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#ever so casually invite him over to Scoops
twstowo · 2 months
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Hi! May I request the basketball club trying to impress you? (Or anyone in a sports club?)
♡︎ Bang~★
♡︎Includes: Ace, Jamil and Floyd
♡︎Warning: None
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⋆⋅☆Ace
He invites you to all of his games and swipes the ball to score a point, just so he can catch your eye and wink, he looks so confident all the time but the Seven Forbid he looks at you and you give him that wide smile of yours, jumping up and down with how happy you are with his score. On one occasion, you brought a cardboard sign that read “I love you, Ace,” and you swore he couldn't score a single point the entire match due to how embarrassed he became.
He's precisely the kind of guy who will point directly at you during a game, as if to say, "This one is for you," and then proceeds to execute the most remarkable score, often from an impossible position right in the middle of the field.
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⋆⋅☆Jamil
He isn't typically one to show off, but he can't help but catch your gaze fixed on his arms whenever he's in the basketball club attire. While casually drinking water beside you, he might deliberately flex his arms, in front of your face, just to witness your adorable embarrassment.
He's the kind of guy who claims to be indifferent to your presence during their games, yet the entire team notices how he attempts more shots than usual when you're there and how he gazes at the empty seats when you're absent from their matches.
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⋆⋅☆Floyd
I can imagine him inviting you to one of the training sessions, and in the midst of it, casually asking if you want to join. Without any warning, he scoops you up, positions you in front of the basket, and encourages you to take a shot. The entire scene turns into a comical spectacle, with the rest of the team bursting into laughter. However, when you successfully score the basket, he joyfully twirls you around in the air, celebrating the moment.
The type to turn extremely competitive if you are watching him play, he becomes so harsh on the other team that they won't ever want to come back to play against them. He scares all the opponents away. Every team member pleads for you not to come over when it's competitive games against other schools, or they will end up having no more opponents.
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sadienita · 5 months
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SKZ Reaction - When you’re not very cuddly or touchy
Chan
Okay he, like, kinda likes it. We already know he loves the members that run from his affection. How many times have we seen him capture Minho or Seungmin with the biggest grin on his face the whole time? If you don't mind a hug from time to time he’ll honestly have a lot of fun. He kinda loves that you don’t want his cuddles every second of the day but it will lead to him sneaking up on you for a surprise hug and kiss or else chasing you down the hall, giggling the whole way until he tackles you onto the bed. He will let you go quickly each time though, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. And he’ll always assess your mood before playing around too, if he sees you’re having a rough day he’ll ask how he can make it better, only ever touching you if you request physical comfort. He is a little sad that you aren’t up for bedtime cuddles most nights but more than once you’ve rolled over in your sleep and somehow ended up in his arms and it always melts his heart when it happens. Some part of you will always seek out some form of comfort from him no matter the situation.
Minho
He’s very okay with this. He doesn’t like being touchy all the time and honestly prefers small touches here and there to constantly being in contact. He will be a little sad if you don’t want to sit on his lap often, that’s maybe the one thing he would like but he respects your boundaries and he wouldn’t be happy knowing you were uncomfortable on his lap anyway. He loves the interactions you do have. He loves staring at you and giving you a soft smile and a slow blink when you catch him, a silent way to say “I love you.” He loves the light way you touch his arm to get his attention, like a feather. He likes the way you’ll absentmindedly link your pinkie with his if you’re both quietly taking in a beautiful view. He loves the gentle, soft way you touch his face to move his hair or remove the eyelash that’s fallen on his cheek. He likes your small, quiet way of loving each other.
Changbin
He doesn’t mind it too much. He likes a more casual touch with you so at first it’s not an issue but over time he has to find where the line is. He likes having an arm around you but knows you get uncomfortable if he does it for too long. It ends up getting reserved for when you’re out at a party together, a quiet reassurance that he’s right beside you. He does like holding your hand but he won’t initiate if it isn’t your thing. He will, however, giggle like a lovesick fool if you lace your fingers with his no matter the situation. He really adores it and cherishes those moments. He can be playful with it too. When he can tell you’re in a good mood he’ll suddenly try to scoop you up or if you’re very unlucky, he’ll run at you and grab you so he can use the momentum to spin you around; he is not always careful of your surroundings. He thinks it's fun to catch you off guard and make you squeal or yell, chuckling to himself every time.
Hyunjin
He’s honestly somewhat similar. He doesn’t need to be in contact with you 24/7 and he likes that you feel the same way. It takes so much pressure off that you don’t constantly expect hand-holding or cuddling. In fact, his favourite thing is being alone together with you. When you get to the point of comfortable silence he’ll start inviting you to come sit with him while he paints, or to come and hang out in the dance studio while he practices. Your presence makes him feel so calm and happy and he knows if he wants your attention it’ll be easy to get. When he’s painting he likes to reach over and touch you from time to time, just to remind you he’s right there. He’ll show you what he’s working on from time to time. He loves when you bring something to work on yourself and share your own progress with him. The fact that you value his opinion makes him feel so incredibly special. When he’s dancing he can be a bit silly, a grin drawing over his face before he flops his sweaty body on top of you simply to annoy. He does delight in that. When he does touch you it’s always so gentle, adjusting your clothes, fixing your hair or head covering, pressing a very soft kiss to your nose, forehead, or knuckles. He loves treating you with the utmost gentleness.
Jisung
It’s all fine at first. He’s nervous when you first get together, not wanting to screw it all up. And knowing that you’re not that into skinship means he can just avoid it. But as time goes on he wants to. He wants to hold your hand and hug you and kiss you and cuddle with you. For a long time he’ll just try to swallow those needs down, as if they aren’t filling him to the brim. But eventually, during a particularly hard week, he’s desperate to ask you for comfort. He still doesn’t call you over but when he misses plans with you you show up at his place and take no time at all to cradle him, wrapping him in your arms and slowly calming him down. He finally admits after that that he wants some contact sometimes. It takes negotiations and trial and error to find where the most comfortable boundaries are. He likes sitting next to you during movies, feeling your leg pressed against his, and he likes when you fall asleep on his shoulder. He likes when you doodle along his skin sometimes, absentmindedly. He likes when you play with his hair, it always makes him feel so cozy and sleepy. And he loves that when he’s struggling that he doesn’t even need to ask, you’re quick to wrap him in a warm hug and give him the comfort he craves, holding him together whenever he’s close to falling apart.
Felix
He has by far the most trouble with it. He wants contact with you all the time. He wants to put his arms around you. He wants to cuddle you. He wants to feel close to you. He does his best to respect your boundaries because the last thing he wants is for you to be uncomfortable with him. He stops himself every time he goes to touch you absentmindedly, bringing his hands back to himself. But he doesn’t consider his own desires much and over time it puts a strain on your relationship. He gets very needy for verbal affirmations of your love and constantly tries to do everything for you to prove that he cares. It’s when you get annoyed with how overbearing he can be about it and ask him to stop that he breaks down crying, admitting that he doesn’t know how to love you the right way. It devolves into both of you crying and sitting with each other, holding his hands the whole time. It takes more tears before he admits that he doesn’t feel loved, that he needs some form of contact and it makes you realize that he’s been so wrapped up in your needs and you’ve neglected his. From that point on you try to find where your comfort lies and what feels okay. You find that a quick hug and soft kiss feels alright. You find that holding hands for a little while feels alright. You find that small things like feeding each other food and letting him do small tasks for you makes him so happy. And you find that in cold weather, a little bit of cuddling for a short while is nice. You both pay attention both to your own levels of comfort and the other’s feelings much more.
Seungmin
He thought he would be fine with it but he realizes he touches you absentmindedly a lot more than he thought he would. A gentle hand on your back to let you know he’s passing behind you in the kitchen, reaching out to cup your cheek and run his thumb over it, grabbing your hand in crowded place, a back hug when he wakes up to find that despite you sleeping over, you’ve gone wandering off somewhere else in the apartment and he comes to find you. It definitely causes tension, feeling and seeing the way you tense up when his fingertips find your skin. It reminds him quickly but he seems to have a hard time not initiating in the first place. It takes you getting frustrated with him before you two agree to sit down and talk through where the boundaries actually are. In time he realizes that you certainly don’t like surprise touches and you realize that he feels a little unloved if you never touch him at all. You adopt little touches, petting or playing with his hair, pressing stray kisses to him as you pass, pulling his hand into your lap and gently playing with it while you watch dramas. He grows to tell you when he’s going to touch you, giving you a verbal indication that he’s nearby first and keeping his touches more brief when he does give them to you.
Jeongin
He ends up pretty comfortable with this. He likes to hug you or to hold your hand from time to time but it makes him shy to do it too much. And he doesn’t like doing it in public or around other people, feeling a bit embarrassed every time it happens. Instead, he loves other ways to show you he cares. He loves dressing you up. He will beg you to let him pick your outfits and gets so excited when you say yes. He’ll leave gentle touches on you when he helps you with any jewelry he’s picked out. He ends up touching you the most while posing for pics, both of you invested in getting a good picture. He does like to play with your rings if you’re wearing any but he lets you give him your hand before he does so. He also loves when you fix his outfit or hair; reaching out to straighten or adjust something. He’ll keep hugs brief and likes just to be near you more than anything. You bring him a sense of comfort whether touching him or not and relishes that.
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sidthedollface2 · 6 months
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The one that got away
Pairing: Eddie x Fem Reader, Steve x Fem Reader, Eddie x Chrissy
Summary: Can you and Eddie remain friends while you both bottle up your feelings and navigate your relationships?
Or
Can Eddie forgive you when you accidently start a family with Steve, leaving him in the past?
Word Count: 6k
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort or hurt/no comfort, SMUT including oral and penetration. Swearing, cheating (not on reader), talks of sexual assault, nicknamed you Poppy cuz y/n is meh, brief Chrissy mentions. Btw, sorry in advance.
A/n: Took me all day to read it over and edit minor things only for the app to not save. So if you find any mistakes, ignore it. I fucken tried. Lol.
You couldn't say that you regretted what happened between you and Eddie. He was your best friend after all. He had been ever since you both were small kids. His mama would braid your long hair whenever she'd babysit you, she couldn't wait till she had a little girl of her own. Eddie was always a handful as a child, always getting into trouble and talking back. In her eyes you were just the cutest little thing, picking her flowers and telling her how much you wished she was your mom. She loved you as if you were her own. So when she passed when Eddie was 10 it was hard on the both of you, but at least you had each other to lean on. 
You were always a soft spot for Eddie, he felt like no one really knew him like you did. Especially since the one person he truly loved, his mama, loved you more than anything. He remembers all the times she'd tell him how adorable it would be if you both grew up to love each other, he never told you because at the time he thought it was gross. You were just his friend nothing more. 
But at 16 when Eddie saw your sweet mouth wrapped around a cherry lollipop, the sticky red gloss on your lips called to him. Something changed. He saw you differently, he just couldn't tell you, he wouldn't let those teenage hormones get in between your friendship. So he shoved it down, way down. He always thought you were pretty, that natural pretty too. Like those girls who just need mascara and lip gloss pretty. When your pink tongue licked your bottom lip humming at the sweet lollipop, yeah he shoved those feelings so far down that he forgot all about it, till Steve Harrington asked you out the following year. 
What Eddie didn't know was that you only said yes to Steve to get experience in kissing and other things, so that when you finally kissed Eddie he wouldn't laugh at you. You just didn't expect to lose your virginity to Steve either. Eddie had been so mad about the date you didn't dare tell him about what you both had done. "Are you fucking kidding me Poppy? He's a fucken asshole." Eddie seethed, glaring at you from across the table. You had casually mentioned the date at dinner time. Hoping he would be preoccupied with his meal, you were wrong. "You just don't know him like I do." You countered, Steve was in almost every one of your classes and he had been your science partner for Mr. Clicks class. 
He was always sweet and kind to you even though he was popular.  Eddie's eyes widened, perhaps from jealousy. The fact that you spent any amount of time with Steve to actually know him twisted in Eddie's gut. After the date you and Steve had become little more than friends, he was always inviting you to his games and you were his number one girl on his arm whenever he had his huge parties. 
At 19 Eddie had literally crushed your heart. He had been so heartbroken at seeing you and Steve together. Everytime he caught you in Steve's lap at lunch he'd halt and just walk the other way, each time a piece of his heart would chip off. The last straw was when he saw the hickies across the top of your breasts one day. You had bent over to tie your shoe, Eddie didn't mean to look but the scoop of your top and the guitar pick necklace he gave you caught his attention. You looked so pretty that day, your face had a natural blush, now that he thought about it, he knew you had been with Steve. Instead of telling you how he felt, how he's loved you since you were kids. How he would like nothing more than to taste how sweet your lips would be against his. Instead of telling you how he felt, he sought after his third choice. 
"So we're still on tonight right?" You and Eddie had been having weekly movie nights since way back when. Tonight would be no different. After work you would stop by his trailer with a handful of snacks and pop, both stuffing your face till your stomachs hurt.   "Oh, actually I had to pick up Jerrys shift at work, so I wont be able to. Sorry Poppy." You accepted the excuse, Eddie had taken more shifts at work, something about saving to get out of Hawkins. 
That night you had gotten off work earlier than expected and when you drove past Eddies trailer you saw his van parked just outside. Jerry probably showed up for his shift after all you thought. When you took the U-turn to check up on Eddie, you didn't expect to see him in his room. As you peeked inside his room from the window a knot formed in your throat. Your breaths became quick and fast  and tears started streaming down your face. The sight before you was like a knife to your heart, stabbing and slicing, deeper and more violent the longer you stared.  
The beautiful Chrissy Cunningham lay on top of his bed, topless. Her humble breasts were being sucked and groped by Eddie, while he lay between her legs, clothed thankfully. Her cheer skirt bunched at the waist left nothing to the imagination. He looked to be enjoying it, of course he would. It was Chrissy, Hawkins very own Queen, with Eddie Munson, the boy you loved since you were 7yrs old.  A loud sob escaped your mouth, stopping Eddie in his tracks.
As you ran to your car, the front door to the trailer flew open. Eddie's eyes met your teary ones as you put the car in reverse. You couldn't hear him pleading for you to 'Stop' and him yelling your name between your hiccuping sobs. 
Eddie felt like he lost you that day. It was a pain he had never felt before, an ache so deep it would never heal. He had tried to call you over and over, frantically pacing his room hoping you would answer. When he showed up at your door knocking like he was the police your step-dad threatened to call Hopper on him. 
On Monday Eddie waited outside your house at 7am to take you to school, he had gotten there early to make sure he didn't miss you leaving your house. You didn't go to school that day, or the next. You spent 3 days at home sulking, crying into your pillow. Seeing Eddie make out with Chrissy's tits just broke you in ways you didn't think was possible.
 He probably went back inside the trailer and fucked her like you didnt mean a single thing to him. Like you weren't madly in love with him. You were his childhood friend of course he was never going to see you as anything more. It was so stupid to think you even had a chance. To even dream that one day he would see you the way you saw him, love you the way you deeply loved him was foolish. So incredibly foolish, because he never would. Not while perfect Chrissy had his attention. Not while her pink lips tasted like bubblegum and she gave her body freely to him. No you would never get the chance to call him yours.
Back at school you were very careful in avoiding Eddie, whenever his voice carried in the halls you'd sprint the other way. At lunch you and Steve just sat in his car, eating whatever your mom had packed that day. A sweet giggle caught your attention and sure enough there was Chrissy and Eddie walking back from the woods. Her arm wrapped around his elbow. His hands were in his pockets as he looked to the floor, kicking some pebbles out of his way.
 Before he could look you in the eye, you looked at Steve and gave him a beaming smile. You didn't think Eddie would leave Chrissy's side but 3 knocks at your window told you otherwise. 
When you rolled down the window Eddie's eyes were glossy, his hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in a few days. The dark circles around his eyes were more prominent than before. His skin was dry and dull, lacking the life it once had. You guessed the disheveled look was from whatever he and Chrissy did in the woods or all weekend.
"Where've you been? I've been calling you all weekend and even went to your house." Eddie accused, scowling at the man sitting next to you. You could feel the strain in Eddie's words, worry etched all over his face as his forearms braced against the frame of the window. 
"Was just sick." You cough.
Steve glanced over to you. You didn't seem sick when he went over to your house on Sunday. Puzzled at why you would lie he just shrugged his shoulders and kept an eye on Eddie. 
"That's bullshit Poppy." He gritted. 
You sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose in irritation. No longer wanting to prolong the inevitable. You opened the door to the car, slamming it behind you, finally confronting him. "You lied to me Eddie. You lied to your best friend so you could go and fuck Chrissy!" You loudly exclaimed, arms crossed over your chest for protection. 
"Are you jealous?"
You scoff.
"Don't act like you're not. I see how you frown at Steve, you did it just now. Sad really, how quick she made you lie to your best friend though. I've never lied to you Eddie not to go hook up. Let me ask you this, have you lied to me before? To hang out with her? That night you left me alone at Tommy's party because you had an 'emergency.' Steve had to break down the bathroom door because Andy had followed me in the restroom and he touched and grabbed and tried to ra-"
"Poppy." 
"No Steve." You interrupt, tears rolling off your cheeks as you recount that night.
"Where were you Eddie?" You sniffle, voice weak with hurt.
Silence. 
"I thought so."
 Eddie's face was one of shock, and anger, but most of all unbelievable sadness. He did lie to you. He did hook up with Chrissy that night. And it made him sick to his stomach knowing that while he was having sex with her you were being sexually assaulted and almost……
He couldn't finish the thought. He had never seen you so broken and you had every right to be upset at him.
 He took a step forward, reaching to pull your arms apart to embrace you in an apology, but the way you tensed and flinched away from him caught him off guard. You had always reciprocated his affection. So seeing you deny him was a different kind of suffering. 
"I'm…..I'm so sorry Poppy." Eddie's voice was so quiet you barely heard him. His big brown eyes stared at you like it would be the last time he'd see you. There was a slight quiver in his lip as he saw the shift in your eyes and how small you looked. From his sweet and beautiful Poppy, whom he loved with every fiber of his being. To the cold icy glare you were now giving him. He knew right there that you no longer cared for him. He no longer was a staple in your life, Steve was now your person. You'd call Steve if you ever needed anything, and Steve would answer that call each and every time, just like he did that night.
"It's ok Eddie. It wasn't your fault." You reply, giving him a tight lipped smile, wiping at your tear eyes. 
Eddie watched you walk away from him with Steve's arm around your shoulder. He'd lost you in the blink of an eye. He'd lost you and you weren't even his to lose. It was the idea of you being his that he lost. He had seen it all with you, a future. A future his mom had always wanted for you two, and secretly he wanted it too. Waking up in bed next to you every morning, the big house with a family dog and 2 kids. God he really wanted to just feel you next to him, the warmth of your body wrapped around him. The scent of your hair as it draped over him every time you made love.
Two weeks later he asked Chrissy to be his girlfriend. She said yes. Eddie didn't graduate that year, too focused on trying to make Chrissy happy, while still trying to be somewhat of a friend to you was his top priority. You had accepted their relationship, even if seeing them together tore you apart limb by limb. The one organ that would always beat for him, was your heart. No matter how many times he'd wound you, you just wanted him to be happy, even if his happiness was with someone else. You'd suffer in silence, death by heartbreak you'd say. Some days just being with Steve would soothe the ache, but him and Nancy were off and on, causing you to be his trusted rebound. 
"You should just tell him Poppy, I'm sure he likes you too." Steve stated, taking a sip from his milkshake. You two had been having lunch at the diner when the topic of Eddie came up. "Well, It's too late now. He's madly in love with Chrissy and besides they've been together for a year now, I'm not about to be a homewrecker." You counter, swirling a french fry into some ketchup before shoving it into your mouth. 
Funny how the world works because that same night Eddie had called you in a panic. Chrissy had gotten so mad at him, throwing insults and hurtful words which eventually lead to her slapping Eddie in a fit of anger. He didn't tell you it all started with him mentioning your name.
 He had finally gotten tired of Chrissy questioning his love for her, he planned to end it that night and finally confess his feelings for you.  "Do you even love me Eddie? She sounded so small it almost broke his heart. 
He couldn't bear to tell her the truth so he stayed quiet instead. 
"Ed's, we haven't fucked in months. Is it because of her? Poppy?!!" He couldn't help the pink blush that painted his cheeks. Yes he did want you in that way but he also wanted so much more. "You want to fuck her don't you!!" She screamed, lunging to strike him before he grabbed at her wrists, holding her back. She continued to raise her voice more and more each time.
 Tears ran down her pink cheeks as she thrashed in his grip. He was able to take the hurtful words she was calling him. He had heard them his whole life, by now they just bounced off his skin. What he wasn't prepared for was Chrissy insulting you. No, he couldn't have that. 
Once Chrissy seemed to calm down Eddie let go of her wrists, wiping at her tears as they fell from her eyes. "Answer me." Her voice was stern as she glared at him.
"Chrissy, just stop." He said with a raised voice, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. 
She wouldn't relent until she got what she wanted. She kept pushing and pushing, jab after jab until one of her remarks made Eddie see red. 
"Your pathetic Eddie! How could you want to fuck that whore! She's been with half the basketball team!!!" She seethed. 
Chrissy's eyes dilated in fear as Eddie stormed toward her, backing her up against the wall. His eyes filled with blinding rage, nostrils flared with each inhale and exhale as he looked down at her in hatred, her misty eyes doing nothing to soothe the storm she caused. Needing to release his anger Eddies fists pound the wall behind her, caging her against the hard surface as he towers over her. He lowers his head to her level, voice laced with venom as he finally answers her.
"You want an answer Chrissy? How's this? No, I don't want to fuck her…..not at first. I'd make love to her all fucking day and night till I memorized the pretty whimpers she makes when she comes on my cock. Then once I'm drunk off her delicious pussy from eating her out like she was my last meal, I'd fuck the whore outta her, record the the sound of my cock slamming into her tight pussy and send you the mix tape."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"...Then she just fucken slapped me." 
You both sat on his couch, face to face, legs criss crossed. He mindlessly was rubbing at your knee, his light touch sending butterflies soaring in your tummy. 
"Do you want me to kick her ass? I fucken will Eddie. You just give the word." You joked, sort of, as you punched at the air, earning a laugh from Eddie. 
"No sweetheart. I don't need you getting hurt." He smiles, holding your hands in his, already rubbing at your knuckles as if you had punched Chrissy. 
A tiny gasp leaves your mouth when you notice two red marks on his cheek. "She scratched you Eddie." You tenderly trace the scratch, cupping the side of his cheek with your palm. Eddie leans into your gentle touch, face nuzzling at the warmth of your palm, a stark contrast to Chrissy. Your tiny hand found the nape of Eddie's neck pulling him close, to place a sweet kiss upon the high point of his cheek. 
As you pull away Eddie tilts his head, his nose brushing against yours before his mouth crashes into you. He kisses gently at first, years of pining and yearning leaving him breathless. You don't dare pull away, parting your lips to grant him entrance. Eddie moans against your mouth when his tongue dances with yours. It's so much better than he thought, your lips are soft and supple as he takes your bottom lip in between his teeth. 
You take control, when you throw your leg over his lap, straddling him on the couch. A satisfied moan rips through him as he wraps his hands behind you, squeezing your ass between his fingers, rocking your hips back and forth over his bulge. Feeling the denim of his jeans rub at your core, heating your body with every pass. 
"Fuck, baby. Feels so good grinding on me." His fingers trace tiny circles on your shoulders, making you shudder at the sensation. Nudging at your jaw, he peppers wet kisses down the curve of your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin, smothering himself in your scent. 
He hooks a finger under the strap of your tank top, gently pulling it down, exposing the curve of your shoulder. "I've wanted you for so long Poppy, can I have you?" He whispers, as he kisses and licks at your collarbone humming against your skin. You want him in every way possible, his firm tattooed body over and under you with a sheen layer of sweat at he fucks you in each corner of his trailer. You want every thought of his mind, all his dreams and desires in detail as you cultivate a guide on reaching all those goals and more.
 Above all those fantasies you wish you could grant him, the one thing you desire more, is this boy's soul to be intertwined with yours. His beautiful chaotic soul, with its good days and bad, for however many times he's hurt you, your mind, body and soul screams and claws at your chest. Ripping you open from the inside out just to be near him, just for an ounce of his attention, a half second of his unyielding love. Without another thought you nod, giving him permission to take you to bed. 
Eddie takes his time removing your clothes, unwrapping you like a gift on Christmas morning. His eyes sparkled at finally getting to see you undressed. Standing in the middle of his bedroom he takes you in, inch by inch. Kissing every ounce of skin he sees, marking you as his with lavender bruises. Equally as excited you slip your fingers under his shirt, feeling his toned body under your fingertips, bringing his shirt over his head you gawk at the ink that covers his chest. 
You shy under his gaze when he unclips your bra, exposing your perfect breasts to him. "Fuck baby, youre so fucking gorgeous." He coos, squeezing your tits between his large hands. He sits down pulling you to stand between his spread legs so he's eye level with your chest. 
Admiring your perfect tits he places his face between your breasts, pushing each one towards his face, dragging his tongue between them. The wetness from his saliva cools your heated body. You jolt when his mouth latches to your pebbled nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around your peaked bud. 
Closer you need to be closer, feel his body flush against yours, you straddle his hips again. Bare chest to his bare chest, the heat of his skin sizzling deep within your heart like the sun on a summer day. It feels so natural to be in this moment, his arms tightly wrapped around you, his ear to your chest, listening to the hammering of your heart you know he can hear. Eddie places a loving kiss to the hollow of your throat.
