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#the duck who didn’t like water
halfelven · 1 year
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idk why i feel like confession time in the middle of the day on a wednesday but it’s confession time that the real reason i barely attempt to date anymore is because i loathe kissing unless we have both just had a gum, brushed our teeth, and then drank a nice big glass of water
like i get that i’m a bit extreme in that when i was in the states and couldn’t get my nice finnish clean your teeth gun i’d rinse my mouth with water and soap when i was on the go and didn’t have toothpaste and now i have gum after every single thing i eat but like people’s oral hygiene is not on my level and it’s so gross. they also do not drink enough water. which, sure, i’m also a bit extreme about. but i’ve always been a bit uptight. it’s not changing.
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kitchen-spoon · 1 month
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Steddie where Eddie moves into a small house in a retirement mobile home park. He is the youngest guy there and is pretty handy. All the old ladies in the neighbourhood start to talk about him when he begins to offer his handyman skills to them as well.
One day after finishing up winterizing Mrs. Harrington’s water supply to her trailer she invites Eddie inside for some tea to warm up. Winter hadn’t hit yet but it was already nippy out she told him. Once inside she invites him to come over Sunday night to join her and her friends ‘book club’. At first Eddie politely declines but once she explains to him that its all the old ladies in the neighbourhood sitting around drinking wine, smoking joints, and gossiping he’s in.
Enter Steve who visits his grandma every Sunday for dinner and sometimes stays for her gossip sessions with all the other bitties in the neighbourhood because the snacks are always great. Steve is surprised that week when the door bell rings and a hot long haired pierced man covered in tattoos is standing there instead of another old woman handing him her coat and cane. Steve sputters for a moment but then his grandmother is coming up behind him explaining this is the young man who fixed her water supply for her.
“Well um, thank you for that.” Steve nods awkwardly, watching over his shoulder as his grandmother waddled away back to her friends. “You didn’t have to come though, sorry if she twisted your arm about it, she’s stubborn.” He rubbed at the back of his neck with a small chuckle.
“It’s okay I really don’t mind.” Eddie smiled easily, inching his way into the house and Steve’s personal space. “Smoking weed with a bunch of old ladies and gossiping about my new neighbours sounds like a great way for me to spend my Sunday.” He winked.
“I- yeah it is pretty fun.” Steve agreed having not moved at all. “The snacks are always great too, you’ll have to try Betty’s blondie cake it’s always my favourite.” Steve leaned in to whisper conspiratorially.
Eddie beamed back at him, eyes roving all over Steve’s face before pausing at his lips for a second then darting back up to his eyes. “Lead the way then big boy.” Eddie bit his lip at how red Steve’s face got, he decided to push it slipping his hand into Steve’s.
“Yeah- uh sure yeah.” Steve nodded dumbly staring at their connected hands for a moment before snapping out of it and tugging Eddie along. “Everything is set up in the living room, I just got the fire going to so it should be warm.”
By the end of the night Eddie and Steve were melted into one another on a small single seater in the corner of the room. They watched as all the ladies gathered their coats one by one as their husbands came to collect them.
“It’s sweet.” Steve sighed unprompted, his head lolled against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie made a questioning noise so he continued. “Seeing their husbands come walk them back home at the end of the night. They aren’t annoyed that their wives are giggly and a bit wobbly they are just happy they are happy and want to be there to take care of them.”
“You are a sappy stoner Steve.” Eddie teased, he moved his hand over and dropped it onto Steve’s thigh giving it a squeeze. “Can’t say I blame you though, it is very cute to see.” Eddie sighed before unsticking himself from Steve’s side and making his way to the door himself. “I better get going, no husband to come walk me home”. He blushed at the implication of his own words.
“I’ll be your husband.” Steve blurted then immediately turned red. “I mean- I meant that I uhum-“
“You can walk me home Steve.” Eddie smiled wide and teasingly. He looked his arm through Steve’s and tugged him through the door, waving goodbye to Mrs.Harrington with a promise to be back next week.
The walk was short considering Eddie was only 2 houses down and one across. They kept their arms looped the entire 3 minutes they walked, and once they reached the door Steve still hadn’t let go.
“Well goodnight.” Steve spoke first, ducking his head away. He took a deep breath then looked back to Eddie determination on his face when he spoke. “See you next week?”
Eddie smiled but shook his head, “I was hoping sooner, how does Wednesday sound?” He moved in closer his hand sliding down to Steve’s waist.
“Wednesday is great I love Wednesday.” Steve nodded frantically then cringed. “I mean I don’t actually love all Wednesday’s just this one because we are-“
Eddie cut his rambling off with a kiss. He leaned in and connected their lips, his free hand coming up to cradle the back of Steve’s head.
Steve melted into the kiss, his body going lax in Eddie’s hold, “Thanks for saving me from embarrassing myself further.”
“Anytime sweetheart.”
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deadghosy · 25 days
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THIS DUO AS CAT!READER X LUCIFER!
prompt: a sinner comes into the hotel not expecting to gain a friend so quickly because of their personality.
Note: you can be like a humanoid cat or just a normal sinner with cat ears and tail.
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This man fell in love so fucking QUICKKK
He loves you as you first came or when he first met you in the hotel! Like literally this man after petting KeeKee, wanted to pet you next as your fluffy cat ears flicker at his dumb stare at you. You scoffed and went to husk to who gave you a shot a whiskey before hand.
Now after he started living in the hotel, you better be prepared to have this man clinging to you. It’s like if he is the cat instead of you being the cat in this troupe. Literally Lucifer will always be beside you smiling as he tries to pet you. You just use your hand to smack it away quickly with your reflexes.
How dare he even pet you like a cat and you purr uncontrollably on his lap. 😭💗
I can see you just literally clawing the ceiling because Lucifer tried to spray you with water and you were actually acting demonic as fuck😭 pure red eyes and loud raspy hissing.
If you are shorter than Lucifer, he is most definitely picking you up like a baby, doll, pet, you name it. He dead ass would try to flirt with you or just want you to praise his duck making and his building skills. Would wrap his arm(s) around your waist while you bear your teeth at him. Yeah you scratched him, but it’s definitely your love language! 😍 Lucifer had heart eyes as you were forced to tend to the scratches you gave him. Bros whipped, I mean he loves cat, you’re basically like a cat. You two are a match made in hell🤭.
If you are taller than Lucifer, you better pamper him. Cause you being taller makes him feel more attractive to you as he definitely has a thing for taller things. He probably will fly up to your face to get you’re attention, he’s like a love starving puppy wanting to get your longing attention as you are just a cat who has a bitch attitude towards love things. Literally one time you put your foot paw/foot to his damn face as he was trying to pet you. This man will never get tired of your attitude towards him. You probably do pick him up by his coat like a damn kitten with your hand as you stare tired from hearing his yapping.
Imagine how you literally run like a cat because you are faster on all fours so Lucifer will get on your back sometimes for fun and literally holds on tight cause you weren’t playing about being fast as fuck.
Headcannon on you shedding from your tail and Lucifer would happily clean it up so you won’t get scowled. He loves treating you like a baby, but he is the baby.
Back when you were alive, you were homeless. So that made you have a rough cattish look in hell, like a stray cat. But all you knew was how to street fight. Not a professional fighting way. So imagine you fighting some type of hotel guest and they were piss off at how you basically gave them a “dirty look.” They gave you a swing and BOOM BOOM BOOM! You gave that hoe a three piece combo to the face. Literally there was people screaming shocked and people hyping you up. You didn’t hit them as they hit the ground not getting up. But you most definitely dragged that person out by their shirt.
You had one time actually roundhouse kicked Lucifer on accident because it was dark in your room and he wanted to wake you up. Never in Lucifer’s life has he gotten his ass kicked by a sinner before.
I imagine Lucifer gifting you rubber ducks and you just smile a little liking how you are being loved but your heart closed as you think he is just playing with you.
You literally jumped and stretched around the rooftops as Lucifer flies above you finding you amazing. You are like hell hound but a feline as your body is easy to stretch and how you are so flexible.
I headcannon you actually curled your tail would Lucifer’s wrist or waist as Lucifer was going crazy in his head. Like bouncing around mentally as he just looks so calm outside
Imagine how Lucifer found it hot when you cornered him when he annoyed you to the point you pinned him to the wall with a scary expression.
I can see you sometimes just staying silent, scowling people as Lucifer just smiles.
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starkwlkr · 2 months
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Love your baby Leclerc series! ❤️ If you're into the idea, maybe you'd like to write about Charles' little girl being sick and him being all worried and taking care of her? 🥺
my baby | charles leclerc
note: i am not taking requests, i am just posting my drafts
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It started in the middle of the night when Ruby woke up Charles. She had her favorite blanket wrapped around her with her bunny slippers on her cold feet. She stood beside Charles, who was snoring. She called his name several times, but he didn’t wake up so she tried poking his arm until he woke up. When that didn’t work, she remembered the story that she overheard the other day about something that Charles had shouted.
“Box! Box!” She raised her voice slightly.
It was like a trigger word for Charles that instantly brought bad memories and anxiety. The driver woke up immediately and saw that his daughter was standing in front of him.
“What time is it?” He wondered as he rubbed his tired eyes.
“I don’t know, but I’m hurting, papa.” Ruby whined.
“What’s wrong, my Ruby Jules?” Charles asked.
“My head is hurting and I’m cold.” She whispered.
Charles pressed his hand against Ruby’s forehead and felt it warm. She was getting a fever and you weren’t home. You were on a trip with Mathéo to your home country to visit your parents. Ruby had school so Charles stayed behind since he had a break from racing.
“You wanna sleep beside papa? I’ll get some medicine so you can feel better.” Charles uncovered himself and stood up from his bed . He took Ruby into his arms and laid her onto his bed then covered her with the blanket.
“Papa, Floppy is alone in my room! He doesn’t like being alone!” Ruby gasped.
“I’ll go get Floppy, just stay here.” Charles said then kissed Ruby’s warm forehead. His first stop was to get medicine from the cabinet in kitchen. He read the directions on the bottle then grabbed a spoon. His next stop was Ruby’s bedroom where he retrieved his daughter’s favorite stuffed bunny named Floppy.
“Floppy!” Ruby called out as Charles made his way back into his room. He carefully set the bunny on the bed for her to grab.
“Time for your medicine, mon amour,” he sat on the edge of the bed as he started to open the bottle of medicine.
“I don’t want that.” Ruby used Floppy to hide her face.
“Ruby Jules, if you want to get better, you have to drink your medicine.” Charles said. Ruby hesitated, but sat up so she could drink from the spoon filled with medicine that her papa had poured.
“Does it taste like candy?” She asked.
“I don’t know, how about you taste it and then tell me.”
So she did, but instantly realized that it did not taste like candy.
“Yuck!” She made a face at her papa wondering why he even bought that disgusting liquid into the house.
“Okay, you did good. Scoot, your papa wants some cuddles.” Charles got under the covers then brought Ruby closer to him.
Morning came and Ruby was still sick. She had a stuffy nose and her fever had gotten worse. She didn’t even feel like getting out of Charles’ bed so when it was breakfast time, he brought a plate of pancakes and fruit to her.
“Papa, it hurts.” Ruby groaned as she hugged Floppy. Charles was starting to question if he should take her to the emergency room. He had texted you early in the morning about Ruby’s condition. You replied that you would get on the next flight to Monaco, but he assured you that he could handle it.
At least he thought he could.
“I know, Ruby, I know,” Charles placed a kiss on her cheek. “You know, grand-mére told me that taking a bath makes you feel better. I’m going to fill the bath, okay?”
“Can you put bubbles and the toys?” She mumbled weakly.
“Anything for you.”
After getting the bath ready with bubbles and toys, Ruby got in. The water made her feel slightly better, but blowing bubbles and playing with rubber ducks with her papa made her smile ten times more.
“Hello mister duck, you look nice today!” Charles tried doing different voices for each duck. “Thank you, little duck!”
“The ducks should have names, papa.” Ruby said.
“You’re right, what should the ducks be called?” Charles asked.
“This one is called Arthur and this one Lorenzo.” Ruby laughed as she pointed to the two ducks that Charles had in his hands.
“I guess that just leaves Charles the duck.” The Ferrari driver grabbed the third duck that was floating in the bubbly water.
“No, papa! His name is Floppy two.” Ruby grabbed the duck from Charles’ hands and played with it.
“Floppy two . . . I guess he can be called that.”
When bath time came to an end, Charles let Ruby get dressed by herself, something she always wanted to do. As Ruby got dressed in her room, Charles prepared dinner for them. Before he could finish the mac and cheese for his daughter, the doorbell rang.
He walked to the front door and opened it revealing his brothers Lorenzo and Arthur, along with Lorenzo’s girlfriend, Charlotte. “Where is my favorite niece?” Arthur asked.
“Hello, Arthur, it’s so nice to see you. I’m doing good, thanks for asking.” Charles rolled his eyes as he let his family in.
“How is Ruby?” Lorenzo asked.
“She’s better. She just took a bath, that definitely helped a lot.” Charles explained.
“Papa! I can’t put my shoe on!” The Leclerc heard Ruby shout. She walked down the stairs with a pink tutu, purple leggings, a Barbie shirt and one shoe on while she held the other in her left hand.
“Interesting choice of clothing, Ruby.” Arthur laughed.
“It’s called fashion and Ruby is a pro at it, Arthur!” Charlotte playfully hit Arthur’s arm. “I’ll help you, Ruby, come on.” Charlotte led the little girl to the living room.
“Yeah, Arthur, it’s called fashion!” Ruby sassed.
Arthur cringed. “She just called me Arthur.”
“That’s your name.” Lorenzo replied.
“Yeah, but she’s my niece. It’s weird hearing it from her.”
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fallinforgyu · 3 months
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steamroller
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pairing: mingi/fem!reader
genre: childhood best friends to lovers, college au, angst, smut - minors do NOT interact
warnings: no dom/sub dynamic, unrequited love, mutual loss of virginity, mingi has a massive cock, fingering, oral sex (f. recieving)
word count: 10k
a/n: i want to be honest with you guys, this is not a comeback. this is just a little fic that i’ve been working on for the past year or so that has brought me a lot of comfort, and i hope that it can do the same for you. i’m not sure if i’ll ever be active on this blog like i used to be, but please know that i will always be a writer and i will always read every single comment, reblog, and note that is sent to me. thank you for being my readers. i love you all so so dearly <3
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“Hey, Mingi,” Yunho asked, staring at his distorted reflection in the back of a flimsy dining hall spoon, “Have you ever eaten a girl out before?”
 “W-What the fuck?” Mingi choked on his homemade sandwich. “Why would you ask me that?”
 “Because I want to go down on my girl on our next date…” he dropped the spoon on his tray, frowning as it clanged. “We’ve already fucked but I think it’ll be a nice way to show her I really care, you know? But I’ve never done it before.”
 “Wait-” Mingi dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning forward across the table. “You’ve had sex before?” 
 “You haven’t?” Yunho grinned.
 “Of course I haven’t, asshole! Why didn’t you tell me?”
 Yunho shrugged. “Guess I just didn’t think it was that important. What time’s your next class?” 
 “I’m done with classes for the day,” Mingi crumbled the tin foil that previously held his sandwich into a ball. “Yours is at 2:30, right?” 
 The older boy nodded and the two stood up, making their way to the nearest trash can.
 “Besides,” Yunho placed his tray on top of a growing stack of them while Mingi threw away his brown paper bag. “I thought you would’ve already fucked that girl you’re always with by now. What was her name again?”
 Mingi’s eyes widened as your name slipped past Yunho’s lips. “Sh!” he hissed, looking over his shoulder. “I told you to stop asking about her. She doesn’t like me like that.”
 “But you haven’t even tried!”
 “Yes, I have!”
 “Giving her a warm Tootsie Roll that had been sitting in your pocket all day does not count as trying.”
 “But I gave it to her on Valentine’s Day!” Mingi whined. “That counts for something, right?”
 He reluctantly met Yunho’s eyes, groaning when he saw his friend’s lips pressed into a thin line and his head shaking. 
 “You’ve gotta just tell her, dude. You’re never gonna know if you don’t try.” 
 He knew Yunho was right. If he ever wanted anything to change, he’d have to talk to you. Otherwise, he’d spend his entire life wondering what would’ve happened if he would’ve just had the balls to tell you. 
 He’d do it today, he decided, when he met you at your usual spot to walk back to your dorms together. That way, he could just run home if you said you didn’t feel the same way! Perfect plan. 
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Mingi wiped his hands on his pants as he walked to your usual meeting spot, attempting to calm himself down and hype himself up at the same time. 
 He was really going to do it now; he was going to spill his heart out and hope that you somehow ended up in his arms. He’d start with how he’d loved you since you were kids when you took swim lessons with him at the community pool. You jumped right in the water when he was too afraid to duck his head underneath, and he remembered wanting to be brave like you. He loved you in middle school when you noticed him struggling with his math homework and offered to help. He loved you when you introduced him to Yunho, your friend from the student council who would end up becoming his best friend. And he loved you two years later, when he read your summer reading book aloud to you because staring at the pages made you sleepy. 
 He loved you last year when you went to prom together, even when you made a point of announcing to the rest of your group that the two of you were “Just really good friends.”
 Oh, well. He loved you when he gave you that Tootsie Roll three months ago, too.
 And he loved you now, when he approached you slowly and timidly, waving his hand to get you to look up from your phone.
 “Oh, hi,” you grinned, pulling the earbuds out of your ears.
 “Hi,” he smiled. 
 “How was… how was your day?” You asked the same question you always asked when you saw him, but it sounded different this time. It was like an exhale; Like you were breathing the words instead of speaking them. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought you were nervous. 
 “Good,” he nodded, gripping the straps of his backpack.
 “Good!” You repeated, clasping your hands together. “So…”
 He braced himself to say it. I’m in love with you. I have been ever since we were kids. I don’t want to be your friend, I want to kiss you.
 But you spoke first, and you said, “I think we should have sex.”
 He thought that he was having a stroke. He thought that you were having a stroke. “W-what did you say?”
 “Hear me out,” you waved your hands and closed your eyes. “We’re the last virgins in our friend group, right? And everyone thinks we’ve already fucked, anyway. So we could just do it together and get it over with so that it’s not as big of a deal when we do it with other people!”
 “I don’t…” His face felt like it was on fire. His stomach burned, and his palms were even sweatier than before. Get it over with?
 You sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped that on you so fast. I’ve just been thinking about it for a few weeks now, and…”
 Your voice turned into a murmur in the back of his mind as he analyzed your words. Been thinking about it for weeks now? Thinking about…
 “But you don’t have to decide now, okay? I just wanted to see if you would be up for it.”
 He slowly blinked and nodded back like an idiot. “O-okay. Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
 You nudged his shoulder with yours as you stood up to walk home with him, down the streets of the campus that had been home to you for the past nine months. “And there’s no pressure, alright? You can say I’m gross and you see me like a sister and I won’t be mad,” you laughed.
 You’re beautiful. I want you to be my girlfriend.
 “I’ll think about it,” he repeated.
 “Cool,” you nodded. “How’d that stats test go?”
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You felt sick when you tried to go to sleep that night, nauseated with the thought that you might’ve just ruined everything. 
 You didn’t mean for it to come out so fast. You didn’t mean to make him embarrassed. You only meant to present the idea to him; a sort of business proposal that would benefit the both of you before you went back home for the summer.
 None of your friends were virgins anymore. Only you and Mingi were left, and you’d known each other the longest, anyway. 
 You turned in bed to stare at the pictures of the two of you taped to the collage on your wall. He stood next to you in a cheap rental tuxedo at prom, his mouth pulled into a gummy smile and his arm linked with yours. In another picture, he stood three inches away from you at your middle school graduation, a reminder of the awkward phase the two of you went through when you realized that he was a boy and you were a girl. 
 But there were pictures from before that time, too, like the one of the two of you covered in nasty, artificially-colored green frosting from the cake at Mingi’s Incredible Hulk-themed birthday party in 2005. Or the two of you dressed up as Cosmo and Wanda from Fairly Odd Parents for Halloween in fourth grade. 
 Your oldest friend. The person who’d seen you through every phase of your life – even your emo phase in seventh grade – and stuck by you nonetheless. 
 You thought of his full lips and his broad shoulders, his big hands. He was handsome, there was absolutely no arguing that, but he was also kind and gentle and sweet. He was always the first to notice when something was wrong and the last to believe you when you told him you were fine. 
 Being his lover would be amazing, but not if it meant you couldn’t be his friend anymore. You wouldn’t fall unless he asked you to because losing him wasn’t an option.
 You’d tell him tomorrow to forget it. That it was stupid, and you changed your mind. 
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Mingi told Yunho about it at lunch the next day. 
 “She talked to me yesterday,” he mumbled, picking the peel off of a clementine.
 “And? What’d she say?” Yunho leaned forward, anticipating Mingi’s answer.
 “She wants to fuck me.”
 Yunho let out a laugh of disbelief. “Don’t play with me right now.”
 “She does! She said, and I quote, ‘I think we should have sex.’”
 “Well,” Yunho chuffed, “There you go, buddy! I told you all you had to do was talk to her!”
 Mingi knew he didn’t really talk to you. He knew he just listened (well, half-listened, half daydreamed about what losing his virginity to you would be like) while you gabbed on about how it was a win-win situation.
 But Yunho seemed so happy… No, proud of him. His validation made Mingi feel good – like this was the right decision.
 “So, when are you going to do it?” Yunho squeezed a gluttonous amount of ketchup on his dry chicken patty.
 Mingi stared at his Ziploc bag of slightly brown apple slices. “Well… I haven’t really told her I’d do it yet.” 
 “What? Why not?”
 “I just didn’t know if it was right…”
 “The girl that you’ve been in love with since you were a kid wants to give you her virginity and take yours at the same time, and you don’t know if it’s right?”
 Mingi smiled. “Yeah… I know.”
 “Tell her today. I bet you’ll do it before you go home for the summer if you tell her today.”
 “Okay, yeah.” Mingi nodded, feeling more sure of himself. “I’ll tell her today.”
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You had headphones in when you waited for Mingi after school, but you weren’t listening to any music. There was already too much buzzing around in your head, and music would only overwhelm you even more.
 You chewed on your nailbeds and rehearsed your script in your head. Hey, I was way off base yesterday. That was weird and I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. Let’s just pretend it never happened and enjoy the summer, okay?
 You saw his sneakers first. They were clean, exactly how they looked when he bought them four months ago. 
 He was smiling when you looked up.
 “Let’s do it.”
 “Wait… really?” You tilted your head to the side, trying not to stare at his lips.
 “Yeah. You were right, it just makes sense for us to do it together.” His cheeks were pink.
 You slowly nodded, trying to convince yourself that it was a good idea again. “Right. Yeah… yeah, it makes sense.” You clapped your hands together. “Well! It’s settled then! Is Yunho leaving town anytime soon?”
 “I don’t… I don’t think so?” 
 You stood up to begin your walk home, and Mingi followed suit.
 “Well,” you sighed. “My roommates are probably home, but we should be fine if we’re quiet.”
 Mingi stumbled a bit as he walked. “Wait, we’re doing this right now? Like, literally right now?”
 “No!” you turned your head towards him as you spoke, but you didn’t look him in the eye. “But don’t you think we should do other stuff first? And like… work up to the big thing?”
 “Other stuff?”
 “Just to warm us up. You know, so it won’t be as scary when we…” You pictured Mingi naked and on top of you, his eyebrows furrowed and his pretty lips parted in a moan. You cleared your throat. “You know.”
 “O-okay,” he nodded. “Okay, yeah.”
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 Mingi sat on your bed with his hands tucked underneath his thighs to hide how badly they were shaking. He looked around the room, jealous of your full-size bed. He and Yunho were in a shared room dorm, and his feet always hung off the end of his twin mattress. 
 Meanwhile, you scrolled through your phone to find a good playlist. You hit shuffle on the first one that suited your taste and a familiar song tumbled out of your cheap Bluetooth speaker.
 “You’ve kissed someone before, right?” You put your phone on your desk and walked to your bed.
 “Yes,” he nodded. 
 You narrowed your eyes at him. “Who?”
 He squirmed, adjusting his hands under his thighs. “My lab partner in ninth grade. She felt me up under the bleachers.” I was thinking about you the whole time, his internal monologue chimed in, the words never making it past his lips.
 “Gross,” you laughed, sitting on your bed. “Just let me lead, okay? Try to mirror what I do.”
 You reached up to hold his jaw, and his entire body stiffened.
 “Hey.” You waved your hand in front of his face. “Don’t be nervous, Ming. It’s just me. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want t–”
 “I want to!” He interrupted. “Please. I really want to. I’m just nervous.”
 You rested both your hands on his shoulders. “It’s just me,” you repeated. “The same me that I’ve always been.”
 Yeah, he thought, that’s the problem.
 “Just follow my lead.” You gave him an encouraging smile, which he weakly returned. “It’ll be fun, okay?”
 Mingi nodded, closed his eyes, and held his breath. A few seconds later, he felt your lips against his, and they were even softer than he imagined. He was sure that his were chapped, and he regretted not wearing lip balm more often like his mom always told him to.
 “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
 He opened his eyes at the sound of your voice and gave you a tiny shake of his head.
 “Do you want another one?” You smiled. 
 “Yes, please,” he whispered.
 You kissed him again, a little bit longer this time. Your lips naturally slotted with his, and butterflies filled his tummy when you rested your hand on his thigh.
 And then your lips parted. He wasn’t sure what to do other than follow your lead like you’d told him to, so he let his lips part, as well.
 His breath caught in his throat when your hand slid down to his neck. He barely had time to recover before you slipped your tongue in his mouth, playful and teasing and light. 
 “O-oh,” he breathed, a shiver running through his body.
 “How was that?” 
 “Good. I liked… I liked the part when you used your tongue.”
 “Shut up,” you laughed. “You wanna… keep going?”
