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mitsies · 1 year

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» THE TRAIN RIDE HOME ; itoshi rin «

; ↠ itoshi rin sees you every morning at 7. the moment you smile at him, he knows it's all over.

## author's note: i went thru the 7th circle of hell and a pack of malboros while writing this. enjoy! ## contents: itoshi rin x reader, feminine reader, crushing, canon-compliant i think? idk ur both like 17 so it works, confessions and fluff! ## wc: 13.2k (i'm unwell)

itoshi rin likes to count the people as they board the train. it's a habit leftover from his childhood, where he'd sit with his little legs swinging, pointing everyone out to his brother. (passenger 4 wore blue every day, and passenger 18 always had cat fur on his coat, and so on.)

he collected minute details to store in his head, a way to de-stress from the rush hour of his life. every morning at 6, he'd go on a run, and then from his final destination, he'd take the train back. rin was a regular, and an observant one at that- so it was only a matter of time before he noticed you.

you sat diagonally from him, always with your hands in your lap, twirling around the loose threads on the cuffs of your sweater. that was the first thing he noticed about you- the white cable-knit zip-up you frequently donned.

it looked nice on you, he thought. you seemed cozy, almost, as cozy as one could be on a train at 7 in the morning. rin wondered where you were going, since you appeared too young to have a corporate job.

you were on the train whenever he boarded and got off 2 stops before he did. and itoshi rin couldn't help but watch as you left. you carried a canvas tote with a familiar character that he couldn't quite place, and you'd always smiled warmly at the sweet old lady to your right. there were paint splatters smudging your shoes and rin wonders if you liked to draw.

he’d never ask, though. because why would he? you were a pretty person on the train, and he was just another passenger.

rin thinks he’ll settle for just watching, for now. he never expects you to look his way.

it’s a cloudy thursday when you aren’t sitting at your regular spot for the first time in at least a month. rin shouldn’t feel a tinge of disappointment, the way he does in the pit of his stomach now. he doesn’t even know you, so who is he to be upset by your absence?

it’s not until he takes his own regular place that he realizes- you weren't missing. you'd just shifted seats. you were next to him, now, bag in your lap and hands rested on top of it.

rin snaps his head away from you as soon as he realizes you're there, and he can feel his ears burning. you're not even looking at him, exchanging amicable conversation with the same elderly woman, who is now across from you rather than next to you. there's a mother with a little sleeping boy on her lap occupying your regular place, and he presumes that's the cause of your breech of pattern.

he's snapped back to reality when the old lady laughs and says a name that sounds so honeyed and sweet that it couldn't belong to anyone but you.

"you're just the funniest," chuckles the woman, "makes me feel young again."

your smile is wry. "i guess i picked that up from you, mrs. sato."

rin doesn't quite mean to eavesdrop on your quiet conversation, it kind of just happens. you were right next to him, how could he not? and he also didn't mean to sneak glances towards you whenever you were turned away. that was also an accident, a slip-up he was very grateful that no one else picked up on.

it wasn't his fault that you looked even prettier up close. it wasn't his fault that he wanted to memorize how you looked when you smiled, down to the minuscule creases and lines of your cheeks.

you bid mrs. sato goodbye with a polite tip of your head when the train reaches your stop. your shoes have new paint stains, and your jacket is collecting more lint. rin wonders if you've noticed. and he watches you go long after you're gone.

he's not expecting to be addressed, so it takes a few tries before mrs. sato gets his attention.

"hello! young man! hello," she waves a wrinkled hand in rin's face and he turns to her.

"so..." her eyes shine with a childlike mirth and rin is a bit scared because what is going on?

"you're not as sneaky as you think you are, boy."

rin stiffens. "what?"

"i see you peeking at my dear friend."

he blinks, unsure how to reply. it's not everyday that the 70-something year old woman your totally-not-a-crush is friends with confronts you about your staring problem.

"huh?" he asks dumbly.

the old woman rolls her eyes and the train lurches to a stop. "well. i'm out of town for who knows how long, and i wouldn't want them to be lonely. i'm sure you wouldn't, either."

she stands with a joking wink and rin fights the embarrassed scowl from creeping onto his face. he's positive that he's red right now, and he's giving his all to not be disrespectful to this elderly woman in public.

"well, be good to them." rin opens his mouth but she's already hobbling away. he sinks back into his seat and wishes it would eat him alive.

rin sees you the next day, sitting in the same place as you were yesterday. he shifts to put a little more space between the two of you, a little embarrassed- his breathing is still heavy from his run, and he's sure he smells of sweat.

you notice and give him a soft smile, though something akin to confusion muddles your eyes. you must be wondering where mrs. sato is, but you don't bring it up.

"sorry," you apologize for nothing. you also scoot a little to the side, and rin almost wants to say 'no, don't move further, you didn't do anything,' but that would be creepy and he doesn't want to be that guy.

so instead he fights his resting bitch face and gives you a sharp nod without meeting your eyes, because his face is already hot from hearing your voice say a single word and he is rather humiliated by his limits. "you're fine."

rin thinks he sounds like a strangled cat and he'd punch himself in the face if you weren't right there. but you give him a smile, and he feels a strange elation, and god, was it always this warm on the train?

"you're on this train every day, right?" your voice is hushed, and rin wonders if it's because you're trying not to disturb the mother and her child (who are still cuddled into your usual spot) or if that's just your demeanor. either way, he wants to find out. he wants to know you.

"i am."

you seem to consider his words for a moment and rin realizes that this means you know him. or, at least, know of him. you've seen him every morning just as he's seen you- the realization sends a strange spark through his stomach.

"where are you headed to so early?"

"home. i run out here and take the train back."

"you're a runner?"

"something like that."

you hum, and before you turn away, rin speaks again. "where are you going?"

he watches as you turn your head back towards him, a genuine smile forming on your face. "i work at a primary school. it's not an official position, but i'm kind of the art teacher."

he raises his brows. "art teacher?"

"yeah! i started off as a volunteer, but i guess i fit better since i'm younger than regular teachers," you shrug, and rin thinks he could listen to you talk forever.

your voice is beautiful, he thinks. it suits your name, and you face, and he can't think about it much longer because otherwise he'll start burning alive. he's still not looking at you when you introduce yourself, because for the sake of his dignity he doesn't think he can.

he already knows your name but he thinks it sounds even prettier falling from your lips. and god, he messed up, because now he's thinking about your lips.

"itoshi rin," he manages to get out when it's his turn to introduce himself.

"itoshi rin," you repeat, and the boy thinks he might die right then and there. what is wrong with him?

you're about to say something more but you get a look out the window and realize it's almost your stop. grabbing your bag, you stand as the train stills.

"this is me. i guess i'll see you tomorrow, then."

"see you."

and then you're gone, just like that. the morning train is silent once more, save for the whirring as it begins to run again and the footsteps of passengers finding their places.

rin decides that he can't wait until tomorrow. he's not sure why.

over the next few days, you and rin grow closer. or, you'd like to think you've become closer. you talk a lot more, about everything, and he sits and listens.

he knows about your favorite student at work, and how he had given you the doraemon tote bag that you always sported for your birthday last year. he knows about your cat named snorkel and how your friends always tried to set you up on dates. he knows about your favorite foods and how you hated sleeping with wet hair.

and rin decided that he would do anything to hear you talk. he acted uninterested, sure, but he hung off every word you said. he engraved every single sentence into the details of his memories, stowing away any information you'd give him in the catalogs of his brain.

it came to a point where every single one of his thoughts were tainted with the knowledge of you. you were all he could think about- he saw you in every crowd and smelt your perfume in the wind even when you weren't around.

it was pathetic, really, the way he searched for you in everything, and the way you appeared to him, too. especially since this 'infatuation' was the product of a few measly mornings and some half-asleep conversations.

this was pitiful, rin thought, he was pitiful. but he kept coming back.

(..and it was especially pitiful because you were kind of annoying.)

your smile was as radiant as it was infectious, and you really, really liked talking. you might've been a little hesitant to speak to rin at first, but that certainly wasn't true anymore. with the way you ran your mouth, anyone would think you'd been friends for years.

rin hated how you left him without things to say. he couldn't muster his usual cruelties when he spoke to you. usually, he just hummed along or gave you minimal replies. but the flow of the conversations you had were never dull, and they became a highlight of his day.

"you'll never guess what happened," you started, as soon as rin took his usual seat next to you one tuesday morning. he uncapped his water bottle and took a sip as you continued.

"yesterday morning, i told you about how we were doing an animal painting activity, right?"

"yeah."

"okay, so i had just finished my example and instructions, and i was helping this one little boy. he's really sweet, by the way, he just doesn't really like... paint. which is kind of counterproductive."

"mhm."

"but anyways, this other kid comes up to me- she's tugging on my sleeve, and she says 'i made you something!' and it's not like i never get paintings from students, so i'm all like 'oh, thank you! what is it!' fully expecting it to be just some drawing, right?"

"right."

"but she hands me my bag!"

it's then that rin notes that you aren't carrying your usual tote bag. instead, you have an old canvas satchel that's cute but not nearly as endearing as your previous one. he frowns.

"it was fully covered in paint- like, it was all over her hands and everything. no way i'm getting that bag back. so messy," you shudder.

"it was the one your student gave you last year, right?"

"yeah. i'm a little sad, but i can't be too upset. she was like, 7 years old. they do that."

you begin to prattle on about some other inane topic, and for the first time since he's met you, you don't have rin's full attention. you don't seem to notice, but he's already adding another item to his mental checklist.

‧̍̊ ˙ · 𓆝 . ° ｡ ˚ 𓆛 ˚ ｡ ° . 𓆞 · ˙ ‧̍̊

the following day, when rin boards the train, he doesn't greet you. he's holding something, and when he sits next to you he wordlessly drops it on your lap.

"what's this?" you fumble with the item in your hands- it's something light in a plain paper bag. rin doesn't reply, crossing his arms and slouching down in his seat. he stares straight ahead, eyes probably burning holes into the side of the train.

"okay, grouch. don't say anything, then."

"just open the bag, dumbass."

"jesus, fine."

you reach into the parcel, pulling out a denim bag. it's roomy and well-crafted, and a set of pins are stuck into the side. you recognize familiar cartoon characters, a paint palette, and a little train. for the first time since you've met rin, you're not sure what to say.

you stare down at the bag. rin stares at you. when you look up to meet his eye he whips his head away. but then he hears a shuffling, and your arms are around his neck, and he's frozen.

you're hugging him, and he can smell your hair, and he can't say a word. he thinks your shampoo smells like peaches. he would ask you if he was right if only he could find the words.

you're gone just as soon as you appeared and rin misses your warmth, but maybe a bit of it has transferred to him because he's all hot beneath the collar of his crewneck and he's feeling his face grow uncomfortably flushed.

he slumps back in his seat as you fiddle with the enamel pins- they're dainty and unique, and you're a little taken aback by how thoughtful they are. "i love this."

if rin were to try and form a coherent sentence, he thinks he might combust. so he just hums an 'mhm' and pries his gaze back to the opposing window, a little humiliated by how difficult it is for him to take his eyes off you.

he thinks he's done a pretty good job of cooling himself down until your hand is on his forearm. the contact feels icy against his hot, flushed skin and it sends a shiver down his spine as he turns to meet your gaze again.

"thank you," you say and your hands gently squeeze his arm, "this means so much to me. really."

this isn't the first time you've left him speechless, but it's the first time you've witnessed just how potent your effect on rin really is. you smile at him again before leaving him be, continuing to fiddle with the bag while he recuperates.

you keep talking at him but it's in one ear and out the other, and by the time it's your stop he's only a little bit better. you stand when the train stops and the window's light trickles through the opened doors and falls upon your lips like they're being highlighted just for him. he blinks the thought away.

"i'll see you tomorrow morning, rin," you say as you hold your bag close to your side, its new contents sitting heavy in the bottom. rin only nods and crosses his arms.

he hopes that little expression can contain the vast expanse of indescribable emotions that he feels for you, but he knows he's unfair for that because even rin himself hasn't been able to comprehend them.

he's not sure why he doesn't see you as a bother or distraction. he's not sure why he'd be disappointed whenever you didn't continue a conversation or praise the littlest things in a way he'd never expect from anyone else. he's not sure why he's so determined to make you smile, and he's even more uncertain as to what the strange, strange sensation he experiences whenever he succeeds is.

he's not sure, he's not sure, he's not sure, but he thinks he loves it.

he frowns. rin loves how you make him feel. his frown grows deeper at the realization. his eyelids flutter shut and he tips his head back against the edge of his seat, a dull thump sounding as it hits the metal.

he thinks he'll ignore this realization, for now.

it's almost a week after rin's gotten you the bag, and it's become your new everyday option. he can't help but think it looks especially good with your white zip-up and he applauds himself silently for his fashion choices.

the bag already has some tiny, colourful fingerprints decorating the sides and streaked up from where you'd presumably snatched your property out of your students' grabby little hands.

the thought makes his lips quirk upwards into a tiny little half-smile, one that's barely there but you pick up on all the same. pausing in the middle of your sentence, you ask him: "what're you thinking about?"

if rin was smooth, and if he was interested in you, he'd reply with 'just you, babe,' or something else that would make you blush and make him want to die inside. but rin is not smooth, nor is he sure how he feels about you.

it's nothing short of sickening, how you continue to take residence in his mind constantly. if he thought it was bad when he'd first started talking to you, it was a thousand times worse now. rin kind of wishes he could go back in time for the sole purpose of beating the shit out of the past him as a warning to not let you do this to him.

because, if he was being honest, he was scared. the premonition that his feelings toward you might be something like attraction was horrific because god, what was he supposed to do?

his entire life was dedicated to being the best. he was born to be on top and he'd die on that podium, looking down on everyone else. in the past, he'd cared about nothing else but winning.

his dreams, for the longest time, were plagued by pedestals and gold medals, and trophies with his last name but someone else's first. he'd fall asleep to his mind's eye envisioning blood pooling in his gut as he bled for his crown, his crown that was always out of reach.

and then you showed up in them. rin couldn't decide if you made his dreams better or worse. (okay, that was a lie- definitely better, but he's not ready to admit that quite yet.)

in the midst of his bad dreams, you'd come to him, sitting pretty on the train next to him. you'd talk but he'd never be able to remember what you said come morning.

this was bad, rin thinks, he was bad. he was awful and horrible and wrong because he should be dreaming about winning and not you. you were distracting him, being on his mind all the time. while he ran to the train stop, a task that usually cleared his tired mind, all he could picture was you, you, you, waiting for him.

that was another thing. you were waiting for him, and he couldn't not show up. rin's considered changing his routine so he could keep away from you for the sole purpose of fighting his maybe-crush and being able to focus on his sport. he's thought about not replying to your texts, which you sent every afternoon to check in and ask how he was.

but then he pictured you, alone on the train, and he couldn't. the thought of you getting friendly with anyone but him made his skin crawl. what if that boy who sat on the other side by the door tried to talk to you while he wasn't there?

no, no, rin couldn't have that. not when he liked you this much- it was far too late to let go. he'd already done this to himself.

so he keeps coming back, every single morning, just to see your face. there was no denying it anymore- rin liked you. too bad he'd never say a thing.

"rin?" your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. "what's up?"

he glares at you like he hates you, but you know better and so does he. "nothing."

you tilt your head. he stares right back at you before conceding. "the paint smudges on your sweater and stuff."

"hm. what about them?"

"your job must be hard."

if he's being honest, rin doesn't really care about what you do. he's just trying very hard to not let the fact that he was smiling thinking about you show.

"it's not that bad," you say, "well, i mean- tedious, sure. plus i hardly get paid, i'm not under contract, and they could just decide to stop paying me at any point since there's nothing making them, technically."

rin raises an eyebrow. "and you say it's not that bad?"

"it's not! really!"

"and you work with kids."

"yeah, so not that bad."

"that's worse." you make a face at him and he fights another smile because how do you do this to him so easily?

"i swear it's not as bad a job as it seems."