 His strong arms lift you up,wrapping your legs around his hips, he spins you around laying you on his bed. Hovering over you he continues down your body, kissing between your breasts, the curve of your waist, kiss upon kiss making up for lost time. His large palms smooth up and down the sides of your figure, making you squeal when he sneaks them under your ass pinching and palming you, groaning at the meat between his fingers."Tickle baby?" He whispers, chin resting on your pubic bone. 
His eyes are looking up at you from between your legs and you think you might die. 
"Super ticklish." You giggle, running your fingers through his long locks, scratching at the nape of his neck. Exploring your body like he has all the time in the world, a small gasp leaves his mouth as he pulls your panties down, hands instinctively caressing your sex. The way he's eye level with your core makes you squirm under him. "Shit, look at you sweetheart. So pretty." He mutters, running his fingers between your folds, coating them with your wetness. He could play with you all day if you let him, but he's too eager and desperately needs to taste you. 
"Oh fuck Eddie." You moan, grasping at the sheets when he licks a stripe up your cunt. His wicked tongue zig zags through your folds, slurping at your lips pulling gasps and moans from you that no one else has. Your back arches off the bed as he sucks your clit, humming into you in delight. You can feel him smile against your core, happy to devour you till morning. "Mmm you taste so good baby." He relishes, spreading you open with his fingers in a V, before plunging his fingers inside you, pumping into you, searching for that spongy spot that you know will have you seeing stars.
 "Oh my god there Eddie." Breathless, you stare between your legs panting in pleasure seeing Eddie feasting on you like he's starved. With his fingers feeling you from the inside and his tongue twisting and sucking your clit your legs begin to tremble. "Oh fuck fuck fuck Eddie im gonna come." Your legs attempt to close around his head as your pleasure keeps rising. "Come on my tongue baby, I fucken need to taste you." He speaks between his lapping, not once changing pace or pressure. 
A high pitched whimper bursts from your throat as white dazzling stars cloud your vision. Rouge tears escape your eyes at the intensity of your orgasm. Eddies beaming up at you, eyes the size of saucers as he kitten licks you, slurping up your sweet arousal. Kissing your pussy over and over "love." Kiss. "This." Kiss. "Pussy." Kiss.
You pull him up towards you, wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding your cunt into him. Eddie groans, chest heaving with adrenaline. The weight of his body flush against yours lights you on fire. You need him, want him in all the sweet and loving ways your heart desires. The nibbling at your earlobe and his breathless pants so close to your ear makes your body tingle with anticipation. 
You can feel his hardened length grind against you as his hands roam the expanse of your body. Touching every inch, storing every freckle and scar in his memory. You can't wait, years of lusting after him you need more. "Eddie, I want to feel you." Ghosting your fingers down his torso, his breath hitches as your fingers work to unbuckle his belt. He stands, shuffling out of his jeans, discarding them in the mess of his bedroom. The visible tent in his boxers has you drooling, fingers itching to grab him. You make grabby hands at him earning a chuckle as he stalks towards you. He stands in front of you as you sit at the edge of the bed, gently grabbing your chin between his thumb and index finger, bringing your gaze towards him. 
You look so beautiful sitting nude in his bed, big doe eyes looking up at him. "Poppy, you make me feel things I never thought I could." He confesses,  kissing you softly at first, smiling against your mouth like this is the happiest he's ever been. If he's being honest, being with you was always the highlight of his day. Tonight though would be memorialized into his heart forever. 
"Mmm, Eddie, want you to fuck me." You whine, deepening your kiss, biting at his lip with need. He moans into your mouth as you palm him through his boxers, fingers pulling at his waistband eager to feel his heavy cock between your hands. His boxers pool at his ankles as his cock springs free, a bead of precum glistening at his tip. "Oh fuck" he hisses as you take his length in your hands, stroking his pretty cock in slow up and down motions, cupping his balls with your other hand. Eddie thinks he might pass out with how good your hands feel around his cock.
 Your wet mouth wraps around his tip, swirling around his mushroom head. Tongue licking his shaft from base to tip, your eyes bore into his, enjoying the way he falls apart from your mouth alone. "Oh my god, your mouth is sinful" he groans, throwing his head back, hips bucking into your mouth. His hand wraps around your hair, gently pulling you off him. "Lay back sweetheart, let me show you how much I adore you." He breathes, crawling over you once you've settled at the head of the bed. 
With his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, he lines himself up to your entrance. Ever so slowly he pushes in, inch by blissful inch until he's fully sheathed inside you. "Fuck so tight baby, I'm not sure I can last." He whispers, holding your face between his palms, tenderly peppering your face with kisses. You whimper, biting your lips at the delicious way he's stretching you open. His eyes never leave yours not for one second as he thrusts into you over and over filling you with his cock till you're a blubbering mess.
 "Yes Eddie, oh god yes." You cry out, tears breaching your waterline as he throws your legs over his shoulder, pumping into you even deeper. He cages your head between his forearms, fingers interlocking yours in a tight grip. Your eyes gloss over with emotion, a deep ache tearing at your chest. This doesn't feel like fucking, not the way he's looking at you and holding your hands. Not in the way he's kissing your lips, licking into your mouth savoring the feeling of your tongue massaging his. His hips don't dare fuck into you like he wants. No, he's slow with his motions, feeling the way your cunt pulls him in when his hips meet yours. 
You don't know how but he's holding you so incredibly close, enamored with feeling you under him. His mouth is devouring each and every moan you're giving him. All rational leaves his body when he gazes in awe at how his cock disappears inside you with every thrust. He becomes so lust drunk off your pussy as his release draws near, finally confessing what he's wanted to for all these years, each confession spoken through whimpers of pleasure while he pistons his hips faster and faster.
'youre mine, all fucking mine', 
'Gonna make you make my wife one day, gonna buy you a big ring and a house.' 
'Wanna breed you so fucking bad baby. I love you so much, always have'
'Gonna be me and you forever sweetheart' 
His sweet revelation brings tears to your eyes, pushing you over the edge in heart bursting ecstacy. Ropes and ropes of hot come paint your walls as Eddie releases inside of you with a guttural moan, hips jerking forward filling you to the brim. 
Collapsing beside you, Eddie pulls you towards him, arm wrapping around your shoulders as you lay your cheek on his chest. "I meant every word Poppy, I'm so fucking in love you. I'm sorry it took so long to tell you." 
You were about to respond when Eddie cut you off, "You don't need to say it back, I just need you to know." 
Within minutes Eddie had drifted to sleep, still holding you close, afraid you'd slip out of his grasp. "I love you too Eddie." You whisper, running your hands over his chest, finding home above his heart, the heart you wanted so much to love you. 
 While Eddie dreamed of loving you for eternity you stayed awake, guilt and shame invading your every thought. How could you sleep with another girl's man? You couldn't become what you always hated a "homewrecker." Eddie and Chrissy didn't break up, they just had a fight and you took advantage of his vulnerability. 
Your stomach twisted with nausea, not only did he cheat on her with you, but you very well became another rebound. You knew Eddie cared for you and perhaps in the thrones of passion he confused friendship love with romantic love, yeah that makes sense. Of course he was hurt and heartbroken over Chrissy, and needed an outlet, a distraction. And there you were, a perfect distraction. Tears pricked your eyes as you realized you had ruined over 10 years of friendship in 1 night, a night you would never forget. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie had stared at his ceiling for what seemed like hours the following morning. Waking up alone, without you by his side left a gaping black hole in his heart. He must have read you all wrong, he thought you wanted to be together. The soft touches and shy glances, you said you wanted him. Oh god, did he come on too strong and scare you away? Was his confession too abrupt, did you even feel the same? Most importantly could you still be friends? 
Fear. Fear gripped him in a chokehold. Fear that he had pressured you to do something you never wanted. He couldn't live with himself if you felt he was too pushy or even forceful, he needed to make sure you were ok and that he had done nothing wrong. 
Eddie frantically knocks at your door, almost shouting for you when you don't answer quickly enough. When you answer, covered from head to toe in sweats in the middle of summer, he knows something is wrong, were you covering your body from him? 
"Hey Eddie." 
Hey Eddie? That's what you say after everything that's happened? So casual like you didn't just rip open his heart and spit on it. Hey Eddie? Like he was just a guy you met at the hideout and decided he would be fun for the night? 
"Poppy, did I do something wro–"
"No. You didn't do anything wrong. I did." Your voice is firm when you respond, you don't go into details as to why but Eddie takes your response as regret. He made love to you and you regretted it, didn't love him back. You didn't say it back or even acknowledge his dreams for a future with you. Based on how you're dressed and the dampness of your hair. He figures you showered immediately, scrubbing off his love with vigor and scalding water. Unable to bear the memory of his hands on you, you dressed in soft silky sweats to mask that feeling.
"Oh. Uh, are we gonna be ok? Still friends?" 
"Still friends" The corner of your mouth flicks up in a slight smile. You know from here on out things would be different. Eddie sees it too, in your detached stare, cold and unmoving. Your arms are crossed over your chest to stop your quivering frame from embracing him. Your Eddie. Chrissy's Eddie. 
He nods, stepping away from your porch, no longer able to take the awkwardness. Even if you didn't believe he would use you as a rebound his next request confirmed it.
"Oh uh Poppy?" 
"Hmm?"
 "Don't tell Chrissy." 
"Never, I promise." 
That was the last time you spoke to Eddie. He and Chrissy stayed together, you couldn't even look at her, the guilt of breaking that girl code too strong. And Eddie, he couldn't look at you either, at least not in front of Chrissy. Her jealousy ran so deep she practically forbade him from even looking in your direction or speaking to you. So many more fights stemmed from even being in the same room with you.
Eddie found out through the grapevine that you and Steve were official, apparently it was pretty serious too. He'd see your car outside family video often. One time he even spotted Steve at the mall, one of those jewelry sales associates was showing him some rings. He didn't know if it was just a gift or a engagem- he couldn't finish the thought. 
Eddie had woken up in a house he didn't recognise, covered in his own vomit and piss stains. Head pounding and throbbing from the intense hangover he had. Seeing Steve buy you a ring was enough to make him spiral into the darkness of his thoughts. It wasn't the first time he let his vices take control and it wasn't his last.
The last time Eddie saw you it was winter in Hawkins. You were having breakfast with Steve, of course, he had become your new…he didn't even know. Was he still your boyfriend or your fiancé? It didn't matter you had slept with Steve and yet he was still allowed to be your friend, but not him. It was partially his fault. Chrissy had him on a tight leash and he allowed it, slowly distancing himself from you. In the end choosing her over all the years he had with you. Not only had he let you down, but he also failed his mama's wish of you and him being together.  If she was alive today he'd never hear the end of it. Matter of fact he knows without a doubt she would have set something up to make sure you both fell in love with each other. He just can't fathom that he let her down. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 Your bright laugh carried throughout the diner, gracing Eddie's ears as he admired you from outside.  You looked as beautiful as ever, a natural glow from within despite the gloom that covered Hawkins. Eddie sat in his car watching as you devoured pancake after pancake, seeing you lick the sweet maple syrup off your fingers took him down memory lane. He thought about that night often, in the shower when Wayne wasn't home to hear your name leave his lips as he fisted his cock. Almost slipped your name a few times when he was with Chrissy, she had called you a whore, which made no sense since he could barely feel a thing with her, it was like throwing a hotdog down a hallway. 
Eddie watches as Steve holds you by the waist, guiding you to his car making sure you don't slip on the wet pavement. Eddie lowers himself in his seat, hiding as you both walk closer to his car, Chrissy's car. 
"Is my little angel satisfied? Or are you still hungry?" Steve asked, as he helped you out of your coat. 
"Satisfied." You smile. 
Eddie rolls his eyes as he hears Steve give you a big wet exaggerated kiss, punctuating the Mwah. 
Yeah, Steve was still your boyfriend. He was happy for you, genuinely happy. But what Eddie didn't see was that Steve didn't kiss you on the lips. No. Steve leaned down, hands delicately holding your hips as he playfully kissed your tiny swollen belly, only visible once he had taken your coat off. Eddie and the rest of your friends had no idea. Not a single clue.  
The following month you left Hawkins for sunny California, thinking you'd never go back to the state of heartbreak, only to return 3 years later. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hello?"
"Eddie! She's back." 
'Honey, who is it?' 
"Wrong number Chrissy, go back to bed." 
.
.
.
"Where is she?" 
.
.
"With Steve."
Tagging those from my previous fic:
@lady-munson @tlclick73 @edsforehead @hideoutside @kissmejoey @amira0303 @luv-flor7777
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dodiebeeps · 8 months
Text
Babysitting & Bonding
Miguel O'Hara x Reader
wc: 1.7K
summary: Miguel ends up babysitting Mayday...and you.
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You didn’t expect much when you invited yourself to Miguel’s platform. Usually, his holograms were projected, casting multiple diagrams and videos and data that your mind didn’t care—nor bother—to interpret. It was related to the multiverse; that was all you needed to know. Lyla would pop up beside him occasionally to urge him to take a break—which he usually did not—and you’d watch this banter between them until Miguel took note of your presence and chased you off. Somedays it took longer for him to do so, because you were annoying, but more often than not, you convinced him to let you stay.
This was a habit. So habitual it was routine.
But what you find before you open your mouth to announce your presence, has your lips curling into a bemused smile.
Miguel has a little visitor with him this time. Mayday leans over the spider’s impressively broad shoulders, staring raptly at what appears to be a family of dogs. You recognize its bright colors and cartoony art style immediately. Laughter tickles the inside of your lungs. Miguel, though less of his excitement is shown outwardly, watches the cartoon as well, his head leaning into his raised hand.
You pad closer, praying that neither of them notice your presence. Slowly, ever so slowly, you reach your hands into one of your hoodie pockets, pulling out your phone. Miguel is going to hate you for this, but it’ll just be added to the list of reasons why he can barely tolerate you, yet does so anyway. With a silent tap, the picture is captured, and the deed is done.
You can’t wait to show this to Peter B, already imagining the madness that will follow when, inevitably, Miguel finds out. You hope to be far away when that happens.
As you lose distance still, you take in the spider. For once in his life, he looks…well, casual. He relaxes in a rolling chair, looking almost serene. You’d comment on it, if not for the fact you want to be a secret for a little longer. Mayday coos at the dogs as they bounce on a trampoline, reaching a hand out toward the screen and almost losing her balance.
Miguel steadies her immediately.
“Hey, be careful, alright. Tu papá lanzaría un ataque si te golpeabas la cabeza.”
You stand there in shock. You’ve never heard something that wasn’t a harsh reprimand or spitting rage. Was this a different universe? You thought you'd only see Miguel this soft in your dreams, but what you're seeing is—
Lyla fizzles to life before you, grinning wildly and making you release a sharp squeak. You slap a hand over your mouth, but it's too late.
Miguel's gaze snaps to you.
Your heart freezes like a deer in headlights, the very blood in you pausing as it skips a beat. The computer AI only giggles at your predicament, sending you a peace sign before she returns to oblivion.
The silence stretches between you both in her absence.
"Nice weather, we're having, aren't we?" You hum, innocently tying your hands behind your back and glancing at the dark wall that makes up his office. Yep, a bit of clouds… looks like some rainy weather.
Miguel's displeasure ebbs off him. He looks like a cat that’s been pet too many times when he grunts, "Get out."
Inwardly, you mourn at the loss of his softer side. Outwardly, You huff in offense, stalking closer anyway now that your cover has been blown. “Hey there, little baby,” you coo at Mayday, tickling her side to grab her attention. Miguel leans away from you with a grunt. Despite that, the baby coos in recognition, her face splitting into a happy giggle as she reaches for you with grabby hands.
“Ah, so you’re finally sick of your babysitter, huh?” You scoop May up in your arms, spinning in circles to hear that gleeful laugh of hers. She’s so pure. “It’s okay,” you whisper, pretending you can’t see Miguel’s shadow growing bigger over your head, “he’s a bit of a bore, so I understand.”
You suddenly spin to face Miguel, holding Mayday in front of you like a truce. His expression is unamused, and you briefly wonder if the soft expression you’d caught a glimpse of was a fever dream. Ignoring the fact you barely reach up to his shoulders, you wear a mocking expression behind Mayday, hoping her cuteness can spare you for a second longer.
“Why are you here.”
Swiveling Mayday back to you, you bounce her gently. Miguel frowns further at the irksome grin that forms on your lips. “I can’t say hello to my favorite baby and her grumpy sitter? I didn’t know babysitting was on your resume besides being the most unfunny Spiderman I’ve ever met.”
“Dios mio.” The top of Miguel’s nose becomes the holding place for his frustration since he can’t take it out on you. At least, not in front of Mayday. “Peter—why am I even telling you this—asked me to watch over her while he went on a mission.”
You make sure Miguel sees it when your gaze switches between him and the show still playing on his holo-screen. “At least tell me you like Bluey.”
Miguel’s nose crinkles at the name and you legitimately gasp in shock. “Ain’t no way.” You march over to the hover chair the spider had previously occupied and plopped yourself into it, placing Mayday on your lap sideways so she can enjoy. Meanwhile, your expression is set on Miguel, completely unamused. “Say it right now. Tell me you hate it with your big boy words, because I know you’re lying to me.”
Miguel stalks closer to you. So close, that you have to crane your neck in order to meet his eyes. It’s impossible to admit that he isn’t a pretty sight, what with the way his face is sculpted like a Greek god, and a jawline that could slice through stone. Thick eyebrows, slouched in a deadpan, make shadows over his vermilion irises, sharp and intently focused on you—not unlike a cat scouting a canary. His plush lips are set in a thin line, and you inwardly preen that all his feelings, even though they’re less than positive right now, were caused by you. Your presence, your actions.
You’re more than pleased. You can’t believe you’ve managed to hide your obsession with him for this long. Even with all the flirty jokes you throw at him every once in a while, he has yet to take a step.
You realize you’ve been staring at Miguel too long when his eyes narrow at you, then at—you hardly believe it—your lips. His features twist into a smug smile, and your chest feels hollow as the higu ground crumbles beneath your metaphorical feet.
“Mis ojos están aquí arriba.”
“Only cowards speak Spanish when they’re the only ones who can understand it. You didn’t even answer the question!” Focusing on the adjacent holo-screen, you call, “Lyla? Can you tell me what he said, please?”
The blessed AI flickers into existence, except…you’re not a huge fan of the wide grin she dons. The program tilts her heart-shaped glasses downwards, exposing her actual pixelated eyes. While this happens, the weight of Mayday leaves your lap, and you briefly glance at Miguel stealing the babe and pulling up another chair to propound another episode of Bluey.
“Are ya sure you wanna know?”
You glance back at Miguel once more, only to find his gaze already fixed on you. To Lyla, you say, “It can’t have been that horrible.”
“He merely said he has a big fat crush on you, that’s all.” Lyla coos, hands on her hips, though you can’t see her do it. Instead, your former expression of confusion shifts into a cocky grin, so wide it feels too big for your face.
“How sweet. A love confession for me? Why Miguel, you didn’t have to go through all the trouble. All I needed was a lil’ smooch.”
Miguel makes a face that borders on apoplectic, his fury dancing between you and the AI, before stopping on the latter. “Don’t lie to her, Lyla.”
“I don’t lie. You programmed me that way, boss.” The computer program winks at him, before turning to you. “Hey, don’t forget to send me that picture of him, sweets.”
Your eyes widen as Lyla blinks out, leaving you alone to be the subject of Miguel’s ire. Damn AI, you were a fool to think she was on your side.
Despite the sounds of the cartoon playing in the background, you can still hear Miguel’s deeper pitch as he says quietly, much too quietly, “...What picture is she talking about?”
“Nothing.” You say, standing up in a second and speedwalking for the edge of the platform. “I think Lyla has a bug, Miguel, because she just li—”
You’re stopped by glowing crimson webs wrapping around your waist. Try as you might, no amount of willpower nor physical prowess is able to stop you from being dragged back to Miguel’s side. You feel your cheeks flush as an arm replaces the webbing, forcefully setting you down in the seat you’d stolen from him. The other keeps Mayday in place, who is none the wiser to what’s occurring behind her.
He pulls you and the chair close, too close for it to be a mundane chat. To cement this, the same arm wraps around the back of your seat, and you swear you can feel the sinews of fine, bulky muscle tensing beneath your head. Despite the fact you’ve basically been trapped, you can’t say that you hate it. No, more like you despise not being the one in control at the moment.
“No, no. I think you’ll stay right here.” You turn to him slowly, and your heart jumps at the sight of keen fangs, exposed in a cutting smirk. “You’ll show me what exactly this picture of me contains, and we’ll watch Bluey together with the baby, capiche?”
Something in his tone tells you that this offer is non-negotiable. Ah, well. In the end, you were looking to end up like this, though it didn’t happen in the way you imagined.
“Fine,” you huff, glancing at the cartoon Mayday’s so enraptured by. “But at least tell me you like Bluey?”
Miguel chuckles softly, his thumb stroking your arm. “It’s good. Heartwarming.”
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gracieheartspedro · 8 months
Text
I Can See You
PART 3 is HERE!
joel miller x fem! reader
Hi lovers! Sorry this took so long, life got busy and ADHD is a bitch. But here it is! My next post will probably be a different drabble/one-shot. If you have any requests, PLEASE hit me up! I am open to a bunch of different ideas!
Word count: 3k+
Warnings: MINORS DNI! 18+ pleaseeee, DBF! Joel, age gap-ish (the reader is 25, Joel is 39), joel is a bad cook, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, pet names, tons of dirty talk.
Outline: She gets invited over for dinner and a movie night? Just a movie, huh?
PART 1 PART 2
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“So Joel told me he’s coming over today,” Dad says from across the dining room table as I eat my breakfast, “With Sarah?”
I stop and chew slower, trying to hold back a smirk.
Ever since we fucked in the conference room, I’ve been texting Joel every day. Sometimes it was naughty sexts and other times it was him asking how my day was going and what my weekend plans were.
A couple of days ago, he called me instead of texting, which was odd. He asked if Sarah could come swim in our pool because she wouldn’t stop asking about it. 
So I agreed, telling him that Saturdays were the best day for me. I also told him he had to be around just in case anything happened and I wouldn't be 100% liable for Sarah’s well-being. 
“Yeah, I told her she could come over and swim in the pool. She wanted to practice her backstroke.”
He smiles, “Nice for you to have her over, but are you okay with it just being y’all? I can stay home from this conference so I can entertain Joel.”
I shake my head quickly. Maybe a bit too quickly.
“No dad, it’s fine,” I take a sip of orange juice, “They will only be here for the afternoon. It’s not worth you missing two days in Houston. You need to go.”
He takes my word for it and hurries to finish his breakfast. He should’ve left at 6am, but here we are at 10 and he’s still not left. I texted Joel under the table as soon as he took his plate to the sink. 
Pops is still here. You and Sarah are welcome as soon as he leaves.
I bring my half-finished eggs to the trash, scooping them into bin. 
“Do you need me to leave my credit card?”
I shake my head, “No, it’s fine. Joel is buying us pizza in return of allowing Sarah to use our pool.”
“You better not have told him we needed something in return of using the goddamn pool,” Dad fusses, “He is always welcome to it. God knows you hardly use it.”
I roll your eyes, “No, I didn’t say that to him.”
I actually told him that he could bend me over the kitchen counter in return for using the pool. 
I feel my phone buzz. 
From: Joel Miller
Can’t wait to see you, baby.
Dad left, and not even an hour later, Joel pulled up with Sarah in his truck. He was sporting some black swim trunks and gray t-shirt. Sarah giddily got out of the truck, sporting a pink one piece and flip flops. She hurried to the door, where she found me sporting the skimpiest bikini I owned. 
It was a red triangle bikini top and the cheekiest bottoms in my collection. Something very casual. 
Sarah gave me a warm smile, racing into the house and to the back sliding doors. It’s like she knew exactly where to go. Joel took his time grabbing their stuff. I lean against the door frame, taking him in. 
As soon as his eyes met mine, his eyes quickly averted down my body. He creeps closer, slinging his towel over his shoulder. 
“Evil,” He mutters walking pass me, “You can’t be doin’ this around Sarah.”
I smile, shutting the door behind him. He looms over me and I get a whiff of sunscreen. 
“Doing what?” I ask innocently.
He glances into the back yard where Sarah is already getting ready to jump into the pool. He’s making sure she’s not watching.
His arm wraps around my waist, grabbing onto my bare ass. I feel very small when I look up at him. His brown eyes bore into mine. 
“You sure are lucky that my Sarah is here, because if she wasn’t,” He pauses, “I’d take you right in front of the window here.”
He gestures to the window right by the front door. 
“But you’d like that wouldn’t you? Show the neighborhood who’s pussy this is.”
His hand rests right above the hem of my bottoms. I bite my lip. He knows what to say to make my brain melt and my words jumble together. But it’s a game.
I needed the chase, it made everything with Joel so much more satisfying and dangerous. 
I contemplate for a moment, before grabbing his chin gingerly.
“Why don’t you order those pizzas, babe?”
-
“Look at this dive, Dad!”
I prop myself up on my lounger chair, watching Sarah dive into the deep end. Joel is meandering around the pool, his skin so beautifully touched by the sun. His tan was deep and seeing it glisten with the water all over his body, was just icing on the cake. 
“Very nice, baby,” He glances my way, noticing I’ve finally risen from my spot. After stuffing myself with pizza, I knew I had to lay out and let my bloated stomach go back to normal. 
I watch him rise from the water, using the steps to make his way over to me. The weight of the water drags his shorts a bit lower and seeing his toned tummy was a sight to behold. 
I look around him to see Sarah swimming laps, making sure she was occupied. He plops down next to me in the other lounger, grabbing his aviator suns from the table between us. 
“What’s your plans while your dad is gone?” He questions, propping his sunglasses on his nose. 