 “Yes,” he nodded.
 And that was how Mingi had his first makeout session with his childhood best friend. He tried to keep his whimpers to a minimum, but it was hard to when your kisses progressively got more heated. Your tongue in his mouth was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and he blushed at your giggle when he tried to mirror your movements.
 “Such a fast learner, Ming.”
 “T-thanks…”
 “You know you can touch me, right? You don’t have to sit on your hands.”
 He looked down, completely unaware that his hands were still tucked underneath his thighs. They were both numb now, and they tingled when he pulled them up. He flexed and relaxed them to get his blood flowing again.
 “I’ve never…” he whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t- I don’t know where to touch.”
 You gave him a smile laced with what might have been pity and took his big hand in yours, moving it to rest on your hip.
 “What about the other one?” He whispered, even quieter than before.
 And then you were lifting his other hand and placing it on your cheek. His breath caught in his throat again.
 It’s strange to truly look at someone whose face has always been a constant in your life. You looked different, but also the same. People change, but they don’t. 
 Mingi was sure of one thing: your face was the most beautiful he’d ever seen. He liked it ten years ago, and he liked it now.
 He kissed you first the next time. And since he’d gotten a little more confident, he let his lips part and used his tongue first, too. He kept his hands where you’d placed them and you kept yours around his neck. You kissed and kissed and kissed, and for now, that was enough.
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It didn’t stay enough for long. You and Mingi practically ran to your dorm after school every day, barely taking time to breathe before attaching your mouths together once your door was shut. Your obsession with Mingi’s lips had only grown since you started spending most of your free time kissing them.
 His hands were nice, too. They’d gotten a little bit more curious since that day, sometimes giving your hip a gentle squeeze or moving up to your waist while he kissed you. Any noise you’d make would immediately be met with a “sorry” – a constant reminder that no matter how attractive the boy you were making out with was, he was still just the same old Mingi.
 And the little reactions he’d make were precious. He’d gasp when you touched his thighs, he’d hum when you stroked his neck, he’d whimper when you took his plump bottom lip between your teeth. The more you worked him up, the luckier you felt to have been the only person to have ever seen him like this. 
 You wondered how that could be while you sucked his lips. Plenty of girls had crushed on Mingi over the years. You knew because they’d always ask you if you were his girlfriend before they tried to confess to him. No matter how many times you told them you weren’t, he never ended up dating any of them.
 You detached from his lips with a smack. “Mingi?”
 “Mm?” He blinked, eyes slightly glazed over and lips swollen from kisses.
 “Why haven’t you had a girlfriend before?”
 His eyes widened for a split second, and he tried to cover it up by blinking a few times. “Uh… just never met the right person, I guess.”
 “But girls have been throwing themselves at you for years… You didn’t ever want to try anything with them?”
 “Guess I just wanted to wait for someone that I really…” he swallowed. “Trust.”
 That made sense. The thought of doing all of these things with a stranger was horrifying, but you felt safe with Mingi. You smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth.
  “I trust you too, Ming. Wanna try something new?”
 “O-okay, yeah.”
 You tapped his shoulder twice. “Lay down.”
 Like a puppy who’d just been given a command, he lowered himself against your pillows, swinging his legs up so he was laying on the bed. You swung a leg over his hips to straddle them, and his eyes immediately widened. 
 You’d never really taken time to admire how pretty Mingi was. His chest, which was more toned than you’d realized, was swelling and deflating as he attempted to stabilize his breathing. His Adam’s apple dipped as he swallowed, and you’d be stupid to not notice the way his thick thighs tensed and relaxed underneath his black jeans. 
 And then you leaned down, hovering over him to study his face. You ran your thumb over his sharp jaw as you took in his other features; The same darkness in his eyes that wasn’t mysterious, but warm and inviting. The straight line of his nose, the pointed tip of it. The birthmark under his eye, the one on his cheek, the acne scars that dotted his cheeks like stars. Those fucking lips.
 Mingi was really fucking cute. Had he always been?
 You kissed him again, smiling when a little whimper escaped his lips. 
 “Cute,” you mumbled, unaware that the word had left your mouth until it was too late.
 Or maybe it was a good thing that you said it. Mingi’s response was enough to make you think that, at least. He moaned again, louder this time, as he pushed his hips forward against yours. 
 Mingi always got hard during your makeout sessions, but you always pretended not to notice to spare him from any embarrassment. However, pretending not to notice was incredibly difficult with his bulge grinding against your heat.
 He moaned at the stimulation, but quickly interrupted himself. “Ooh-sorry! I’m so sorry, that wasn’t on purpo–”
 You clapped a hand over his mouth. “I told you we have to be quiet.”
 He nodded, eyes wide as your hand stayed pressed to his mouth. You slid it down to rest on his chest when you whispered in his ear. “Don’t be sorry. That’s what I wanted to try.”
 You pushed and pulled your hips against his erection again in one experimental thrust, grinning when his eyes screwed shut and his lips pressed together. You cupped his face to guide his lips to yours again.
 It was as uncoordinated as two virgins could be. Though your lips easily moved together from a week of practice, neither of your hips were skilled enough to set any sort of rhythm. You just desperately grabbed at each other, groping and humping and kissing like your lives depended on it. 
 Soon, you could feel your soaking panties uncomfortably sticking to your core. The fabric gave you the tiniest bit of stimulation, dragging against your clit and ever-so-slightly teasing you. And the boy underneath you was driving you insane, with his messy kisses and his tiny groans. 
 You didn’t know what the end goal was, but you knew that it felt better when you grinded your hips faster, so that’s what you did. 
 “Ah-” You silenced Mingi’s moan by pressing your mouth to his again, sighing as he hummed against your lips.
 And then he whimpered your name. He’d said your name a thousand times before, but he’d never said it like this. Like it was a cry for help, a desperate plea for something. The sound fueled the fire of your desperation as you continued moving your hips, hoping to God that he’d say it again.
 And he did. You attached your lips to his neck and he whined your name once more, followed by a tiny breath of, “O-oh, god…”
 His little sounds were getting better and better. Your name slipped past his lips between breathy whimpers and choked hums, and you kept licking and sucking his neck while you grinded your clothed, soaking pussy against his painfully hard, just as clothed dick.
 Finally, you took pity on the poor thing. His moans were getting increasingly desperate, and you could tell that he was doing everything in his power to keep them quiet. You hovered your lips directly over his ear.
 “What’s wrong, baby?”
 “A-ah-mph!” He squeezed his eyes shut as he writhed on the bed, pressing his hand to his mouth to keep his pathetic noises in. His whole body was shaking when you sat up.
 A wet patch on the crotch of his jeans made the dark fabric even darker, and a horrified expression washed over his face as your eyes immediately landed on it. If he would’ve looked between your legs, he would’ve noticed that your shorts were just as soaked, but he didn’t. He only saw your dumbfounded expression as you tried to figure out what you were supposed to say. All that came out was, “D-did you just…?”
 You just made a boy cum. From kissing. This had to have been the best day of your life. 
 “I’m sorry,” he breathed, pushing you off of him. He immediately stood up, locating his jacket on your desk and holding it in front of his pants as he slid his bag over his shoulder. “I’m… I’m sorry.” He looked down the whole time, never letting his eyes meet yours as he slipped his way out of your bedroom door. 
 “Mingi!” you called two seconds too late. “You’re not going to–” 
 You sighed, letting your voice get quiet. “Help me?”
 He didn’t come back, leaving you with soaking panties and an unsatiated pulsing between your legs that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 
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You texted him the next morning.
 It’s not a big deal, Ming. Do you want to come over?
 He didn’t respond. You went the whole weekend without hearing from him, and even when you waited for him at your usual spot on Monday, he didn’t show. You sent him another text. 
 Stop being stupid. I miss you.
 He didn’t respond to that, either. By Tuesday, you were so anxious to see him that you waited outside his lecture hall after his morning class, scanning the crowd of faces for him. He wasn’t difficult to find; his tall frame easily distinguished him from the rest of the crowd, even with his shoulders slouched. He made eye contact with you and immediately put his head down, walking faster. 
 “Mingi!” You yelled, weaving through the crowd to follow him. 
 His pace quickened, his long legs carrying him out of the brick building and through the grassy common area, skillfully dodging flying frisbees and strategically-hung Enos. 
 “Mingi! This…” you panted. “This isn’t fair! Your legs are longer than mine!”
 He flinched with each call of his name, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t slow down. You picked up your pace to a jog, huffing as you tried to catch up to him. “MINGI! Stop fucking ignoring me!”
 After quickening your steps to a borderline sprint, you finally got close enough to grab the handle of his backpack, yanking him backwards and causing both of you to collapse on the lawn in the process. 
 “Ow…” he whined, rubbing his butt and attempting to brush grass off of it.
 “You…” you breathed. “You fucking suck. Why aren’t you talking to me?”
 “W-What do you want me to say? What the hell am I supposed to say after humiliating myself like that?”
 “I told you it wasn’t a big deal, stupid! I wanted to make you feel good!”
 His ears burned as he looked at you with wide eyes, a mixture of embarrassment and shock painting his face. 
 “And you… you didn’t even stay and help me. I was more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life, and you just got up and left! Right after I helped you finish! Who the fuck does that?”
 “I…” he breathed, trying not to pass out. He made you more turned on than you’d ever been in your life? “I didn’t think you wanted me to…”
 “You didn’t think I wanted to feel good, too?”
 “No!” he stammered, “No, I just… I didn’t think, I mean, I thought you would think I was gross.”
 You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Mingi, the entire point of having sex is to feel good. I didn’t think you were gross, I was jealous of you.”
 And see, that was where he fundamentally disagreed with you. As far as Mingi was concerned, the entire point of having sex was to be intimate with someone you love. Feeling good was just a bonus. 
 He loved you so fucking much. Knowing that you didn’t feel the same way about him made his chest physically ache, but he knew that you needed him, and that was more than he could have hoped for. If you didn’t love him, at least you could love the way he made you feel. 
 “I’ll make it up to you next time,” he assured you. “I promise I’m gonna make you feel good.”
 Your smile reappeared, and he felt like he’d been hit by a train.
 “Yeah,” you laughed, punching his shoulder. “You better. Wanna try that new boba place?”
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The boba was mid, but it was nice to just be in Mingi’s presence again. He crumpled his straw wrapper as he told you about his weekend, how his mom’s birthday was coming up, and how things were getting more serious between Yunho and his girlfriend. 
 You liked the sound of his voice. You remembered when it used to crack all the time in middle school, but it had since balanced out into a smooth baritone, cascading your ears in warmth. 
 “Are you listening to me?”
 “What? Yes.” 
 “No, you’re not,” he scoffed. ”You’ve been staring at my lips for the past five minutes.” 
 “Yeah, because you have foam on them.”
 He immediately wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his ears flushing a bright red as he mumbled a disingenuous “fuck you.”
 The foam was only a scapegoat. You both knew how much you loved his lips. 
 “Speaking of fuck you…” You shifted in your metal chair. “When… when are we going to… you know…”
 “What?”
 “You know…” You looked to the side, your eyes widening. 
 His heartrate doubled. “Oh. Um… I don’t know. Was there… did you have a specific time in mind?”
 “Sorry, didn’t realize I needed to make an appointment,” you laughed. “I don’t know. I just… I want to. Soon.”
 He remembered your words. Get it over with. 
 “Okay,” he nodded. “We can. Soon.”
 You picked up his hand that was resting on the table to play with his fingers, pinching them between your smaller ones while you chewed on a ball of sweet tapioca. 
 He swallowed and watched you, his eyes glazing over. I love you, I love you, I love you.
 Your stomach dropped a bit when you met his starry eyes. You didn’t know why.
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Two days later and you had Mingi underneath you again, his hands gripping your waist while you sucked on those perfect lips. 
 “Gonna make you feel good this time…” he whispered, trying to catch his breath between your feverish kisses. “Promise.”
 You just rested your hand on the back of his neck and sighed.
 “Can I… Is it okay if I take your shirt off?” He asked, his face a deep shade of red. 
 “Yeah,” you breathed. “It’s okay.”
 But he didn’t move, so you tugged on the hem of your shirt and lifted it off yourself. His breath caught in his throat when he saw your half-naked torso, covered by nothing but a slightly too tight purple bra that you got on clearance a few years ago.
 He shakily brushed a fingertip over the little bow in the center of it.
 Your face felt so hot you were sure water would boil if someone rested a pot on your cheek.
 “Can you… take your shirt off, too? This feels weird.” You covered your torso with your arms.
 “O-oh, yeah,” he nodded. “I’m sorry. Yeah.”
 You scooted back so that he could sit up, his trembling hands lifting his shirt over his head.
 His chest was flushed red. That was the first thing you noticed. And his belly was lean, but also soft and smooth, puffing and deflating with his shallow breath. 
 You rested a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat. He just watched you.
 “We’re not kids anymore…” you whispered. There was a sad tone to your words, almost as if you were grieving.
 “No,” Mingi shook his head, his voice barely audible. “We’re not.”
 It was a beautifully horrifying realization. The kid you used to make mud soup with was a man now, and he was touching you like you’d never been touched before.
 You kissed him then. To comfort him, to comfort yourself, to be closer to the person who already knew you better than anyone in the universe.
 You unclasped your bra and just let it loosely rest on top of your chest.
 “Hey,” Mingi whispered, “Just me, remember?”
 Right. Just Mingi. 
 You tossed your bra to the side, instinctively covering your boobs with your hands.
 “Please…” Mingi placed his hands over yours. “I want to see you.”
 He sighed when you removed your hands, just as slowly.
 “Pretty…” he mumbled. “Is it okay if I touch you?”
 You nodded and he ran his hands over the lines on your sides where your bra had been digging into your skin. You cursed yourself for not buying a new one before this. Maybe he’d like one of those silk push-up bras you always saw your friends wearing, or perhaps one of those flimsy lace bralettes that you saw in the windows at Victoria’s Secret last week.
 “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and the insecurity in your stomach almost vanished completely. Almost. 
 He leaned forward, cupping one of your tits in his huge hand and gently kissing the other. You gasped when you felt his wet tongue drag across your nipple, and he looked up at you for reassurance while you laced your fingers through his hair. 
 “Does that feel good?”
 “Yes,” you breathed. “Y-yeah, that feels good….”
 He gently latched his mouth to your nipple, sucking and then running his soft tongue over the flesh to soothe it. You didn’t mean to, but you arched your back, and his free hand found a place in the dip of your waist.
 You subconsciously tugged on his hair as he sucked your other nipple. He worshipped your tits, kissing, sucking, and licking them while you quietly moaned, grinding against his erection. You wanted to let him continue all night, but soon,  the pulsing between your thighs started to become unbearable. 
 “Ming… need you to fuck me,” you whispered. “Please.”
 He pulled back a bit, his plump lips glossy and his adam’s apple dipping as he swallowed.
 “Okay.”
 He didn’t move and you didn’t, either. You just looked at each other, breathing heavy though you’d hardly done anything yet.
 “... Nobody’s ever seen me naked before,” he said under his breath.
 You shook your head. “Me neither.”
 He kissed you again, but it was really just so that you wouldn’t watch him while he took his pants off. And you weren’t sure what you were doing, you weren’t sure why, but once both of your pants were off, you reached a hand down and felt him through the thin fabric of his boxers.
 He took in a sharp inhale. 
 “I’m sorry,” you said, “Is this okay?”
 And then you felt a large hand between your thighs, softly rubbing you through your panties.
 It felt so much different from when you did it to yourself. More pleasurable, sure, but also more vulnerable. More intense.
 Neither of you knew what to say. You felt how hard he was against your hand. He felt the little wet patch soaking through your panties. You both needed this desperately, and yet for a few moments, nobody moved. 
 “Y-you can take them off of me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper and it cracked in the middle, but you were proud of yourself for getting the words out. 
 His hands shook when he slid them down your thighs. Before he could stare for too long, you slid your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down. 
 You weren’t sure if he was big or not. You’d never seen a penis in real life before, only in porn, and he looked about the same size as what you’d seen in porn. Did that mean he was big?
 He looked down, and you realized you were staring. “Sorry,” you stammered, forcing yourself to look him in the eye again. 
 “N-no, it’s okay. Is it… I mean, do you like it?”
 Your face broke into a smile. Mingi, Mingi, Mingi. “Yes, it’s  lovely, Ming. Stop stressing.”
 You reached for a condom on your nightstand, closely inspecting the foil packet for instructions. 
 “I think I can do it,” he mumbled, gently taking the condom out of your hand.
 “You know how to?”
 “I think so.”
 After a few minutes of him fumbling with the latex, his lips were on yours again and you could feel his dick resting on your thigh. 
 “Are you ready?” He pulled back for a moment to look you in the eye.
 “M-mhm,” you nodded.
 He kissed your cheek and held his dick in his hand, aligning himself. A painful stretching sensation flooded your lower half as his thick tip poked at your entrance. 
 He inhaled shakily. “C-can I… can I push it in now?”
 You nodded. “I… think so? Y-yeah… go ahead…”
 He pushed his hips forward, and the sensation intensified when you felt his tip enter you with a pop. The pain was excruciating, unlike anything you’d ever felt before. A horrid stretch, almost like a burn, splitting you open in the worst way. Tears pricked into your eyes.
 “OW! Ow, ow, ow, stop, stop, stop!” You pushed his broad shoulders away, whimpering when he frantically pulled out. That hurt, too.
 “O-oh my god, are you okay? What did I- D-did I do something wrong?”
 You looked down at his dick, which was still fully hard. He was big, you supposed. Really big. With his cock resting on your stomach, it went all the way up to your belly button. You felt stupid for thinking you could take him without any prep.
 And you also felt embarrassed. This wasn’t how your first time was supposed to go. This didn’t happen in porn. You were supposed to be screaming his name, he was supposed to be groaning yours and pounding you into the mattress. You were supposed to be making him feel good, and he was supposed to be doing the same for you. A lump formed in your throat and you attempted to blink the tears out of your eyes, which probably just made them more teary. 
 “No,” you breathed. “I think… I don’t think I’m wet enough.”
 He frowned. “Did we not kiss for long enough?”
 “No, no, we did.” Guilt crept into your chest. You knew this wasn’t how he pictured his first time going, either. 
 His frown intensified as a pained look washed over his face. “Are you not… is it because you’re not attracted to me?”
 “Stop it, Mingi. It’s not for any reason. You didn’t do anything wrong. Let’s just… we can get lube from the store and try again tomorrow, okay? I can jerk you off to help you finish if you want.”
 His heart ached. He didn’t want you to ‘help him finish.’ He wanted to make love to you, soft and tender and slow. He wanted to hold your face and kiss your forehead and tell you how much you meant to him.
 But his dick was painfully hard, and there aren’t many times that the love of your life offers to help you finish even though they don’t feel the same way about you, so he said, “Yes, please.”
 You wrapped your fingers around his erection, biting your cheek to stop yourself from crying. He bit his lip to do the same.
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Mingi couldn’t make eye contact with the cashier when he bought lube from the drug store the next day. His hands shook as he put his card into the reader, and they kept shaking while he entered his pin number. The machine dinged and he yanked his card out, snatching the plastic bag from the cashier before they had time to offer him a receipt. His face burned the entire walk to your dorm and didn’t stop burning once he got there.
 His breath caught in his throat when you opened the door. “I got the…” he held the plastic bag up. “I got the stuff.”
 You laughed and stepped back to let him inside. “You make it sound like we’re about to do drugs.”
 Yeah, something like that.
 Mingi didn’t say anything when you sat him on your bed and straddled his hips. He whimpered a little bit when you pressed your lips to his, and you assumed that it was just because he was horny. 
 You held the side of his neck and worked your tongue against his, rolling your hips forward to grind against his growing bulge. He whimpered again, and you moved your face down to suck on his neck. 
 “I think you need to finger me first,” you whispered in his ear.
 “W-what?” He blinked up at you for a moment, his eyes wide and starry before he shyly looked away. “I’ve never… I mean… I don’t know how to do that.”
 “It can’t be that hard, right? You just take your fingers and, like… put them in me.”
 “I think it’s a little more complicated than that.”
 “Well… I’ll just tell you what feels good, okay? I do it to myself all the time.”
 His eyes snapped up again as he imagined you touching yourself. He’d thought about it before, late at night when he was jerking off, but hearing you say it out loud made him feel dizzy. Flames erupted across his cheeks again, and his body tensed.
 Your face burned with the realization of your confession. “Stop picturing it.”
 “S-sorry.”
 “I just need your fingers first, okay? I can’t… I can’t take your dick without some prep first.”
 It was like you wanted him to cum in his pants again. He nodded and reached for the plastic bag, fishing out the lube and taking it out of its little purple box. 
 “I’m sorry about yesterday, by the way.” His voice was quiet.
 “There’s nothing to be sorry about. That’s why we’re doing this together, you know? Because we feel safe around each other.”
 He nodded.
 “But for the record…” You lowered your head, still embarrassed about how yesterday went. “I’m sorry, too.”
 “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He smiled.
 You kissed him, and you were so glad that you were kissing him. 
 “I’m really going to need you to walk me through this because I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.” His cheeks were a splotchy red. 
 You laughed. “I promise it sounds scarier than it actually is.” You pulled your shirt over your head, embarrassed again when you realized you were wearing the same purple bra that you wore yesterday.
 “Shit,” you breathed. “I meant to wear something nicer for you today. Sorry.”
 For me? Mingi thought. For me? 
 But he said, “I like this one. It’s cute.” And he touched the little bow again.
 “Thanks.” You climbed off of his lap to take your shorts off. “Lift your arms.”
 He obeyed, and you lifted his shirt over his head. It didn’t need to be off yet, you supposed, but you’d been dreaming about Mingi’s lean abdomen all day and you didn’t want to wait another second to have it under your fingertips again. 
 You laid down on the bed and slid your panties off, but didn’t spread your legs yet. You felt vulnerable again, especially considering that Mingi still had his pants on. 
 “C-can you–” you started.
 “Yeah,” Mingi nodded, already unbuttoning his pants. When they were off, he sat back down and gently brushed his fingertips over your thigh. 
 “Okay,” he breathed. “Tell me what to do.”
 “Just… just kiss me for a second.” The truth was, you weren’t even really sure how to give him instructions, and you wanted to buy yourself some time. You usually just felt around until something felt good, and you weren’t sure how to explain that to him.
 He kissed you. You decided that even if he was always too big for you, even if you couldn’t ever take his full length, you’d probably be just as happy kissing him and jerking him off like you did last night.
 You felt his hand on your inner thigh and you liked the feeling. 
 “Okay, so…” you inhaled deeply. “Just start with one. And you can just kinda… feel around? I’ll tell you what feels good.”
 “Okay,” he nodded, taking a deep breath, too. “Okay.”
 He dripped some of the lube onto his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb in an attempt to warm it up. Your body tensed as you felt his finger slide between your folds, shaking slightly as he rubbed you up and down.
 He seemed to stop breathing for a moment. His eyes just raked over your body, all wide and starry while he clumsily touched you. 
 “You’re gorgeous,” he breathed. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
 “M-Mingi, Ah-” You let out a tiny yelp when his fingertip brushed your clit.
 “Did I hurt you?” He immediately stopped, taking his fingers away. 
 “N-no, that felt good… really good…” You nodded. 
 He tried to find the spot again, clumsily drawing circles around it.
 “S-so good. Yeah, r-right there,” you sighed.
 His fingertip slipped a little too far to the left. 
 “N-no, back where it was.”
 After a few seconds of “Here?” and “No, here,” back and forth, he found the spot again and gently traced it. 
 Your eyes rolled back and closed as your body twitched, trying to get used to the sensation of being touched by another person. 
 Then his fingers slid further down, but it was intentional this time. 
 Mingi looked you in the eye and didn’t say anything as he gently circled his fingertip around your opening, coating it in lube and spreading your arousal at the same time. 
 You didn’t say anything, either. You couldn’t if you tried. But he understood your tiny nod and the look of desperation in your eyes, so he gently pushed his finger inside. 
 His long, thick finger went deeper than your own ever had, but it didn’t hurt. “O-ohh,” you breathed, shivering.
 Mingi was at a loss for words. Your pussy was hugging his finger so tight and you felt so warm and the tiny noises that you were making were about to send him over the edge. “Fuck…” he sharply inhaled through his teeth, staring up at the ceiling for a minute so that he didn’t cum untouched.
 “M-Mingi,” you breathed, “Go like this.” And then you held a finger up and curved it inward, and he immediately obeyed.
 Your back arched to a borderline uncomfortable degree as you let out a pathetic little noise, and Mingi seriously was on the edge of an orgasm already.
 “I-is that a sensitive spot?”
 “Do it again,” you commanded. “Mingi, do that again.”
 He did, and then he did it a few more times, pumping his finger and setting a rhythm. You were probably being a little too squirmy, but you couldn’t help it. Nothing had ever felt like this before. 
 “Fuck,” you breathed. “Add another one.”
 Mingi meant to ask ‘Are you sure?’ but his head was so fuzzy with arousal that he just obeyed, pushing his middle finger in next to his pointer finger.
 “S-shit,” you gasped, sitting up and holding his wrist. “Hold on a sec– fuck.”
 “Are you okay?”
 “It feels good,” you nodded. “Just forgot how thick these are.”
 He understood. He could almost feel you stretching out, and he suddenly felt horribly guilty for not offering to do this before he attempted to put his dick inside of you yesterday.
 “You’re doing amazing,” he encouraged you, nodding slightly. “J-just let me know when you want more, okay?”
 “C-can you…” You blushed, too shy to complete your sentence. 
 He knit his eyebrows at you, giving you an encouraging nod. He felt your pussy tighten around his fingers, and he tried not to groan.
 “What do you need, baby?” He soothed, “Just tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”
 Your face burned. Mingi had never been more attractive to you, with his lips swollen and his cheeks flaming and his fingers deep inside of you. He was gently thrusting his fingers, massaging your g-spot, tracing your opening, and stretching you out all in a fluid motion.