"it's not even a job, technically," rin points out.

"okay, okay, you can stop making fun of my position, rin."

your use of his name makes his heart do something weird and nauseating in his chest and he hates it. "whatever."

you hum in contemplation before sitting up in your seat with an idea. "how about you come with me today?"

rin stiffens. "what?"

you don't flinch at his unintentionally bittered tone, and rin feels something strange inside him again. he feels a bit like a fish out of water, being put on the spot like that.

"well, i mean- only if you're free, of course," you twist away from rin ever-so-slightly as you start to backtrack, hands finding their way to fiddle with a strand of your hair, "i don't wanna overstep or anything, and i know you're probably busy and we're just-"

"no."

rin's voice cuts you off. "oh. that's cool, i'm sorry i asked."

oh. that wasn't what he meant to say at all. "no, no, wait. i mean no, stop talking."

"oh. i said i was sorry."

he's really just digging his own grave, at this point.

"wait, wait, wait. i mean.. no, stop talking, yes, i'll go with you."

it's almost comical how you brighten up in a heartbeat, and a strange twinge of pride at the fact that his presence could do that to you zips through his chest.

"oh, i'm great. i mean- that's great. this is great. i'm so excited." you fiddle with the sleeves of your sweater and the enamel pins on your bag that he got you jingle and rin thinks that he's stupid for ever considering avoiding you.

and again- if he was a better man, he'd say so. but he's not, so he side-eyes you instead. "are you sure this is even allowed?"

"i am. as long as you're not some kind of criminal, or whatever." you look back at him, eyes creased with amusement. "you're not, yeah?"

"nope. just a few aggravated assault charges." he's only kind of joking (because injuries on the field do not count against him outside of it), and his voice is dry with sarcasm. he's not expecting you to laugh but you do, and he thinks everything he's done to lead up to this moment has been worth it.

"lovely. then you'll be fine. i hope you're good with kids, rin."

his mouth falls into a frown. he'd forgotten about that. he's about to say something but the train lurches or a stop and you're standing, prompting him to follow.

it occurs to rin that this is the first time the both of you have stood next to each other. the slight widening of your eyes at his obscene height is something that amuses him, but he chooses not to comment on.

he also keeps silent about how your beat-down and paint-smudged pair of shoes squeak ever-so-slightly as they exit the train. you move with a slight bounce in your step that makes the shoes pivot and squeal a little in a way that should irritate rin and not endear you to him the way it does.

it's only a short way to the school you work at from the train station, and you talk about menial things the whole way. rin's arms are crossed uncomfortably over his chest as he walks, and the plush insides of his deep blue sweater suddenly feel too hot, and he's feeling clammy even though the sun is hardly out.

you walk through the front office with rin in tow, tailing you while looking incredibly uncomfortable the whole time. the front office ladies chuckle like they know something he doesn't when you check him in and rin kind of wants to punch them. he doesn't, though.

when you lead him to your classroom (or, more precisely- a large storage room that was reassembled with tables and chairs to become a classroom) he's not surprised to find it colorful and bright.

the walls which aren't big windows are practically covered in various pieces- hand turkeys, landscapes, various misshapen animals, crude imitations of people- and a few pieces that are undoubtedly from a much more skilled artist. there are beautiful scenes that look like they're from movies, and there are unique interpretations that seem like they took painstakingly long to create.

he walks up to one- a faceless pair of women. one is sitting on the kitchen counter and the other stirs a bowl of something that looks like cookie dough. it's simple, it's sweet, and it's beautifully made. "you painted this?"

you're placing your bag down on the chair that sits behind the teacher's desk, which is just a repurposed old table. "i did. that's really old, though. kind of embarrassing."

"it's not." his finger traces his newest observation about the painting- your name scrawled in the corner. "it's not."

he's not looking at you, but he knows you're staring at him. he won't look back now, but he wonders what you're thinking. he imagines your quizzical expression, and he imagines the sun filtering in through the windows making you shine as you absorb every colour in the room.

he imagines you looking at him, and he thinks it's the prettiest sight he's ever thought up.

the bell rings after a beat of silence passes. the shrill noise draws you both from your stupor, and rin turns to see you walking around, busying yourself with placing a piece of thick watercolour paper on each desk.

"well," you say, and rin might be imagining it but your voice is a little choked, "we've got.. 2 classes? yeah, two. both will be 7-year-olds today. think you can deal with that?"

rin's eyes narrow. "i thought you said i wouldn't have to deal with any kids."

your face contorts into a smile. "yeah. i know. you can just sit in the back and watch. i'll get them to not bother you."

you gesture to a tiny little desk situated in the back corner of the room and rin cringes internally as he walks up to it. he sees you biting back a laugh and glares. as he takes a seat, his knees are up to his chest and his arms are draped uncomfortably over them.

"this isn't funny," he deadpans as you bite your tongue. with a humiliating amount of effort, he removes himself from the tiny chair and walks back over to the teacher's desk where you stand, crossing his arms over his chest.

"in my defense, i didn't compensate for how tall you'd be. you can just be at my desk, i don't mind."

you place your bag down onto the floor in the corner and rin moves to take your seat. all you have on your desk is a pile of books that are collecting dust, and a dingy computer setup that seemed like it was from the stone ages. there's a series of sticky notes on the black screen- he knows he shouldn't, but he reads a few.

there's a few about restocking some supplies, and even more about various lesson plans. rin thinks you put an awful lot of work into a position that technically isn't legal. and then, his eyes land on his name- in pink pen that stands out on the yellow paper, 'itoshi rin' is scrawled on with a myriad of stars and hearts and squiggles surrounding it.

rin blinks, half expecting the message to vanish. it doesn't. his hand reaches out to take the note but he's interrupted by the room door slamming open and a gaggle of children bursting in.

their teacher seems exhausted, and rightfully so, especially considering it was barely 8 in the morning. she takes a seat close to the exit and slumps over, seemingly asleep, as the students spread around the room.

they take places behind desks and fist the provided paintbrushes in their little grubby hands, chattering amongst themselves as if it's not insanely early. rin watches as you bounce around the room, conversing with the kids who call your name.

his gaze doesn't leave you once, as you move to the front of the classroom to begin your speech on today's assignment. he's only half-listening, but he catches short phrases. it's something about practicing watercolour responsibly and learning to work with a new medium.

rin's never been an art kid. he's never seen the appeal. but the way you seem so excited to be there, and so genuinely happy to teach, makes him think that he should be listening, too.

the kids start to paint, now. he notices how some of them start with a pencil, tracing crude outlines of whatever they're trying to make, while others dive headfirst into the watercolour. you weave around desks lavishing them in praise, and rin wonders what you were like when you were their age.

little feet begin to scramble around the classroom as the assigned seating chart dissolves with time. you don't seem to care all too much, continuing to help a student- a little girl, with tiny, short pigtails tied off with purple scrunchies.

he doesn't realize he's been watching you until the girl catches his eye and says something he can only kind of make out. "who's that guy lookin' at you all mean?"

her finger points straight at rin, and he promptly pretends like he was very invested in the blank screen of your 1900s computer. he sneaks a glance back to see your eyes fixed on him before returning to the girl with an awkward laugh.

"ah, him! he's.. my friend. he's just sticking with me today," you smile, and feels himself sink into the chair deeper. he's not sure what he feels at the use of the word 'friend' but he doesn't think he likes it.

but it was a fine answer. it was decent, it was true- what, did he expect more? if he did, clearly he wasn't the only one because the little girl with the pigtails gives you a look. rather loudly, she exclaims "you mean your boyfriend?"

you blanch at her words and rin's subtle gaze returns to a full-on stare as he watched your reactions. "asami, not so loud! indoor voices," you try to sound authoritative but your voice splinters and sea of little faces is suddenly turned to face you.

and then, slowly, like a horror movie, the 20-something 7-year-olds pivot to face rin.

a little voice speaks up. "you're ms. teacher's boyfriend?"

in a normal scenario, rin would probably linger on the fact that you were addressed as 'ms. teacher' as if you had no other name. but with an ocean of inquisitive eyes, yours especially, he felt a little frozen. just as he was about to snap open his mouth to say something probably cruel and snippy, you jumped in.

rushing to the front of the crowd you wave your hands frantically, trying to maintain your cheery disposition while sweating through your clothes with anxiety. "no, no! he's- he's not my boyfriend! and don't bother him, please, he doesn't.. speak the language! he's from.. germany!"

it's a bad lie. horrible, even. and it would take a fool to fall for it- either a fool or a collection of unbelievably innocent children.

"oh!" one pipes up, "is that why he's so mean and doesn't talk?"

you furrow your brow. "we don't call people mean, remember."

and just like that, everything is back to normal. or, at least, however normal this situation could be. the students resume their artistry and continue scurrying like mice around the room to show off their creations or grab fresh sheets of paper.

you walk up to rin, and he hopes his ears have turned less red at this point as you sit on the desk in front of him. "see? not so bad."

he narrows his eyes. "are we in the same room right now? did you not just see that?'

you sigh dramatically and place your hands behind you as you slouch back. "maybe they're right. you are mean."

"okay?"

"you should be ashamed of yourself, y'know."

"you really do sound like a schoolteacher." at this you laugh and swat at his shoulder, eliciting a tiny could-be smile from rin. "never say that to me again."

and it seems like cutting rin off is a fun activity, because a little boy with messy brown hair skips up to the desk and basically shouts, "hello!"

the thing is, he's not talking to you- he's talking to rin. big, doe eyes are fixed on the striker expectantly, and he rolls back and forth on heels while clutching something in his hands behind his back.

rin blinks. "hi."

he sounds mean, he's sure, and definitely not german, but the kid doesn't seem to notice or care. "i think germ-in-ey is so neat! i made you this!"

the country is pronounced like he's speaking with rocks in his mouth but the boy's smile is bright and he holds a kind-of crumbled piece of watercolour paper in his hands.

it's still dripping and incredibly poorly done. what appears to be a house? or a building of some kind? is splattered onto a green line that might be grass. a blob that could be a body if you squinted hard enough is attached to a big oval with messy dark hair, angry eyebrows paired with neon blue eyes, and the biggest eyelashes the world has ever seen. they extended from all the way inside the eye to the sticks that rin supposes must be hands.

a random rectangle with doodles inside is in the top left corner. a little label reads 'german flag' in pencil.

rin blinks at the paper and looks dully at the kid. he feels your eyes staring into him, too, and he opens his mouth before closing it again, unsure of what to say.

"this looks bad," he speaks before he knows what's coming, eyes widening at his own words. a deep pit of guilt opens in his stomach as the boy retracts his hands with the paper. oh, my god, what did he just say?

he is unbelieveably lucky that you are still next to him at that moment, because you jump in to save the day yet again:

"haru! don't worry about him- he's german, remember? he doesn't know how to say what he means! bad in german actually just.. uh.. means really, really good!"

the boy instantly brightens up again, like a wilting flower back in bloom. "really? that's so cool! i didn't know they spoke german in germ-in-ey!"

you return his bright smile. "how crazy! what a small world!"

the little boy skips away, leaving his masterpiece in your hands, and rin lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"oh, wow," you say with a sparkle of amusement in your eyes, "i didn't know you were this horrid with kids."

a grumble of annoyance leaves him, but he's more embarrassed than anything at this point. "and i didn't know i was german."

you shrug. "it was the first thing that came to mind. it worked, didn't it?"

rin ignores your question. "i can't believe you let that kid go off thinking 'bad' means good. he's gonna go around telling everyone that."

"i.. did not consider this," you purse your lips, "it's his teacher's problem. i don't even work here, technically."

"so you're a random person who comes onto campus and spreads lies to children."

a smile splits your face. "at least i'm a nice liar."

"nice?"

"oh. ouch. okay, thanks rin."

and he exhales, and it's no longer just a half-smile, because you see it so clearly on his face- the way his lips turn up at your words as he speaks. "yeah. anytime."

it's then that itoshi rin has a moment of infinite clarity- he's fallen for you. he doesn't like that fact, nor does he understand the intricacies of this romance.

he likes you. that's all there is to it. rin doesn't see why there needs to be any more. it's not like he'll tell you and even though the feeling of repressed and realized emotions in his chest is something a little unbearable, he's dealt with worse. and he thinks he'd rather keep his mornings beautiful than run the risk of messing it all up.

so rin thinks he'll settle for being in your background, as he watches you hop off the desk and move to help the students as they finish their paintings and clean up.

they sing a stupid jingle about keeping things neat that makes you laugh in the way you do where your head tips back just a little, and rin swears it's his favourite sound in the world.

it's another hour and another class before you're finally done with your work. the second one was thankfully a lot less strenuous for rin- none of the students paid him much mind at all, save for the occasional curious glance every so often.

"bye ms. teacher!" the final student belted before leaving, slamming the door with a resounding thud. you wave cheerfully and take a deep breath as soon as the kid is out of sight. "and we're done! how was that, rin? you just got the full fake-teacher experience."

rin stands from his place behind your desk and stretches out his limbs, slightly sore from being in one place for so long. "as bad as i thought it'd be."

"you're always so negative."

"glad you noticed."

you roll your eyes and grab a spray bottle and washcloths off the highest shelves. "help me clean?"

wordlessly, he catches the rag you toss and the other bottle. the two of you work in silence for a few moments, wiping down the desks that the students had done their best at keeping neat. the only noises were the muffled sounds of the cafeteria during lunchtime outside and the ever-present squeaks your shoes made.

the lighting through the window lit the scene golden and turned all the colors and textures and works in your classroom even more beautiful. and not just them- rin thinks that you look breathtaking in the sunlight. a part of him suspects that it was invented just for you.

"what did you think?"

rin looks up at your voice. "hm?"

"what did you think? about this, i mean."

he looks at you for a moment. this is a new expression, the one you're wearing- at least, one he's never been able to observe unobstructed. you almost seem bashful, in the sunlight, refusing to meet his eyes.

"i think," he says, and he's so careful because he thinks he'd die of embarrassment if he misspoke and insulted you again, "that this makes sense."

"what?"

he frowns, not wanting to explain himself. "you loving this. it makes sense."

"i actually have no idea what you mean by that."

he scoffs, "whatever," but you keep pushing, curiously leaning over the table and placing your washcloth down.

"you can't just 'whatever' me. i'm curious now."

"you're irritating."

"i'm aware." you keep looking at him and it's no surprise to him when his conviction crumbles into dust and ash.

"you just seem like an art person." he tries and fails to get his point across. you raise a brow. "are you profiling me? what, do i seem like your starving artist trope?"

"no, no," he grumbles, "like, you're.."

and he's not sure.

rin has no idea how to follow up his words. because he thinks so many things of you- he thinks you're kind, in ways he will never be, and he thinks you're pretty enough to rival the sun, and he thinks you're flat out lovely- but he can't convey it all into one word.

"you're just you," he says. it's a simple statement, said with a conviction that doesn't match the quiet tone of his voice. he speaks softly, like he's afraid you might disappear if he was too loud.

blinking, you meet his gaze, and rin hopes you can see yourself how he sees you in the reflection. he hopes you see yourself like gold, and all the colours in the world, and as the essence of creativity- he hopes you know that he sees you as art, plain and simple.

but your expression is unreadable. he wonders if his is, too. and rin also wonders what you see when you look at him, because you're suddenly inhaling sharply and pivoting, busing yourself with straightening up jaws that don't really need to be fixed.

"well, rin," you say, and your voice is a pitch higher, "i didn't mean to keep you so long. i'm sorry you got held up here."

you're laughing, but it sounds strained, and rin wishes he could go up and smooth whatever's bothering you out from your skin, but that's creepy so he'd rather not.

"i didn't stay so long because you made me or anything. i wanted to."

"oh." you freeze for a split second before continuing to scrub a little too vigorously, "uh. thanks."

"i like your paintings," he blurts out. it's not fitting as a response, and he should've just said 'you're welcome' and moved on with his life, but he feels like he needs to say something, and relieve at least a fraction of the burden off his chest. he likes your paintings, and he likes you, but he can't say that quite yet.