I shrug, leaning towards him to whisper, “Thinkin’ I’ll go across the street and fuck that hot MILF everyone won’t stop talkin’ about.”
He shakes his head, “That poor lady has a name, ya know?”
“It’s like Susan, isn’t it?”
“Lauren.”
I groan, “She even has a hot girl name! God damn!”
He chuckles, “No but seriously, what are you doin’?”
I look over to make sure Sarah couldn’t hear me. I watch her dive into the water again, “No plans. Just hangin’ around.”
He nods, laying back onto the chair, “Why don’t you come over tonight?”
My stomach drops. He asks it so nonchalantly.
“When Sarah is home?”
“She’s going to her grandparents tonight. They are takin’ her to some baseball game.”
So we get to be alone?
“Oh, okay,” I thought for a moment, “So you want me to come over and do what?”
“I don’t know,” He mumbles, “We can watch a movie. I’ll cook.”
If you would’ve asked me a month ago, I never once would have imagined a moment where Joel Miller would even give me the time of day. Now he’s asking to hangout with me outside of work? Spend time with just me? It seemed out of the realm of possibilities.
But I love that the offer stands.
“Sure, I’d love to,” I pause, “As long as the cooking is good. If not, we are ordering out again.”
“Hey,” He grumbles, “Fuck you, I’m an excellent cook.”
It’s like Sarah got superhuman hearing all of a sudden because she quips up.
“Don’t believe him! He burns eggs every morning!”
“Hey, you eat them anyway!”
-
I arrive to the Miller’s around 7PM. I decided to walk again, trying not to tip off any of the neighbors leaving my car parked beside Joel’s truck. I decide for a black hoodie, jean shorts, and Converse. I didn’t bring a bag of things because technically, Joel didn’t say this was a sleepover. I am running on the assumption I am leaving after our… movie night?
I knock quickly, glancing back and forth between Joel’s neighbors. Both are pretty familiar with my dad, so I knew if I was spotted, they would rat me out. 
Joel swings the door open, this time, fully clothed. A casual outfit for Joel, jeans and a light grey t-shirt. 
“Come on in,” He mumbles, “Did you drive?”
I shake my head, “No. Walked. I took shortcuts, too.”
He grabs me quickly, pulling me inside. He glances around outside, making sure no one is outside. 
“I already had Mrs. Adler askin’ why I took Sarah over to your house today,” He says, shutting the door, “Hate when people are in my business.”
“What did you tell her?”
He smirks, “That I was fuckin’ my bosses’ daughter.”
My cheeks get hot. 
“Nah, just that you were givin’ Sarah time in your pool to practice her swimmin’. She stopped with the questions after that.”
I smack his chest, bringing down my hood. I take off my hoodie eventually, sporting a simple white tank top underneath. I toe off my shoes, propping them up by the door.
“We fucked once, so technically we aren’t fuckin’,” I tease, “Unless…”
He starts his way to the kitchen ignoring me.
“You hungry?”
Joel was a bad cook, but I wasn’t going to come in with judgment when it’s a free meal and he made it just for me. 
He stares me down from across his small dining room table, waiting for me to say something. We sit in silence for most of the meal. Not uncomfortable silence, just too in our own heads, I guess. I eat the last of my burnt brussel sprouts, trying not to let him read my mind like he usually does.
“You hate it don’t ya?”
I take one more bite, “I’m not a chef by any means either, Joel.”
He laughs, “That’s a good way to put it, little one.”
The nickname makes every hair on my legs stand up. He notices my demeanor change. He stands up, collecting our plates and brings them to the sink. I stand up to begin to help him, but he has other ideas. He stands over me as soon as I get up, his dark brown eyes raking me up and down. He reaches up to my biceps, running his warm hands up and down them. 
“You like it when I call you that?”
“What?” I croak out. I knew what he was talking about, but for some reason I wanted him to keep saying it. 
“Little one,” He whispers, “My little one.”
I swallow hard, “Y-yeah.”
“Gets you all riled up? Makes you think of the first time my face was between your thighs?”
I close my eyes, letting his hand start to run down my face, to my jawline, to my collarbones. I take in his scent. Amberwood, aftershave, and maybe a bit of cigar? It was intoxicating, his scent. 
“J-Joel,” is all I can mutter, “P-Please.”
I open my eyes finally, seeing him smirk, “What baby? What do you want?”
“Do it again,” I mumble, “I want you to do that again.”
His hand travels down to my waist, and with one arm, he hoists me up to the kitchen counter. My jean shorts ride up even more as he positions himself between my legs. 
“I need more than that, little one,” He says, “What exactly are you talkin’ about?”
He was going to make me lay it all out for him. I don’t know why I felt shy again, like I couldn’t say what I needed from him. 
Like before, he looks so tall and big standing over me. His hands feel so strong and his arms so toned. I wanted to jump his bones watching him at the pool earlier, watching him be at ease with no shirt on. His confident stride and stature was so attractive. 
“Speak up,” He demands, “Need you to say it.”
“I need you,” I drag it out, “I need you to eat me out.”
He starts hooking his fingers through my belt loops, lifting me out of my shorts, “What else?”
My mind goes blank for a second. 
“Fuck me?”
“No please?” he taunts.
“P-Please Joel,” I mutter, “Don’t make me beg.”
He chuckles lowly, “Oh I fuckin’ will.”
He doesn’t waste time completely tearing my thong off my body. I lean back, my head resting against the cabinets. The thong gets tossed across the room, now useless after being torn in two. 
He reaches up to bring my head forward, crashing our lips together. Our tongues battle instantly, both of us wanting to be dominant. He was so forceful, but it was everything I needed to be more sure in myself. I reach up, lacing my hands in his hair. 
He pulls away, his breathing fanning my already hot face, “You gonna be good for me, baby? Use those manners?” 
“Of course,” I moan, “P-Please do something.”
He takes off his shirt, his muscles highlighted differently in the low lit kitchen. I couldn’t help but stare as he gets on his knees, his face eye level with my pussy. 
God, I could never get over this view. 
He presses forward, giving my inner thighs kisses and small little love bites. 
He hooks both legs over his shoulders and dives in. He doesn’t start slow, oh no, he goes full starving-man-mode. He starts using his tongue to write the alphabet up and down my slit. When he finds my clit, he wraps his lips around and sucks. 
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I moan, “Don’t stop!”
He breaks away, only to put his index and middle finger into his mouth. He watches me as he traces my slit with his fingers, smiling as he sinks them into my hole. When he’s satisfied with my reaction, he finds his way back to my clit.
Between his fingers fucking me and his mouth working magic on my bud, I scream out not able to contain the build up I feel in my stomach. He only increases his speed, the wet lapping sounds only causing me to burst. 
He fucks me through it, as I moan his name over and over again. 
He pulls his fingers out of me, and stands up from his spot. My ass stays half on the counter and half falling off. I am basically only propped up by his leg. 
“Now that I got one out of you, little one,” He suggests, “’m going to fuck you until you can’t stand.”
I was so fucked out of my mind, I’m like jelly in his hands. He shimmies his pants off, his boxers tented by how hard he was. I just smile at the affect I had on him. 
“You okay to stand?”
I giggle, “I don’t think so, sir.”
As soon as I say it, I don’t have to worry about standing anymore. He reaches for my waist and repositions me on the counter. I stare down between us, his hard cock rubs my sensitive slit. 
“You’re so pretty, little one,” I hear him in my daze, but before I can respond, he eases himself into me. I moan out due to the glorious stretch, letting him get fully sheathed inside me. Instead of keeping me on the counter, he hooks his arms under my knees and lifts me up. In my shock, I wrap my arms around him, tucking my face into the crook of his neck. 
He sets a brutal pace, not paying much mind to my groans. It wasn’t that it was uncomfortable, it was just so much. 
My mind goes back to what he said, which only gets me more riled up. 
“God, I’m so full,” I moan into his ear, “You’re so good to me.”
I can feel his smile, “Better than you’ll ever have, baby.”
“You’re all I want,” I say absentmindedly, “I’m all yours.”
He props me back on the counter, pulling out of me briefly. He is throwing me around almost like a ragdoll. He lifts me up and spins me so I’m facing away from him. He moves my arms, so I can actually prop myself up on the counter. He lines back up, pushing himself back inside me. From this position, he somehow hits me in different places. He readjusts my body before settling back into a faster pace. With his right hand on my covered tit, his left hand reaches up to my throat. The sounds of slapping are so overstimulating in the best way possible. I couldn’t get enough. 
“All,” Thrust, “Fucking,” Thrust, “Mine.”
I feel the warmth in my stomach again. It had to be the mixture of him calling me his and the fact that his dick was hitting me in just the right spot. As soon as I hit my tipping point, it’s like he could tell because he slows down, his hand traveling down to my clit again. I fall over the edge, my eyes rolling back into my head as I moan out his name. My entire body is tense until it’s not. I fall forward, but before my head catches the edge of the counter, he holds me up against him. 
“I’m ‘bout to cum,” he groans, still fucking into me, “Want me inside?”
“Cum inside me, Joel,” I beg, hardly able to project my voice. 
I’m at his mercy, as he spills inside of me all the while telling me what I good girl I am. I finally find my footing, as he slips his cock out of me, letting his cum drip down my legs. He releases my body, walking away from me for a moment. I try to get ahold of my bearings, but all I can think is how I never want to stop doing this. I want more. 
I need more. 
“Here, turn to me baby,” He mumbles. I turn around noting the damp rag he has. He gets on one knee, using the rag to clean up his cum off my legs. I’m still very sensitive, so when he gets close to my mound, I jolt. It makes him giggle. 
Post-orgasm clarity started to hit me. I watch him stand up and lay the rag in the kitchen sink next to our plates. He was so fucking beautiful, his body glistening with sweat. He had to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. 
“You okay?”
I wet my lips, “I think I need you to fuck me every day.”
His beautiful smile reappears, “Is that so?”
I nod quickly, “Yes, sir.”
He creeps closer to me, his hand lacing around my waist again. 
“I’m sure that could be arranged,” He leans down and kisses my shoulder blade, “Now, which movie should we watch?”
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workingforitallthetime · 10 months
Note
oh ok actually girl rutger offering to marry adam for citizenship
anon this is perhaps the most delicious ask that has ever arrived in my inbox. i got it just as i started a long drive and i immediately turned off my podcast and allowed my brain to simply bask in this premise for an hour straight. here we go…
our story starts three years from now, when the gang’s all reunited at phil’s wedding or something like that. around the table at the reception, everybody’s asking adam about his second contract with anaheim. he’s bitching about how there’s some massive cross-border tax hit he’s taking on his contract value because he’s filing as single. [please suspend your disbelief so we can have a good time here, okay?] the boys tell him he should just get married, he can find a wag easy enough. i don’t want a wag, adam says, she’d expect all kinds of shit. he likes living in anaheim with luca, he likes spending his money how he wants to spend it, he doesn’t want a goldendoodle or the hassle of a wag.
rutger returns from the bar with a tequila soda in hand and slides into her seat. you should marry rutger, someone says, she’s not a wag. “goddamn right,” says rutger. “what are we talking about?” adam explains the tax thing and rutger says sure, she’s up for it. it’s not like she has a boyfriend to get in the way. she wants a cut of the tax windfall, though, since adam’s second contract is poised to be a lot richer than hers.
their families shrug and roll with it. the mcgroartys were going to visit ontario this summer anyway, so the fantillis invite a few extra people over for dinner, drop a couple grand on flowers, and bam, they’ve got an impromptu backyard wedding. because this is my story and i get to have whatever i want, pat brisson and brendan are there. pat's not gonna miss two clients getting married, even if it's just a tax dodge.
it’s important that you know that rutger has an absolutely outstanding casual white wedding dress. slim skirt, tailored sleeveless midriff top, suntanned abs on display, one of those fancy ponytails with a section of hair wrapped around the rubber band and the ends curled just so. also white adidas slides.
adam watches rugter make her way down the aisle on her dad’s arm, a bouquet of peonies tipping sideways in her grasp as she reaches out to give fistbumps to their friends. when she reaches adam and he takes her hand, she gives him a big scrunch-nosed smile, like this is a joke just for the two of them, like this is the most fun she’s ever had in her life.  he thought it might feel awkward or weird to fake-marry rutger, but it just feels… easy. maybe because they’ve been friends for so long. probably because it’s just fake.
nolan moyle gets ordained and performs the ceremony, because this is my story and I get to have everything I want. they swap silicone rings (v practical for hockey) and rutger gives adam a kiss on the cheek.
they take a series of wedding photos just in case the IRS asks any questions. after a couple of prom-looking poses, adam tries to scoop rutger up in his arms for a picture, honeymoon style, and she elbows her way right out of there. "don’t fucking do that," rutger says, 'i’m not your wag." she’s a pro hockey player in her own right! Not some wife who gets carried around by her husband. got it, adam says, sorry sorry.
nothing much changes now that they’re nominally married. they still train together part of the summer, go on the same getaways with their friends, have dinner together whenever winnipeg plays anaheim. they definitely indulge a little more on those dinners, get a really nice bottle of wine that rutger makes adam pay for out of his tax savings. all their friends know they’re not seriously married, so it’s not like they even have to keep it a secret when they discreetly hook up with other people. In a weird way, rutger finds she actually feels a lot better about dating now that she’s got a husband. having a shitty first date or a bad hookup doesn’t make her spiral about dying alone and unloved anymore. funny how that works.
the pieces finally start coming together for anaheim, and adam makes the playoffs. the jets don’t. rutger goes to adam’s home games in the first round, because it would look weird if she didn’t, even if she’s still licking her own wounds about another shitty season in winnipeg. adam calls her as she’s packing. he’s really, really sorry, but troy terry’s wife says to bring light-wash jeans and wedges.
rutger has murder in her voice. “please tell me they did not get me a wag jacket.”
"i’m so, so sorry," adam says. "dani got your measurements from the equipment manager. she said it’d be weird if you didn’t have one. they look pretty sick…" he trails off.
rutger asks, dangerously quiet, “does connor have one?” no, adam says, sheepish. they both know connor’s going to be in his usual dark suit, discreetly tucked away in a suite out of view of the cameras, masking his fury about watching mason in the playoffs while the blackhawks continue to suck. exactly what rutger planned to do, with maybe a little less fury and a few more bud lites.
rutger’s voice gets more brittle. “does trevor have one?”
…actually yeah, adam says. it’s not like she can wear it while she’s playing, but she made dani get her one anyway. rutger rolls her eyes. fucking figures. trevor will probably wear it in the dressing room afterwards, just strip off her pads and prance around in a wag jacket with drysdale on the back. fine, rutger says, ungraciously. you fucking owe me so big for this.
it's humiliating, to be shuffled off to the wag box with eighteen other blonde women when rutger’s worked her whole life to be down on that ice. the broad shoulders of her jacket stand out in the row of tiny little identical black leather jackets on the garment rack. even olen zellweger’s figure skater boyfriend looks more at home than she does. she puts on a brave face for the social media photos, though, and once the game starts it’s easy to get swept up with cheering for adam. she wants this for him more than any of these other girls wants it for her man. rutger knows what this means in a way they never will. when adam scores the go-ahead goal, she screams herself hoarse.
at intermission she takes a selfie with her back to the bathroom mirror, holding her phone up to her shoulder so adam’s number is in the frame and tilting her chin so the ends of her ponytail tickle the gold-trimmed fantilli lettering across her shoulder blades. it’s obvious from her profile that she’s smiling. she texts the photo to adam as a peace offering.
the notif is the first thing adam sees when he checks his phone after the game. He opens the photo and immediately hides the screen of his phone flat against his chest, his entire body going tingly like he just got an unexpected sext. he knows better than to tell rutger it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life. he even waits until she leaves town before he makes it his lockscreen. he can do that. that’s his wife, right?
the ducks only get a taste of the postseason that year. the offseason comes too soon, and this year it feels different. not on the ice – skating with adam’s just as fun and challenging as ever. he doesn’t ever take it easy on rutger, and that's what she likes about him. but off the ice it’s different. they remind each other more often: hey, we’re married, right? like when adam stretches out on the bench seat of the boat and rests his head in rutger’s lap for her to swirl her fingers through his damp hair. or when rutger steals adam’s favorite gray hoodie and snuggles up next to him by the firepit. and finally, quietly, when they’re the only ones left at the end of the dock on a moonlit night, and adam tips up rutger’s chin and kisses her.
as summer comes to an end, they’re making real plans. how adam can stay an extra night in winnipeg when the ducks come through town, where they’ll go for the all star break, whether it’s possible to spend christmas together. but then the last weekend they spend together before training camp, rutger catches a glimpse of adam’s lockscreen and everything comes crashing down. that’s how adam likes her, huh? just another identical blonde with his name on her back? what the hell is she doing here, planning to be adam’s wag? she deserves better. she’s got her own career. she deserves somebody who’ll cheer for her. there’s plenty of girls who’d be happy to be adam fantilli’s wag and he can goddamn go and find one of them.
rutger storms off to winnipeg and channels her righteous fury into a career season. she and adam don’t go out to dinner when they’re in anaheim. She cross-checks him instead.
two weeks later, when the news comes out that adam’s torn his [insert muscle or tendon of your choice] and he’s done for the season, rutger knows she didn’t cause it, but she feels vaguely guilty anyway. especially when team usa comes calling for [insert best on best competition of your choice]. adam should be there for team canada, but he won’t be. even if being married didn't work out, rutger’s always had the most fun competing against him, and they won’t have that this year.
adam shows up anyway. He goes to [insert european country of your choice] with rutger’s family, and he meets her on the concourse after games, and he gives her achingly specific compliments about her play, and he says the right sympathetic but not patronizing things after finland beats team usa in OT to take the top seed in their group.
when team usa wins gold, rutger sees her own red white and blue jersey among the families on the ice before she realizes adam’s the one wearing it. she skates toward him slowly, clutching the flag around her shoulders like a protective shell. “good game,” adam says. His voice is a little hoarse, like he’s been cheering for her.
rutger touches her fingertip to the little American flag temporary tattoo on his cheek. “looks good on you.”
“for today I guess,” adam says. His cheek lifts under her finger when he smiles. without his skates, rutger’s almost as tall as he is. rutger kisses him, and kisses him, and keeps on kissing him even when adam scoops her up off the ice, honeymoon style. she wraps her arms around his neck and kicks one skate into the air, and doesn’t protest one bit.
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hollywoodxwhore · 1 year
Text
Mine | Chapter Five
Colson x Original Female Character
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Synopsis: Presley may look sinful on the outside, but deep down, she's innocent, guarded, and terrified of intimacy. Colson, on the other hand, is living up to his womanizer reputation as a way to cope with heartbreak. When his new guitarist invites his twin sister to join them on tour, Colson discovers that he's actually capable of feeling. Will Presley and Colson be able to push past all of the barriers trying to prevent them from happening?
Warnings/Content: swearing, pining, discussion of virginity and intimacy issues, mentions of sex/arousal, alcohol usage, col being a sweetheart
Stay tuned for those of you here for the smut...it's coming very, very soon. ;)
Presley
Colson and I have developed a bad habit of sleeping together.
Literally just sleeping. Nothing else. Sometimes, we don’t even talk. I wait until Cash is asleep and then I go to Colson’s hotel room. He’s come to expect it now. I crawl into bed with him if he’s already laying down, or I get under the blankets and wait for his warm body to join mine. And then we hold each other, all night long.
I know this is a bad idea. I know that whenever I return home, I’m fucked for sleeping. But I can’t help it. Why stop myself from doing something when it feels so good? Besides, it’s good for Colson too, and anything to help out a friend.
There’s been no talk about me going home. I’ve brought it up a few times, but Colson immediately shuts it down. He knows how happy Cash is that I’m here, but even more, I don’t think he wants to give up our sleeping arrangement either. Fine with me. The thought of going home conjures sickening feelings of loneliness that I want to keep avoiding. 
We’re at the halfway point of the tour, and the boys scheduled a vacation before the next leg of the tour starts. We’re going to The Maldives and staying in those little houses on the water, something I’ve dreamed of my entire life. 
Cash and I are back home in Michigan to swap out some clothes and pack new ones more suited for a beach vacation. I’m carefully packing bikinis into my suitcase when Cash comes into my room. He's already packed so he’s hanging out at my place while we wait to leave for our flight.
“What up?” He says, plopping onto my bed.
“Just packing. Living out of a suitcase is kind of a pain,” I admit, looking at him. My brow furrows when I realize he’s avoiding my eyes and his expression is decidedly guilty. “Cash?” I ask. 
Cash twists one of his curls, something he does when he’s anxious about something. “I wanted to talk to you about The Maldives,” he says. Oh god. Is he uninviting me? Does he want me to stay home? “I know we talked about sharing a house, but….”
“But?” I ask.
“But I really want to share one with Liv,” he says.
Immediately, relief washes through me. Thank god. That’s fine. Great, actually. Then I won’t have to sneak around as much. “Cash, that’s fine,” I say. But then I realize what that means. “Wait, weren’t you staying with Colson?” I was planning on staying with Olivia.
“Yeah,” Cash says with a little wince. “So you’d have to stay with him. Is that okay?”
I can’t act as excited as I feel, so I just nod. “Yeah, that’s fine,” I say casually. “I can put up with being Colson’s roommate for you.”
A bright smile flashes over his face, dimples deepening in his cheeks. “You’re the fucking best sister ever, Pres!” He gushes, lunging over my suitcase to hug me. 
I shriek and giggle, pushing him off of me after a moment. “I know,” I say. “Alright, now go away while I finish packing.” He salutes me and does as he’s told, and as soon as I hear the TV go on in my living room, I scoop up my phone to text Colson. But he’s already texted me. Cash talk to you about the living situation?
Dammit, Cash. Told everyone before me. Yep, I reply. Cool with you?
Convenient as hell, he replies. No more sneaking past your brother.
Exactly what I was thinking, I send back. I toss my phone onto the bed and start packing my bathroom bag, feeling giddy. This is going to be so nice, not having to sneak past Cash to sleep with Colson. I was wondering how we were going to pull it off on vacation. Honestly, I had resolved myself to just not sleeping, 
“Pres!” Cash yells. “Car will be here in five!”
“Alright!” I call back, zipping up my suitcase. I grab my phone to toss it in the bag and I notice Colson has texted me again. I’m excited for this. Colson, I’m excited, too. You have no idea. 
XX
On the plane, I’m seated next to Olivia, but then Cash comes over and smiles sheepishly. I roll my eyes and grin as Olivia blushes. “Who are you next to?” I ask.
“Kells,” Cash answers. “You’re the—”
“Best,” I answer for him, “I know.” I get up and Olivia smiles at me as I take my pillow and blanket over to where Colson sits. We’re in first class, so it’s two seats to a row, just the two of us. I get butterflies every time I’m near him. I know I should be distancing myself. This can’t go any further than sleeping, but I can’t help myself. I’m letting myself enjoy it. This isn’t going to last forever. 
“Fuckin’ Cash,” I say, and Colson chuckles, but he looks a little uncomfortable. I frown. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Colson says, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Okay,” I say, anxiety spiking. Has he changed his mind about all of this? I put on my AirPods and wait for takeoff. 
It’s a long flight and I’m tired. Even in first class, it’s inconvenient to have such long legs, and I keep shifting around, trying to get comfortable. I huff in annoyance but then I feel one of my AirPods get removed from my ear. I look over at Colson, the culprit.
“You okay?” He asks.
I shake my head. “I can’t get comfortable.”
Colson considers this. “Here. Take the window seat and put your legs over my lap,” he says.
“But aren’t you tired, too?” I ask.
“I’ll sleep when we get there,” he says, already getting up. “Switch with me. C’mon.” He glances back in the direction where Cash and Olivia are, and my brow furrows, but I’m too tired to argue, so I swap seats with him. I lean against the wall with my pillow behind me and lay my legs across Colson’s lap. He takes his time getting my blanket over my legs and making sure I’m cozy. He hands me back my AirPod and unpauses his movie, and then he slips his hand under the blanket to curl around my foot. He squeezes gently, a mini-massage, and it feels so good that I immediately hum and close my eyes. God. How does everyone not fall in love with Colson Baker?
I wake up some time later and the sun is peering through the window. I stretch and look over at Colson, whose head is tipped back. He’s asleep, lips slightly parted, and he looks comfortable. One of his hands is on my shin and the other lays warm on my thigh, and I feel so safe and relaxed. 
I allow myself to imagine for one second that he’s my boyfriend. In a perfect world where I’m not terrified of intimacy, where relationships are always perfect, it sounds pretty amazing. Going on trips together, being backstage at his shows. While I can deny it if anyone asks, I can’t deny it to myself any longer. I have feelings for this man, strong ones. And I can never, ever act on them.
Even if I wanted to, what would Colson want with someone like me? What would MGK want with someone like me? A virgin. A homebody. Intimacy issues up to my fucking eyes. He would never want someone like that, and that comforts me, in a way. It keeps me thinking logically. 
An announcement comes over the system letting us know that we’re going to start our descent. Colson takes a deep breath and blinks open his eyes, stretching a little. He looks over at me sleepily and gives me a crooked smile, which I return. I pull my legs from his lap and slip my feet back into my slides. We’re quiet on the descent and as we exit the plane.
Cars take us to our homes for the next two weeks, a row of little houses out on the water for all of us. No one else is staying near us, so it’ll be super private. I feel giddy with excitement as I get out of the car and look around. Colson comes up beside me and I look up at him. “Which one is ours?” I ask.
“Doesn’t really matter. They all have multiple beds and rooms,” he explains. “Pick your favorite.”
I like the one on the very end and I point. “That one.”
