moment, you want him to tell you just a fraction of the truth, because that would probably be enough to reel you back in.

Your own heart claws at your chest but this is how it has to be for a while. All you can do is take it one day at a time, gently nudge your heart in one direction like a child that needs to be goaded, until he doesn’t live on the forefront of your mind anymore.

Until someone else does.

“No, you’re not.” You stand up then, closing your notebook with more force than necessary. “If you’re really trying, then I wouldn’t still be wondering why I wasn’t enough to make you stay.”

Even then, you’re still hoping that he’d say something else. But when you’re only met with silence, the anticipated disappointment in you bubbles, boiling. His reluctance to clue you in makes it easier for you to decide.

There's someone else who's willing to give you things that you don't even need to ask for.

In your mind, it's clear who you should choose.

Jungkook clenches his teeth, holding his breath as he watches you shove your things into your bag. “Are you going home?” he asks after a minute.

You could say yes and let the conversation die a swift and simple death. But for some reason, you choose to kill it violently. You bite the inside of your cheek before you tell him, “I don’t know. Yoongi’s picking me up.”

The chagrinned look that takes over his features for a split second is one that you immediately catch. Maybe it’s because he wants to make sure you know how he feels about this, or maybe you still have a way of reading him somehow. Regardless of what his face tells you, he doesn’t prod any further.

Your phone vibrates on the table, the sound ten times more thunderous amidst the silence that’s befallen the both of you. You don’t need to check the screen to know who’s calling, and neither does he. When you leave, the sound of your fading footsteps ricochets off the walls. It shoots right through him.

He hears every word of that conversation ringing in his ears then. He recalls that afternoon’s sunset; it was the most beautiful sunset he saw that year, despite the sun overhead mocking him with every magnificent glint of light. He sees the look on your face when his words finally register in your mind, the Oh moment when you understood what he was saying, when the smile you wore sunk helplessly to the floor because even though you knew that love had an expiration date, you hoped your love would be the exception.

That memory fades, only to be replaced by something much worse. He sits there with Jimin’s words, echoing in his mind, reverberating around the room.

Technically, you and Yoongi haven’t been on a second date. You think.

You’ve seen him almost every night since the dinner, when he picks you up at the studio. Sometimes, you two just drive around. Sometimes, you sit by the river in the cold, eating hot ramen cups and giggling over nothing. Sometimes, he just takes you straight to your home if he has a packed schedule the next day.

These days, you see Yoongi even more than you see Taehyung. Even though he hasn’t explicitly implied that any of these outings is a date, you know you aren’t hanging out as just friends anymore.

It feels good to be wanted. The feeling is reinforced tenfold because it’s been so long that it’s like you’re experiencing it for the first time in a new body, as a different person.

But even after all of that, you two can still go back to being friends like nothing ever happened. Because in a way, maybe nothing did happen. Maybe things have always been like this between you, the only difference is now you’re noticing the meaning behind his words and glances.

You two can still go back, because technically, no line has been crossed.

But tonight, something feels different. It’s colder, but Yoongi keeps you warm with all the looks he’s been giving you all night.

It feels like you’re both toeing that line right now.

You know that once you cross it, things can’t revert back to the way they were anymore.

You know that it will happen eventually, because Yoongi isn’t doing this just to half-ass it. He won’t back out, and he has made it crystal clear from the start.

Usually, this is the part where he tells you goodnight and you have to pretend not to freak out when he kisses you on the cheek in goodbye.

He takes a step closer, you take no step back.

“You know what I’m about to do, right?”

You do. You could say you’re even hopeful.

“I might have an idea…”

“Okay,” he says easily. He takes your waist in his hands and brings you closer. The way the corner of his mouth tugs upward tells you that he’s pleased, that you know what’s about to come and you’re letting it happen. Still, he asks, “Can I?”

You nod. That glowing sensation washes over you in waves.

“Words, princess,” he reminds you.

Your hands land on the lapel of his coat. “Yes, you can.”

He chuckles, and squeezes you a little tighter.

Then it happens.

The line you clumsily drew in the sand has been erased.

Yoongi is kissing you.

You’re kissing him back.

He’s soft and warm and he holds you like you’re delicate. His sincerity, you can feel it in his kiss, and it’s only a fraction of it. Regardless, there is still life that blooms this winter. Inside of you, small and fragile, but it’s there.

You sigh into his mouth, feeling completely limbless if not for him holding your body upright. One of his arms wounds itself tighter around your middle while his other hand tucks your hair behind your ear so he could cup your cheek more easily. Yoongi tilts his head further to one side to deepen the kiss. You feel something in his kiss that you have never heard in his words, something soft and pleading. Wanting but still contained. Out of fear that you might run away, perhaps? You can’t blame him though. You are a bit of a flight risk.

The wind dances past like a nosy bystander, pressing you further into him like it wants you to be more sure in the way you move, in how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him. Instead, the cold just makes you shiver.

When you break away, his hand on your face moves to hold the back of your head. Yoongi doesn’t look half as flushed as you think you do, though his cheeks are slightly rosy.

Through a thin veil of clouds, the moon still shines down on his profile.

The chill in the air, the mesmerizing view of moonlight dancing across his features, and most of all, the way you’re still lost in the kiss, in the feeling of being wanted.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you up,” he says, after you stay silent for a beat too long, hooded eyes basking in the warmth of a heart chasing your own. You want to want him. You do want him, but there’s still something missing. It doesn’t feel entirely right, but for now, you try not to dwell on it too much. Just let it be. Maybe in time, that void will inevitably fill.

Yoongi holds your hand through the lobby and on the whole way up even if neither of you says anything, just shy glances in the elevator and bashful half-hidden smiles. You don’t invite him in once you get to your door - because an invite now insinuates something that you just aren’t ready for - but he does kiss you again. If the kiss you shared downstairs is a proper goodnight kiss, then this one means see you later and doesn’t last half as long, but it makes you tingle just the same.

He pulls back, only to dive in again, and again, and again, until one chaste kiss turns into five and you have to push him away with a giggle so you can breathe.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes still set on your mouth. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yoongi,” you say, a little breathily, like oxygen hasn’t sufficiently made its way into your lungs since downstairs.

He rests his forehead against yours. “You’ve never said my name like that before,” he sighs.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to kiss you again.”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth and pretend to consider this even though you know you would like to be kissed again. “Maybe I do,” you say after a beat, bravely. “Just one more.”

He gives you your final kiss of the night then, one that lasts a second longer than the others, like he’s trying to memorize how you taste.

You head in once Yoongi is out of sight. You lean your body against the door the second you snap the lock shut. You touch your lips lightly, reliving those moments again even though they happened mere seconds ago. You’re buzzing with excitement like a schoolgirl, every feeling coursing through your body all at once.

You’re familiar with this. It’s the stage right before every love song you listen to suddenly reminds you of that one person.

You go through your regular evening routine with a pep in your step, thanks to a certain person tonight. You take off your carefully applied makeup and take a nice, hot shower. You think the heat would help melt away the high that you’re riding - like you’ve had too much coffee to drink and now your senses are beyond heightened - but it doesn’t. Once you’re fresh and comfortable in your PJs, you still feel that jittery feeling seeping through your pores, keeping you awake. There’s a message from Yoongi that tells you he has made it home safely.

It’s still early, and you’re far too restless to go to bed. You decided to brew yourself a mug of chamomile tea, even though you don’t even like chamomile and you can’t remember why you even have it, but they say that apparently chamomile is good for sleep. You decide to take the mug into the living room to sort through your mini mountain of mail that should’ve been dealt with days ago.

Sitting underneath that pile of junk mail and letters addressed to the previous tenant even though you’ve lived here for nearly two years, is a cream-colored card addressed to you. The material feels smooth under your fingertips, like velvet if that’s even possible. Inside, there are two names - one you recognize and another you don’t - typed out in a fancy calligraphy font and encircled by pretty flowers, all pinks and whites and romantic.