"oh! i didn't take you as an art connoisseur."

"i'm not."

and he was telling the truth- rin knew virtually nothing about art. he remembers his own experiences with the subject, all limited to his pre-teen years in school, where he'd been forced to make whatever the teacher commanded.

his work had always been lopsided and a little fugly, but in the spirit of learning no one had ever said anything. it was always 'that's so good!' or 'you're so creative!' or 'nice cat!' when it was meant to be a tree.

"not even a little bit?" you hum as you lean onto your tiptoes, struggling to push a bottle of cleaning solution back into the space. rin moves to your side, placing it on for you. he misses how you go breathless at his actions.

"was never an art kid," he says simply.

you purse your lips in that stupid way he's noticed you do when something doesn't go right, and shake your head. "i don't buy it."

he raises an eyebrow. "what?"

"i don't believe that."

"you're just.. rejecting my statement?"

"yeah. everyone's an art kid."

rin considers your words before shaking his head. "no. you're just weird."

rolling your eyes, you're suddenly gone again to the front of the classroom, rifling through a set of overworked cabinets that seem to be bursting at the seams. you come back to the desk rin was standing by with a full arm of various supplies- he recognizes paper, canvas, pencils, gouache paints, and brushes.

"everyone's an art kid," you repeat, "you just never had anyone show you right."

"you sound fucking crazy."

"yeah, probably," you reply, motioning for him to sit down on the chair. he complies, and you hop up to take a seat on the desk again.

"and cheesy as hell. like a stupid nickelodeon character."

"that's a little far. be nicer to me! i'm about to give you free painting lessons."

"ones that i didn't ask for."

you sit back on your hands. "you could leave if you wanted."

rin is silent. you smile. "lessons it is."

‧̍̊ ˙ · 𓆝 . ° ｡ ˚ 𓆛 ˚ ｡ ° . 𓆞 · ˙ ‧̍̊

you might have been a little bit incorrect in your approach. rin is kind of a little bit hopeless with art.

"just a straight line," you're practically begging, "just one. you can do it."

rin proceeds to draw another very un-straight line to go with all the other ones on the piece of paper.

that was okay, though! maybe pencils just weren't for him. you could live with that. you'd brought out some paints just for this possibility, after all.

painting is difficult to mess up. you slap some colors on a canvas, call it modern art, and you're set- that was your philosophy. anyone could paint. anyone, you now think, except for itoshi rin.

"are you colourblind?" you say, and you're not trying to be mean, you're genuine, because he had just used the most horrendous choice of color palate he could have had.

"shut up," he scowls, covering his face with his hands. "you're a shit teacher."

you gawk at him. "how is this on me?"

"your stupid 'art kid' philosophy. plus, you've just been staring, not teaching."

you frown. okay, yeah, maybe you had been a little bit stare-y, but it's not really your fault. he just has one of those faces that would be criminal not to stare at. an idea pops up in your mind, and you hop off the desk.

rin turns his head to follow you as you move behind him. "what are you doing?"

"i'm teaching," you bite back playfully, leaning over his figure. you take a hold of his hand with the paintbrush, and you're both so close that you can hear his heartbeat speeding up inside of his chest. you wonder if he can feel yours do the same.

your hand ghosts his before you take a hold, grabbing it gently. his palms are warm and his whole body seems to radiate heat. the skin of his hand is rough and calloused.

"like this," you instruct, dragging the brush slowly across the canvas. it's already a smoother, straighter line than his previous ones. rin remains speechless, but he lets you take control of his movements. you direct him gently and he moves in return, like a slow dance on canvas.

after some time, a scene is playing out on the formerly blank space before the both of you. it's the classroom, complete with the yellowed lighting of the sun coming through the windows and the blocks of color to represent the various works hanging on the walls. it's a crude imitation of reality, but a piece of you and a piece of him, and you think that makes it beautiful.

"see?" you say, breaking the silence, "you did that."

you move to release your grip on rin's hand but he clasps his other one over it without thinking. you blink at him. he lets go, embarrassed.

"you did most of the work," he shrugs off, but it feels like he's just talking to himself, "i was just there."

"hm. you're right, but come on! give yourself some credit."

your attempt to lighten the heavy tension in the air falls onto deaf ears. "i should go," he mumbles, standing.

"oh."

"bye." his words lack the usual edge, and he seems more confused than upset. still, you wonder if you've overstepped and a pit forms in your stomach.

"bye," you say, but he's already out the door.

you try not to be too upset about it, but it's a little difficult. you've liked rin since before you even knew his name, and you were far too stubborn to let it go just yet.

you'd been almost 100% he felt the same, too. but again, your pride wouldn't allow you to make the first move. and his reaction to the closeness didn't bode well for your intentions.

a surge of disappointment consumes your chest and everything suddenly feels a lot heavier. your regular cable-knit feels itchy and too hot on your skin. you bite your tongue.

your friends have mocked you for your infatuation with this faceless 'itoshi rin.' they've encouraged you to move on from this crush that was seemingly going nowhere until almost a month ago, even going as far as to try and set you up with someone. maybe you should finally look into that offer,

you sigh to yourself and flop back onto the hard wood of the desk. oh well, you think, you'll see him tomorrow anyway.

the next week of early morning train rides is missing something.

rin notices it almost right away- how you sit a little farther from him, you you're just a little more skittish and quick to leave. it's a stab in the gut every single time, and he's not sure how he can mend the undeniable rift forming between the both of you.

he's not sure what happened. was it his leaving? had that upset you? why?

the invisible wound of unspoken words festered like mould as the morning conversations grew shorter and stiffer, and he felt helpless like he never had before.

and then, you bring something up that makes his heart plummet.

"this afternoon? i think i have a date, actually."

he shouldn't be mad. he shouldn't be upset. but doesn't he have the right? the person he likes, and ew, he hates admitting that, is going on a date with someone else.

"oh."

"mhm. my best friend's friend- she's been trying to get me to go out with him for ages."

"oh."

"tomorrow night, i think it is."

"hm."

"i hope it goes well."

"why?"

again, rin's mouth runs separately from his conscience. he wants to hit himself. you have no obligation to answer, because the both of you are just friends, maybe even less.

you blink, looking over at him. "i mean.. why not?"

the rest of the train ride continues in awkward silence until you get off. you give him a brief smile but you don't say goodbye, and rin watches your figure walk away until the train starts again and he can't anymore.

there is a very strange emotion, that rin is experiencing. he recognizes parts of it- that same bitter, green envy that curls around his lungs and squeezes til he can't breathe. he's familiar, but never in this context.

and then there's something darker that hurts his chest. it reminds him of growing pains, and of valentine's day, and of things he never thought he could have wanted. it reminds rin of you, and he is so, so distraught.

that afternoon, he waits for your text. usually, your messages are usual, like clockwork. you'd message him around 1 when you were on the train ride home, either to update him about your day or send him a game pigeon game.

he always indulged your messages, and he'd never let you see but you were one of the pinned contacts on his phone.

that day, however, your text never comes.

he's so pathetic for how he sits in the locker room at 2, alone, staring at his phone screen. he's sad for how he's taking a break from practicing at 3 just in case you message. he's stupid for how he spends the next few hours just waiting for a notification that he knows will probably never come.

it's 10 now, and rin has never felt more tired.

he's about to go to bed, having his night clothes lined up on his bed and brushing his teeth in the bathroom mirror. it was an average, regular day- there was nothing special nor abnormal, but everything just felt so wrong.

he wonders if you were on your date then, as he spits his toothpaste into the sink. he wonders what you wore- if you donned your white cable-knit or your squeaky paint-smudged shoes. he wonders if you carried the bag he got you, pins and all. he wonders if your date held open the door like he would have, or if he joked around with you like he did (kind of.)

rin wonders where you were. he wonders if you were okay.

and then, his phone rings.

your name lights up his screen and suddenly, he's not so exhausted. he answers a little too haistily on the 1st ring.

"hello?"

there's a short pause, but he can hear the way your breath comes in short huffs on the other side of the line. this was strange- the both of you had never called before.

"rin?" your voice is crackly in a way he could accredit to the poor reception wherever you were, but something in his heart wrenches and there's an undertone that is undeniably distress in your voice.

"yeah? what's up?" he's already bustling around his home, though, grateful he hasn't changed yet as he pulls out his shoes.

"are you doing anything?"

"no," he lies.

"i'm sorry then, 'cause i know it's late, but- um, yeah. i'm about to get on the train. like usual, just the night one. but, i don't want to bother you, so-"

"no. keep going."

another silence follows rin's words before you continue. "could you.. come here? i know it's dumb, askin' you to ride the train here just to come back with me but," and your voice cracks, "i don't really want to be alone right now."

rin exhales. he's already outside, walking briskly through the cold night air with his free hand stuffed in his jeans pockets as he makes his way to the train stop.

"i'm on my way."

‧̍̊ ˙ · 𓆝 . ° ｡ ˚ 𓆛 ˚ ｡ ° . 𓆞 · ˙ ‧̍̊

when rin gets on the night train, you're the only other passenger on board. you're huddled up in your usual seat with your knees drawn up to your chin and eyes misty with something dismal. you look at rin and he's heartbroken for you, because nothing should ever make you this upset.

but you offer him a weak grin and move to sit normally, patting his seat next to you. he notes that you are indeed carrying the same bag he got you.

the new distance isn't present when he takes his place beside you. in fact, he's so close tonight that he can almost feel your thigh brush his. he eyes you cautiously, unsure how to begin. thankfully, you answer his questions before he needs to ask.

"remember my date?" rin nods. how could he forget?

"it was kind of awful," you concede with a watery laugh. "he was all fine, at first- but i just wasn't interested. he asked for a second date, and i said no thanks- he just- he yelled at me. called me all sorts of things. i dunno."

his heart tightens in his chest as you keep going. "it's not a big deal but i didn't really- i'm not sure. i'm not sure."

he doesn't think too much about his next actions, as his hand curls around your shoulder. you're all too complacent, letting yourself be pulled into the warm fabric of his crewneck. he hopes you can hear his heartbeat pick up its pace. he hopes yours does the same.

rin allows you to bury yourself in his warmth, to acquaint yourself for a few moments before he starts talking. "last week i went to the grocery store and i saw this lady with her cats," he said.

you glance up at him quizically but his arm holds fast, keeping you there as he continues: "she was old. probably too old to be toting around all those groceries.

"i would've offered to help but then i took another look- she was ripped."

a muffled laugh escapes you. "for real?"

"yeah. i mean it."

"a ripped old lady with cats, huh? what was she getting?"

"blueberries."

he thinks he feels your smile against the fabric of his clothes. "blueberries. that's nice."

"and just a few days ago, i think, i was on my run and i passed by this apartment, right?"

"mhm."

"and i hear yelling. so i stop."

"yeah?"

"on the balcony of the apartment, there was this woman and some guy. they were in their 20s, i think. and she was screaming at him."

"oh? what about?"

your voice is thickening again, but this time with exhaustion. the occurrences of your day were finally weighing on you, rin presumes. he keeps talking.

"something about him being unfaithful. then she threw his gaming console off the balcony."

"oh," you say, with a slight yawn, "that sounds so funny. i wish i was there."

"me too."

rin really should break this habit he's beginning to form. it definitely isn't a great idea to share all his innermost thoughts with you always- but lucky for him, you seem too tired to notice the accidental compliment.

"good for her," you mumble.

"good for her," he repeats.

you tilt prop your chin up on him to meet his gaze. your eyes are heavy with exhaustion and bags are formed beneath your eyes, and your hair is frazzled and messy but rin thinks this might be the prettiest he's ever seen you.

you're dead on your feet, but you're still looking at him. you're feeling so many things and you're still you. his hand absentmindedly flutters accross the back of your head to flatten your hair as you begin to speak.

"you're so nice." is all you say. rin looks at you, incredulous.

"you are," you insist, breaking away from him for a moment with your hand pushing yourself off of his chest. "you wanted to help that old woman. you heard yelling and stopped in case someone needed help. you're here at 10pm after i messed everything up."

rin blinks.

you've always been the kind of person to make him think. you made him reconsider his own future, his capacity for love, his interest in romance- you made him think about it all. but there was one thing that was a constant, that he didn't think even you could make him reconsider- the fact that he wasn't a good person.

it's then that it dawns upon itoshi rin- he doesn't see himself as worth loving. his life's purpose was success, and without it, was he even worth caring about? and on top of all that, he was cruel.

he cared about no one. he was blunt, and he was unfriendly, and when he was in school people walked away. the neighborhood kids all hid from him, and his teammates never bothered to even try and introduce him to new faces anymore.

itoshi rin was mean and cruel, a fact that he had decided for himself and then been enforced by the people around him. itoshi rin was not worth anything without a gold medal to demonstrate his value. itoshi rin was not worth caring about, because he'd just hurt you. itoshi rin didn't think himself even capable of wanting anything but to win.

and itoshi rin was proven wrong the day he met you.

because he'd fallen for you, with your shoddy footwear and worn-out zip-up that could hardly be considered white anymore. he'd fallen for you and the way you always had something to say, and he'd fallen for you, who could see the art in anything- even hideous artwork made by unskilled 7-year-olds, even teenage boys who couldn't find it in themselves to admit that they loved you.

you must've changed him, he thinks, or at least brought out a part of him that he'd long since forgotten had existed. because now, on this train at 10 pm with you still staring at him with intent, tired eyes- he thinks he sees it, too, in a way that he thinks you might've been trying to get him to see from perhaps the very beginning.

he sees himself, itoshi rin, as artwork. and he sees you- the artist.

it's beautiful, how the world explodes into colour at that moment. the night sky outside the train window has never been quite so beautiful, and he thinks he can see all the stars in the world even though he's not even looking at them. his eyes are trained on yours, and there's nothing left to do, say, or realize, so he just pulls you back into himself and keeps talking.

"and then two days ago, i think, i was at practice. and my teammate opens his locker, and a squirrel falls out. nanase- that's his name- was terrified."

it's almost comical, how the roles have reversed. usually, you were the storyteller, and he was the patient listener. he doesn't remember the last time he spoke to someone in such a one-sided fashion for so long, but he doesn't really care anymore.

"apparently it was bachira. no one was really surprised."

he looks down at you, and you're finally asleep. your breathing is even, and he can only partially see your face. your cheeks are patchy from previous tears, but the way your features are relaxed amends for the hurt. his hand holds your head close, still, fingers absently massaging your scalp.

the silence carries on for a few beats. he watches your inhales and exhales when you do. when he finally talks, he's even quieter.

"i missed talking to you," he finally admits. it's almost as if he's admitting this to himself rather than you, with the way he leaves the words to hang in the air.

"so much," he adds, "it was fucking gross."

he continues to speak. perhaps this was his confession- he'd tell you his truths, the fact that he liked you, and the fact that he'd never be able to say it to your face. he doesn't see the harm, not on the empty night train with just him to hear.

"when we were all.. distant. i hated that. i had so much to say to you. i guess i always have. because," he lets an aggravated sigh, "i just didn't know.

"you're rubbing off on me, i guess. you and your stupid.. i dunno. just you. you make me so weird inside."

he pauses like he's waiting for you to say something, even though he knows you can't even register his words. he frowns and rewinds:

"that day. a week and a day ago. i left.

"you were so close to my face, so close to me- i dunno. i guess- i guess i just panicked. because i shouldn't like you. you're so.. you. and i'm nowhere near that. so i left.

"i wanted to kiss you. i want to all the time, it's fucking awful. when you told me about your date today? i hated every second of that. i just wanted to tell you but i couldn't. i don't know why, though.

"i still can't tell you. don't know if i will. but it's out there, now. i like you," rin laments, the last words foreign and unwelcome on his tongue.

"i like you. i like you a lot."

rin thinks his words should be followed by silence. he thinks that they'll hang and vanish in the air like his breathe, and he thinks it'll be gone forever, just like that. he thinks the next morning, he'll find a new morning routine and delete your contact.

but your breath hitches, and your body stiffens ever so slightly against rin's as his confession exits his lips. rin freezes, his hand falling dormant in the air behind your head.

you rise from his chest, and an empty cavity of dread is left in your place. the quiet is so poignant that you could hear a hairpin drop. he stares at you. you stare at him.

