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#his mom is still trash I see
quietwingsinthesky · 5 days
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thinks about child-but-growing-fast amara and lucifer in the same room and gets ill.
#im gonna get called a homestuck again im SORRY its a good trope#she’s not his mom but she is. older than him and older than god and a being he helped imprison.#and the effects of that. here and now. are that she is so weak she has to relearn how to exist.#that she has to eat souls. tear them out one by one. you have to imagine that lucifer once saw her devour whole galaxies on a whim.#back when everything was moving in constant flux between destruction and creation. you have to imagine.#what is it to see her like this. is it pitiable. awful. comforting because she can’t hurt him right now and if he struck first maybe she#never could?#would he think about this moment this experience later when he’s made human. when he experiences a similar powerlessness.#anyway. lucifer gets out of the cage and trashes crowley’s place to kidnap his aunt-who-is-baby-right-now#u know me i love when characters go on the run together. what a weird little bond they’d form.#how do you overcome the anger at someone who helped cage you for eternity? does it help to know he didn’t escape your fate just because he#helped seal it when it was you? do you think they trade cage stories.#do you think lucifer tells her about how michael is still trapped in there and when he goes quiet. it’s not him who says he’s glad michael#knows what it’s like. it’s amara who says it. with an anger older than time. bitter enough to sting.#arms curled around herself because she’s hungry now. always hungry. tries not to think about what lucifer would taste like. (powerful)#sitting on a bench together watching people (souls. meals.) walk by. talking about prisons. talking about justice. maybe. or revenge. same#thing. and amara is leaning against him coiled tight through every muscle in her body and so so hungry. and when she says she’s glad michael#is suffering she isn’t really talking about him. but when she says it. lucifer lets out a breath. and says. me too.#and then he goes to find her something(one) to eat.#u see my vision. u do.
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skater110599 · 9 days
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I genuinely was not expecting to cry during the series finale of Young Royals but I cried like 4 times and straight-up sobbed through the end my GOD I've had lots of feelings about this show but the ending is what we all deserve, especially these characters.
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evilminji · 2 months
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You Know How There Are Those AU? Where SUPER Injured Ghosts Need To Retreat To Their Core?
No one seems to be USING that to its fullest potential! For SHENANIGANS! Because! Who?? Could POSSIBLY carry a Halfa's Core safely... but another Halfa?! A FULL ghost would KILL them. A human would be killed! What terribly precarious peril we find ourselves in! Oh nooooooo!
Well, no worry!
As much as Dani fuckin HATES this. That there is her brother. Her Template. Her Clone Daddy and Bestest of Bros. Like HECK she's gonna let him suffer for centuries and possibly DIE. She can take it, Doc! Pop him in! We'll go road tripping and-
What do you MEAN "No"?
Unstable??! Of course she's unstable! But the-.... Oh.
Turns OUT? Dani? Can hitch a ride in DANNY for Emergency Medical Aid... but NOT the other way around. Her body is too loosely held together. He would parasiticly consume her from within. Instead of feeding off her Ecto System like injured ghosts are supposed too, because she's a CLONE? AND an unstable one at that? His Core would just... see her body as free ectoplasm. All of it.
He'd eat her.
Which mean Frostbite can not and WILL NOT allow that.
But he's HURT! That big, off screen, cataclysmic Fight To Save Everybody From *cough cough mumbles* and settle us all in the DC universe, REALLY messed him up! What are we supposed to DO!? He can't STAY like this!!!
Enter-> My FAVORITE DCxDP Trash Ship! Vlad&Lex!!! *horrified screaming from the crowds, someone shouts "oh god, no! Please!"* Ha! There are no gods here, silly billys! Only two terrible, terrible HIGHLY Dramatic, self serving, incredibly damaged, gay peacocks. In Business Suits that cost more then your house is worth.
They're AWFUL~♡
And! Vlad was sent ahead to lay the ground work. Insure there would be no GIWs. Also because no one could stand him and his EXTENSIVE criminal record. But that's besides the point.
But!
You know what he found? A Business Nemesis. Who he routinely dates and/or Dramatically Hate Fu-*coughs* I mean, attempts a Corporate Take Over(tm) off. You know how it is. Business. He ALSO gets to make it no secret he's a "Meta", thanks to the INCOMPETENCE of one Jack Fenton, because that- *seething rant*
Yet? Dispite his STILL burning hatred for Jack? And his finally letting go of Maddie? You know what he STILL wants?
For Danny to be his Son.
*Gets a call from Frostbite*
...............soooooo........ what you're SAYING is..... I can be pregnant with Daniel.
You, Frostbite, need ME, Vladimir Masters, THE ONLY OTHER HALFA, to carry Daniel around inside my body, in what to all appearances resembles a pregnancy, in order to heal him. Because I am an Older And Stronger Halfa Upon Which He Relies.
:)
*instantly begins plotting*
Just? Imagine. Vlad is a FUCKIN LIAR. No one but him would even KNOW what was going on! He just? Rocks up one day, like? *falsely demure* "oh I couldn't POSSIBLY has any scotch, Lex! >:) I'm eating for Two~☆" and just? Deals the MAXIMUM amount of psychic damage he can.
Probably says it at their weekly, public, Veiled Threats Brunch.
It makes front page news. Luthor choked on his eggs. The paparazzi lost their SHIT. Vlad is doing the FULL Celebrity Mom Thing. The classes. The photo shoots. The Gucci sunglasses as he peruses high end strollers. All while HEAVILY suggesting that not only is "The Baby" Lex's.... but that he's going to withhold the child and deny Lex any access.
Danny isn't even aware. He's in a lovely lil medical coma. Dani is trying to find a good spot to plop down Amity. She just know Vlad is being... Vlad. Meh. He can handle it. Dan? He's not even IN the human realm and is not sure he wants to be.
But over in the LEAGUE? Everything's on fuckin FIRE.
Kon is losing his SHIT and Clark is thousand yard staring into the void. Kon's half brother is in the hands of a... Less Then Ideal... Meta that Batman is PRETTY sure is highly suspect. Might be a deliberate weapons experiment. Certainly is a hostage. And the DRAMA.
Lex has never been worse.
He might actually stab his...partner? Vlad. At the hospital. The SECOND the child is born. There are already long term kidnapping plans in the making. He's hiring lawyers. Getting VICIOUS. There have been talks with DEATHSTROKE. By BOTH OF THEM.
Clark wants to cry.
@hypewinter @ailithnight @nerdpoe @hdgnj @the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation @babbling-babull
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hanjsquokka · 2 months
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MILF Next Door - [ Han Jisung ]
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🐿 SYNOPSIS : Jisung gets a new neighbor and he's completely head over heels. Love at first sight — in his opinion. And he's not going to let an adorable three year old get in the way of true love.
GENRE : strangers to potential lovers, light fluff, smut
PAIRING : neighbor! jisung × fem! single mom reader
CONTENT WARNING : perv! jisung, jisung is a simp and he's horny, mature language, mentions divorce (not between jisung and reader), single parenting, (smut warnings under the cut)
WORD COUNT : 4.5K
AUTHOR'S NOTE : this is just trash tbh but here we go
minors dni. if you click read, you agree to nsfw content
SMUT WARNING : sub leaning jisung, slightly dom reader, oral (m receiving), riding, nicknames (good boy, baby, etc.), jisung has thing for moms, orgasm denial, piv, unprotected sex (pls don't do this)
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Jisung was curious — to say the least. He was working on producing a song for his friend Changbin (honestly one of the best rappers Jisung had ever met) when he heard loud thumps from the corridor outside and the apartment next door. He heard a lot of shuffling — thanks to the wonderfully thin walls, and it was safe to say that he had gotten a new neighbor. He'd been trying to get a peek at them, in a completely friendly way obviously, but they seemed really private or they went out a lot. He was just about to assume that it was probably another working adult when one day, he was on the balcony in the morning for some fresh air. He'd been working the whole night and desperately needed to inhale something that wasn't carbon dioxide.
Which was when he spotted... you. You were putting some pots in your balcony, maybe for a few plants. Who was this beauty and why have I never seen her before? You looked pretty. Far too pretty for Jisung to stop staring at you like a literal creep. Thankfully the microwave started beeping loudly, so he had to go back inside and save his re-heated dinner from going cold. When he went back out again, you were gone. All that was left, were a few empty pots and packets of seeds.
I have to see her again.
Jisung not to secretly tried to get another look at his new neighbor, trying to determine when you would go out so he could casually bump into you and say hi. It was highly unlikely you were still single — who would not fall for a pretty girl like that? But he had to try.
After a week, he gave up. Maybe you just wanted to be left alone. He was returning home late one day, tired from his long day at the recording studio with Changbin who was not satisfied even after twenty retakes of the same verse. He was so tired, his vision was blurry and he bumped his foot loudly against the door. "Shit!" He cursed, wincing as he tried to step back. He was just about done with everything when the door next door opened, revealing the insanely pretty girl with concern masking your features. You were wearing pajamas, some part of his brain noted, pajamas with squirrels on them. Why did that make make him feel things?
Great going Jisung. Amazing first impression.
"Sorry, I heard some loud noises — are you okay?" You asked. You pushed away the hair covering your eyes. He took in more of your features. Your wispy bangs, your almost black eyes, your nose, the pink in your cheeks and your lips. Oh god. He could feel all sorts of wild thoughts running through his mind. Most of which were not child friendly.
Jisung couldn't look away. "Yeah. Yeah I'm good. Thank you." He said, mustering a smile to match the one forming on your face. I'm doomed. "You're new... right? I'm Jisung. Han Jisung." Nice save dork.
"Y/n. I've been meaning to introduce myself. I've just been busy and —"
You never had time to finish your sentence because a kid appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes and clinging onto your leg. What the — "Mama..."
"Sorry baby, did I wake you up?" You asked softly, picking up the kid in your arms. Jisung's heart was plummeting. No way. No fucking way — "I was just saying to the nice man next door. Say hi." The little boy waved cutely.
Jisung returned the gesture, too stunned to speak. "Is he your...."
"Huh? Yeah —" Your face broke into another huge grin. "This is my son, Sunghwan." The sleepy kid perked up at the mention of his name before starting to doze off again on your shoulder. "I should put him back to sleep. It was nice meeting you Jisung." You bowed and went back inside your house, closing the door behind her, leaving Jisung in a state of utter shock and confusion.
The pretty (sexy) girl next door was not only taken, but you were married and had a kid. Why did the universe like toying with his heart so much? Jisung went inside his own house, closing the door with a grumpy face. He really got too ahead of himself, didn't he?
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A few days later, he ran into the pretty married girl with an adorable kid at the supermarket. Well — he ran into your adorable kid first. Jisung was piling up on snacks since he needed the sugar, when he spotted a small child trying to hold onto candy bars and grab more from the shelves. Upon getting a closer look, he noticed it was the kid from next door! He couldn't just leave the little boy, now could he? Not when he knew him. He had to take responsibility as a neighbor and a decent dude to bring him back to his mom.
So he approached the kid. "Hey little guy, where's your mom?" He asked, crouching down to his height. He really was cute (just like his mom).
"She buying vegetables. Bleh." The kid made a disgusted face, making Jisung laugh.
"You don't like vegetables?"
"No. They gross. I like candy!" He said excitedly, holding up the goodies that he piled in his small hands.
"Okay then, what about your dad?"
"Dada sees me every Fri-day.” He said carefully. “Only Mama here.” He looked around in confusion. “Mama?”
Jisung was still caught on the sentence about his dad. He sees him every Friday? That sounded a lot like… those child custody things he saw on TV. "Okay little guy, let's go find your mom first. She must be worried." He held out his hand. "My name is Jisung." He offered a smile.
"Ji-sung?" The kid held onto his hand. Jisung began leading them down the aisles. "I'm Sung-hwan! Sunghwan!" He said with a giggle. Aw man he's so cute.
"Sunghwan huh? That's a nice name." Jisung noted as he looked around for you. He soon found you near the cereals, looking worried. "Aha, we found her!" He took a very long glance at your figure and had a few seconds to fantasize over her long legs before Sunghwan shouted.
"Mama!"
You snapped your head in their direction, relief washing over your face as you knelt down so the kid could run into your arms. "Sunghwan! How many times have I told you to not run off like that!" You chided, but you held onto him tightly. You stood up, your gaze meeting Jisung's. A smile formed on your face. "Jisung, right? I can't thank you enough! I looked away for two seconds and he was gone and—"
"It's alright." Jisung brushed it off, but his heart was going crazy inside his chest. She's smiling at me and she's talking to me! "I found him in the candy aisle. Little man has taste."
You looked at kid, who had an innocent look on his face. You shook your head. "I should've known. But anyways, thank you." You held Jisung's hand to shake it. Holy moly.
"It's okay. Really." He said, a huge smile on his face. "Do you need some help?" He asked, looking at the shopping cart that was full of groceries.
"No, no, it's okay —"
"No, I could help, seriously. You look like you have a lot on your hands already." Jisung said, looking at the kid was trying to pick up a box of cereal from the shopping cart. "I live next door, it really isn't an issue.”