The saccharine sensation associated with the thought of Yoongi dissipates instantly. Instead, your mind blanks, only to buzz to life again momentarily with a newfound sinking feeling dragging you down.

You suddenly realize that Jungkook hasn’t crossed your mind once tonight. Not until now. That crestfallen look in his eyes from the other night appears in your mind again, clear as day.

You are, quite literally, holding someone’s declaration of love and yet, it’s not joy that you feel, having been asked to join them on their special day.

You never thought you would see Jungkook’s family again - even though you always adored his parents and you felt that they loved you too - let alone receive an invitation to his brother’s wedding.

remember when y'all said u wanted a wedding?? well u didn't say whose wedding 😌

701 notes · View notes

sixzeroes · 1 year

Text

take my breath.

summary | lee donghyuck did not believe in ‘love at first sight.’ key word: did. he does now, but only because you happened to fall into his arms on the icy road in the narrow streets. you’re going to render him breathless from the countless times your smile takes his breath away.

characters | lee donghyuck x reader(f).

genres | fluff, romance, slice of life, strangers-to-lovers, meet-cute au, high school au, non-idol au.

warnings | profanity, me projecting my distaste for skinny jeans sorry hyuck ily, mentions of religion (hyuck is my fav church boy), he calls reader ‘princess’ :o like once tho lol, second-hand embarrassment,, mentions of jisung liking ive’s gaeul, not proofread so it’s probs all over the place sorry :P

word count | 5.5k.

37.5MHz | take my breath by nct dream ⋆ first love by sondia ⋆ lucky by exo.

it was time i had a more shy mc in my fics 💪💪 also this is me just projecting my dream meet-cute scenario that i always wish would happen during the damned winter lol!! ty all sm for waiting for this ep, i hope u enjoy ^^ ep.03 of my candy! miniseries, but it can be read on its own!

SATURDAYS ARE FOR THE BOYS, AND WHEN THE BOYS get together, Lee Donghyuck’s entire video game setup comes out.

Today is the second day of January, and in celebration of the New Year, Donghyuck has invited some of his closest friends over for an entire day of video games. Huang Renjun, Lee Jeno, Liu Yangyang, and Osaki Shotaro have their hands on a controller. Zhong Chenle is busy calling his girlfriend whereas Na Jaemin is immersed in a podcast about bunnies. To his left, Mark Lee is stressing over university course selections, and to his right, Park Jisung is scrolling through an unknown girl’s Instagram.

Donghyuck, being the Donghyuck he is, scooches over to Jisung with a mischievous smile.

“Who’s that?” he asks, startling the younger boy. “Your girlfriend?”

Jisung’s face turns red and Donghyuck wishes he had his phone right now to capture the scene. “N—No! She’s not my girlfriend—just a classmate, that’s all.”

That’s what Jisung says, but Donghyuck can tell that something is amiss. He nudges Jisung and wiggles his eyebrows. “Then is she a crush?”

Jisung resembles a beet.

“She is?” the older one coos, pinching the first year’s mochi-like cheek. “What do you like about”—he pauses to read the name—“Kim Gaeul?”

“I don’t know,” Jisung honestly responds, looking down at his unlocked phone. “She’s really pretty and good at dancing.”

“It was love at first sight,” Chenle budges in with a dreamy sigh. In his eyes, the joy of teasing sparkles. “He’s been stalking her Instagram ever since November.”

Donghyuck scrunches his nose at Chenle’s words. “Love at first sight? You’re kidding, right?”

Jisung shakes his head. “Why would I be kidding?”

Because ‘love at first sight’ is fake, Donghyuck wants to scoff, but he decides to keep that to himself. Jisung is obviously smitten with this girl, and as his older brother figure, the last thing Donghyuck wants to do is smash his innocent feelings. He instead opts to say, “You should at least follow her Instagram.” To that, Jisung vehemently shakes his head, and the topic is dropped at once.

Donghyuck doesn’t believe in love at first sight. To him, love is something that occurs over time, not seconds. How can someone claim they love another when all they know is what they look like and their name? There’s no depth to love at first sight, no authenticity. Perhaps he’s being antagonistic, or maybe he’s just realistic. Either way, there is no such thing as ‘love at first sight’ in Donghyuck’s dictionary, and it will be like that for the next one hundred years.

That was him yesterday, and whoever he was yesterday is not who he is today.

Lee Donghyuck thinks he’s fallen in love at first sight.

The road to the local CU is short but icy, an unfortunate outcome of the repeated snowfall throughout the past few weeks. The boys had slept over after last night’s truth or dare session seeped into the early hours of today. Even now, six of them are sprawled all across his living room while Renjun is tucked into Donghyuck’s sister’s bed. Mark walks beside him, the Canadian boy lounging in a sweater and a pair of basketball shorts despite the cold weather. Compared to him, Donghyuck is donning a thick winter jacket and a wool scarf for good measure.

“You look funny,” comments Mark, his hands finding solace in his sweater pockets.

Donghyuck shoots him a glare. “In Korea, someone like you is more likely to be stared at than me.”

The two make their way down the sidewalk to where CU is, finding themselves lost in a heated debate on whether Overwatch or League of Legends is a better game. (Donghyuck is a firm believer in Overwatch supremacy.) Mark exasperatedly shakes his head at Donghyuck’s stance, hands gesturing all over the place as he asserts why the younger one is completely and blatantly wrong. Donghyuck, in turn, groans in vexation, his chest muddled with frustration.

Donghyuck turns the corner. “Mark, you don’t underst—”

One moment, he’s breathing like a regular person. Half a second later, Donghyuck feels as if the air has been knocked out of his lungs. Oh great, he thinks as a body crashes into him and his arms instinctively wrap around them, what a wonderful way to start the day.

“Oh my God,” a small voice squeaks, clearly mortified at the predicament. His focus is hazy from the impact, blinking to clear his blurring gaze. “I am so, so sorry!”

Donghyuck glances at the figure in his arms and his eyes double in size. “Woah…” he mumbles, zoning out of his surroundings.

You pull away from his embrace, pink cheeks displaying your embarrassment. You profusely bow, avoiding eye contact with the boy. “I’m so sorry about this! Uh,” you crouch to pick up the bus card you’d dropped, “sorry! And thank you for catching me. Have a great day!”

One moment, you’re standing in front of Donghyuck and Mark. Half a second later, you’re turning the corner with great urgency.

Mark blinks. His lips are parted in confusion but no sound leaves his mouth. It takes him a minute to absorb the fast-paced situation. Finally, he says, “What the fuck was that?”

Donghyuck grazes a hand over his pounding heart, feeling the irregular beat through the several layers of thick winter clothes. Suddenly, he’s hotter than the sun despite the freezing weather. His ears are no longer tinted pink from the cold, but rather, a shade of crimson from the encounter. There’s an exhilarating feeling in his stomach, butterflies swarming his gut. He can vaguely hear Mark call his name in the background, the older guy tapping his shoulder.

Is this what Jisung felt like?

Did Donghyuck just fall in love at first sight?

“Melk,” he whispers—Mark makes a face at the nickname—one hand still over his heart, “I think I’m in love.”

Mark coughs. “I’m sorry, what?”

“So, let me get the facts straight,” says Renjun, hands folded as he digests the contents of Mark’s retelling. “You caught some girl from falling onto the ice by basically hugging her and now you’re in love with this girl who’s name you don’t even know?”

Donghyuck dreamily sighs. “Yeah.”

Jaemin flops onto the ground. “I think you’re insane.”

Donghyuck dreamily nods. “Yeah.”

The group of boys simultaneously shake their heads at Donghyuck’s lovestruck expression, (understandably) ridiculed at how smitten he is with a random girl he met on the streets. Donghyuck, on the other hand, can’t stop thinking about your flustered frame from earlier. He’s never before seen a girl as cute as you. If he was in a K-Drama, he’s certain CGI flowers would have decorated the screen.