 “C-can you play with my clit again while you do that?” You whispered. 
 He nodded immediately, smiling and circling his thumb around your pebbled clit. 
 “O-ohh…” you moaned, burying your face in his neck. “Oh my god…”
 He swallowed roughly. “G-good…” He encouraged as he felt you slowly relax around his fingers.
 Your back arched, tiny little whimpers escaping you as Mingi made love to you with his hand. 
 And he was barely holding it together. He could feel the tip of his dick sticking to his boxers, precum smearing against the fabric and providing his cockhead with the tiniest bit of friction every time he moved his hips. 
 “Do you want one more? Or are you good with two?” His voice was hoarse. 
 “I d-on’t—“ You inhaled sharply, eyes closing as you felt the tiny spark of an orgasm in your core. “D-don’t think I can take a third…”
 Mingi nodded, and then he kissed your forehead. He wanted to speak, but he was putting all of his effort into keeping up a steady rhythm with his hand and not coming in his pants while your tensed thigh rubbed his dick. 
 And then it was silent for a few moments, except for the quiet squelching coming from between your legs every few seconds. 
 “I think I’m gonna cum.” You whispered, keeping your eyes closed. Focusing on that feeling, chasing it.
 Mingi swallowed, his breath catching. “Mm.” He hummed. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. 
 Your breath caught in your throat, the rest of it escaping in a choked whimper. “F-faster…” You breathed, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Please.”
 He nodded, quickening his movements. You leaned up, catching his lips in a messy kiss as you got closer and closer.
 You were quieter than you thought you’d be. As your orgasm approached, you hardly made any noise at all, save for a few little gasps. 
 Your mouth dropped open and you pressed your forehead to your lover’s, letting out one single moan as your orgasm clenched down on his fingers. It ran through your body in waves, your muscles tensing and releasing rhythmically.
 “My god…” Mingi groaned, continuing his movements. “G-Good job, baby.”
 You squeaked, gently pushing his hand away as you neared overstimulation. His brows furrowed as he worried that he’d hurt you, but you immediately eased his anxiety by holding the back of his neck and pressing your lips to his again.
 “Felt so good…” You mumbled through kisses. “T-think I’m ready now…”
 His heart fluttered as he felt your hand between his legs, stroking his sensitive thighs. And then he looked at you in a way that a boy had never looked at you before, with big, dark, sparkling, pleading eyes. Like he needed you.
 So gently, like you were afraid he’d break, you slipped his dick out of his blue plaid boxers. He was so hard, so sticky and pulsing that you were sure he must have been in pain. “Thank you for making me feel good,” you whispered. “I know it must have been hard to wait…”
 He shook his head, closing his eyes. “Don’t thank me.” He let out a tiny noise as you stroked him once. “I loved it,” he breathed. “I loved doing that for you.”
 You smiled, kissing him again. “Take these off,” you pleaded, tugging at the waistband of his boxers. 
 Mingi pushed them down, kicking them off the bed at his feet. And then he was fully naked, hovering above you, also fully naked. It should have been scary, but you’d never felt more safe. You reached your arms behind him, stroking his back before sliding your hands down to teasingly squeeze his ass.
 He let out a choked noise and you laughed. “Sorry, I’ve always wanted to do that. You have a really nice ass.”
 He shook his head, laughing and kissing you again.
 “You’re really beautiful, Mingi.” You whispered, feeling another pang in your core as he groaned at the praise. 
 He reached a hand up, squeezing your breast as he kissed you and kissed you and kissed you. His heavy cock rested on your belly, clear precum sticking to your soft skin. 
 You reached for the condom on the nightstand, carefully ripping it open. His eyes didn’t leave your face as you gently rolled it onto him, your small hand wrapping around his girth. You slid his tip between your folds, then coated it in even more lube. You knew it might still hurt a little bit, but you felt much more prepared for it this time. 
 “The second it starts to hurt,” he whispered, his voice raspy. “You tell me.”
 You nodded. The two of you looked into each other’s eyes, and didn’t look away when his tip was aligned with your entrance. 
 But his eyes fluttered shut a bit when he slipped inside. He couldn’t help it.
 Your gasp made him open his eyes again. “Are you okay?”
 “Mmh–” You nodded, your voice high pitched and squeaky. He pushed forward, filling you, stretching you, making you his.
 “Mingi…” You whined, tears blurring your vision. “S-so big…”
 He kissed away the first tear that fell. “I know, I’m sorry,” he whispered, “Y-You’re doing so well.”
 He stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his length. 
 “Is it…” You looked up at him with teary eyes. “Is it all the way in yet?”
 “Not yet.” His eyes were full of empathy and adoration. “Can you take any more? It’s okay if you can’t.”
 You whimpered. “S’big, Mingi.”
 “I know, baby, I know it’s big. Does it feel good? D-Does it hurt?”
 “It feels…” you trailed off. “It feels good but it hurts. I dunno if I can take any more.”
 “That’s okay,” he nodded, kissing your forehead. “You feel s-so good just like this.”
 “R-really?”
 “Yes,” he nodded. “You feel amazing. So… so fucking good.” He gritted his teeth as he spoke, shaking and sweating and forcing himself to not instinctively start fucking you hard and fast. “Can I move a little bit now?”
 “Yes,” you nodded. “Slow, please.”
 He pulled back so that only the very end of his tip was dipped into your opening, then shakily pushed forward in a single stroke, a little over three quarters of the way inside. 
 Tears stung his and your eyes. You felt better than anything he’d ever felt before, and the stretching sensation was starting to feel more pleasant than painful. 
 “I’m so…” he whimpered. “I’m so proud of you. You’re taking me so well.”
 “Mingi…” you whined in response, clawing at his back. “F-feels good.”
 “Yeah?” His eyes met yours. “It feels good?”
 “Mmm. I want… want you to fuck me. B-but slow, okay?”
 He visibly shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as his whole body became covered in goosebumps. 
 “T-tell me if it’s too much.”
 He attempted to set a pace then, slowly pushing and pulling his hips to halfway-fuck you as gently as he possibly could. Little moans slipped from your lips in time with his thrusts.
 “Ungh…” he whimpered, “God. F-feels so good. You’re so…” his eyebrows furrowed. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”
 “Mingi…” You rested your hand on his cheek. “Kiss.”
 He didn’t need to be told twice. His perfectly full lips gently kissed yours, softly massaging his tongue into your mouth while he slowly pumped his cock in and out of you. You were embarrassed that you couldn’t take his whole length yet, but you decided in that moment that this wouldn’t be the last time you did this with him, and you had all the time in the world to train for the entirety of him. 
 “Fuck…” he repeated, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m… I’m close. I’m sorry.”
 “You are?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at him, a moan slipping from your lips when his thrusts got a bit faster. 
 That was fast, you thought, but it was his first time, you supposed. You hoped he had good stamina, because you didn’t want this night to be anywhere close to over.
 “I c-can’t…” His hips were starting to shake a bit. “God, you feel so good. Squeezing me so tight.”
 “Ming…” you whispered, holding his face. “I wanna make you cum. Want you to cum for me.”
 “Oh, fuck…” he whimpered. “God, f-fuck-“
 His voice cracked as his eyes squeezed shut, his belly tensing and his lips dropping open in a silent moan. 
 And for a few seconds, time didn’t exist. There was only him and you and your bodies, like this was how you were always meant to be. You felt his big hand on your waist and his thick length stretching you out, but you also felt that same comforting atmosphere that always followed him around. You saw his face, the one that you knew so well, contorted in pleasure, and you heard his familiar voice making unfamiliar noises. And there was no one in the world you’d rather do this with. There was no one else you wanted to kiss. 
 “I love you.”
 He cried out as he came, curling in on himself and burying his face in your neck as he pulled out so just his tip was inside, pumping the condom full of his load. 
 He pulled out and rested his cock on your belly, huffing in your neck as he caught his breath. 
 You stroked his hair and swallowed, a lump forming in your throat. 
 You said it. You told him out loud and you’d never be able to take it back. 
 He just kept breathing down your neck, sweaty and shaking and wondering if he heard you right. 
 “I– I tried not to…” you breathed. “I tried so hard not to fall in love with you. You’re my best friend and you mean more to me than anyone else. But I just…” 
 You swallowed. There was really no going back now. 
 “I see you smiling and it hits me like a steamroller. Like my chest is knocked in and I can’t breathe. It feels… It feels like I’m suffocating and I don’t know how to stop it or make it go away.”  
 You felt his large hand hold your jaw, and his lips were on yours. 
 “Please… be my girlfriend,” he mumbled, breathless between kisses.
 You pulled back to look in his eyes. “What?”
 “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids. Please, please, please be my girlfriend.”
 Your face broke a little bit. “You have?”
 He nodded, and then his face broke, too. “Please say yes.” He held your face, looking deep into your eyes. “P-please, baby.”
 “Obviously yes,” you smiled, tears so close to spilling from your eyes. “Dummy.”
 “I love you,” he cried, kissing you again. “I love you so fucking much.”
 “Mingi,” you breathed, for no reason other than to say his name. 
 He kissed you and cried and you kissed him and cried, and he suddenly remembered what Yunho said. A nice way to show her I really care. 
 He kissed down your neck, across your chest, on your nipples, over your belly, until his shoulders were between your thighs.
 “W-what are you doing?” You asked, looking down at him a little too innocently.
 “I don’t really know,” he sighed, leaning forward and kissing your dewy pussy.
 “A-ah! Mingi!” Your legs instinctively closed around his head, and his big hands gently pried them open again. 
 “It’s okay…” he breathed, leaning forward again. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He sweetly kissed your inner thigh before spreading you with his tongue.
 You whimpered and squirmed, grabbing a fistful of his soft dark hair. 
 “You sound so pretty,” he mumbled, kissing your clit, “And you taste so good…”
 His thick, plump lips worked with his velvet tongue to worship your pussy. And it was loud, the room filled with wet sounds and Mingi’s groans, along with the pathetic little moans you were letting out. 
 You looked down at him. His ears and cheeks were dark red, his eyes closed, the sharp tip of his nose shiny and wet. 
 “T-that feels really good, Ming—“ You were interrupted by your own gasp as his tongue slipped into your entrance. 
 “You’re mine now…” His deep voice sounded gravelly and thick. “You’re all fucking mine…”
 “Mingi…” You whimpered, lacing your fingers through his hair as his lips sweetly sucked your clit. How did you learn how to do this? You wanted to ask. 
 But he was moaning against you again before the thought could finish. “I’m gonna do this every fuckin’ day…” He blinked slowly, a string of drool connecting his lips and your pussy. He used his broad shoulders to push your legs open even wider, taking a deep breath before diving back in. 
 This time, he slipped two fingers inside of you while he worked his tongue. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste of you while he passionately used his fingers and tongue. 
 “I’ve dreamed of this…” He paused to kiss your inner thighs. “Wanted this for so long… needed to know what you tasted like.”
 “Mingi…” You breathed, watching as his pink tongue drew circles around your clit. “I-I’m gonna cum again…”
 “Yes,” he groaned, never coming up for air. “Please, baby. Come in my mouth. I wanna taste all of it, please… wanna lick you clean.”
 Hearing those filthy words come from shy, sweet Mingi’s mouth made your stomach flutter. Your thighs clenched around his head as he gave you the most enthusiastic slurp of the night, the otherwise silent room filled with the sounds of his mouth devouring you. 
 You moaned so loud when you came that there was no doubt in your mind that your roommates heard. Mingi’s groans of enthusiasm were hardly muted, either. 
 Your thighs twitched, your body shook and your hips pressed against Mingi’s warm mouth as your orgasm consumed you, and you’d never felt more adored in your life.
 And then he didn’t stop. 
 “Mingi!” You cried out, trying to squirm away from his tongue. 
 But he looped his arm under one of your thighs, keeping you pried open. He used his other hand to spread your pussy, groaning as he licked it again. 
 “My girl…” He mumbled, and he seemed to be drunk off the taste of you, talking to himself. “Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy…” 
 Your eyes widened and you twitched as his tongue flicked inside of you again. You’d never seen this side of Mingi before; you’d never seen anything close to this side of Mingi before… and you really, really didn’t want it to stop. But—
 “I’m really sensitive, Ming…”
 That seemed to snap him out of his trance a bit. He looked up, moving his body up to sweetly kiss your lips again. “I’m sorry, baby. You j-just…” He sighed, catching his breath. “You taste so good.”
 You smiled. “I really like it when you call me baby.”
 He kissed your forehead then collapsed on the bed, laying next to you. You rolled onto your side, gently stroking his belly. 
 “Do you feel good?” He asked softly, his full cheeks blushing. “Was that enough?”
 “Enough?” You laughed in disbelief. “It was perfect.” You nodded. “Perfect.”
 “I’ll always make sure you’re satisfied, okay?” Your boyfriend looked you in the eye, his brow slightly furrowed. “A-and I’ll always make sure you’re taken care of. I’ll make sure your belly is always full and your shoes never get dirty.”
 A kiss on his chin, your face in his neck. “It’s just me, Mingi. Just you and me.”
 “Just us…” He mumbled, “Just like always.”
 You nodded and then sat in silence, touching and being touched. He stroked your thigh with his pinky, his eyes on your lips. 
 “In our own little world. Just the two of us.”
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2K notes · View notes
stevebabey · 10 months
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@scooprtroopr ur tags on this post inspired a lil something and well, here you go friend <3 / also omg this fits for @steddie-week’s prompt pining! tehe / you can also read it over on ao3 :)
Steve gets that this is how karma works.
You do something bad, you don’t have the best intentions, you trample on one or two people’s feelings selfishly, yadda yadda. Then what do you know? Next month, it’s happening to you. What goes around comes around, right?
That’s how karma works. Steve gets that.
And yet, the sting in the morning when another hookup has crept out in the night feels so goddamn unshakeable. It slices through his ego, hitting every feeling on the way, and cuts right down the bone, and it hurts.
But it’s karma though, Steve knows that. He’s left a girl more than once or twice, and snuck back out the window he had crept into. Stumbled back to his car in the early morning hours.
(Steve pointedly ignores the old part of him that was- is so hesitant to stay — after the iciness of his first ever hookup, who had wrinkled her nose at the thought of him staying the night.
Who had patted him on the cheek in a near condescending way, a girl the year above him, and said, “Don’t overstay your welcome, yeah?”)
So when the other side of the bed is empty when he wakes, he knows he’s lost another game of ‘who can sneak out on who?’
Which Steve hates — it’s why he stopped going over to his dates house and instead started bringing them back to his. Hoping they might read that his invitation to stay the night extended right out til breakfast. Hell, til lunch if they wanted.
No one has come close to overstaying their welcome in the Harrington house.
Empty sheets rip a new ache in Steve’s chest and he groans, a pitiful noise because— of course, he hasn’t stayed.
Karma has the biggest bone to pick with Steve Harrington and he was really hoping it would be done after all these years. Evidently not.
But… Steve can’t help how much more this one hurts because this one was Eddie.
Steve tries to not let regret coil in his gut. Rolling over he buries his face into his pillow, eyes scrunched shut as he tries to think it over logically. Rationally. Ignores the burning in his throat.
Maybe he’s a fool for thinking Eddie would be different from the past.
But the buildup — before there had been flirting, there had been friendship, proper company between the two of them where there were no expectations. That may very well be due to the fact both of them were dudes but… Steve was so sure. So much of him believed Eddie would still be here when he woke up.
Steve huffs a loud sigh into the pillow. Pretends his chest doesn’t hurt a little bit.
“It’s fine,” He murmurs to himself, voice thick with sleep. His fists clench into the sheets for a moment. “It’s fine.”
He drags himself up and out of bed. Tugs on some stray sweats hanging over the back of his desk chair and ducks into the bathroom. Staring in the mirror, hair tousled and eyes still sleepy, Steve eyes the shower through the reflection. He should, probably, but he might get stuck on a loop in there.
Where did he go wrong this time? Why didn’t he stay? Why didn’t any of them stay? Why did—
Steve splashes cold water on his face instead, rubbing probably a bit too forcefully at his eyes. He spies the faint pink shape of Eddie’s lips, a mark left on his neck. His fingers grace over it lightly, softly, like a lover would.
Memories hazed with lust remind him of how it had got there, Eddie’s body on his, Eddie’s hands in his hair, Eddie— without thinking, Steve scrubs at the skin harshly. He wishes it wasn’t there. Wishes there wasn’t any remnant of Eddie left behind.
Steve doesn’t need any mementos to remind him he’s been left behind again.
He needs food, needs to get on with his day, Steve decides. The bathroom door swings closed behind him and Steve tries his best to wrangle his thoughts as he wanders out to the top of the stairs.
A run. That’s what he needs to clear his head. A long run til his heart is pounding in his chest so hard it hurts, til his muscles start burning, breathes coming too fast and his head is finally fucking quiet. Yep, that’s precisely what he needs to shake the sting of last night.
Steve’s so enwrapped in his head, thoughts swirling, that he get manages to get halfway down the hall to the kitchen before he hears the radio. It’s not loud, just enough to carry out the kitchen. Strange. He doesn’t remember leaving it on last night.
His feet carry him into the kitchen, another yawn creeping up and he rubs at his eyes, blinking a bit blearily and— and stops in his tracks. There’s someone at the stove.
Eddie’s at the stove.
Standing in the morning sunlight, hair lighter than ever, puckered scars along his arms standing out. He’s clearly ransacked Steve’s drawers, a pair of Steve’s plaid pj pants hanging low on his hips, his own softened band tee from yesterday still on. It’s had its sleeves hacked off, the fabric curling up into little rolls. Steve feels his stomach rise halfway up his throat, his hopes going with it. His heart does a strange stumbling pitter-patter.
He must make a noise because suddenly Eddie’s peaking over his shoulder and smiling at him.
“Hey,” Eddie says, shifting a bit to turn more toward him. Steve can see that he’s cooking, something delicious wafting up from the sizzling pan. His chest tightens, pure surprise wrapping around his sternum and gripping - so much, he can’t control the expression on his face.
“Hi,” Steve breathes. He’s still frozen where he is. He stayed. Steve blinks, taking in the scene before him; Eddie has clearly been puttering around, putting together some sort of breakfast. He fucking stayed and he’s cooking.
Eddie takes it the wrong way. He skittishly looks over the benches, covered in his mess, and tugs on the ends of his hair nervously. “I- it’s a mess, I know, I’m real sorry. I was gonna clean it, I just thought you might like…”
He trails off, unable to get a read on Steve’s expression. Steve doesn’t blame him but he can’t fucking stop his chest from feeling like it’s being pulled open, his heart from feeling like it’s soaring. He huffs an awed laugh, a smile curling at his lips.
Eddie deflates a bit in his relief, giving his own smile. He turns back to the stove quickly, giving the skillet a bit of a shake to keep it from burning and Steve draws closer, feet finally moving. Eddie watches him from the corner of his eye, barely biting back his grin as Steve gets closer. He hovers, feels the heat of Eddie’s back they’re so close.
He tries to feel brave — he stayed — and keeps his closeness, peering over Eddie’s shoulder at the skillet on the stove. It’s the Munson Special that Eddie’s cooked a few times for him over at the trailer; eggs, potatoes, shit tons of cheese, maybe a vegetable if he’s feeling healthy.
“Was gonna bring it to you in bed, but,” Eddie laughs, still tinged in nervousness. He sets down the spatula to tuck his hair behind both ears, glancing sideways at Steve as if trying to understand his silence.
He stayed and he cooked and he’s nervous. Steve thinks he might be holding his breath in disbelief, head dizzy with relief. With affection.
Very slowly, Steve’s hands move and, like he’s waiting for Eddie to flinch away, settles then very gently onto Eddie’s waist. His fingers curl into the soft fabric and Eddie makes a little chirp of happiness and leans back.
Leans into Steve a bit, like he wants his touch the morning after everything and Steve releases a shuddering breath, hooking his chin over Eddie’s shoulder. His hands grow a little more bold, sliding around to hug him around the middle.
Eddie’s cheeks have turned pink and his grin hasn’t faltered.
“Made me—” Steve starts, but his voice is a bit raspy. He clears his throat, avoids Eddie’s burning stare. “Y’made me breakfast?”
Eddie nods, his curls brushing against Steve’s cheek as he does. His tummy is warm beneath Steve’s hand and his hair smells good and Steve just wants to burrow into him- he tucks himself closer and is rewarded with a content noise from Eddie.
“That’s not weird, is it?” Eddie asks suddenly, picking up the spatula again and beginning to fiddle needlessly with the food. He flips it once, then again, so it’s on the same side as it was before.
He sounds a bit sheepish when he says, “I’m not sure- I haven’t ever really— I’m actually just gonna shut the hell up before I say anything stupid.”
Steve laughs quietly. His hands tighten around Eddie’s middle, head tilting so he can bury his grin into his shoulder— his heart is going haywire, going a million miles an hour, because karma is finally through with Steve Harrington and he gets to have this.
“S’not weird,” Steve mumbles. He thinks about pressing a kiss into Eddie’s shoulder.
“Ha, you said snot,” Eddie retorts with a childish snort and Steve can’t help it, he laughs at that too, muffled laughter into his t-shirt. Then he presses a kiss to Eddie’s shoulder, quick as lightning. Rests his chin back on it like nothing happened.
Eddie still stiffens just a bit- turns his head just a bit to glance at Steve and fuck, Steve can’t help the way his stomach swoops.
Because Eddie softens him unbearably with those nervous brown eyes, his pink lips twisted as he tries to hold back his grin. Steve’s beginning to understand that both of them seem equally surprised that this is happening.
Eddie’s free hand moves, pausing only briefly in a moment's hesitance, before it covers one of Steve’s on his tummy. It’s cold, much colder than Steve’s, and he covers it with one of his own instinctively.
Eddie’s trembling fingers give him a little squeeze. Steve thinks he must be able to feel how hard his heart is beating from where his chest is pressed against his back. It’s a lot to deal with; this perfect morning in the sun, the soft sound of the radio, the sweet boy in his arms.
They’re both grinning to themselves. Eddie focuses back on the food before him, doing all his work with one hand, and starts a little hum.
The radio switches to a love song.
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sugarcoatedstarkey · 3 months
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Fake Boyfriend - p2
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Pairings - soft!Rafe Cameron x virgin! Fem reader
Summary - You lie to your best friend about having a boyfriend.
Warnings - none
Part one if you missed it
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You're aroused from your sleep by the piercing bright light seeping through the curtains, hitting you directly between the eyes. You let out a groan and press your face into the pillow, it feels as though you're on a boat. Your stomach churns as your brain sways within your skull. “Jesus” you mumble, pushing yourself up from the bed slightly.
Panic sets in when you don’t recognise anything in the room, your hands flying under the cover to check you were still clothed.
“God you move a lot for someone with a hangover” a voice grumbles beside you, you sit up so fast your stomach lurches and the growing headache pounds behind your eyes. “Here”.
Your eyes fall to Rafe, he lay next to you, still dressed in the clothes from last night. He has 2 pills in the palm of his hand and a bottle of water, you accept gratefully and lay back down.
Silence falls over the two of you only to be interrupted with his phone ringing, he ignores it and sits up to look at you. “I’m sorry about yesterday, my friend wouldn’t shut up about me not having a boyfriend. The lie just slipped” you speak, he nods his head but stays silent. Your eyes wander over his face trying to pick up on an emotion but it’s unreadable, his blue eyes stare back at you.
“Never had a boyfriend huh?” He smirks, his left eyebrow raises in question. Redness spreads across your cheeks, spinning your body until it hides under the blanket. “So does that mean..”.
“Oh god, this is so damn embarrassing” you exclaim, you feel sick to the stomach. Thankfully you're both pulled away when his phone rings for the second time, he answers it with a huff and pulls himself from the bed.
You peek your head out of the blanket and watch him close the bathroom door behind him, you take this moment to step out of bed. Wobbling slightly on the plush carpet, thankfully the nausea had subsided and you were just left with a headache.
You grabbed your phone from the bedside table and made a dash for it, no way were you going to wait for him knowing he had follow up questions.
You're so close to the front door when Kelsie rounds the corner, she throws her arms around you in delight. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, didn’t want to wake you up myself in case I walked in on something” she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You nervously laughed, you probably shouldn’t let her think you were having sex. You know she’d ask for details later and you weren’t sure you could lie about that.
“Hey!” She exclaims, waving behind you. You turn to see Rafe walking towards you with a smirk on his lips, looking away quickly you nudge your friend towards the door. “We should get going” you mumble, gripping her bicep roughly. She shakes her head though just as Rafe’s arm wraps around your shoulder, he brings your back flush against his front.
Your body tingles, well aware that your bum was pressed against where his cock was tucked away. “You can’t leave yet babe, have coffee first”.
Your breath catches in your throat from the nickname, your limbs feel like jelly as you let him push you towards the kitchen. He maneuvers around the kitchen effortlessly and in silence, Kelsie sits on the stool watching him get the coffee machine ready, he turns to look at you and holds out a mug. “Thanks” you manage a smile and step over to help him, he looks down at you for a split second and then over at Kelsie who is tapping on her phone.
“Play along” he whispers, your eyes go wide when his thumb and forefinger trap your chin. Tilting your head up so he can duck down and kiss you.
You can’t stop the swarm of butterflies that are let loose in your stomach, your fingers grip the front of his white shirt. His hand pulls you in by your waist, you're trying to remind yourself this is fake. He’s just helping you out, helping you put on a show for your best friend.
“Gross! You’ve been doing god knows what all morning, let me get to know your boyfriend y/n” Kelsie cringes from her seat, dramatically covering her eyes in disgust. But the curve of her lips shows how damn excited she was for you. “What do you want to know?” Rafe questions, placing a mug down in front of her and then handing you yours.