“Deal.” Colson grabs our suitcases and starts walking. I let us inside and holy shit, this place is amazing. A cute little kitchen and living room, two bedrooms, one of which has a gigantic window facing the ocean. A gigantic jacuzzi tub outside on a back deck, and a slide into the ocean. It’s incredible.
”Holy shit,” I breathe as I walk to the bedroom window. “This is crazy.”
Colson comes up beside me and leans on the windowsill. “I needed this,” he says.
I finally look at him, and this time, I look closely. Despite sleeping together, we still go to bed late and wake up early. He is tired. So clearly, obviously tired. It’s early in the morning, but this man needs sleep. 
I slip my hand into his and he looks down at me, those blue eyes weary. I tug him towards the bed. “You need to sleep,” I say.
“Don’t you want to tan? Swim?” He asks, but he follows me anyway.
“We have two weeks for that,” I assure him, pushing him gently so he’ll sit on the bed. “For now, let’s catch up on some sleep.”
Colson sighs and slumps. “Thanks,” he says gratefully. 
“I’m going to go change,” I tell him, grabbing a pair of shorts and a tank from my suitcase. “I’ll be back.”
I change in the bathroom and brush my teeth, redoing my French braids. When I return, Colson is already in bed, his chest bare, and I know he’s wearing nothing but those tight, black boxer briefs. He looks so hot in them. I love when he gets up in the middle of the night because I get to check him out. 
I crawl into bed beside him and he opens up an arm. My heart squeezes at his sleepy expression and I snuggle in close, resting my head on his chest. One of his hands slides down to curl around my waist and the other pulls my thigh across his hips. I sigh in relaxation and close my eyes.
“Pres,” he whispers.
“Hm?”
He’s quiet for a second and I lift my head to look at him. He glances at me and then looks away. “I’m glad Cash wanted to switch places.”
I smile softly and settle my head back onto his chest. “Me, too.”
Colson
Presley and I wake up right around the same time. The air conditioner has the room cold, so she snuggles closer and I pull the blankets higher. “I’m cold,” she says, voice raspy with sleep.
“C’mere, I’ll warm you up,” I tell her. Her eyes meet mine and a moment later, we’re kissing. She moans softly when our lips connect and within seconds, I’ve maneuvered her on top of me. She grinds her hips down and we moan together, and then —
I jerk awake. Presley isn’t on top of me. Actually, I’m halfway on top of her, my head on his chest, my arm draped over her waist. A dream. It was a fucking dream. 
“You okay?” Her voice is soft. I hadn’t realized she was awake. I do a scan of my body, realizing with relief that my cock is nowhere near her. It’d become pretty obvious pretty quickly what I was dreaming about if it were. 
I clear my throat and roll off of her, staying on my stomach no matter how uncomfortable it is. “I’m fine. Just a bad dream,” I tell her, rubbing my face. “How long you been awake?”
She shrugs. “Not long,” she says. 
My eyes narrow. “Don’t lie.”
“I’m not,” she insists, looking at me, but then she sighs and rolls her eyes. “Fine. A couple hours or so.”
I blanch. “You should’ve woken me up!” I say, baffled.
“You needed to sleep,” she says. “It’s no problem. But I have had to pee since I woke up, so I’ll be right back.” She disappears into the bathroom and I groan softly, frustrated. 
Before we switched seats on the plane, Cash talked to me about Presley again. I had thought stupidly that since he was getting involved with Olivia, he would be less concerned about me and his sister, but I was wrong. 
“I know you’re staying together,” Cash said, “but nothing has changed. You still better keep your hands to yourself.”
At that point, I was irritated. “Jesus, Cash, and I’m not a fuckin’ dog,” I told him. “I would never do anything she didn’t want me to do.”
“I don’t really care what she wants,” he said seriously. “Nothing happens between the two of you. Got it?”
“Got it,” I muttered, glad when he finally got up and went back to Olivia. 
The guy is relentless and annoying, but dammit, he’s my friend. This sleeping thing has already crossed several lines, I’m sure, but I can’t take it further. I don’t know what to do. Sex dreams certainly aren’t helping matters.
And then I realize there will be no getting off for me with Presley staying in the same house.
“Fuck!” I curse into my pillow. Like I said to Cash, I’m not a dog, but I do have a higher than normal sex drive, and since Presley and I have been sharing a bed, I haven’t been with anyone. I’ve gotten myself off, of course, but I haven’t actually had sex in over a month now. It hasn’t really bothered me until now. 
And it isn’t going to get easier because Presley comes out of the bathroom in a tiny red bikini.
Fuck.
XX
Once we get in the water, none of us gets out for hours other than to get drinks.
I’m on my third beer at this point, and I’m in heaven. The water is warm, the sun is hot, and the beer is cold. I’m surrounded by the people I love most in the world: Ash, Liv, Slim, Baze, Rook, Justin, Cash, and now Presley. Slim has music playing from a speaker sitting on the deck of his and Justin’s place. The girls sit on the deck talking, kicking their legs in the water, and I’m thankful for my sunglasses because I can’t keep my eyes off of Presley.
She has a body that just looks naturally athletic, but somehow, she still has that hourglass shape. Her tits are more on the small side, which is my favorite, but her ass is perfect and round. Not that I can see it right now with her sitting down, but I’ve definitely noticed. Water drips from her tanned skin as she laughs with Liv and Ash. God dammit, this is getting hopeless. How am I supposed to survive the next two weeks of living with her?
“I’m getting hungry,” Rook says. “What are we doing for dinner?”
“I thought we could go into town,” Ashleigh says. “Thoughts?”
“I’m down!” Presley says and Liv agrees. 
“I need a chance to wear one of the cute dresses I packed,” Olivia explains and we all chuckle. Girls. 
“Alright, do we want to meet at the cars in half an hour?” Slim asks.
Liv looks right at Cash when she says, “Maybe 45 minutes?”
Presley groans and Baze and Rook look at each other, snickering.
“Alright, 45 minutes so Cash and Liv can fuck, and then we get dinner,” I say, and Cash splashes me. “What?” I say. “Are you planning on reading the Bible or some shit?”
“Fuck off, Kells,” Olivia says, but she’s giggling.
“I’ve heard enough,” Presley says, sliding into the water. She swims past me and we all disperse to our places. I follow after her, catching up quickly with my long limbs. “There are some things a sister doesn't need to hear.”
I force a chuckle, but I’m frustrated and jealous. Why does Cash get to enjoy Olivia but I have to treat Presley like a fragile piece of glass? It isn’t fair. But I’m torn for so many reasons.
First, there’s my lifestyle. Say I want to start something with Presley. She seems to like her life of living in one city, holding down a job, and being a homebody. I’m all over the world all the time. 
Then, there’s the fact that maybe she doesn’t even like me. It’s not like she’s made a move, and that could mean many different things, but still. Maybe I just serve a purpose for her.
And then there’s Cash. I love the kid. Now that he’s with us, I want him to stay. If I fuck this up, we could lose our best guitar player and an integral part of our band and friend group. I really don’t want to lose Cash. The others would probably hate me if that happened.
But god, this girl. From the second I saw her, I wanted her. In so many different ways. I love holding her, sleeping next to her and waking up with her. I love the way she looks. I want to get her naked so badly, to do some filthy things to her. And then there’s the way our personalities mesh perfectly. I’ve never gotten along with a girl so well before. Ever. 
We don’t just sleep. We talk. A lot. And our conversation just flows. It’s never awkward, and she’s a great listener. I’m starting to think I might even be able to open up to her about what happened. I’m not sure if I should yet, but if there’s anyone I’d want to tell, it’s Presley. She’s so kind and nonjudgmental, and she gives great advice. 
I didn’t know I could feel this way about a girl again, but I do. I want Presley to be my girlfriend. My partner. I swore off that shit, I know I did, but there’s just something about this girl. And it pisses me off that I can’t ever have that. It’s not fair. 
I follow her up onto the deck and take the towel she hands me. “You’re definitely sunburned,” she says, reaching up to brush her fingers over my cheek. 
“Shit, really?” I ask, but my face does feel hot. “Hard to tell on my body with all my tattoos.”
“I get that,” she says. “I have some aloe you can put on after you shower.”
“Deal,” I say. When we get inside, I freeze. There’s only one shower. Presley seems to notice it at the same time I do.
“Shit,” she says. “There’s no way we have enough time.”
“You can go ahead,” I say, but I really want to wash the sunscreen, sweat, and ocean water off me.
Presley considers. “Just…get in with me. We’ll leave our suits on.”
God, this girl is going to be the death of me. “Okay,” I say, following her into the bathroom. She starts the shower and lets her hair down out of its ponytail. Running her fingers through it, she tips her head back a little, which only pushes out her chest. I stifle a groan and look away. I’ve been half hard all fucking day looking at her, and it’s going to be very obvious since we’re no longer in the ocean. I let her get in first and then I follow her.
I keep my eyes to myself as much as I can, but I quickly realize it’s hard to shower in swim trunks. When I look at Presley, she looks irritated with her suit, too, looking down at it. We lock eyes. “I’ll keep my back turned until you’re done,” I tell her.
“Promise?” She says, and there’s that look on her face that I’ve come to recognize as insecurity. I want to grab her, kiss her, and tell her that she’s perfect, that there’s nothing to be insecure about, but I don’t. She turns around and so do I, and I drop my trunks to the shower floor. 
We navigate the shower carefully, and I’m all at once grateful for and annoyed at the double shower heads on opposite sides. As tempting as it is to look over my shoulder, I don’t let myself. Just knowing she’s here has my dick standing at attention, but can anyone blame me? I’m in the shower with a hot girl who’s naked but I can’t look or touch. It’s torture.
“Alright, I’m done,” she says. “I’m getting out now.”
“Okay,” I say, letting my head hang down under the stream of water. I glare at my dick, wishing I could will it to go down, but it has a mind of its own, apparently. I’m like a fucking teenager around this girl, I swear.
“Okay,” she says, and then I turn off the shower and get out, too. She’s no longer in the bathroom, so I dry myself off and then wrap the towel around my waist. Yep. Obvious boner. But I can’t help it, and we’re running out of time to be ready, so I decide to just do my best to hide it.
And then I walk out of the bathroom and crash right into her. 
“Shit,” I say, clutching at my towel with one hand so it doesn’t fall as my other hand goes to Presley’s waist to steady her. 
“Sorry,” she says, looking up at me. Her hand is on my bare chest. She swallows hard when she meets my eyes, and then she looks down. We’re pressed against one another, and there’s a 100% chance she can feel my dick right now. My cheeks burn and I press my lips together. It is what it is. 
“Um,” she says quietly, taking a step back. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” I croak. Her eyes are wide, still staring right at my dick. “Pres?” I say, snapping her out of it, and when her eyes meet mine, she looks startled and embarrassed.
“Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be fast,” she says in a rush of breath, then enters the bathroom and slams the door.
I stand there for a long few moments. Yep, that just happened. I sigh and go to get dressed. 
Like I said, torture.
I sit on the bed while I wait for Presley to be done in the bathroom. I’m leaving my hair how it is, so I don’t need anything in there, so all there is to do is wait. I lift my head when the bathroom door opens.
Out walks Presley in an orange dress that hugs her curves, landing just below her knees. Her hair is braided and she wears no makeup, but her tanned skin glows all the same. She looks perfect as usual. She slips into a pair of sandals and grabs her purse. “Ready?” She asks.
“Pres,” I sigh. I hold out my hand. She hesitates, but slowly, she walks over and gives me her hand. I look up at her, wincing a little. “I’m…really sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” she says quickly.
“It’s, uh, it’s been a while,” I admit, and her cheeks redden as she averts her eyes from mine. “And you’re a gorgeous girl who was naked in the shower with me.”
Her eyes meet mine, and there’s that startled look again. “You think I’m gorgeous?” she blurts, and then clamps her mouth closed, embarrassed. I have to hide a smile. She’s so cute when she’s embarrassed.
I laugh softly. “Pres, everyone thinks you’re gorgeous,” I tell her. 
She freezes, then lets go of my hand. “That’s not true,” she says, her toned clipped, and she hikes her purse up onto her shoulder. “We should go.”
I frown. “Presley. Come here.” My voice is firm and I get to my feet. Her back is facing me but she stops, hanging her head. Slowly, she turns around and looks up at me, and her eyes are so sad that it takes me aback. I swallow. “I’m not sure who or what made you so insecure,” I say, “but you are stunning.”
“Thank you,” she says quietly, and then, her guard is down. Her shoulders slouch and she sighs as she looks at her feet. “I guess I just…” Her voice fades and she shrugs. “I’m so insecure about my body. I don’t even know why. Nothing bad even happened to me.” 
My frown deepens and I take a step closer to her. “You shouldn’t be,” I say quietly.
“I wish I was confident,” she says, shaking her head. “Remember that time I walked in on you and that girl?” I nod. How could I ever forget? “I’m jealous of her because she was confident enough to let a stranger see her naked. I can’t let anyone see me naked.”
I frown. “Really?” I ask. “That must make it hard to sleep with people.”
She’s silent, and she seems to go rigid. Her eyes still avoid mine, and my heart starts to race. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way. “Pres,” I say, stepping closer. I touch her chin and tip her head up. She looks into my eyes and I notice hers are just a little bit watery. 
She stares at me, her jaw set, and she studies my eyes like she’s searching for something. Her cheeks are flaming red and not from the sun. She nods. 
My eyes widen a little. “Pres,” I say on a breath. “You’re…you’re a virgin?”
She stares back at me, and then she nods again.
Holy shit. No fucking way. No fucking way. 
“How?” I whisper.
She shrugs, and as she does, a little stream of tears falls from each gorgeous eye. She brings her hands up to wipe them away hastily. “I’m scared,” she confesses, and I swear my heart breaks right there. I don’t even know what to say, so I say nothing at all. I take the final step towards her and crush her to my chest.
Her arms wrap tightly around my waist and she lets herself be held. I rock her gently, breathing in her scent, and my thoughts move a thousand miles a second. How is it possible that a girl like Presley, with her perfect appearance and great personality, is a virgin. I know their family isn’t religious, so it isn’t that. Could she really be a virgin at 23 simply because she’s so insecure? I can’t wrap my head around it.
“We need to go,” she says weakly, but I can feel her trembling. 
“We can tell the others you don’t feel good,” I say, cupping the back of her head. “Order food and stay here.”
“Really?” She asks.
“Of course,” I tell her. “I’ll text the group chat now.”
“They won’t let it go,” she says. 
“Then let’s get through dinner. And as soon as we’re back here, we can talk,” I say, “or sit in silence. Or sleep. Whatever you want to do. It’s up to you, okay?”
“Okay,” she says after a moment. She pulls back from the hug and I can’t help but thumb away her tears. She sniffs and smiles weakly at me and I return the smile as warmly as I can.
“You alright?” I ask, and she nods. I nod, too, offer her my arm, and lead the way out of the house with my mind absolutely blown.
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miracleonice87 · 2 years
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“You know his lap is also available as a seat, right?” with Mathew Barzal (feat. Matthew and Sydney Esiason Martin) - requested by my dearest @kerwritesthings
from the two year tumblrversary prompt list
a/n: I am fully aware that I've written a blurb with a v similar premise, but I'm a sucker for Syd and Marty meddling in their friends' love lives, so I give zero effs. hope y'all enjoy!
warnings: swearing, alcohol
_____
Sydney had lured you to the house tonight under the guise of picking her up for a dinner date, potentially one of your last before she gave birth to their second baby. When you pulled up the drive and spotted a blue and orange balloon arch outlining the front door, you were puzzled, but assumed Matt might be having some sort of pre-season team activity for the guys while you and Sydney were gone for the night.
You pushed open the door to the familiar sounds of Jax barking a few times before he realized who was here, and Winnie squealing as she ran toward you. 
“Hi, Winnie girl!” you squealed back in greeting, bending down to scoop up the little blonde beauty, push her hair back from her forehead, and give her a kiss, while she did her best to wrap her little arms around your neck as she excitedly babbled your name. 
“Oh, good, you’re here!” Sydney said from the kitchen, crossing the room in bare feet and a casual jeans outfit to give you a quick hug before nodding toward the spread of food on the countertops. “Will you give me a hand with the charcuterie board?”
“We’re not going out?” you asked, confused and feeling overdressed in your pale blue ruched bodycon dress meant for a night on the town. Meanwhile, Winnie wriggled down the front of you and ran back to her previous project, scribbling in a Bluey coloring book on the coffee table.
“Nope, sorry, can’t tonight, forgot to tell ya!” Sydney chirped rapidly, throwing her stunning smile back at you over her shoulder as she walked toward the fridge. “Team event tonight. Was hoping you could help me hostess?” 
You furrowed your brow as you followed her. “If it’s a team event then why am I invited?” you asked, unenthused.
Sydney shrugged as she retrieved more cheese from the fridge, but you didn’t miss the ornery look on her face. “I dunno, maybe because a certain center specifically asked me if you’d be here?” She finally made eye contact with you, bit her bottom lip, and extended her hands in a “surprise!” motion. 
You let your forehead fall against the pantry door. “Sydneyyy!” you whined. 
You could legit throw a fit right now. Syd was famous for this shit. 
There was nothing going on between you and Mat (or so you spent your days trying to convince yourself). It was all nervous glances across the table while out celebrating a big win with the group, and laughing a bit too loudly at the other’s jokes, and light touches on your back as he moved around you in a busy bar, and replying to one another’s Instagram stories with reactions and simple emojis… and mostly it was neither of you ever, ever finding the nerve to make a damn move. 
Yes, to be certain, your and Mat’s history was a short one – shorter than you (or Syd, or Matt, or even Mat himself, though unbeknownst to you) would prefer. So, maybe, because you always looked forward to seeing Mat, no matter how awkward the two of you could be around each other, you didn’t completely hate this idea after all, but you couldn’t let Syd know that. 
“Did you tell him I was going to be here tonight, or did he ask?” you inquired, folding your arms over your chest. “Big difference.”
Sydney shook her head furiously. “No, he seriously asked,” she insisted. “Trust me, I’d lie to you about a lot of things – for your own good, of course – but never that.”
You sighed, washed your hands, then turned back to an expectant Sydney. “Hand me the fucking olives,” you grumbled as she excitedly passed you the jar, a smile too smug for your liking on her lips. 
_____
Hours later as the sun set, casting an orange glow over the backyard, you surveyed the scene, which now seemed much less like an official team event and much more like a gathering of Matt and Sydney’s friends, all of whom happened to play hockey, and their significant others. You fell into neither of those categories (though it certainly wasn’t for Sydney’s lack of trying), but filled the role of “assistant hostess” well – directing new players to the bathroom, tidying the kitchen even as people filtered in and out, and refreshing drinks and bowls of snacks. It was on one of those trips to the kitchen and back to replenish the tortilla chip bowl and grab another drink when a five-beers-deep Matthew Martin decided to pipe up as he watched you scan the crowded patio for an empty chair.
“You know Mat’s lap is also available as a seat, right?”
You sucked your teeth and turned to glower at your best-friend-in-law. He was officially worse than his wife. 
After shooting him a glare that would kill a weaker man, you slowly turned back to spot an equally embarrassed Mathew Barzal, a flush creeping up his (thick, muscular… not that you noticed) neck under his (well-fitting, more attractive than it should be… not that you noticed) black t-shirt. 
However, Mat recovered much more quickly than you, and you assumed it had to be the liquid courage when he raised his brows, patted his knee, and gave you a half-shrug – an open invitation in front of all of his teammates and friends. 
Impressed by the bold move, his captain let out a wolf-whistle, though many of the guys were too lost in their own conversations or distracted by the loud music and yard games to notice, but you could certainly see Matt’s beaming smile out of the corner of your eye. 
And you didn’t know whether it was your own liquid courage, Mat’s invitation, or your own chutzpah, but you suddenly found your feet moving across the patio toward him, casting him your biggest and flirtiest smile, and patting his chiseled knee as you took your rightful place atop his massive quads. Your heart raced and your skin was warm, but you tried to play it cool, clearing your throat and asking, “So, what’d I miss, gentlemen?”
Anders, Matt, and Pelly, who was also nearby, tried their best to lift their jaws off the floor and regain their focus, shocked by your audacious actions. If they were honest, they could barely remember what they were talking about, and as you lifted your beer bottle to your lips with a smirk, you took pleasure in their bewilderment. 
Then, you heard a deep voice immediately behind you. “The Kadri signing,” Mat prompted. “You were talking about Naz going to Calgary.” 
Matt coughed slightly, nodding. “Uh, yeah, right, right… Yeah, I can’t believe it took him so long to…”
And after that, all that was said was lost on you, because all you could concentrate on was the gentle touch caressing your bare back for where your dress left plenty of skin on display. You angled yourself just slightly toward Mat to face him, and you wrinkled your nose flirtatiously.
“I’m glad you came over here,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Who would’ve known Marty’s meddling would actually do some good?”
You chuckled, resting a hand on his toned chest. “Yeah… he’s gonna take credit for this, but it’s about damn time one of us made a move, hmm?” you said, cocking your head. He nodded slowly, curling some hair behind your ear as he leaned up to kiss you. You were immediately so far gone, so lost in him, that you could just barely hear the catcalls from around the yard.
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poohbea · 2 years
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may I ask for an angst one-shot for geto x abused child reader? like he saved her like he saved mimiko and nanako? thank you
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SALVATION.
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art credit
wordcount: 649
content: saviour!geto, child!reader, gender neural reader, blood, vague descriptions of dead bodies, mentions of a knife, implication of sexual assault, implications of physical and sexual abuse (nothing too graphic I promise)
note from pooh: hi nonnie, thank you for the req this one was quite interesting to write as i don’t think i’ve ever written a child!reader before. please be mindful that this is quite dark as it does include a child and implications of sexual assault on a child. if you are uncomfortable with any these themes and topics please do not read i cannot stress that enough.
Hope you enjoy ♡ reblogs are greatly appreciated
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Rage is burning. It's rampant. It's blinding.
It was all Geto could feel as he tore into another faceless body, blood spurting from the hole he'd just made with his blade. He didn't know anyone in the building, nor did he care to. He wasn't paid to care.
As one body fell he caught another by the throat. It claws at his hand uselessly, gasping and sneering. Pathetic. With a swipe of his hand it's making a bloody mess on the floor, whining, groaning for the release of death as it reaches out. They didn't deserve the privilege. None of them.
He didn't intend to be standing there covered in blood, that's not what they sent him here for. It was supposed to be a calm and ordinary negotiation, mundane business. However, after seeing you in that room, a child, only six years old, battered and bruised, business was no longer on the table.
They laughed when he mentioned you. Mocked and joked as they watched you cower in the corner, hair matted and skin dirt ridden. However the final nail in the coffin was their casual conversation of touching you, how they took joy in such a grotesque act. They put their hands on you, violated you, a child. An innocent life.
It all happened so fast. The first drop of blood, the screams and cries. When he came down from it all blood dripped from his fingertips in streams, staining his disheveled suit. Stray hairs stuck to his sweat veiled forehead, his hair tie loose and barely holding back his inky locks. At least five lay in their own crimson pools at his feet, the product of his own corrupt justice.
Your soft sobs draw his attention, huddled away in the farthest corner of the prison they called a room. Wiping his hands of his sins, he approaches you, cautious and slow. He kneels to your level, making himself as small as he could to not scare you away.
"Hi." It was the first word he'd spoken in a long time, the gruffness of his voice made him cringe.
You peaked through your arms you'd tucked yourself away in, tear streaks glittering on your flushed cheeks. He didn't blame you when you cowered from him, the half healed cuts on your arm more evidence for your mistreatment by men. Trust wasn't going to come easy, why would it?
“I'm Suguru," he smiles softly, gesturing to himself. "What's your name?"
You sniffle, watching him over your arm. "Y/n.”
"Y/n..." It was a beautiful name. "You're safe now, okay. The bad men are gone."
His reassurance makes you uncurl more, gaze landing on the bodies he'd tried his hardest to hide behind his broad frame. Your eyes flicker between them and him, shuddered breaths making you hiccup.
"Safe?"
He reaches out for your hand, tiny in comparison to his own. "Yes, angel. Safe. No one's going to hurt you anymore."
His heart swells when your little hand clutches his, outstretched arms inviting him to pick you up. He scoops you into his arms, holding you tightly as he rose to his feet.
"Suguru?" You call, laying your head on his shoulder.
"Yes, y/n?"
"I'm scared." He frowns as you curl into him, using his body for safety.
"Don't be scared, I'm here. I've got you." A hand cradles your head as he steps over the corpses, shielding you from the carnage.
"Can we go home?" He halts at your request, looking down at you curiously. Home? Was a child something he was ready for? Would he be able to take proper care of you considering his line of work? Could he really be your guardian?
His doubts were quashed by your arms wrapping around his neck, your face soft as you look up at him. He smiles, rubbing your back soothingly. "Yeah, let's go home."
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© poohbea, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, reupload or modify my work to other accounts and platforms. if you intend to translate any of my works please ask permission first ♡
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3terna15unshin3 · 9 months
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Matty and Este getting Keiko blurb PLEASE!!
Anything for u poisonmedaddy13!!!!!!
for some reason i kind of get emotional seeing pics and videos of matty and allen or matty and mayhem bc the idea of him being a dog dad genuinely fucks me up so thank u for the perfect suggestion (tbsg masterlist)
“Oh my god. Este. Please, look at these ones,” Matty held up his phone with one the of the many London pet rescue Instagram pages he followed pulled up. A pointy-eared German Shepherd posed in a photo with her litter of seven puppies, with the caption reading that her name was Bug. And that her puppies were in need of homes.
Both he and Este had been dreaming of adopting a dog ever since they’d moved in together. But somehow, it never got to the point that they went through with it; and now that a new cycle for The 1975 was about to start up, Este was on the fence about the idea. She wasn’t sure if she’d be diligent enough to raise a puppy on her own, with Matty on tour and not by her side.