“Did you get a good look at her face?” asks Shotaro, invested in Donghyuck’s love life.

The male lead smiles. “She’s so pretty.”

Yangyang whistles. “Recognise her from anywhere, maybe?”

Donghyuck’s smile falls. His head hangs low. “No. She doesn’t look like a student at our school—I would definitely remember her face if she was. She did seem to be around our age, though.”

“If she was in our area,” says Jeno, patting his friend’s gloomy back, “there’s a chance you’ll see her again. Could be from a different block of complexes.”

“Yeah,” Chenle chimes in, briefly looking up from his Nintendo Switch. “If she was running the opposite way, she might’ve been going to the bus stop.”

Donghyuck perks up at that thought. “Maybe,” he excitedly murmurs. The seed of hope has begun to grow in his heart. Jeno and Chenle are right; why else would you be in this neighbourhood if you didn’t live nearby? As his friends scoot back to their respective activities, Donghyuck bites his lower lip in anticipation.

Perhaps, he will run into you sooner than expected.

Fate must hold a special spot in her heart for Donghyuck.

Roughly thirty-three hours after his meet-cute with you, Donghyuck decides to go for an ice cream run with Yangyang at seven in the evening. (Renjun was going to join, but Donghyuck’s sister insisted on cuddling and being the sweet boyfriend but terrible best friend he is, Renjun happily agreed. Donghyuck is not on good terms with his younger sister anymore.)

Yangyang rummages through the ice cream bars, searching for his go-to Seolleim. Donghyuck grabs a Nugabar and a Screwbar—he contemplates on giving one to Renjun, but ultimately decides on eating both of them instead.

His money, Renjun’s loss.

“Hello,” Donghyuck absentmindedly greets the cashier, placing the ice cream bars on the counter for scanning. He fishes out his card to pay, sticking the slim plastic into the machine. When the payment is complete, Donghyuck grabs his snacks and glances up to say his thanks.

Your pretty yet exhausted smile greets him back.

“You—!” His words are caught in his throat, taken aback at the scene before him. He tilts his ball cap from obscuring the top of his view. “The girl from yesterday!”

Your eyebrows crinkle, adorning a puzzled expression. Then, after studying his face for a second, your eyes widen in remembrance. “Ah! The guy from yesterday!”

(Yangyang watches from the sidelines.)

The fatigue has now been replaced by sheer embarrassment and adrenaline from yesterday’s events, your ears burning red. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.” you apologise again, bowing for the nth time. “I hope you weren’t hurt anywhere!”

Donghyuck rapidly shakes his head, sticking his hands up in denial. “No! No, I wasn’t hurt. Were you?”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t, thanks to you.” you softly reply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ears. “I’d like to make up for my clumsy mistake, if that’s alright. Please, take something from the store for free.”

(Yangyang snatches a bag of shrimp crackers.)

Donghyuck refuses. “No, it’s okay. It wasn’t that big of a deal anyway.”

(Yangyang slowly returns the bag of shrimp crackers.)

“Are you sure?” you ask, lips pouting.

Donghyuck finds you irresistibly cute. He can’t believe he’s never seen you around before, with your lovely lips and charming eyes. Hell, he’s never written poetry before, but with the way his mind won’t stop illustrating your beauty, he’s bound to replace history’s best poet with ease. Lee Donghyuck is attracted to you. He wants to see you again, and again, and again. The gears in his mind spin as a fantastic idea generates in his head.

“Maybe,” he slowly starts, scanning your face, “if you really want to make up for it, you can give me your name instead.”

(Yangyang suppresses a shriek.)

The red spreads from your ears and neck to your cheeks and Donghyuck thinks you’re a gift sent from God. His parents didn’t get him the PC set he’s been wanting for ages, so as retribution, the heavens sent you right into his arms. Literally.

You tug at your sweater, averting your gaze. “Y/N,” you speak timidly. “My name is Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Donghyuck gently grins, his heart rate accelerating at the progress he’s made. “I’m Donghyuck.”

When you softly smile at him, Donghyuck believes he saved the world in his previous life.

“Maybe,” Yangyang mimics to the boys, “you can make up for it by giving me your name instead.”

The crowd hollers, hounding a proud Donghyuck with pats on his back and slaps to his shoulders.

It’s been four days since Donghyuck got your name, and he’s returned to the convenience store every evening in hopes of seeing you again. Unfortunately for him, your shifts did not align with his visits, and Donghyuck is starting to wonder if he hallucinated the entire encounter. (No, he couldn’t have; not when Yangyang continues to reenact the entire scene during their lunch breaks.) He steels himself with a slap to his left cheek. Today is Saturday, exactly one week since Donghyuck’s breath was taken away. Once again, he’s going to pop by CU around seven in the evening––this time, with Renjun, who he managed to convince as the younger Lee’s attending a student council dinner party. With Renjun shuffling behind, Donghyuck enters CU with high hopes.

The Y/N drought instantly vanishes when he sees your figure at the cashier. You’re scanning a basket of snacks for a group of kids, laughing at their animated antics. Donghyuck is very, very close to becoming addicted to your smile.

“Renjun,” he excitedly taps the older guy, “that’s her.” He points at your figure.

“Oh, I’ve seen her before,” says Renjun, glancing your way. “She seems to be a student at that prestigious all-girls school near ours.”

Ah, the joy Donghyuck drowns in whenever he learns more about you (in, you know, a non-stalkerish way). “Really? How’d you know?”

Renjun browses the instant ramyun packages. “Saw her a few weeks ago with a calculus textbook on the countertop. You know, the ones specifically made by that school?”

Donghyuck does not know because he never really cared about the prestigious all-girls high school before––which was extremely disrespectful on his part for disregarding such a wonderful school with such a beautiful student. He’s jealous of the girls that attend your school, and how they’re most likely graced with your presence every day. Donghyuck would kill to see you every single day.

His hands grab a package of Neoguri ramyun whereas Renjun picks out the classic Shin. The two of them head towards the now-empty cashier, the kids having filed out a few minutes prior.

“Oh, hello.” you grin. “Donghyuck, right?”

He passes you the package and beams. “Yeah! Nice to see you again, Y/N.”

(While Donghyuck is preoccupied with staring at your lovely face, Renjun slips his package onto the counter and you scan it as well. Donghyuck pays for both of the ramyun, but he’s too distracted to realise the extra dollar leaving his wallet.)

“Has it been busy at all?” asks Donghyuck, pulling his card out of the machine. He’s desperately searching for an excuse to linger just a little longer. Renjun finds a sudden interest for the alcoholic drinks located at the opposite side of the store.

You shake your head. “Just a few customers here and there. It’s cold outside, so I guess everyone is staying indoors.”

“Understandable,” the boy hums.

The convenience store falls silent, Renjun attempting to engross himself in the ingredients of soju, Donghyuck digging through his brain for another topic, you looking down at your phone for the time. It’s awkward––so awkward––that Donghyuck thinks you might never want to talk to him again. So, pulling on his big boy pants, he pops the big question. “Do you have a lover?”

Renjun chokes on his spit. Donghyuck bites down on his tongue. Your eyes widen at the unexpected inquiry. “Uh—no,” you sputter, cheeks red. “I don’t have a lover.”

“Then…” He licks his parted lips. “Can I ask you out on a date?”

The convenience store falls silent. Renjun contemplates grabbing his friend and making a run for it. Donghyuck prays to every single deity out there for a positive response. You digest his words, letting each and every syllable sink in.

You nibble on your lower lip. “But…you don’t even know me.”

Donghyuck’s heart falls (so does Renjun’s), but he gathers hope when he catches your curious gaze. “You’re right,” he confidently states, “so I want to get to know you. I’ll be honest with you, Y/N. I think you’re really cute. Like really, really cute. I kinda fell for you when you—you know—fell into my arms. Sorta like love at first sight?” He’s rambling at this point, unveiling how desperate he is to have one chance with you. Love sure does silly things. “I mean, no pressure, though.”