“Honestly, that would be really helpful.”.
"No worries." Jisung said casually.
Which was how he found himself in the apartment next door, setting down the bags of groceries in the kitchen. The house was neat — except there were toys everywhere. Sunghwan was way more than thrilled to show Jisung each and every one of them. He even began narrating the story of why his Mickey Mouse stuffed toy had a bandage (bad encounter with a dog at the park) which made Jisung laugh. He would've loved to spend the whole day there, if he didn't get a call from Changbin.
"Oh, that's work. I gotta go." He said, standing up.
"Thank you again, Jisung." You said, coming out of the kitchen.
"I told you, it's okay." He chuckled. "I like helping people out."
"Jisungie, you have to come back and play with me, okay?" Sunghwan had gotten up from his place and was now holding onto the fabric of his jeans. It was adorable. "I no show my Legos." He pouted. This kid was pulling at his heartstrings.
"I mean, if it's okay with your mom…” He tried off, meeting your eyes. Please say yes.
"Of course you can." You nodded with another one of those bright smiles.
"Yay!" Sunghwan jumped around.
"Say bye, Sung." You told the kid, who waved brightly.
"Bye Sunghwan. And you too Y/n. You can call me if you ever need anything." Jisung told you, putting his hands in his pockets. "I'll see you guys later." He saw himself out and back to his own house. That kid was the ticket to get close to you. You're single (as far as he understood), which means he was doing no wrong. Besides, moms are super sexy (she was an absolute milf). God, he was getting too excited. He grabbed his things and headed to the recording studio.
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Safe to say the Jisung was absolutely fucked. He was goner the day he saw you dressed up in a dress that was too short for his mental wellbeing. It was supposed to be a normal day. He started babysitting Sunghwan quite often because you had job interviews packed for the whole week. Since he loved you oh so much, the second he swung open to the door to meet your nervous face, asking him if he could watch Sunghwan for a while.
Truth be told — Jisung didn't exactly hear what you said. He'd known you for a month and he was already down so so bad. He only saw your pretty lips moving, the way you fiddled with your fingers as you tried to explain it to him. But Jisung. Oh god. He just stared at you like a lovesick fool and immediately nodded to save his ass when you finished speaking.
Which was how he found himself in his apartment the next day with Sunghwan and his Legos spread out across the living room. Jisung had to work on this track for Changbin and he also had to watch the kid so he decided to multitask. I mean, how hard could it be to take care of a three year old?
Jisung found out his answer within five minutes when said three year old completely trashed his house with Legos. He couldn't walk two feet without stepping on one of the bricks, making him bite his lip in pain so he wouldn't let out a yelp.
“I'm just going to let myself in!” The second day of baby-sitting, Changbin just appeared in his apartment for no reason. This was probably the worst possible situation is overly loud friend could've walked into. Jisung could practically see his face morph into confusion, his eyes widening and his jaw dropped. “Since when do you have a kid?” He asked loudly. Even a deaf person could hear him at this point. “When did you get laid bro? You've been bitchless —”
“Okay!” Jisung cut him off, covering Sunghwan's ears. “Let's not use colorful language when there is a child present.” Only after Changbin muttered a half-hearted sorry did Jisung uncover the kid's ears. “He's my neighbor's kid —”
“You knocked up your neighbor?—”
“Will you please shut the fuc — shut up please?” Jisung took a deep breath. “I'm baby-sitting. His mom has job interviews and she asked for help and I couldn't say no. The kid's too cute.” He shrugged. Just thinking about you made a small blush creep up on his face, his ears turning red. He's never been down so bad for a person before like this.
“Holy shit —” Changbin completely ignored the don't curse there's a fucking child in front of you warning. “You like his mom.” He mouthed the last two words. Guess he didn't trade all of his brain cells for those muscles. “I should've known you actually had a thing for older woman when you brought up —”
“Enough of my embarrassing past and just get on with why you're here.” Jisung was not going to relive his teenage embarrassments. He'd done some things he's not so proud of and Changbin took every chance to make sure he never forgot them.
His friend left a while later. You texted saying that you would be home in a few. He took Sunghwan back to your house after cleaning up all the toys in his. All was well.
But everything turned topsy-turvy the second he saw you entering the house with that purple dress you wore for your job interview. It stopped just where Jisung's imagination started to wander down the gutter. It hugged your curves perfectly and accentuated your boobs so well that it made him dizzy.
"How'd it go?" He asked you once you sat down on the couch near him, playing Legos with Sunghwan, who was absorbed in his kids show playing on the TV. Jisung was sitting on the floor, so your bare knees were brushing against his shoulder, creating waves of tingles over him.
"It went pretty well." You answered, moving those magenta stained lips of yours. I wonder what it would feel like wrapped around my cock. Jisung had to mentally slap himself. Whatever sexual attraction he had to you was not disappearing in anyway — if anything, it increased every second he spent in your presence. For some reason, everything you did turned him on. The past few weeks ended in cold showers every day to calm himself down. "You're spacing out. Have something on your mind?"
Yeah, you. "Nah, I was just thinking about this song I was working on for my friend." Nice save. "The beat isn't perfect, you know? I've been tweaking it for days, maybe I should just let it be."
He saw you put your hand on your chin to think. "Well, I don't know much about music but maybe you need a fresh perspective? I think I read that somewhere. Something about not working on it for a while...."
"That... makes sense." He nodded slowly. "Maybe I just need some fresh air, you know?"
Sunghwan perked up at that. He jumped onto Jisung, a big, goofy smile on his face. Jisung found himself seeing you in the kid. His smile, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he was happy — he was almost exactly like you.
"Jisungie! Park!" He exclaimed with a giggle. "Let's go to park!"
"A park? Now? Maybe tomorrow bud, your mom's probably tired."
"Yeah Sung, we'll go tomorrow. I promise." You ruffled the kid's hair.
"Pinky promise?"
"Pinky promise." You repeated with a laugh. Sunghwan went back to playing with his Legos. "By the way Jisung, if you're free on Friday, you wanna go watch a movie?"
"Hmm? Yeah, yeah I'd be down." He nodded absent-mindedly, watching the boy run around the room with a Lego car.
"Great." You gave him another one of those smiles before walking to her bedroom. Jisung's eyes were on your ass as you disappeared from the corridor. Wait a minute. Sunghwan will be with his dad on Friday, right? Did you just... ask him out?
"What did mommy say?" Sunghwan asked Jisung.
"Mommies are confusing." He said. "But sexy."
"Sixy?" The kid repeated.
"No — no not sixy! Uh, uh —" Jisung panicked. "Hey, I found this Lego set on Amazon and I thought you'd like it." He quickly whipped out his phone to show him to take his mind off of what he said. God forbid you found that he was talking about how you looked in front of your own kid.
That night after going back to his apartment, he laid in bed, his cock in his hands as he stroked himself to the thought of you. Unconsciously moaning your name loudly (maybe a bit too loud) as he imagined you there, jerking him off with your soft hands and that fuckable face with your big eyes, your lips wrapped around him as you took him in whole — yeah, he came pretty hard after that.
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Friday took way longer than Jisung wanted. He was antsy the entire morning in the studio, leg bouncing as he sat on the chair while Changbin recorded in the booth. He was so out of it, he didn't hear his friend calling him thrice from outside the little room until Changbin smacked the back of his head which momentarily brought Jisung out of his dreamland.
How could he focus? When he was just a few hours away from spending an evening with you? Only you? He loved Sunghwan, don't get him wrong but going to a movie together and getting dinner afterwards and maybe — just maybe Jisung could spit out the words he'd been holding hostage inside his mouth ever since he first laid eyes on you. Dear Y/n, I've liked you since the second I saw you in your balcony and I was hoping you could rail me —
The second he got home, he took a shower, brushed his teeth again, and spent twenty minutes trying to decide what he should wear. A suit was too over the top and a normal t-shirt and jeans would look like he didn't care. He had to look cool but interested. In the end he opted for a plain black shirt over his loose jeans. He styled his dark hair with a part in the middle and sprayed some cologne on.
Two mental breakdowns later, he was standing in front of the movie theater where you told him you'd meet him. He tried to act all nonchalant but he was slowly losing his mind as he stood there like a loser (it was for ten minutes).
When you finally arrived, he swore his heart stopped beating for a good few seconds as his eyes raked over your little top that dipped low in the front. Did you do it on purpose? Did you know the way his heart started to a marathon every time he looked at you? How the fuck was he supposed to pay attention to a movie when you were dressed like that?
“Sorry I'm late. Dropping Sunghwan off took a little longer than expected.” You adjusted the strap of your handbag which was resting on your shoulder.
“I just got here too. It's okay.” Jisung played it off coolly. It was all worth seeing that smile on your face. He took a moment to mentally note that he also liked the subtle pink lipstick you wore today, but his favorite had to be that magenta color. Just imagining himself stained in your kisses — his face, his chest, his d —
Han Jisung almost publicly humiliated himself for the nth time this month.
The movie was fine. It was some romcom that you liked. His attention was more on you. Your reactions to everything, the way your eyes sparkled as you pointed to the screen, the way your eyes turned into crescents as you laughed at whatever corny ass jokes Jisung made that weren't even that funny.
Dinner… Dinner was far more difficult. He could barely pay any attention to what you were saying. He was more focused on your fingers and your freshly painted magenta nails. Magenta was going to be his fucking end. He could barely keep himself from imagining how good those freshly manicured hands would look wrapped around his cock. Oh god, he was getting hard again. He was only snapped out of his thoughts when you said, “You want to go home?”
“Huh?”
“You look tired. And I'm probably boring you —”
“No, no — never.” Jisung shook his head.
“Then what's wrong Jisung?”
Fuck it, he couldn't take it anymore. “I like you Y/n.” Silence. The silence after that was killing him. He swallowed hard and took a big gulp of water as his face turned redder than red.
“Well I know that. Why do you think I invited you out on a date?”
Every time Jisung believed he couldn't be more surprised, you just had to go and prove him wrong. “What?” He breathed out.
“I know you like me. You're not very secretive about it.” You chuckled, twisted the pasta in your plate onto your fork. “I like you a lot too.” What the actual fuck? “I never thought I'd like someone so fast after… everything. But you proved me wrong.” You shrugged. “But my real question is… do you jerk off to me every night?”
That's it. Jisung knew the thin walls of his apartment would come back to bite him someday in the future. He was betrayed by his own house. He was absolutely mortified you heard him fisting himself to you. He turned impossibly more red. He could barely stutter out a response but he stopped when he saw that teasing smile on your face.
“It's a good thing I feel the same way.”
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The cab ride home was torture. Not only did you like him. But you wanted to fuck him too? And it definitely did not help whatsoever that you hand rested on his thigh and slowly inched upward, agonizingly slow towards the obvious tent in his pants. His dick was so hard it hurt in the confines of his pants. He bit down on his lip so hard when you brushed over his bones and then started to palm him through the fabric. Oh fucking hell… You were teasing him. He could see that smirk on your face as he almost whined when you pulled away because the cab stopped.
The second you stepped foot in his apartment, he pushed you against the wall next to the door and smashed his lips against yours. Hungry and needy. He pressed his body against yours, pulling you along to his bedroom (how he got there, he had no clue). His hands were everywhere. Touching and caressing every part of you. Your hair, your waist, your ass — it was heaven. You threaded your fingers through his fingers, lightly tugging at the strands. It was enough to elicit a soft moan from him, muffled by the kiss.
“Tell me Jisung…” You said quietly as you pulled away from him. “What did you imagine about me?” You pushed him onto the bed and as you got on your knees. He lifted his hips as you pulled down his pants along with his boxers, releasing his dick. It was red and stained with precum and so hard.
But you didn't do anything. “Please.” He whimpered. “Do something.” You smiled at him deviously before beginning to stroke him at a slow pace. Too slow. “F-Fuck.” He threw his head back with a groan. You were barely doing anything and he was so far gone. You carefully took him into your mouth, inch by inch. Your mouth was warm, your plush lips wrapped around his cock was making him lose his mind. He wanted to grab your hair and fuck your throat but he couldn't move his body. It was like he was frozen, only able to buck his hips into your mouth for some kind of friction. You finally — finally started bobbing your head up and down, the tip of his cock touching the back of your throat each time. “S-Shit. Fuck. Don't stop.” You went faster after that, fondling with his balls. Your tongue swirling around the tip and your hands on his balls, he could feel that band in his belly about to snap. “Fuck. Fuck I'm gonna —” Before he could reach that sweet release, you pulled away with a pop, innocent eyes staring up at him. He let out a loud groan at that. “W-Why —”
He stopped himself when you stood up and took off your pants and panties and crawled onto his lap, sinking onto him slowly. A soft moan escaped both your mouths when his dick was completely inside you. “Fuck you're big.” You whimpered, trying to adjust to his size. It gave him a bit of an ego boost. You started to bounce on him, letting out the most sinful moans Jisung ever heard in his entire life. “Perfect little dick. Filling me up so well.” You groaned. His dick twitched. Your walls were sucking him in, milking him. It was too much. He was already on edge from his denied orgasm, but the way you were talking to him? Fuck. He wasn't going to last.