But alas, Matty persisted. And he was determined—these German Shepherd puppies being just a few of many he showed Este. He could tell that deep down, she’d want the company while he travelled, and was convinced that as soon as they found the right puppy, she’d be on board.
“Bug…” Este muttered to herself, reading the Instagram post and pouting at how terribly cute the photos were. She scooted over on the sofa they were both sitting on to cuddle closer into Matty’s side. Matty swiped through the photos one by one, the two of them staring with heart eyes.
“We need to meet them.” she said, matter-of-factly.
He was shocked that the post had won her over without much convincing. “Actually?!”
“Message them before I think too hard about it.”
-
Este knocked excitedly on the door to the foster family’s home. A lively older couple answered, inviting them round to the back garden.
We’re just meeting them to see what they’re like, Matty reminded himself internally, Don’t get your hopes up.
“Little Buggy here usually prefers to meet the guests before showing you her babies—here she is,”
The two of them took a seat on the edge of their raised patio, now at the perfect level to show Bug some attention. Immediately melting at her friendly yet mellow demeanour, Matty ran his fingers through her fur, petting her calmly.
“Hello pretty girl,” he cooed. “I’m Matty.”
Este smiled at the sweet voice he always put on whenever talking to animals. He didn’t notice it, but she always did.
After a few minutes of chatting casually with the foster family, along with Bug’s tail wagging back and forth comfortably, the woman finally let the puppies free from the pen and out into the garden. It was like an invasion of excitement as they trampled into the grass, playfully nipping at each other’s paws and barking hesitantly at the unfamiliar faces.
“Oh my goodness! Hi babies!” Este giggled as multiple puppies greeted her, stepping on her feet and sniffing her in curiosity. “How old are they again?”
“They’re just about to be twelve weeks, so they’re all up to date with jabs. Ready to adopt right away.” confirmed the man. His arms were crossed as he leaned against his house, happily watching the litter collectively shower both Matty and Este in love. “Seem to like you two already,”
They laughed together, slightly overwhelmed at the high energy of the young pups. Most of them pounced around at a high speed, too frantic to allow either of them to scoop them up for a cuddle.
But, Este eventually felt a gentle paw at her thigh, where a pair of glossy black eyes stared up at her. The puppy pawed again, panting with its tongue on display.
“I think she wants you to pick her up, love.” pointed Matty.
Silently agreeing, Este tucked her hand beneath the puppy’s tiny tummy, lifting her into her lap. The dog didn’t squirm or protest. Just made herself at home against Este’s warmth.
Matty grinned, watching the bond between his girlfriend and the German Shepherd form in front of his eyes. He reached to pet her face, bringing his up close. She gave him a sloppy kiss.
“Aren’t you just a sweetheart,” Este said, flipping the small tag on her collar to learn her name. “Flo.”
A pang hit her chest. Flo. Este’s grandmother’s laugh echoed in her mind as the puppy lunged upwards to plant a kiss on her chin as well. Oh no, Este thought, We’re getting a dog.
“Stunning name.” commented Matty, stealing her from Este’s lap to pick her up, settling her into the crook of his arm. She fit there perfectly.
They attempted to show the other six of the litter equal attention, Este making up questions to ask about them. Pretending to care what their names were, or what their personalities were like. Truthfully, they just wanted to prolong the time they could spend with Flo.
Then, instead of sticking around at the foster house to gain as much time with her as possible, Matty and Este made one of the easiest decisions they’d ever made together, and took her home with them.
-
“Alright. Crate, pee pads, that food that Linda recommended, too many toys. Food and water bowls. Leash, training treats, dental chews. What else?”
They stood in the middle of a Pets At Home, Flo cosy in Este’s arms. Matty pushed a trolley, its contents growing in size as they rifled through the store and thought of more things they needed.
“We should get a new collar. The one she has now is a bit fugly.” suggested Este.
He laughed at her use of adjective. “Should we get her name put on it too? I think we can get a little engraved tag here,”
Thinking about it together, they studied her little face. Her ears perked up whenever they called her name, but the more Este thought about it, the more it didn’t fit.
“Yeah, we should. I’m sort of debating what her name should be, though.” she admitted.
“Are you?” Matty raised an eyebrow.
“A little. I like the idea of coming up with a name for her together,” Este explained, ruffling the puppy’s fur. “Instead of just going with what the owners named her.”
He eyed another brightly coloured toy on the shelf and hesitantly threw it into the trolley. They were spoiling her already.
“But they named her Flo. Flo! It feels too perfect to change,” he pointed out.
“I mean, I agree. But riddle me this, babe—when you hear the name Flo, do you think of a little puppy? Or do you think of line dancing with an old Filipino lady?” She grinned.
Matty smiled at the rosy memory, Florencia guiding his feet back and forth on the dance floor on the night her and José celebrated fifty years of marriage.
“That’s not a terrible point.”
Eventually, a cashier rung through their heaps of pet supplies and it came the time to settle on a name. The puppy sat happily, now in Matty’s arms after he expressed some jealousy that he was stuck pushing the trolley while Este got endless embraces with her.
“Okay. If we change her name, I think it should be something similar to Flo. So that at least we don’t have to train her to respond to a whole new one,” he suggested.
They threw out ideas while sifting through the different shapes of silver tags, but none stuck. Este racked her brain for other names that might mean something. She thought about both her first ever and also her most recent memories with Matty—the old and the new—all of the most poignant.
“What about Keiko?” The name sprung to her quite quickly. And it sounded enough like Flo. She wondered if Matty would even remember what the name was in reference to.
But, she was met with a grin. His eyes went squinty he smiled so hard—staring through her, then breaking to focus on the puppy in his arms.
“Do you work at the convenience store, my girl? Do you?” Matty asked playfully, scratching at the bottom of her chin. She kissed him over and over, something she was proving to love by doing it often to her new owners’ faces. He wiped away the slobber in both disgust and adoration.
“Keiko!” Este tested, in a high pitched voice. Her ears pointed upwards with attention.
“Keiko Manansala-Healy. I like it.”
-
She got a bit car sick on the journey back to the house, but they didn’t blame her. Surely the day had been overwhelming for all parties; one side being taken away by a couple of strangers to a myriad of unfamiliar places, and the other side impulsively purchasing the biggest responsibility and commitment they’d ever submitted to as a team.
There was a bunch to sort. Too much to sort. Figuring out where all of Keiko’s stuff would go. The crate, her food and water. Getting rid of anything she could chew or ruin or wee on. Thinking of when they’d be away in the near future, out to Manchester and then to Japan next, and who’d look after her. If she’d forget who Matty was when he’d be gone on tour. He insisted that she wouldn’t, and was probably right.
Matty also feverishly threw away any chocolate they had in the cupboards, insisting it was a risk to have, even though stored away safely. He was showing as the paranoid parent already.
So by the end, all three of them—a new little family—were exhausted. They’d considered maybe not letting the puppy up on the furniture, just to start with some boundaries and to train her to be well behaved, but she was too cute for them to be rational. And they cuddled her with joy on the sofa.
Este sat back comfortably, Keiko once laying between her and Matty on the cushions, but she wanted her closer; so she scooped her up and held her in the air above her face, Lion King style. Small excited squeals erupted from Keiko’s tummy. But once her arms grew tired, she lowered her down and rested the dog on her chest.
She seemed to like it there, and shifted tiredly until she eventually settled into a little ball, chest rising and falling. Keiko had fallen asleep; and Este with her dropping eyelids wasn’t too far behind her slumbers. A purely content expression sat on both of their faces.
Matty watched lovingly, craning his neck to look at them while they sat beside him. He picked up one of Keiko’s paws and studied the small black pads on the bottom of them. It was weird to fathom something existing in such a tiny entity. She took up no space at all. Was made up of pure innocence, and trust.
All the love and weirdness and lunacy made Matty’s nose go fizzy. He swallowed heavily. And then he found himself needing to blink at a higher rate to be able to see through the tears accumulating in his eyes.
Este caught him quickly swipe away a stray droplet that escaped down his cheek. She pouted, reaching over to cup his jaw with her hand and rubbing back and forth with her thumb. Her touch did something visceral to him, like it always did.
“Are you crying, Matty?” She asked, with a slight laugh, trying to cover up the fact that she was getting a bit emotional as well.
He furiously shook his head in denial, but then another tear fell.
“I just don’t think I’ve loved anything this much before.”
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faeintheointment · 2 years
Text
A New Normal - Part 2
The next day I returned to daily life, but perhaps with a greater spring in my step. My colleagues at work kept commenting on my good mood. Not that I'm usually a miserable person, but this rekindled friendship was a source of delight. We regularly exchanged messages throughout the day. I wondered when either of us were going to suggest another meet. Given the circumstances, and my being somewhat reserved, I thought I would wait until I was invited - turning up at someone else's house is always weird. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing.
After a few more days, the invitation arrived. I found myself feeling excited - eagerly counting down the days until we would see each other again. It was just a casual night of drinks just like the last one, but I found myself spending a lot of time worrying over what to wear and wanting to look my best. I scolded myself as I assessed the umpteenth outfit in the wardrobe mirror. "Like he's going to even notice, you're pocket-sized to him - like a doll, what's attractive about that?" This made me feel at ease, surprisingly, and not too worried about making a good impression, because that always backfires.
As I pulled the car up into the driveway, I gave myself an appraising look before getting out and walking to the front door. My heart was racing as I rang the bell, this time knowing what to expect. I felt his approach as the ground lightly shook again as he opened the door and smiled down at this tiny guest and immediately bent down and reached out for me. I greeted him and stepped forward preparing to be picked up and taken inside.
Once again, he walked to the sofa and sat while still holding me in his hand. The conversation carried on as normal and it wasn't until a few minutes passed that we both realised that he hadn't yet set me down anywhere, I was still sat in his palm while we chattered away amicably. He blushed slightly as he let me take my seat on the arm of the sofa, but the conversation carried on regardless. We were both feeling a lot more relaxed again. There were instances when I could see him almost reach out to touch me, but pull back. I wanted to tell him it was ok, that I wasn't scared, but I decided not to make an issue of it in case it backfired. I felt hopeful that he would ease up on himself in time, but given his past experiences that might take some time. It must be awful feeling like you're a source of fear to people when that's the very opposite of your nature.
At the end of the night, he took me out to the car. As he set me down, I saw that the door hadn't been closed properly and the interior light had been left on. The battery would be next to drained. He instantly noticed the predicament as I closed the door properly and uttered some pretty colourful language.
"I know where you live from here," he volunteered. "It's not far, well, not by my standards. How about I take you home and you can collect the car another time?" Although feeling pretty foolish for my absent mindedness, this was the only workable solution. I apologised for causing any inconvenience, but he dismissed it. "It's a quiet area, I often go walking without being noticed, it's no problem."
He reached down and scooped me up, eventually holding me in two cupped hands. "Would you rather go in my pocket? It's maybe warmer?" he offered. Something about that just didn't appeal, so I declined. "I get it, it must be a bit weird," he said. "I don't see what I'm like to others - I just don't want them not to be scared of me, but it's quite difficult not to be, I imagine." As he walked, I settled into his hands and enjoyed the journey. It was cosy. It also gave me an opportunity to really look at him. I still found myself thinking he was as attractive as ever, but tried to rid myself of the thought that anything could possibly come of our reconnection. He would think I was weird for even considering it, I was so small, how could that even be attractive?
We reached my house, and he set me down on my upstairs balcony. "It's a nice place," he commented appreciatively. "I'd invite you in for a coffee, but..." I quipped, and we laughed together amicably. "How about we arrange next time? Would same day next week suit for you to come over?" he said. His tone was eager - I took that to mean that he was lonely, and felt sad that his life was so relatively isolated. Maybe I could do something to bring him out into the world a little more.
"It's a date," I replied, smiling, then immediately kicking myself. "Well, you know, I mean...." "I know," he said, reaching out a finger and softly stroking my arm. As he turned and walked away, I unlocked my balcony door and went inside, wondering what I really did mean.
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sh1tbird-shantytown · 3 years
Text
imagine if steve had followed billy around and kept a suspicious eye on him during s3 like harry potter had done with draco malfoy. like- dude. that shit would’ve been hilarious and he could’ve caught on and they could’ve helped him sooner. *shrug* just saying
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A lion beast an with long red hair enters the attic. His smile looks familiar. 'LEONA! How's my baby bro doing? When Cheka went missing, I was worried sick but I figured I'd find him hanging here. Turns out I was right. It gave me an excuse to sneak away from the palace myself for a little while to celebrate your birthday with you. I know I haven't always been there when you needed me the most, but I wanted to be here on this special day. Love ya, Leona. Come on, let's celebrate together!'
OH NO, LEONA’S WORST NIGHTMARE--
“Farena?!” 
“Papa!!”
Their words were barely audible over the blaring music filling the venue--but nearby guests caught their cries. Heads turned, jaws fell.
“Oh, snap. He’s here,” Ruggie sniggered, struggling to contain a howl from escaping. “Nishishishi... Poor Leona-san~”
“... Hoh, what an interesting development,” Malleus mused, cradling his chin in one hand. Beside him, Vil smirked.
“Mon dieu,” Rook gasped, quickly falling to his knees as the unexpected guest passed. “Long live the Everlasting Sun of the Afterglow Savanna--”
Farena Kingscholar.
Leona looked as though he had spotted a ghost, not royalty, casually strolling into the attic. Cheka, by contrast, looked absolutely delighted. The cub dashed over to his father and clung to the hem of his shirt, inviting him to join the party.
Farena boomed with laughter, scooping up the little boy and making his way over to Leona with a fond smile. With each step that he took, one could make out the shifting of powerful muscles beneath his skin, the jangle of jewelry against his body, and the flash of fire in his hair. He was Leona, but brighter--the dawn rising to greet the dusk.
“Happy birthday, Leona!! I hope you don’t mind that I came to celebrate with you.”
“You... You weren’t supposed to come!!” Leona spat. His face was a cross between disbelief, disgust, and denial. This isn’t happening, this is just a dream, a bad, bad dream... “Where are Cheka’s bodyguards?! They were supposed to pick him up. And what about the palace?! The king can’t just waltz out carelessly without causing a panic!!”
“You don’t need to worry about that, baby bro!!” Farena insisted, clapping Leona on the shoulder. “What’s important is that it’s your special day, and your family’s come to celebrate it with you!! I’ll take this little rascal here home with me when the party has wrapped up.”
“Aww! Can’t we stay for a pajama party with Ojitan? He got lots of stuffed animals and pillows for his birthday, so we can use’m for a pillow fight!”
“Oh, you know what? Those are great ideas, champ!”
“Oi, don’t go deciding things on your own!!”
“You don’t want to? But between your schooling and my royal duties, we never get to spend time together anymore, Leona.” Farena’s eyes held a twinkle in them. “Stargazing late at night, exploring the Elephant Graveyard, scaring the antelope at the drinking hole... I miss those times. Don’t you?”
“That sounds fun, Papa!! I wanna do all those things with Ojitan, too!!”
“Hahah, alright, alright, we’ll do of it!!”
“You can’t just do whatever you please, whenever it pleases you!!” Leona gritted his teeth, allowing bitter words to slip out. “I don’t need to be babied and bossed around by my exalted onii-sama.”
“... Leona, is something wrong?” Farena’s face grew serious, a stark contrast to his upbeat demeanor from earlier. “Did I do or say something to offend you?”
Your very presence offends me, he wanted to roar. You took everything from me. Your existence robbed me of the throne, of the future, and your offspring will continue to do the same.
Then you come back into my life, begging for reconciliation, expecting me to just go along with it. Because everything is so easy for you, isn’t it, Farena? Everything is so easy when everyone loves and respects you, when everything is handed to you on a silver platter.
But I won’t bow to you.
Not not, not ever.
Leona pursed his lips. Bit his tongue, swallowed his pride. It came back up, his eyes flecked with a quiet rage and newfound vigor. Challenging. “... I’ll surpass you.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll surpass you,” Leona repeated, a cocky grin replacing his glare. “Name your game, and I’ll kick your ass and show you up in front of the furball.”
“Gahahah! That’s the spirit!!” Farena slung an arm around his Leona and pulled him close. Brother on one side, son on the other. “How about a round of chess, for old time’s sake?”
“You’re on.”
“I dunno the rules, so I’ll cheer for both Papa and Ojitan!!”
(”Eeeeh, looks like he kept from lashing out. Guess he’s grown up this past year after all.” Ruggie smiled to himself. “... Good for you, Leona-san.”
“Fufu. Indeed, Roi du Léon has come far,” Rook agreed. “One day, perhaps his brilliance will come to rival that of the sun itself.”
“Leona, the sun? Perish the thought. His fire would sooner set the world ablaze than grant it light and warmth,” Malleus said dismissively.
“It is very wishful thinking,” Vil sighed. “... Still, that is a hopeful future to look forward to.”)
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bandaigaeru · 3 years
Text
song of the summer - bang chan
→pairing: ceo bang chan x gn reader
→genre: kinda strangers to lovers
→synopsis: he runs one of the biggest music companies in the country, yet he inducts you to help aid him and his friends, each of them deemed as representatives of the ‘big three’, for their next official comeback.
→word count: 12.5k
→ warnings: swearing, shitty father figure
i.
A single question hangs over the dim conference room you’ve somehow scored a seat in. Does the general public want to see 3Racha? Bluntly, the answer is right in front of you. Glowing against the whiteboard from the overhead projector, the carefully curated slideshow answers the rhetorical question.
One of the dance representatives from the back of the room twirls his pen between his fingers. Leaning back in his chair, he apathetically wonders aloud, “So it’s true, then?”
“What’s that, Mr. Lee?” the marketing representative, a Mr. Choi, holds his remote between both hands as he leans toward the table. The word ‘full’ dances across his face as he steps in front of the projector’s path.
“That they’re making a comeback. A full one?”
Mr. Choi nods, scanning the rest of the patrons’ reactions with squinted eyes as he says, “That would be correct.”
Of course, the three who would walk onstage and perform aren’t here. Mr. Bang is probably running around, abiding by his role as the professional CEO who never skips a beat. Regarding the other two, you’re not sure. They’re not as predictable.
The project is pretty tight in terms of what needs to be met. Summer is around the corner, and everyone and their mother will be fighting to hold that mere title of having the temporary greatest hit. When the general public awaits their yearly easily digestible, flowery songs.
“Keep in mind that we are all under Bang! Entertainment,” Choi remarks, clicking to his next slide displaying headlines questioning the company’s next move. “It should go without saying, but all eyes will be on us as the season turns.”
You stare at the bolded words, trying to digest each of them. Joining the company was likely the best decision you’ve ever made, outside of adopting a cat named Loba. When you got scouted as a producer, you were under a different company. Bang! offered a contract, but didn’t require an interview because they ‘didn’t want to invalidate or question a talent they’ve already seen.’
It was an ego boost.
“I’m sure you all know what your roles are in this,” Choi says, taking glances around the room to make sure each face isn’t lost or distant. This is 3Racha we’re talking about. Everything must be perfect.
You take a glance of your own. A few belong to the dance department, some to hair and makeup; however, you are the only producer here.
You raise a low hand to garner Mr. Choi’s attention. “Why am I here?” you subsequently ask, dropping your hand and crossing it against your chest as before.
“The team personally requested you,” he says.
Connections, you instantly understand. In a place like this, in a time like this, they’re a necessity. Nepotism is practically required in the world of music, hence why it sucks for most aspiring indie artists. You didn’t choose to befriend a guy who happens to be best friends with one of the big three here. So, you cast a blind eye.
It’s all a game of luck.
The meeting doesn’t run much longer. A concluding statement with hints of a threat if anyone messes up rings through your ears. A project end date of July 20th, when the album is supposed to go live. You’re not nervous, per se. Simply blindsided given the lack of information. What’s the song about? When’s the due date? Will 3Racha come to you first, or do you have to take time out of your day to the CEO’s harrowing office? The uncertainties aggravate the impulse of opening a new document on your computer and delving into your producer rituals. You can’t create someone else’s project out of blankness. And that irritates you to no end.
Someone throws their arm around your shoulder in an attempt to throw you off your purposeful stride.
“Congrats,” the belonger says.
You glance over to look, even though you know the voice well. He is your connection, of course.
“Thanks.”
Minho pulls you back to a slower pace. Familiar faces from the meeting pass you to the elevator, a majority in a meaningless chatter. They expected an appearance on this project.
“What are you doing tonight?” he finally asks, stopping altogether and dropping his arm from your shoulder.
You shrug, looking curiously at him. Minho’s not one to beat around the bush.
“Hypothetically,” he starts, “how would you feel being invited to bro night?”
“And actually witness you or Felix puke on the lawn instead of hearing about it? No thanks,” you scoff, making an attempt to abandon the situation by following the distancing crowd.
He grabs your wrist, spinning you back to him. “Please?” His eyes are pleading, glaring back at you like an innocent kitten.
You tip your head and sigh. “Why?”
Instead of cutting to the chase, he sucks in a deep breath and says, “I’ll pay you.”
An eyebrow cocks. Regardless of your amusement—a desperate Minho doesn’t appear often—worries consume you. “What’s up? Why are you acting like this?”
Wary eyes jump around the hallway before they land back on you. “Follow me,” he mumbles.
His steps are calculated as he guides you to the elevator and presses the floor his office resides on. The ride is silent, as is the walk down the hall. You step into the room first, and he closes the door behind him. Despite the urge to ask if he’s about to murder you, you bite your tongue and take a seat on his upholstered couch. Identical to the one in your office.
Gently, he lowers himself into his chair. A few minutes pass of you simply staring at each other. Nerves crawl up your spine and you disguise them with a snarky comment. “Are you going to tell me why you’re willing to bribe me into spending time with your friends?”
In the time he takes to respond, you think about how the only mutual friend you have is Jisung. Sure, you know everyone on a name basis; but it’s not like you’ve known them as long as Minho. He doesn’t have other, more qualified, friends to drag to bro night?
“Chan’s kinda in a mood right now,” Minho’s words are slurred by the breath he releases as he speaks.
“And?” you press.
“I want you to see it before you work with him. And for him to understand you in advance. Y’know. You’re a little,” he hesitates, “forward sometimes.”
You should take this as an insult, but you can’t because words’ owner knows you too well. Minho never speaks unjustly.
“Touche,” you nod. It’s better to own up to your flaws. If you don’t, that’s how you end up walking into a carefully curated narcissistic personality.
His features loosen as he presses his forearms on his thighs. “So. You in?”
“I don’t really have a choice,” you emit a wry laugh. All in one sentence, you’ve managed to prove his point. It’s simple, really.
“You see, I’ve already told the boys you’re coming. Either way, I would’ve gotten you to go. The only other option would have been to threaten you with a knife,” he admits. As you gawk at him in awe, realizing you stand in the same boat, a proud grin grows on his face. With time, you begin to mirror the ones you admire. Friends, for example.
“I think Seungmin will like you,” he adds.
“Why do you say that?”
All you know of Kim Seungmin is that he’s in the vocal department, along with his younger counterpart Yang Jeongin, and that he’s a menace. Minho’s words.
“You’re both evil.”
That’s the last straw. You stand up without a word and stomp for the door.
His laugh echoes behind you, striking a quieter one of your own. Still, you stay in character and slip out into the hallway. Minho has won too many of these scenarios.
ii.
Loba sneaks into the kitchen as you wait impatiently for Minho. Thirty minutes. That’s how late he is. You consider texting him, but acknowledge the possibility he’s stuck in traffic or something. Agitation tells you to do it anyway since he only lives two blocks over.
The orange cat paws at your calf for attention, momentarily distracting you as you set your phone down on the counter. Minho’s chat is wide open. She, too, finds excuses for him.
Her head nuzzles against your palm as you scratch behind her ears. She meddles successfully enough to trick you into feeding her a few treats. While you reach for the top shelf of your pantry, a pair of footsteps sneak up behind you. Heavier than Loba’s.
“Did the cat convince you to spoil her again?”
“Son of a-” you recoil, whirling around to greet the man, the myth, the late bastard.
The familiar appearance of a sly smirk, mischievous eyes, and an outfit that makes him look like a casual runway model, pierce your vision.
“You’re late,” you mutter, stepping past him and scooping Loba up. You rest her head on your left arm, cradling her like a baby. She tilts her head up to stare back at Minho. Traitor.
Minho grabs the bag of treats for you.
“Sorry, I had to pick up Jisung. He’s in the car,” his voice trails as he slips his thumbs between the plastic fold and focuses on opening the difficult seal.
“Damn it,” he curses. Karma arrives faster in deserving situations.
“It took you thirty extra minutes to pick him up?”
He deadpans, “You know he likes to be presentable for the boys.”
When you don’t give him the satisfaction of a single laugh, let alone a change in emotion, he whines, “Oh come on, that was funny.”
“You trick me into going to your stupid hangout, and now you have the nerve to show up late?”
He sneaks a few treats to Loba. “You’re really not mad at me right now, are you?”
“Irritated, at the least,” you admit.
“Well, then I’m sorry. Jisung got off late so I had to wait at Bang! for him.”
The words sink into your skin, but you don’t acknowledge them further. The anger fades on the walk down to the car, a great distance separating you and Minho. It’s practically dissipated by the time you climb into the backseat of Minho’s Kia Soul.
Jisung turns in the front seat and offers his hand at an awkward angle. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”
You hold your seatbelt in one hand, accepting his with the other as you force a measly smile. “Same for you. Thanks for suggesting me to Mr. Bang.”
Confusion warps his face, twisting his eyebrows in a weird knit as he shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. Must’ve been Chan.”