"rin," you start slowly, voice rough around the edges with sleep.

(the train rumbles distantly in the background. faintly, rin wonders when his stop would be.)

"you like me?"

he is silent. you blink once. then twice. and then you move. from your place next to him, you take his hand in both of yours and shift it to your lap.

"you like me."

it's not so much of a question now as it is an answer. your skin is cold against his, and it reminds him of the afternoon spent in your classroom where he learned of his limits for the first time.

"and you said you want to kiss me all the time," you continue, and rin thinks he'd be utterly humiliated if he wasn't so frozen.

"so why don't you?"

your question is one that lingers, hanging in the air like a heavy mist or smoke, and his lungs feel like they're being weighed down by the steeled sky.

you're right for asking, because why didn't he? why had he run, that day in your classroom? why had he let you grow so distant from him in the week that followed?

rin has always been one for pushing his limits. even when his body was broken over his sport, but he kept going because that was what was right to do. it was his purpose, and he didn't matter much outside of that.

but things were different now that he'd met you. rin decides that he just might be worth something more than a victory, because you look at him with a reverence, an affection, that tells him that he's maybe more than that.

you hold his hand in yours like it's glass, and your expression is soft with a curious lilt, and his hand is on your side and traveling to your back, and his other one is in your hair, and his lips are pressed on yours like he needs you, because fuck it, rin decides, he's never cared much for limitations anyway.

you kiss him back before long. it's messy and crude, and all teeth and bumping noses, and a long time in the making. you pull away before he does and he chases your lips like a starved man. but you duck your face into the crook of his neck, body as close as you could manage on the uncomfortable train seat. he feels you laugh into his neck, and he can't help the smile that spreads on his face.

"fucking finally," he says quietly, more to himself than you.

"finally," you agree, as the train slows to a stop. you glance up to check the destination- oh. it's your stop- your apartment block was only a short walk from here.

"this is where i am," you say, trying to find it in yourself to stand up. rin beats you to it, emerging from his seat and pulling you with him.

"i'm walking you home." he's no longer holding your hand, but his pinky finger is interlaced with yours, and he gives a surprisingly firm tug as he ushers you to the exit. "let's go."

you skitter along right behind him as the cold air rushes against his face, planting rosy, frosty kisses against his skin. you swing your joined arms with a wicked grin like you know it'll annoy him but he's not about to tell you to stop.

and if rin thought you were the prettiest in your classroom, or prettiest on the train, he was sorely mistaken because you're nothing short of gorgeous now, in the night air holding his hand, with a big, dopey grin on your face and his name on your lips.

he thinks he'd like to kiss you again, so he stops in his tracks on the sidewalk. you lurch to a halt, and call his name questioningly. he kisses you again because he can now, and you kiss him back, and he can do this again, and again, and again, because what's stopping him now?

the weeks following the emergence of your newly formed relationship are nothing short of blissful.

neither of you discussed your relationship status- it was just implied that he was your boyfriend now, because rin is almost sure he'd implode if he had to consider his feelings any longer.

your routines had both amended themselves around each other. every day, you'd meet on the morning train. he'd come to your classroom and sit through your lessons with you, and the both of you would go to either your apartment, his house, or whatever other destination was on one of your to-do lists. he'd go off for practice in the afternoons, but he never missed you too much.

he knew your texts would be waiting to be answered, without fail, and he knew you'd always be waiting for his call. and it felt nice to have someone- someone who cared for him, someone to call his own, someone who waited for him, someone he'd won.

rin thinks that he'd follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked, and especially if you didn't. he sees it as mature and responsible- someone has to keep you in check. you just call him clingy.

this is how he finds himself at a farmer's market. it's bustling, and nostalgic, and crowded, and probably not his scene. but you're there, so he'll make it work.

"oh, there's so many things. uh, let's see," you fumble with your phone, pulling up your list from your phone, "naomi can't have peanuts. asami is allergic to.. strawberries? how sad. and hiroshi will probably start crying if he sees cucumber. god, kids get weirder and weirder by the day."

you've been roped into helping host the graduation party for this year's oldest elementary students, most of which you knew by name. you'd been stuck with the food prep which rin didn't really understand assigning to you, since it's presumably the hardest task and you're not even a real employee.

"what's left, then?"

"uh.. i think we can make blueberry pie or something. and if they don't like it, it's not my fault because i tried."

"i'm not helping."

"no, no. you are. you don't have a choice in this."

he scoffs, and is about to reply, when-

"ms. teacher! hi, hi! hi!"

a little tiny pair of legs attached to a blur of brown hair as a small boy hurtles into your legs, capturing you into a hug the best he can. you let out a huff as the wind is knocked out of you.

looking down, rin recognizes the same kid- the same one who had made the watercolour painting of him and was surprised that they spoke german in 'germ-in-ey'.

"haru? hi yourself! what're you doing here?"

you almost instantly kneel down to meet his eyes and haru immediately giggles and taps the side of your head. "bonk, bonk!"

you laugh. "that isn't an answer, buddy."

the boy rocks back and forth on the heels of his feet with his hands fidgeting with each other in front of him, and rin is both enamoured by your endless warmth and feeling very out of place, standing awkwardly behind you like a scared child.

"my mama runs a fruit shore. yum, fruit! 'nd, i get to ex-spore! 'cause they're all busy with the fruit shore!"

"really? how cool!"

"yeah, yeah! 'nd, why are you here ms. teacher?"

you pretend to be in deep contemplation, tapping your finger on your chin. "well, if i tell you, you've got to keep it a secret, 'kay?"

"pinky swear! swear it!"

"it's for a surprise party."

haru looks like you just told him nuclear secrets. "oh my gosh!"

he squirms where he stands, running around in circles. "a sur-pies party! a sur-pies party!"

and then he stills, looking at you with the utmost serious expression that cracks a grin onto even rin's face. "i swear i won't tell anyone about your sur-pies party."

"thank you very much, haru. i appreciate it," you reply, with equal seriousness.

and then, haru's eyes wander over to rin.

"mr. germ-in-ey!"

rin cringes. he wasn't mentally prepared for this, not today. "hi."

haru seems to have forgotten that people from germany tend to speak german, because he converses with rin like there's no implicit barrier there. "hey, hi! i didn't know you went outside the school!"

rin's brows furrow and you stand, laughing. "what?"

"you're always in ms. teacher's classroom. in the back, all sad."

he frowns. "i'm not sad."

haru surveys him, and he feels a little ridiculous getting once-overed by a 7-year-old. "no," haru agrees, "not anymore!"

at this, you chime in. "oh? what changed?"

rin glares at you over his shoulder and you return with a bemused expression. haru mimics your previous posture, with his hands on his chin like he's stroking a beard.

"you guys are in love!"

you freeze, shooting up straight with wide eyes. rin stares at the kid.

"come again, haru?" you manage to choke out, perhaps hoping that you heard him wrong.

"you guys are in L-O-E-V-E!" haru sings the words out, spelling it wrong but still reinforcing his previous statement.

rin is flabbergasted, and you choke on your saliva. bystanders are beginning to look at the scene unfolding, and you attempt to straighten yourself out while rin takes a step away.

"uh, haru," you say, letting out a breath and an awkward laugh, "why don't you go find your mom? tell her i say hi."

haru hums before nodding like he'd entirely forgotten the previous conversation. he scuttles away with the speed of a scared cat. rin directs his gaze to you and shoots you a look.

"your students are so fucking strange."

you sigh, "yeah. yeah, they are."

he pauses. and lets out the heaviest, most resigned sigh he thinks he's ever managed before. "but they're not wrong."

you look at him blankly, before you process his words. and then you're positively beaming as rin makes a face.

"ugh, gross. forget i said that. that was vile."

"awh, rin!" you say, disregarding his statement, "you're so cute! so, so cute!"

you close the distance between him and you, and he ducks his face away but makes no real effort to move. "i hate you so much."

"i don't think so," you hum, getting infinitely closer to his face. he's sure you can feel the heat radiating off him at your proximity, as you continue: "i think that you are obsessed with me."

your lips are ghosting the corner of his mouth and he doesn't realize he was holding his breath until you pull away, eyes suddenly wide with realization.

"oh my god," you say, all the teasing removed from your voice and instead replaced with a daunting sobriety, "haru is going to tell the entire class. the entire school."

rin blinks. "okay? and?"

"no, you don't get it!" you grab his arm, a genuine terror that is almost comical shining in them. "i'm going to be trampled."

your boyfriend shrugs. "i don't see how that's my issue."

"you idiot. you come with me every day."

"so?"

"you're never going to know peace again."

rin finally gets it, and he frowns deeper than he thinks he ever has. "i'm breaking up with you, then. no way am i dealing with that."

you roll your eyes and sigh, and rin laughs- it's quiet and short but real and genuine, and he sees the love brimming in your eyes as you follow his movements.

"god, i love you."

your words catch him off guard. but he takes your hand as a response. rin doesn't think he can say it back, not right now- but you know he does, and this time, so does he.

because rin loves you, and you love him, simple as that. there are no limits, there are no rules- just brushstrokes on a canvas, just an artist and a muse.

in that moment, in the middle of the bustling farmer's market, you and rin are all alone, and he thinks to himself: he would spend forever counting the passengers on a train if it meant he would meet you.

he'd spend years if he had to, waiting for his girl, the one with a white worn-out zip-up and shoes that were on their last few wears, and a denim bag smeared with paint and decorated with pins, and a smile to rival the sun.

he'd give it all to meet you again, and he'd give even more if you asked. in truth, there's nothing he wouldn't do to fall in love with you all over again- but he doesn't need to imagine, because you make it happen every day.

because truly, it may have started in just a few mornings, but it would always end with you.

(3 weeks later, mrs. sato appears on the morning train again.

you and rin are seated in conversation, bodies turned towards each other as he listens to your words. you're both interrupted when the train doors shut and a voice calls your name.

"ah, what have i missed! do my eyes deceive me, or is there a lovely new couple in my presence?"

you grin at her arrival. "oh my gosh, mrs. sato?"

the older woman hobbles over to sit down in front of you. "you have so much to tell me," she states, wrinkled smile gleaming with childlike joy.

rin frowns. why is it such a common trend to make him the 3rd wheel in his own relationship?

rin listens in as you narrate the course of your relationship, thankfully skipping out some more personal pieces, with a pink face and blood warming the tips of his ears.

and in turn, you learn that in mrs. sato's absence, she'd been partying all over the bahamas on a cruise, making a few crude and suggestive jokes about ship crew boys. "ah, but i can't say that anymore, can i? not with your boyfriend here. girl talk."

rin crosses his arms over his chest, looking and feeling a bit ridiculous with your bag on his laugh. mrs. sato cackles. he thinks she reminds him of a witch, just a little.

"ah, well, i hope you didn't miss me too much, dear. i'm off again- to jamaica this time!" mrs. sato exclaims and you smile supportively even though rin can tell you're more amused than anything.

"when do you leave?"

"tonight," she laughs, "i'm going to the airport right now."

when mrs. sato leaves and bids you and rin farewell with a hug and wink respectively. rin looks at you questioningly. "i can't believe you speak to her."

you grimace. "she's terrifying. i think if i wasn't friendly she'd hunt me down."

"probably. wouldn't be hard."

"i should send you to jamaica with her."

"i'd take some cruise boys over you any day."

"i'd pick them over you, too"

rin smiles. his hand taps a rhythm onto your knee. "so what're we doing today?"

"after school, i think it's finally time i buy new shoes. it's been long enough."

he frowns. "i like your shoes."

"they're like, a million years old. there's a hole in the sole."

"oh."

"you can pick them, since you clearly seem to think your fashion sense is better than mine."

"it is, actually."

"you're horrible, y'know that?"

"yep."

the train stops, and you stand before he does. you extend your hand for him to take.

he takes it without hesitation.)

##: if you read this long, hey! writing this actually made me insane i'm not gonna lie! but it's finally out, and genuinely would mean the world if u left a like, reblog, or comment :,) feedback keeps me motivated!

#blue lock x reader #itoshi rin x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock #bllk #bllk rin #rin itoshi #rin x reader #itoshi x reader #reader insert

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hedgehog-moss · 1 year

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On the eve of planned nationwide demonstrations, I want to offer an overview of the ways the protests in France are being handled by the government so far (and if what you’ve heard is that this is over a 2 year increase in retirement age, please do take a minute to read this post to get a better idea of the context)

1. In Paris on March 21, a CRS (cop) threw a tear gas grenade in the air towards protesters (they’re supposed to throw them near the ground); the grenade landed and exploded on a protester’s head. (x)

2. Massive use of tear gas at every protest, on this vid from March 17 you can see the Place de la Concorde (largest public square in Paris) drowned in tear gas. (x)

3. In Paris on March 20, video of a CRS with a baton hitting protesters who are cowering against a wall (x)

4. CRS grabbing demonstrators in (illegal) chokeholds and dragging them by the neck (x)

5. In Strasbourg on March 21, police trapped about a hundred protesters in a narrow alleyway and tear gassed them from both ends of the alley so they couldn’t escape; an asthmatic person lost consciousness; people who lived there opened their doors and let the protesters enter their houses to get to safety. (x)

6. In Paris on March 20, a CRS shot a protester with an LBD riot gun (rubber bullets) and shouted at him “Pick up your balls now, fucker” (x) (an allusion to the several instances in recent years of protesters having testicle injuries from LBD guns - and non-protesters too, in 2015 a Muslim teenage boy lost a testicle after being shot by a cop with rubber bullets when he was shooting firecrackers in a park on July 14th / Bastille day). A few seconds later in the video another CRS tells the one who said that “careful there’s a camera”

7. In Paris on March 21, a group of 4 or 5 CRS who were dispersing demonstrators, threw a homeless man to the ground who had been shouting at them (hard to hear what he said, the first sentence is “How can you do this job?”), kicking him in the head while he was down and mocking him when he couldn’t get up, calling him a ‘fatso’ and ‘sack of shit’ (the woman you can hear at the end of the video is yelling at the CRS to help the guy get up and telling them “do you lack humanity to this point?”) (x)

8. That same day Macron gave a speech on TV in which he said “the crowd [= the protesters] has no legitimacy against the people, who express themselves through their elected representatives” even though he passed his reform without a vote from the elected representatives—and considering polls show the vast majority (>70%) of the country is against the reform, the “people” and the “crowd” are one and the same. Today (March 22) he gave another TV speech in which he compared what’s happening in France right now to the January 6 US capitol attack.

9. During today’s speech Macron also said “minimum-wage workers have never seen such an increase in purchasing power” which is a mad thing to say in the middle of a cost of living crisis, and he used the term ‘smicard’ in this sentence— the minimum wage in France is called the SMIC and smicard is a derogatory word for minimum-wage workers. He decried the “extreme, unregulated violence” of protesters but had nothing to say about the unregulated violence of his police forces, and instead stoked the fire with contemptuous language that angers people the day before a planned mass protest.

10. Hundreds of protesters (and even people who weren’t protesting but just nearby) have been arrested and taken into custody in “preventative arrests”; the vast majority were then released due to “absence of an offence.” Here’s a thread by a woman who was arrested in Paris along with 11 other women (one was a 17 year-old girl) for taking part in a peaceful protest. They spent 20 hours all in one cell, were only allowed to go to the toilet if they left the door open, were frisked and had their fingerprints and DNA samples taken. Also, in Nantes on March 14, four young women age 18-20 reported having been sexually assaulted by police during body searches while participating in a student protest.

And a thread by a 19-year-old Black student who spent 48 hours in custody last week along with 4 other people who were arrested in Paris as they were walking down the street. Lots of racist shit in this thread. He had already spent 14 hours in custody after a protest a couple of days before, and ended up being charged for refusing to have his DNA samples taken.