“S-So tight.” He whimpered. “F-Fuck. Feels good.”
“Feels good baby?” You asked. He nodded frantically. “Are you gonna cum?” He nodded again. “Hold it for a bit. Only good boys get to cum. Have you been a good boy?”
“Y-Yes, fuck —” He squeezed his eyes shut as your walls clenched around him. “Oh fuck —” Jisung was determined to save the last of his dignity (not like he had much in the first place) and tried to get you off too. He met your thrusts half way, his dick repeatedly brushing against that spongy spot deep inside you.
“Right there.” Your nails dug into his skin but he didn't give two shits. “‘M so close.”
“Let me make you cum too.” He kissed your chest, your breasts and wrapped his lips around your hardened buds, alternating between the two of them. From the fucked out expression on your face and the way he was two seconds from filling you with his seed, he two took of his fingers and found your clit in no time, rubbing harsh circles on the sensitive numb making you cry out as your orgasm washed over you. Jisung came a moment later, his body spasming as he came down from his high.
“Fuck, that was amazing.” You panted, your head laying on his shoulder. Jisung could barely even nod in reply. His dick was still inside you as your juices and his pooled onto his thighs and onto his sheets. It was a mistake to look at where your swollen pussy lips swallowed him whole and he could feel himself getting hard again.
Yeah. He definitely had a thing for mommies.
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beginningofwonderland · 5 months
Text
Stay Focused - San
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Pairing: university student y/n x office worker San
Genre: smut with plot (MINORS DNI!)
Word Count: 12.5k (I don't know what happened)
Summary: Your mother insists on getting you a tutor for your studies. You want to resist until you meet Choi San, your tutor. His sweet talk and good looks make you focus on anything but your studies and you do everything to finally catch his attention in the same way.
Warnings: San is a few years older (5 to be exact), some nipple play, fingering, some orgasm denial, lots of dirty talk, blowjob (face-fucking leaning), protected sex, mirror sex
The reader in this is so horny omg. Just straight up trash for San (relatable). Also very long build-up.
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"Good is not enough in this family," your mother repeats to you for what feels like the 100th time. „Your grades have to be exceptional if you want to work in my business."
Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you change your phone to the other hand to stir your pasta around. You just told her about your recent test results which of course are not satisfactory to her.
The problem is that you are actually doing pretty good. You never missed or failed a class, you passed all your courses with at least a good score and you had even fulfilled additional classes to broaden the spectrum of your studies. But just like she said: Good is not enough for her. She won't shut up about your grades until you reach 100% in all of your classes - which is basically impossible, especially in your field of study.
"Do you even still want to work in the family business?" your mother asks you provokingly. And the problem is, you do. You really do. Your mother is the CEO of a big pharmacy company and ever since you were a kid you followed her interest in chemistry. You even chose your pharmacy major without her influence. But now that you are taking the same path as her, she is all in your business about being the perfect little mini-her.
"I do, mom. I'm working hard on it, I promise. The next exam is in four weeks and I already started studying."
She makes a huffing sound before answering you: "You said that the last three times as well and still didn't get a full score. You should really get a tutor."
"Mom! I'm the best in my class. Why should I get a tutor? I'm doing great!" You are glad you're only talking to her on the phone so that she doesn't see the way your hands clasps over your face. She can't be serious with you. Getting a tutor with your grades is just embarrassing.
"But not great enough. You know what? The son of a close business partner recently started working at the company. He graduated a few years ago with an honour's degree and seems to be a very promising young man. I'll ask him to tutor you."
Your cheeks start to heat up just at the thought of how embarrassing the whole thing will be for you. Getting a tutor that worked for your mother is literally the worst case scenario. You feel like a high school student that doesn't pay attention in school and now gets scolded for it.
"I do not need a tutor, mom." You state once again but her mind is already made up.
"I'll give him your number and he will contact you. And don't you dare be rude to him, his father is very important for our business!"
You can't believe her words. Since when have you ever been rude to anyone she introduced you to? Your mother ends the call before you can protest any more.
Angrily, you fish a single spaghetti out of your pot to taste it. It's perfectly cooked when you munch on it in annoyance.
--------------------------------
This is Choi San.
Your mother told me you needed tutoring on your pharmacy classes and gave me your schedule.
I can teach you Tuesday and Thursday afternoon from 6PM. Would that work for you?
You fall back onto bed with a frustrated groan as you read the messages. She really asked him. Now you have no choice but agree to him tutoring you because your mother would kill you otherwise.
Typing a reply you take a deep breath. This will be such a waste of time for the both of you.
Hello! Tuesdays and Thursdays are good. Thank you so much.
You hate how pathetic you sound. What are you even thanking him for? You don't want him to tutor you and he was definitely forced by your mother so why even play pretend?
No problem. We can use meeting room 117 at the company since I reserved it for us. I'll see you on Tuesday.
You dread Tuesday every single day from now on. When it finally arrives you feel ridiculous as you enter the large building of your mother's company. You have been here countless times but you never thought you would get tutor lessons here.
Even worse is that your mother made you go greet her beforehand. She specifically texted you to visit her office before the appointment with Mr. Choi. You walk past her assistant with a polite greeting and finally enter her office.
The luxurious room sat at the top floor of the building with a nice view over the city. Sometimes you forget how successful her company actually is. It can be quiet intimidating.
"There you are," she greets you with a mere look up from a bunch of files on her desk. "I hope you prepared well for your tutoring session. Please don't embarrass yourself in front of Mr. Choi. His father is an important business partner of mine and he himself seems to be a very promising employee. I don't want my own daughter to make him think worse of the company."
Of course she only worries about the company. The idea that this is incredibly humiliating for her own daughter does not even cross her mind.
"Hello, mom. Of course I prepared well, I always do. I won't disappoint you."
She nods at you, satisfied with your answer before looking at her watch. "Then you should head to the meeting room. He is always ridiculously early for meetings so he's probably waiting for you already."
Great, you think to yourself. You hoped you would be able to grab a coffee beforehand.
"I'll go right away. Bye, mom."
You walk to the elevator with heavy steps and check your own watch. It's still fifteen minutes until 6PM so there's plenty of time to grab a coffee before, no matter what your mother might say.
Entering the elevator you select the floor of the meeting room with the plan to walk to the coffee pantry first. Half-way down, the elevator stops on a different floor. When the doors open you almost choke on your polite "Hello" as your eyes take in the person in front of you.
Walking into the elevator is easily the most attractive man you have ever seen in your life. Dressed in a tight pair of dark pants and a perfectly fitted dress-shirt the handsome stranger repeats your greeting with a small bow and a mind-numbingly attractive smile. His eyes carry a little glimmer even behind the round pair of glasses he wears and as he pushes back his black hair you feel like swooning.
You have to keep yourself from staring when he takes his place in the elevator and both of you wait for it to move. Just now you realize he hasn't pushed a button, which means he is heading to the same floor as you. Out of the corner of your eyes you can't help but watch him.
He is a few inches taller than you but appears even bigger due to his broad frame. You wonder where that man even finds clothes that fit his stature with his broad shoulders and tiny waist. He checks his most definitely expensive wrist watch before looking at the display counting down the floors.
When the elevator doors open with a ding, you almost jolt. You were so caught up in thinking about how good he looks that you didn't even notice arriving on your floor. The handsome man gestures for you to step out first with another deadly smile in your direction.
"Thank you," you barely breath out as you step out of the elevator in front of him. It feels like the air outside is ten degrees colder. Without looking back you head to the pantry of the floor. You need a coffee even more than before now that you can only think of that guy from the elevator. There is no way you can concentrate on tutoring now without some caffeine.
The benefit of being the CEO's daughter is having a card with unlimited access to the coffee machines so you happily press the button for a black coffee. At the familiar buzzing sound you can finally relax and take a deep breath. No man has ever made you so flustered before just by existing. Maybe you should visit the office more often if that was the kind of employees your mother hired.
Taking your coffee into one hand and your study bag into the other you turn around to head to the meeting room. Caught up deeply in your thoughts you almost run head first into the person behind you.
"Woah, careful there. You don't want to spill that coffee do you?" his voice is smooth like honey, with a joking tone to it. You blink up at him a few times before you find your words.
"I'm sorry. I was distracted."
The man from the elevator smiles at you and you feel your body warming up from the inside out.
"Don't worry, nothing happened." He looks you up and down quickly before holding eye contact once again.
"Excuse the question, but do you happen to be director Kim's daughter?"
You stare at him in confusion. "Yes. Yes, I am. How did you know?"
He moves past you, grabbing a cup from the pantry himself and turning on the coffee machine before he answers:
"You share her eyes. But more importantly, your bag has a pin of the pharmacy faculty of the university and because I'm supposed to meet her daughter for tutoring on this floor in - " he checks his watch again: "exactly 12 minutes, I figured it might be you."
You are impressed. His looks are already enough to have your eyes turn into hearts but there is probably nothing that makes a man more attractive to you than his wit. But what hits you even more than that is the fact that THIS was your tutor.
I take everything back mom, I love tutoring. Sign me up for another year.
"Well, you figured correctly," you reply weakly, at a loss for words. "Nice to meet you Mr. Choi."
You put your cup on the pantry table to reach your hand out to him. He takes it with a smile.
"Nice to meet you too, Miss Kim. I was going to get the two of us some coffee but as I can see you already helped yourself."
Oh, so he's a gentleman as well.
"Next time you should let me take care of that," you said showing him your free access card. "I happen to own the key to infinite coffee."
"Does the caffeine addiction come for free with that as well?" You chuckle at his joke.
"I think it's the requirement to get it in the first place."
"Well then I will happily let you get us coffee next time."
Next time, you think. The reality that you will be seeing this man on a regular basis hits you.
For a second the two of you just smile at each other. Then Mr. Choi notices that his coffee is done and he grabs the cup.
"Let's head to the meeting room then. I wouldn't want to waste your time."
You sir, can waste my time any day of the week, you think to yourself but obviously keep silent as you follow him to the room.
He holds the door open for you and you settle down onto one of the meeting chairs. You always hated these things. They are designed to make you sit upright and therefore terribly uncomfortable. You desperately want to fold one of your legs under yourself like you always do at home but you have a good image to keep. After taking a seat across from you he puts his bag onto the table and looks at you expectantly.
"So what topics exactly are you struggling with? It's been a while for me but I'm sure I can help."
"To be honest with you, I don't really need help on anything."
San raises his eyebrows behind the round glasses on his nose. "What do you mean?"
You sigh, not knowing how to explain this dilemma best. "My mother made me get a tutor because she believes I need better grades. In fact I'm the best of my year with perfect attendance and an average of 95%. She says that everything under 100% is not enough which is why she must have thought of you as a tutor."
San just stares at you with a peculiar look on his face. He looks almost impressed from your words.
"I knew director Kim could be quite strict but I had never imagined that extent. I'm sorry she made you do this, a 95% average is very impressive in the pharmacy field."
"Says someone with a perfect 100% graduation," you snap back, a little more spiteful than you want to. But San doesn't seem to take it the wrong way. Instead he chuckles in response. The sound sends shivers down your spine, his voice dipping way lower than you had expected it could.
"Trust me, that wasn't all brains. I only know my way around people." You don't doubt that last statement for even a second.
"Maybe instead of teaching I can give you some tips around the university. That would probably help you more."
Now you are interested.
"What kind of tips for example?" You lean forward resting an elbow on the table as you pick your cup of coffee up for a sip. It's still burning hot but you pretend you didn't just burn your tongue as you set it back down.
"Does Mr. Han still do the medicine lectures? He's been using the same exam template for years. Pharmacy students are just to selfish to share the results with the younger students. I'll look for my old exams later to give them to you."
Your mouth opens in awe. Everyone from the year above had told you Mr Han's exams were the hardest and it turns out they were just lying to intimidate you. The competition was real.
"These fuckers," you mumble beneath your breath but judging by his chuckle, San heard you just fine.
"Sorry," you excuse your language immediately with a small nod. He is still an employee under your mother and she told you explicitly to act well around him. Hiding your uneasiness you go for another scolding sip of coffee.
"Don't worry, darling. I won't go complaining to your mother about your language. You don't need to be her perfect little girl for me."
You almost choke on your coffee and have to force the liquid down your throat with an effort. You really wish they didn't but his words made your insides squirm. The amount of money you'd pay him to call you 'darling' again is surely an embarrassing amount. But good little girl also didn't sound too bad from his mouth.
"Thanks," you mumble, not knowing what else to say and stare onto the table to hide your flushing face. If you look at him with those slutty, round glasses right now, you're sure you'll combust.
You don't notice, but Mr. Choi eyes you up and down carefully before he resumes speaking. He smiles at your flustered state that obviously doesn't escape his sharp senses. Seeing your pretty face flush from only these few words, satisfies him deeply.