Minho drops himself into the driver’s seat, suspending any further questioning.
Jisung returns to his original poise as when you approached the car. Eyes focused on his phone, actively typing something out.
You click your seatbelt into locking. An unnatural feeling plagues your gut. Mr. Bang wanted you on the team? It feels unlikely, but you know Jisung wouldn’t joke like that. Even if he were the type, his acting of unawareness gives away the truth.
Minho glances back at you in the mirror. “Ready?” he asks as his hand rests on the gearshift.
You press your lips into a line as you nod. “Mhm.”
You stare down at your hands carefully folded in your lap. For the first time since before producing, the itch to create is drowned by an intense, overwhelming brew of something lingering in your veins.
The expectation of you has pierced through the roof and is shooting out of the stratosphere.
Chan—Jisung quickly advised you to drop all formalities, so you’re rewiring your thoughts—has a home in Gangnam. Fitting for his status, but smaller than you expected. It’s still able to fit at least four of your apartment in it, though.
Jisung and Minho walk ahead of you up the stairs. The elevators in rich apartments on this end can only fit two people if you really scrunch together. What’s the money for, then?
“Today’s Monopoly night, right?” Jisung examines Minho’s side profile as he cautiously lifts one foot after the other. The stairs here are steeper than any you’ve seen. Hiking sounds better than this.
He hums in approval. “I guess we’ll sort teams later. We probably won’t live through the night with last week’s.”
A brash laugh escapes Jisung’s lips, subsequently echoing against the walls and bouncing back to your ears. “Right.”
You tune out their conversation for the rest of the climb, settling for watching your shoelaces sway with each step.
Jisung pushes on the door for the fourth floor, holding it open until you’re fully into the hallway. “Chan’s the second door on the right,” Jisung nods to one of the identical doors along the hall—appearing more expensive than your monthly rent with its rich stain.
Minho doesn’t bother knocking, instead opting for trying the doorknob. It allows access to the gigantic living space and the loud chatter previously muffled by walls.
You must be the last to arrive, but you probably could’ve guessed such.
“Hey,” Jeongin looks up from his conversation, inspiring a round of greetings from all the others.
“You all know each other enough so I’ll skip the introductions,” Minho glances between you and the group, starting for an empty end of the couch.
When Jisung follows his lead, you take a headcount. It appears everyone’s present except Chan—his birth name still feels awkwardly informal in your thoughts. You glance down the dark hallway to your right, counting one, two, three closed doors. Nature drags you into curiosity.
Seungmin, your alleged evil twin, waves you over.
As you take the empty spot beside him, he says, “Sorry, you looked a little awkward just standing there. Thought I’d save you before Hyunjin said something.” He shoots a pointed nod at the long-haired blond lounging between Changbin and Minho.
“Oh. Thanks,” you force a little smile that imitates gratitude. You didn’t feel awkward observing, but maybe your aura screamed otherwise.
Jeongin leans slightly over Seungmin’s shoulder with an inquisitive eye. “How did Minho convince you to come?”
“Blackmail,” you nod. Not attempting to summon a laugh, but managing so in the process.
“That’s Minho for you,” Seungmin tips his head in a slightly disbelieving manner.
“It’s okay, though. We’ll make tonight fun for you,” Jeongin raises his hand, and you meet it with a high-five.
Bro night might not be as bad as you thought.
“If only Chan comes out from his room,” Seungmin mutters, particularly to himself, as he leans his arm on the back of the couch and twists his body to look back into the hallway.
Questions. You want to ask them, but then Minho’s words return in full, blaring effect. Forward, he said. Meaning: blunt. In your face.
You bite your tongue. Redirect the temptation, you think, as your eyes scan the room. Admittedly, it’s odd seeing all these people away from their respective passions. However, Changbin’s phone is cradled in his hands, and his fingers are typing away potential lyrics. Felix, too, is hiding the fact his fingers are mirroring the directions of his recent choreography. Maybe passions are always a shadow of you.
“Should we just fix teams?” Minho says above the impatient silence.
“We can,” Hyunjin leans his forearms on his thighs. His hair falls in front of his shoulders like he’s some kind of Greek god.
“Team captains?” Seungmin asks.
“Let’s do the oldest of each unit, but since Chan’s God-knows-where, Changbin can represent,” Minho nods, glancing around for looks of satisfaction.
“Sure, rock-paper-scissors for who goes first?” Seungmin pushes a strand of hair out of his eye.
Short story short, Minho wins the first round with a victorious cheer of, “Easy!”
“You only say that because you know they always pick scissors first,” you accuse.
Minho points a finger at you, “Allegedly.”
You land a spot on Minho’s team since he got the first pick of the litter. Then, by Minho’s attempt at matchmaking, Chan lands on your team.
As you’re moving spots, you shoot Seungmin a sad, unmoving look.
He laughs, pushing you towards Minho. “Maybe next time.”
“What?” Minho glances between you. “Are you planning a coup against me?”
“You wish, Lee Minho,” you sigh, falling into the empty space beside him.
After a few beats of silence, for good measure, Minho leans down to your ear and says, “I told you you’d like him.”
“Yeah, he’s like a better version of you,” you turn to see the predictable look of offense on his features.
“Fine then, get Seungmin to drive you home,” he pouts, crossing his arms against his chest and pushing his back into the couch.
“Oh come on,” you nudge his elbow, laughing at his exaggeration.
You see a smile tug at his lips before he breaks, letting a chuckle break through his barrier.
In the remaining meantime that you wait, Minho calls dibs on the cat. Seungmin’s team claims the dog, with an offhand comment from Minho going, “You would choose the dog.” Finally, Changbin’s team chooses the hat.
“Is that a joke because you’re so short? So you can gain a few inches with the hat?” Hyunjin jabs.
Changbin reaches over the couch to try and hit him.
From this end of the couch, you can look directly into the dark, mysterious hallway. You watch as the second door knob slowly turns. You focus on it, and the shouting dispute fades out in your ears.
Chan steps out from the room, carefully closing the door behind him so as to not bring all the eyes on him at once. You fight your facial expressions to remain neutral as you take in his appearance—which is shockingly normal. Suits are his workplace fashion, and consequently, all you’ve seen him in. Now, he wears black basketball shorts and a black tee. His hair is even loosening into curls. Is this the same man who runs a massive music company? Are we sure?
His cover is blown the moment he steps into the light of the living room. Jeongin warily points a finger in your direction, “You’re on their team.”
Chan presses his lips into a makeshift smile as he approaches you and Minho. He pushes out a small ‘hey’ before taking his spot on the other side of Minho.
His reclusive figure makes your heart wrench. You wish you could have talked Minho out of going. To him, you’re just an outsider he has to put a front up for. But, the thing is, he isn’t trying to build a barrier. It appears that he doesn’t have any more energy to try.
You catch yourself staring when Minho nudges your knee with his. “You take the first roll.”
Collecting the die, you notice your hands trembling a little. Not good. You manage, somehow knocking Seungmin’s dog in the process. He feigns shock, whining in an accusatory tone, “You’re no different than Minho.”
The choir of laughter shuffles you back into reality when you glance back at your accused teammate, catching the look of the other. The corners of Chan’s lips are slightly turning up into a smile.
Whew. You’re amazed by the amount of relief that little smile gives you.
iii.
The game trails into the early hours of the morning, and a few times a boy will point at Chan and say, in an attempt to be lighthearted, “This is all your fault.”
To the dismay of the rivals, Changbin’s team manages to win. Jisung, a member of Seungmin’s team, flips the board twenty turns too late at the news. “This game is stupid!” he laughs through his words.
“You’re cleaning that up,” Changbin says as the money flutters to the rug beneath the glass coffee table. A cue for the group to laugh blinks above their heads, each varying in intensity. Hyunjin even claps a few times, for his vocal contribution pales insufficient.
Jisung slumps to the ground, “I know.”
Chan lifts himself from the couch to aid him with a lingering smile from all the laughs. As the night progressed, he seemed to slowly inch into his ‘normal’ state, as Jisung had referred to in the car.
Minho slips his phone out from his pocket. At the single-digit time, nearing close to sunrise, he heaves a sigh and pushes himself up. “Guess I should get you home.”
He extends a hand to help you up.
“You’re leaving already?” Seungmin asks.
“Uh, yeah. It’s like three A.M.,” Minho squints at him, turning his lit home screen at him for proof.
Chan snickers as he stacks all the thousands. “That’s early for me.”
See? He’s even making jokes now. This is a weird normal, considering all you know of him is his status, but admittedly better than whatever funk he was previously in.
“See you on Monday, I’ll just spend the night,” Jisung lifts his hand in a semi-wave.
Chan doesn’t protest. Instead, he looks up at you and sticks his hand up. “Can’t wait to work with you,” and smiles. Dimples indent his cheeks in a way that makes your stomach churn.
You take his hand and mirror his smile, though it’s rather genuine in comparison to the one you offered Jisung.
Minho has the decency to wait to call you out on it until you’re in the soundproof safety of his car.
“I saw that,” he says.
“What?”
“The smile. Don’t like Chan. That’d be way too awkward for me.”
You laugh, examining his twisted face of disgust as he starts the car. “Why?”
You’re not asking out of curiosity. You don’t like Chan, and you don’t see yourself liking him anytime soon. Or in the far future, for that matter. It’s just so easy to mess with Minho.
“Uh, my best friend dating my other best friend? That’s third-wheel central. I’m too hot to be a third wheel.”
Later, as you’re unbuckling your seatbelt to venture into the apartment building, Minho mumbles, “But, I mean, if you like him it’s whatever. I don’t want you feeling like you have to hide anything from me.”
You punch his arm.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“You’re getting all sappy on me again. You don’t have to worry about stuff like that, dude,” you frown. Above anything Minho can say to you, his insecurities taking over his words hurts the most.
“I’ll see you on Monday,” you say, then adding, “Unless you want to come over sometime this weekend. I’ll be home.”
He smiles, though you sense the differing thoughts behind his eyes. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” you say before shutting the door.
iv.
In all the wrong ways, Monday comes too fast. Faster than you can process Friday night, essentially.
You try to scramble your remaining thoughts into order as you walk into the lobby.
Is Chan going to be normal today? Hoping so. Why was that relief so astonishing? Did Minho catch onto something-
“Hey, Y/N!” Jisung intercepts your thoughts.
Your eyes involuntarily widen as he pops out from seemingly nowhere. Your gaze drifts to his outstretched hands, offering you one of the drinks each brandishes.
“I didn’t know which you’d prefer, and Minho wasn’t awake so I couldn’t text him. So, I got coffee and tea.”
You take your pick and nod a ‘thank you.’
“How was your weekend?” you find yourself asking as he leads you to the elevator.
He shrugs, “I did absolutely nothing other than a brain detox for this project. You?”
Despite his back being to you, your chin twitches into a nod. “Same as you, pretty much.”
“I think Chan’s in a good enough mood,” Jisung glances back at you as he reaches for the up arrow on the elevator’s panel.
“Sweet.”
Minho is your gateway to an easy conversation. Of course, he’s not here, but you slightly wish he was. You’re forced to meander in an abrasive silence until the elevator takes you up to the eighth floor.
Eight, because Chan detests the idea of being too close to anyone. He doesn’t want his presence to divide anyone’s attempt at creating their best. An icon in distancing, Minho joked as during your first week under Bang!
Jisung sucks in a deep breath as he turns into a room whose door is partially cracked. “Here goes nothing.”
On the far side of the room is an L-shaped couch. Resting upon the vertical side as if he were in his own bed is Changbin. A laptop sits in his lap, closed, but his phone is inches away from his face as he types.
“It’d be more effective if you used that laptop,” Jisung comments, resting his drink on the coffee table and sitting by Changbin’s feet. Giving Changbin the perfect opportunity to wedge his foot between the younger’s ribcage. A cry of pain shoots out of Jisung’s mouth. Truly, he should have seen that coming.
“Dude!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and clutching his side.
“I told you not to mess with me,” Changbin’s eyes narrow into a warning gaze, but Jisung laughs anyway.
“You are not scary, bro.”
You start for the opposite end of the couch, pressing your back into the armrest as you watch the scene unfold. Cupping your drink with both hands, you’re unsure if the warmth stems from it or the sibling-esque fight before you.
Changbin slides the laptop off of his lap and pulls himself to his feet. He stands before Jisung, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Then, as his eyes flutter open, he brings his fists up.
“Come on. Fight me.”
Jisung takes a step back. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Changbin shakes his head. “I’m not.”
Jisung’s eyes flit around the room for help. It would be that when the muscle man wants to fight, the only person physically capable of pacifying him isn’t here. Pure, unadulterated luck.
“And when you break my arm, then what?” Jisung’s eyebrows raise in taunting interrogation.
“Then I break your arm? What about it? You can perform with a shattered humerus. Right, ace?”
By chance of a higher being granting Han Jisung a break, Chan enters his office with a manila folder in his hand. Only a few steps into the room, he has to halt. His hand finds his hip, releasing a big sigh as he clutches the folder. To no surprise, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Black, of course. But with a surprising navy undershirt, which you give him credit for.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to cause injury in my office? Can you imagine the lawsuit? Would you do that to your beloved friend?” he asks a stream of questions.
He seems relatively happy.
Changbin drops his fists to his sides, gaze dropping back to his abandoned laptop. He scoops it up before reclaiming his spot. To fully conclude the argument, he opens the laptop’s lid. “Jisung started it.”
The accused boy looks at Chan and silently pleads his case. His hands clasp into a prayer.
Chan waves him off with a smile and a breathy laugh before starting for his desk. He acknowledges you with a small raise of his hand.
“Ah, where to begin?” he asks, to no one in particular, as he tosses the folder onto his desk and sinks into his chair.
“Han, can you turn the projector on?” Changbin takes the initiative, reaching over the couch’s back to grab a white USB cord.
He does as told, warily trying to avoid another pseudo-fight, before rushing to the light switch and fading the room into a mass of darkness. Chan must not like having his blinds open. Black world he lives in.
Changbin’s screen presents against the vacant wall across from him. A pre-written document appears, with the title ‘TT Ideas’ and a dashed list. 1.5 spacing, you admire.
“Okay, I did my homework,” he sighs, dragging his cursor over the highlighted ideas for the title track. “These are my personal favorites, but I’m up to debate.”
Jisung shivers at those words. Debate. Meaning: duel.
In the darkness, Chan steps in front of you. He sits halfway between you and Changbin, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies the list. You notice that his lips pout as he focuses, and his eyes squint a little.
You shift your own attention, for you’ll lose pacing if you stare at Chan the whole day. Changbin has highlighted unrequited love, turning the aura of summer into a song, unique abilities, and simply ‘flexing our equities’.
“Yeah, I definitely think that last one will go over well,” Jisung sardonically comments.
Changbin sighs in defeat and drags his cursor over his beloved idea, hitting the backspace in pity, “I knew you’d say that.”
“Can you elaborate on the unique abilities?” you ask, quieter than anticipated but still reaching its aim.
“Not to tute my own horn,” Changbin starts, running a hand through his hair, “but we’re sought after. When people see our names on tracklists, they immediately know the song is going to be good. They don’t sit and wonder if they’ll be disappointed, because they know with 3Racha that’s unpalatable. Hell, I saw someone tweet the other day that their favorite artist was spotted here, and the fandom went fucking crazy.
“People know what they expect from us, and that’s excellence. We deliver. You can’t say the same for a lot of producers. Doubt is inevitable for a lot of them, even if it’s only personal.”
“Couldn’t have said it better,” Jisung smirks, leaning his extended hand out to Changbin for him to high-five.
“What if we did it with an,” Chan hesitates, tilting his head at the screen to try and ease out the right words, “unnatural sound.”
“An experiment no one else could attempt,” you mumble, not expecting him to hear. His head snaps over to you, snapping, pointing a finger, and nodding.
“Exactly.”
The boys look between each other, bobbing their heads in agreement. “We can do that,” Jisung grins.
“You know, I had a feeling you would say that,” Changbin slips his phone out of his pocket, swiftly unlocking it and opening his notes app. “So I’ve already written my verse.”
“No way,” Jisung cocks his head at him.
“Okay,” Changbin mutters, “I had verses written for all the highlighted ones.”
“You are insane,” Chan chuckles, but not in an insulting tone.
From here on out, it’s smooth sailing.
v.
Until Jisung pats the pockets of his jeans two weeks later. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing back at the elevator you had just come from.
Midnight was around the corner and Jisung had promised Minho they’d go see the late-night showing of the latest horror film.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
He turns to you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “I think I left my phone in Chan’s room. I’m gonna be late. Minho’s gonna kill me.”
You cease his rambling by putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go get it. Just tell Minho to text me when you’re done so you can pick it up. ‘Kay?”
So what if Loba’s waiting for you at home, probably pawing at the front door and meowing like, “I’m hungry”? You have a profound soft spot for Jisung. And not because Minho threatened you if you ever showed any disliking. Plus, Loba’s spoiled in all other walks of her life. She can handle you coming home a little later than usual for one night.
He breathes a sigh of relief, looking up at the high ceiling in some kind of grateful manner. “You are a lifesaver, Y/N.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” you smile, starting back to the elevator as he continues his path.
The company is rather unsettling without its daytime bustle. It’s even worse on the eighth floor. A usual ghost-town, except with an increased darkness and an odd chill trailing down your back.
The hallways feel stuffy as you get close to Chan’s office, your gaze set ahead. A sniffling sound seeps into your range of hearing, though you don’t think much of it. You can get colds in summer.
Naive to think a man as esteemed as Mr. Bang would succumb to a measly cold.
As you sneak your head between the cracked door, placing your hand around its width and slightly pushing forward, the view sends your heart crashing into your stomach. Chan’s head is lowered, either hand cupping his head as incessant tears drip from his nose.
Awkwardly stepping forward, you clear your throat.
His glossy eyes, rimmed with red and slightly puffy, jump up to you. Instinctively, he attempts to discard the evidence.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
“Nothing,” he croaks, pulling his sleeve over his hand and gliding it across his damp cheek.
That’s something he could learn. If someone’s a witness, you can expect them to ease into questions. It’s only nature.
“Do you need a hug?” you attempt. Don’t be forward, don’t be blunt, don’t be mean. Minho’s reminder blinks across your vision.
He laughs, “Maybe.”
A pitiful smile creeps onto your lips as you step around the desk. Your arms link semi-awkwardly around his shoulders. He presses his cheek against your collarbone, silently crying a little. You take careful breaths, trying to stabilize your chest for him.
“Does anyone know?” Your hand rubs soft circles against his back. He shakes his head against your body. A small hiccup shakes his frame.
“You can tell me if you want.”
“I don’t want to burden you,” he manages through his tears.
You pull back a little for him to look at you. “I will smack sense into you if you say some stupid shit like that again.” In spite of his eyes crinkling into a smile—looking at you like you’re a childhood friend who he knows like the back of his hand—you try to recover. “I swear, you won’t burden me.”
He takes in a shaky breath. A blaring thought curses the forefront of your eyes. “Do you mind if we go to my apartment, though? I have a hungry cat waiting for me.”
Your arms retreat to your sides as he nods and drags the back of his hand across either cheek. “Yeah, no problem.”
You glance over at the couch, and the object of your mission stares back at you. For a second, you swear it’s glowing gold and screaming, “Your quest ends here! Bring me to my owner!”
You shuffle for the couch and scoop it up. When Chan looks at your hand in confusion, you offer, “Jisung left it. I’m the delivery service.”
“Right.” And he smiles. Comfort engulfs your body when you notice the flood has stopped.
Since you normally walk or ride the bus to work, Chan drives. His shiny sports car looks rather alien beside your used, well-used, car.
“I should warn you,” you turn to him as you push your key into the lock, “Loba’s a cuddler.”
“Sweet. I’d feel bad asking you for more hugs,” he jokes.
Sure enough, Loba is lying before the door. She scrambles to her feet and stares up at her guardian and the new intruder. Conveniently misplacing her cries for food, she scopes out the new man.
“What’d you say her name was again?” Chan asks, squatting in front of her and scratching behind her ears.
“Loba,” you say, opening the fridge to dish out Loba’s expensive special food. Adopting a cat with stomach issues, am I right?
“Loba?” Chan repeats, stifling a laugh.
“I didn’t name her,” you turn to him in defense.
Chan lowers himself, crossing his legs as Loba climbs into his lap. The love-hungry cat doesn’t even notice when you set her ceramic bowl next to her water station. She’s too absorbed in her newfound friend.
Rather than forcing them to relocate to the couch, you sit offset from them on the tile. Smiling down at the orange cat, you admit, “She’s not even like this with Minho.”
“Really?” Chan’s amused face stuns a vibration in your chest.
You appeal confirmation.
“That’s crazy. I’m a dog person, normally,” he coos down at the lovebug.
Don’t let this distract you from the task at hand, you remind yourself.
“So,” you drag. How do you say this without tempting the tears again? Admittedly, it would be nice if you had an ounce of insight. You’re walking into a minefield without a blueprint of where they lie.
Chan sighs, acknowledging his cue. “My dad doesn’t really like me all too much,” he wryly laughs.
“He seems stupid then,” you offer, not thinking further than trying to comfort him, “You’re very likable.”
“Thank you,” Chan drags his tongue against his bottom lip.
He continues, “Moreso, he dislikes his father. The one who skipped a generation when trying to continue his legacy. By association, I kind of take the brunt of it.” He looks at you through blurry eyes as he bites the inside of his cheek.
“If it makes you feel any better, I think you were the only person who could have continued the company. Your dad seems,” you hesitate, “insolent. You, on the other hand, are an ace.”
“I try to tell myself that. He makes me go to all of his business parties to keep his reputation up, as well as mine in a way. You don’t want the broken family running a huge corporation,” he mimics what he’s been told.
“So you can’t tune him out,” you echo.
“Yep,” he drags the word out, prompting a heavy sigh.
“I’m not really good at the whole comforting thing,” you study the creases of your palms. “But I’ll say that you are, by far, the most amazing person I could work for. You’re really admirable. Plus, Minho really likes you. You’re kind of like the brother he never had.”
“God, you’re gonna make me cry,” he laughs, staring up at the light as he pulls a hand away from Loba to wipe at his waterline.
“I’m serious,” you chuckle. “Would I blow smoke up your ass if you’re crying on my floor with my cat in your arms?”
When he hesitates to respond, you do it for him. “The answer is no. I don’t even do that for Minho.”
“That’s comforting,” he admits.
“I’d hope so. Now, hand me your phone,” you stick your hand out.
“Why?”
“So I can give you my number. Text me if stuff goes downhill, now that I’m in the loop.”
He looks at you quizzically.
“What? Do you think I’m going to let you suffer in silence now that I know?”
He leans to the side, cradling Loba protectively, as he draws his phone from his pocket. Unlocking it before he hands it to you.
As you type in a new contact, you say, “Do you want something to eat? I can order a pizza.”
vi.
Unfortunately, peace is temporary. Always and forever.
When you enter Chan’s office a few weeks after the father debacle, prepared to start the official recording of the album as decided on the previous day, you’re met with two confused men. Admittedly, you’re a little late, but not enough for them to be lost.
Changbin looks up at you as you cross the threshold. “Have you seen Chan?”
You shake your head.
“Heard from him?” Jisung follows.
Again, you shake your head.
“Shit,” they both fall back against the couch cushions in defeat.
“What’s wrong?” The grip on your bag tightens. Despite your inquisitive words, your gut gives you a fair answer.
“We haven’t heard from him since five this morning,” Changbin looks at Jisung for confirmation on the details.
“No one’s seen him?” you follow up.
“No one. He won’t answer our group chat either.”
Your foot taps against the floor as you try to remain composed. He texted you last night about his dad’s upcoming gala but was sparse about details. Or about the fact he would straight up disappear. Obviously, you can’t offer this information to them. A promise is a promise, even if half unspoken.
“Should we work through it? Get his parts whenever he decides to show up?” Changbin speaks.
“We can’t exactly meander anymore. Tracklist goes out at noon,” Jisung shakes his phone as annoyingly clear evidence.
“And you still need to learn the choreo for the title track,” you add. There’s only a month left. You bite your tongue, allowing the pain to slightly calm you down.
“God, what horrible timing,” Jisung laughs, but no joy laces through his tone.
You point harsh eyes at them, heavy steps leading you to the microphone stand designated for recording. “Come on then. Let’s get ahead before we can fall behind.”
vii.
You leave work the moment recording is done for the day, a discovery pulling you from focusing on anything else. Chan shared his location with you a few days ago when he offered a reciprocal to what you’ve done for him. “So you can always find me,” he said via text.
Though not for the right purpose, per se, you’re going to find him. And when you do, you might have to smack sense into him this time. With love, you convince yourself as you pull up to the stadium.
Who in their right mind rents an indoor stadium for an evening party? Rich people, evidently.
You find Chan’s car, among its shiny counterparts, and park as close to it as you can. As you get out, you pull your phone out of your pocket and call him. Not expecting him to answer, honestly.
“Hello?” his voice penetrates your ears.
“I’m outside,” you say, fighting the heavy heartbeat echoing in your head. Your hands tremble at the thought of him here, all dressed up and acting like nothing’s wrong.
“What?” he mumbles.
You look up to the big screen above the gate. “Gangnam Public Stadium, right?”
The background noise slightly fades as he says, “Wait where you are, I’ll come meet you.”
“Parking lot,” you offer before he hangs up.
You step into the shade and lean against a brick wall.
Today’s one of the finer days of summer. It’s mid-June. The solstice is just around the corner. A light breeze brushes against your skin and gently ruffles your hair. It probably helps that you’re surrounded by wealthy cars. A mood booster, in a weird way.
Quick, heavy steps draw closer. You turn your head to the source.