This article in Le Monde from yesterday (it’s in French and unfortunately paywalled) talks about people who took part in last week’s protests having been handcuffed and searched in their underwear then released free of charges the next day; a lawyer comments how this is clearly meant to discourage people from demonstrating. The article also mentions two 15 year old Austrian boys who were on a class trip to Paris and were rounded up with a group of demonstrators, so the Austrian embassy had to intervene. (Journalist mentions sarcastically “We don’t know if these high schoolers’ DNA samples were taken.”)

11. There are videos from various protests of journalists wearing the press armband being threatened, hit, or shoved to the ground by police. In Montpellier yesterday, a journalist took this photo as a CRS was pointing his rubber bullet gun at his head and another was running at him with his baton telling him “I don’t give a fuck about your press card” —the photographer managed to run away. (x)

This is all from the past ten days (and mostly from the past two days) and far from an exhaustive list, there's so much outrageous stuff happening (like the Minister of the Interior lying and saying participating in an undeclared demonstration is illegal, when it’s not) but it gives a good idea of what French democracy looks like under Macron. The above photo says it all really. And thank you to all the people who continue taking part in the protests and strikes.

#frpol #police violence #not sure what to tag this as #i know it's very far from the usual theme of this blog but people should know what a shitshow this country is rn #all the photos are from the tweets that i've linked

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munson-blurbs · 7 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18

Summary: You and Eddie face a familiar nemesis at a Teacher Appreciation luncheon, but the rewards that come with your strengthened relationship are far sweeter.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), semi-public sex, oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), choking, spanking, praise kink, orgasm denial, breeding kink, creampie, Carol Perkins makes an appearance

WC: 9.6k

Chapter 18/20

Divider credit to @saradika Eddie pic credit to @eddiemunsonsmum

Out to lunch

Be back soon

That’s the message hastily scribbled onto the sheet of staff paper Scotch taped just above Rock Records’ hours of operation. Innocuous enough; a sign that has been posted on many a small town storefront. But if anyone is listening closely, they’ll hear Guns ‘N Roses still playing over the tinny sound system—not to mention the moans drifting from Eddie’s managerial office.

Eddie has you laid back on the desk, your legs hooked over his shoulders. His fingers grab onto your thighs with such ferocity that his rings threaten to leave indents on your supple skin. He’s on his knees, a man possessed as his tongue glides over your clit.

“F-Fuck, Eddie! Right there!”

You can feel him grinning against you, obviously pleased to be catapulting you into this blissful spiral. He tugs you just a bit closer, the subtle movements of his jaw apparent as he laps at your pussy. His own noises nearly drown out yours; the way he devours you has him smacking his lips together greedily. You’re a feast, and he doesn’t intend to leave a single crumb behind.

Your legs tremble and your toes curl, back arching to create a small gap between you and the table. Somehow, you manage to sit up just enough to reach out and lace your fingers through the strands of hair that have escaped his ponytail.

He’s acutely aware that you’re watching him, though he doesn’t see your awestruck expression as you take in the sight before you. A sheen of slick and saliva coat his chin, evidence that his efforts are far from futile.

He’s so beautiful between your legs, worshiping your pussy like it’s a deity, leaving nothing untouched. His cock strains against his fly as it seeks the warmth of being inside you.

“I’m close, baby, s-so close!”

He knows he should stop now, forcing you to beg him to let you finish, but he simply can’t deny you. Maybe some of it is selfish; making his girl come is just as satisfying as his own orgasm. The way you chant his name, body shaking as unbridled ecstasy takes over.

Your free hand swoops across the table, knocking to the ground a small stack of papers and a paperclip box. Everything scatters along the carpeted floor. “Sh-shit, ‘m sorry—”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Eddie growls, two thick fingers gliding in your wet sex as he speaks. “Don’t you dare do anything but come for me.”

That shuts you up, save for the wanton moans you exhale as the coil in your belly snaps and relief floods your body.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Eddie is pulling you and bending you over his desk. Your elbows hit the table, but you’re still floating too high to brace yourself for pain. The soft clink of his belt buckle coming undone and his zipper teeth opening have you clenching around nothing.

He hikes your skirt up even higher—your lace panties already snug in his back pocket—and taps the head of his length on your ass. You’re so wet that you’re glistening, and he grabs the Trojan from his wallet before rolling it over himself and pushing into you.

“Thassit, mmm, fuck,” he grunts, filling you fully until he bottoms out. “You knew what you were doing when you came here, didn’t you?” One arm wraps around your waist as he thrusts up into you. “Pretending like you just wanted to visit. Yeah, right.”

You grin victoriously. Eddie didn’t normally work on Sundays, but when he picked up a last-minute shift for a sick co-worker, you had to jump at the opportunity.

His pace intensifies as your body brings him to his own release. If you were at either of your places, he would still be eating you out, not stopping until he had you in tears. He wouldn’t even care if stickiness pooled in his boxers, but he has no spare pants to change into, and he certainly can’t get caught with cum-stained pants while on the clock.

His hips piston a bit faster, hand dropping so his middle finger can readily find your clit. As soon as you whimper, already overstimulated all the fullness within you, he’s a goner. You can feel his heart racing when his chest presses to your spine, even through your respective shirts.

“‘M right there, oh, fuck,” Eddie hisses, teeth gritted in concentration. He throws his head back and grabs a handful of your bare ass, smacking it for good measure.“So good, so fuckin’ good f’me.” Every syllable is punctuated with another snap of his pelvis. The heart pendant hanging from your necklace bounces against your chest with each movement. “‘M coming, coming all f’you, take it, baby.” He spills into the condom with a satisfied groan, the force of his final thrusts sending you over the edge.

His plush lips leave tender kisses along the side of your neck, delaying his inevitable withdrawal. “That was…holy shit,” he breathes with a kind laugh. You wince as he pulls out of you, already far too empty for your liking. Nimble fingers knot the used latex, dropping it into the wire trashcan beside the desk.

“Y’okay?” Eddie asks when he notices your silence. Worry creases his brows. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His gaze drops to the flesh he’d just spanked, gently running his palm over it in an attempt to soothe. “I might’ve gotten carried away—”

“‘M good,” you reassure him, having finally found your voice. You giggle as he breathes an audible sigh of relief. “I like when you’re a little rough with me,” you admit, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

Eddie cocks his head. “Yeah?” He fixes your skirt, ensuring that everything is covered, before tucking himself back into his jeans.

“Yeah.” There’s a shy smile on your face as you turn and face him, leaning in so your mouths can meld together. His hands cup your cheeks as he deepens the kiss, tongue tentatively nudging yours as though asking permission. You eagerly allow him in, one finger hooked on his belt loop.

Even when he’s playing a dominant role, withholding your pleasure until he sees fit, it’s no less intimate than when you make sweet, sensitive love. Relinquishing autonomy carves out a path for security and respect, two facets that Eddie takes to heart. He’s learned to read your body like a map, knowing exactly where to touch you—and where not to touch you—and how to bring you to your tipping point.

“How am I supposed to continue my shift after that?” he asks, still remaining close enough that the slightly chapped skin of his lips scratch yours. The two of you exchange breaths, utterly intoxicated on each other. “Gonna be thinking about my perfect girl the rest of the day.” His teeth gently nip at you when he speaks. “This beautiful face…beautiful hands…” He drops to his knees and pulls your waist closer to him, hands strong on the small of your back. “Beautiful stomach…beautiful legs…”

You laugh, fully and heartily, unable to take your eyes off of the man paying reverence to your body. “Eddie, get up,” you chastise teasingly, stumbling a little as he clings to you harder. “And give me back my panties.”

Eddie pouts, lower lip jutting out in anticipated protest. “But–”

“I have to go grocery shopping,” you tell him, trying to reach into his back pocket to grab at the lacy fabric sticking out, but he shifts away too quickly. “You want me walking around Bradley’s all exposed?”

A mischievous grin spreads across Eddie’s face, activating the dimples in his cheeks. “Well…”

You cross your arms over your chest, snug underneath your breasts. “Really? What if I have to bend down to get, I dunno, peanut butter? And then some random guy–or maybe someone we know, like Jason Carver–” your nose wrinkles, disgusted at the mere mention of his name, “what if he gets a glimpse of–”

“Okay, okay, you win.” Eddie huffs, standing up as he tosses it over. You triumphantly slide them back up your legs, feeling your cooled slick from earlier in the afternoon against your core. “But only because I don’t want anyone else seeing what I get to see.” He delicately bites your earlobe, well aware that if he continues down this path, he’ll be hard again.

You shiver at his subtle possessiveness, fighting the temptation to undress him and beg for him to be inside you again. The desire is so overpowering that you almost forget the second reason you’d stopped by the store this afternoon.

“Eds? Could I ask you for a favor?”

“Shit, baby,” he laughs, snaking a hand up your shirt as he sucks on your neck, “I’d give you a fuckin’ kidney right now if that’s what you wanted.”

“‘M serious,” you press, hoping his doesn’t notice the way your voice catches in your throat. His thumbs center on your bra cups, caressing the underwire and letting his fingers slip underneath. “Th-There’s this teacher appreciation luncheon that the PTA is hosting, and we can bring a date.”

The unspoken remainder of your question bears a hefty implication: a public confirmation of a relationship previously only fueled by the small-town rumor mill.

Eddie is unfazed by your hesitance, enchanted by the soft skin below his calloused palm. He’s determined to memorize it, each dip and curve and the way you fit perfectly in his hands. “When is it?” His breath tickles your exposed neck. He doesn’t wait for a response before adding, “I just have to ask Wayne to watch Harris.”

“Saturday. A-A week from yesterday.” You swallow your nerves, wondering if he’s going to pick up on the reason behind your anxiety. If he’ll feel it, too. “But there’ll probably be some parent volunteers there, and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” You grimace at the thought of him walking into the room, shell-shocked when he sees their unwelcome sneers. “They need a final headcount tomorrow,” you don’t add that the invitation had been sent earlier last week, and you’d been putting off asking until the last possible minute, “but if you can’t, or you don’t want to–”

He interrupts your rambling with a kiss, sloppy in its urgency. “I don’t care if Mrs. O’Donnell herself shows up. I want to go.”

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says with a dismissive wave. “The point is, I’d love to be your date. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he grins, conspicuously adjusting himself over his pants, “one of us has to work.”

You swat at his backside, hitching your purse over your shoulder and smoothing down your skirt again. “Need anything from the store?”

It’s an innocuous question; you’ll just add whatever he says to the list you’ve scribbled on a piece of scrap paper, safely tucked away in your bag. To Eddie, it’s enough to tug on the corners of his lips, which he tries to hide by scratching at the shadow of stubble on his cheeks. It creates an image of the two of you sharing a home, Harris sitting at the kitchen table with a bowlful of cereal, as you prepare to do the family shopping. Or maybe the three of you would go together, Harris helping push the cart while scouring the shelves for whatever sugar-laden junk food he’s obsessed with that week. Later, Eddie would lean over to grab a bag of apples from the produce department, hand gently brushing along your back as he does it. He doesn’t care who sees; hell, he hopes everyone notices the way you allow him to touch you so casually. No shame, no pretending. You might even intertwine your fingers with his, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles, claiming him in your own way.

“Nah, baby, ‘m good,” he tells you, chuckling when you shoot him a knowing look. “Fine, Harris could use some more mac and cheese. Whatever’s on sale.”

You make a mental note to pick up a few boxes, lips gingerly kissing Eddie’s nose like a butterfly perched on a daisy.

Eddie watches the sway of your hips as you leave his office, fingertips pressing into his desk as he wracks his brain to determine how he’s managed to conjure up the luck to be with you. He’d always assumed that he’d never find someone who understood his unconventional experiences, who recognized the puzzle of emotions that accompanied those memories.

He hadn’t considered the prospect of meeting you: a person who not only saw his brokenness, but the whole parts of him, too. A man who loved his son with a fierceness that envied a mother bear’s, whose passion for music kept him afloat during the most trying years of his life, who couldn’t quite turn his back on his dreams despite the entire world seemingly persuading him to do so. You saw the good and the bad and loved him for all of it.

He certainly never thought about what it would feel like to love wholly. He recalls the fateful night in the emergency room, when he began to realize the lengths you went to for the people you cared about. The time he’d burst into your classroom after the conference with Ms. Marion, and despite his previous pattern of behavior, you’d comforted him and offered to spend your free time tutoring Harris. Even the gig when he saw you for the very first time and let his lust lead the way, fate had the last laugh when you fell asleep in his arms like you were made to fit there.

And then there are the less-than-ideal parts of you. The way you keep your feelings bottled up until they boil over in a flood of emotions that Eddie is still learning to sort out. The way you forget to take care of yourself in favor of looking after others. The way you believe you are simultaneously too much and not enough, allowing your insecurities to stampede over any and all logic.

It’s what makes you human, what makes you you. And Eddie loves you even more for letting him see that side of you.

If loving someone fully–and being loved fully–means confirming the gossip about the teacher and the freak, he’ll do it one hundred times over for you.

Your phone rings mere minutes after you finish packing away the groceries. Food shopping on Sundays is always the worst; stores are overcrowded, filled with parents and children losing their patience, and you’re fairly certain that you spent more time waiting in line to pay than you did actually perusing the aisle. You pluck the ripest banana from the bunch and peel it as you cradle the receiver between your cheek and shoulder. “Hello?”

“Hi, baby.” Eddie’s voice is honey-dipped on the other end of the line.

“Hey, Eds.” You lean up against the wall, body already feeling lighter. “You and Harris’ll be glad to know that I have secured the macaroni and cheese.”

There’s a sound of movement from his side, and you hear him say, “Har Bear, Ms. Sweetheart got your mac and ch–hey, give me that–”

“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris bellows, and you instinctively move the phone from your ear at the sudden noise. “When are you gonna come to my house and play?”

You laugh, struck by his enthusiasm. “Soon. I promise,” you tell him, meaning every word. Your heart swells at the thought of you, Harris, and Eddie working together to construct a Lego building, both Munsons deep in concentration with their tongues poking from their mouths. “Can you put your dad back on the phone?”

“Okay!” he chirps. “Bye! Love you!”

“Love you, too, Har.” You’re fairly certain that he’s already dashed out of the room, never one to sit still for long, but it occurs to you that he doesn’t even need to hear you say it back. He just knows that you love him in the way that you keep a smile on your face as you gently help him sound out new words, or chase him around the playground until you’re both winded from giggling and running, or share in his excitement at any accomplishment.

Eddie clears his throat when he gets on the line. “So, uh, I forgot to ask–what am I wearing to this luncheon thing?” He’s praying that it’s nothing too upscale; new clothes are not exactly within his budget right now.

To his relief, you say with a teasing lilt in your tone, “A button-down shirt and some jeans without holes in them, if possible.” You take a small bite of fruit, chewing as you speak. “Sneakers should be fine.”

“I can manage that,” he laughs. He doesn’t want to end the conversation yet, so he chooses to ask the first question that comes to mind. “Whatcha eating?”

“Banana.”

“Shit.” He clutches the phone cord in his hand, nearly yanking it out of the jack. A long exhale shoots static through the receiver. “Don’t do this to me.”

It takes a moment for you to figure out what this is. “Eddie Munson,” you start, not even trying to mask your amusement, “are you getting turned on because I’m eating a banana?”

“And now you’re making fun of me? In my hour of need?” He tuts softly, making you laugh even harder. “Evil, evil woman.”

“That’s me. I’m just the worst.” You take another bite to knowingly torture him.

“The absolute worst.” Eddie amends. He tucks his thumbnail between his teeth., incisor digging into the exposed crescent moon. His joking intonation makes way for authenticity as he says, “I love you, babe.”

“I love you, too.” Your voice is small but strong, so assured in your declaration to him. “See you tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll bring the coffee.”

The buzzer rings promptly at noon on Saturday, just as you’re swiping on a final coat of lipstick. You take a look in the mirror, giving a quick twirl as your green lapel floral button-up dress flows out around you and recentering the heart pendant on your necklace.