"Then how about that toxicology class? If Mr. Lim still teaches it, I know a few ways to get on his good side. He always picks favourites and it shows in the grades."
Mr. Choi continues listing off ways to better your grades around your professors. You can't help but be impressed. Not only is he obviously very intelligent but also great with people. Maybe what kept you from exceeding in your studies was your rather reserved nature in class.
"How about this," Mr. Choi finally proposes after teaching you some of his ways. "I'll get you my old notes and exams and with that you will surely ace all your tests. Then we can meet up for these tutoring sessions and while you study in peace I can get some work done. This way your mother is happy and we both profit from the situation."
You nod without hesitation. "That sounds like a great idea. Thank you so much, Mr. Choi."
He groans at your words, a sound that makes you react in a way you don't even want to put into words.
"Please don't call me Mr. Choi when we're alone that makes me feel terribly old. My name is San."
"Aren't you older than me though?" you ask back carefully. It doesn't feel right to call him by his first name.
"If 5 years are old to you?" he inquires with a slight teasing edge to his voice. You don't know if he's flirting with you or if you are just becoming a witness to this man's effortless social skills.
Truthfully, you are 22 and 5 years more don't seem that much to you. Still his way with words and the confident aura around him make him seem more mature.
"I didn't say old. Just older."
He rolls his eyes at your stubbornness, leisurely resting one of his elbows on the backrest behind him. "Just call me San, darling."
There it is again. That word single-handedly turns you into a blushing mess within seconds and you find yourself agreeing without another thought.
"Okay, San."
A satisfied smile spreads on his face and you marvel at the dimples that form on his cheeks. "Much better. Than how about you do some studying and I'll get some work done now?"
"Sounds good," you reply and start taking out your classwork. He could've told you to start stripping right now and you would've agreed without question. Damn you are down bad for him already...
It is a weird situation at first. You are used to studying around strangers in the library, but sitting alone in a room with San makes it hard to focus on your upcoming test. His eyes keep flicking from his work laptop across to you and you don't know if he's interest in the topic you're studying or you.
You yourself on the other hand are surely interested in him and you can't help but steal a few glances at him working diligently at his laptop every now and then. Even typing on his keyboard looks ridiculously hot on him with the way his slender fingers run over the keys.
After about two hours of you trying to keep your eyes on your notes San finally closes his laptop and stares at you until you reciprocate his look.
"I guess two hours is enough to make your mother think you studied, right?" he asks with one corner of his mouth slightly lifted.
"Sure," you respond weakly.
"I'll look for my old tests and will bring them on Thursday," he goes on as he stands up to pack up his laptop and bag. You also start gathering your study books.
"Thank you again," you answer lamely. But the promise of already seeing him again on Thursday excites you.
When you proceed to grab your now empty coffee cup his hands react quickly as he snatches it from you.
"Don't worry about that, I'll put those away," he's leaning over the table now, smiling at you through slightly closed eyes and you can't help but be entranced by his looks. "You should make sure to get home before it's dark outside. Want you to get home safely."
"Don't worry about me, I'll manage."
"Oh but I won't if something happens to you and your mother finds out you were last seen with me," he replies cockily as you two finally go to the door.
You have to chuckle at his remark. "Good to know I'm not the only one terrified of her."
"Everyone is terrified of her," he mumbles under his breath but you are already reaching the coffee pantry - aka your cue to go home.
"Can we use the same room on Thursday?" you ask as you stop in front of him. You make sure to brush your hair behind your ear in a nonchalant manner, knowing it shows your good angles.
"Yeah, I already booked it," San replies easily, eyes fixing yours from above. "But let's meet at the coffee machine here. I want to at least take advantage of that free coffee if I give you all my study secrets."
He winks at you at the last part of the sentence and it makes your insides twirl like on a rollercoaster. You give him a small smile through fluttering lashes. "So that's what you meant with a win-win situation: Endless coffee. Well it looks like I don't have a choice but to be your personal coffee machine."
You want to punch yourself right after that sentence leaves your mouth. How much more stupid could you possibly sound? Personal coffee machine. Saying you wanted to be his personal slut would have been less embarrassing.
But San doesn't seem to mind your awkward response. "Sounds good to me," he replies smoothly. "Then have a good ride home and I'll see you on Thursday."
"Until Thursday," you reply before you can say something stupid again and stroll off to the elevator with a small wave.
As soon as the doors close behind you, your head thumps against the steel wall. There is no way you will get any studying done with that man in the same room as you.
---------------------
Your next few meetings with San go on smoothly. You are always on time but he is still earlier than you, waiting for you at the coffee machine. You get both of you a coffee - sometimes two if you feel like it - and you two get to work in a comfortable silence sitting opposite to each other in the meeting room.
After San brought you his old exams you can now prepare exactly what you need to know for your next tests. But no matter how hard you try to focus on your studies, your eyes keep wandering from your books up to the handsome man working on his laptop.
You soon notice his seemingly endless closet full of tailored dressing shirts and perfectly matching pants. He always looks immaculate, not a single wrinkle on his shirt and his hair always neatly combed back. Even his skin is flawless to the point that you start questioning if Choi San might be a figment of your imagination.
Just like his outer appearance, his manners are immaculate. Like you already noticed on your first meeting, he is a sweet talker. Always knowing the right thing to say and never letting your conversation end in awkwardness.
Whenever he feels like taking a break you notice him starting to talk to you. At first he asks how your studies are going. Then he wanders off to the professors you two shared and how he managed to ace all his classes.
Your whole attention is glued to his lips. For one thing because the information he can provide you with is crucial to your academic development but much more importantly because his lips are the prettiest thing you have ever seen. They look so plump and smooth while he's talking that your mind can't help but wander to the other things he might be able to do with them besides talking.
If at your first meeting you were down bad for Choi San, one month later you felt like you were drowning and he was the last bit of oxygen left on earth. You wanted him with a passion that you didn't even know you were capable of.
But you couldn't have him. There was too much at stake. He still worked for your mother and if you made a move on him that he wouldn't reciprocate you would risk the eternal hate of the only woman that still held control over your life. And so far San hadn't shown any sign of feeling the same way about you that you did for him.
„You're stuck on that?" San suddenly asks you over the page of biochemistry that you've been staring at for a solid five minutes. You haven't spared a single thought on the topic in front of you. Your mind is only occupied by the thought of San leaning over you on the meeting chair, your chin in between his slender fingers as he smirks down at you. You hate him for having this effect on you when you so desperately need to focus on your studies.
You really need to get your thoughts together.
„Oh no I was just getting carried away," you answer, looking at him pointedly with a sly smile.
You tried little attacks like this on him before. A casual pull down of your shirt, stretching your arms to make it ride up over your stomach or even looking directly at his lips as he spoke. But no matter how daring you get you can never catch San slipping.
His eyes stay on yours only whenever he looks at you, his tone is always polite and never goes farther than a casual joke. You simply can't draw a single reaction from him and it drives you insane.
„Do you need a small break? We could get another coffee," he offers helpfully.
I don't want a damn coffee I want you to fuck me on this meeting table.
"I'd love to, but I'm already way too warm today. I fear the AC can't fight against the heat anymore."
It has gotten exponentially hotter over the past days and you can feel it even inside the modern building.
"You're right, it's quite hot in here," San says with a disappointed face. "What a shame we don't have iced coffee. We should get some on Tuesday!"
His eyes light up in excitement and this little sliver of pure happiness doesn't escape you. It's surprising how cute he can be with that shamelessly hot body of his.
"Do you know a place near?" You ask to drag on the conversation. You yourself know at least 3 cafés in the area that sell iced coffee but you want San to tell you a place. Maybe his favourite. So that you can go and think of him.
"Yes, I can show you!" he answers proudly.
"I'd love to." You send him a gentle smile with long eye contact before both of you look back at your work.
But your concentration withers away like the dying plant in the corner of the room when Choi San begins undoing the buttons of his shirt sleeves.
You know you shouldn't but your eyes immediately watch as his slender fingers start neatly folding up his sleeves. The muscles in his underarms dance beneath his skin as inch after inch of skin gets revealed.
You feel like a medieval man salivating over exposed ankles as you stare at San's arms. The veins are protruding in the heat and his honey skin is glistening under the bland neon lights.
Your heartbeat quickens and it's mostly because it feels like you finally found San slipping. Him rolling up his sleeves is like a crack in his perfect mask and you are certain that he wouldn't do it anywhere else in the company. He only does this because he is with you.
"Shoot," he suddenly exclaims and draws your attention up to his face. You catch the small pout that appears on his lips before he looks back at you.
"What is it?" you ask him.
"I forgot to book the meeting room for Tuesday and now everything is blocked. There is a work event next week. I should've booked it earlier."
"Oh," you simply reply. This is even more confusing. You don't believe that San would ever forget such an important event. Is he trying to get rid of you?
"Don't worry about it, darling." His smirk and the nickname has you fighting for air. "I'll find us something else."
You can only nod at him with a smile. Maybe he isn't trying to get rid of you.
The rest of your study/work time flies by as your mind thinks of all the possible meeting places you and San could have for Tuesday. You feel like a highschool girl dreaming about dates with your crush but you don't care. The man that is supposed to be tutoring you just makes your heart speed up in a way that you haven't experienced ever before.
When your meeting time comes to an end and San starts packing up his stuff he simply says: "How about we meet at my place next time? I don't like working in cafés it's always so crowded and noisy. And I have coffee too."
You snap up at him in surprise at the proposal. "Sure," you reply as nonchalantly as you can at the prospect of going to Choi San's apartment. Alone. With him.
"I can pick you up here with my car after work. So you don't have any extra way."
"That sounds good," you reply with a small smile, trying not to sound too excited.
"Then until next week," he says with one of his handsome smiles and you say your goodbyes before you can turn even redder in his presence.
When you walk onto the elevator this time and the door closes behind you, your heart is pounding into your throat. As the realization sets in that you will be alone with Choi San in his apartment a satisfied smile set over your face. Oh you will use that chance for sure.
----------------------
You spend the entire day preparing for your tutor appointment with San. Something deep inside you tells you that this behaviour is ridiculous but you push this inner voice back down as you play your favourite music and get ready.
You wear your hair in light waves and put on makeup to bring out your eyes but not look overly done up. Your outfit was a tricky matter but you settled on a classic pleated skirt and a tight long-sleeve. Everything about your appearance today lands on the thin line between innocent and suggestive and you are satisfied when you twirl around in front of the mirror.
All you want is one small reaction out of the man that you have thirsted for over the past weeks. If Choi San even so much as lets his eyes scan you up and down, your mission would be successful. Lost in your task of getting ready you almost forget to actually pack your study books before heading to your mothers company.
You two agreed on San picking you up at the company's garage. So you are taking down the elevator to the parking floor and checking yourself one last time in your phone camera before stepping into the parking lot.
Having no idea how his car looks like you pull up your chat with San, wanting to ask him where to go. But before you can type your message a calm voice calls you over from across the parking lot.
"Y/n!"
You turn around to a sight that makes your heart flutter. San is leaning onto his car, a chic black Mercedes. His white dress shirt has one button unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled up again. His feet are crossed over each other leisurely as he waits for you to come over.
Walking up to him you have to try real hard to look casual and not like your nerves are taking over you with the impending situation of being in the same car as San for an undefined amount of time. Your heart is beating already and he hasn't even called you any nicknames yet.
"Hello, San. You're not wearing glasses today?" you notice in surprise and hope it doesn't come off as too attentive.
"Sometimes I wear contacts," he replies smoothly. "It's a styling decision."
While you love the glasses on San seeing him without has a different charm to it. Almost like he is showing you a different side of him.
"Ready to go?" you ask him to keep the conversation going and you're almost proud of your nonchalant tone.
"Ready when you are," he replies with a light smile and walks around the car to open the door for you.
Of course he opens the door for me.
Before you can get in he also takes your bag from you to store it in the back. You want to refuse but one of his smiles finally makes you give in and you hand him the bag. Finally, you thank him and sit down in the passenger seat. The car looks even nicer on the inside: leather seats and perfectly clean. Something inside you starts questioning where this man hides his flaws since noone can possibly be this perfect at all times.
"It's only a 20 minute drive," San explains as he gets into the driver's seat and turns on the engine. You can't help but watch his hands as he manages the gearshift. But as he turns around to look for obstacles his eyes get stuck on you. For a second you think you got him. That his eyes linger on you for a little too long because you finally pulled a reaction out of him.
"You haven't even put your seatbelt on, darling."
And with that your mind is blank. Simple emptiness.
Before you can react, his hand reaches past you, grabbing the seatbelt and plugging it in. His hand doesn't so much as grace your shoulder for a millisecond but you feel like your lungs are constricting.
"Thanks," you breath out before he finally pulls out of the parking spot. He does that wildly attractive thing where he put his hand on the back of the passenger's seat while driving backwards and you feel like losing it already. How will you survive being in the same apartment with this man. San however seems his usual chatty self.