“Everything! How long have you guys been together first?” Her eyes move between the two of you, your mouth opens but no words follow. Slamming your lips closed quickly before she notices. “Only 3 weeks, I’ve known about y/n since she came to the island 2 years ago. Just never had the courage to speak to her”.
Your brows crease together In the middle, was what he was saying true? If it wasn’t, how did he know you moved here 2 years ago?.
“That’s so sweet! Oh y/n I’m so damn happy for you! Anyway you gave me all the goss last night about the two of you, so Rafe what do you do for work?”
You sit in silence while your best friend interrogates Rafe Cameron, you hang onto every last word of his. Making mental notes about everything he was saying, you didn’t know much about Rafe Cameron.
You just knew he was rich and practically owned half the island, you heard a few things about problems with drugs when he was younger but that he got clean. He didn’t bring any of that up though and of course why would he, this whole situation was just to help you out.
“You got yourself a good one y/n! You better keep good care of her, I leave in a few days and I need to know my bestie is well looked after” she says but wiggles her eyebrows at the last part, nudging you in the ribs. You laugh with her and give him a tight smile.
“Of course, I’ll take real good care of her” he winks at you and you're so grateful for the chair that kept you from falling to the ground, one simple movement from him and you were weak at the knees. “Anyway we should get going, I promised you a trip to Charleston” you said, you made your way to the sink to wash the mug but large hands stop you as you reach for the cloth. “I got it”.
“Oh yes! I’m so excited, okay let’s go! Will see you later, yeah Rafe?” You suppress a groan, squeezing your eyes shut at your insistent friend. You open your mouth to tell her he’s got plans with friends but he’s agreeing with her and saying he’ll see you both later.
“I’ll let you say goodbye in private” she winks, skipping around the corner. When you hear the front door lock you turn to him, he’s staring at you again with his bright blue eyes.
“Thank you so much for playing along and helping me out but honestly I’ll tell her you have plans, she’ll be gone in a few days and we can pretend none of this happened”. You state, he doesn’t move from his spot or acknowledge what you’ve said for a few moments, you stare in silence.
“I’ll play your fake boyfriend y/n” he says, placing his mug into the sink and stepping towards you. “You really don’t need to, I’m apparently really good at lying” you reply, you give him an awkward thank you hug and dart out the door.
Your heart feels like it’s in your throat, rushing towards the Uber waiting for you. You couldn’t believe you had gotten away with it, one little lie worked and now you no longer had your best friend in your ear about finding a man.
The two of you went home to shower and change, spending your day over in Charleston. Showing Kelsie around the town and shopping. Your feet were on fire by the time you stepped through your front door, you dropped your bags to the floor. “I need to lay down!” You announce, walking straight to your bedroom and dropping onto the bed.
You must have passed out because you're waking up in a dark room, your shoes have been taken off and a blanket draped over you. Your ears prick up to the sound of music, what was Kelsie doing?
You threw the blanket off you and stepped into your bathroom, you grabbed a makeup wipe and cleaned up the mascara that had smudged under your eyes. Racking a comb through your hair and stepping back out of the bathroom.
The moment you open your bedroom door you are hit with loud music and the smell of tequila, you follow the noise towards the living room. “There she is!” Your best friend screams, she comes charging at you wrapping her arms around your neck.
Your eyes land on Rafe who sits on the one seater velvet chair, legs spread wide. He sends a smirk your way and raises his glass as a hello. “What is happening?” You question, noticing Rafe’s friends lounge on the couch and your friends looking at you in confusion. Oh god.
Your lie was about to unravel, you hadn’t thought about Kelsie meeting them. “I grabbed your phone while you were sleeping and organized a little get together! But you missy need to stop deleting messages it was very hard to figure out who your friends where”.
You were more concerned about how she got Rafes number, it would have been suspicious for you not to have messages with him. “Luckily everyone was saved in your favorites” she says handing you your phone, when she isn’t looking you search your phone. Rafes name pops up under favorite number 1, he must have put it in there last night? He was a lot better at this fake dating than you had expected.
“Hi” his voice whispered in your ear, his breath tickled your neck sending familiar shivers down your spine. His fingers dance around your hip stopping at your stomach, flattening his hand against you he pulled you back against him. “Hey” you managed, you say, he could tell you were flustered from the pink creeping up your neck until it made home on the apple of your cheeks. “You were asleep when she texted, I’m not as good of a liar as you” he joked, his eyes looking behind you for a moment and then his lips were on yours. You had now been kissed by 3 boys in your our lifetime, his lips were your favorite so far.
“Get a room!” Kelsie shouted, she poured tequila into shot glasses and began passing them around. “Let’s get this party started!”.
An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach, Kelsie never usually drank this much when she was around you. She knew you weren’t much of a drinker, especially since your dad was an alcoholic.
You stared down at the shot in your hand, you really didn’t want to drink tonight. Before you could even bring it to your lips Rafe was swapping his empty shot glass with yours and throwing it back. “You didn’t have to do that” you whispered, his hand still laying upon your stomach. You could feel him breathing against your back. “You didn’t want it”.
He gives you another soft smile and looks back at everyone in the room, Kelsie has turned the music up louder and pulled everyone into the middle of the lounge. “I just need to talk to my friends quickly” he nods his head and drops his hand from you. He watched you make your way to your friends and took a seat back on the seat he once occupied.
“Girl! You didn’t tell us you were seeing Rafe!” Sam exclaimed, she was in pure shock. Your three outer banks friends had lived here all their lives, they had known Rafe since school. “I’m sorry, it’s so recent I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it yet”.
“That’s okay, totally understand! It’s Rafe Cameron for crying out loud, I never thought I’d see the day he settles down” Grace says, she looks over at Rafe who is still watching you. They send him a smile and look back at you, an uneasy feeling in your stomach again.
“Yeah who knew” you laughed, you stood with them for a bit longer until the feeling of his eyes on you made you squirm. Walking back over to him, he pulled you to sit on his lap.
Your legs sat between his open ones, body nuzzled into his side. His arm around your shoulder, it was surprisingly comfortable and not weird. “We should probably discuss this fake boyfriend thing” he whisperedMy, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear. “You really don’t have to pretend after today”.
He chuckles and moves in his seat a little bit, your thighs rubbing against his groin. The redness once again painted on your cheeks. “You underestimate your friend”.
You look over at Kelsie who’s dancing away with Topper, both of them look like they escaped the mental hospital.
“You might be right” you agreed, unsure why you feel so content against him. You’d sat on boys' laps before and cuddled, it usually made you feel uncomfortable and you’d run off before they got the wrong idea.
“She's here for 3 days, so if you were possibly free over the next few days I’d be forever in your debt” you say, turning slightly to look up at him. He tilts his chin to look down at you, something flashes behind his eyes but you can’t quite place what it is. His smile is intoxicating, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes and the perfectly straight teeth could kill me. “I can be free BUT I need a favour from you”.
“Yeah?” Your heart beats a bit faster and harder in your chest, what could Rafe Cameron possibly want from you? “I’ll need you to come to an event, I need a plus one”.
“Oh sure thing” you answer a bit too quickly, earning a smirk from the man under you. “Let’s talk about rules then?”
“Rules?”
“Yeah, you’ve never had a boyfriend before. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable by doing anything you don’t want” he states, his tone is serious and his smile has vanished. “Oh” is all you manage to say to him, he moves again sitting up more straight so you both face each other.
“If I touch you anywhere you don’t like or want, or if I kiss you and you don’t want it, you just tell me. I won’t be hurt”
You nod your head, his hand cups your face and his lips touch yours for only a brief moment. “Sorry… they were watching”.
You turn your head and every snap their head back to what they were doing, a soft chuckle leaves your mouth and you look back at Rafe.
“Okay, and if you're busy or no longer want to be my fake boyfriend you just tell me. No hard feelings”
“Okay”
“Shall we kiss on it?”
You're the one to press your lips to his this time, it’s not quick like the last one. It’s more intense, his tongue snakes between your lips and you're moving in sync. This was a lot better than any of the other kisses you shared with someone.
“Sorry, I thought we’d give them a show”.
“Right” you breath, clearing the back of your throat and laying against him again. Was it normal to enjoy a kiss from a fake boyfriend that much?
Tag list - @rafemotherfuckingcameron @rafegirly @prentissesredtanktop @maybankslover @vigilanteshitposting
Part 3
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please please i’d like to request a carmy blurb with the dialogue prompt “Don't go on that date” ❤️
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Divine Timing.
carmy berzatto x female reader
warnings - cursing
written for my 5k celebration - post here, masterlist here. inbox here.
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He’s in a bad mood.
Technically, he’s always in a bad mood. But this is the worst you’ve seen him in a long time.
He’s screamed at Richie, belittled Marcus and pissed off Tina in the span of approximately five minutes, and everyone is tired. So, they enlist your help.
You speak fluent Carmy, Syd had said once. You’re the only one he listens to.
So, the next time he shouts, you shout back. Louder.
“Sydney, what the fuck are you doing?” he yells bitterly.
“Carmen, if you don’t stop fucking screaming, I’ll smack you so hard in front of everyone - I swear to fucking God.”
You yell back at a volume that shocks even Richie. The Beef stands still, everyone too afraid to move. Carmy is startled, stuck in place.
“We’re taking five,” you tell him, linking your fingers into his. “Come on.”
You drag him outside, sitting him down in his usual spot. You grab a water bottle and throw it at him, raising your eyebrows in a gesture that says drink it or else. He does as he’s told.
You let him wallow in the silence for a while, calming down slowly but surely. You look over, expecting to see him still angry, or frustrated. Instead, he just looks sad.
You move to sit next to him, turning your body so you can see his face clearly.
“What’s the matter, Carm? What’s got you so riled up today, hmm?”
“Nothin’” he replies, kicking his shoe into the ground. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Does matter. You can’t take your feelings out on everyone in the kitchen, you know. It isn’t fair.”
“I know.”
Your phone make a noise, and you check the screen quickly before shoving it back in your pocket.
“Anyone important?”
“Nah. Just the guy I’m meant to be seeing later, checking in to see if I’m still good.”
Carmy tenses, whole body going rigid beside you. You feel it, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Listen, Carm. If you don’t wanna tell me what’s bothering you, then fine. But you’ve got to work it out in your own time - not in the fucking kitchen. Got it?”
He’s quiet for a moment, deep in thought. Finally, he speaks.
“Don’t go on that date.”
Your head whips around in disbelief.
“What?”
He ducks his head, willing the ground to swallow him whole.
“Don’t go on that date. Please.”
“Is that… is that what’s got you all upset?”
He scoffs and immediately regrets it, looking at you with softness in his eyes that’s rare as diamonds.
“Yeah.”
“Carmen… why?”
He takes a deep breath, gaze never leaving yours.
“It’s been eating me up, the idea of you going out with some guy. I wanted to tell you how I felt, but… I didn’t want it to be awkward, when you didn’t feel the same way. We work together, we see each other every day, and I didn’t wanna fuck up our friendship.”
“So… you took your anger out on everyone else?”
“Yeah, fuck. I didn’t mean to. Think I just bottled up my feelings too much.”
“Who says I don’t feel the same way?”
Carmy chokes on his breath, staring at you in disbelief.
“You… wait- what?”
“Anyone can see that I like you, Carm. I have since the day I met you and you flashed me one of those million dollar smiles of yours.”
He gives you one now, all bright and bashful.
“This is the last time anything like this happens, you hear me? From now on, you talk to me. And I’ll talk to you. It goes both ways.”
He nods, agreeing wholeheartedly.
“Here’s the deal, Berzatto. You go in there and apologise individually to each and every person you’ve been a dick towards today, and I’ll cancel my date with the douchebag I didn’t wanna see anyway.”
“And you’ll date me instead.”
You laugh, head thrown back and eyes crinkling.
“Fine. But only if the apologies are super heartfelt.”
He shakes his head, chuckling from deep within his chest. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he presses a kiss to your temple.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For yelling at me back there. I needed it.”
You smile, leaning into him.
“You’re so welcome.”
“It was super hot, too.”
“Shut up, Berzatto,” you chide, but you can’t fight the grin that etches itself on your face.
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pearynice · 2 months
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Pre-Season 4 AU
We are now calling this: "I Want to Hold Your Hand"
Part 1 Part 2 (Complete)
Ao3 Link
“Sure, Stevie.” Eddie bites his lip. “But I walked here, man, so I could-” Eddie pauses, looks away, out to the expansive backyard before looking back, “I mean, I could walk you home. If you wanted. Can’t have you passing out on the street or something, can we?”
Steve wishes he was sober. He wants to utilize what got him Nancy, what got him every girl since her, usewhat made himsuave and charming and worthy so Eddie can keep looking at him the way he is. 
But he can’t. He doesn’t. And instead Steve ducks inside and drinks straight from the kitchen tap, the water tepid and metallic, chugging until there’s rivulets of water dripping down his chin, his head no longer feeling quite so stuffy. He stops to breathe, and when he looks up Eddie’s staring at him through the window, unapologetically snickering as the last of the water drips off Steve’s jaw.
(Steve’s pretty sure it’s worth it, though, because he realizes, through the glass, that Eddie has dimples.)
“I don’t drive when I’m dealing.” Eddie explains when they’re on the sidewalk, “too easy for cops to find-” he jangles his lunchbox, raising his eyebrows. “Lowered expectation of privacy, they call it.”
Steve just nods, because Eddie’s holding the lunchbox on his opposite side, his free hand so close to Steve’s own. Steve watches it, the slight sway of his hand as he walks, spots the chipped black polish on Eddie’s fingernails and thinks about how easy it would be to grab ahold. He wonders what Eddie’s hands feel like. If they’re calloused or smooth, soft or rough, how it would feel clasped against his own palm. The streetlights highlight a frizzy halo of curls around Eddie’s head, and Steve wonders if the strands are soft. If Eddie would let him touch. 
But Eddie’s walking a half step faster than him, Steve’s own tipsy legs unable to carry him as quickly.  So he reaches, and hooks two of his fingers through Eddie’s belt loop. 
Eddie starts, arms jerking, and Steve pulls him close, knocking them gently together. “You’re too fast.” Steve complains, softly, and the blush returns to Eddie’s cheeks at the words, his dimples, too, and Steve grins, the pop rocks in his chest fizzling at the sight.
“Sorry,” Eddie exhales, and they’re close, so close Steve can feel it, can feel Eddie’s breath against his cheeks, and he wants to pull him closer, feel his lips against his, but the water must’ve sobered him, at least a little, because he resists. Doesn’t completely trust that their deserted street is free from prying eyes.
So Steve pulls away, just a half step, just enough that they can walk without brushing against each other. But he keeps his fingers where they are, keeps Eddie by his side, gives him a little pull, now and then, when he wants to. 
Eddie talks about Hellfire, and Steve talks about Dustin and Lucas and Mike, and Eddie assures, again, that he’ll take them under his wing. 
It does more for him than he’d ever admit.
“You know,” Eddie starts, knocking their shoulders together, “you’re not who I expected you’d be.”
Steve pulls on his belt loop.
“I guess,” Eddie continues, kicking a rock down the street, echoey in the quiet night, “I didn’t expect for you to actually be a good dude. I mean, rich parents, popular, chicks love him, not a douche?” He looks back over, grinning, his face all scrunched, “no way, man.” Eddie kicks the rock again, sending it careening to the other side of the street. 
“Why’d you talk to me, then?” Steve asks. His cheeks feel warm. So do his hands. “If you thought I was a douche?”
Eddie’s quiet for a moment. He’s looking down, his face slightly hidden by his curtain of hair. 
Steve tugs on his belt loop, and he sees Eddie grin a little at that, sees his cheeks warm under the street lamps before he looks back up at Steve. “I wanted to be proven wrong.” And then his gaze flicks down to Steve’s lips. Just for a moment, but it was there, Steve saw it, is more than sober enough to know he saw it. “‘M glad I was.” Eddie adds.
They talk quietly the rest of the way back. Steve knows Eddie wants to wrap his arm around him. Has felt the touch of fingers more than once on the small of his back. Every time, though, Eddie stops, gives Steve a little smile, and pulls back away.
The walk is longer than it should be. Steve slows them down. He’s not drunk, anymore, but his steps are short. Languid. He doesn’t want to get back to his house. He wants to stay chatting with Eddie on these streets for the rest of the night- where it’s just the two of them- the two of them and no one and nothing else, but too soon they’re at the foot of Steve’s driveway, fingers still looped through Eddie’s jeans. 
He sees Eddie take it in, his eyebrows quirked as he gazes up at Steve’s house. “Got the rich parents part right, though, didn’t I?”
Steve tugs. “We’ve got a pretty big kitchen.” He offers, nodding towards his house. “I could make us something to eat.”
He wants to say please. 
Eddie chews on his bottom lip. “Don’t think Mr. and Mrs. Harrington would be too pleased to find me hanging out in their kitchen, Stevie.” He places a hand on Steve’s forearm. “Maybe next time.”
Steve tugs again, this time taking a step towards his house. “They’re not home,” he promises, and Eddie’s face softens. Steve grins. “C’mon. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
Steve’s abilities in the kitchen are nearly exclusively limited to stove-top endeavors, ever since his forays into whatever goes on in an oven ending primarily with the food somehow both raw and charred, but that also means that when he slides Eddie’s grilled cheese from the skillet and onto his plate, it’s perfectly golden brown, the cheese oozing from the sides.
Eddie whistles. “You sure know how to treat a guy, Steve.” He bites into it at once, his eyes closing as the cheese pulls away in strings. “God,” he moans, and Steve doesn’t pretend he isn’t staring as Eddie opens his eyes again, because that sound went straight through him, he’s pretty sure he felt it in his bones and he sort of- definitely- wants to get Eddie to make that noise again. 
Eddie flushes when he catches Steve looking. “’S really g’d.” He defends, through a mouthful, then coughs, coughs again, before swallowing, eyes watering. 
“I inhaled some of it.” He wheezes, and grabs for the water Steve had poured him. 
It’s not the alcohol. Steve’s more than halfway to sober, now, after their fifteen minute walk that was closer to thirty and the three slices of bread he’d eaten as he was waiting for their sandwiches to brown, and yet he thinks Eddie coughing around the sandwich Steve made him might be the most endearing thing he’s ever seen. 
He sees Eddie flush, though, and not the good kind, sees him hunch his shoulders under Steve’s gaze and pull a lock of hair in front of his face. 
So Steve sits down next to him. Pulls their chairs close so he can hook a leg around Eddie’s. “Glad you like it.” He bites into his own, the cheese pulling, and Eddie’s shoulders drop. Steve chews, and when he looks back over Eddie’s smiling, again, small and tentative, that lock of hair still pulled across his face. Steve wants to tuck it back, wants to see Eddie’s smile full on, but he runs his calf along Eddie’s shin instead, in a motion he hopes is reassuring.
They eat, and soon, Eddie drops his hair, and presses his leg back against Steve’s. 
Eventually, they migrate to the couch. 
“Thanks for walking me home.” Steve hums, pressing his thigh into Eddie’s. “For making sure I don’t pass out on a street corner.” 
Eddie grins, pulls that damn lock of hair across his lips again, but it’s softer, now, giddy, instead of anxious. “Thanks for making me dinner.”
And this is normally the point at which Steve leans in, where he winds his fingers through hair and pulls the girl into his lap, but Eddie still has that lock of hair pulled in front of his face, across his lips. So Steve goes for earnest, instead. 
“And… thank you.” He adds. Inching his hand that much closer to Eddie’s. “For checking on me. Tonight. It was-” he blinks, forcing away the memories that never stop biting at him, “you, uh, made it better.”
Because Eddie had. For the first night since it happened Steve realizes he hadn’t thought about the Russians. Hadn’t panicked on whether or not Robin and Dustin and Erica were safe. Hadn’t had to resist the urge to call, to hear their voices. To know. To be sure. Because here, with Eddie, it feels like his own slice of normal. Like here he is just Steve. He’s not the guy with the bat, the guy who can take a punch, he’s not even King Steve. He’s just Steve, and Eddie’s here, sitting on this couch with him, anyways.
Eddie drops his hand. Brushes his pinky up against Steve’s. “‘Course, Stevie.”
Steve dips his head forward, until he can feel Eddie’s breath again, shallow and warm, and Eddie doesn’t pull away. His pinky finger curls around Steve’s. Squeezes. 
Steve’s never kissed a boy. But he doesn’t think about that when he kisses Eddie. He thinks about how Eddie’s lips feel against his own, how Eddie turns their hands so they’re clasped together fully, how Eddie opens his mouth the moment he feels Steve’s tongue. He thinks about how Eddie moves closer, how all Steve has to do is place a hand on his waist for Eddie to move into Steve’s lap all on his own. He thinks about how right it feels. With Eddie pressed close. Thinks about how Eddie lets him touch his hair, and how soft it is when he threads his fingers through. He thinks about how Eddie’s hands, calloused and dry, are gentle. 
He squeezes Eddie’s hand. Presses his thumb against Eddie’s cheekbone and threads his fingers through soft curls, pulling Eddie further into his lap.
Eddie kisses slowly. Without urgency, a pace that Steve is fine to follow in the quiet stillness of the dim living room, the noise of their muffled shifting on the couch and the wet noises of their mouths filling the space. 
He doesn’t think about the Russians even when Eddie’s touch ghosts over skin, the same skin that weeks earlier was purpled and bruised and swollen, because Eddie’s touch houses nothing reminiscent of such, and when Eddie pulls away, just slightly, just enough to press their foreheads together, Steve has to bite back a whine. 
“Sorry,” Eddie whispers, and Steve can barely hear it, even in the quiet he can hardly hear Eddie’s voice, so he clings to his hand a little harder. “Just-” Eddie goes on, and Steve can feel how he tenses in his lap, “you were drunk. And I don’t want…” Eddie trails off.
He doesn’t want Steve to regret this. 
“I’m good, I promise.” Steve whispers. “I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.” And then, because he’s feeling brave, because he thinks, maybe, possibly, Eddie feels the same, he adds, “nothing I won’t want to do tomorrow.”
He sees Eddie get it. Feels the tension leave his muscles as he sinks deeper onto Steve’s lap. “Okay.” He breathes. “Good.”
Steve kisses him again. Trails his mouth over Eddie’s jaw and down his throat, resists the urge to form bruises as he goes, not wanting to get Eddie in trouble, doesn’t know who Eddie’s going home to, how many questions they’ll ask, so instead he drops his hand from Eddie’s hair to slide under his shirt, his skin soft and warm, the fabric dark and heavy. 
Eddie exhales at Steve’s touch, his breathing hitching as Steve goes, Eddie’s own hand finding the hem of Steve’s shirt and teasing his fingers underneath. If he feels the scars there Eddie says nothing, doesn’t react, just keeps rubbing his hands across Steve’s skin like there’s nothing there he doesn’t want.
Steve begins to feel Eddie’s hardness, a press against his inner thigh that Steve is quickly matching, only encouraged by the soft sounds falling from Eddie’s lips. 
He starts slow, drops his hands from Eddie’s back to slide under his waistband. 
But Eddie freezes at once. His hands and mouth stilling and so Steve retreats, his hands leaving Eddie’s skin to rest over clothes.
“Sorry.” Eddie breathes, for the second time in nearly as many minutes, his face is reddening again, his shoulders hunching, “that’s just not-” he exhales heavily through his nose. “I can’t do this. Tonight. I can- I’m sorry, I can go. I can get out of your hair.” He moves, leans back and away, “I’m sorry,” he adds again, his hands dropping to curl in against his sides.
“Hey,” Steve murmurs, and he places his hands back on Eddie’s waist. Over clothes. A gentle press. “We don’t have to do any of that. Notif you don’t want to. I shouldn’t have-” it’s Steve’s turn to stumble over words, and Eddie’s shoulders drop, just a little, at his fumbling. “I’m sorry.” Steve emphasizes.
The last thing he’d wanted was this. Was sending Eddie back into the shell he’s so quick to retreat into.
But Eddie’s shoulders drop the rest of the way. “’S okay.” He assures, and his hands, tentative, come to rest on Steve’s forearms.
The touch is warm. Solid. And Steve doesn’t want it to leave. Not tonight. Definitely not so soon. He glances down at the exposed skin of Eddie’s forearm. He still doesn’t quite understand the tattoo. Even this close. It’s definitely creepy though. He thinks he likes it. 
“Stay?” Steve asks, his fingers curling just slightly tighter into the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. “I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow.”
Eddie stays. Because it’s closing in on two am, and Steve’s house is lonely and cold, even in August, and Eddie’s warm, like a furnace, as he climbs under Steve’s covers. For a moment Steve just looks at him, at his dark hair pooled around his head, at his cheek slightly smooshed against Steve’s pillow, the fabric of Steve’s sweatshirt just visible under the cover of blankets.
So Steve hooks his leg over Eddie’s. Pulls himself close until his face is in Eddie’s chest. He hopes it isn’t too much. Hopes he hasn’t finally found the end Eddie’s patience, laying out all of the goopy feelings in his chest that have formed far too quickly, but Eddie wraps an arm around him. Around his back. Combs his fingers through Steve’s hair and gently twists the strands. 
Steve used to love when Nancy did this. He’d nearly forgotten. 
His eyes close, and something fierce settles into Steve’s bones. Because he’s not losing this. Won’t. As long as Eddie wants him Steve thinks he will stand between Eddie and Jason, Eddie and anyone, if he has to.
Eddie’s arm, protective and solid, curls just a little bit tighter around him.
Steve breathes. Settles into the feeling of Eddie wrapped around him, and knows, finally, what he wants.