Pink paints your face. You’re about to answer when a voice squeaks from behind. “Dude, move.” Annoyed, Donghyuck turns around with a glare but falters at the sight of four middle school girls. Oh. Donghyuck once lived with a middle school girl, so he knows better than to test their patience. Like a child that’s been disciplined, he obeys, scooting over to let the girls purchase their snacks. A hand grasps his wrist, tugging him away from the counter and towards the exit.

“Hey! Renjun!” hisses Donghyuck, struggling to release himself. “What are you doing?”

Renjun steps into the cold atmosphere. “Saving you from further embarrassment. Seriously, Hyuck, what were you doing? Confessing your undying love for her on the third meeting? You don’t even know her full name!” The Chinese boy abruptly stops and Donghyuck stumbles to a halt. Renjun prods the younger’s chest. “Look, you’re being too rash. She’s clearly on the shy side, so approach her, don’t overwhelm her, okay? Don’t start panicking and blurt out random shit.”

Donghyuck purses his lips. He wants to refute but he can’t; Renjun is right. He hangs his head low, feeling a little (re: really) pathetic at how careless he had been. Impressions are important, and right now, he fears he’s left a terrible one on you.

Renjun, obviously noticing Donghyuck’s sulky mood, adds, “You’ve still got a chance, though! From what I’ve observed, she seems to be interested in you, just extremely timid. I think, if you head back in with your thoughts organised—”

“Donghyuck!”

It takes him a second to register your voice. Donghyuck spins around, shocked to see you jogging towards him, still clad in your CU uniform. And like déjá vu, you slip on the ice, falling into his warm embrace.

(Donghyuck could get used to this.)

“Y/N,” he breathes, getting a whiff of your sweet scent. “Are you okay?”

Like always, your ears are tinted red. “Uh—yes! Yes, thank you.” You balance yourself on the slippery surface. “I just wanted to give you something,” you quietly say, lifting a slip of paper. Your handwriting is scrawled on it, which Donghyuck finds effortlessly cute. “It’s my number. For, uh, you know, the date.” Your voice grows smaller at the last sentence, awkwardly avoiding his eyes.

If Donghyuck is a dynamite, you are his lighter.

“The—date?” he stammers, unable to believe his ears. “You’re—You—Yes to the date?”

You gently laugh. “Yes to the date.”

Donghyuck is on—no, above cloud nine. He plucks the piece of paper from your hands, grasping it as if it’d fly away. He cocks an eyebrow and tosses you a smirk. “I’ll text you later, princess.”

You avoid his eyes but a grin tugs at your lips. “I’ll be waiting.” With that, you give him a small wave and retreat back to the convenience store. Donghyuck watches you disappear, his heart rate breaking records.

Renjun has one hell of a story to tell the others the next time the boys get together.

Sunday morning, Donghyuck lays in bed as he stares at your contact in his phone. It’s been a little over twelve hours since you gave him your number, and because he’s a nervous wreck, he has yet to text you about the date.

He ponders what sort of date would be the best. A picnic date? No, it’s too cold. A museum date? No, Donghyuck isn’t really into museums. An arcade date? No, he isn’t willing to unleash his no-showering-only-gaming side to you (yet).

A movie date seems to be the most ideal first date, from both an objective and subjective perspective. He opens Naver, curious about the current selection of movies in theatres. Donghyuck scrolls through the list, spotting several movies he’s seen advertisements for. A particular one catches his eye—Candy, a romance-comedy movie featuring four high school boys and their entertaining love lives. He clicks on the description, intrigued by the premise. (Don’t let anyone know, but Donghyuck is a diehard romance fan.) A small smile settles on his lips.

Donghyuck, with a vague itinerary in mind, sends you a message.

donghyuck: hi y/n, it’s donghyuck :)

You respond almost immediately.

you: donghyuck!! hi ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

He might overdose on your cuteness.

donghyuck: so i was thinking of our date donghyuck: and i was wondering if ur up for a movie at the nearby lotte mall??

you: i’d love to watch a movie! which one ?

donghyuck: how does candy sound?

you: i’ve been wanting to watch that one for soo long!!

Donghyuck proudly grins.

donghyuck: i know it’s a little sudden, but is today at 3pm ok?? i’ll buy the tickets and everything, so just bring yourself

you: you don’t have to! i can buy the snacks

donghyuck: maybe you can pay next time ^^

Smooth, he thinks to himself.

you: if u say so haha you: i’ll see you at three!!

Oh, Donghyuck beams, roses blooming on his cheeks. I definitely saved the world in my previous life.

Today’s look consists of a striped crewneck tucked into wide-legged slacks and a pair of black Converses. Donghyuck’s hair is neatly combed, his bangs parted to reveal a portion of his forehead. The outfit is topped off with a puffer jacket and a spritz of his father’s Dior perfume. Normally, Donghyuck would just wear a leather jacket in an all-black fashion. But Renjun, ever the style guru, emphasised the importance of looking nice on the first date.

(Frankly, Renjun just wanted to play stylist so Donghyuck became his K-Pop idol to dress.)

Donghyuck received a fair amount of compliments at church earlier this morning, many of his peers applauding the new look. He clearly remembers how impressed Uchinaga Aeri was, nearly shedding a tear at his lack of skinny jeans.

(Sorry, Aeri, but Donghyuck still likes his skinny jeans and he won’t change his opinions for anyone. Not even you.)

(…Okay, maybe for you.)

(Can you tell he’s hopelessly in love?)

Despite the below zero weather, Donghyuck’s hands are sweaty and his nape is hot. It’s ten before three p.m., and he’s standing outside of the cinema, waiting for your familiar figure. With every minute that ticks by, his heartbeat jumps faster and faster. He recalls Renjun’s words. Approach her, don’t overwhelm her.

Donghyuck, to put it simply, is terrible with his crushes. He’s always had the tendency of getting ahead of himself, ultimately scaring away the girls he’d been interested in. He never means to overwhelm them, but when his own feelings are swallowing him whole, he can’t help but express his love through words and actions all at once. Donghyuck hopes you’re different; he hopes you won’t be chased away by the flood he may be.

Three on the dot, you’re walking towards him with a bashful smile.

“Hi, Y/N,” he gleams, absolutely elated. “You look really pretty today.”

Your smile may be shadowed by your timidity but it still outshines the sun. “Thank you, Donghyuck. You look good as well.”

He giggles. Donghyuck giggles. “Thanks, Y/N.” Then, “I’ve bought the tickets and everything, we just need to grab some snacks. What’s your favourite popcorn?”

“Mm,” you hum, scanning the options. “I’m fine with anything.”

Right. Donghyuck forgot about your introverted tendencies. You’re on the shy side like Renjun had said, so he’s got to be the assertive one without, well, overwhelming you. The boy clears his throat. “How about caramel?”

You nod. “Sounds great.”

Fifteen minutes later, Donghyuck and you are seated side-by-side in the theatre, positioned near the centre of the large room. To his left are couples. To his right are couples. Behind and front? Also couples. Donghyuck catches a pair sharing a kiss and awkwardly looks away.

He would like to kiss you right now.

Stupid Donghyuck. Baby steps, baby steps.

He would still like to kiss you right now.

Donghyuck lightly slaps his cheek. He’s here to woo you, not scare you away. His priority is to have you reciprocate his overflowing feelings with the same volume of love and then getting a kiss.

The lights dim as the opening advertisements come to an end. You excitedly whisper, “The movie’s starting!” Donghyuck glances over at you, his heart stopping at how breathtaking you are. Not even the theatre could overshadow your beauty.

The opening scene of Candy begins and he reluctantly averts his gaze back to the large screen. Your presence is difficult to ignore, but Donghyuck is not about to get caught staring like a creep. He chews on a handful of popcorn in an attempt to drown in the movie.