Chan drops his hands onto his knees as he pants. “You shouldn’t be here,” he manages.
“You should’ve told someone why you wouldn’t be at work. We all have our regrets,” you nibble on the inside of your cheek as you stare at him.
“God,” he mutters, straightening himself before standing next to you against the wall.
“You’ll get your suit dirty,” you comment, but he doesn’t care.
“You should leave.” His eyes, heavy with an emotion akin to irritation and sadness, scan over your face.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you did this,” you stand your ground. Just like Minho would hate in a moment like this. “To get to a person, you have to ease them into it,” he guided at one point. Frankly, you couldn’t care less right now.
He avoids your eyes as he tries to flatten his staggered breathing. In due time, he composes himself and finally looks at you. His features have loosened, and you note his brow is no longer creased.
“I didn’t want to lose my cool in front of them,” he admits.
“Scared to?”
He nods. “It was scary enough having one person see me cry.”
The place between your heart and ribs begins to pulsate heat.It begins to spread across your bones and through your muscles. For once, you have to think about what to say next. You can’t be mad at him, for his reasoning makes more sense than it had before. God, this is irritating.
“Let’s make the song of the summer, then,” you reassure him with a curt nod. “Pull you out of this monster field around you and let’s make history.”
The dark surrounding encasing him cracks away as an unbelievable smile finds its place. One like you have never seen. One that pierces your heart with its joy. “Let’s do it.” And he drags you into a hug. Despite the roles taking a quick turn, you feel comforted. But he’s squeezing the life out of you.
viii.
You’ve done all you can do for 3Racha within the next week. The album is complete, as far as instrumentals and lyrics. All that’s left is promotion, along with all the theatrical elements left to be discussed. But that’s separate from you.
It feels bittersweet that it’s come to an end. You know that sometime in the future you’ll return to the studio with them, working alongside creative geniuses to invent a piece. Together. That’s the key. But it feels so far away.
You sit in your empty office, staring at the broad window as raindrops fall down the glass. Recounting the process in your head with distant gratitude. Title track: God’s Menu. You’re proud of it, viewing it as your child. Watching it grow into a real song, with real words and sounds attached to it. Wow. You catch a glimpse at the meaning of life as you watch two raindrops race down. It’s this: blossoming art from a tiny idea. Admittedly not entirely your own, but the principle remains.
The other tracks enlist an equal amount of precious memories for you. Late nights felt normal with the unreal energy coursing through your veins. You notice the products of effort as you consider all those extra hours. Admiration shoots through your body, leaving it numb.
It was all them, though, you acknowledge. You were only there as a caretaker, offering your own hint to mark the music.
3Racha is like a shooting star. It's fantastic, in a sense. Not everyone can say they’ve seen a shooting star in the same way not many can say they’ve witnessed the production process with three of the most talented producers in the game. They’re unreal.
A knock against your doorframe shocks you out of your thoughts. You drag your foot against the floor to turn your chair.
Chan, dressed in an outfit similar to that of boys’ night, awaits your attention. Sweat lines his forehead, glistening his skin. You can guess where he’s been.
“Hey.”
“I need your help.” His words were trailing your simple greeting so close you could say he interrupted you. Seriousness brings his face into a dimness, slightly intimidating you.
“With?” you prompt.
He leans against the frame with his arm, replaying his words in his head over and over before spitting them out, “I kind of told my dad I’d bring a date to his next party.”
“Oh?” you say, slowly realizing. “Oh.”
“Will you do it?” His features twist into a nervous reflection.
“Sure, if you pay for my outfit.”
You say this as a joke, but he fails to convey it this way. “Deal. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Does Loba need a cat tree by any chance?”
He doesn’t await your answer as he slips back into the hall. Was that conversation even real?
An indistinguishable whiplash conquers your body into a sudden realization. You turn to your desk, scooping your phone into your hands and texting Minho, beginning with, “When you see this…”
ix.
Certainly, Chan is a man of his word. From the mere month you’ve known him, you should have gathered this. But as you stand in his living room, decked out in some outfit he carefully chose for you, it blares against all of your senses in bright, evident clarity.
Minho’s message buzzes against your palm.
Lee Knows: Loba’s conked already, two minutes after she ate. Have fun ;)
You: Lol thanks again for taking care of her.
Lee Knows: Of course. Anything for my bestest friend in the world. Now, a night of yearning!
The only way to describe this feeling rooted in the base of your stomach are the words: raw emotion. It’s a cluster. Jitters mixed with a blend of uncertainty and a weird elation? To be fair, you are about to lie your way through expensive drinks and hors d’oeuvres. What even are those?
Regardless, one thing is certain. Minho was right. It’s...discouraging to admit. Frankly, you’d ignore it for as long as possible if you could. But adoration is difficult. In your face. Forward, some would refer to it as.
God, this is all Minho’s fault.
“Ready?” Chan’s shoes click against the hardwood as he departs from his dark hole of a room. He looks stunning, though his attire isn’t much different from his office wear. A small sign of rebellion appears in his appearance, which ignites a flame in your chest.
Chan brings a hand to where your eyes are burning a whole into—his hair. The curls are there, less accentuated than bro night, but evident. “Ah, I didn’t really want to straighten it. I’ve already had fried hair one too many times in my life.”
“It looks nice,” you smile. Your throat tightens as you swallow. “You look nice.”
“Same for you,” he allows a prolonged scan of you. Sheepishly, you do one of those cheesy twirls you always see in the romance movies before Prom night or whatever expensive evening the protagonists are attending. Sincerely, with all the love rampaging through your chest, you’re going to kill Minho for cursing your life like this.
He snaps out of his trance, starting for the door. “We should get going.”
Aside from the quiet hum of the radio, the ride to the venue is silent. It wouldn’t be complete without hitting every redlight, either. Jisung’s luck must have rubbed off on you when you had that group hug.
You sit at one now, red gleaming against your face as you stare out at the sidewalk vacant of pedestrians. No one’s even at any of the other lights.
“You okay?” Chan asks.
“Yeah,” you turn back to him.
“Good,” he nods, instantly averting your eyes.
Perhaps you should have found a way to decline. Even Loba would have been a better date option. At least she has chemistry with him.
x.
To no one’s surprise, the venue is huge. Potentially larger than the stadium. From ceiling to the carpeted floor, decorated properly with the black tie theme.
Chan reluctantly grabs your hand before you tackle the crowd. If you were cold, the warmth radiating against your palm is sufficient for heating the rest of your body. Unluckily, though, you aren’t cold. Your hand feels clammy in his. If he wasn’t attracted to you before, he certainly isn’t now.
You stare at your shoes as you follow.
“Just a heads up about my dad,” he glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there, despite the tether between you, “he most definitely thinks we’re dating, so be prepared for questions.”
“Oh great,” you mumble. How do you cure a lovesick heart? What an ambiguous question offering up to a plethora of potential answers. One incorrect answer, though: acting out romance. In real time, too.
“Sorry, I probably should have told you sooner. Kind of slipped my mind,” he squeezes your hand in apology.
Even when you break out into a free space, his hand doesn’t pull from yours. Instead, he slightly tightens the hold as he approaches an older man. Without any prior knowledge (ie. not Googling his dad after he cried on your kitchen floor over the bastard), you could guess this is his dad. They practically have the same face. Striking differences, however, given some context.
“Hey,” the man grins, eyes shifting curiously between you and his son.
You dip your head in respect. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bang.”
His hand claps your shoulder as you look up. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” Silence hangs onto the end of his sentence as he glances at Chan for help.
“Y/N,” Chan offers. Your name sounds pretty coming from him.
“Y/N,” his father repeats. You want to sock him for saying your name.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Would have been nicer if Chan had given a little notice,” he laughs for you, alternatively offering a subtle, but not unnoticeable, glare to Chan.
Reflexively, your unoccupied hand clenches until you feel your nails pressing sharply into your skin. Discreetly, you nudge Chan’s arm with your elbow as a sign that you’re here. Slightly, his hand loosens in yours as his nerves slowly ease.
“Sorry, it’s kind of recent,” Chan laughs. His eyes crinkle into a faux delight.
“Of course,” his father nods. “Haven’t seen any articles about it yet, which is good. You might not want this being exposed to the GP.”
“Wouldn’t want that,” Chan manages through gritted teeth, albeit hidden in a way only you could notice.
Then, as if the attack didn’t have a cooldown, he reaches up and tugs at one of Chan’s curls. “Your hair looks...interesting.”
It’s really difficult trying to remain neutral in the face of backhanded advice and compliments. Especially in front of this man, who shouldn’t even be given a title as esteemed as that. He’s scum stuck to the back of your old, rusty car that won’t go away in spite of however many power washes.
“Mr. Bang,” a waiter appears behind him, stealing his attention long enough for you to drag Chan in the opposite direction. He’ll find his way into a business conversation soon anyway. With no recollection of what he said to his son whatsoever. Considering his words will always stick with Chan, your face heats up.
You ignore Chan’s repelling tug, and his words that go in one ear and out the other. A hidden area near the bar is the only place where he has enough courage to stop you. But only because you let it happen.
“If we stayed there much longer, I would have caught an assault charge,” you huff.
“You handled it well, though,” he admits, “Even if you were about to break my hand.”
In the face of anger personified, he manages to smile and crack a laugh.
“Sorry,” you mumble, finally pulling your hand away from his.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, glancing back at the bartender serving an established looking woman a margarita. Likely strawberry from its tint.
You shake your head, “I’m good. Thank you.”
“Well, then, I’ll be back,” he reaches out to rub your shoulder before slipping back into the crowd. You’re jealous of the effect he has to just become invisible.
You pull your phone from its hidden spot and open Minho’s awaiting text.
Lee Knows: Has he made a move yet?
You: Why would he?
Lee Knows: Idk you’re kind of obvious.
Before you can answer, an incoming notification from Seungmin pops up.
Seungmo: Is it true that you like Chan?
Minho. Lee Minho. You grimace.
You: No comment.
Seungmo: Sweet. Jeongin owes me twenty bucks. But ew. Who would romantically like Chan?
The text really ties together with the barfing emoji.
“Who’s that?” the subject of both text logs peeks his head over your phone.
You snatch it back, instinctively turning it off. “Seungmin.”
“I didn’t know you were friends with him,” Chan observes, placing the black straw between his lips. His drink is also tinted pink, but not in a margarita glass.
“Minho built the bridge during bro night. Now we plot behind his back,” you joke, promptly making Chan choke. He coughs, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he sputters.
“Don’t do that when I’m drinking!” he laughs.
Your chest heaves as you try to stifle the laugh building up in your chest.
“Oh come on, you’re even gonna have the nerve to laugh at me?” he tips his head to look at your quivering frame. He finds this funny, but he can’t just not tease you. That’s not in the rule book.
“I’m not laughing,” you try to convince him, lips pressed into a fine line as quick breaths leave your nose.
“Right,” he rolls his eyes.
If he were being honest with you, he was doing this as a ploy to take your mind off of his dad. Honesty isn’t one of his finer points, though. So he stays quiet.
“Do you want a sip?” he offers the fruity looking drink to you.
“What is it?” you ask, but accepting the glass anyway.
“Just a strawberry mimosa.”
Again, if he were honest, he’d tell you he only got it to share with you. It was a shot in the dark, neutral enough. But, again, not one of his stronger urges. Minho would refer to this as him ‘making a move’, unbeknownst to you.
You take a quick sip. Humming in approval, you hand it back to him. “It’s good, I can barely even taste the alcohol.”
He fixes his hair absentmindedly as a passing conversation arises. Subject: Minho. Goal: offering both parties ammunition for his next offhand comment or prank.
“Did you know that Minho talks in his sleep?” you laugh.
Chan pulls at a curl, pulling it straight. “He seems like the type.”
You reach up and flick his wrist.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Stop thinking about what your dad said,” you scold. The nerves in your stomach dissipate as your hand ruffles his hair, fluffing it out. He looks more relaxed as you pull away.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
“Don’t apologize, or I’ll punch you next time.”
“I can see why you and Minho get along so well.”
xi.
By the time you’re set free from the hell of socializing with all of Chan’s dad’s friends who last saw him when he was ‘this high’, the effects of the single mimosa wear off. Luckily for Chan, you drank most of it, so he’s set to drive.
“My feet hurt,” you complain. Maybe it would have been smart to break in the fancy shoes Chan invested for you before the event.
“Do you want me to carry you?” Chan asks, turning to you.
Against all voices inside of you screaming to decline, your pain receptors answer for you. “That’d be great, since you're offering.”
He bends his knees slightly and holds his arms slightly out. When you jump onto his back, he doesn’t even react.
“Do you religiously workout or something?” you joke, though true curiosity shines through your words. You’re pretty obvious.
“Duh. Every breathing moment I’m not working or crying over my dad. It’s a stress reliever.” Your arms, hanging from his neck, feel each vibration in his chest as he laughs.
As he readjusts his hands beneath your thighs, maintaining a steady hold of your body against his, your body grows warm and you can envision your cheeks glowing red. Minho was so right. And the field day he’s going to have with the upcoming weeks until the joke grows stale. You shiver at the thought.
“Are you cold?” Chan asks.
“Oh, no, I was just thinking about Minho.”
“Scary,” Chan mimics his own shiver at the mention.
You press your cheek against his shoulder, his steady steps drawing your eyes shut.
The silence you find is unparalleled to the one in the car earlier. This one is comfortable, homely even. So much so that you feel yourself fall asleep.
xii.
When you get to his apartment, he nudges your shoulder.
Your eyes slowly open, fighting against the dull light from the roof of his car.
“You can spend the night at my house. I’m not confident in pulling a sleeping body out of a car. Putting you in was hard enough,” he chuckles.
You manage a smile and hazily push the passenger door open. From the rest, your feet should be fine walking to the elevator (since there’s one less body than bro night, you’ll fit) and to his apartment. Still, he wraps his arm around your shoulders to steady you all the way up to his front door.
“I’ll grab you some clothes,” he says as you fall onto his couch. You didn’t acknowledge how comfortable it was just from sitting on it. Honestly, it feels like a normal mattress.
He returns from his room quickly with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Both black, as you could have guessed.
You walk to the bathroom and sleepily tug your fancy outfit off, careful not to ruin it. As you pull his shirt over your head, a rush of his cologne hugs you. You fight off the ‘I could get used to this’ comment that floats through your head.
You don’t remember walking back to the couch. But you remember Chan pulling a blanket up to your chin.
xiii.
Chan pokes your cheek, drawing you away from your precious dream of living in a cottage on the seafront—conveniently with him. You whine, pulling the blanket over your head in an attempt to ward him away. Dream Chan is waiting for you.
“Y/N, come on. You can’t sleep on my couch all day.” The worst part is: you can hear the faux pout in his voice. And potentially worse: you definitely could sleep on this couch all day if your life depended on it. Even if it didn’t, to be honest.
“Go away,” you grumble.
He sighs. His presence beside you disappears for a few moments, long enough for sleep to momentarily return. The bubble of peace pops eventually.
“Hey, Minho,” his voice returns, slightly muffled by the distance and the cloth pressed against your ear.
This is enough to spring liveliness into your bones. You sit up, hateful eyes shooting in the direction of the voice. When you see him laughing, his dark phone pressed against his ear, you reel. “One of these days, I’m gonna leave your company and then your stocks are gonna plummet,” you groan.
“Is that the best insult you can come up with?” he counters, dropping his hoisted arm to his side.
“I have more, but they're still closed off. You know, since you’ve rudely interrupted my sleep.”
“I’m sorry. Not really, though. It’s like noon.”
“And?”
“I can’t leave you here alone,” he laughs.
“What, do you have a date to attend?”
Awaiting his response, you reach for your phone on the coffee table. Two missed calls. A few Snapchats from Seungmin, likely pictures of his new puppy, but no matter.
“I wish. I have to meet up with Jisung. Pressing news he has to tell me, too confidential to be told over text.”
“He’s gonna confess,” you shoot him a look.
“Yes, because Han Jisung would be in love with me,” he starts for the kitchen. An extended arm pulls at the fridge, and he pulls two waters out.
“To be fair, if I were Jisung, I’d probably be in love with you,” you say, obviously without much thought behind it.
Okay. In your defense, you were a little too focused on reading Minho’s latest string of confusing messages. Trying to decipher the code, Chan’s response passes right through you like a ghost.
Lee Knows: Y/N you won’t believe this.
Lee Knows: Loba’s gonna be so happy.
Lee Knows: I know you’re probably cuddled up with Chan or whatever but call me ASAP.
Chan lowers himself beside you, tossing the cold water in your lap. He peeks over your shoulder. “Huh. That’s pretty much what Jisung said to me.”
“Why are you invading my privacy?” you glare at him, considering elbowing him precisely between the ribs. Ultimately deciding against it, of course. Through tense internal conflict.
“Really? You’re sitting on my couch, in my clothes, refusing to leave, and you wanna talk about privacy?”
Just because he has a point doesn’t mean he should voice it. Plus, he offered the clothes. And the couch for you to sleep on. It really just seems like a self jab to you.
“Should I call him?” Your finger glides across your bottom lip as you look at him for an answer.
“Sure, why not?” he throws his hands up in defeat. “Let’s see what Jisung and Minho have conspired this time.”
The ring echoing sparks a nervous pit in your stomach. You pick at the sticker of the water bottle. It feels like forever by the time he answers.
“Morning, sunshine,” Minho’s sweet voice reeks of sarcasm.
“You’re on speaker, by the way,” you close your eyes to avoid looking at Chan’s burning eyes.
“Oh perfect, you are too,” Jisung joins in, a dry laugh escaping his throat.
“We have some questions,” Minho begins, but fails to continue.
“Such as?” Chan prompts.
“Are you guys dating yet?” Jisung bluntly jumps to the case.
Your heart rams against your chest. That ‘yet’ tugs at your insides.
“Uh, no,” you draw out.
“The media sure thinks otherwise,” Minho jabs.
Chan’s already searching for the articles by the time you can react.
“Fuck.” He throws his head back against the couch in frustration, tilting his phone towards you so you can see.
CEO Bang Chan Lands a Date Weeks Before Comeback.
Bang Caught With Employee?
Bang Chan, CEO, Makes a Striking Appearance at Dad’s Gala.
“What? Did you really think there wouldn’t be journalists there? Come on Chan, do better.” You never knew Jisung had this cutting edge to him. If the words were aimed at you, you know you’d break down. It’s a miracle that Chan is this composed.
“Can you calm down? My god,” you say without realizing. “It’s not like we can’t fix this.” How, though, you ponder?
“If it makes you feel any better,” Minho reluctantly says, like this sentence could put his life on the line, “you looked cute.”
“Thanks,” you mutter. In any other circumstance, you’d be quick to mock him. Well. At least he’s not outwardly making fun of you. Another one of Minho’s late night insights seeping into your thoughts: see the positive.
A text notification drops down against your screen. Despite having the luxury of using his voice, it’s Minho.
Lee Knows: Would now be a bad time to out you?
You: Horribly.
“Well,” Jisung draws in a sharp breath.
“Good luck,” Minho finishes for him.
After he hangs up, promptly after letting you know he fed Loba this morning, you pick up the water bottle and place it against your cheek. The shocking chill redirects your nerves momentarily.
You try not to look at Chan, but you know he’s looking at you.
After a moment to catch your breath, he sighs, “I have an idea.”
It takes an effort to pull your attention to him. A war against yourself.
“Play along with me for a second,” he says, pulling his leg beneath him as he repositions himself beside you. Fully facing you, taking in your entire being—which doesn’t help your burning skin. You’d give anything to be invisible right now.
“What if,” he starts, “we go along with it?”
You laugh in his face. “Are you sure that wouldn’t blow up even worse? Imagine people finding out we faked it. That wouldn’t be good for you.”
He messes with his fingers, suddenly finding an intense interest in the linework of them. He rubs his thumb against the crease of his ring finger. “I don’t think anyone would have to find out it’s fake, per se.”
“How are you so confident?” You look at him in awe. Even when he’s spewing absolute nonsense and under pressure, he looks like a god. Calm as ever. It’s horrifying for your heart. And for common sense, but that’s not as important right now.
“I don’t think Minho would lie to me.”
“What does Minho have to do with this?”
His dimple shows itself as a measly smile crosses his lips. “He may have told me.”
Regardless of what he may have spilled, you know instantly. “You’re kidding me,” you huff. What was the point of his dramatic message, then? A distraction, maybe.
“I mean it’s okay. It’s not like it’s not reciprocated or anything.”
“You are unbelievable,” you shake your head. “How did you know and not say a single thing?”
His hands shoot up in defense. “To be fair, I didn’t find out until after you fell asleep last night. For the second time. He texted me with this whole ‘I know something you don’t’ facade. I wasn’t going to act on it until I had a stupidly romantic plan, but then this happened,” he gestures around the room, as if it’s the decor’s fault. He’s quick to add, “And I couldn’t do that as soon as they said anything about the articles. That’d kinda ruin the mood, don’t you think?”
So Chan’s probably not good with looking amazing under pressure—he very well could be, but you wouldn’t know that right now. Which slightly irritates you, but no matter.
“Well,” you sigh. “I guess that solves the problem.”
He nods, looking at you solemnly.
“Your dad’s gonna be pissed, though,” you comment, and he laughs.
“I know.”
Funny. As soon as the problem jumped at you, the imminent solution scared you just as fast. Your head hurts from the whiplash. That must be a pattern with him.
“You know what’s kinda perfect about this?” he says after a moment.
“Tell me.”
“We can write love songs together now. Isn’t that cool?” The sheer joy in his face shatters any aggravation left in your veins. A smile creeps up on you.
“You’re such a nerd.”
“And you’re madly in love with a nerd so I don’t see what your point is.”
You pull the pillow out from behind your back and chuck it at his head.
“Oh so you’re trying to kill your beloved love interest? Real classy, Y/N.”
“Please just shut up and kiss me already,” you lean over halfway and wait for him to meet you.
Kissing a major CEO doesn’t feel much different than kissing a normal person, but there’s a striking flare of passion to it. Maybe that’s a personal thing.
His lips fit against yours in a way that makes your soul instantly tethered to him. You hope he can’t feel your heartbeat against your lips, for it’s pulsing rather loud and antsy for you.
Chan radiates warmth in every piece of his body, extending all the way to his aura. If it wasn’t for your pesky lungs running out of air, you’d never pull away.
xiv.
In spite of his idea for a romantic confession going down the drain as soon as he decided to think one up, he makes up for it with incessant gestures. Bringing you snacks when he should be in meetings. Buying you sweets when you get stressed. Purchasing Loba a huge cat tree, even though she doesn’t need to be spoiled further. Spending the night at your house even when his is way more comfortable for the sheer reason that Loba would feel lonely.When you mention taking her with you, he’d say, “I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable with the new environment.”
He even postponed bro night because you got sick and wanted to be the one to take care of you.
You don’t need reminders that he loves you, but it’s all the while heartwarming when he says it.
Even now, with his arm wrapped around your waist and his chin propped on your shoulder, he’s thinking aloud in romance land. “What if we went on a vacation to France for Christmas? Isn’t Paris the city of love?”
You watch the TV, but his voice drowns out all of the dialogue. “I don’t know, Chan. Why can’t we stay here?” you shift in his arms to roll over and face him. This close, as you’ve grown accustomed to these past months, you can count all of his eyelashes. And you can see tiny freckles scattered across his cheeks. It must be an Aussie thing.
He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “We can stay here. I’m fine with that.”
Loba jumps onto the bed, her collar jingling with her sudden movement to warn you she’s arrived. You pull away from Chan a little to make room for her between you. “Here comes the princess,” you feign disappointment with a sigh.
She claims her spot between your chests and curls herself into a ball, burying her face in Chan’s chest. Per usual. She often forgets who feeds her around here.
“Anyway,” Chan leans over her, kissing your lips gently, “I’m okay wherever. As long as you’re with me.”
After a beat of silence, you cup his cheek delicately and say, “Let’s go to the moon.”
“Yeah,” he grins, “Let’s go to the moon.”
xv.
He leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, setting a bottle of water in front of you.
Jisung gags from across the room. “Get a room,” he complains.
“You are a grown man and you can’t handle a couple being affectionate?” Changbin criticizes. “Get a life, dude.”
“Yeah,” you chime in, “Just ‘cos you live a poor, single life doesn’t mean you can hate on us.”
“Jeez, I didn’t sign up for slander on this Monday morning.”
“You definitely asked for it, but let’s get to work.” Chan draws his phone from his pocket and prepares for the official meeting regarding 3Racha’s next comeback.
God’s Menu was well received from the public, sending Chan’s dating scandal into the shadows. Minho basked in the compliments on the choreography. Seungmin whined when no one on Twitter noticed he was the vocal coach—and Minho didn’t make it much better by rubbing his glory in Seungmin’s face every chance he got. And you couldn’t get Chan to stop showing you funny Tweets and praise for nearly a month. Likely longer.
Here you sit in Chan’s office at the beginning of the new year. A lot of things can go south during six months, but things can shoot north too. Generally, for you, it’s been pretty north.
This time around, Jisung has calculated his homework and broadcasts his thoughts onto the wall.
“I already know what you’re gonna choose for the title track, so let’s choose B-sides,” he adds the disclaimer before anyone can mutter a peep.
“I don’t know about you all,” Chan dips his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leans against his desk, “but I’d say I’m pretty confident in writing a love song right now.”
You groan alongside Jisung. “Stop talking.”
Here we go on the hunt for the song of the new year. Conquer the competition before anyone has a chance. Like you did in creating the song of the summer.
150 notes · View notes
finnyboywolfhard · 3 years
Text
Kiss It, Make It Better
Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader 
summary: Y/N craves smoking with someone new, so who better than Steve Harrington. 