✨✨✨
Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the second part just as much as the first! ❤️✨
Tag list (I tagged most who commented they would like a second part, I hope that's okay): @anne-bennett-cosplayer @gleek4twd @gothwifehotchner @eddies-temper-tantrum @xandriumbat @gaydrieeen @alycatavatar @nicememerino @rottenriku @shiftylinguini @ilovecupcakesandtea @steddiewithachance @estrellami-1 @silentiumdelirium @resident-gay-bitch @starlight-archer @cicciadoratz @breealtair @ithinkicouldloveher @silverkat1620@marklee-blackmore @autumnal-dawn @hallo-spaceb0y @j-mysticalien @dragondemon013-blog @askitwithflours @theoncelee @limpingpenguin @auwuli @angeldreamsoffanfic @hazeleyedwoman @ispyblu @m-owo-n @newtstabber @mrsdollardog @saramelaniemoon @icksam @i-amthepizzaman @blu3stars @tinypandabasketballfarm @skrzydlak @eddiethehunted @thefreakandthehair @starrystevie @transvampireboyfriend @junodarling @theheadlessphilosopher @devondespresso @tboyeddie @nburkhardt @racetrackthehiggins @finalmoondragon
(continued in the comments)
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elizabethemerald · 10 months
Text
Don't Sneak up on People with Swords
@im-totally-not-an-alien-2 made a prompt about Danny sneaking up on Jason Todd and @sky00asara made a comment in the tags about what would happen if Danny did that to Talia. So here is my version of that! Enjoy.
Talia al Ghul watched her beloved from afar. He was out, again patrolling his city for those he considered wrong doers. Her son was by his side. She scowled at how Damian’s fighting style had changed, softened in the company of her beloved. Despite her love for the man under the cowl, he had a tremendous ability to take even the most ruthless of killers and change them to spare the undeserving. He had even tried it with her. 
She was hidden on the roof of an abandoned tower nearby. The tower had succumbed to fire and was now condemned until the city got around to destroying it properly. For now it made the perfect place for her to observe her beloved and her son work undisturbed. 
“Excuse me?” 
Talia whirled, drawing her blade as she spun. Her blade moved fast enough to almost cut the air itself yet the small shape ducked under her stroke and back-pedaled quickly to move out her range. 
“Jeez! Why is everyone in this city so jumpy!” 
The voice more than anything made her realize that the person who had somehow snuck close enough was an actual child. Their black hair and blue eyes made her wonder if this was another of her beloved’s adoptees. Except surely this boy was too young to catch Bruce’s eye? 
“Well maybe you should not sneak up on people?” Talia hissed, her voice soft yet stern. To say nothing of how a child who couldn’t be older than five had snuck up on her at all. 
“Well maybe you shouldn’t brood on the roof of my home!” The child snarked back, just like one of the Bat’s brood would, completely unafraid of the blade still in her hand. Talia raised an eyebrow at him then looked around at the burnt skeleton of the building they were standing on. 
“This building is not fit for human occupation.”
“Neither was the last place I lived.” He said dismissively. “This place hasn’t even killed me yet, so it’s practically a paradise.” 
She was tempted to take the child’s words as sarcasm, yet something in the way he spoke made her think he meant it more truthfully. 
“You’ve died before?” Talia asked. She relaxed her hold on her blade, allowing it to rest at her side. 
“Oh yeah, I die all the time.” He said, then he looked at her curiously tilting his head first one way, then another. “You’ve died too, huh?” 
She nodded, now examining him closely, looking for the signs she would recognize. She could see the hint of a scar on the boy’s palm that might have caused a death. 
“What is it with this town that so many people have died and come back?” The boy asked, apparently rhetorically as he didn’t let her answer. “First the stabby Robin, then the stabby Batgirl, then Batman, and even Red Hood. It’s like everyone I run into is contaminated.” 
Talia’s eyes widened. 
“You can sense those who have utilized the Lazarus Pits?” She would have to inform her father about this child. He could put the entire League of Assassins at risk. The child before her just shrugged. 
“I have no idea what that is. Red Hood mentioned some kind of pit as well, but I’ve never seen anything like that. I just know y’all are contaminated with ectoplasm, though not enough to make a core.” 
“What is this… ectoplasm?” Another name for the Lazarus Waters? Had there perhaps been a Pit outside of League control? In the midwest somewhere based on the boy’s accent. 
“Oh it’s this stuff.” He held his hand out and Talia couldn’t help keep her expression of shock withdrawn despite all her training as his hand filled with the glowing green light of the Pits. He held the Pit Water in his hand then tossed the glowing orb to his other hand in a half juggle as if he weren’t carrying the League's greatest secret and weapon. 
Nevermind telling her father about this child, he could never learn of him. If Ras had the power this child had under his control the world would never survive. There was only one option. She needed to train this child to wield this strength. With the stealth he displayed in sneaking up on her and his power over the Pits themselves he could make an assassin like the world had never seen. He could be the next Head of the Demon under her guidance. She knelt down to the boy’s level, slipping her sword back away as she did so. 
“Tell me, young one. Are you living in this death trap of a building all by yourself?” 
“Yeah, but don’t worry, I’ve got it taken care of. I know I’m little, but that just means people are less likely to notice me. I’m able to steal all the food I need from that big box store down the street.” 
“Oh of that I have no doubt. My name is Talia al Ghul. What’s yours?” 
“Hmm. I’m Danny.” The boy seemed hesitant to trust her, which to be perfectly honest was probably a very smart thing to do, but at least she had a name for this gift of Lazarus. 
“Danny, how would you like to come live with me? You won’t have to steal any more, or worry about food ever again, and I could train you how to fight even better than the Bats.” 
He narrowed his eyes at her, looking her over closely. 
“Would I get a sword?” 
“If a sword is what you want, then once you were trained in its use I would acquire one for you.”
Danny looked like he was about to nod, but then he froze, his head tilting to the side as if he was listening to something. His eyes widened and Talia tensed. 
“Uh-oh. Fruit Loop incoming. I gotta go.” 
Talia half turned as she heard the sound of one of her beloved’s grappling lines catching on the building’s edge. By the time she had turned back to face him, Danny had completely vanished. She hadn’t even heard him leave. She stood and scowled as her beloved landed on the rooftop next to her. 
“Talia.” He grunted at her, glaring all the while. 
“Beloved. Must you ruin every nice thing in my life?” Talia snarled back. The boy, Danny, had the gift of Lazarus at his beck and call and Batman had scared him off. 
Bruce looked momentarily stunned at her fury, but quickly hid it behind his mask. However Talia couldn’t care less about her beloved right now. She just needed to lose him so she could return to find the boy. The boy who would change the world with his power. 
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pinkrelish · 9 months
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𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮.
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rockstar!eddie x assistant!fem!reader
✶Tossed to the wolves of touring lifestyle, you'd had enough of Corroded Coffin's backstage antics one night after a show, and try to escape to the bus for fresh air. Eddie follows.✶
NSFW — 18+ drug/alcohol mention/use, eddie spits whiskey in reader's mouth, sexual themes, crude jokes, enemies to lovers vibes, secret soulmates au
[wc: 8.8k]
↳ standalone gift oneshot for the i will wait series written by @abibliophobiaa, @blueywrites, @breddiemunson, @myosotisa, @fracturedarkness
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The methodical chaos—the mechanical creep of soundscape under the drums punching through your body, building to something bigger—ended forty-nine minutes and twelve seconds ago, and like the suspended chords he loved so dearly, you were left with a sense of foreboding.
Stage lights dimmed off. You were on the clock. Showtime.
Babysitter. Handler. Assistant who knew better than to offer him water.
Nerves holstered your shoulders. Unease twisted your stomach. Your ears rang, your teeth ached. Your jaw clenched in throbs off tempo from your heartbeat running wild on the adrenaline feeding the racing pulse hammering in your chest.
The concert was over, but the noise never stopped.
Inside the venue’s backstage room, abrasive bursts of laughter collapsed in excited chatter after an individual cocked back an object, and threw it.
The true night began.
A mostly empty beer bottle smacked its intended target in an echoey clang, and fell in a spray of foam. Fine. You could handle that. Then someone grabbed a plastic chair with metal legs, hoisted it over their shoulder, and chucked it, stumbling after the trajectory in the sloppy way drug-encouraged drunkenness would imply. A cacophony of too-loud cheering was caught on tape by a sound engineer’s personal Sony camcorder, flattening himself against the wall to capture the reaction to the CRT TV dropping from its shelf in the corner, stage live feed long since dead. On its fateful descent, it clipped the edge of an EXIT sign, which now dangled by its chord like a pinata, becoming the next target.
The beige brick room dampened outside interference and amplified the rest, living between yours ears alongside the snappy demands, rude remarks, and crude jokes. Spoken down to, disregarded like caked dirt between boot treads. Anxieties buzzing, looming a presence at the back of your mind, always. On edge.
Shouts, thuds, broken glass. People had the sense to duck, and cower. A side table was lifted, and heaved in a barbaric yell. Beer bottle after beer bottle after beer bottle. Chair legs ripped off, slick from the boozy bubbles coating the floor, and hurled at the red blinking sign. A lamp from another room. An ugly trash can. A hairdryer. The telephone you used to make a phone call thirty-two minutes and forty-three seconds ago; ripped from the wall with its receiver, and added to the clutter of projectiles. A bucket of melted ice, nailed head-on, splashing two dots of cold water on your cheek.
Expendable bottles were gone, but the riot didn’t stop. Another case was ripped into. Hard liquor traded hands. White powder stung noses, earning bloodshot eyes. Rewards. Rowdy shoving. Boys will be boys behavior.
An unopened Pabst whizzed past your head, slammed like a bullet into the mirror on the opposite wall, launching itself in a jet of built-up pressure across the room, ending its route at the toe of your heeled shoes seemingly just to ruin your wool-blend Express pencil skirt with hoppy liquid.
Eddie kicked the can away.
He circled his thumb and forefinger up the sides of his nose, and sniffed hard. “Want some?” he asked as he leaned on the wall with you, posture lax and open in all the ways your crossed arms weren’t. You cut your glare to the clear bottle he offered you. His grip obscured most of it, but you could see a worrying amount of whiskey had already been drunk when it crested the sides between his middle and ring finger.
Remembering to answer, you shook your head. The amber liquid sloshed with his tut, “Suit yourself,” and two deep gulps bobbed his throat.
You weren’t opposed to drinking when around him, but you learned your inebriated lesson four stops ago when the bill from the hotel totaled a stomach dropping amount, and as much as alcohol made it easier to tolerate Eddie in particular, your sluggish tongue slurring over an authoritative reminder of the early start to the morning to make it to the next city on time only fueled his defiant attitude. Pink puckered skin marked the stitches he snipped out of his upper arm with a pair of nail scissors after he and Gareth decided to smash the Hilton’s wine glasses for fun, and was surprised when a sliver of glass bit him back. Under his stringy bangs was an angry red scab from yesterday’s mic throttle to his forehead at the end of a verse, screaming his voice to the point of cracking with emotion. Other self-destructive tendencies coated his knuckles in dried blood.
It was a lot to deal with.
Today’s toll was one ruined guitar, a broken bass after the fretboard was stabbed into an amp, a bent hi-hat stand, and a completely deboned keyboard; keys removed thoroughly by the sole of someone’s boot scraping them clean off in the midst of performance. Blowing off steam, Eddie called it. Boys will be boys, one of the returning tour managers shrugged at you.
So far, it was one of the lighter days of tour—
You flinched.
A loud pop flickered through the room. One of two fluorescent lights shattered, and the tube swung down from the ceiling, becoming the next victim to a corner store ham sandwich being thrown at it.
Staying as small as possible, the emotional support water bottle in your hand crinkled as you hiked your fists further up your biceps, eyeing the camera man in the corner. Your employer tilted his head at the sight too, admiring, perhaps, the scene of two guys puffing on cigars. They stood behind two young women dressed in short jean skirts and hot pink tops, leering over their shoulders as the camcorder zoomed in on the obvious body parts a crowd of men would be interested in. The cigars bounced in their mouths as they spoke an unheard instruction in the chaos surrounding you, and the halter tops came off, breasts dropping to the tune of their girlish giggles. The men cupped their palms around the assets, and bounced them as if they were weighing fruit. From their gross laughs, it appeared they were rating the groupies, and the ladies were just happy to be on camera, pouting their lips and arching their backs.
You drew a line from their tits to Eddie’s gaze, hating the sick kick of anticipation knotting your stomach, aware you shouldn’t care for an entire phonebook’s list of reasons if he was watching them with interest. But with clarity, you realized he wasn’t paying them attention at all. His lazy smile was aimed over the rim of his bottle, full lips moving in a goad to the mass of crew members clogging the doorway.
More property ready to be damaged entered over their heads. A couch. An entire fucking couch was carried, stood on its end, and lobbed at the sign, breaking loose a length of red and yellow wires. But it still held strong. Tenacious thing.
Two grown men wrestled beside you. Their sleeveless shirts tangled, riding up to show purpled bruises on their backs—one from a mic stand thrown at him, the other from who fucking knows what. At least Gareth’s was in the shape of a crescent moon.
You shifted closer to Eddie to get away from their kicking feet, and relaxed the frustration from your brows before he commented on it. He, likewise, was bumped into by his friends, but his stature didn’t waver. That’s just how it was. Your bodies were near enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his hot skin, but the moment his sticky elbow made contact with your nice blouse—forever marking it with oily sweat—he earned an apology from Jeff who fell into him, meanwhile you were increasingly worried about receiving a tennis shoe to the ankle.
Exhaling an overdue sigh, you glanced sideways at Eddie to gauge if this was an appropriate time to remind him he should shower and get ready to greet the fans waiting outside the venue, but your breath crumbled to a groan. An eager grin cracked his face, almost manic if it weren’t for his heavy-lidded brown eyes. An idea.
He stepped forward. Everything that wasn’t his tight lips on the bottle of whiskey was ignored; downing what he could in a long swallow, and shaking off his pinched features as it burned past his gritted teeth. He raised the rest over his head, and aimed. Perfectly. The sign smacked the wall from the force behind his pitch, spinning wildly on its cord, slinging the front EXIT display clean off, and dropping lower from the ceiling, ready to sever ties. Shouts for its demise pounded your headache. Many palms clapped the back of Corroded Coffin’s frontman. He held out his hand to his audience, and a fresh bottle of whiskey was produced into his grasp.
Intuitively, employees shuffled to avoid his uncoordinated steps backwards, but you didn’t have the luxury of options, thus he misjudged the distance to the wall and ran into it, and you.
Your poor toes were the first to scream out, stuck under his heavy heel. His elbow jutted into your stomach, digging the sharp corner of your laminated backstage pass into your sternum. Even better, his shoulder mashed your nose, and you didn’t twist your head in time to keep your mouth from coming in contact with his bare tricep, getting a lick of stale salt on your inner lip, and a whiff of boy scent assaulting your nose after his deodorant stopped working hours ago. Too much of his weight depended on you to keep him upright, so you grunted out, “Fucking—Eddie,” and pushed him when others wouldn’t. Laying your hands on him in annoyance when no one else dared. He wouldn’t remember it in the morning, anyway.
Eddie followed his stumble through, and spun around. “Whoops!” he said to you in a smile—a viciously sincere thing, betraying his status over you with a genuine shine to his heavy eyes. So innocent behind his sleepy blink, long lashes fluttering, fine lines creasing at the droopy corners from the happy grin teasing his dimple into coming out, freckled nose bathed in hues of pinky red darker than the places he chewed on his bottom lip. He appeared so earnest, so charming despite his current condition, that when his dilated pupils swallowed the rim of bitter coffee brown, you lapsed in staying alert, becoming enamored by his ability to steal the noise from the room when his gaze swept your expression in a slow study. Tender, almost. If he were anyone else.
That’s why it hurt more when the comradery in his features were a trick of the light, and you were reminded of your position as his paid bitch killjoy.
The uncorked bottle of whiskey made itself known under your nose. “Want some?” he asked with kindness he did not possess, easing into a higher register to lift the question to you. Knowing. Mocking.
You swatted his hand away, and answered flatly, “No.”
It was coming. You didn’t have to be looking at him to see his face slide into dull neutrality, dry mouth and wicked tip of his tongue swiping over the back of his teeth. The displeasure was felt. Living, breathing. Fracturing your resolve like the second lamp thrown against the wall.
“Y’sure? You look like you could use a drink to loosen that stick up your ass, and have a little fun.”
Maybe it was the fact Eddie’s day started with him bitching at you for waking him up, when yours started hours earlier, rebooking his hotel rooms after being banned from the chain after last week’s incident. Maybe it was his snide tone when he demanded coffee, and you glanced at the lobby’s carafe on instinct, only to be immediately humiliated in front of the interviewer who was sitting opposite him, festering an indignant response under your skin all day. You weren’t even intending it to be for him, you weren’t stupid enough to serve him such pedestrian coffee, you were thinking about getting it for yourself. Stupid fuckhead. Maybe it was the hours you spent oscillating between enjoying the travel to new places you’d never been, and wondering if the price of him getting this riled up whenever he pleases was worth it. Maybe it was the nauseous haze flogging the room from the cigars. Maybe it was the channeled aggression from the three guys who flipped over the fold out tables for no reason, sending plastic cups of backwash tequila across the floor. Maybe it was the collateral damage the venue was going to seek. Maybe it was the three days of disaster challenging your professionalism. Or maybe it was Eddie’s next comment which pushed you over the edge.
“If alcohol doesn’t do it for you, there’s prob’ly some guy who hasn’t left the parking lot yet, maybe he can loosen you up.” And to further imbue disrespect behind his comment, he leaned in and feathered the low dip of his raspy voice over the shell of your ear, speaking so quietly the syllables had trouble catching, “But if you fuck ‘im on the bus, I wanna watch.”
The sign snapped and crashed onto the heap of damp valuables, inciting a louder celebration from those participating.
You dropped your water bottle where you stood, and skimmed past Eddie on your way out. A firm departure with seething eyes aimed straight ahead. Chin strong, moving past him with a message. “Go to hell.”
And your backbone faltered when the mass of roadies blocked your exit. Security guards with big bodies jumped, rejoicing. Lanky lighting techs downed their beers and threw them over the small crowd with no aim. Your shoulders collapsed, tucking your arms to yourself. Avoiding elbows, meaty arms with enough muscle to floor you, testosterone laced boys will be boys behavior with a heavy dose of uppers. A wall of men who ignored your plea spoken so loud in your voice which did not carry.
But they obeyed the tattooed arm beside you. Minded the obnoxious rings when rapping on a man’s arm. Heard the hoarse voice commanding them all into a single file line for you to squeeze by, “Give her some room,” and their big bodies were already hugging the other side of the hallway with a laughed apology—to him, not you.
You shuffled out as dignified as possible, knees stiff and weight focused on the balls of your feet to avoid slipping on the tile. It was embarrassing enough as is being trailed with a bottle at your back—a far cry from a heroic palm guiding you forward—and his need to overtake you in a single stride. Eddie shot his other hand out and pointed down an unoccupied corridor, in essence blocking you from leaving. Not that you had much fight left in you to argue after being awake for twenty-one hours, thirteen minutes, and fifty-two seconds. You followed the lead he set for you.
Scarce lighting shone down on the two double doors leading outside, leaving the alcove he chose cast in a darkness your eyes had to adjust to. Musty warm air from the arena swept your face. A cleaning crew attacked the stands, creaking along the seating tiers. Sweeping, chucking empty cups. The pressure on the small of your back drove you to an open area near the instact and working EXIT sign allowing you to discern the back of the stadium, and his face.
Eddie’s features were glazed in a gentle omen of red.
There were thousands of scenarios churning in your mind at the situation of being stuck alone in a dark corner with a drunken man, but his slight smirk put you at ease, ironically.
The source of the painful knots between your shoulders spoke, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” He then had the gall to crowd you to the dusty drywall, and rest his arm atop your head, caging you there. Treating you as a nuisance. An insect. A little bee. A bug caught in his sticky trap. Gazing down at you with reptilian cold pupils behind his happily hooded eyes, substances battling in his body. Dangerous to no one but himself.
You squinted. “No?” The questioning lilt wasn’t intentional, but you had no idea what he was getting at.
He cocked his hip out with a dramatic sigh, and dropped his head forward to stare at you through his lashes, mouth hung loose. Waiting, waiting, waiting; acting as if he were the pinnacle of patience when you refused to play into his game, making you the bad guy. But worry not, he upheld the onus to inform you, his assistant, in a tone wallowing from the dregs of flat boredom with an edge of irritation and touch of patronization for having to spell it out for you, “I’m hungry.”
A polite, professional sneer lifted your upper lip. “Okay? Food should be here soon. I called it in a half hour ago.” About when the band came off stage, and Harry gave his honest opinion on their sloppy performance, while Eddie gave notes to the sound tech about Jeff’s mic not picking him up during Down In It. “Should be here in a few minutes.”
“What’d you order?”
Apprehension tensed through your back, perceived by his forearm mussing up your hair as the instinctual emotion stood you taller, defiant; knowing why his glinty grin taunted a show of teeth.
Pizza on Fridays. Texmex on Saturdays. Chinese on Sundays. That’s how it was every weekend. The consistency ensured you didn’t mishear him earlier when he requested his usual lo mein. “You asked for Chinese food,” you stated evenly, strongly. One step ahead of him.
“Mm.” Eddie scrunched his nose as he pretended to think it over. “Not feeling it today. I want pizza,” he said, the last word suffocated inside the bottle lifted to his lips, taking a long draw as your exhausted brain snapped to condescending him.
“So eat a cheese wonton and use your imagination.”
Utter elation gleamed in the steady eye pinning you in the crimson gloom, head tipped back to drink and drink and drink, cheeks sunken from sucking in liquor, pursing his lips around the glass rim from the smile he tried to suppress after succeeding in getting a rise out of you.
Your blood could only simmer for so long. Rolls of pent up anger, of festering disdain at his ability to find any opportunity to get under your skin, of fatigue from being ‘on’ for nearly twenty-four hours, stone in your gut from the constant passing glances when you were seen with Eddie; it all met its limit. You just wanted to leave. Your path to the hallway was blocked by the smooth contour of his bicep. Ducking under would mean an introduction to his armpit, and you weren’t thrilled by the idea of flattening yourself to the wall to slip by the untamed forest of black wiry hair. It would also be an admission of defeat, even further affirming your role as his spineless assistant to boss around. You could choose the other way and go around him, avoiding him all together, but there was no pride in that, either.
“Can you move your arm?” you asked, giving him the option despite better judgment when sudden pin pricks of uh-oh spiked your senses when he lowered the bottle.
A glistening line of whiskey traced his puckish smirk. Never menacing, but never a good sign. For a long moment the ghosts of the arena haunted the space in distant noises. Caresses of other humans around. Feedback other than the clutch on your heartbeat, and his troubled exhale into a strong inhale through his nose. Big breath filling his chest. Held. You took note of Eddie’s dimpled chin and the beads of water building at his lash line, and finally, he moved.
A sticky circle stamped the soft underside of your jaw, sliding his spit along your skin as he used the rim of the glass bottle of whiskey to lift your chin up, up. Stretching your neck, tipping your head back to the relaxed length of muscle along his forearm. Barely time to register the cherry-red halo striking the ends of his frizzy curls, or the ramping excitement overriding his already ruined impulse control.
Shy, you severed the intense eye contact when his face drew near.
Blank black soundless vortex rushing in your ears.
Drip, drip, drop.
Tiny splashes, one after the other, thumped on the locket of your lips. Mouth softly shut from the pressure under your chin. Tapping, tapping. Beat, by beat. Two, three, four, before your confusion determined what the sensation was, and the astringent scent cut its way to your sensitive nose.
You froze. Body clenching tight, fists sweating, nervous saliva pooling under your tongue too difficult to swallow. Jaw clamped shut and rejecting the liquid pooling at your lips, flooding it to the corners of your mouth, tickling the peach fuzz at the edges in tall walls of surface tension until, at last, they swelled, broke, and crashed. Thin streams flowed down either side of your neck, absorbed by your white blouse’s collar and trickling to the top of your bra cups, skirting to your cleavage. Brain overloaded. Clocked out. Warring with disgust, shock, and disappointment at the pathetic way you curled your fingers in some frustrated gesture at his actions, but ultimately, wrenched his tank top into your grip, and submitted.
You parted your lips, and Eddie poured.
Liquor, warmed from his mouth, filled yours. Burning, burning; drowning under the surge of spirits setting a blazing trail to your stomach, piquing a noise from you which would only draw the attention from those curious as to who the couple was fucking in the dark corner of the arena. You blocked the deluge from choking you with your fat tongue; rising onto your tiptoes while bending at your weak knees in the same involuntary whine as you tensed and squirmed—conflicted. Twisted your hands into the top of his shirt where the ribbed knit stuck to his chest, fabric damp with sweat and cool to the touch. You lurched him forward without thinking, locked in a panic. He complied. Easily.
Body to body, lazy weight on composed. Rubber soled boots dragging along the outside of your simple heels in a stuttered slide. Nudging the introduction of his bare legs against your skin; his hairy shins and the scraggly strings from the ripped hem of his shorts brushing the sides of your knees. Feeling his heavy arm flex as the front of his hips met you in the same stunted bursts as his steps, going from the man who frowned when you approached him, to the one who pressed himself between your thighs, causing the bulk behind his zipper to rock against you as he found his footing and stood tall, keeping his mouth aimed above yours, forgiving what spilt over your cheek in his stupor.
Dried salt and earthen dirt, embroidered texture of the fabric scraps he sewed onto his tank top rubbed your knuckles. The smooth pads of your thumbs landed above the neck hole as you centered yourself, tracing the duality of chilly perspiration on the heated skin of his sleek pecs, feeling the layer of muscle shifting underneath. Notes of oakwood barrels stroked your tongue before the sour punch of rye stung water to your shut eyes. You peeked through the wetness. Just to see.
His powerful lungs exhaled at a trained rate he could sustain in time with the runnel leaving his gently puckered lips paused above your own. Bangs stuck to his forehead. Sleepy faraway gaze. Calm, serene against the circumstances which had you questioning why you weren’t spitting the liquor back in his face. The scrunch of concentration between his brows was your last blurry sight before you were desperate for darkness again, letting your eyelids fall closed, lashes marrying.