"I'm sorry again for not booking the meeting room in time. I already reserved it for the weeks to come," he starts talking to you.
"Don't worry. I totally don't mind," you answer and regret it immediately. Did that sound too eager? Something about Sam's presence makes you overthink every single word you say.
"I have a fancy coffee machine at home so I can at least return the favour of you getting me coffee all the time."
You smile at that. It feels like this little inside thing between you two how you always use your company privileges to pay for both of your coffee. San thanks you every single time, bringing up how much you save his day.
"I never thought you were that much of a coffee guy at home too," you say trying to get him to tell you more about himself.
"You're acting like I didn't go through pharmacy as well!" He replies with a slightly sulky tone. "No way to survive that major without getting addicted to coffee."
You chuckle at his response. "That's true unfortunately. So you just carried the addiction into your job?"
"You could state it like that but by buying a fancy machine you can just say that coffee is your hobby instead."
Whenever you two talk about mundane topics like this you can't help but be glued to his lips. To get a glimpse of the Choi San that isn't working over-hours all the time and kept up his perfect image at all costs. You want to find out the details about him. Like how he enjoys his coffee or what colour he might like best.
You continue the drive in casual chatter like this before finally reaching your destination. As San pulls into an underground parking lot of an apartment building your heart rate quickens again. Something about seeing his apartment makes you incredibly nervous.
He tells you to wait inside the car after he lets the motor die down so that he can open the door for you again. Even this small gesture has you wrapped around his finger and you smile as you try to step out of the car as gracefully as you can.
San leads you into an elevator and as soon as the doors close you feel reminded of your first meeting. Of how he took your breath away just by standing next to you in such a small space. And now there isn't much difference. He still makes you just as nervous. But at least you can talk to him now.
"How is studying for your exams going so far?" He asks casually.
"It's okay," you reply lamely. "I'm trying my best."
"You know if you actually do need my help you can obviously ask me," he offers alluding to your deal of him basically just getting his own work done instead of tutoring you.
"You've already helped me so much. All I need to do now is actually study," you say turning down his argument.
You idiot, you think to yourself. You could've at least pretended to need his help.
You wait in silence as the remaining floors rush past you. You're surprised with every passing number, wondering what floor San might be living on. But the elevator doesn't stop until the highest floor.
San let's you exit first which makes no sense to you since you don't know where to go. So you wait for him to show you the way to his apartment.
As soon as he unlocks the door and leads you two inside you curiously scan his place. On a first glance it looks almost exactly like you expected: it's very clean and tidy, the furniture is modern and rather minimalistic and the whole place carries a simple colour theme of black and chrome with only hints of colour. The entrance leads straight into an open living room that connects to the kitchen.
"Make yourself at home at the dinner table," San offers while gesturing at the big, black table that looks like straight out of a design magazine.
You both place your shoes neatly at the entrance of his apartment before you take your bag to the table. As you choose a seat from which you can look outside the gigantic window front, San heads over to the kitchen, getting something from a cupboard.
"Can I get you a glass of water before I make some coffee?" He asks you with a kind smile.
"That would be nice," you answer even though water was not what you were craving right now.
He filled one for you and brought it over before returning to the kitchen. "You want your coffee hot or iced?"
"Iced? This is better service than at the company. You should forget to book the meeting room more often." It's a weak attempt at flirting with him but he laughs non the less.
"So iced it is?" He confirms with you again and turns on his electric coffee grinder after you nod approvingly.
It shouldn't captivate you that much, looking at him while he was performing such a basic task as making coffee. But you could watch him for hours, the way his broad back stretches out his dress shirt. The way he moves around so smoothly. The way the muscles in his arms flex as he handles his espresso machine.
You turn towards your study materials just in time before he faces you again, two iced coffees in his hands. He places one gently in front of you before he sits down opposite of you.
"Thank you," you smile at him extra sweetly.
"Anything you want, darling."
You swear to yourself that if he calls you darling one more time you will throw all rational thoughts out of the window and straddle him right here in his stupid designer living room chair. But for now you settle for a coy smile as you feel your cheeks heat up.
To add to your demise, as San drags his chair closer to the table both of your knees touch for a brief second before he casually changes his seating position. The table is narrower than the one in the meeting room and knowing that your legs are mere inches from another makes you even more delusional. What if he did that on purpose?
After that, all concentration for your studies is far gone. It doesn't help at all that the iced coffee he made you was the best you had in ages and with every sip you keep wondering what Choi San isn't good at.
I just know he fucks good there's no other way, you think to yourself but get interrupted in your thoughts.
"Are you stuck on something?" San asks you and you almost don't even dare to raise your eyes to look at him. A kind of shame overcomes you as you realize what you have been thinking about while he worries about your studies.
You sigh to buy yourself time to find an answer that doesn't include: Yes, I'm stuck because I can't think of anything but your body on top of mine.
"Yeah, I just can't seem to concentrate well lately. Maybe I'm stressed out because of my finals."
It isn't fully a lie. Your finals are approaching steadily and with you thirsting over your tutor instead of studying you are indeed starting to worry.
"I would love to tell you that grades don't matter too much but I know your mother won't agree and I will probably face her anger too if you fail," he laughs at the end of his sentence to lighten the mood but quickly notices he only stressed you more by saying that.
"I'm sorry," he quickly retracts. It feels like the first time you caught him messing up his smooth way of talking which in return makes you smile.
"No, you're right. I just never thought about the fact that she will hate both of us if I mess up. What a way to relax."
"I shouldn't have said that," San again apologizes. "I'm sure you will do amazing though. After all you studied so much."
He finishes his sentence with a wink and you must stare at him for a second like an idiot. Did you just imagine that? Or is he alluding to something? Does Choi San know that you thirsted for him this entire fucking time?
But his further actions don't allow you to think much more.
"You look quite tense actually," he continues. "You know it's not good for your back to sit stiff like this for a prolonged amount of time. Your neck must be hurting?"
You have no idea what he is talking about. And your confusion only grows as San gets up from his chair heading in your direction. Every step he comes closer to you has your heart pumping erratically. Even though you dreamed about him being closer to you and finally paying you more attention you are now paralysed at the situation unfolding. Simply being close to him renders your entire body useless.
San steps behind you and, to your absolute shock and amazement, his hands gently grasp your shoulders.
"To compensate the stress from university I took a physiology course that taught us how to massage tense muscles."
As if to proof his words his thumbs gently start rubbing circles into your neck. The warmth of his fingers seeps through your thin shirt and fills your entire body. It feels like he set you on fire with this simple touch.
All of this cannot be real. This must be a figment of your imagination or you actually fell asleep on your study notes while dreaming about San. But his voice sounds very much real when he resumes:
"You have to relax, otherwise I'll hurt you." His voice drops lower than usual and as he gently drapes your hair over one shoulder to get it out of his way you can feel his breath fanning over your neck. Goosebumps erupt all over your skin.
But amid the fire burning in your veins and your clouded mind you actually manage to ease into his fingers and allow him to loosen up your muscles.
"That's a good girl," he rasps behind you and you know you tipped over the edge now. There is no going back from this. You feel like a doll in his hands. His words are electrifying, leaving you unable to utter a single word, to make a single sound. Your mind is running on a state of emergency. Nothing seems to get to you but the fact that San is touching you.
And oh is he good at it. His hands are pressing into all the right places relieving all the pent up tension you built ever since getting ready for this meeting today. If his fingers are already this good at massaging out your stress you can't help but think about what else they can do.
"How do you feel?" He asks. His voice is still low and his tone taunting, as if he knows exactly what he's doing to you.
"Better," you answer. Your voice is merely a whisper. You sound weak, even in your own ears, and wonder if he even heard you.
"Yeah? Then how is this?" With his question his thumbs dip beneath the collar of your shirt and massage your upper back a little lower.
You can't help but close your eyes. The low tone of his voice, his fingers on your skin and the playfulness of his words. All of this is so overwhelming you can only lean back and revel in his touch.
"It feels so good," you manage to breath out when you realize he asked you a question.
He bends down a little, his mouth now right next to your ear. "Should I make you feel even better?"
He is quite literally the devil on your shoulder. Everything in your body screams for you to say yes immediately. The unspoken promise has your entire body on fire and you almost give in to your desire. But a tiny speck of reasonable thinking pulls you back into the dangerous territories you are moving in right now.
"What do you mean?" you ask carefully. You know that this is everything you wanted for the past few weeks but still you can't help being confused about his sudden change.
His left hand wanders from your back to your chin, tilting it to the side so you can look at him. The look in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine. His pupils are dilated and he is looking at you like he is preying on you. The intensity is something you have never seen in him before.
"You are far too smart to be asking that question, darling," he replies smugly.
"But you were never interested in me?" You ask back and want to hit yourself on the spot. Why are you even asking questions when the man you've desired for weeks finally seems to be making a move on you? But after all he is acting very out of character.
San chuckles, never taking his eyes off of you. "You're so cute. All these weeks that you've been wanting me and now you ask what I'm doing?"
Your mouth opens in shock. So he did in fact know all this time that you were interested in him.
"Don't act all surprised now, darling. You really thought I didn't see the way you looked at me ever since we first met? How your eyes keep focusing on my arms in my tight shirts. How you steal glances at me when you think I'm not looking? I wanted to see how long I could leave you thirsting like this before you would break."
His confession has you gasping as you realize you weren't even faintly as indiscreet as you thought you were. Instead San was playing with you the entire time. Watching your every move.
"Desperation looks so cute on you," he adds with another devilish smile. His fingers continue drawing circles into your back as his burning eyes keep you fixed in your spot. You feel bewitched by his entire presence, like he has cast a spell on you.
"I made all this effort to get you into my apartment so we both don't have to risk our lives by having me ruin you on the meeting table and still you didn't even have a clue. I'm almost disappointed if you weren't so cute when you are surprised like this." A satisfied grin plays around his plump lips, as if he revelling in the taste of this sweet opportunity in his hands. "Now be a good girl for me and finally do what you've been wanting to do for weeks. Tell me you want me."
You haven't taken a single breath since he started talking and as a result your head feels dizzy. It takes a short moment before you can finally form the words that your head is screaming at you.
"Please," you whisper pathetically.
"Please what, darling?" San revels in the way you can barely speak.
"Please ruin me."
You can basically see the fire behind his eyes ignite as you speak those three words. His hand wanders to your cheek, grabbing it firmly. He takes his sweet time to let his thumb run over your bottom lip, eyes trailing after his own movement.
"With pleasure."
Finally, his lips press onto yours in a desperate kiss. They feel just as soft as they always looked to you, but he kisses you with a roughness that is almost contradictory. The combination is intoxicating. As you reciprocate the kiss, heat runs through your limbs in shockwaves.
Suddenly impatient, San interrupts the kiss to pull you up and out of the chair by your arms. Grabbing your waist he manhandles you onto the dinner table instead, lifting you onto the ledge as if it was nothing.
Your hands bury in his hair as both your lips meet again in a rushed embrace. In return, San wedges one of his legs between yours and spreads your knees so he can stand between them. The way he handles you makes heat pool in your core. San has a determination to his every move that makes you want to do whatever he could want from you.
One of his hands still tightly grasping your waist, the other winds in your hair as he deepens the kiss. When his tongue enters your mouth you arch your back wanting to diminish every centimetre between you two. Your head is dizzy, completely overwhelmed by his every touch.
San's firm hands are restless on your heated body. His fingers quickly find a way to shift under your shirt and his thumb draws circles into the bare skin of your stomach. Choi San feels like a drug. His touch just as intoxicating as you always dreamed it to be.
He removes his mouth from your lips only to latch onto the fragile skin behind your ears, kissing his way around your neck. You let your head fall back to give him better access and when he starts sucking on your skin you relieve a small whimper.
You can feel San smirking into your skin as he sucks even more. It's like he has found your weakness and is now shamelessly using it to make you melt beneath his fingers. And it's working so well. Your hands lose grip on his hair as you lose your ability to focus on anything but San's lips on your neck.
"Don't tap out on me already, darling. I'm only getting started," he rasps into your ear in between kisses. You draw in a shaky breath at his words. Your legs feel like jelly even as your sitting down and you just know you won't be able to walk after San is finished with you.
He finally withdraws his lips and for a second just revels in your already dishevelled form: hair messy, red flush to your cheeks and lips glossy from kissing him.
"I'd love to have you on my dinner table but let's take this somewhere more comfortable for now," he says in a soft voice.
Hooking his hands under your thighs he picks you up from the table, carrying you towards his bedroom. Woken up from your trance by the change of motion you suddenly gain back some of your bite. While San is busied with carrying you, your fingers rush to the collar of his dress shirt. Oh how often you have dreamed of popping open those buttons one by one. And finally you have the pleasure to do so. A soft chuckle makes his chest move in front of you as San looks down on your actions.
"You couldn't wait, could you?"
"Why would I?" you reply cheekily as your hand smooths over his now exposed skin. He feels so soft and hot under your fingertips that you don't think you'll ever be able to detach.