Your Mary Jane Doc Martens are loud on the floor as you shuffle to let Eddie in. There’s no denying the way your stomach flip-flops with excited anticipation. You’ve seen him dressed up before: at Grandma’s funeral, on your Valentine’s Day date, but the sight never gets old.

He’s standing in the doorway, looking every bit as delicious as you’d imagined. His maroon button-down is neatly tucked into black jeans, cuffs rolled to his elbows and showing off his myriad forearm tattoos. He’s freshly shaved, and you can see a tiny red speck where he’d accidentally nicked himself with the blunted razor this morning.

“What d’you think?” he asks, spinning around in a way that’s almost identical to the 360-degree view you’d gotten of yourself. “Harris said I look too fancy, but I didn’t have time to change, so…”

You shake your head. “You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” you tell him truthfully, arms wrapping around his waist as you pull him in for a much-needed kiss. “There’s just one thing.” You tug at the rubber band that encases his curls in a low ponytail until it slides onto your wrist, setting his hair free. “There we go.”

Eddie frowns, haphazardly smoothing down the hair that’s already beginning to frizz despite the mountains of product he’d applied in a futile attempt to tame it. “Y’sure?”

“Positive. You look more…” You consider your words carefully, “…more like you with your hair all wild like that.”

“That’s a good thing?” He cocks his head in disbelief, and you can’t help but kiss him again. This time, you let your tongue explore him as your fingers twist into the cotton blend of his shirt. His hands start on your cheeks, then gradually work their way down to your ass. A sudden grab of the supple flesh has you yelping slightly, muffled by his mouth on yours. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says with a laugh, the tip of his nose nudging against your earlobe. “You are absolutely gorgeous,” he murmurs, inhaling the floral scent of the perfume you’d meticulously sprayed on your pulse points.

A familiar need builds at the apex of your thighs, and if your suspicions are correct, Eddie feels it, too. The temptation to undo every last one of his shirt buttons is strong, sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a blade.

Surprisingly, it’s Eddie who breaks away, though it takes every ounce of willpower to do so. “C’mon, let’s get going,” he whispers, chuckling when you pout in defiance. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that you’ve come to learn means he has something up his sleeve. “Don’t worry, babe; when we come back, I plan on showing you a little teacher appreciation of my own.”

The tantalizing scent of Italian food permeates Hawkins Preschool’s cafeteria, replacing the usual smell of freezer-burned chicken nuggets and fries. Green and gold cloths cover the tables, with the buffet from Enzo’s at the front of the room, a small crowd having already gathered to grab some food.

You spot Will immediately; he waves you over to a table in the corner. Marshall is seated next to him, offering an enthusiastic smile as you set your purse down on the bench.

“Go get something to eat,” Will tells you and Eddie, motioning to the spread. “We can watch your stuff.”

Eddie needs no further convincing; Enzo’s has been considered a delicacy for the Munsons since it first opened. He can probably count the number of times he’s eaten there on one hand. You watch as he eyes the options, silently calculating how much he can fit on his paper plate.

“Food from this cafeteria never looks so good,” you joke softly, so only his ears can hear. “Wanna take a little of everything? And we can split it?

Eddie nods, picking up a serving spoon and digging clumsily into the tray of lasagna. Marinara sauce oozes over the sides of the oversized utensil as he scoops out a hearty serving. The piece lands on his plate with a plop, and you take a step back to avoid it splattering on your dress. He apologizes quietly, but you just smile and pick up a napkin, dabbing at the stain forming on his shirt collar.

“Haven’t even been here five minutes and I’m already making a mess,” he grumbles, using the tongs to snag some chicken parmesan, much more deliberate in his actions.

You click your tongue in mock disapproval. “I really can’t take you anywhere, huh?” You fish out a meatball, sopping with sauce, from another foil tray before serving a generous portion of the house salad. “Don’t worry, I’ll eat the olives,” you tease, flicking some dressing over the pile of greens.

Eddie uses the hand not balancing his plate to grab two knives, two forks, and a fistful of napkins. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing at the bottles of Poland Spring nestled at the end of the table, “we need drinks.”

It takes a minute for you to mentally assess the situation before you figure out a plan. “Give me that,” you point to his plate, crooking your finger and motioning towards yourself until he hands it to you. “Now you can get the water.” Your conscience tugs at you, aware that this goes beyond beverages and some spilled sauce. “Hey,” you say softly. If you weren’t holding two full plates, you would rest your palm on his bicep and give it a squeeze. “It’s just you and me, okay? Everyone else is background noise.”

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles tightly, wedging the two bottles between his elbow and his ribs. Background noise is the perfect description, considering that you’re the melody that plays on a loop in his brain, yet he never gets tired of hearing it. His internal song had been entirely composed of bass notes, and you’re a treble clef.

The two of you sit down next to Will and Marshall, who waste no time making conversation.

“So, Eddie,” Marshall starts, twirling spaghetti around his fork, “I know these two wrangle kids all day; what do you do for a living?”

“I manage Rock Records, over on Porter,” Eddie says, chest swelling with pride. Selling for Rick required him to pretend like he was unemployed or ‘between jobs,’ often earning him judgmental side-eyes. Now, he can answer honestly and without shame. “What about you?”

Marshall chews and swallows before answering. “I’m in sales at Bell Atlantic, but, uh,” he reaches over and takes Will’s hand, “I’m thinking about moving to Hawkins, so I’ll have to find something new, unless I want to commute to Indy every day.”

You lean over the table to wrap Will in a hug. “Congratulations!” you exclaim, eyes bright with excitement. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

“It’s not official yet,” Will clarifies, though he readily accepts your embrace, “but we can start the process once Marsh gets a job here.”

Eddie rubs his jaw thoughtfully, using the side of his fork to slice the meatball in half, then half again. “Sales?” he repeats, spearing a piece of food. “I think our sales department is hiring, actually. If you give me your resume, I can push it through.”

Both Marshall and Will light up at the idea, beaming from ear to ear. “That would be amazing!” Will chirps.

“Thanks, man,” Marshall says gratefully. You can see the gears turning in his head as he pictures his future with Will coming to fruition. “I’d really appreciate that.”

“‘Course.” Eddie swipes his tongue over the sauce in the corner of his mouth and smiles. “When you find someone who’s willing to stay in this town for you, you gotta hang on to them.” His fingers drape over yours, thumb grazing your bare ring finger. “Trust me.”

Your body warms at his touch, sunshine radiating through you from the inside. You want to remind him how absurdly easy he is to love, that you’d live anywhere as long as you could guarantee falling asleep in his arms each night. If you could bottle up the fuzzy feeling that you get every time he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, placing purposeful kisses along the nape, you would do it in a heartbeat.

A peal of cruel laughter hooks into you, unwillingly drawing your attention from the conversation to the woman standing off to the side. She speaks as though she’s trying to talk under her breath, but you know that you’re meant to hear her. “Told you, Steve: the teacher and the Freak,” she says with a smirk that you’re tempted to smack clean off of her face.

Your fingers clench around your fork so forcefully that it threatens to snap in half. The fact that anyone could be in their third decade of life and still build themselves up by cutting others down is absurd to you, perhaps because you spend most of your time teaching children the importance of intentional kindness.

Adrenaline surges through your veins in a classic battle of fight versus flight as you weigh your options. You could release the scream that you’ve trapped in your throat, throttling her with a barrage of hurtful words until she’s a sniveling mess. It’s too tempting, and you would have a difficult time talking yourself out of it if she wasn’t your student’s parent.

You could act like you hadn’t heard her, as improbable as that possibility is. It’s certainly the more mature decision, and one that would ensure your job security, but that just fuels the brewing anger with the knowledge that Carol would win whatever messed-up game she’s playing.

Eddie sits next to you, facing a similar silent dilemma. He could turn heel and run, storming off in a fit of fury, assuring himself that you’d be fine with Will and Marshall. He could shrink into himself until the moment passes and Carol moves onto a new target. He could leap on the table like he would have back in high school, make a scene and embarrass the hell out of everybody–but that would include you, and that’s the last thing he wants to do.

He can tell by the way your jaw goes rigid that you’re holding back, that you’re trying to remain professional. An involuntarily grin twitches on his lips as he thinks about you eschewing all maturity and absolutely laying into Carol. He knows you can’t do that, as much as you both want to.

But he can.

“So glad you could take a break from cheating on your husband to be here, Carol.” He keeps a bright, innocent smile glued to his face as he feigns enthusiasm. You have to bite your lower lip to stifle a cackle; out of the corner of your eye, you can see Will covering his mouth and nose to keep from spitting out the sip of Pepsi he’d just downed.

Carol’s face blanches, obviously not expecting Eddie’s retort. Steve Harrington wasn’t either, and the “ha!” that escapes him is evidence of it. When Carol shoots death glares at him, he just shrugs, raising his brows as if to say, if you can’t handle the heat, stay out of the kitchen.

With a muted string of swear words that none of you care to decipher, Carol huffs and stomps off. Steve glances for a moment, rolling his eyes at her theatrical display. “Sorry about…” he gestures vaguely at her sulking form as she whines to another parent unlucky enough to be in her warpath. “Anyway, um, my wife is at home with Josh, but we’re so grateful to both of you for everything you’ve done for him.” He gives a half smile, nodding at you and Will. “Not just with, like, school stuff, but teaching him how to play with other kids without it turning into a WWE Smackdown.” He sucks his lips to his teeth and shakes his head with a small laugh.

“That’s our job!” you chirp, maybe a bit too enthusiastically, still riding the high of watching Carol slink off, proverbial tail between her legs.

“Well, it means a lot,” Steve continues, pink tinging the apples of his cheeks as he confides, “especially because he’s going to have a little brother or sister in a few months. He was actually telling us how he’s excited to share his toys with the new baby. We thought Hell was freezing over.”

Pride swells up in Eddie's chest while he rubs your upper back; a small gesture with incalculable meaning. That’s my girl, he muses, eyes widening when you scoot into him so his arm drapes over your shoulder. You lace your fingers with his and pull them down so they graze your bicep as you continue talking with Steve, as natural as can be. No shying away, no denying the existence of the teacher and the Freak. You claim Eddie as yours, and a soft kiss to your temple claims you as his.

The conversation with Steve ends shortly after that, and you congratulate him again on the upcoming addition to the Harrington family. You, Eddie, Will, and Marshall decide to head out once you’ve finished eating.

“Thanks again, man,” Marshall says as he shakes Eddie’s hand. “I’ll swing by on Monday with my resume.”

“Don’t mention it.” Eddie claps him on the back. Truthfully, he’s just grateful to not be the person receiving help. The universe had granted him chance after chance; it’s about time he’s able to do something for someone else.

Will turns to you just as you all near the double doors, illuminated by fluorescent lighting and a bright red EXIT sign. “Did you bring home the rest of the progress reports?”

You throw your head back, blowing out a breath of frustration. “Shit, I totally forgot.” You rifle through your purse until you find the silver key that’s been shoved to the bottom and make an about-face towards your classroom. “You’re a lifesaver. I owe you big time.”

“Just give me a special mention in your Teacher of the Year speech,” he jokes, but you catch the sparkle of admiration in his eyes at your dedication—even if it follows a memory lapse.

Eddie trails right behind you as you unlock the door, dropping the key back in your bag for safekeeping. “Sorry, babe,” you apologize, “I just need to grab the papers and we can get out of here.”

“Take your time.” He plops down in the chair behind your desk, fingers thrumming along the oversized calendar you’ve marked up with various due dates and events. “I’ll stay out of trouble. Wouldn’t want to get…punished…or anything.” He looks up at you with a knowing smirk that droops into a frown when you ignore his entendré.

He swivels around when you move from the right side of your desk to your left, rummaging around for a clip to provide some semblance of organization. “I can be the teacher’s pet, y’know,” he continues, one fingernail lightly trailing up your arm. “I’m not opposed to doing whatever it takes to get an A.” Broad hands broach either side of your waist, but you pull away to pluck a Post-It from the stack and stick it atop the reports.

It’s when you lean over to grab a pen that the pent-up tension becomes too overwhelming for him; the way your ass is perfectly framed by your dress has him awestruck. Mine, mine, all mine, loops through his head as he tugs on your hips so you’re sitting on his lap.

“Don’t mind me.” His lips slowly kiss down your spine, busy fingers bunching your dress fabric up your thighs. “You keep doin’ what you gotta do, pretty girl.”

You exhale with a tired laugh. “The sooner I get this done, the sooner we can go home and you can show me some of that ‘teacher appreciation’ you promised.”

“Or,” Eddie counters, turning your chin so you can see the adorable pout he’s now sporting, “I could appreciate you right here.”

“Eddie!”

“Yeah, say my name,” he mumbles, half-teasing while still relishing in the way it sounds on your lips. “C’mon, can’t we just fool around a little bit?”

You swoop down to kiss him, tongue discreetly slipping into his mouth as your fingers curl into his hair. His hands roam your body, already fumbling with the column of buttons down your back. While he’s distracted, you break away and stand up, leaving him noticeably hard beneath his slacks. “Nope.”

He lets out an anguished groan, but ultimately relents so you can finish your work undistracted—save for the throbbing between your legs. With a hasty scribble of your Bic pen, you label the last of the reports and clutch the stack to your chest.

“We can go now,” you tell him, and he’s standing up and practically running out the door before you can finish speaking.

Your back is turned to him while you lock up, but you can still hear him skid to a stop and blurt out, “Sorry, Mrs. Sinclair.”

Your boss’s laughter trills through the hallway, and you can feel your tension ease until she asks him, “What’s got you in such a hurry?”

Don’t say something ridiculous; nothing that’ll make it impossible for me to show my face on Monday. You squeeze your eyes shut in desperation, anxiety absolved only when he replies, “Just gotta pick my son up from my uncle’s place.”

“How is Wayne doing?” There’s a smile in her voice. “Is he still working at the plant?”

“Uh-huh. Cut back his hours so he can spend more time with Harris.” Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets and sits on his heels to disguise the tented crotch area. “A-And how’re Lucas and Erica?”

“Oh, they’re great,” Sue chirps, seizing the opportunity to brag about her children. “Lucas told me he saw you at Will’s party; he’s really doing well with his sports management business. And Erica just graduated, pre-law, and she’ll be off to Harvard in the fall.” She rests a hand on his shoulder, concern creasing her brows. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Eddie nods overzealously. “Y-Yep. Feeling great. Everything is, uh, peachy keen.” He gives a thumbs-up to solidify his statement, and you have to stop yourself from snickering.

As soon as they say their goodbyes, you shuffle over to your flustered boyfriend, wrapping him in a hug from behind, hands resting on the soft pudge of his tummy. “‘Peachy keen?’” you prod, giggles bubbling in your chest at the mere mention of his word choice. “I was expecting you to throw in a ‘jelly bean’ at the end there.”

Eddie reaches around and pulls you so you’re tucked beneath his shoulder. “You’re so fuckin’ lucky you’re cute,” he quips, but the way you eagerly snuggle into him serves as a reminder that he’s the lucky one.

Gray clouds have been threatening a storm all day, sagging low in the sky with oversaturation. The air is thick with humidity when you and Eddie make your brief walk to his car, the telltale first drops of rain staining the pavement and permeating the atmosphere with a dewy scent.

There’s a clap of thunder just as you’re fastening your seatbelt and Eddie’s turning the key in the ignition; it startles you both more than you’d care to admit, and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rain pours in sudden opaque sheets, dashing any dreams you had of fooling around on your drive home; all of his focus is centered on getting you home in one piece. You settle for resting your hand on his knee, missing the usual rips and tears in the fabric so you can easily make skin-on-skin contact.

Eddie grips the wheel at ten and two, keeping a steady foot on the gas pedal as he crawls along the uneven road. His tongue pokes from between his lips as it often does when he’s concentrating. Drops thwack against the sedan’s hood and drown out the sounds of the Dio cassette he’d popped into the stereo system on the ride over to the school. At this point, he could be playing Alanis Morisette; the combination of the rain and the vigorous back-and-forth of the windshield wipers is too noisy for him to tell the difference.