Toofulltoofulltoofull.
The difference in your mouth size was apparent. Whiskey primed the inside of your cheeks, filling their fleshy stretch, stressing the brim of what you could hold. He’d only begun to dribble what had run hot and thick over his tongue when you untwisted your achy fingers from his shirt and served three warning taps in the vicinity of his heart. Feathery prods, like silk over the sparse hair growing in the valley between his pecs.
But, due to unforeseen circumstances, he forgot to stop.
Either you wormed yourself into stretching taller against the wall, or he leaned down. Perhaps both were true. Maybe you went rigid from the impending threat of irreversible stains on your new Liz Claiborne blouse, and maybe he shifted when the nuances of your hips slid against his own, dragging upward and reminding him of the cradle he had you in.
Richly flushed from booze, the tip of his nose thawed your thoughts as it grazed past your own, mashing a hint of tenderness you rarely witnessed from him to your cheek. By accident, of course, like the wet mid of his hair skimming the edge of your jaw where the bottle remained notched to your chin; amber glass a stark contrast from the plush give of his bottom lip flirting across yours.
Dry chapped against chapsticked satin.
The unintentional touch happened so fast, too quick to explore.
Mmm! Another antsy noise from you which rang sweet when amplified by the empty pit of coiled wires in the stadium. Mouth overfull. Stomach gripped, lungs clenching for unhindered breath. Realty checking in.
You put strength behind your forearms on his chest, shoving him and whirling your face away, keeling over what room he gave you to struggle through the largest gulp of your life, losing some of the liquor in the process, as evident by the splash on the concrete floor. Beyond brave, you drank it down, coughing, sputtering, and shuddering through the aftertaste for what felt like minutes. Huffing. Heaving. Working through the flood of drool coating your tongue, momentarily resting your dewy forehead on the thick vein drawn down his bicep by the red light, trying not to puke. Your shoulder pressed to his sternum. His heart beat, loud.
You used your sleeve to attack the wet streaks on your chin and cheeks, mopping up your pinched expression as the nausea of chugging his disgusting rye whiskey churned what patience you had for him. “What the—?”
“Hey, try not to waste any,” he commented dryly.
Voice raising, “What the actual hell is wrong with you?” You picked your head up from the crook of his elbow to pin him with your vehement glare. But the flash of temper at his drunken antics faded to the messy background of emotions when you remained in his pinion. Slotted between him, the wall, and the bottle.
Eddie’s nose bumped the bridge of yours. He pulled back slightly, and lowered the bottle. Still, his voice was one half of a sigh seeking its counterpart over your lax jaw and weak scowl. “Lotta stuff,” he answered. Still, your hands remained bound in his shirt. You couldn’t let go. Why couldn’t you let go? You couldn’t let go as the center of your bottom lip tingled like the buzzing wings of a bumble bee. Why didn’t you spit out the whiskey in his face? It was gross, revolting. Why did you swallow it?
Licks of black pepper and clove stayed on your tongue. Inhales went stale with his tangy scent, acrid and musky after giving his all on stage. His sweat clung to your fingers, mixed with the sheen on your forehead. When he breathed, his belly fought for the space between you, pressing into your stomach. Existing in the proximity you’d never seen the other in before; enabling you to hear the intimate loll of his tongue moving the spit in his mouth before he spoke.
Appearing more sober than before, with a strange amount of alertness in his glassy gaze trained on the minute changes of your features, he said, “You’re going to have a miserable time on tour if you keep being this up tight.” He angled away to sip from the bottle held by its long neck in three of his thick fingers. Rolling his lips inward, his throat bobbed a fierce line in the EXIT sign glow. “I was trying to work that permanent twist out of your panties. Get you to loosen up, have some fun.”
Just like that, the frustration was back. His words, his tone, his lack of apology for being a royal pain in the ass.
“You make me miserable,” you told him. For good measure, you pinched the sensitive underbelly of his tricep in case your voice didn’t carry the anger from the last hour of putting up with his shit.
He mumbled, “Ow,” probably not feeling the pain with how much alcohol was in his system.
Restraining yourself from reacting bigger, you tightened your fists and tried not to shake him. “I can’t relax, because the second I do Corroded Coffin gets stacks of lawsuits rammed up it’s ass, and you and I both know I’m hired damage control,” for you, you didn’t finish, getting too hot in the face to want to stand in your sticky clothes any longer, squishy inner thighs humid from being pressed together by his legs, shoes numbing your ability to feel the floor. “Would it kill you to stick to a schedule? Get cleaned up, meet some fans? Do the normal thing?”
The weight of his body returned, dropping the tension from his shoulders to curve them towards you, forcing your palms flat to his ribs. Another cage.
Unfortunately, his answer was a slow smirk. The bad kind. Sultry, and saccharine; dark like his purposefully narrowed coy eyes. “Kinda like it when you’re angry,” back to mushing his words together. “Lemme guess, you’re not even wearing panties to be twisted. You’re just naturally this…” Bitchy. “Pleasant.”
You pinched his tricep until you knew it hurt, until the roots of your hair tugged at your scalp from his forearm slipping away, and you used the space created to wedge past the areas of him which tempted a flicker of want in your core after a noticeable drag against your hip. “Don’t follow me.”
“C’mon, are you really..?” A pause. “Wait—!”
A productive conversation was a fruitless, futile thing.
You silenced the voice in your head telling you there was genuine remorse in his innate reaction to call for you. As if he were done pretending to be drunker than he was just to push things too far. Like he really cared you were walking away, in essence giving him permission to continue his night how he wanted.
No heavy thudded steps chased after you. The double doors were up ahead. You leaned into opening them past the heavy gust of hot air pushing back, and you stepped out to excited faces falling flat in disappointment when it was just a lady in a blouse and skirt reeking of booze, not a member of their favorite band printed on their bleach-dyed Corroded Coffin t-shirts.
~~~
When the tour bus doors next hissed, it wasn’t a single body stomping vibrations through the overly large vehicle on their way to pore over the details for the next show, it was a steady flow of those who called the beast their home. Most slung themselves in the couches at the front, talking shop around the kitchen table. Some infiltrated the fridge for beer. Another used the bathroom which was too close for comfort, especially in the recycled air blowing through the vents.
A body approached, and you curled your toes in as he passed.
Eddie’s heavy black boots stopped in the aisle of bunks. The soles squeaked as he turned, creaking leather as he sank his weight to one side. Stalling, facing you before he sat heavily on his bed. As he did so, two sharp pops drew his attention. Checking behind him, the privacy curtain was stuck under his ass, and the plastic rings meant to hold it up were snapped into pieces. You avoided putting your gaze on his person as you watched him solve this mystery, and returned to the paragraph you were scrawling in your notebook, moving your pen across the lined page.
Two of the last three days were journaled down, catching up from the hectic weekend, and venting through your emotions by reliving them. Darker ink bloomed where you carved the tip of your pen through your explanation of your hurt feelings and the general flippancy you were subjected to by one person in particular. The roadies and other members of the band got less screen time than the star of the show in your tirades. He knew this, too, looking from across the aisle at your clumped lashes, spying the water spots on the pages when he was standing. He sat forward, much like you, but his thighs were spread with his hands in between them, palm open to whittle a nervous thumb in the cupped center, having the decency to appear ashamed.
Your clothes were folded beside you, undecided if you wanted to trash them or wear them in defiance.
“Do you want me to apologize?” he asked, not quite enunciating due to his uncomfortableness.
Unable to mask it, you blinked rapidly before opening your eyes wide, not withholding the contemptuous sigh released from deep within. You gripped your notebook harder, bending it, rumpling the pages to hide what you etched behind your tight hands. Who the fuck asks if they need to apologize?
Eddie’s washed curls fell forward with his hung head, nodding to himself.
He got up, and left.
Anger scored your face. Draped by your headache was your furrowed brows, flared nostrils, twisted pursed lips zipped up tight from saying anything you’d regret—a lesson he could do with. Your pajamas were the makings of nine heavenly clouds after being dressed in stiff business attire all day, but the blisters on your ankles stung. Your joints throbbed. Your muscles wore sore. Your spine cried every time you moved.
Tomorrow you’d start doing the stretches the stageside crew showed you that kept them limber. You made a note to fit this in your schedule, bypassing the silly daydream of stopping at a bookstore in the next city and reading up on a yoga guide for more pose ideas than what the guitar techs could teach you, aware the chance you’d find time away from your boss to pursue your own self-interests was slim.
Flipping a new page, you dated it in the corner, began your introduction, and started on the third day of spilling your heart out.
Your pen was mighty interrupted.
It’s difficult to say what came first: the mouth watering rush of saliva, or the passionate rumble of your empty stomach yearning for the white takeout box placed in your lap by the bruised hand sporting cuts from punching Gareth’s drum platform during the one of the more self-loathing songs.
A pang of humility gentled his nature.
The four-fold top was open, revealing your favorite noodle dish with extra green onion and sesame seeds sprinkled on top, plastic fork stabbed through the middle. You lifted the container to swipe the oil stains off your mid-sentence rant, shaking free the beads of condensation collecting on the sides. The cardboard had gone soggy after being nuked in the microwave, burning through to your fingertips, but you held your dinner nestled in your palms, regardless.
It didn’t come with extra green onions or sesame seeds, those would have to be found on the side and added, along with the sauce to keep it from drying out.
Eddie made it exactly how you liked.
Hunched in the minimal space between bunks, you stared at the long stem of a bean sprout sticking out from the swirls of noodles, processing his gesture. Beneath that, your journal was splayed open to a slew of harsh sentences. Lower, directly across from your bare toes was Eddie’s boots. Higher, one of the metal aglets of his laces was stuck behind the leather tongue. Fresh socks clung the bottom of his calves. You listened to him peel back the curtain before sinking to his bunk, and trailed your study over the silvery scars on his knees. Moving up, you spotted a fresh beer in his hand, maybe one or two swigs taken. His elbows rested on his thighs, body folded over, leaning in, mirroring you to some degree.
The harsh overhead lighting brought luster to the bright golds, rich reds, and deep strands of chestnut through his dark hair brushing the shadow of his clavicle over the black shirt clinging to him, hugging the slope of his stooped shoulders.
Finally, you met the depth behind his eyes communicating what he couldn’t.
The apology lasted just long enough for your consideration, and then he lifted the crinkly wrapper tucked between two of his fingers. “You want this?”
You shook your head at the fortune cookie. “You can have it.”
“Nice,” he whispered. The unassuming planes of his cheeks lifted enough to allude to the dimple on his left side, and bracket his mouth in smile lines. He was still drunk, you assumed. A merry blush persisted across his nose, and his eyelids were as sleepy as the bags beneath them. But there was a youthful glee under it all as he tore into the cellophane. A glimpse at someone from long ago; not the rockstar before the start of touring who would pull laughs from you, but further, before the conditions of fame chewed him up, spit him out.
You wondered if Chinese takeout was a rarity in his boyhood, a special treat saved for when he left his hometown on trips to the city.
Eddie flicked the wrapper to the floor—annoyingly—and ducked at an odd angle to lay his upper half into the cozy nook of extra pillows he made you buy on the first night of being on the road. He stowed his beer at the apex of his clenched thighs, fitting the cold bottle snug against the packed seam guiding your eyes to the hill of his zipper, provoking hot blooded thoughts. His shirt rode up as he brought his arms above him, fanning the thick trail of hair out from under the hem, impossibly soft in appearance, auburn tinted, growing less dense on the sides of his belly. He cracked the crisp wafer in half, and you watched his stomach tense on the snap.
Squinting in the dark, Eddie depressed the button on the tiny reading light with his knuckle, and unfurled the paper from half the cookie, scanning the faded red text.
He snorted.
Choosing a mystical-sounding rasp not far from his real one to invoke the guise of a palm reader in a smoky lounge reeking of incense sticks, he read the fortune aloud while waving his other hand about, “You will be successful in love,” he said. His wrist went limp, and he tucked his chin to congratulate you. “Lucky you.”
No amount of plastic forks shoved in your mouth would rid you of the smile tightening your eyes. “Lucky me,” you echoed, full of wryness. The food, amongst other things, worked wonders to lift your mood. You weren’t as much buzzed from the shots sloshing in your stomach as you were queasy, and greasy noodles filled the tumultuous void stupendously.
He stuffed the crunchy cookie in his mouth, and turned the fortune paper over, speaking through the gnash of crumbs, “Your lucky numbers are 35, 26, 56, 10, 32, 52,” he continued.
“Uh-huh.”
The noise across the rest of the bus was at a level you could endure. Shooting the shit at an appropriate volume, or nodding along to the conversation. The driver would give the signal soon, and the boys would, or should, go to their bunks.
While you ate, Eddie stayed laying with his legs off the bed, head crooked against the wall due to the narrow space. He held the fortune above him. Reading it, sometimes. Thumbing the edge other times, or rubbing the texture of the stiff paper across itself. Staring, staring, unblinking from whatever he was thinking as he wrung a hand around his face; eliciting a sense of comfort from the audible stroke of his knuckles scratching over his stubble.
You scraped the bottom of your container, and put aside your notebook to gather your trash, two feet planted to make your way to the kitchen. At the last second, a glint caught your eye, and you bent over to pick up the wrapper Eddie dropped, tossing it in the takeout box, too.
“While you’re down there, be a doll and take off my boots.”
“No.”
His disgruntled groan followed you to the front of the bus.
The guys gave you a mixed reaction of curious glances and uninvolved nods as you stuffed your garbage in the overpacked bin. Jeff in particular made a point to look from you to his best friend’s legs, though you didn’t have much of an answer to whatever he was searching for.
A goodnight wave would have to do, and you were back at your bunk, folding the sheets down in preparation for the dreamless state you wished to be in. You sat on the mattress, eyes closed and spine somewhat neutral. The structure of the bunks were unforgiving, but the small crawl space could feel cozy at times, like a blanket fort made from couch cushions. Except, the house moved throughout the night, and angry honks woke you up on occasion. Not to mention you were a light sleeper from the stress of a car crash, or being dumped onto the floor.
The fortune paper flitted. Regarding you over the imposed suggestion between his legs, he informed you, “It says here the best way to relieve some of that tension you’re always carrying around is by taking a ride on a nice, fat—”
You snatched the beer bottle from between his thighs, big fake hard-on standing tall. He startled from the sensation, darting his eyes from the phantom trace against himself, and hailing you with a sputtered laugh through his cheek-aching smile, denying you the reward of taking him off guard by covering his mouth with his hand.
“I earned this,” you said about the drink.
“Yeah?” he goaded, pleased at your forwardness.
In a valiant attempt to show off, you tipped the mildly hoppy bitter back. Two pulls in, you thought better of it. Not quite a chug, but he lost the war with his grin, pearly teeth shining behind the thumbnail he strummed over the center of his bottom lip, eyes almost closed entirely in a bout of crinkles.
You pulled your lips off the bottle; off his spit and off his drink, off his glass cock, and were emboldened by the confidence of his playful disposition to rib on him openly, like the guys would when his pendulum mood swung to the good side. You lamented in a dramatic sigh,”Maybe my love life will be so successful, I'll get swept off my feet, and be free from the burden of listening to your sloppy guitar plucking all night.”
His expression lurched towards impressed. Overacting with his mouth agape in surprise, lips curled over his teeth, and splaying his hand on his chest. With how he propped himself up on one elbow, his shirt stretched flush against his pecs, accentuating the two round shadows at the ends of the metal bars through his nipples.
Right, you remind yourself, able to forget their existence through most of his wardrobe choices, he has pierced nipples.
Your body ran hot at the memory from two short hours ago where you were inexplicably thrusted into a situation where you could’ve felt the jewelry by accident, pressed against a wall. Now you were able to think through the adrenaline, and acknowledge having another person’s touch on your skin did more harm than good for the loneliness lurking within, calling it to the surface.
The notebook beside your pillow drew your glance.
Eddie stabilized your position in the conversation, not letting your sudden reservation deter him from seeking retribution for your insult. “Think y’drank too much honey, there, Bee. That one stung below the belt.”
The moment it took for you to register the low leech of a tease sneaking its way through his croaky, whiskey-hoarse words was a long one. Longer was his heavy palm falling to demonstrate where exactly your insult hurt him, cupping and grabbing the afflicted area. “You wound me!” he dramatized, demonstrating the limits his fatigue green shorts flattered, cotton fabric scrunching under his grip, then slouching flat on the release. Longer, still, was the distance between the gaudy ring on his middle finger and the tip of his short nails, thick digit landing on the tattered seam splitting him down the middle. Letting go, he rested his hand above his belt.
Everything about him was victorious. Champion eyes glinting rum colored; a shade you’d never seen on him, and almost missed with your observance stuck lower, trapped by his overt flirtations.
His belly rose and fell with a sympathetic hum devised to rattle you.
When sober, the invitation to crude insinuations began and ended with intangibility. A calculated smile to fluster you when caught admiring how his tattoos twisted over the muscles in his upper arms when he leaned on his keyboard, a sentence spoken in the morning before his voice warmed to its comfortable register, a tossed comment in the midst of conversation with his band mates and the effect it had on you shifting uncomfortably just outside the ring of amity—quarantined behind the scope of his single-handed gesture pumping an obvious motion, pretending you were absorbed by the timetable schedule for the band inside your folder, appearing busy and decidedly not desperate to either be included or released from the task of being present, even when hot needles of sweat stressed the lack of consideration for your feelings with each sorry expression cast in your direction. You were his worker bee, paid to wait on him, and his teasing was rarely physical beyond an appropriate knock on your bicep for your attention in the off chance he didn’t snap his fingers at you like a dog. Or a tap on your knee under the kitchen table to get you to stand so he could leave; a light pressure which you could replicate days later with your own knuckles. His daily indifference was born of spite, and his drunken actions were bred of the same annoyance, bottle-deep perspective viewing you as the one who was ruining his night. Assuming he continued to push his tolerance with more drinks after you left the green room, his bold teasing made sense, you supposed, too unrestricted to deny himself the fun of riling you up.
The right thing to do would entail divorcing yourself from this conversation, and bringing up his conduct tomorrow. The wrong thing to do would involve taking another swig of his beer. The right thing to do would require reminding him of his meeting with Murray in the morning, who had a shorter fuse than anyone in the music industry. The wrong thing to do would include lobbing the bottle in his bed. The right thing to do would demand not giggling at Eddie’s poor reflexes when he made a bigger mess of the ale spilling on his blanket.
Eddie seized to catch it, but his hand-eye coordination was not up to par. He scrunched his eyes closed at the last second, jolting into a crunch with his chin tucked in an inordinate amount of wrinkles, and hands turned with his palms out, more keen on keeping the bottle from hitting his face than truly catching it. Which was a plausible excuse for his boot kicking your bunk in the process, and overall lack of poise as he brought his hands together after the beer had already bounced off his belly, and rolled where the bed dipped around him.
The wrong thing to do would consist of you running your knuckle along your shameless grin, prodding the flesh against your teeth as he dropped his head back and emptied the bottle onto his softly cradled pink tongue, thank you for sharing the drink, every last boozy drop.
Recognition curved the groove of his mouth.
Boys will be boys behavior.
“Here,” he said, rolling forward with his arm extended. The glass bottle in his hand drew your immediate wilt, but before you advanced too far into your frown, he alleviated your ire with the two fingers pointing at you, fluttering the damp paper between them. “You believe in this sorta shit, don’t you?” Despite the mock, you knew better than to refute his claim, not having the chops to sound convincing. Not that you really had faith in the mass produced slip of paper, but the affirmation that you’d find your soulmate one day produced a sense of ease before bed. Even when the word ‘successful’ was blurred from a drop of beer.
You placed the fortune in your notebook, feeling the ache of an unfinished entry.
At the front of the bus, the driver stamped up the stairs and gave the signal he was going to start moving soon, cuing the subliminal bedtime. The unbelonging technicians left, and the rest of Corroded Coffin stretched from the stiff cushions lining the booth seats around the table. As they picked up after themselves, Eddie untied the top set of his laces, and kicked his boots off, leaving them in the aisle along with the empty beer bottle.
He rolled onto the edge of the mattress to rip back his sheets and shoved his legs under, hesitating from drawing the curtain when he browsed the end of your bunk, where your feet moved under a pile of belongings placed atop your covers. “I’ll send your clothes to the dry cleaners tomorrow.”
Not an apology.
“You mean you’ll send me to the dry cleaners tomorrow,” you corrected, and his face smoothed flat from the accidental snub.
Harry moved between you two. Jeff divided the conversation further. Gareth cleaved whatever rapport you had with Eddie when he snorted at the two of you facing each other in your bunks, cuddled up like a sleepover.
Thinking harder as his peers climbed into their beds, Eddie relaxed onto his forearm supporting his upright posture, and sank into the jut of his shoulder, spinning his hand in the same flippant way the scrunch between his brows appealed to the snark loading in his throat. “I’ll just give you my wallet then, mm?” he offered, gravelly voice dusted with insincerity. “Then you can buy all the white blouses, and black skirts your pretty heart desires.”
Someone snorted again. It sounded like Gareth.
“And, uh,” Eddie endured as the plastic rings tinked across the metal bar, leaving a generous window visible from the top of his shoulders to his wild hair spread about his pillow palace, limp curtain hanging pitifully, “if you’d be so kind, don’t watch me sleep.”
“I won’t,” you said, and it sounded so sad. So soft, and faint, no bite behind it. No zest, no strength. Just confusion, though you understood the events leading to the pendulum swinging the other direction.
You closed your curtain, too.
The tour bus rumbled before sighing its characteristic hiss and chugging forward, pitching its cargo inside. You swayed in your nook. Laying on your back meant you experienced every roll of the tires cutting corners in the parking lot, but you weren’t ready to turn over yet. Your mind was swarming with cluttered thoughts. There were things you could be doing other than peering out at the depressing darkness where the dim ambient light didn’t pierce. You could brush your teeth, stow away your pocketbook before the pens rolled out, pick up the bottle before it tipped over and played pinball down the aisle all night. Your journal entry could be finished, you could sit up and read a book like Eddie, you could do some of those stretches for your hips and back. You could cry, you could count sheep for the next four hours and forty-seven minutes, you could cry some more; wet face wiped raw by the stiff sheets, and mouth buried in the unfeeling comforter to muffle the squeak of air leaving your lungs when you couldn’t suppress the emotions lodged in your throat any longer.
You could do many therapeutic things.
Instead, you pressed your knuckle over the center of your lower lip, replicating the pressure, and thought about the fortune.
2K notes · View notes
d6erys · 7 months
Text
─── act i. bloomed
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summary; your innocent crush on sam was always patent as most children who had crushes on their babysitters, but now you’re eighteen and haven’t seen sam since she left at the age you are currently, bloomed as your now figure thinned, filled out ideally. no longer the same girl sam use to call her pretty princess, at least not in the same innocent manner anymore.
⚢ pairings ; g!p!sam x fem!reader
✗ warnings ; sam knowing the reader since she was a kid, large age gap,(sam’s 26, r’s 18 almost 19) dom/sub themes, eventual smut with oral/ virginal sex, praise, degradation, unprotected sex, a bit of choking. size kink, r cheating on her boyfriend (?), implied petite reader, a lot of sexual tension/undertones, the reader is of age present time !! g!p!sam
word count; 2.6k
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chatter fills sam’s ears mindlessly as the twins and tara engross in some topic, the words buzzing in the background with sam’s attention gliding towards the tiny skirt and pala pink thong poking out in her eyesight, the smooth flesh of the random’s girls thighs taking up sam’s attention entirely, the hard-on taking ahead with the sudden tightness in her jeans with her added  frustration and stress since the occurs from woodsboro and the move to new york city, and now the pretty girl in the pale tiny skirt in her face teasing her without the girl even knowing
“don’t look now but the girl behind you has nonstop been staring up your skirt.” looking up from your salad and abruptly halting at your lazy picking around it, staring at your friend confusedly with a tint of amusement at her choice of words, ignoring her protests and aimlessly turning to the direction mentioned; your smile fading when you lock eyes with brown ones you know all too well, your eyes widening in shock while noticing sam’s face turns confused and somewhat embarrassed at now being caught.
“sammy?” you gasp in disbelief , your body turned awkwardly to take in her features and be confirmed it’s her, sam’s confusedly nods her head with her eyebrows raised skeptically, almost defensive with her arms crossed and lips pushed in a thin line. “it’s me, y/n, the girl you use to babysit for years.” you jest and laugh lightly watching her harden face now soften in shock, a slight halt of realization hits as well as her cheeks heating up with some pink. your eyes shift to the other people with her for a second and finally take account of the others, recognizing the twins and tara but your full attention is still on sam.
“oh my god,” sam forces out a laugh with her veins now turning to ice with the intake of apprehension of who she’s been having a hard-on for since the last ten minutes, embarrassment and repulse spluttering at her like freezing water being ducked on her.”y/n” sam bubbles up a laugh again as you quickly step towards their table and tangle yourself around sam to hug her taller frame.
“my god, you’re so grown up now,* sam lets out breathy, taking a full look at you and averting her eyes from that teasing skirt and your equally as teasing top, laughing humorlessly at her own words moments ago as you really all grown, your hips filled out in a womanly bloom with your chest while somehow remaining a dainty frame, your head just making it to her chest. your face no longer kiddish with braces for your teeth or any trace of the young girl she once use to watch after, sam’s month open ajar, her brows raised, flustered.” well, i am eighteen.” you muse, shyly prying your body from sam’s warm skin, breaking the intense eye contact with sam and looking over at the others.