San throws open his bedroom door with his shoulder and before you have a chance to take in the room you are thrown onto the plush bed. He follows behind immediately, hovering over you with both hands propped up next to your head. He lets his eyes run over your figure lazily, up and down.
"Don't even know where to start with you," he mumbles half to himself and half to you as he watches your chest rise and fall in heavy breaths. He decides to put on a show, sitting back on his heels and slowly continuing your work in unbuttoning his shirt.
Apart from his skin being exposed the simple act of opening some buttons shouldn't drive you as crazy as it does right now. It's simply the sexiest thing you have ever seen in your life. The way his hooded eyes stay on yours the entire time while one button after another falls open under his practiced movements.
You are moving on autopilot when you also sit up to take off your own shirt. You simply can't delay this any further. As your shirt lands somewhere beside the bed, San lets out a small groan, surprising you. He stopped in the middle of folding down his sleeves.
"How did you know that purple was my favourite colour?" He asks in a raspy voice. His eyes are raking over your deep purple bra with a desire in them that lets shivers run over your skin.
You can't imagine a better way to find out his favourite colour. You only chose it because it accentuates your skin tone but now it feels like fate to you. Finally, you are getting to the edges of Choi San. Getting to know him on a level that you were craving like the air you needed to breath.
"Good intuition," you reply. Your confidence surges under his heavy glances. Maybe a little too much. "Need help with that?" you ask him teasingly with a nod towards his shirt, which hangs open around his toned torso.
As soon as you speak those words you are getting pinned back to the bed, San's hand suddenly wrapped around your neck. He isn't putting any pressure on it yet but you can feel his strength pulsating around your neck. His broad shoulders are taking up most of your vision and with the way he glares at you you just know that you are soaked.
"Don't get too bold with me, darling," he says in a warning tone. "I'm the one in charge."
You look up at him through big, round eyes, lashes fluttering because you have a feeling that it will push just the right buttons in him.
"Go ahead then," you reply firmly. "Do whatever you want to me."
San sits up again and roughly tugs on his sleeves, finally discarding his shirt fully. Then his lips are on yours again in a heartbeat.
You greedily let your hands wander over his now fully exposed upper body. The muscles playing under his skin feel so good as he buries his hands in your hair. His biceps is so big that your fingers can barely wrap around it halfway. You can't get enough of touching his body which so far you only admired in fitted dressing shirts.
San kisses his way down from your lips again but this time he doesn't stop at your neck. Continuing down your chest he kisses the tender skin between your breasts. When he takes both hands to squish your breasts together, burying his face in between, you lose your last bit of composure.
"Please, San. Please just fuck me."
He lifts his head to smile at you devilishly. The fire behind his eyes seems so bright that you're scared it will never burn down again.
"Already begging for me? You're still half dressed and I'm only starting. Have a little patience."
As he finishes his words, his hand snakes behind your back to open your bra in a swift motion. He peels the straps off of you with a new found patience that makes you feel like you are suffocating.
When the piece of clothing lands on the floor, San's eyes are glued to your chest. Slowly, he lowers himself down again, gently taking on of your nipples into his mouth. As soon as his tongue starts lapping at you a string of moans escape you. He just feels so good.
Without ever losing focus on kissing and nipping on your chest, one of his hands wanders to your skirt. He finds the zipper so easily it feels like he has studied undressing you. He pushes it down your legs quickly, leaving you only in your underwear.
As his hand starts stroking your inner thighs, your eyes roll to the back of your head. He feels like a dream.
"Please San. Please touch me," the words leave your mouth in whispers. Silent pleas for him to finally give you what you want.
"Is my darling so stressed from studying that she needs her mind taken off of things?" His fingers trail over your clothed heat as he asks you in a sickly sweet voice. His eyes are focussed on your face, taking in how you crumble beneath his touch.
"Yes. Yes, please," you whimper desperately. Every touch feels like electricity on your skin.
"Want me to stuff you full so you can forget everything you've studied for for weeks?" He pushes your panties to the side, his fingers toying at your entrance.
"Please San..." you repeat yourself weakly. Finally he gives into your pleading and sinks two of his fingers into you. You are so wet that they glide in with ease. You suck in a harsh breath as he begins pumping them in and out of you.
"God you feel so good. Can't wait to fuck you, my darling. Bury my cock so deep into you you forget your own name."
His words make you shake beneath him. You had a lot of suspicions about San in the bedroom due to your extensive daydreaming about him. But never did you expect him to be so vocal and downright dirty with his words. It catches you off-guard and only heightens your pleasure.
San scoots up on the bed a little so his face is hovering over yours again, while he slips a third finger into your heat. "How do I feel?" he asks with a raspy tone to his voice.
"You feel so fucking good, San," you moan in answer. His fingers stretch you out so deliciously and he reaches this spot deep inside you that makes you arch your back with every thrust.
"Yeah, you wanna come on my fingers?" he rasps into your ear now, lips again attaching to your neck, sucking deep marks into your skin.
"Please, San." You feel like a broken record that's repeating the same thing over and over. You grow closer and closer to an orgasm with every motion of his fingers inside you. But San has other plans for you. And when he feels you desperately clenching around his fingers, he pulls them out of you.
"I'm sorry darling," he says immediately, even though his face doesn't display any regret. "But you look so pretty when you're desperate. And I want you to come on my cock when I make you fall apart for the first time."
You feel like crying. You want nothing more but to come and yet him taking it from you only makes you want him more. You would do anything for Choi San.
He stands up from the bed and opens his belt. But before he can take of his pants, he orders you over with a motion of his finger. You sit on your knees at the edge of the bed in seconds, looking up at him expectantly.
He doesn't say a word and only gestures for his painfully strained pants. You don't need any more hints to start opening his pants and pulling them down his legs desperately. You hook your fingers into his boxers too but look up at him once more before continuing. When he nods at you you finally pull them down as well.
You can't help but stare at San's length. He's big, just like you had always imagined and he was rock-hard. When San takes himself into his hand and gives himself a few strokes you open your mouth on your own, sticking out your tongue in anticipation of tasting him.
San starts gently. His other hand weaves into your hair and he pulls you onto his length slowly. You are able to take a good amount of him before his tip hits the back of your throat and you release a surprised moan. San closes his eyes momentarily as he relishes in the feeling of your hot mouth around him.
"Shit, you feel so good," he rasps out before he starts thrusting in and out of your mouth. Your hands seek hold on his muscular thighs and you look up at San through big and pleading eyes. Even though he isn't pleasuring you, this almost feels as good as having him bury his fingers inside you. All you ever dreamed about was him using you just like this and the feeling of it happening is so intoxicating you feel like you might pass out any second.
"Look at you enjoying my cock so damn much, that your eyes are losing focus," San chuckles. He looks down at you in disbelief as you mindlessly swirl your tongue around his cock. "You love being ruined by me, don't you?"
You can only manage a desperate nod and approving grunt as you continue sucking him of. No man has ever made you this desperate. As you look at him from beneath you feel like you have accomplished everything you ever wanted: his hair was dishevelled, his breaths uneven and a red tint painted his cheeks. All in all, Choi San lost his perfectly maintained appearance as you sucked on his cock and to you he looked 100 times prettier this way.
When his thrusts go sloppy, he pulls out of your mouth in a haste before he can come. "You're driving me crazy, darling," he grunts as he catches his breath for a second. In a more gentle tone he resumes: "Lay back on the bed for me, ok?"
You do as he says, laying down on your back in the middle of the bed, your body buzzing with the anticipation of what is to come. San goes to his dresser, opening a drawer to get a condom. 
When he climbs over you he looks at you intensely. But at the same time his eyes hold a softness that makes you feel secure.
"Are you sure about going on, y/n?" he asks warmly. No petnames this time. He wants a clear answer.
"Never been so sure in my life," you reply with a smile and his lips mirror yours as he beams down at you.
Quickly he sits up to open the condom and roll it onto his member. Opening your legs with his knee he situates himself between you and positions his cock at your entrance. One hand on your hip and the other holding his cock, he slowly sinks himself into you while carefully observing your face.
Your eyes flutter when he is fully inside of you and you moan at the feeling. San releases a grunt as well and waits a few seconds deep inside of you.
"Fuck, you're so tight for me, my darling. Don't worry I won't stop this time until you come." And with that he starts thrusting into you. He begins with slow and deep thrusts but as soon as you get used to his size he speeds up rapidly. 
His abs are flexing underneath is skin as he grabs onto your hip and pistons himself into you. With every thrust you can feel him hit this spongy part deep inside of you that makes heat build in your core with a throbbing intensity. Meanwhile you revel in the sight above you: San looks like a god. His muscular body moving above you is almost enough to push you over the edge but what's even more entrancing is his face. His expressions seem almost possessed. Like a demon took over him as soon as he started fucking you, he fixes his eyes onto yours.
"Am I fucking you good? Making you forget all your precious studies?" There they are again. His filthy words driving you down a one-way-road to insanity. "I hope you forget everything so you have to see me even more, darling. Then I can keep on fucking this tight little cunt over and over again."
"Fuck, San!" you moan out, being shocked by his words. His control over you is baffling and you can't help but grow closer and closer to your orgasm with every word.
"I know you like me like that, darling. Do me a favour and come on my cock so I can finally see you lose yourself will you?"
You can't form an answer. Endless moans tumble out of your mouth in increasing volume and San knows he has you exactly where he wants. 
"Come for me."
Your orgasm hits you with an explosive intensity. Faintly, you notice yourself moan at a concerning volume as your high washes over your body. But San doesn't seem to mind. Your legs are shaking and he helps you ride out the feeling with slower strokes. He waits for your breath to slow down again before he leans down to you and places a gentle kiss onto your lips.
"I want you on your knees in front of me," he says sweetly as soon as your lips separate and your head is spinning. Still you manage to get up with the help of his arm beneath your waist and you let yourself be positioned in front of San, your back to him.
Since you didn't have the opportunity to examine his bedroom earlier you only now notice the big mirror on his wardrobe next to his bed. Looking ahead, you can now see yourself on your knees, sitting in front of San.
You look even more dishevelled than you feel: Your hair is all over the place and some of your eyeliner smudged and a handful of dark purple marks littering your neck. Also, a red tint covers your skin, making you look flushed. San behind you smirks as you examine your own figure.
"You look so pretty all messed up like this for me, don't you think?"
His arm wraps around your waist as he leans your body back onto his broad chest. You look tiny in front of his build.
"I'll make you look even prettier," he promises as he sinks himself back into you.
He picks up his intense pace from before and you already feel dizzy again. With his arm holding you tight he is basically lifting you up and down his cock. At this angle he is hitting you deeper than before and you are sure you won't last very long until your next high.
But nothing could've prepared you for the feeling of San winding his other arm around you too, his fingers gently starting to stroke your clit. Your head falls back onto San's shoulder as you give in to the mind-numbing pleasure that starts buzzing through your body.
"Keep your eyes on me, darling. I want to watch you fall apart."
His voice sounds sulky, almost cute. It doesn't match his relentless thrusts and his fingers pleasuring you. It takes all your strength to lift your head again and look at San through the mirror. His eyes are hooded now, a shin layer of sweat making his flawless skin shine in the evening light.
"You make me feel so good," you manage to say as San keeps on pounding into you. You want him to know how he makes you feel. How good he is being to you.
"Am I?" He smiles in satisfaction as he watches your brows draw together with a particularly deep thrust. "You too, darling. You feel so good around me I don't think I can last much longer. But you'll come one more time for me, right?"
His voice sounds so deep and sultry in your ears. "Of course, Sannie," you mumble absent-mindedly. You don't even notice the nickname until he chuckles behind you.
"How can you be so cute and so sexy at the same time? You'll be the death of me, my good little girl."
He places a kiss onto your cheek and that is what finally drives you over the edge.
"Fuck, San. I'm coming," you moan out before your high crashes over you. If he wasn't holding you, you would fall to the ground. You try to hold eye contact with San through the reflection but your eyes keep on shutting as waves of pleasure roll over you. You have never felt such an intensity before.
But San's thrust don't slow down this time. He keeps on rutting into you relentlessly, driving you to insanity. You feel like you're swimming in a pool of pleasure.
"I'm close, darling. Just a little longer," San's voice is pitched higher than before, sounding just as desperate as you feel. You want nothing more but for him to come.
"Please, Sannie. I want you to come so bad."
Your desperate pleas are San's final straw. Clutching your body tight to his own, he finishes with his cock buried deep inside you. You can feel him pulsating in your heat and your moans mix into his grunts as you milk him for every last drop of his cum.
As you both slowly recover San pulls out of you and gently lays you back onto the bed. You can't do anything but catch your breath while he gets up to rid himself of the condom and return to you with a glass of water.
"Drink something," he urges you on and you take the glass from him. He watches you with a tinge of worry in his eyes. After taking a few sips you offer the glass back to him.
"You should drink some too, I'm sure you worked your body more than I did."
He smiles at your words and takes some water too before returning the glass to his bedside table. When he looks back at you there is a heaviness to his gaze that worries you.