The fifteen minute drive to your apartment takes an additional ten, but you’re both just grateful to arrive in one piece. You both take a few seconds to pause, assessing the intensity of the storm. You’ll be soaked by the time you reach the front door even if you take off your heeled shoes and dart barefoot through the parking lot.

“We can wait a few minutes and see if it slows,” you offer, but the constant rainfall has you questioning just how long you’ll be sitting in the car.

Eddie is thinking similarly, because he just shakes his head and kills the engine. In the absence of the music and the wipers, the pounding raindrops are even louder. He practically has to shout for you to hear him. “I say we make a run for it.” He grips the door handle, and you do the same. “On three. Ready?” When you nod, he begins counting. “One…two…three!”

The doors fly open with the force of your own strength and the howling winds. You shriek as cold water pelts your skin, gluing your dress to your body so the formerly loose garment hugs every curve.

You slip your hand into Eddie’s as the two of you race towards the tattered green awning covering the building’s entrance. It provides little shelter, but it’s better than nothing as you scramble to unlock the door.

“You even look pretty like this,” Eddie muses, clicking his tongue against his cheek. “‘S kind of ridiculous, y’know that?”

“You’re kind of ridiculous,” you laugh, wringing the hem of your dress before pulling the door open. Eddie catches it behind you, holding it so you can walk ahead of him. Once inside, he shakes his hair like a dog fresh out of the bath and flicks water everywhere: the already slippery tile floors, the glass window panes, and even you. You try and glare at him, but your giddiness betrays you, already heading towards your unit in hurried anticipation of his full and unadulterated attention to your body.

You’d left the fan going in the apartment, and the chill instantly infiltrates your bones. Your arms instinctively wrap around your torso, but Eddie’s having none of it.

“C’mere, pretty little thing,” he coos, unraveling you before cradling your cheeks in his hands, nose brushing yours. “Lemme warm you up.”

He says this, but his actions have the opposite intention. His fingers fly to your dress buttons with unbridled urgency, fumbling with the hooks to no avail. He could easily stop kissing you long enough to properly attend to the task, but that’s seemingly not an option. “Fuck it,” he swears against your lips, and before you can question it, you feel a rush of cool air against your back. A dozen tiny buttons clatter to the ground as he nearly rips the dress in half, already sucking on the skin above your collarbone.

“Been wanting to do that all day,” he confesses, pushing the torn fabric down until it pools around your ankles, leaving you in only your bra, panties, and shoes. “Baby, baby, baby; you got me so hard it fuckin’ hurts.”

You can feel him, the way his cock strains against his pants like it’s begging for release. “I have a surprise for you,” you tell him, undoing his button and zipper with far more grace than he undressed you.

“If it’s lingerie, can we save it for another time?” he asks, exhaling as he gets some relief from the pressure in his jeans. “Because if you’re not naked in the next ten seconds, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.”

You laugh at his candor. “Nope, not lingerie.” His teeth dig into his lower lip as you cup his bulge over his boxers. “Remember a few weeks ago when we talked about our fantasies?”

“Mhm. Vividly.” Eddie smirks as his hand snakes around your throat, not gripping it quite yet, but the motion still awakens the butterflies in your stomach.

“W-Well, I went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago so I could get on the pill.” Your words have him frozen in place, and he steps back to assess your facial expression.

“Like, the pill?”

“The pill,” you confirm with an excited giggle, starting on his shirt buttons to reveal the white tank top beneath. “So we can, I dunno, play pretend until we’re ready for the real thing?”

His eyes practically roll back in his head. “Fuck, I fuckin’ love you. Holy shit.” It’s not just the fact that you’re about to let him finish inside you—although he certainly has no complaints about that—but it’s mostly the way you’ve embraced his most intimate desires. He’s been conducting some research of his own to learn how to dominate a partner, waiting for the perfect opportunity to showcase his newfound knowledge. “Need you. Now.” His voice trembles on the last word despite the strength behind it.

The two of you stumble into your room, shedding your remaining clothes in a trail towards the bed until you’re both wearing nothing at all. Eddie grabs your ass and squeezes, growling in desperation. “Perfect body, Jesus Christ. Was made f’me.” His lips attach to your exposed nipple, sucking and flicking his tongue over the pert bud. He switches to the other, slotting his leg between yours so his thigh presses against your core.

“Eddie, please.” You make no attempt to mask your desperation; the feeling of your slick on his upper leg would give you away regardless. “I’ve been thinking about you filling me up…just…please.”

He nods, letting you lay back on the mattress so he can climb on top of you. “You want my cum, baby?” He leaves delicate kisses on your stomach, so close to your pussy but still too far.

“Mhm.”

“Then you gotta earn it.” He’s smirking at you, delighted to watch you squirm needily. “Leaning over in front of me at the school and then not even letting me touch you?” He tuts disapprovingly. “Doesn’t sound like something a good girl would do.”

“‘M sorry, ‘m so sorry,” you whine, “I swear I want it.” Your breath hitches as he slides one finger inside you, keeping his other hand in a tight fist around his cock.

He strokes himself, deliberate in each motion, never breaking eye contact with you. “Bet you wish this was around that pretty little throat of yours, huh?” He increases his pace. “Bet you wish I was inside you, too—don’t touch yourself.” His sudden gruffness leaves you taken aback, and he smacks your hand away from your clit before you can even start. “I never said you could do that.”

You whimper while he goes back to jerking himself, arching your back to bring him deeper.

“Y’want more? Use those words, Sweetheart.”

“More, more, I need it.” Nothing would be more delectable than being split open on his cock, your bodies bringing each other pleasure. There’s a small pressure as he adds another finger, not the fullness you’re craving but still satisfying nonetheless. “Eddie, fuck,” you moan as he curls them both, drawing you nearer to orgasm.

You think he’s finally going to give it to you when he lets go of his hardened length; instead, he wraps his newly free hand around your neck.

And, oh, the pathetic mewl that you let out as his grasp tightens, bewitched by his display of possessiveness. You teeter on the edge of release until he permits you, but there’s no holding back once he grunts, “your pussy’s got a fuckin’ vice grip on my fingers.”

You’re not quite sure why that does it for you, but it leaves you writhing beneath him in ecstasy. “Thassit, come f’me. Sweet girl, so eager that she can’t even wait for my cock.” He tilts his head thoughtfully, comically casual compared to the way he’s controlling your own actions. “Tell me: is it the fingering or the choking that’s got you like this?”

“B-Both,” you stammer; Eddie squeezes your throat in response. One ring has been spun around a sweat-slicked finger, and it carves a skull-shaped design into your delicate skin. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m–” Passionate intensity overpowers any further conversation, replacing words with strained, high-pitched moans.

“Good girl,” Eddie praises, his harsher dominance briefly fading and a softer side takes over as he works you through your orgasm. You feel the simultaneous loss of his fingers around your neck and inside your cunt, but you’re immediately distracted by him bringing his fingers into his mouth and sucking off your release. “You’re as delicious as you look.”

You smile, eyelids fluttering as your overstimulation subsides. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths as you collect yourself. “That was…” The synapses in your brain struggle to fire as you come down from the high. You prop yourself on your elbows. “Really, really good.”

His body sags with relief. “Wanted to make it perfect for you, baby,” he murmurs, kissing your lips tenderly. “Wanted to give you exactly what you asked for.”

“You did,” you promise him, shivering as you shift positions and lose the addition of his body heat. “And now…it’s my turn to make it perfect for you.”

Eddie’s about to rebut that it’s already perfect because it’s you and him drawing pleasure from each other’s bodies, when you maneuver onto all fours. “Oh, honey,” he groans, grabbing a handful of your ass, but he doesn’t broach your entrance right away. You twist so he can register the confused look on your face. “Just takin’ a mental picture for when you’re not around.” His eyes scan your body, erection throbbing against his stomach. “Mmkay, ‘m good.”

He pulls on your hips, signaling you to scoot back so he can align himself. The bare head of his cock nudging your hole has you trembling anticipatorily. Slowly, deliberately, he pushes into you. You can feel every ridge, every vein, his silky skin against your walls. “You…” he searches for a proper description but is betrayed by the blood flowing away from his brain. “Holy sh-shit.”

He’s still for a moment, just soaking in your direct warmth. His hips snap forward after what seems like eons; the fullness within you is heavenly. You could keep him inside forever with nary a complaint.

Eddie, meanwhile, is just grateful that he’s already made you come on his fingers, because he can’t imagine lasting long enough to do it again. The part of you that can still compile a cohesive thought realizes this, too, and you reassure him “take what you need, baby.”

“O-Okay.” His tone is tentative but his movements are not, finding a pace that makes his body hum. His brown eyes are glued to where you two connect, watching himself slide in and out. The soft shlick that comes with each thrust, your wetness drenching his dick more and more, is his own personal celestial chorus. There’s nothing separating you from each other anymore.

He’s addicted to you, the way you fill each of his senses in a perfumed cloud of desire. A patch of stickiness coats his upper thigh; he realizes that it’s your release trickling out of you and onto him. “Love when you cream my cock, mmm, fuck.” One hand lets go of your hip and cracks down on your ass, skin rippling under the sudden contact.

You let out a euphoric yelp, embracing the sting. Your cunt tenses around him with each plunge. “Just thinking about feeling you come inside me,” you purr. “Are you going to watch it drip down my legs? Hmm?”

Eddie shakes his head before he remembers you can’t see him. “N-Nah, ‘m gonna…” a grunt disrupts his sentence, “‘m gonna stuff it back in this pretty little pussy. An’ you’re gonna keep it inside.” He breathes in audible gasps as his pace increases. “Like my good–little–girl.” The last three words are each punctuated with a thrust.

“Want it to take s’fuckin’ bad,” he continues, the admission spilling from his lips involuntarily. “Want everyone to know that you’re mine, and only mine.”

You brace your body weight to your forearms, lifting your ass in the air to allow him impossibly deep. “Bet I’d look really good having your baby, Eddie. All cute and pregnant for you.”

That has him imagining you in the same position you’re in now, only his palm is splayed on the swell of a baby bump, your tits heavy with milk to nourish the life growing within your body. He spills into you without warning, just him crying out your name as he lets go. True to his word, he swipes at whatever cum has dripped out and gingerly pushes it in your pussy.

He flops down on his back, completely spent, not bothering to clean the rope of cum that now adorns his softening length. You rest your head on his chest, his cooling sweat matting down the sparse hairs and sticking to your temple.

“I love you,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your arm. His lips easily find your forehead for a kiss. “You’re it for me, okay? Please don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t.” And you mean it. “I love you, too, Eddie.”

The two of you drift in and out of sleepiness for nearly an hour, safe in each other’s embrace, before he stirs you awake. “I gotta go get Harris in a few minutes,” he says, laughing when you groan your reply. “I know, I wish I could stay here forever.”`

“What if you did?”

Eddie furrows his brow. “I think that’s a little more babysitting than Wayne volunteered for.”

You swat at his chest playfully, rolling over so you can see his face. “No,” you laugh, nuzzling into his jaw. “I meant…what if you and Harris moved in once your lease is up? No pressure,” you rush to add, “but this is a two bedroom, so Harris could have his own space. I know you’ll have to think about it; I’m not looking for a decision right–”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie interrupts kindly, silencing the ramble with a peck on your nose. “I don’t feel pressured. Trust me, if I didn’t have a kid to take care of, you’d never get rid of me.” He sighs and stretches, sitting up against the headboard, and you follow his lead. “Our lease is up at the end of next month. You’re the kid expert here; is that too soon to spring this on him? Will it, like, fuck him up irrevocably?”

You exhale, thinking about the best course of action. “Why don’t you ask him how he’d feel about it? Worst case scenario: he’s not ready and we’ll revisit it again in the future.”

“Are you sure? You won’t be mad or anything?” He’s treading cautiously as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. He loves Harris more than anything in the world, but there’s no denying that having a child furthers the complexities of dating.

You take his hand in yours and hold it tight. “We’re a team,” you remind him, kissing his bare shoulder. “Not just me and you, but Harris, too. I love you both, and I want you both to be happy here.”

Eddie’s heart could burst; he doesn’t know whether he needs to laugh or cry or some messy combination of the two. A team, you’re a team, and teammates stick together and look out for one another and keep each other afloat in choppy seas. It’s what he’d always wanted but never thought he’d have, or even deserve.

Now he’s got it, and he swears he won’t let it go.

Eddie dives right into the subject at dinner that night, not wanting to lose his nerve. He sits next to Harris, cutting a hot dog into bite-sized pieces and making sure that it doesn’t touch the pile of baked beans on his plate. His son has recently begun refusing to eat foods that have come in contact with each other, even if he likes both of them.

“Hey, Har,” Eddie starts, carefully sliding the paper plate in front of him. “I have a question for you.”

Harris barely pays attention, too fixated on getting the ketchup out of the bottle and onto the hot dog pieces. The bottle makes a pfft noise when he squeezes it, making him giggle. “Daddy, the ketchup farted!” He repeats the motion again and again, finding it funnier each time.

“Yeah, that’s silly,” Eddie halfheartedly agrees, taking the bottle from him. “But, Harris, I need to ask you something important.” He picks up his own hot dog wrapped in a slice of Wonder Bread and takes a bite. “How would you feel about me, you, and Ms. Sweetheart all living in her apartment?”

Harris’s eyes widen. “Like, together?”

Eddie nods. “Mhm. We wouldn’t live here anymore, but you’d take Grandma’s old room, and we can decorate it however you want.”

“I’d have my own room?”

“Yup.”

This provides more questions than answers for the young boy. “But then where are you gonna sleep?”

Eddie coughs to mask his laughter, not wanting to offend Harris’s curiosity. “Um, well, Ms. Sweetheart and I would share her room.” Our room, he thinks, wiping his mouth to hide a smile at the thought of you waking up in his arms every morning.

“But you’re not married.” Harris spears a piece of hot dog with a plastic fork. “You gotta be married first.”

“Sometimes people get married before they live together. But sometimes they do things out of order.” Like meet at a bar and hook up, only to find out that she’s your kid’s teacher, and then you loathe each other until you start to fall in love. “And that’s not a bad thing.” He measures the consideration on Harris’s little face. “But we’ll only do it if you’re okay with it. It would mean we’d have to pack up our stuff in boxes and bring it to Ms. Sweetheart’s place.”

Harris jumps up from his seat, nearly knocking over the food. “I have lots of boxes! We can start right now!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie puts up a hand to stop him, chuckling as he motions for Harris to come closer to him. “We have a few weeks before we can do anything. But are you one hundred percent sure–”

“YES!”

Eddie pulls his son in for a hug, tickling his sides and kissing the top of his head. Happiness fills their home, though it won’t be their home for much longer. “I love you, kiddo,” he mumbles into Harris’s hair.

“Daddy?”

“Ya?”

“Can we call Ms. Sweetheart and tell her?”

Eddie wipes his hands on his jeans, making a mental note to sweep up any crumbs later. “I think that’s a great idea.” He stands up and practically sprints to the phone. He can’t dial your number any faster if he tries.

You pick up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sweetheart.” You can hear the smile in his voice through the receiver. “We’re in.”

taglist (closed):

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui #smut

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thedailyvio · 1 year

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Day 97

#Day 97 #17 Minutes #Sona #Listen.... I had to read my diary for 7 hours. OBVIOUSLY

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azsazz · 2 months

Text

Midnight Muse (Part 24)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,511

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Part 18] [Part 19] [Part 20] [Part 21] [Part 22] [Part 23] [Masterlist]

_________________________________________

Things slowly begin to enter a new normal.

You go to class, see your friends, and spend most nights with your boyfriend, licking, teasing, tasting each other on every available inch of skin you can find. The five of you hang out as a group and you’ve never been happier.

You’re even passing art history, thanks to Azriel’s fool-proof system of studying; a sexual favor in exchange for every correct answer you give.