Two hours later, Donghyuck is waiting in front of the restrooms, holding your bag in his hands. If anyone were to come up to him and demand an explanation for the plot of Candy from start to finish, he would simply laugh and redirect them to Namuwiki. Donghyuck doesn’t remember a single thing about the rom-com—save for the character ‘Haechan’—because he’d been too busy sneaking glimpses of your side profile. He might as well live on a ventilator from how often he loses his breath around you.

You walk out with your hands damp, shaking them to rid the residual water. The two of you walk towards the exit and Donghyuck continues to hold your bag. He asks, “How was the movie?”

Your eyes glimmer. “It was amazing,” you sigh, dreamy. “I loved the different dynamics between the four couples and Haechan—he reminded me so much of you!” You glance at him and beam, “Haechan was…my favourite character throughout the entire film.”

Oh. Donghyuck gulps. He’ll need to rewatch the movie.

The time reads five twenty-two p.m., and Donghyuck’s stomach resonates with hunger. He purses his lips, browsing through his memories for a decent yet inexpensive restaurant nearby. You must’ve noticed his dilemma as you say, “Why don’t we grab ramyun at the convenience store?” You elaborate, “I forgot my calculus textbook there. Also, we’d get free food.”

Free food? No sane person would ever pass up the opportunity to eat free food.

And so, around six in the evening, Donghyuck is sitting at the local CU with a cup of Neoguri ramyun steaming in front of him. You’ve disappeared, presumably grabbing your calculus textbook and greeting the employee of the hour. His stomach continues to perform all sorts of acrobatics, his nerves gnawing at his heart. Donghyuck has never experienced so many different emotions all at once; it’s like a tsunami has erupted within him.

“Sorry for taking so long.” You appear with a thick textbook in your arms. With a flustered tone, you say, “My manager—she wouldn’t stop asking about you.”

Donghyuck doesn’t hide his cheeky smile. “Really? What did she ask?”

Your eyelashes flutter. “If—you know—if you’re my boyfriend.” You whisper the last part, barely audible enough for Donghyuck to catch. Somehow, the corners of his lips lift even more, a pair of rose-tinted glasses perched on his nose. The way you’re shyly moving about, stirring your cup ramyun, cheeks hot with rouge. Donghyuck thinks that, if a meteor were to hit the earth at this moment, he would be content living the last seconds of his life with you by his side. (Sorry to Lee Donghyuck’s family and friends, but he’s got priorities!) He’s so, so infatuated, so head-over-heels in love with a girl he’s known for less than a month. There’s a plethora of things he doesn’t know about you, but he’s willing to learn every little detail of your life. Donghyuck wants to stay in your world for as long as time permits.

You tap his shoulder. “Donghyuck? Are you okay?” Your cup ramyun is now empty of noodles, only a small amount of soup left. “You spaced out.”

The boy blinks. “Did I?” He ruffles his bangs, accidentally ruining his neatly-combed hair. “Sorry, Y/N. I was thinking about how I’d be happy even if the world ended right now because I’m with you.” He blinks again. He abruptly stands up, neck flushed red as he grabs the garbage strewn before him. “Sorry! Ignore what I just said.” Donghyuck nervously avoids your gaze, scurrying over to the ramyun disposal to throw out the soup and recycle the cups. When he returns to where you’re seated, he fidgets with his fingers, unable to look you straight in the eyes. “It’s, uh, getting late now. I’ll walk you home, if that’s okay?”

Donghyuck misses the way you softly grin. “Sure. Thank you.”

The sun has already set, a dark navy coating the night sky. Several stars pierce through the atmosphere and Donghyuck can vaguely make out the Big Dipper. His gaze naturally shifts to you who’s brighter than the stars. Even under the faded moonlight, he can clearly see the outline of your pretty features.

Donghyuck has no clue where he’s going. He’s blindly following you, walking this cold path with you until your apartment comes into view. You haven’t said anything, which he finds a little nerve-wracking. Donghyuck, being the Donghyuck he is, decides to blurt out, “I’m sorry.”

You continue to walk but confusion taints your face. You tilt your head, lower lip jutted out. “For what? I really enjoyed today, even if it was impromptu.”

He shakes his head. “Not because of the sudden date. Well, I mean, I guess a little, but not really. I’m just…” he inhales sharply, “really sorry about before. How I approached you and overwhelmed you every single time. I didn’t mean to—you know—impose myself on you—”

“You didn’t!” you exclaim, breaking his ramble. In a dulcet tone, you continue, “You never overwhelmed me. I was just surprised to know that a guy was genuinely interested in me, so I wasn’t really sure how to react.” You cross a parking lot. Donghyuck follows. “I’m also terrible with human interactions but you…with you, I feel so comfortable. Don’t ask me why. I have no scientific evidence for that. But just…” You glance at him and he’s unable to tear his eyes away from your face. “I want to get to know you better.”

Donghyuck is glad you’re on the same page. “Me too,” he whispers, elated. “Every time I’m with you, I feel like my heart’s going to explode. In a good way, of course. I really, really like being around you.” I fell in love at first sight.

You stop in front of Building 301 and turn to face him. “Thank you for today, Donghyuck.” you say, voice tender. “I truly enjoyed it.”

His breath catches in his throat. “Me too.”

Something in you must’ve snapped as you bravely lean forwards to press a sweet kiss on his cheek. As you retreat to your spot a few inches away from him, Donghyuck’s jaw slacks in shock. You giggle at his lovestruck expression.

“Good night, Donghyuck.”

It takes everything within him to not squeal.

“Good night, Y/N.”

He watches your figure slip into the apartment building, giving a small wave before disappearing behind the elevator doors. Donghyuck stands rooted to his spot, hand cupping his kissed cheek while his heart runs wild.

You kissed his cheek.

Donghyuck didn’t believe in love at first sight. It was a stupid conception, because how was someone supposed to develop feelings for a person they had no knowledge about? Donghyuck didn’t understand, and frankly, he still doesn’t. He’s not sure as to why he fell in love with you at a single glance during a chance encounter. But one thing he is sure about?

Lee Donghyuck is confident that you’ll take his breath away every single time until he’s left unable to breathe without your presence.

you: donghyuck!!

Donghyuck pulls out his phone at the notification, a smile immediately spreading at the sender’s name.

you: go home alr! it’s cold outside, i don’t want you to freeze :(

donghyuck: how did you know i’m still out here?

you: i can see you from the sixteenth floor

Donghyuck looks up. The sixteenth floor is far up, but when he squints, he can see your hand shooing him away.

donghyuck: that’s not nice, telling your date to go away

you: if u get sick rn, you can’t be my date anymore so go home and take a long hot shower!!

Donghyuck chuckles.

donghyuck: so, more dates?

You leave him on read for one minute.

you: only if you go home rn and warm up

Donghyuck has never looked forward to living as much as now.

donghyuck: noted. good night, y/n :))

you: good night, donghyuck <3

Donghyuck believes in love at first sight and you are his proof.

bonus: the aftermath.

Approximately one hundred days have passed since you and Donghyuck decided to start dating, and instead of spending the special day outside, you’re snuggled up against your boyfriend at his place, watching Hunter × Hunter on TV. Neither of his parents are home and his younger sister kindly offered to hangout with their neighbour next door. It’s quiet, save for the anime and Donghyuck’s rhythmic breathing.

You lay your head flat against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Donghyuck strokes your head but his eyes don’t stray from the screen.

Frankly, you’re a little jealous.

“Hyuck,” you whine, poking his nose. He looks down at you with a puzzled face. “Give me a kiss.”

Your boyfriend laughs. “Needy, huh?”

You huff. “I want attention, so give me a kiss.”

Donghyuck chuckles, but he complies nonetheless, adjusting his position so his lips can graze yours. You hum into the kiss, your thumb drawing circles on his cheek.