"What is it?" you ask.
San takes a deep breath before answering you. "No matter what I said to you before, I actually didn't expect us to tumble into this as quickly as we did right now. And I want you to know that I didn't do this to use you or take any advantage of you."
His hand nervously grabs for the back of his neck. "Actually, I've been interested in you ever since we first met but I fear the tension between us was quicker than both of us."
You try to process his words even in your hazy state of mind. A spark of excitement surges through your body as you realize what he is saying.
"I feel the same, San," you reply truthfully. "I like you. And not just because you're insanely handsome."
You are glad when he laughs shyly at your words.
"So maybe I can take you out on a date that doesn't involve work or pharmacy studies sometime?"
"I hope sometime means this week, because I waited long enough for you already."
After everything that happened this evening, this moment when he smiles at you might be what makes your heart beat the fastest. You can't believe your luck as you look Choi San into the eyes and he leans in for a kiss.
-----------------
"This was a stupid idea," you say to San but maybe more to yourself. "I should tell her alone."
"How will she ever respect me again if I let you do this alone?" San replies worriedly. "She told me to tutor you and now here we are. I will look terrible either way."
You have never seen him this nervous. But after all, your mother has the ability to make everybody scared for their life. You two pass her assistant's desk with a polite greeting as you head straight for your mother's office. She knows you are coming but she doesn't know you're bringing company.
You knock carefully on the door until her voice calls you in. Your mother stays seated as you two enter the room. She doesn't look surprised or confused about San's appearance but rather intrigued.
"Why are you visiting me today, y/n?" she asks simply.
Your heart is beating out of your chest as you prepare for answering.
"I have something to announce to you," you start off as confident as you can. 
Your mother's eyes flick between you and San. "Go on."
"San- ... Mr. Choi and I, we are..." your voice is shaking. Why is this so hard for you?
But San grabs for your hand, linking his fingers with yours as he confidently finishes your sentence: "We are in a relationship, director Kim."
His boldness strikes you as admiring. Maybe he was right about accompanying you.
A silence that draws out unbearably long fills the room. You feel like your lungs are being compressed with every passing second.
Then your mother smiles. It's not exactly a smile of happiness. It speaks more of victory.
"Finally," she announced. "It took you two longer than I expected."
Now it's your turn to be silent. Both you and San are stunned in your places.
Finally you find your voice to ask: "What do you mean, mom?"
She smiles at you in satisfaction.
"You see: Mr. Choi is a good man. He's a gentleman, treats his colleagues with the utmost respect, excels at his job and is handsome too. How could I find a better match for my beloved daughter? But I know you wouldn't be interested if I were to formerly introduce you two so I thought I'd help you in a different way."
Your mouth falls open in shock. Out of all things, your mother purposefully setting you up with San has never even crossed your mind. Your boyfriend seems even more shocked at the revelation than you, his face reddened and a stunned expression on his face.
"So you set us two up?" You finally ask your mother.
"Of course I did! And it worked out brilliantly, don't you think? I'm glad you both came to tell me. Mr. Choi?"
San perks up at her words. "Yes?"
"I assume you will take good care of my daughter?"
"Of course I will," he replies sternly, voice full of sincerity. "I will do everything care for y/n." His words make you feel warm and fuzzy.
Your mother nods approvingly. "Then you two may leave. I still have work to do."
You both nod hastily and thank your mother before turning back for the door.
"Oh, before I forget. Y/n?" your mother asks one last time.
"Yes?"
"I received your test results that you sent me. They look very promising."
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I hope you enjoyed <3 Pls reblog and leave feedback if you can :)
Tags: @voicesinmyhead-rc
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hannie-dul-set · 10 months
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CAN’T HANDLE THIS — N.JM.
SUMMARY. how are you supposed to explain that you and na jaemin started dating just to prove each other wrong and ended up catching feelings.
PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader GENRE. strangers to lovers, college! au, matchmaking! au, yet another richkid! au, jaemin is an asshole again, romance, humor. WARNINGS. excessive swearing, a near death experience, drinking and smoking, more than a handful of illegal shit, mentions of vomit, blood, violence, too much sexual tension it’s unhealthy, again jaemin is kind of a dick but he’s an attractive dick, jaemin also likes it when you tell him his personality is trash. WORD COUNT. 16k TAGLIST. @alwayswithjaemin @carelessshootanonymous @sundamariis @nominsgirl @shentingz @jvjsssnaa @neozws @urfavtallgirl @dakneeee @wonforgyu @fullsunbabe @luv4jeno @rxnexxi @argooose @jaemsushi​ @stopeatread​ @lovesuhng​ @jaehyunicrecream @byunbaekcult​ @haedgaf​ @sehunniepot​ @lebrookestore​ @ghouerry​ @lanadreamie @rum-gone-why​ @ririlovesrenjun​
NOTE. upon posting the preview, this was already set out to be a one-dimensional word vomit on my most favorite guilty pleasure— jaemin being a weirdo and an asshole— but as i kept writing, i accidentally gave it a little more depth and development and oopsies. there’s 6k more words than the estimation. but this is still essentially plotless, mindless, and self-indulgent. 
hope you enjoy this characterization of jaemin because i do. way too much. this is the first long fic i’ll be posting after a year of inactivity so feedback would be appreciated haha i’m so fucking nervous to publish this hope u all like it.
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“Do I really have to go with you?”
You see, when your parents told you you were going to have dinner together with the family of your dad’s friend— explicitly mentioning that their son, who just happened to be the same age as you, would be joining— you already knew that this isn’t going to be an innocent dinner.
They think they’re slick. They act like they haven’t already done this five times before. You’re getting sick and tired, and you express your dissent once more while entering your dad’s car, pretending like you have a choice on the matter as if you hadn’t already prettied yourself up as per your mother’s request.
“I’m sure you can all have your dinner without me,” you whine, and your dad starts driving after your mom decides to take the front seat. “I still have an exam tomorrow, you know.” You can’t stop them from hauling you along for the ride, and they can’t stop you from complaining their ears off. The car is already out of the driveway and the directions to Island Prime are being spouted by the GPS. All you can do is be a nuisance throughout the ride.
“We already talked about this, sweetie,” your dad says, eyes on the road. “I’ve mentioned you to Jaehyuck and his wife, and they’d be delighted to finally meet you. They’re bringing their son too so you won’t have to worry about being out of place.”
That is exactly the source of your worries. Na Jaehyuck was your dad’s friend from graduate school and they reunited last month during NSoft’s annual charity gala. Those bougie events always have way too expensive alcohol in the mix, and your dad has a bad habit of running his mouth when he’s drunk. He has an especially terrible tendency of bragging about you when he’s drunk. His favorite thing to mention is how you’ve been class president all throughout elementary school and the time you won a typing contest in sixth grade. You made a vow to never take a sip of alcohol ever again after witnessing his drunk habits firsthand last year.
You try to control your facial muscles, worried he might get upset if he sees the reprehensible cringe you feel at the thought of him bragging about you to Mr. Na. This is the terrible habit that caused this family-to-family dinner in the first place. You weren’t there at the gala, but you can perfectly picture the event, scene-by-scene inside your head.
Your dad went on and on about how much of a responsible, reliable, talented, intelligent and gorgeous daughter you are since you took after their genes. Mr. Na has a son your age— most likely a troublemaker that needs some serious taming. Both parents are too nosy, too meddling, and too invested in their children’s love lives to brush it off. Boom. Match made.
“Darling. Back straight.”
They are seriously so overbearing. They’re great parents except when they make you feel like you can’t take care of your own garbage. You grumble, but listen to your mom’s commands and fix your posture. It isn’t like she’s any better. She takes all the credit for last month’s failed match-up. You can’t even remember the guy’s face.
After their failed five attempts to set you up with their friends’ and acquaintances’ sons and nephews, you expected them to finally give up. You’re twenty-one for god’s sake. You can find your own man if you want to.
“You’ll have wrinkles by thirty if you keep scowling like that, sweetie.”
That’ll be the least of their worries if they try to set you up again. You would try to run away, but you’re already in front of the hotel restaurant and the car keys are in your dad’s pocket. Might as well suck it up one more time. Hopefully the last time.
White lights contrast against the large, sunset-stained windows of the interior, and light music hums from the millwork walls every time you take a step forward, tailing your parents as a uniformed staff member leads you to a hall further inside. Your father details some information about the people you’re about to meet. Na Jaehyuck owns the hotel you are marching into and his wife owns the brand for the light pink coat you’re currently shrugging off to a server.
The three of you are led to the outside of a private booth. The doors slide open and you spot the crisply dressed pair waiting inside with a five-course meal. There is no son in sight. You prepare yourself for the countless amount of fake smiles you’re about to give.
Formalities are exchanged and dinner begins. The four converse over business and upcoming schedules, and you can’t fully digest your meal with the expectation of being soon called into the conversation by one of them. They do. Mr. Na asks where you study. You smile and reply. “NCU. I’m in my second year of Operations Management.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Na exclaims. “What a coincidence. Our son goes there as well.”
Your cheeks are already starting to hurt. “Really? Would you mind if I ask for his name? Maybe I’ve met him before.”
“You might have. Your father mentioned you being quite active in your extracurriculars, so there’s a chance that you’ve said hi to each other at an event.”
Your hope of actually knowing the guy forces down the utter embarrassment of your dad’s irreparable tendencies of mentioning you without fail. He looks too proud for you to break your despair to him. Anyhow, it would be better if you actually know their son. It would make this whole thing less grueling. If their son ends up being Na Yuyeon from your Taxation class or Na Sangmok from your major’s organization, you could just laugh it off with either of them and tell your respective meddlers (parents) that it just won’t work out.
You announce your prayers with closed lips. Please let him be someone I know, please let him be someone I know. Yet the odds are stacked against your favor.
“His name is Na Jaemin. Have you met him?
God disappoints you once more.
Even more than disappoint you. He completely screws you over. You’ve never met Na Jaemin before, but you have heard of him. Your two closest friends have talked about him, and his name has slipped in and out of the halls of your department building despite being from a different major since the day a senior named Song Junho went to class with a bruised face, broken nose, and an arm sling. His name is usually uttered in the same sentence with the phrase “biggest bastard on campus.” Your parents just set you up with NCU’s poster boy for fistfights and delinquency. You want to go home.
“Unfortunately not,” you reply, laughing it off as you reach for a glass of orange juice because even though a raw shot of tequila sounds good right now, you’ve sworn off drinking at the fears of being as loose-mouthed as your dearest dad. You glance at the empty seat beside Mrs. Na, praying that it will stay empty for the rest of the night, else the night will end with broken shards of a wine glass on the floor based on all the rumors you’ve heard of Na Jaemin. “Will he be joining us tonight?”
Your dad gives your mother a look and you hold back a gag.
The jolly smiles of Mrs. Na falter at your mention and she flashes a look of worry to her husband. She raises her wine glass to her lips. “Oh, He’ll— he’ll be here soon, I think. He hasn’t replied to my message yet, but he usually shows up. It would be such a shame if he misses the chance to meet you.”
You’re a mixture of hope and dread. Neither set of parents are subtle with their intentions for their children. It seems like this Na Jaemin has also been victimized numerous times by his parents’ scheming. They are so well meaning in the worst ways possible that you can’t even talk shit about them, so your only outlet for saltiness is Na Jaemin whom you’ve never met before, but have heard enough bad stories about to justify your mental curses. Maybe if he isn’t so much of an (alleged) asshole, then his parents might not have resorted to setting him up with an (alleged) angel like you to fix him up. You’ve heard nothing good about him, and even his parents seem to worry about him. You have enough pieces to puzzle him together as a good for nothing waste of time and energy.
This whole match-up is doomed for failure. The both of you will not work. Never. Not a chance. Not in a—
“You made it!”
The booth’s sliding door opens, revealing the prettiest man you have ever seen in your twenty-one years of life. Holy shit. Your juice almost dribbled out of your mouth.
“Jaemin, come take a seat. Oh, dear. You should have sent me a text, honey. I was worried you were too busy.”
Shit. He’s gorgeous. He’s perfect. He looks like he can murder a man with a look from his eyes and those very eyes are framed by the longest lashes you’ve ever seen. His lips are so pink and pretty that you can almost ignore the scowl they’re forming. The leather jacket framing his body sets him apart from the fancy decor, especially when he sits down exactly in front of you, making it harder for you to pry your eyes off of him. You’re hoping his parents don’t catch you thirsting over their son.
You’ve heard that he’s an asshole but you can fix him. You can change him. You can make him better. Who cares about the red flags when he’s as pretty as this? 
Na Jaemin looks at you with a nasty stare. Your stomach flips. He can tell you to screw off and you would walk home this very instant.
“This the girl you’re trying to set me up with this time?”
Your expression falters, but it’s fine because the way his voice just sounded can forgive the disrespect he just rendered for referring to you without even sparing you a greeting. It’s a raspy flavor, almost a mumble in his throat. One offense— you can take it for now. If he can behave for the next hour or so and prove the rumors wrong, you might actually grace your dad with approval that you’re going to give this a shot.