For the most part, everything seems like a dream. Compared to the beginning of your year, it is. There's still that niggling feeling inside of you that you just can’t seem to get over, though. As you sit in the art building working on your project for Alis’ class, you’re not entirely sure what to do. It’s the last assignment before the semester ends and you’ve started and restarted the drawing three times already, all of your attempted creativity fizzling out within hours.

Now, with only two days to go before it’s due for critique, you’re on the cusp of tears. It’s not from lack of trying, but because you’ve been forcing yourself to tap into your inner creative and find your muse. You want to create something that you’re proud of, but there’s nothing for your heart to grasp onto, no genius ideas that make you want to pour your soul onto the paper.

You’re starting to think that you might fail this class.

Feyre had offered to tag along, but she’s already finished her project fairly quickly after the assignment was given out, and things have been a bit awkward between you and Lucien since he found out that you and Azriel are officially dating.

Naturally, the event had occurred after one of your drawing classes. It almost felt like deja vu, with the way Azriel was waiting outside of the building. This time, you were more than happy to see your boyfriend, who was leaning up against the side of his motorcycle, helmet tucked under his arm with a second one perched beside him.

You could admit that you’re starting to enjoy riding on his motorcycle with him. He’s even taken you to his favorite spot where he often goes to draw or think, escaping the stressors of his life back on campus such as his father pestering him about the buying building he lives in. He hasn’t responded to a single text message.

“(Y/N), hold up a minute,” Lucien said, stopping you from going down the stairs of the building to meet your boyfriend with a hand on your shoulder. Feyre continues downward after you gently wave her on, but you don’t miss the way Azriel’s eyes narrow.

“What’s up, Luc?” you ask, although you already know what he’s wondering. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that whatever you and Azriel had started out as is now the complete opposite. He’s no longer your infuriating neighbor, but the boy you you’re slowly starting to fall—

Thankfully, Lucien interrupts the thought before you can dwell on it too long. “What’s going on with him?” he asks, jerking his head to where Feyre and Azriel are talking quietly. The latter watches you and Lucien’s exchange intently. “I thought you two hated each other, but now you’re hanging out with him all of the time? Did I miss something?”

A pang of guilt gnaws at your stomach. You feel bad for not telling Lucien about your newfound romance with Azriel, but you’ve been wanting to tell him over lunch or coffee, but with the end of the semester projects and tests coming up, the both of you had been too busy to properly hang out.

Your cheeks heat and it’s hard to look him in his eyes when he looks so confused. “Yeah, um, Azriel and I are sort of dating now.”

Lucien frowns, “Sort of?”

“We are,” you shake your head, answering more solidly this time. “We’re dating.”

You don’t miss the hurt that flashes through his eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You sigh, kicking and digging the tip of your shoe into the concrete for something to focus on. You don’t like the way that Lucien is looking at you, like you’re no longer his friend, which isn’t the case at all. Sure, you know that for whatever reason he and Azriel don’t see eye-to-eye, and you can admit that you’ve only fed into that storyline by spending most of your time these days with Azriel and not taking the proper time to check in with your friend, but right you feel like you’re the one at blame for not reaching out.

It seems as if Azriel has had enough, pushing up from his motorcycle to ascend the stairs. His strides are long, sure, and his spine straightens with each step closer he takes, shoulders widening and chest puffing.

“Hey, princess.”

“Azriel,” you greet with a nervous smile, accepting the way he tucks you into his side and presses a kiss to your cheek. His hand is firm against your hip and you enjoy the way he feels, the way he allows you to siphon some of his strength for this conversation. “This is Lucien. Lucien, this is Azriel.”

The two boys stare at each other, sizing one another up. It makes you shift on your feet but Azriel’s hold only tightens, showing you off, staking his claim.

It’s awkward, to say the least. Neither of them greet each other and it's as if they’re both waiting for the other to look away first so the other can snap at their neck like a rabid dog. You shoot a look towards Feyre but her head is buried in her phone, an enormous smile on her face, completely oblivious to the pissing contest that’s happening up the stairs.

A muscle ticks in Lucien's jaw before he rips his gaze away from Azriel to settle back on yours. He gives you a single nod, and you’re not sure how to feel when his throat works around a swallow, his normally honeyed voice coming out rougher. “I have to go, actually, before I’m late. I’ll see you around, (Y/N).”

“Lucien,” you call, but he’s already turned down the stairs and is brushing past Feyre, whose eyebrows furrow with concern at the sight of your friend. She tries to speak to him but he brushes her off gently, and when her heavy blue-gray eyes settle on you, you deflate into Azriel’s side.

You feel similarly to how you did then, defeated and glum. The piece of drawing paper before you is filled with the darkness from your charcoal, your fingers coated in the chalky substance, and the shapes you’d been sketching stare back at you, taunting you, because no one is going to be able to finish this except for you.

It’s a fairly simple task, to draw yourself as some sort of hybrid, but as you look in the mirror hanging to your left, you can’t seem to figure out what kind of creature resonates with you. Feyre had drawn herself as some sort of beast, her true self, she claimed. When you had asked Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel what they had done when they took their drawing classes, Rhysand said he drew himself with dragon features, Cassian morphed himself with a grizzly bear, and Azriel had drawn himself with the bat wings inked across his back.

The last time you spoke with Lucien before your relationship became strained, he’d been drawing half of his face as a fox, and you’d seen one of the other girls in your class, Vassa, you think her name is, drawing herself as a phoenix. Everyone seemed to light up with their ideas immediately when Alis had announced the final project, and you had only ducked your head, unsure of what to do.

Voices trickling down the hall startle you from your thoughts. You set your chalk down as you recognize the tenor, the laughter echoing around the silent building. Azriel and Cassian appear in the doorway to the classroom. Cassian’s splattered with clay from having been working on his own final project of the year, something he’s been boasting about but refuses to tell anyone what it is, and the smile that lights Azriel’s face when his eyes connect with yours is perfect.

You hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders had been, but the way they deflate at the sight of him makes you realize just how tired you are. There isn’t much time left until your project is due, and you’re sure to remind yourself that once again, you need to focus.

But the way Azriel’s eyes drag down your hands, coated in soot from the charcoal, flaring with heat, you’re forgetting your deadline and the project you’ve barely started completely.

“Hey, princess,” Azriel greets, leaning down to press a firm kiss to your mouth. You can’t help but to slant against him a little, your energy from your long night sapped. His hand caresses your cheek and he frowns a little, examining your exhausted and frustrated state.

Your heart flutters at the warmth, at the care he shows you. How he isn’t afraid to hide his hands from you because you’ve spent night after night showing him just how much they mean to you.

“Hi,” you reply with a soft yet strained smile, you turn to Cassian next. “Hey, Cass.”

“Hey (Y/N). How’s the art project coming along?”

You sigh, leaning further into Azriel’s warmth. “Not amazing, if I’m being honest.”

“What’s wrong?” Azriel asks, “It looks like you have a solid start.”

You crinkle your nose, examining your paper. It looks more abstract than anything, and you wonder for a moment if Azriel’s just being nice about it. But you know him better than that, and he would never tease you about a craft so dear to both of your hearts.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you groan.”I’ve started over three times.” All you want to do is throw your head in your hands but you don’t want to get chalk all over your face, unless Azriel is the one putting it there. Naked.

Maybe having sex will help get your creativity flowing?

Your boyfriend frowns for a moment, examining your work. You can see the cogs turning in his head, how he might help you figure out what to draw for your project. Of course, you could easily draw any animal mixed with yourself, but you really want this one to have meaning behind it.

“Why don’t you take a break and we can all grab something to eat?” Azriel suggests. “A break might do you some good, and Cass and I were going to head over to Ritas.”

A hot waffle and a large milkshake sounds absolutely superb right now, to be honest.

You stare at the paper before you. You really should stay and put in a few more hours of work, but at the same time you can’t stand to stare at it any longer.

Two more days. You still have two more days.

“Yeah, I could use a snack,” you agree, picking up your pencil box from the floor and tossing your sticks of chalk into it. “Give me a few minutes to pack up.” You stand from your art horse, eyeing the mess of black. “You should too, Cassian. You’re covered in clay.”

He only grins and you—once again—regret saying anything to him. “The ladies like it dirty, (Y/N). But you know a little something about that, don't you?”

You try to force the warmth from your cheeks as you think of just how thorough Azriel had been the last time he drew you. How up close and personal he’d gotten with his stick of charcoal, how up close and personal he let you get with some paints you’d bought.

Sometimes you love being an artist.

“Fuck off, Cass,” Azriel gripes, flipping your large sketchpad shut. He helps you pack your things while Cassian snickers, and his eyes are hot when you rub your hands together, trying to dispel the dust from them. He slings your backpack over his shoulder and your sketchpad under his arm while you dart off to wash your hands before Azriel can get any ideas.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Rita’s is…bustling for a Friday night.

It looks completely different from when you’d been here last. No sign of the irritable waitress, no sign of anything really, you’re unable to see through the mass of the crowd, stuffed in booths and gyrating in whatever open space is left.

The lights are low. A colorful disco ball spins in the center of the diner that you hadn’t even noticed your first time here. Spots of color percolate around the room, seeming to guide the students on the little dancefloor as they sway their bodies, the tables lined up against the walls for this purpose.

“Rhys and Feyre are on their way,” Cassian says, reading a message on his phone before swiping at the screen. You don’t see the way that his eyes darken at whatever notification pops up because Azriel’s tugging you through the crowd.

The air is hot with bodies and laughter and as you make your way through the throng of people, you’re glad Azriel had talked you into a quick pit stop at the apartment to put your things away, as if he had known the diner would look like this tonight. He must spend more time here than you thought because he eases through the crowd, shoulders lax, letting the clubby music pouring from the jukebox wash over him.

“Are you sure this is Rita’s?” you call over Azriel’s shoulder, genuinely confused to how the dingy daytime diner has turned into this delightful nighttime dance party.

He tosses you a smile over his shoulder that makes your heart flutter.

“It’s where all of the cool kids go before and after the bars,” Cassian teases when Azriel finally finds an empty spot for the three of you to stand. He’s scouring the restaurant as if he’s looking for someone and returns his hazel gaze to you with a lazy grin. “C’mon, (Y/N), it’s like you don’t even go here.”

You roll your eyes, grumbling a little as Azriel pulls you to his front, settling his hands on your hips. The music is surprisingly loud but it’s good, causing you to roll your hips a little with the rhythm. Your boyfriend’s grip tightens, pulling you closer, and you can feel the interested bulge in his pants as his breathing turns heavier with your motions.

“Spent most of my time at house parties last year,” you answer, shouting over the volume of the bar. “I’m hardly of drinking age, lest you forget.” You lean towards Cassian so he can hear you, pressing your ass further into Azriel’s cock. His thumb sneaks under the hem of your shirt, brushing against your exposed skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

As if he isn’t the one that brought you here, he seems to have changed his mind fairly quickly.

“In that case, allow me to buy you a drink, my lady,” Cassian bows a little, taking his time eyeing the lower region of a girl that passes by. “What are you having?”

You shrug, no longer in the mood for a milkshake. You scan the crowd, flickering over everyone on the dancefloor as you mull it over. “Something with rum,” you answer, and you don’t even think he’s listening anymore as the girl gives him a salacious smile over her shoulder and he starts chasing tail.

“Think he’s coming back?” you ask over your shoulder. Your squeal is eaten up by the changing of songs as your boyfriend spins you abruptly in his arms, plastering his hips against yours in a slow grind that matches the heavy bass that makes the crowd cheer in excitement.

“Don’t care,” he breathes into the shell of your ear. He follows his words with a nip at your lobe and you bite your lip, winding your arms around his neck.

“Azriel,” you tut, but you can’t stop looking at his lips. His stare is hot and his hold is demanding, keeping you glued to his front as you grind your hips against his teasingly. “Cassian is your friend.”

“I don’t want to hear another man’s name on your lips right now, princess,” Azriel all but growls, golden eyes igniting.

“What do you want?” you ask breathlessly, your nipples tightening into pebbles beneath your shirt.

You’re thankful no one’s eyes are on you right now, all lost in their own conversations or dances with their partners. You don’t think it would matter if they were looking anyway, because you’re so focused on Azriel and the way his body reacts to a simply press of your body against his, warmth flooding you the way it always does when he’s around, that you might need that drink poured over you to pull your attention from him.

“First, I want to take you home,” his hand strokes a long line up your spine and he buries it in the hair at the nape of your neck. You gasp at his firm hold, arousal dripping to your core when Azriel uses that hand to guide your head away from him to suck at your neck. You arch into him, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Then, I’m going to strip you of all of these clothes,” his free hand grabs a handful of your ass and your approving hum sounds more like a moan. “And I’m going to ask you to ride me, princess. I want you to guide my cock into your tight, drenched pussy and take what you want, because you’re my needy girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” your nails rake down the back of his shirt.

“And when you’re cumming on my cock, squeezing me tight, I want you to—”

“Your drinks,” Cassian says gruffly, shoving a cup between you and Azriel. It forces him to stand straight, glaring absolute daggers at his best friend but it seems to bound off of Cassian’s shoulders easily, because he looks just as pissed.

You’re still a bit dazed, so it takes you a moment or two to figure out what’s going on. Azriel won’t let you leave your position, can’t let you leave your position because his boner if full on fucking raging right now, but he does allow you to turn around again, taking the drink from Cassian to quickly take a sip, trying to quench your parched throat.

“Thanks,” you say but Cassian hardly acknowledges it, passing a beer over to Azriel. He had two still clenched firmly in his free hand but he takes one and slams it back quickly, emptying its contents before Azriel’s even had a sip of his own.

“You okay, Cass?” Azriel asks, his hand sliding protectively over your hip. There’s no need to protect you from Cassian, but even you can admit as you shift from one foot to the other, that it’s weird seeing him like this. Not as carefree as he normally is.

“Fucking dandy,” Cassian grunts, hazel eyes grazing down where you and Azriel are still pressed tightly together. He looks away just as quickly and you think you see his lip curl a little.

Azriel stiffens behind you.

What the hell is going on with him?

Before you have the chance to ask or Azriel has the chance to bait him, Feyre’s pushing through the crowd, towing Rhys behind her. One girl glares at her as she passes but Feyre doesn’t seem to notice, eyes lit with happiness when they finally reach your little group, unaware of the clouds of tension bubbling around the three of you.

Cassian makes an effort not to choke down his entire second beer but it’s all too tempting. He takes a deep sip so he doesn’t have to speak.

“Hey,” she greets, cheeks a little flushed already. Rhysand and she must have been drinking before they came out. Or had sex.

“Hi,” you respond, trying to keep your grip on your cup relaxed. Cassian is acting strange. You glance up at him again but he’s avoiding eye contact with everyone right now, glaring into the mass of people. Yup, definitely avoiding looking at any of you.

“Rhys,” you hear Feyre say as you share a confused look with Azriel. His brows are pulled tight as he examines one of his best friends. He’d seemed fine back at the art building, his normal cheery and cheeky attitude threatening to drive him up the wall, so what happened between then and now? “Will you go get me a drink, please?”

“Of course, Feyre darling,” he agrees, but Cassian’s already shoving past him, muttering how he’ll get them drinks. Rhysand’s mouth parts but Cassian has already disappeared into the crowd. Well, as much as any six-foot-five man can disappear. “What’s his problem?”

Azriel shakes his head, taking a sip of his beer. “If we only knew.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

MM Taglist Part 1: @justvibbinghere @nickishadow139 @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumebrs @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut @cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakura-frost3-blog @imxnotxhere @bookishbroadwaybish @justdreamstars @i-am-infinite @whichwitchisthebitch @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @sia-r @ssmay123 @blackthorngirl @haivenhoule @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @bloodicka @wilmalovegood @jw83 @acourtofbatboydreams @hannzoaks @judig92 @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @ilikefictionalmen @harrystylesfan2686 @dr4g0ngirl @helensophie

#midnight muse #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel/reader #tattoo arstist!azriel #artist!azriel #art school au

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