“tara oh my god,” you open your arms as tara smiles brightly before taking you in a hug laughing in disbelief.” what the hell y/n, i didn’t know you were in the city.” tara exclaims playfully shoving your shoulder.” l know didn’t you were here either,” you pause glancing over at sam.” or sammy.”
the old pet name throbs painfully at the restrained tightness in her jeans with your doe eyes staring at her like that, images of you on your knees giving her those eyes flashes behind her vision, making her cock harden painfully. disgust overtakes her senses at her filthy scenarios and reaction to your innocent pet name, and glances at her, feeling repulsed at herself for lusting after a girl she knew since she was a child and use to babysit for most nights, but the girl she remembered was a girl, with a beaming crooked smile, not the alluring pouty pink lips and a figure of a now eighteen-year-old wearing slutty little skirts with their thongs peaking through and tops showing off years that sam missed since she ran from woodsboro on her 18th birthday.
sam eventually zones out of the conversation and reunion between you, tara, and the twins, whatever catching up you four are doing as her eyes keep catching yours, the subtle blushes and smiles you give to her, the way the tip of your tongue dabs at your full lips when your gaze lingers on her arms and the way your top raises up when you make a sudden moment too fast. sam’s mouth feels dry and the urge to vomit is there with her desire and thoughts, trying to push away the disgusting monster she feels in her with the way she has to stop herself from thoughts of you and flash memories to forcefully remind herself who she’s looking at.
but were you looking for her attention with your shy smiles toward her? is the batting of your eyes faux and not innocent as sam might think? was the jutting of your lips into a pout also an act to sway her attention to solely on you on purpose?
“sam you down?” at the mention of her name sam blinks to regain focus from her shameful thoughts and to reality.”y/n invited us to her penthouse in the upper east side.” chad explains  enthusiastically along with tara and mindy.
“so what do you say sammy, wanna come for me?”
sam raises an eyebrow at you, your tone twisting the question into something not so innocent, your voice’s teasingly low and your eyes still holding that mock innocence that no one else seems to notice but sam.
the doe eyes, pouty lips and blushy smiles is all an act. sam’s gaze intense on you, realizing she’s no longer looking at the little girl from woodsboro she remembers.
“sure.”
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tara, and the twins glance around the penthouse in amazement at entering from the maid ushering them the foursome into the large space, all windows and marble sam realizes, wondering exactly how much your father scored with his business deals to afford this in upper east side manhattan. sam’s eyes linger and flicker around in search of you.
sam’s eyes fall onto you stepping out from the hallway that she assumes leads to your room, the tiny skirt barely that covered your ass now discarded with a pair of low rise jeans and the same light pink thong now hiked up to your hips, sam shallows and takes her eyes off the temptation to airway inside her thoughts, stomping on any sexual desire she feels.
you greet your old friends first with a quick hug before making your way to sam and pulling her into you. leaning upwards as the material of your thong brushes against sam’s palm, lace. sam wraps her arms around you back before unlatching herself from you, smiling at you brightly.
“um if you guys want there’s a swimming pool on the rooftop if anyone wants to cool off or go for a swim. i have some extra bathing suits in my room, chad you can borrow a pair of tucks from my dad,” you tell everyone with an overly sweet tone, sam not missing how your words are only directed at tara, chad, and mindy, who seemly all excitedly agree.
“you coming sam?” tara asks and before sam can open her month you reply for her.”nah, i think sammy and i are gonna sit this one out and catch up.” sam arches a brow but nods to your words anyways, not sticking too long on your mention of catching up and turning it into something sinful. tara shrugs and you beckon the maid to retreat their swimming attire and direct them towards the pool area.
“so, how come you didn’t wanna join tara and the twins?” sam asks breaking the silence after the trio left, leaving only you and sam. your eyes intake sams, an edge of something sam cannot grasp onto.” i thought you heard me talking to tara,” you muse, taking a seat next to sam.” i wanted to catch up with you, i haven’t seen you in six years.” sam catches onto how your doe up your eyes again, chuckling when it comes back to her how you’re repeating the same tactic all those years ago when you wanted to appear innocent and crime-free whenever you ate the whole jar of cookies.
“the doe eyes give you away, you know,” sam announces,  swallowing thickly at your eyes longer doe-like and silting back into a sultry gaze.” it’s the truth, i miss you, and wanna talk to you, just us.” you insist and ignore her statement, sam believing you half hearty. running a hand up her neck sam opts to just nod and allow you both to fall into a conversation about haps after she left and how you ended up in new york, skimming away from the ghostface topic.
“do you remember how jealous and possessive i was of you back then,” you suddenly ask, dulling the mindless small talk with your question breaking the ice into a deep layer of something sam doesn’t wanna know, she doesn’t wanna know what game you’re playing, or if she’s simply imagining it.” god, i use to hate it so much when you had to watch wes and the twins on the days i got you, i wanted it to be only you and i all the time.” sam stares at you intently, wondering if you’re trying to motion what sam is thinking, slowly she nods.
“my sammy,” you whisper the old phase you constantly use to whine out whenever sam’s attention was on another kid, but this time it wasn’t said in a virtuous and childish cute way like it once was back then. taking a deep breath, sam shakes her head.”y/n,” sam warns and ignores the way her member  twitches in her pants from the nickname spilling out of your mouth and in that needy, whiny tone.”you’re a still a kid to me.” sam expresses gently while her cock seems to think completely differently, dancing around to find a way not to outright reject you and acknowledge what you’re currently trying to initiate. the gilt in your eyes fade and your lips tugs in a frown.
“you still see me as your pretty princess?” dismissing her outwardly rejection to the skimmed tension you’re growing, hesitant, sam nods at you, too flustered to speak at the hatching of the old pet-name she use to call you.”you never use to deny your princess before.” your lips quirk upwards in a playful smile, your eyes still dejected some. sam breathes in a shaky breath.”anything but that.” sam forces herself with her reply, locking away the monster in her that so badly wants to pursue your commences, but she won’t allow it and will continue to fight against the urge.
your eyes dart acord sam’s face, trying to find any detail of deceitful to her words, you know she wasn’t being honestly completely as she was the same one looking up your skirt today. you open your mouth to speak before the booming voice of chad clashes the hushed room in tow with tara and mindy, separating yourself from sam abruptly and falling into conversation with the three.
sam sighs tiredly on the couch, drained by the situation and sexually frustrated. overwhelmed with wanting one thing her morals won’t allow her to do. biting her bottom lip at your upper body spills downwards, leaning on the island in the kitchen, your smooth skin on display with that annoying little tiny thong all out in the open and your ass pushed out right in her view, your eyes lifting up to meet hers, following her gaze to where it’s potently on your ass, your lips curling into a grin before turning back to your conversation with mindy.
sam a had feeling that this situation won’t flame out like her morals would hope for but will emerge into something bigger since she got red handed staring at something she shouldn’t have, and now she will ultimately pay the price for it one way or the other.
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“so what college are you guys going to?”
chad’s month too engrossed in the food to reply with his arm around tara as he tries to mumble out incompetent answer, mindy’s face twisting in disgust at her twin’s lack of decorum, opting to answer.”blackmore, where are you attending y/n?”
“columbia university.” mindy whistles sharply, somewhat stilling your heed away from sam at the barbecue pit in your  angled visual of her, her skin radiant and sheeny from the humid heat of the city and the flames of the fire pit. her arms strained and pressing on her muscles in her light gray tank top. embarrassing so the mere view sends an ache between your thighs.
the action of mindy’s seems to grabs sam’s attention as she spares a look at the table you four are occupying, her gazes staying on you longer for a moment before going back to grilling the burgers, thankfully enough you’re dressed up in a simple yellow sundress and a lack of skin showing this time around, but the blaze of arousal still burns sam’s thoughts and skin, somehow the modest sundress ardors more desire than any other skimpy outfit you’ve wore in her presence. wiping the sweat off her warm skin, dropping the cheeseburgers into the tin tupperware and placing them down onto the table for everyone.
“seriously though i never remembered your family being so loaded,” tara joins into the conversation, confused at your  wealth status she never noticed, mindy snickers.”did you forget how huge y/n’s house was back in woodsboro.” mindy deadpans. the banter nuzzles out of your hearing as sam takes a seat right in front of you, reaching out for a plate before you hastily stand up and grabbing one for her.
“I’ll fix it for you,” stopping in her tracks, flickering her eyes towards you and your soft gesture, sam nods stiffly, letting out a quiet ‘thank you.’ her dark eyes intense while she watches you shuffle around to grab everything to ready her plate, throwing ice cubes into a cup and some soda before placing the dish and cup in front of sam gently, clenching her jaw as she feels herself slipping again to the venereal flame you keep lighting in her; or what she likes to tell herself to escape from the shame, or the guilt that the more she’s around you the less she’s starting to feel shame at her desire and thoughts about you, her temptation for you pressing more and more against the door she’s trying to keep it locked in, the rural of her father sins of darkness, she thinks, it has to be. no other sane person would be holding a child they once use to take care, watch and protect from harm’s way, in a lustfully way of mind.
thanking you and taking a bite of her food, eyeing you return to your seat and rejoining the chatter of whatever her sister and the twins are discussing, picking up your vanilla milkshake and stirring the spoon to gather before wrapping your lips around the top, making sure to contain eye contact while doing so, the white substance all over your mouth and the edges of your lips as you slide the spoon from your tongue, sam’s eyes tracking every movement as your lips lick the leftover mess behind, a mess sam desperately wishes was her cum, leaking out around the corners of your mouth after she spilled her load down your throat.
the thought makes sam spiral, her head cloudy as she aggressively chews the burger to contain herself from jumping up from her seat to grab you, taking you back into your room, throwing you onto your bed and screwing you into your mattress. you laugh softly, scanning sam’s sudden tense and strained body language, edging a goad smile and turning your  focus away from sam after getting somewhat of a reaction from the tall brunette.
sam narrows her dark eyes at you, realizing the true intent of what that vanilla shake is for; maybe you were the girl samantha would read to and cook mac and cheese for, but you were definitely not the same innocent girl she would call princesa, at least sam has a feeling the nickname will not be regarded in the same light for you anymore, and maybe same applies for her.
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helluvapoison · 8 days
Note
4. Trying to hide your injury from them, but failing miserably once you faint right in front of them, "5. Where does it hurt the most?" with Lucifer and reader
Injured Prompt
Lucifer Morningstar x Reader
Did you know when you roll your ankle you’re not supposed to walk on it? You might’ve known that if the Pride Ring’s hospital ever answered the fucking phone!
ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ
If your boyfriend Lucifer wasn’t out and about today, making up for some odd months of meetings, he could’ve teleported you there in no time. Then again, if he was here he might summon Belphegor themself. Not wanting to bother anyone, you told yourself it would be fine. Besides with Hell’s “no checking out early” healing abilities, it would right itself on its own by tomorrow! That continued to be your mantra but as the day got away from you it became harder to ignore that stabbing pain in your foot.
It certainly didn’t help that you’d overexerted yourself by helping Charlie move things up and down the hall because Nifty had clogged the pipes (again) which resulted in minor flooding damage. The whole time it felt like Vaggie’s suspicious stare saw right through your poorly worn mask. Charlie asked no less than 22 times if you were ok to which you waved off her concerns. It took a few hours but the furniture was moved out of the room, leaving only a mushy carpet to deal with. Neither Kiki nor Alastor could be found and since Lucifer wasn’t there to snap the problem away, the princess attempted herself. However her powers were still a bit… undisciplined. The best she could do to try and evaporate the water had actually set the carpet on fire.
Vaggie rested her hand on Charlie’s shoulder with a soft smile, “It might be time for a break, babe. Don’t want you to overdo it.” She pointedly shot that part at you.
With a sigh the blonde conceded and allowed Vaggie to usher her out.
Simultaneously grateful but cursing the downtime, you waited a minute before leaving yourself. Now that you've slowed to a stop your ankle throbbed with vengeance. Peeling your sock back to take a peek, you gasped. Your foot was definitely not purple this morning! Shit shit shit, it was definitely time for a break!
You limped to the elevator, using the wall for support when Lucifer rounded the corner. Like the wall had tried to bite you, you yanked your hand from it and forced both feet flat on the ground. You grimaced, poorly trying to conceal it with a smile.
“Duckie!” You greeted through a wheeze. Has breathing been this hard all day?
With much more enthusiasm in his voice, he sang your name and rushed over. Lucifer lifted you off the ground to spin with you in his arms, unknowingly providing momentary relief. His laugh and smile were infectious. Just a second with him had swept you into the world you shared and washed away your troubles. Unfortunately they returned once he set you down and despite how gently he did, you hissed when you touched the floor again.
“What was that?” He asked with a tilted head, holding onto your waist.
“Oh, uh, I’m practicing my Sir Pentious impression!”
You’re unsure why you lied. Maybe a part of you wanted to pretend for a little longer. You think back to the time you got a paper cut and he forced you into bed rest for three days. Once he found out about your ankle nearly snapping in half, you would, inadvertently, send him spiraling into his mother duck state of mind! And the poor man never seemed to catch a break! You didn’t want to stress him out over something that would heal.
He seemed to believe your fib.
At least someone did because it was getting harder to convince yourself.
“It’s good, it’s good!” Lucifer nodded thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes. You instantly knew he was trying to recall just who the serpent fellow was. “Anywho, I ran into Charlie just now. Heard this place almost fell apart without me, huh?”
He nudged your arm with his elbow, prompting you to laugh instead of focusing on the pain. You forced the sound out a bit too much to try and make leaning against the wall look natural. It didn’t. You almost collapsed against the surface, sliding down as your leg began to give. Lucifer slipped his hands under your arms, doing the majority work of holding you up. Your head began nodding off and you realized you were face to face with him. Not a good sign considering your height difference. He was wearing his nervous grin that you knew all too well he only put on before he started panicking internally.
“Darling, is this part of the Sir Pina Colada impression? Starting to, uh, worry over here.”
“Nothing, nothing. I think… I just… nee..”
The last thing you see is Lucifer’s smile dropping entirely, pupils shrinking to worry-filled slits.
Then black.
~
There’s a moment while waking up where it’s pure bliss. You’re not you; you’re not anyone. You barely exist— and then you do. The worries, memories, pain; it all comes rushing up on you like a train and hits you just as hard. You scrunch your nose and pull your eyebrows together as you attempt to sit up. Silk under your palms have you acutely aware that you’re not in your bed, but Lucifer’s. And you know what they say about speaking of the devil.
“Oh no! Nonononono, I don’t think so,” He sings, gently pushing your shoulders back until you’re flat against the plushy pillows, “You’ve got some explaining to do. ”
“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” You groan, “I thought I had it under control! I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Au contraire, darling, I want to worry about you! Just maybe not that much next time, alright? I think I had a heart attack! If that’s what those feel like… Ech.” Lucifer was wracked by a shiver, shaking off the final wave with his head.
You let out a breathy laugh.
The man smiled at the sound and honed his full attention on you, forcing a serious, but soft, tone, “Now! Doctor Morningstar is here to help, so tell me, where does it hurt most? ”
“My ankle.”
You recoiled when he attempted to peel away your sock. He muttered an apology, studying your foot rather unfazed. As interesting as it was to watch him get truly somber about something, you couldn’t appreciate it right now. The fire spreading from your ankle stole all your senses and he wasn’t even touching it anymore.
“It wasn’t all purple-y yesterday right? We might have to amputate.”
“Lucifer.” You growled through grit teeth.
He chuckled. “Sorry. That one killed when Charlie was younger. Ok, ok! Pain management first, jokes later.”
There was a heavy knock on the door that made both of you turn your heads. Your eyes narrowed while a bright grin spread across his porcelain face.
“Are you expecting someone?” You asked suspiciously.
“Belphegor, of course!”
Of course.
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deadghosy · 1 month
Text
HAZBIN HOTEL GANG WITH CHIBI! READER
PLATONIC HAZBIN HOTEL X READER
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You are like thumb size-
Like you are an absolute cutie pootie! Even Alastor agrees, in private of course. You are like a mysterious creature that appeared in the hotel one day and said.
“This ma home now losers!”
Charlie was hypnotized by your cuteness, even vaggie oddly as she tickles you under your chin as you giggle with a squeak.
Husk lets you sit by the bar as you eat these small pieces of chips he got for you so you can have something to eat while he watches over you and cleans glasses.
Angel lets you in his chest fluff like a pocket as you snicker with a gremlin ass smile. You always bite him for the fun of it which makes him put you in air jail.
When Lucifer met you, you better believed he came and kidnapped you out the hotel every second he got.
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LUCFIER
He fell in love with you the minute he had his eyes on you from charlie’s shoulder. He held you so carefully like a baby as he didn’t want you to be scared of him as you are so small and he is bigger than you.
Like I said, he definitely “kidnaps” you from the hotel so he can make you a small house. Like a doll house with small duck toys your size but he probably just makes a normal size duck car so you can drive around his palace or the hotel.
“Look at their tiny car sweetie!” He says showing Charlie a video of you driving your car with small black shades.
He definitely cries at your cuteness as he curls up in a ball as you eat peacefully in front of him as he made you your favorite meal.
He would have you in his pocket but he definitely makes small outfits for you so you can be a mini him. He would also definitely have a picture of you in his wallet.
“Oh this picture? It’s my sweet baby!” He says with a pride smile as he shows it off
CHARLIE
Just like her father she cries at your cuteness as you are just the sweetest thing ever she ever had around the hotel as you just chill in her room with razzle and dazzle.
You ride razzle and dazzle on their back as you wanted to see Charlie who is doing trust exercises. You join kinda as Charlie makes you sit on her shoulder as you wiggle your cute little bobble around.
Charlie makes sure you are groomed, feed, and socialize around the peers of the hotel. She’s glad VAGGIE likes you also which makes her even happier
Charlie kinda brings you around a lot as she doesn’t trust you alone much in the hotel as there’s a lot things that can kill you in the hotel.
“Sweetie, it’s time for bath time!” Charlie says she gets a toy bathtub with bubbles and water for you as you squeak happily.
And when you sleep with Charlie and vaggie, Charlie literally wakes up at night with red eyes concerned if you are alive or not because she is scared she might have rolled over on you.
VAGGIE
“Okay remember the rules, no leaving this room no matter what. Don’t go into the big scary man’s room. And last rule, don’t ever eat sweets. You are banned from last time.” Vaggie says before scratching you under your chin as she leaves the room. You pout with a soft squeak.
Vaggie is very overprotective of you because of your sweet and small creature frame as it’s unbelievably cute. She literally asked Lucifer once and carmilla to make you a small weapon so you can protect yourself if she can’t
You left the room one time because you were bored and missed vaggie with her girlfriend as you wanted company. You wanted to socialize as you didn’t think it was bad to talk to the other residents in the hotel. VAGGIE found out and grounded you as if you were a child!
She doesn’t want a heart attack late at night so she would consider to have you a tiny bed on the night stand beside Charlie and her bed. She doesn’t have time to worry about you getting squashed but she doesn’t want you to die as you brought happiness to the hotel.
“Good night cutie….”
ALASTOR
You use to shake at the grin Alastor had. Vaggie told you stories about Alastor as you squeak with tears in your eyes. And oddly Alastor turned away gripping his cold heart as he couldn’t stand you crying.
He turned around and picked you up softly in his hand as you sniffle. You noticed he wasn’t hurting you so you squeak rubbing your chubby cheek on your thumb.
“Please smile little one, you aren’t dressed without one!”
And at the point, Alastor know to protect you. He would bring you around with him when Charlie didn’t have time to watch you. Which he gladly did for her as he would bring you around pentagram city and even bring you to meet Rosie who absolutely adores you too.
He even has his demon minions play with you as you squeak chasing them with your stubby legs. The shadows love you too! Even Alastor shadows who would pick play with you as you squeak happily feeling the shadow by you.
“Play nice..don’t wanna get scolded by the mean one again.” He says smiling at you chasing his shadows in the living room. He is definitely talking about VAGGIE who is surely scared for you to be around Alastor.
ANGEL DUST
“OW DONT BITE MY FLUFF HON!” Angel yells digging in his chest fluff to take you out as you mistook it for cotton candy as you nom on his fluff with a derpy face. You got banned from his chest fluff for a month before you would behave yourself and not eat his chest fluff thinking it’s cotton candy.
Angel loves for you to wear pink like him as he thinks it would be cute. He would definitely act like a rich “auntie” to you as he would make you wear pink shades with him and he would ask Lucifer to make you a pink hot car.
But he definitely has those toy car remote controllers to make it seem you are actually driving but aren’t as you squeak feeling like a hot girl/boy/person
“VROOM VROOOM!” Angel says making car noises as you squeak happily at this moment as Charlie records this happily.
You sleep on Angel’s chest fluff or ride fat nuggets like a steady horses as you squeak while fat nuggets oink. Angel likes to record you acting like a cow boy as it’s just adorable moment
“You’re the best thing a spider could have cutie pie.”
HUSK
This grumpy cat actually is less grumpy with you. He views as you as a little kid. He might not know what you are it he ain’t serving you beer at all. Your body might not handle it at all.
“Sorry kid, but that’s for adults.” He says pushing your squishy and chubby body away from the beer bottle he held. You opted with a mean squeak and a “hey!” As he smirk at your mad face which is terrible cute with puffed out cheeks. But you just drink water what he gives you as he cleans glasses watching you softly as his eyes dilate before he grumbles looking away.
You and husk are seen chilling at the bar every night even if it’s after your suppose “bed time” which was annoying to you but Charlie sen how cranky you were before you even had a such called “bed time”
“Aren’t you suppose to be in bed brat?” “……no….” “I’m telling Charlie.” “NOOO!” *mad squeaks*
Husk has a habit of poking your chubby cheeks as you eat as it annoys you. Husk just smirks as you try to bite his finger which obviously fails as you are quite slow since you are eating. But if you aren’t eating, then husk better pray for his fingers as husk accidentally let his guard down and you bit the shit out of his pointer finger which make him scream with a groan holding his pointer finger as you huff.
“Fine kid…I’m sorry for annoying you. But you must admit you are annoying to me sometimes even if you don’t see it.” He says softly as he pokes your sleeping figure by his bar.
SIR PENTIOUS
“Ah I see! You like to spend time with me!” He says happily having you in his hands as the egg boiz watch you with star in their eyes at your small frame. You are adorable and such a weird little thing as the egg boiz made a rule to protect from a lot of things.
You nap with the egg boiz and the snake demon as Pentious would have you warm if you say you are cold. He also makes small cookies, well if he can even as he loves to bake for you.
Vaggie tells him how you are banned from sweeties but he secretly sneaks you some if you pout at him with your soft cute little squeak and “please.” HE CANT REIST IT!
He definitely brags about how he could’ve been an overlord but saw the light to redeem himself as he sees potential in you and himself. Well he does t even know if you are a sinner or not. But he want to know how to redeem with you beside him.
He would love watching movies with you as you are in the popcorn bucket but he always look to make sure you aren’t the next popcorn he grabs or he would throw up in disgust from himself and for you health
“You are so adorable it hurts me to see you cry…” he says patting your head as you pout with teary eyes after you accidentally hit it against a wall
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washeduphazbin · 20 days
Text
Sin of Lust
Lucifer NSFW Alphabet
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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
Aftercare God, but did you really have any doubts? He would put you and your comfort before his own. He'd ensure you're wrapped in blankets and tucked into bed afterward. Do you need water? He's on it, food? Right away. The only thing he wouldn't let you do is put your clothes back on; he just likes to stare at you too much.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Lucifer likes his tongue and teeth and wants to make you mewl and moan in any way he can, and what better way than using what his father gave him.
He likes your ass and your boobs. Anything that you can use to crush his head is very much the type to be the little spoon just so he can sleep on your breasts.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
In or on his mouth PLEASE. His favorite thing is giving you oral, and thinks you taste divine, he’d rather not waste any of you.
However, if it’s not your cum in his mouth he wants to cum inside you. This man, although a mess with Charlie, adores kids and would absolutely want more.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He can’t keep secrets. He’s so bad at it, feels guilty keeping secrets from you even if it’s something as silly as something kinky.
He’s vocal about it with you, but this man wants to get pegged and degraded. Major mommy kink vibes, Lilith didn’t help with that.
If y’all are in a poly situation, Lilith is the main dom, Lucifer and you are switches. No I won’t take any criticism.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Very. VERY. Experienced. All sexes, all genders every position.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Missionary, he likes to look in your eyes no matter who’s on top. They say eyes are the windows to the soul and he loves seeing yours when you climax.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He’s a goofball but he doesn’t mean to be, you two will be getting it on and he will stop mid fuck if he has an idea for a new duck design.
Lucifer makes jokes while dicking you down but if you don’t like it, he’ll try to rein it in.
On more than one occasion he’s stopped mid fuck when Charlie has called him. He apologized profusely before answering but you’d never be mad at him for answering his daughter’s calls. He loves you for that.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Carpet does match the drapes and he’s VERY well groomed.
To be honest you’re almost jealous at how effortlessly gorgeous he is, this man doesn’t even have to try. Facial hair and body hair just doesn’t really grow on him.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
He always makes every romantic or intimate moment with you special. Obviously sometimes things come up, plans get interrupted, but he’s the rose petals and candle light type of guy.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Lucifer’s hand covers the back of his mouth the other palming his dick. His wings flutter out around him as he pictures your face, he can hear your voice echo around in his head giggling and calling his name. “f-fuck,” he hissed biting his lip as his horns began to poke from the top of his head, fire swirling around his head. “Duckling…” he whined into the air, you were at the hotel with Charlie much more passionate about helping his daughter.
And he shouldn’t be thinking of Charlotte right now.
His wings fluttered again glancing over at the picture he had of you over on his dresser, lingerie shoot for his birthday. All in red and gold dressed up just for him his favorite parts on display, he groaned hips bucking up into his hand. Lucifer was closer than he’d like to admit just by looking at your face and- he made a strangled sound as his phone rang. Hands shooting out of his pants fumbling with his phone your contact photo popping up.