It’s amazing how easily he takes your breath away.

taglist | @matchahyuck @lovehowdream @niinjo @jeonnyread @pckeia @dandelionxgal @huangstape @lemarkjun @mosviqu @neosdaisy @hayven-cov @toothfa-1-ry

734 notes · View notes

icarustypicalfall · 8 months

Text

HEAD CANONS!!

how cod men would use their phones

this is my first time doing head canons lmao if its bad just forget it 😭 i tried to be realistic but that was extremely dump lmaoo

warnings: none, totally sfw and maybe funny? 😀

captain john price

honestly, i see him as the type of people who'll lecture you when they see you using a phone, while he plays candy crush and similar games on a loop when he's alone. he isn't much interested in social media, maybe he'll use Twitter for infos and What's up to talk with his team. Otherwise, he'd be a Facebook dad watching videos with that annoying laugh on full volume while cackling. Gaz tried to convince him to use other platforms but it resulted in Price giving him a 10 minutes lecture on how bad social media is.

(john secretly watch tiktok video complications on YouTube)

simon ghost riley

he doesn't use his phone much, he knows how it can be addicting and he has much things on his mind to worry about being social with others. although, he looks for dad jokes and have a laugh at them when he's alone. his camera roll is full of blurry pictures he took by mistake and screenshots of recipes.

kyle gaz garrick

he's the youngest and the one who convinced price into buying a phone. i think Kyle is the the type of people who'd be popular on every platform, twitter, Instagram, you name it. he's funny (also really handsome 🤭) which makes it easy for him to have much moots and friends. He watches streams or horror stories at 2 am. (spoiler: he got scared more than once)

johnny soap Mactavish

he watches shitty shows on Netflix to complain about them. he loves, and i mean really loves annoying people with stupid meaningless Messages when he's bored. if you are texting him, god be with you, this man makes 20 typos in a single word. he'd make comments on random posts to fight people for months.

"jus fer fun lass/lad"

(sorry if this isn't how Scottish people actually talk I've seen it around in fics 😭)

he looses arguments most of the time and asks Alejandro for some back up.

Alejandro vargas

he uses his phone to call only, he despises texting and if he did, it'll be like this

you:"when shall i meet you tomorrow?"

Alejandro:"9"

you:"pm?"

Alejandro:"👍🏻"

although, he takes lots of pictures, sends them to you most of the time. rudy forced him to make an Instagram account and he ended by liking it.

rudy parra

this cute man 🤭💕 he might be a military man, but he has a soft spot for cute videos of pepole taking care of animals. he'd watch them for hours. he doesn't use his phone much due to his job but he's keeps up with the trends and explains them to you if you're confused.

i can see him using this one a lot :3

Phillip graves

he hates social media, he uses what's up to send to his shadows shirtless pictures of him. he'd drop the most heart wrenching pic ever and say"what's for dinner" (you sir 🤭)

he secretly loves watching those videos of reddit stories, he knows it's probably fake but he lives for the drama and enjoys it.

-fin-

i hope y'all like it, it's shitty and short lmao.

i Just got up from a nap lmao can't believe people actually liked my other work

shall i do other operaters from like Kor-Tac and ghosts? (and yes i know König is in Kor-Tac)

*just realized I didn't add tags im

✨d u m p ✨*

159 notes · View notes

motherstone · 28 days

Text

Design concept exploration

Would it be subjected to eventual changes? Likely yes, if I ever render them realistically is what allows me what designs works and what doesn't, for my sanity. I really tried my best to make the design not too overly detailed so if I ever have to draw them repeatedly, I get to draw them quick. Honestly, I think Max's and Leon's are close to pretty much final - they're almost exactly the ones in my head, Max especially.

Notes:

Max is def wearing Cielan clothing, a Griffins on his tunic. I'm pretty happy that I'm able to use my Worldbuilding hc of Cielans having gold on their outfits, from the leather to the cloth - to show that they're a rich city-state through conquering cough cough. A headcanon, his dad was a Captain of the Cielis Guard, Max is from a pretty important family of a long line of soldiers/stonekeepers. I'm still not sure whether to finalize it, but Max isn't undead here, but he's definitely cursed to die, and is dependent on the EK to keep him alive. Still, furs, because he never felt warmth again after Korthan (also, he uses ice).

OOMF EK is a struggle between "his iconic for his simple white design" and "he's egotistical and that should be shown by the opulence of his robes" and I'm still figuring out the balance. I might remove most of the gold. And also, oof, I realized if he's hooded, his ears should misshape the hood. But if I have his hood tucked behind the ears, he looks silly. So maybe I'd just trick people that if EK is looking at the side, his ears are hidden, but if he's fully frontal, you'd see his ears :P or maybe I should just add a slit in the hood. Aaah elf ears. You're pretty but a nightmare to work with. The idea behind EK is supposed to be "divine" or "holy", hence he has tippets, like a priest. You can even see it in the fancomic. But now I'm considering whether or not I should keep it... He has two fits: this one is for throne room only, hence it has a train. If he goes out, it'd be a bit different.

Leon already has great design, but I gotta make him a bit more unique - I maintained the general form, but the more specific details are different. Kanalian armor is a bit more different armor than those of other cities. The armor Leon wears is sorta? Leather? Studded, light armor for him because he relies on speed since he's no powerhouse. Spats, bc drawing laces are a pain. Simplified his arm guards to have metal plates. AM unsure about the white pants.

#amulet series #kazu kibuishi #max griffin #elf king #leon redbeard #amulet rewrite

54 notes · View notes

raccoon-eyed-rebel · 11 months

Text

What's the occasion?

Masterlist

A/N: What this was supposed to be: A fluffy comfort fic about reader's husband taking care of her after a rough day/week/month. What this isn't: A fluffy comfort fic about read.... you get me.

What this somehow ended up being: A not-so-fluffy not-so-comfort (?) fic about reader's husband taking real good care of her after a rough day/week/month.

You're welcome, I think? (I honestly don't have a clue how this ended up being some of the smuttiest smut I've written to date... But it happened... I'm not even going to question it.)

Pairing: Syverson x reader (you)

Summary: You come home from a terrible day at work, thinking you have about a thousand things still on your to do list, only to find your husband has taken care of all of that, and has also made you the first thing on his to do list.

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, SMUT, MINORS DNI. oral (m and f receiving), p-in-v sex, Sy being all dominant and massive, some light (yes, really) throatfucking, hair pulling, manhandling. Some of this can probably be considered blasphemy.

Also, fair warning: this story contains a man doing household chores without having been (explicitly) asked to do so. Just... Bear with me. I know it's not realistic, but we're here to have fun, right?

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @keanureevesisbae @fvckinghenrycavill @ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss

Parking your husband’s truck in your driveway is an absolute nightmare. It takes you twenty minutes and a breakdown – during which you fight yourself over whether or not to just go inside and ask him to park his stupid car for you – but you eventually manage. Now, it’s time to go inside, after the longest day at the office in the history of long ass days at the office, and do the six million other things that come for free with having a house, husband, and kids. Dishes. Laundry. Dinner. That stuff.

You toss your bag down on the bench next to the front door and put your coat on the overflowing coat rack six times – it keeps coming down because for some reason, your teen daughter owns 12 jackets, yet she still always asks to borrow yours seconds before telling you that all of your clothes suck – before you finally give up and leave it where it falls.

It takes you a minute to realize that you smell food. With three kids and your mountain of a husband, that can only really mean one thing: someone got hungry, your plans for dinner are now in ruins and your kitchen looks like an episode of Hoarders. And even though those are your expectations, your family still manage to exceed them every time, so God knows what you’re going to find when you round that corner and step into your kitchen...

It’s Sy. And it’s not just Sy, but it’s just Sy. Come to think of it... The whole house is suspiciously void of music, screaming or shoes scattered around for you to break your neck over.

“Where are the kids?” you ask as you walk towards Sy.

“With my mother,” he replies without turning around, “to be returned to us on Sunday night at eight, and not a second before then. Are ya goin' to make a habit of not sayin’ hello to me when you get home? ‘Cause I don’t care for it.”