A/N: this is based solely on the ‘it’s only marijuana’ line in season three bc i am in love with stoner!Steve 
warnings: drugs <3, cursing, fluff 
word count: 2.4k 
Y/N and Dustin had the routine since Y/N got her license, that once a month they would have a sibling drive, in which they would drive around with the sole intent of getting caught up with one another. Given all the shit they had been through over the past few years, it naturally became their own special form of therapy. The Events of Starcourt on the Fourth of July and the days prior were once again weighing heavily on the two during their first drive since.
“What was it like being drugged?” Dustin asked, his curiosity weaving its way into his voice.
“Weird. It kinda felt like everything was the best thing ever, but it also came at the worst time. It was also weird that it was with Steve Harrington and Robin.”
“Is it like weed?”
“Is it like what?” Y/N knew the answer, it was no, but she had no idea why her little brother was deciding to ask her that in that exact moment.
“When you guys were drugged, I kept asking Steve if he did drugs, and he said that he only did marijuana. I wanted to know if they were comparable. So, is it like weed?”
“First off Dusty, you don’t ‘do’ marijuana, you smoke it. And secondly, I’m not answering that question, you can save that query for Steve.” Steve. Y/N had a lot of thoughts about him, it was interesting to hear about him from the rumors in high school in comparison to how she saw him act regularly. And ever since she started smoking to calm herself down, she has craved smoking with someone other than Robin, maybe Steve was worth a shot.
“Speaking of Steve, he said he might be over a lot over the next few nights while his parents are away, just so you know.”
“Oh? Is he coming tonight?”
“No, not tonight. He isn’t off work till 9 and mom doesn’t want him coming an hour before my dumbass bedtime— I still don’t get why she just NOW gave me a bedtime while you don’t even have a curfew.” Her brother started rambling, but all she could pay attention to was that he was going to be home alone tonight. Would it be that crazy of her to show up after all the trauma they had been through over the past 3 years?
“It’s because I’m legally an adult, so she’s treating me as such, and you’re just going into high school, she wants you to be safe. But okay, guess we’ll just have to see him soon.” The two drove around for a while longer before returning home. As the hours in between past, Y/N glanced towards her bookshelf, in which held a hidden stash of weed. She could always tell her mom she was just going to Robin’s, she would never try to prevent Y/N from seeing Robin.
She walked toward the bookshelf with soft footing, and with a gentle touch she plucked the hard covered book from the shelf. Inside lay two pre rolled joints she bought from her dealer and some bud Murray had snuck her after Hopper’s memorial. She snapped the book closed and tossed the book gently onto her bed. She put on a zip up hoodie and packed a fake sleepover bag. The books spine crackled gently as the cover was opened just enough for her to grab the pre-rolls out and into her pocket.
With backpack slung over her shoulders and her hands tucked securely in her pockets, Y/N strolled casually into the living room where her mother sat, as the minutes ticked quicker and quicker past 9:30–he was definitely home by now.
“Hey mom! Inhope you don’t mind but I’m gonna head over to Robin’s.”
“Oh! Did she call? I didn’t even hear the phone!”
“Oh no! She didn’t!” Y/N let in a gulp, she didn’t think this through. “She asked me a few days ago to come over tonight if I wanted to, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go until a little bit ago.”
“Ah, sounds like you, Do you wanna call her before you head over?” Claudia stood from her seat and began moving and motioning towards the phone.
“No!’ Y/N shrieked at her mother, who turned confusedly towards her. “Her mom goes to bed early and I told her that if I was gonna come it would be between 9 and 10, she assumes I’m coming, but I do really gotta get going.” Y/N glanced nervously at the clock, it was getting later and later and there comes a time where it’s a little uncomfortable to show up. Claudia glanced to the clock as well.
“Okay Y/N/N, you better get going.”
“Bye mom—“
“—Drive safe, be careful, I love you.”
“I love you too mom.” Y/N said as she practically ran to her car. She turned her car on and began the drive towards his house, not even thinking twice about where she was going until the car came to a park in his driveway.
“Shit!” Y/N yelled at herself. She yelled at herself for being weird and for showing up unannounced. She calmed herself down by saying, “who wouldn’t want someone showing up with free weed? Don’t overthink it.” She pulled in a complete, deep breath and walked hesitantly to the door. Three knocks sounded off the door, her breath fluttering ever so slightly as she let her hand fall to her side. Footsteps could be heard from the opposite side of the door, stepping closer and closer by the second. The doorknob turned and Y/N’s attention snapped up to meet the gaze of the boy at large.
“Hey Y/N, what’re you doing here?” Steve asked delightfully surprised. Her hand reached inside her pocket to pull one of the two joints. She lifted it from her pockets to where he could see it.
“Got a light?” She asked with a smirk.
After finding a lighter, the two made their way to his backyard. They sat parallel to one another in their chaise chairs. Y/N flicked the lighter a few times before sparking up the first joint of the night. She pulled a large huff in and held it as she passed the joint to Steve. He took in a long drag, holding the joint in front of him to inspect it after he hit it. A few seconds after Y/N had released her hit, Steve started coughing a bunch.
“Jesus Y/N, where the hell did you get this?” Steve said through the gasps for air.
“Good shit, huh?” Y/N joked as she inhaled another hit. The two fell into a rhythm of passing it back and forth as conversation allowed itself to flood the air.
“So what made you come here Y/N?” Steve pondered towards the girl.
“Dusty started asking me about when we were drugged, and apparently you told him you smoked weed. And, as much as I love Robin, I need someone new to smoke with, and you’re not AWFUL to hang out with.” Y/N explained, with sarcasm dripping from the last sentence.
“Wow, I feel so touched. Truly, I feel like the luckiest man alive. THE Y/N Henderson chose ME to smoke with. Best day of my life.” Steve rambled on, matching the sarcastic tone Y/N started with. The two laughed for a bit together, before Y/N spoke through the giggles.
“I am sorry for just showing up, I just didn’t know how to ask.”
“What? Am I that scary?”
“You’re THE King Steve, you’re the coolest, hottest guy at Hawkins. I was so intimidated by your male wiles. I am begging at your feet Steve Harrington.” Y/N mocked other girls she had witnessed in Hawkins. “No you’re not scary, I just couldn’t bring myself to say ‘Hey Steve, want to do some drugs with me?’ on our family phone, it didn’t feel right.” Steve let out a chuckle and a ‘fair enough’. It fell silent for a moment as the joint had its final hits taken from it.
“Why haven’t we hung out before? I mean away from all the traumatizing shit.” Steve asked slowly as he let himself sink down into the chair.
“Different friend groups before it all and then after and during it all, I didn’t and don’t want to impede on you and Dustin’s time. Plus neither of us have asked each other anyway.”
“That’s not true, I invited you to the movies that one day you stopped into scoops alone.”
“Yeah after I had already told you I was babysitting that night, you didn’t even ask to reschedule.”
“Yes I absolutely—didn’t. I didn’t.” Steve said, confidence dissipating. Y/N couldn’t help but focus to each small feature of his face one by one. Sure, she had looked at him but she never looked at him. He really was beautiful.
Jokes and stories were told between the two, laughter and exaggerated stories filled the bubble they put themselves in. In those moments, there was no one else in the world but Steve and Y/N.
“And that’s how Mike Wheeler broke his finger in our backyard.” Y/N let out through a fit of giggles. Steve clutched his stomach as he let himself fall back into the chair from the gut busting laughter Y/N had sent him into. As he got more comfortable, he glanced down at his watch. His eyes bulged at the time.
“Holy shit.” He said flustered, eyes never leaving the watch face.
“What? What time is it?”
“It’s almost 2 A.M.”
“Oh damn…” Y/N said, a dangerously fun smile finding its way to her face. Her hand reached towards the second joint in her pocket. “So this would be of no interest to you?” Steve’s squinted eyes opened just a peep. He let out a long whine.
“I think I’m too high to even move…but that looks so good.” Y/N looked between him and the joint. She noticed space for her to sit on the edge of his chair, and placed herself there. She placed the joint between her lips and gave it a light, waiting for the rolling paper burn down to the weed. From between her lips, she pulled the joint between her fingers and held it gently up to his. He took in a pull, never once releasing eye contact. With each consecutive hit, the distance between them drew closer and closer, eventually leaving their faces merely inches apart. Her fingers were so far back on the joint, they grazed his lips as he took in one of the final hits. Her fingers tingled from his touch. She glanced towards his eyes, his meeting hers already. The air around them went still and quiet. Their eyes were locked on each other, contact never wavering as their bodies moved towards one another like a magnet. His eyes stayed put on hers as his voice fell in the air.
“Give me one more.” Her hand lifted lightly and placed itself at his lips once more. The joint glowed a bright red as he inhaled the smoke. Y/N was so enraptured by his beauty, she didn’t notice the joint burning down to a nub. She watched as a cloud of smoke was blown from his lips and into the sky, before the heat had finally reached her touch.
“Son of a bitch!” She exclaimed as she dropped the roach to the ground. She lifted her fingers to her mouth, attempting to ease the burning feeling. The burn wasn’t bad, just a little redness but it didn’t hurt any less.
“Hey, let me see it.” Steve’s tone was much gentler now as he lifted her hand into his own. He raised her gently by her wrist to examine the burnt fingers. He delicately placed the burnt fingers to his lips and gave them a tiny little kiss.
“Kiss it, make it better.” He whispered, just barely audible to her ears. That’s what was so shocking about Steve, his heart was so filled with love and care. He did his best to make everyone feel protected, even if his popular guy persona overshadowed it at times.
“How are you so perfect?” Her voice came out quietly. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her once more and without much thought, he closed the distance. The kiss was gentle and loving, but clearly stoked by passion. His lips upturned into a smile. She leaned back and traced her fingers across her lips. Just to make sure she didn’t imagine it, she pulled the boy towards her by the collar and planted one more kiss on him—and she noted that he kissed back with the same fervor.
“I have a crush on you Steve Harrington.” She said, hiding her blushing face from the boy. He turned her face towards him as he confessed,
“I’ve had a crush on you for like 3 months.”
“You have?”
“Yeah.” He said, his thumb gently grazing her cheek.
“Why?”
“Dustin talks about you enough, and I—uh I remembered all the times you’ve kicked ass over the past few years and it just kinda…happened. Who wouldn’t want someone as smart, badass, and beautiful as you?” He rambled our haphazardly, a blush forming across his cheeks as well.
“Steve…”
“Oh god, that was embarrassing, am I blushing? I feel like I’m blushing. fuck me.” Steve started rambling.
“Hey! It’s not embarrassing, it’s cute.” Y/N explained, but it didn’t seem to help. An idea flashed in her mind. “Oh no! You are so embarrassing, I am embarrassed. Ew, guess I
I’ll just have to close my eyes! I hope that embarrassing Steve Harrington doesn’t kiss me!” The sarcastic tone from earlier returning once more. A chuckle bubbled past Steve’s lips. He once more laid one on her, this time—a little bit more passionate than the past.
Y/N nuzzled herself into Steve’s side on the small beach chair they were on. The air sat comfortably still in that moment, the two reeling from the overwhelming emotions they had just felt. Quiet giggles pierce the air as Y/N studies her fingers.
“It worked.” She said matter of factly.
“What worked?”
“After you kissed it, I haven’t thought about it since. You made it better.” Y/N spoke melodically. Steve planted a kiss to the top of her head and pulled her closer in to him.
“Kiss it, make it better.” He repeated once more.
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vixenpen · 3 years
Text
Just Relax For Me, OK? (Scumbag! Hawks x (f) Reader)
(Hoevember Day 10 Free Day)
(Trigger warnings: coercion, power dynamics, manipulation)
Tumblr media
(Art by: @kadeart)
He requested me specifically. Not ‘his people’ or his management; Hawks requested me out of all the candidates.
The very thought had you shook. You had only answered the ad seeking ‘new talent’ on a total whim not expecting to get it. Yes, You were cute in your opinion, but you didn’t think you were exceptional or exceptionally lucky enough to get the call back. Yet the email lingered at the back of your mind.
Y/n-San, I hope this email finds you well (although I guess the email doesn’t have a choice, now does it? 😂)
I was impressed with your headshots, and I think you would be perfect for the shoot. If interested respond as soon as possible.
Best,
Hawks
The man had sent you a personal email. He had invited you to be his leading lady himself. You nearly fainted when you got the email. Needless to say after an hour of research to ensure it wasn’t a joke or a scam you promptly emailed back to accept.
That was what led you here: Room 1 on the tenth floor. You were about to have a Photoshoot with the number two hero.
It felt surreal when you finally knocked on the door, but you sobered you quickly when a deep, playful voice sang back: “Come innn.”
A pair of lazy golden eyes sparkled at you as you entered. His deep red wings flexed as he gave a slow, smile.
“Hey there, kid.” He stood.
Your eyes widened. You had never seen him in civilian clothes. He had a little bit more muscle on him than you realized. He was by no means a big man, but he was fit and toned. Lithe muscles flexed beneath his Brooks Brother’s button down shirt, and his large hands were stuffed into his khaki trousers.
You were so taken aback by his casual appearance that you didn’t even notice the way his amber gaze caressed your curves, slowly and appreciatively.
“Enjoying the scenery?” He asked, laughter lacing his tone. “I know I sure am.”
The comment snapped you out of your trance.
“Oh! Gosh I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen you outside of your hero costume much, it’s...different. I mean you look amazing! You always do but—“
Shut up, y/n, just shut the fuck up.
So you snapped your mouth shut while the blonde man threw his head back and laughed. He gave you the sexiest smise (smile eyes) you’d ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of. Then He stepped closer, closing the space between you two.
“Well, I’m glad my leading lady approves.” He hummed.
Get your thoughts together, girl.
“Of course. But I was wondering, where is everyone else?”
“Well considering I set up this little meeting two days ahead of time I’m going to assume they’re all at their respective houses.”
“Two days?! Wait so the shoot—“
“Is two days from now. Ain’t I little shit?” He laughed. It was a bright, full sound that made the corner of his eyes crinkle, and despite your own confusion, you couldn’t help, but chuckle too.
“I would say; a lovable scamp,” you joked. “But, why would you ask me to come if it was just going to be the two of us.?“
The blonde fought against a smirk. It was cute how naive you were. It was a good thing Hawks had scooped your fine ass up out of the pile of headshots. Clearly, you were going to need his guidance.
“To help ease your mind a little, y/n. You’re new to all this, right?” He gestured around the studio.
“Uhh, yeah, I am.”
“I can’t imagine shooting an ad with a pro hero as your first job is easy on your nerves.” He gave you a little pouty little smile. Jesus this man was pretty.
You giggled nervously. “The number two pro in Japan at that, sir.”
“Eh,” he gave a dismissive little wave. “Whose counting?” Then he reached out to give your arms a gentle squeeze, his eyes pierced yours, fixing you in place, and you gasped a bit. It wasn’t a predatory look, but it was intense and demanding of your full attention.
“The important thing, kid, is that you’re comfortable with me. Understand?”
Flabbergasted, you nodded. It seemed to appease the avian hero because his serious expression melted into a friendly smile.
“Good, besides, I don’t bite...unless you ask me to, that is.” He added in a low voice.
Despite the friendliness in his face, something about the comment made your sex heat up for just a moment. But you didn’t have time to dawdle on that, before Hawks led you to one of the red couches in the room.
“Come on, let’s chat. I just wanna see where your head is at, Little Birdie, make sure you can really handle yourself in front of a camera.”
Your heart hammered at the nick name. “That’s sweet of you, I appreciate it.”
Hawks smiled. “So did you always wanna be a model?”
“No. I wanted to be a university student, but school is expensive and...well...money is hard to keep with the way things cost now a days.” You explained with a shrug. “But Jesus, I’m so excited! I can’t believe I’m getting to meet my idol,” you gushed, “I’ve seriously been a fan of you forever, and—oh, I’m gushing, aren’t I?” You frowned. “I’m so sorry.”
The blonde just chuckled, propping an arm up on the couch around you.
“It’s alright, y/n, I picked you out of all the other girls that entered.” He cocked a brow in a cheeky little smirk. “You could say I’m a fan of you too.” He placed his free hand on your knee and gave it a squeeze. “You’re gonna be amazing at this.” His fingers trailed up your thigh a bit before stopping.
Your wings gave an involuntary twitch at his praise.
“And those,” he nodded towards the appendages, “are going to photograph beautifully.”
“I don’t know about all that,” you shrugged, laughing a little, “but I’m gonna try my best.”
“Uh Uh,” he gave your knee a little shove, “you’re going to be the best. Here, stand up,”
Puzzled, you looked at his outstretched hand before grabbing it. He pulled you to your feet. You heart revved as he pulled you flush against his chest, and kept an arm wrapped around your waist.
“I’m gonna show you what I see when I look at you, y/n, and what the camera is gonna see as well. Are you wearing anything underneath this?” He asked.
“Excuse me?” Your cheeks burned. “Why?!”
He gave you an amused look as if you’d asked something ridiculous.
“Because, this is going to be a lingerie shoot, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable if you’re naked under this.”
“Oh...I—yes I am.”
Of course you knew this shoot called for lingerie. The shoot had specified ‘intimate.’ Why were you so shocked?
Quit being such a head case in front of him!
“Take off your clothes, Little Birdie.” He directed.
You paused.
Hawks must have sensed your hesitation because he let out another breezy laugh and added: “if it makes you feel any better, I’ll do the same, look.”
Once again that arresting look of his held you hostage. He kept his hooded eyes on you as he unbuttoned his shirt, slowly slipping it off. He was definitely more muscular than you had originally realized.
Your eyes slid down to where his hands had begun unfastening his belt. It clanked as it collapsed to the ground. He didn’t take off his pants fully, but they now sat low on his trim hips exposing a dark blonde happy trail, and a v-cut that disappeared into a pair of red boxer briefs.
The avian licked his lips. There was a cocky gleam in his eye as he watched you drink in his body shamelessly.
“Your turn, Little Birdie.” He coaxed.
Well, if Hawks could do it, you could too, right?
So you eased out of your tank top and slipped off your jeans, exposing your barely covered flesh in the strappy black and red silk lingerie.
Hawks let out a satisfied; “Mmm,” as his eyes swept over you. “Perfect. Come on, let me show you something.”
He led you to the white backdrop surrounded by studio lights and camera; guiding you to stand on a black X directly in front of a camera.
He sidled you behind you, keeping his strong arms around your waist, then he gently folded your body forward.
Oh...this is...what is this?
As you struggled to formulate coherent thoughts, you felt the man’s soft lips against your ear. There was amusement in his voice as he mumbled: “I feel that heart of yours going a mile a minute, baby bird,” he chuckled. “Relax mama. I got you, ok?”
Your eyes fluttered shut as his low, soothing voice rolled down your spine. You slowed your breathing.
“I know it’s nerve wracking, baby bird,” he hummed in your ear. “Imma take care of you, though, ok?”
His hands were warm and rough and sliding along your supple skin. He pulled your hips towards his, grinding you into his crotch. Your wings twitched involuntarily. Hawks sighed
“Shit,” you whispered, as your ass pressed into his groin.
He felt so good. So strong and self assured.
“That’s it, Angel.” He practically purred. “Just relax, babe. I wanted you for this,” his fingers trailed up your stomach. From the corner of your eye, you see his red wings wrap around you.
His lips were pressing into your neck now.
“You’re so beautiful. If you‘re not feeling your sexy self by the time we shoot tomorrow I’m gonna make you feel it.”
His fingers were caressing the undersides of your breasts now, teasing at their softness.
“Hawks,” you gulped, “are you sure...it’s ok to be doing this? I don’t know how I feel about this.”
“Aww,” he tilted your face towards his own with a soft touch. “Of course it’s ok, beautiful. We’re just practicing, yeah?”
“But...it doesn’t feel like...like...”
“Like what, baby bird?” His wings fanned the air lazily as they cacooned you both. “Like practice? Oh but it is.”
He clutched your hand and slid it up between your breasts, his much larger one engulfed it. “Feel how your heart beat has slowed? Hm? The way your breath has evened out. You’re so much more relaxed now, aren’t you?”
“Yesss,” you sighed, but honestly it was because you were so turned on.
His clothed knee pried it’s way between your legs slightly, giving your burning sex something to grind on.
“See? I knew you could do it.” He smiled. “If you’re going to be a model, you have to know how to be cool under any circumstance, you know? For example. If the director wants us to get a little more Intimate, like this,” his long fingers dipped below your skimpy panties and brushed just above your clit. “You’ll have to keep calm and let me, won’t you?”
“I—I guess so, but,” you bit your lip and moaned as Hawks suddenly pressed his knee harder against your cunt.
“And when they tell you to touch me, like this,” his other hand reached around to wrap your fingers around the erection poking through his pants. You could feel a damp spot from the Pre that had leaked through.
“Would...would they really expect all this?” You asked. This felt so...wrong? But fuck did it feel good.
“Of course, Baby, it’s all apart of the job. That’s why what we’re doing is so important.”
Without warning, his fingers dipped between the soaked lips of your sex, breaking the quiet intimacy as you moaned with sudden pleasure.
“Fuck,” Hawks groaned. His fingers swam in your tight, wet cunt, flexing for that perfect spot. “Feels good doesn’t it, baby bird?“
Your pussy smacked from the three long digits plunging into it and every time Hawks worked his fingers your round ass grinded against his flexing dick.
“This, Hawksss-ah fuck!—this-we shouldn’t be doing this...”
“Oh, Angel,” he cooed, “it’s alright. You want this job, don’t you?”
“Yesss,” you groaned. “Yes I do.”
“It’s an amazing opportunity isn’t it?”
“It is.” You squeezed his manhood as his thumb began to press your clit. The pleasure spiking through out your body made your wings twitch against his hard, bare chest.
He moaned. “Working with me could lead to many more opportunities, Little Birdie, so long as you learn how to go with the flow. Understand?”
Swallowing hard you nodded.
“Good girl. I’m gonna take care of you, baby bird. Tomorrow and every shoot afterward.”
There was something smug in his heady voice, he spun you to face him, and two vermillion feathers detached from his wings. Your eyes followed them as they hooked into the hem of your panties and slid them down.
“Wait—Hawks. Do you expect me to—“
“I expect you to be professional, Baby bird.” He cut in, hands squeezing and massaging your thick ass. Without warning he scooped your body up and had your thighs around his waist. “You’re going to be a good little leading lady, aren’t you?” He smirked.
You fingers dug into the skin surrounding his wing joints as you held on. Your eyes were wide with surprise and hazy with desire. Fuck! you wanted this man, but this was a lot—even for you.
“I do want to do a good job.” You agreed.
“Oh you will, baby.” He lowered you against his straining dick.
“Fuck...” your head snapped back.
One hand remained on your ass cheek while another slid up below your wings, the pad of his thumb circled the skin there making you coo in satisfaction.
“God damn, Birdie. I promise, this is going to open doors for you.”
He was lowering you again, this time you felt the tip of him press between your folds.
“Wouldn’t you like that? To work for me? To be my go-to girl. My little muse?”
His wings stretched wide, catching the bright studio lights in your periphery. Your gaze, however, remained on those smoldering golden irises with their slitted black pupils.
“I would like that, Hawks.” You whispered back, your fingers stroked his feathery blonde hair.
“Ohhh,” he groaned out as he slipped your juicy pussy down on his length. “I bet you would like that, Birdie.” His wings flapped as you cried out in ecstasy.
The lights became blurred as your eyes screwed shut, and then you were in the air. Hawks held your ass firm in both hands. Every flap of his wings made you bounce along his thick member and sent delicious ecstasy shooting through your body.
Behind you, your own wings were flapping as well, as if trying to match his pace. He was gazing at you with a mix of lust and admiration.
“God, you’re fucking sexy. You’re gonna be my little muse—my little love bird, aren’t you? I’ll mold you into the perfect model. Fuckkk!”
He sighed at the feeling of your walls squeezing him. He knew you would feel amazing. The minute he saw those headshots, he knew he had to have you in more ways than one. His sharp canines found your neck and bit into the flesh.
“H-Hawks!”
“Don’t worry, baby, we’ll cover it tomorrow. I’m going to take care of everything for my little muse. Fuck! Ahh god, you feel fuuucking good.”
His balls smacked against you. The friction of his pelvis brushed against your swollen clit making your cunt convulse in pleasure. Ecstasy kept crashing over you in shock waves.
“Ohh fuck, Hawks, god-ahhh-shii!”
Your pussy creamed around the hard dick pummeling into it.
“Yeah, my little model. Pretty, little birdie.” He praised.
His wings seemed to work faster and harder making you bounce even harder. Hawks caught one of your hard nipples in between his teeth, tongue slipping around the bumpy areolas and flicking the bud.
“Oh my godddd, oh my fuck—“
Your pussy flexed around his dick as your orgasm washed over you.
“Shhh fuccckkk yes, y/n!” The blonde cried out, feeling your nails dig into the skin of his back.
You were no longer forming words as Hawks continued to bounce you on his twitching cock, sinking a finger into your asshole and adding more pressure. Another orgasm exploded over you. He kept bouncing you, his blonde bangs plastered to his sweat slicked forehead.
“I’m gonna fucking cum,” he mumbled against your neck. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
You heard a couple studio lights topple over as his wings worked even harder towards his release, and when he came he came hard and hot and heavy.
His whole body tensed with the action and his head flung back. Christ. He was beautiful.
Slowly, he lowered the pair of you back on to the ground, still holding on to you.
Your mind was still swimming as Hawks pressed kisses up your throat until he reached your lips. Then he smirked.
“My little muse,” he mumbled between kisses, “I’m gonna mold you into the perfect little model. Promise.”
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