SHIT SHIT SHIT SHE WAS TOTALLY GOING TO KNOW HE WAS MASTURBATING. HE HAD TO ANSWER FUCK-
“Ducky baby, lovely hello! Totally being normal today! You?” He winced,
“Hello honeybee.” He could hear the teasing tone in your voice, “your lovely daughter’s inviting you for dinner. You’re coming.”
‘Almost was if you didn’t call me.’
“Of course anything for my favorite girls!~ I’ll be there soon!~”
“Good and Luci?”
“Yes Ducky?”
“If I found out you were bad, I’m absolutely going to make you pay for it.~” Lucifer winced and swore he heard a laugh from the famous spider pornstar Charlie hung around with.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Good boy.”
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Wing Kink
Breeding Kink
Degradation
Mommy Kink
Daddy Kink
Role Play
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
If Lilith was a part of the relationship from the beginning your/his chambers all the time. He’s private unless he needs to prove a point or gets too jealous.
However, if this is post Lilith or divorce era Lucifer for a while he’d be hesitant to be intimate where he and his ex wife were intimate for so long; but if you told him you didn’t mind he’d get over the hurdle a little faster.
But for a while you’d only have sex in your room in his home, or your own apartment in hell not that you minded. But it always felt funny sneaking the king of hell past your overly talkative and nosy neighbors.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
Anytime you turn on what he calls your Mommy Voice. Not in a creepy way! But if you start to scold him or click your tongue in a disapproving tone you’ll have him practically humping your leg like a dog to make up for it.
Anything that shows off your chest, thighs or ass he’ll be all over you.
Or, you wearing his clothes or his hat is a sure fire way to get him hot and bothered.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Pretty obvious but no water sports or anything to do with bodily fluids of any sort.
Also although he can turn into different animals that’s off the table for him. It’s a little too weird.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Went over this already but he prefers giving rather than reviving and he’s an oral god. I mean there’s a reason why he stole both of Adam’s wives…plus his short term girlfriend if you count when you dated him before you were lead astray by a certain snake.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
He’s slow and sensual. As I mentioned Lucifer is absolutely a romantic, if he doesn’t have time to please you fully he won’t do it. Unless it’s to prove a point or in a fit of rage or jealousy. He always makes sure you’re comfortable, but if you want him to speed up or go rougher if you ask he will provide.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
Doesn’t love to do them, only will if both of you are really pent up and frustrated or if he’s jealous. As stated in the previous prompt he much prefers to wine and dine you and be romantic than fuck you quick and not provide adequate aftercare.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
He’s a little shit he’d definitely take risks. Although quickies aren’t preferred it doesn’t mean he won’t do them if you initiate or if he’s very pent up. He’s definitely done it in the Hotel’s library before Charlie made them all participate in a group dinner. The weird little bug cyclops definitely caught the two of you, but she’s yet to mention it so the both of you are just praying no one ever finds out.
Alastor knows. And is waiting for the perfect blackmail opportunity.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
As many as you can last baby. He can go as many rounds as you want and tends to lose himself and not stop until you’re begging and crying from overstimulation.
He can also last decently long, again it’s the decades of practice.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
I think it’s safe to say he has them and all different types. I wouldn’t say they’re his go too, for you or for himself but if you wanted to use it to spice things up he wouldn’t be opposed.
If he was going to use anything, and it’s not really a toy, but he’d want to use bondage. Doesn’t matter if you’re tied up or he is, he just likes how it looks.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Oh little shit loves to tease you and make you beg when he tops. Especially does this when his tongue is so deep inside you, you’re practically praying his name begging him to let you cum.
He doesn’t.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
He’s a whiner and a whimperer more than anything else. Those whines are usually decently loud BUT if he’s not in private he’s good about muffling himself and staying quiet.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Not really a sex headcanon but he definitely has made a duck in your likeness and he talks to it when he misses you or you’re caught up at the hotel.
You’ve definitely walked in on him kissing it before he hasn’t lived it down to this day.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
For a very short man he makes up for it in the size of his dick. Long and thick, a good 8 inches in length with a nice upward curve that hits your g-spot perfectly.
Uncircumcised and very sensitive.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Decently high. I feel like he’s pretty active with or without Lilith in the picture.
I think in my headcanon, he’s had a bit of a dry spell, so if you weren’t already with him and Lilith his sex drive would be SUPER HIGH. Like you show ankle he pops a boner, doesn’t make him any less good at what he does…he just might need a few reminders.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Not quickly at all. He could spend hours just watching you fall asleep holding you tightly pressing little kisses to your forehead. You’re his duckling and he’ll admire your post sex beauty for as long as you let him or until he falls asleep sometime later that night.
You always try to beat him and stay awake, you always fail and fall asleep first.
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dira333 · 1 month
Text
Of Lovers and Friends - Ushijima x Reader
thank you @screamin-abt-haikyuu talking to you is inspiring
If you find a typo, I wrote this instead of going to bed. Goodnight.
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“Just a Tonic Water, please,” You order, well aware of all the eyes on you.
“Are you sick?” Kindaichi asks, already pressing a hand against your forehead.
“Pregnant?” Kunimi’s next, though less serious.
“As if, you can’t get pregnant from RPG,” Makki points out, licking foam off his lip.
“You would know,” you tell him, a little peeved, as you push Kindaichi away.
“I’m fine. I just have a date later.”
Yahabi whistles, clearly impressed. God, you need to amp up your game. This is just sad.
“Who is it?” Kyoutani asks, forever your best friend. Or at least the one guy who’s seemingly the least interested in teasing you.
“I don’t know, my Mom set us up. She went to school with his Mom or something like that. I just know that he plays Volleyball and is about my age.”
“Could be anyone,” Watari mumbles into his Aperol Spritz.
“Could be Ushijima,” Mattsun jokes, causing Makki to choke on his beer, spluttering as he bellows out a laugh.
“Can you imagine? That would be hilarious!”
“Har har har,” you thank the waitress for your drink and lean back in your chair, “Can we change the topic? Does Makki have a job yet?”
“Uncalled for!” Makki points an accusing finger at you. “And no. But a little birdy told me that Kyoutani’s got a fangirl.”
Kyoutani blushes, glaring into his drink. The girl must mean something to him if he’s trying to pull himself together like this. You swerve to look at Kindaichi who’s managed to spill his diet coke - again.
“What about you? Did you call that girl we met at the coffee shop?”
“No,” he ducks his head. “I didn’t. I was… I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself.”
“Yeah, well, you did,” Makki lets his eyes wander as usual, “Tell you what. There’s a nice girl with her friends two tables over. We’ll get you her number but you have to call. Or at least send her some funny memes, okay?”
“Okay,” Kindaichi’s looking at you. Makki’s looking at you.
You groan and get up. “Next time you get someone else to get that number, okay? This is the last time.”
“Love you too, pumpkin!” Makki calls after you as you make your way over. These patterns have turned familiar.
-
You should have gotten a beer, you think two hours later as you wait, your legs twitching with anxiety. 
You’ve been painfully single for so long that you can’t help but feel you should have worn a dress or at least something more fancy than the jeans and top combo you’re sporting. But it’s comfy and it sets you at ease. And you’ve always been an advocate for being yourself on the first date. If they don’t like you like that, they won’t matter anyway.
So far that has brought you a lot of first dates and not a lot of second dates.
A deep voice calls out your name. You turn, your hands clutching the single purple carnation you had to bring - your mother’s idea. 
You spot the flower first, a tiny purple thing held in massive hands. He’s tall, impressively so. You let your eyes wander up as he walks over, the flickering street light casting long shadows over his face until he’s reached you and the soft warm glow of the restaurant behind you. 
Your heart skips a painful beat as he attempts a rather forced smile.
“Ushijima-kun,” you stutter, the confidence earned in twenty-something years shattered and replaced by the anxious brain of a teenager.
He offers you his hand, the one without the flower and you take it. His palm swallows yours, his grip warm and firm. If you can blend out the history your team has with his, that your friends have with him, you can give him a chance, right?
-
“Are you close with your mother?” He asks in the tense moment when the food’s already been ordered and the drinks aren’t served yet. It’s the worst possible question to ask, too, because no, you’re not close. Not since she went through with the divorce, unable to settle with a man ever since, as dissatisfied with them as she is with life, her business, you.
You don’t ramble often, but you do when you’re nervous. 
If he’s taken aback by the flood of words, of trauma seemingly long overcome, he does not show. He’s like a rock, sitting steadfast in the crashing river of your emotions, unmoving, sturdy.
When you’re finished, throat a little dry, he nods slowly. 
“My parents are divorced as well,” he says. You wonder if he’s told it often. 
“How was it for you?” You ask and the surprise in his eyes tells you that he hasn’t been asked this before. 
His tale is told more slowly. He hands out information bit by bit, always confirming that you’re still listening, still interested in what he has to say about this topic. You share a bottle of wine over his parent's divorce, the main dish just an accessory to the topic at hand. 
When his words run dry and the last drop of wine is poured into your glass, your mind a little fuzzy and his lips tinted a little blue, you are full and empty at the same time. All the anxiety has left you over dinner. 
Seijoh and your friends are far, far away but Ushijima - Wakatoshi, as he asks you to call him - is right there.
“Do you want to share dessert?” You ask and his eyes light up with a new emotion, one you haven’t seen before on him. It’s a little softer, makes him look a little younger, maybe.
“Do you like chocolate?” He asks, leaning forward a bit as if to share a secret.
“Who doesn’t?” You ask back and learn about his best friend.
-
“This was nice,” you say when he walks you to the train station, slowing his steps to be in tune with yours. The cold night air does wonders for your fuzzy brain but the chill is less pleasant. You shiver.
“Here.” A warm weight settles over your shoulders. His jacket drapes over your skin like it was made for this. It smells good, too. 
It’s not the first time you wonder if there will be a second date. But it’s the first time you really, really hope there is.
The train station appears much too soon. You want to prolong this evening, stay longer in this emotion that you cannot name. But you’re a realist at heart and you slip his jacket off before you become too used to its warmth.
“Keep it,” his large hand stops your movement, easily takes hold of yours. “You can give it back the next time.”
“Next time?” You ask, unable to keep that hopeful tone out of your voice. 
“I don’t have much free time,” Wakatoshi explains, “Could we meet again in a week? Same time, same place?”
You nod, much too eager to come off as nonchalant. It reminds you of Kindaichi, but you cannot bring yourself to care. You give him your number and feel your lips slip into a smile when he immediately texts you so that you have his as well.
Overhead your trains arrival is announced. You turn, still unwilling to part.
“Until Friday,” Wakatoshi says, one last wave. “Good night.”
- - -
You sleep well, better than you have in days.
It’s only when you wake up that you realize what this means.
You have a second date. The first in a long time. 
But as excited as you are for it, dread still settles in your stomach. How on earth will you explain this to your friends?
The answer is, you don’t.
When you meet up for beers and games on wednesday, Makki consolingly pats your shoulder. He seems to think your date went awful and you do nothing to correct him. You only feel a little guilty. It’s his fault for not even asking.
The others seem to already have forgotten. The news of Kindaichi getting a first date is more exciting and you let yourself get dragged into it, give him fashion advice - that goes ignored - and laugh with the others when Yahaba tries to fix his hair.
It’s only Friday afternoon that your nerves make themselves known.
Surely there’s nothing wrong in dressing similar again. Wakatoshi didn’t seem to mind and neither should you.
But you want to, you desperately want to… look a little better. You want him to look at you, unable to catch his breath, unable to form words, at least for a few seconds. Is that too much to ask for?
But you don’t own any Make-up, courtesy of rebelling against everything that makes you think of your mother. So you do the next best thing and call Mattsun.
“I’m not late,” he answers, immediately defensive. Right, you’re still on for drinks before the date. You can’t think about that now.
“I don’t care. Get your girlfriend on the phone, I need help.”
“What? Why?”
“Girls-stuff, you wouldn’t understand.” 
Miri agrees to join you for drinks. According to her she won’t need more than ten minutes in the bar bathroom to give you a little bit of an extra kick.
“You don’t want to look too different to what he’s seen the last time,” she reasons as you go over the few options of fancier clothes you have.
You're anxious the whole time, nurse one soda after the other. Even Kunimi notices.
“Second date?” Kyoutani asks. Makki’s eyes widen in surprise. You hate it.
“Maybe,” you grumble, getting up to pee once more. 
“What? You didn’t tell us the first one went well.”
“You didn’t ask,” you tell him as you make your escape to the bathroom. But this is Makki. He doesn’t let go of a topic.
“What’s his name?” He asks as soon as you’re back. “What team does he play for?”
“Let me get through this date first,” you huff, trying to sound more relaxed than you are. 
“He’s nice?” Kyoutani asks, able to put a threat and a question and a whole lot of worry in those few words. 
“Yeah,” you say, a little flustered just by the thought of him. The boys go silent around you. 
“Wow, you really like that guy,” Mattsun points out. 
“Shut up,” you grumble and empty your glass, calling for another. You don’t want to talk about it.
“Anyway,” Miri points out and you’ll forever be thankful for that, for her switching topics when you need it most, “Mattsun and I have decided to move together. We’re still debating about which apartment to move into, though.”
“Are you for real?” Makki’s always the first to put in his two cents, “Miri’s apartment is way better.”
Miri laughs. “Thank you Makki, I knew I could count on you.”
-
“There, done.” Miri steps away. You look at yourself in the mirror, the knots in your stomach slowly loosening. You don’t look like a clown, not like your mother either. 
“What did you do?” You ask, a little perplexed by how long your lashes suddenly are. 
“Mascara and some eyeliner. A little lipgloss too, you can reapply it when you’re at the restaurant.”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime. If you want, we can go shopping for some of this stuff. You don’t need much and I can show you how to do the little things you might want to do sometimes.”
“Ah,” you look away, embarrassed, “Let me get through this date first.”
Miri smiles, understanding visible in her eyes. 
“Go get him, tiger,” she tells you when you part ways.
- - -
Wakatoshi is already waiting for you. 
Warmth pools in your stomach when he stills at your sight, his eyes warm as they wander over your face. 
“You look beautiful,” he tells you and you have to look away, too flustered to face him for a second.
“Am I not beautiful all the time?” You joke, hoping against hope that he does not notice the way your voice breaks slightly.
“Of course,” Wakatoshi tells you immediately, not an ounce of insincerity in his voice. You have to swallow twice before you’re able to talk again.
“You’re very pretty too,” your voice is doing funny things. You offer your hand to shake, a little unsure of what greeting is correct. He takes your hand in his, not to shake it, but to hold it all the way to the table and you’re unable to look anyone in the eyes until you’re seated, your insides a fluttery mess.
-
“Can I see you again?” Wakatoshi asks when you reach the train station, his jacket a comforting weight on your shoulders, your hand resting in his.
You nod, unable to hide your eagerness. 
You can’t blame the buzzing of your mind on alcohol this time. He’s calmly explained that he can’t drink often with his strict diet, has to choose between dessert or a glass of wine most of the time. It didn’t feel right to drink when he wasn’t allowed to.
Somehow your conversations feel deeper, more meaningful without the alcohol coating them. You know he means it when he asks and he knows you mean it when you nod.
Overhead, your train is announced. You don’t let go of his hand.
“I could do a little walk,” you say, “What do you say?”
You kiss his cheek when you eventually part. His skin is soft and warm underneath your lips. It follows you into your dreams.
-
On Wednesday you get a text just as you head out to meet the boys for beers and games.
“I’ve got out of practice earlier. Do you want to go for a walk?”
You go back inside, put on the lipgloss Miri had lent you as you text him your confirmation. You think about kissing him and wipe it off again, unsure of what you want. In the end you put it into your pocket just in case.
“Can’t come today, I have another date,” you text the group chat. 
Makki’s the first to answer, per usual, but his use of emojis has your anxiety rising so you put your phone on silent. You’ll deal with this on Friday.
It’s not yet time for the Sakura blossoms, but the park is beautiful anyway.
Not that you can focus on much besides the feeling of your hand in his, the way his voice rumbles in his chest as he talks about practice and his plans to meet up with his old teammates. 
You like this, the calmness of it all. You like him, with his serious expression and his direct way of asking. You like how he never fails to ask how your day has been, how he’s interested in all aspects of your work, even the little ones that no one seems to care about.
You like him, a lot. And if the way he looks at you is any indication, he likes you too. 
It’s when you’re on your way back, the setting sun bringing forth a chill, that someone calls your name.
You turn, your hand still firmly in Wakatoshi’s grasp, only to spot Kyoutani. He’s frozen on a near path and you know with certainty that he’s recognized your date. Your heart beats painfully in your throat and you feel sick.
“Everything okay?” Wakatoshi asks at the same time the girl next to Kyoutani pulls her massive scarf down to look at you. She looks familiar, blond hair, brown eyes, petite figure. It’s only when she opens her mouth to ask Kyoutani what’s going on that you recongize her. She’d been Karasuno’s volleyball manager. Yachi something.
Kyoutani seems to realize that you’ve recognized her because his face turns dark. He shakes his head at Yachi, points into the distance and leads her away. 
You’re still frozen next to Wakatoshi, realization washing over you like the cold floods of the  Tamagawa. 
“Is everything okay?” He asks again, cradling your face in his hands to make you look at him. You blink to clear your mind, wish you could just lean into his touch and disappear forever.
“You know what school I went to, right?”
“Aoba Johsai, yes. You were a manager for their volleyball team.”
“Yes,” He must have realized the truth already, still he asks you to say it out loud. “I’m still friends with the team, like you are with yours. They are not… They’re not fans of you.”
“I understand.” Wakatoshi nods. His hands slip away from your face, you miss them immediately.
You didn’t plan for it to go like this. He’s got an uncanny ability to make you open yourself up. Being vulnerable feels less scary when it’s him. 
He takes your hand again, guides you around the park for another round as you tell him all there is to know about your poor attempts at dating. How it sucks to be “just one of the boys” sometimes. How it hurts that they don’t even ask anymore if you’ve got a second date. How scary it is to admit to them that you’re dating him.
You bite your tongue after those last words. You’ve been on two dates so far, this is your third. Is it too forward to call this “dating”? What if he’s not-
“I understand if you want to keep this a secret for longer,” he says. His voice is heavy in a way that tells you that there’s more to it. 
Two things can be true at the same time. Understanding it won’t mean that he’ll appreciate it.
“I will… I will try and talk to them,” you promise. And you will. Even if you could keep this a secret, you won’t if it hurts him. And you can tell that it hurts.
-
You wish you could kiss him goodbye. But you can tell that he’s distanced himself, put up a wall to protect his heart. 
“On Wednesday we usually meet up to drink beer and play games,” you explain, wringing your hands, “They should all be there right now. Well, except Kyoutani. I will... I will go and talk to them right now.”
He nods. Your voice breaks a little when you ask. “Are we still- Are we still on for Friday?”
“Of course,” his deep voice soothes your anxious heart a little. You take a step forward and hug him, stiff and awkward, before you move back.
“I really like you, Wakatoshi,” you say before you can take it back, swallow it down, hide it from the world. 
“I like you too.”
- - -
Makki is already buzzed when he opens the door.
It’s probably not the best time to talk about things like this, but you want to get this over with. If you talk about it now, the dust will settle by Friday. Or so you hope.
There’s an iPad on the coffee table, Iwaizumi and Oikawa grinning back at you. You accept a beer, almost drop it with how jumpy you are, your legs unable to stay still.
“So, how was your date?” Makki asks, cutting off one of Oikawa’s rants.
“Good,” you say and take another sip of beer, “We met Kyoutani at the park.”
“Oh?” Mattsun looks up from his phone. “So you met the girl he fancies?”
“Maybe,” you shrug, unwilling to give up his secret. He’s got his one fears to face. 
“What you mean, dear Mattsun,” Makki teases, “Is that Kyoutani met her boyfriend.”
Oikawa gasps dramatically. “No way?! You got a boyfriend? Who is it!”
“Ushijima,” you say, ripping the bandaid off in one swoop.
Makki cackles, spurned on by Oikawa’s apparent confusion.
“Good one,” Mattsun jokes as Iwaizumi snorts. The younger players don’t think the joke’s that funny. It’s Kunimi who bothers you the most, his perceptive eyes locked onto your face.
“Guys,” he cuts through the laughter, “She’s serious.”
And it would have turned out better, you suppose, without the beer. Because Oikawa gets more petulant when drunk and Makki’s jokes are a bit less funny and a lot more mean when he’s buzzed. The younger guys don’t really know how to mediate. That has always been your job, or Iwaizumi’s. But the distance does not work in your favor.
You leave half an hour after you’ve arrived, angry tears streaming down your face. 
It’s always the people closest to you that hurt you the most. They know what parts of you are the most sensible, and which parts of you are still bruised, still in the process of healing.
You press your phone to your ear.
Wakatoshi picks up right away.
“I talked to them,” you press out. Your voice is doing funny things again and you swallow back another wave of tears, less motivated by anger and more by hurt.
“Do you want to come over?” He asks and you don’t hesitate to agree.
It hurts to fight, to possibly lose good friends over something as stupid as old rivalries, but Wakatoshi is good at soothing over it, with warm hands and the gentle rumble of his voice as he holds you close.
-
You don’t meet up with the boys on Friday. No one has bothered to invite you.
You watch Wakatoshi practice instead, laughing about Kageyama who pesters you about how to better his form - you’re a licensed sports therapist after all - and teasing Hoshiumi who fake gags every time you throw Wakatoshi a kiss. 
You move your date to Wakatoshi’s apartment, cook dinner together - it turns out pretty decent - and talk through the night. When you wake up in his arms on Saturday morning you know that you want this to go on, that you want this to be a relationship that lives instead of dies, one that strengthens over time.
- - -
You’re a little surprised to find Mattsun and Makki at your work. 
It’s Wednesday and they should be working too, well, at least Mattsun should.
“Iwaizumi called us every day,” Mattsun admits eventually, “Apparently we’ve been dicks.”
“Yeah,” you tell him bluntly, noticing that Makki’s still stubbornly staring out of the window. “You were.”
“Oikawa’s still pissed,” Mattsun admits next, taking a seat in front of your desk. “But he’ll get around. Kunimi pointed out that it was a blind date. You didn’t actively pick him.”
“Even if-” You start but Mattsun just shakes his head. “It’s Oikawa. Logic does not pull.”
“I’m only apologizing-” Makki interrupts, huffs, and continues, “I’ll only apologize if you do too.” He glares at you. Mattsun’s looking too, though his eyes are softer.
Finally, you nod and get up, offering your hand for Makki to shake.
“I’m sorry I made fun of you. It’s not your fault that you got fired.”
He huffs again. You know that sound. He sounds like that when he’s trying not to cry. And you suppose you can’t fault him for that. Friends just know where it hurts the most.
But he shakes your hand, his grip a bit firmer than it needs to be.
“I’m sorry that I called you an ugly bitch that has no game.”
Suddenly you can’t help but laugh. It flows freely, from deep within, has you bending over the desk as you cackle. They laugh along, softly first before it breaks out of them too.
“All good?” Makki asks when you eventually calm down.
“All good,” you agree, looking over at Mattsun. He shrugs. “Don’t look at me, I’ve always been good.”
“Sure,” you joke, “But just so you know, I’ll bring Wakatoshi along tonight.”
Makki rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll smoke him at Mario Kart.”
As it turns out, however, Wakatoshi smokes him.
Who knew he had it in him?
.
-.- Warsaw -.-
The front door closes with a soft click, alerting you.
“Shh!” You hiss at the boys before turning toward the door of the living room. 
“Hey honey, welcome home!”
“Hi,” Wakatoshi steps inside, spots the beer and your laptop screen and waves. “Beers and Games?”
“Yeah, but it’s not that important.” You get up to kiss him, ignoring Makki who’s trying to make a point of his importance. “You wanna go out to eat?”
“Can we stay in?” He asks, “There’s this new movie that Satori recommended.”
“Yeah, sure,” you nod. “Go shower. I’ll make some food.”
He smiles and leans in for another kiss, waving at the camera before he leaves for the bathroom.
“So he doesn’t know, huh?” Mattsun asks as you pick up your laptop and carry it to the kitchen.
“No, I want to tell him tonight. Thanks for not spoiling it guys.”
“Anytime,” Kindaichi pipes in. You bet he’s got no clue what you’re talking about. “What are you making?”
“Golabki,” you answer, “Cabbage roles. I’ve been obsessed with these lately.” 
You catch up while you cook, eager to hear more about Kindaichi’s budding relationship or Makki’s latest work adventure. Even Kyoutani contributes a lot today, proudly talking about how Yachi has won a prize for one of her designs.
At some point Wakatoshi appears, leaning into you as you work. He likes to be in the way when you facetime the team, thinks it’s funny that Makki has named him “the Log” or that he’s always blocking the drawer you need to get to the most.
“Move,” you tell him, pulling at his thighs. Behind him’s the cutlery you need to set the table.
“There’s a price for that,” he tells you quietly. You roll your eyes and move to kiss him. He shuffles slightly to the side, now blocking the cabinet that hides the plates.
-
It’s only after dinner, your laptop put away, the dishes done, that you find yourself back on the Couch, cuddled into him.
“Wakatoshi,” you address him, your hands shoved under his shirt. His eyes have closed but he’s still awake, you can tell by his breathing.
“Hmm?”
“Remember how we were talking about what we wanted to do on your next break?”
“Yes?” He opens one eye to squint at you. “Do you still want to go back to Japan?”
“I wouldn’t mind it,” you confess, “But we talked it through. It’s not feasible and I’ve got a better idea.”
That has him opening both his eyes. He can sense that something’s coming and you nestle further into him. 
You like to surprise him, for sure. You love how quiet he gets when you do something special for him, almost unsure if he deserves it. If this is really just for him. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get flustered by your feelings for him once in a while.
“I got us tickets to Paris,” you tell him quietly. “Tendō already knows.”
When he pulls you close he doesn’t have to say anything. You already know.
He misses his best friend just as much as you miss yours.
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