“Well, excuse me for not taking the time out of my busy schedule for pleasantries, but I have a week’s worth of laundry to get to,” you snap. He doesn’t deserve it, you know that, but it’s the kind of day you’ve had, and... And it’s all on you again.

“Laundry’s done,” Sy says calmly, still not looking up from the lasagna he’s putting together.

“Oh,” you stammer. “Well, then I’ll just grab the vacuum and...”

“I did that, too.”

“Alright, I’ll give the garage a quick call to see if they can...”

“I changed the oil in your car this morning.”

“Groceries?”

“Done.”

“The bathroom?”

“Yep.”

“And you’ve obviously got a handle on dinner...” You have to admit it: you’re a little stumped. “What about...”

“Woman, if you’re lookin’ for somethin’ I didn’t do so you can blow up at me for it, I’ll just hand it to ya: I didn’t get to cleanin’ out the gutters today, so I’ll have to do that tomorrow.”

But you’re not planning on blowing up at him over anything...

“Well, hello Mr. Syverson,” you say, still completely in awe that your entire schedule for the night – and probably the whole weekend – just opened up. “Remind me... We got married in October, right?”

“Yes, Mrs. Syverson, we did.” He’s even less subtle than usual, skipping your hips and putting his hands on our ass right off the bat.

“So, what’s the occasion?” you chuckle. Sy pulls you in for a kiss, just passionate enough to leave you wanting more, but not so bad you beg him to take you right here on the kitchen counter. It’s a fine line, really. A tightrope you’ve tried to walk before, only to fall off on the wrong side and be late for yet another dinner with someone who was never going to be more important than having sex with your husband, anyway.

“The occasion is... You’re beautiful. You deserve it. You do so much for our family and somewhere along the lines I seem to have started takin’ that for granted. Take your pick, I’m sure there’s plenty more reasons to come up with.” He squeezes your ass. Hard. “This sensational ass could be the occasion?”

“You’re saying you got rid of the kids for the weekend and checked off my whole to do list to celebrate the existence of my ass?”

“Sugar, I celebrate the existence of that fine ass every damn day. Now, I’ve fallen a little behind on celebrating the existence of the woman attached to it... I’d like to make up for that.” There is absolutely no way you aren’t blushing right now. Sy doesn’t let go of you, but his hands move to your waist. You’re trying your best to not drown in his eyes, but you’ve been hopelessly lost in there for nearly twenty years. For a brief – but lovely – moment, you stand there, just holding each other and making eyes like you used to when you were young and in love. And young...

“This needs about half an hour in the oven, still, so how about I give you forty-five and you can take a nice, long shower?” Sy winks at you – or rather: tries to. “There’s something on the bed I’d love to take off of you later tonight, but I also understand if you just want to wear something comfortable.”

“Did you pick it?” you tease him.

“You’ll be more than happy to know that I did, but under the very strict supervision of Dana.” It seems like your dear husband has finally learned how to use the fact his best friend’s wife works in a lingerie store to his advantage… Took him long enough.

“Right on time,” Sy says as you step into the kitchen. You take the glass of wine he’s holding out to you and take a sip.

“Mmm...” The sound you make is almost a moan. One look at the bottle on the table tells you this is a really nice wine – one from a price range you can’t afford to shop at...

“Gift from a client. Walker said I could take it. I guess his wine cellar doesn’t fit any more.” Sy pulls you in for a hug. It doesn’t last long, but it’s nice, very nice.

Dinner is amazing. Sy is a great cook – when given means, motive, and opportunity – and he has prepared three courses of absolute heaven. He only has to assure you twice that the price of the ingredients won’t put your family in financial ruin.

You’re halfway through dessert – a deliciously indulgent, rich chocolate mousse you’re fairly sure he made from scratch – when you realize something.

“You can’t have done all the laundry. We don’t have the space to hang all of that...”

“I fixed the dryer,” Sy interrupts, “I’m sorry I only did that after it became a problem to me, personally.”

“That’s alright...”

“No, it ain’t,” Sy grins. He knows you.

“Very well, then. I accept your apology. You’re forgiven.” You remember the moment you knew you were going to marry this man: right after your first fight – he had been wrong, although you can’t remember what he’d been wrong about. It had had something to do with your mother. Either way, right after that fight, he’d apologized, and for some reason the lack of excuses had made you want to jump him right where you were standing. You’d almost broken up with him when you realized you weren’t half as good at apologizing as he was.

“Alright, well,” Sy smirked, still. It was incredibly attractive, and at least as annoying. “I was planning on makin’ up for that, but now that I don’t have to…” His voice trailed off for a moment before you gently nudged his leg with your foot.

“How about we finish this bottle upstairs?” You don’t need to tell him twice: he’s on his feet before you even finish the sentence.

“You go ahead, Sugar,” he says before kissing you as gently as a giant like him can muster, “I’ll make sure this kitchen is spotless before I come up.”

“Oh, Mr. Syverson, you are killing me.”

“Oh,” Sy adds with a grin on his face, “and you were right. The vacuum cleaner sucks, we need a new one.”

“Say that again…”

“The vacuum cleaner sucks?” He knows damn well which part you’re referring to. That wasn’t it.

“Before that.”

“Ah. You were right.”

“You have ten minutes to get to bed, or I’m starting without you,” you tease, knowing very well he wouldn’t mind one bit if you did start before he got there.

Sy is impatient as ever when he finally steps into your bedroom, pulling his shirt over his head before the door even shuts behind… Alright, maybe the door doesn’t close because he just leaves it wide open.

“Sy! Close the door!” you shriek, but he just takes a few more steps until he’s right next to the bed.

“Why? Kids ain’t home. We’re alone, we don’t need to close the door,” he says as he pushes you back onto the mattress. “We don’t gotta be quiet, either.” With a devilish grin on his face, he kisses you. First your lips, then your neck. His beard doesn’t tickle – not after all these years. He shaved it off once, only to immediately get on growing it back, because you wouldn’t give him any. You move your hands through the hair on his chest while Sy roughly pulls your shirt over your head. He groans appreciatively when the bra he picked out for you appears.

“Do you like it?” he asks. He doesn’t have the greatest track record when it comes to picking stuff that’s actually to your tastes, but you’d be lying if those items didn’t have their own special little drawer – that you definitely haven’t opened in far too long…

“I do,” you purr into his ear, biting your lip when he grinds his hips into you. He’s hard, seeking friction, release. You love when he gets this worked up over you. “You did a good job.”

“Hm,” he growls, “I didn’t like it at first. Thought it was kinda boring.” That’s not what you want to hear… It’s a good thing he opens his mouth again to continue: “But now that it’s your tits in there… Can’t decide if I wanna keep it on ya or rip it off…” To your surprise, he opts for the former, making sure to kiss every inch of skin that’s newly available to him as he makes his way down your stomach, dragging you to the edge of the bed as he goes along.

He can do it within minutes. Making you come on his tongue, that is. He never does, because the smug fucking bastard likes teasing you too much to ever give you what you want – nay, need – that quickly. That patience, however, is nowhere to be found when it comes to taking your clothes off. He admires you and your new underwear for maybe five seconds, and then your panties are somewhere in the room. No, you don’t care where, exactly.

“Fuck, Sugar, you’re beautiful,” Sy growls from between your legs. “I’ve missed this sweet little cunt.” His words used to startle you so bad you asked him to stop talking multiple times when you’d first started going out. Now, they just make you blush, and they make you wet, and that’s all that you need from him right now. Sometimes, you’re still grateful for the moments he can’t speak – when his mouth is otherwise occupied, so to speak. It’s the moaning, and growling, and the grunts and obscene slurping – hideous word, but sadly the only applicable description – sounds that get you. It’s the pleasure, and the way he knows exactly how and when and where to move his tongue to make you squirm, moan, and scream in his strong arms. Unfortunately, he still isn’t exactly at that point. He’s still teasing, and you’re still whining, and no one is coming.

In no time, you’re going nuts. It’s not bad enough to speak up. And by that you mean: beg him to finally eat you in that way you both know makes you see stars and seek God and scream His name – or Sy’s, but what difference does that make, anyway? Instead, he keeps you right there, at the point where you’re just invested enough in the fantastic feeling that you want to be consumed by it, but it just isn’t enough to keep you from getting distracted. By the feeling of his beard against the inside of your thighs. By the fact that your panties somehow ended up on the lamp on his bedside table. By the gentle pulsing of the vein in his forearm your finger currently rests on. And he keeps you there, and keeps you there until you’ve almost convinced yourself you’ve gotten so used to this – to him – that he can’t do it anymore, forgetting that he really isn’t even trying. That twenty years of ‘this’, whatever the fuck that may mean, just means that he’s found so many different ways to take care of you that he couldn’t go through all of them in one night even if you could physically take it, simply because he’d run out of time before he made it halfway through the list.

And when you get there, to that point where you start thinking he might just not be as good as he used to, you’ve lost. Because from then on, it’s a minute. Thirty seconds. Maybe even twenty, or ten, or less – not that you’d know, because you couldn’t count to three anymore if you tried.

“Darlin’, you taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he mutters, never taking his lips off your skin completely. His fingers tease your entrance, pads coarse and calloused. It appears that, even after all these years, you still haven’t learned that if your mouth won’t beg, your body will. Unconsciously, you angle your hips, lean into his touch, use your legs to pull him closer – and he answers. As always. Sy knows what you want, and he doesn’t think twice to give it to you, even if – possibly especially when – what you really want isn’t what you think you want. He’ll know, just like he’ll know exactly when his name is on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be released along with everything he’s building up inside of you.

A loud moan escapes you when his fingers curl inside you, diligently working the perfect spot while his tongue laps at your clit, looking for the perfect move, speed, pressure, everything, until you shriek the words ‘oh God, Sy, don’t stop’, or you gasp, or moan – or one of the million other ways in which you tell him what needs done without saying a single word. And he doesn’t stop. Not until he unravels you completely. Not until you remember why you normally close and lock that door and keep quiet. Not until you know with every fiber of your being that he holds back, and he reminds you of everything he’s capable of.

When he comes back up, caging your body in between his strong arms and broad chest, pinning you down on the mattress, you hope he’s had enough time to catch his breath, because you immediately pull him into a long, deep kiss that says more than just ‘I missed you’. If it was at all possible to stress every syllable of a sentence, now would be the time. But who’s got time for talking when that impatient bulge grinds between your legs, the heavy, coarse fabric of Sy’s jeans harsh against your sensitive skin.

You push against his shoulders – it’s usually pointless, but he seems to have grown at least as impatient as you have, so he gets up. Four hands reach for his belt. You always make a great team, but this is madness, and neither of you are surprised you don’t get anything done this way.

“Move those hands if you wanna keep ‘em, Syverson,” you say with a sly smile on your face. He grits his teeth when you look up at him – it’s one of the things you know he loves to hate, because it drives him insane, and he doesn’t like that. Sy wants to be in control. Tough luck. Getting him naked is child’s play now that his hands aren’t in the way anymore, and you can’t stifle an appreciative moan when his cock appears in front of you.

“I’m not saying I married you for this big dick, but it didn’t hurt your chances.” You bite your lip and look up at him. The amusement at your words fades off his face within seconds, making room for something darker and more sinister than you usually get to see.

“If you can use that mouth to talk, you can use it to suck my cock,” he says. You’ve played this game a thousand times, yet you’re still stupid enough to open your mouth in protest, and he seizes the opportunity. “That’s a good girl.” There’s a hint more… savagery to his naturally dark and gravelly voice than you’re used to hearing under normal circumstances. It’s a possessive, almost animalistic sound. It’s something that used to scare you when you were first going out. Something he didn’t let you get too closely acquainted with until he knew for sure he could trust you with that side of him – the side of him that sometimes just loves to shove his cock down your throat in one smooth thrust until you’re gagging and fighting back tears. Tonight is exactly the night you want every inch of him in the exact way you haven’t had him in for the longest time.

Your eyes beg, and once again he listens. How one man can be made up of so many contradictions, is something you’ve accepted you might never find out. ‘He gently fucks your throat.’ It sounds completely insane, but it’s possible. And you know it’s possible, because it’s happening. To you. Right now. If that weren’t the case, you probably wouldn’t have believed it yourself. He’s kind and ruthless at the same time, moving in and out of your mouth with controlled movements while moans and profanities escape him with reckless abandon. His hand is tangled in your hair, gathering a good portion of it in his fist, gripping just tight enough to remind you he’s there, but not so tight you’re in pain.

“God, baby, I love fucking this pretty li’l mouth of yours,” he says, teeth gritted, eyes closed, and the expression on his face warped in such a way that tells you it’s taking everything he’s got to keep whatever composure he has left at this stage. “But I gotta tell ya,” he continues as his breathing grows more and more ragged, a low growl barely audible on the exhale, “this ain’t what I need right now.”

He effortlessly tosses you back onto the mattress, finding his way between your legs in no time.

“Baby, I want you,” he growls before he kisses you again. “I need you. Need your tight, wet, fucking pussy around my cock right now.” He doesn’t move away from you much as he lifts your legs onto his shoulders. He’ll be deep, too deep, maybe, and you know you’ll regret this in the morning – but what good has regret ever done anyone, anyway? As he pushes into you, you realize he’s on his last bit of restraint. You take one last good look at him, because after this, it’s going to hurt so good you won’t be able to keep your eyes open for so much as a split second.

“Careful,” you chuckle, already far more out of breath than you like to admit, “you’re too much for me.”

“What’re’ya talkin’bout, woman?” Sy grumbles. “I know you can take me.” He’s not wrong. Exhibit A would be the fact that he buried his cock in your tight pussy with that one, agonizingly slow thrust. The next one is neither slow, nor even remotely as gentle, making you moan as you pull his face down to yours and kiss him. Your legs are trembling on his shoulders within minutes, and you find yourself chanting his name religiously – making it just about the only thing in your life you’ve done in that particular manner.

“Good God, you’re amazing,” Sy growls in your ear as he bottoms out with every erratic thrust. You watch as his jaw clenches when you dig your nails into the flesh of his back, careful to avoid the scars – an unwelcome souvenir from his time in the army. Most of the memories of the times you accidentally caught one in the heat of the moment have faded away by now. It hasn’t happened in years. You could draw a map of his back: every muscle, every scar, every mark on his skin is etched into your brain, and will stay there until the day you die. He’s yours every bit as much as you’re his, although he likes to put a little more emphasis on the latter.

“Want me to fuck another baby into you?” Hearing him say that makes you realize how incredibly happy you are that he can’t make good on that threat anymore. Sy hadn’t been happy when you’d informed him that you were bestowing upon him the incredible responsibility of contraception after having baby number three, but appointments were made, surgeries were had and all was right with the world. He’d only pouted and moaned about shooting blanks for about six months until things went back to normal.

“Do your worst, big guy,” you tease. You heard his breathing when he asked his question, felt the sheen of sweat covering his whole, massive body as he continued pounding you into the mattress with the same relentless pace as before, only slightly wavering in rhythm… You pull him close, gritting your teeth to get through the cramp in your leg as the weight of Sy’s body forces your legs closer to yours. “Fill me up.”

“That was mean,” Sy mutters, out of breath.

“As if you would have lasted any longer!” you say as you slap him in the face with a pillow. “I was about to tap out, anyway.” Not one word of that is a lie. You wouldn’t have walked for a week if you’d let him keep going. It really was a good thing he was a little on edge already…

“Fine, woman, have your victory,” he growls as he pulls you into his arms and lifts you off the bed. “Ready for another shower?”

#captain syverson #syverson fanfiction #captain syverson fanfiction #syverson x reader #syverson #syverson smut #syverson fic #syverson x you #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters #henrycavill fanfic

297 notes · View notes