His mother lights up, giving him your name and a brief introduction.
“Hi. Nice to meet you,” you smile. Jaemin’s eyes stay on you for a good five seconds. This is dangerous. He shouldn’t be allowed to do that.
Heat swirls around your cheekbones, giddy from the prospect of your love life finally flourishing after all those failed matchups. If only Jaemin decided to shut up for the rest of the night, then maybe the heat in your cheeks wouldn’t have shot up into your head and triggered a nerve.
“She’s pretty cute,” he says, and you’re almost hopeful. “But I doubt she can handle me. I’m going. Don’t wait for me to come home.”
Your smile twitches. Oh. Oh, so he’s like that.
His mother tries to stop him, but Jaemin is already up, not caring about the collateral damage of clattering plates and glasses on the table from his careless movements. 
There’s no way you’re gonna let him leave like this after injuring your ego like that.
“What makes you think I can’t?”
Jaemin freezes, his back turned towards you but his neck slowly cranes, revealing the side profile of his face. His eyes are narrow when he looks at you. There’s a subtle quirk of his lips. He breaks into a scoff. “What makes you think that you can?”
God damn, if only he didn’t start acting up, you would be on your knees.
“I don’t know. You look pretty easy.”
Something tugs on the corners of his mouth, then he fully turns around, walking back up to the table. He plasters his hands on the tablecloth, slightly leaning forward that his head blocks the chandelier light and his shadow hovers over your face. “Free tomorrow?”
“I can make time.”
“Great.”
Jaemin leaves behind a choking, arid tension when he exits the booth. You look at your father who seems like he can’t choose between feeling horrifically alarmed or pleasantly surprised. Clearing your throat, you take another sip from your drink before resuming your meal. You’re sure you’re going to get indigestion, but you can’t think of another way to get your parents and his to move on from the events that just transpired.
Eventually, the tension was swallowed by the clatters of knives and saucers and conversations once again. The only conclusion you can come up with is that this time, their matchmaking failed successfully.
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It comes to you belatedly that Na Jaemin technically asked you out on a date— for genuine reasons or otherwise— yet you have no way to contact each other. He never asked for your number and your parents never mentioned anything about another dinner after last night’s concluded. You finish your classes for the day, coming to terms that you’re likely never going to see him again.
There’s likely no ill will between your parents and his despite your little squabble since the two parties invited each other for drinks and seemed at ease when you left. But during the ride home, they were unusually quiet. Usually, they would peg you with questions— what do you think about him? Isn’t he cute? You two would make a good match— and so on, but last night, they steered clear from the topic. You’re not sure if that’s a good or bad sign.
With your two friends in tow, you exit the lecture hall. “Are your photos of the slides complete?” Myung asks, holding onto your arm while Saehee struggles to keep all of her notes from flying out of her binder.
“I think I missed a few. Prof. Seo runs through the slides like crazy. I’ll ask him tomorrow for a copy of the presentation.”
It’s all idle conversation as you three walk down to the lobby. That is until Myung spots someone by the vending machines just as she’s about to grab an energy drink. She swears, “God damn it, what is he doing here?”
You follow her eyes and find her ex right across the lobby. “He’s not even from our department,” Saehee grunts, dragging the both of you to the back exit instead. “Maybe the fucker found a new fuck from our major. Let’s just go.”
While Saehee brushes you away, you manage to snag a quick glance at Myung’s ex again. She barely talked about him while they were dating. You and Saehee only found out about them after she dumped him for cheating. The guy’s name is Lee Jeno and this is the first time you’re seeing him in person.
“Their entire friend group is trash. I seriously should have known better before hooking up with him.” 
Hold on a second. You’re sure you’ve heard people utter Lee Jeno and Na Jaemin in the same sentence before. If they’re part of the same group, then that would make perfect sense. The dots stop connecting when Myung and Saehee decide to ask you about last night’s dinner to deter from any more ex-boyfriend talks. Your shitty dinner match-ups have always been a good source of trash talking, but how are you supposed to tell him that you’re expecting to go on a date with your friend’s ex’s alleged friend? 
“Uh,” you pause, caught in between the fresh breeze outside and the air conditioned surroundings of inside the building. “Well.”
You never get the chance to answer because Na Jaemin and his pretty face decides to show up right outside your building, and your blood runs cold.
Correction. His pretty face that isn’t wearing a helmet decides to show up when he zooms straight towards your department building on a motorcycle with a speed that you’re sure isn’t legal. Well, damn. At least you don’t have to hide anything from your friends. Slowly, you pick up your legs and start walking out the door.
“Fucker told me the business building was the one on the left,” he simmers, hopping off the the bike yells at you. “Let’s go. I’ve wasted enough time already.”
You blink at him. You’re about to add ‘stalker’ to his already trashy reputation, but remember that you told his mom last night about your major. Mrs. Na must have been delighted when he asked about you. You wonder if she’d still be as happy if she finds out her son drives around without a helmet on.
Speaking of motorcycle, his jacket is white today and it looks unforgivably good on him. You would continue staring, but his impatient scowl is already teetering on violence. You forget that your friends are still here, too. “Can you give me a moment?” you ask him.
“No. Hurry the fuck up and get on.”
Myung calls your name. You flash your two friends an apologetic smile before skipping over to Jaemin who’s already on the bike. I’ll explain later, you mouth. For now, you have an ego to protect. 
You look at Jaemin. Then to the seat he’s patting. Then back at him. “Are you seriously expecting me to get on that thing?”
Jaemin almost looks offended when you call his motorcycle a thing. It’s sleek black with some stickers pasted here and there, and you’re terrified of getting on it. Your fear seeps into your expression because the devil in front of you breaks out into a grin. A malicious one. “Thought you said you could handle me, pretty girl.”
He can’t just call you pretty girl and get away with it. He deserves to get his teeth punched out. “How do I get on?”
“You’re fucking hopeless.”
“You say fuck too much.”
“Just swing your left leg over and get on with it.” Following his vague instructions, you manage to get on the inevitable traffic hazard with only minimal struggle. You don’t get much of a warning— he only tells you to hold on tight before the engine revs and you scream and he suddenly speeds into the sunset-lit streets of your campus. This would be romantic if he isn’t trying to mimic a rollercoaster ride.
“Holy shit,” you wheeze through the startling whirs of the wind. “Holy shit, I think I’m gonna die.”
In retrospect, maybe you were a little too impulsive to challenge Na Jaemin without even settling the parameters on what exactly you could handle about him, but he was the one that challenged your pride first. The price of that is a threat to your life in the form of an impending motor accident. Your fists ball against his jacket when he makes a sharp u-turn in the main road and you let out another squeak.
“You’re gonna want to hold on a little tighter than that.”
So you do. To the point where the wrinkles on the front of his once crisp leather jacket make him look stupid, so he takes it off and throws it to his bike after he finally parks and gets off the damn thing. You wobble off right after him, and he’s well mannered enough to assist you— one hand on the small of your back, the other on your arm— but of course, not without laughing when you stumble after landing on the ground. “Good job.”
“Eat dirt.” He’s lucky he looks even better in a plain black tee. 
Once you recover from the fear and adrenaline, you notice that it’s already dark out and Jaemin has brought you to a cul-de-sac outside the district. Brightly lit street lamps and muddy green shrubs separate each large house up the road. There are other vehicles decorating outside the gate you’re currently standing in front of. It opens after Jaemin makes a call.
You didn’t expect your first date to be at some rich kid’s nasty party. You don’t even know whose house this is.
When you turn to look at Jaemin with the most unimpressed stare you can manage, he gives you a little simper, slinging an arm over your shoulder to force your inside. You’re welcomed by someone throwing up in the bush right by the gate. Jaemin laughs at your disgust. “Now I understand why your parents keep setting you up with people. You’re hopeless.”
“You can tap out anytime, pretty girl. I won’t stop you.”
Unfortunately for him, you’ve been to grosser frat parties so you aren’t leaving anytime soon. You evidence your conviction by tugging on his arm that’s languidly hanging over your left shoulder, letting your fingers rest on the bare skin of his forearm. “They probably have a pool out back, right? It’ll be less humid there.”
It catches him off guard. The rest of his features seem to be permanently sculpted into a resting bitch face, but his eyes easily give him away. They widen, furrow, then turn to stone once again— all in a split second with the subtlest difference between the frames. He clears his throat and shoves you off. “Do whatever you want. I’ll come get you later.”
“Where are you going?”
“Have to meet some people,” he answers vaguely. You narrow your eyes at him. “You can come with if you want to be objectified by my friends.”
“I’ll be by the pool. Bye,” you wave him off and start nosing around for their backyard entrance. 
There’s just as many people outside as there are inside and some you even recognize— sparing you a wave and a hi when you spot them— giving you the idea that the person hosting the party is probably from your university. Some people are shirtless, some are downright naked, and the grass is gross and damp from the unsanitary pool water that managed to escape. You settle on an empty beach chair and dump the unknown drink you stole earlier into a bush. You’re pretty sure that the things being exchanged here and there are less than legal. This might actually be a drug party.
This is stupid, you think to yourself. You can’t believe you’re wasting your evening in this shitslam of a place just because Na Jaemin spat on your ego a little. He even left you all by yourself. Of all your first dates, this one’s at the bottom of the list.
Suddenly, there’s a crash from inside the house. Then a yell. Then police sirens. Holy shit there’s a raid.
It takes a moment for you to react. There’s bodies shoving past you, the backyard getting more and more crowded and hysterical by the passing second and you have no idea where to go. Someone shouts your name. Your wrist is snatched and you’re getting dragged to the back fence. The back of Jaemin’s head is a blur as you struggle to keep up.
“Ow!”
Your back hits the chain wall. Jaemin crouches down. “Get up.” You look at him. He swears under his breath. “Hurry up and get up the damn fence unless you want to get arrested.”
The gravity of the situation only sinks in when he mentions an arrest, and a surge of panic buzzes underneath your skin. You step on his hands and you slowly gain height, grappling on the top of the fence as he helps you cross over. There are actual cops raiding the property. You fall to your ass and Jaemin lands beside you not long after. “Hope you know how to run, pretty girl. We need to go.”
You scramble to your feet before the piece of shit decides to leave you behind. The way Jaemin and some other runaways expertly maneuver through a patch of trees to get back into the main road makes you think that it isn’t the first time this happened. It’s a little heartwarming when Jaemin glances back at you from time to time. You’d blush if your lungs weren’t burning. Too bad he suddenly decides to throw you into an alleyway and your back hits the disgusting concrete lining.
“Hey—”
“Quiet,” he hisses, pressing his palm over your lips and looks out into the street. “Shut the fuck if you don’t want to get caught.”
There’s still the slight hum of sirens from a distance. It bothers you. It bothers you a lot. It bothers you that he looks even prettier under the molten silver light from the moonlit night sky. It bothers you that adrenaline and a little something else are fighting over which one gets to control your heart rate. It bothers you that your lips suddenly feel cold when he removes his hand when things become dead quiet— all but that thumping and ringing in your ears.
Shit. He’s perfect until he says something. His stern gaze is frozen on you, your eyes falling down to meet his tightly shut lips. You’d kiss him if he stays still for the next ten seconds. No, even five would do.
“I gotta piss.”
And there goes your infatuation. Into the garbage bin that’s less than two feet away from you. Jaemin notices that you’re staring at him as if he belongs in there. He’s unrecyclable trash. “What?” he raises a brow. “Wanna stay and watch?”
“What the hell? You’re gross and disgusting and a freaking psycho.”
He only laughs. You grimace. The bastard just suggested that you watch him take a piss and he’s laughing. Immediately, you eject yourself from the alley. Much to your relief, he doesn’t do his business in the dark and instead follows after you outside a few moments later and heads to the nearest diner in the street. 
When he returns, he’s a little surprised to see you waiting in the same spot, tapping on your phone as you lean against a light post. “What?” you ask upon his arrival. “You’re my ride home, you creep.” You could always take a taxi, but one— you don’t exactly feel safe riding a cab alone at this time of night, and two— you’re not going to give him any ideas that you were trying to run away.
Jaemin spares you a glance. You give him a questioning look. “The cops probably took my bike already.”
“You’re useless.”
“You’ve gotten pretty mouthy in less than a fucking day,” he snorts, digging his hands into his pockets before deciding to brush past you. “Wonder what else your mouth is good at.”
At this point, you’re not sure if he’s serious or just fucking with you to prove that he’s too much for you. He is. He’s way too much and you can’t decide if you want to make out with him or kick him in the balls.
So you decide to get even.
“Hey, Jaemin!” you jog up to him, going as far as to block his way when he doesn’t stop for you. He only gives you a blank, half-lidded stare. “It’s my turn tomorrow. Meet me at the park at 8 a.m. or I’ll consider you a pussy. Oh yeah, and give me your number.”
“The fuck?”
“I said I could handle you,” you grin, lifting your phone up and giving it a little shake. “I did pretty well today, dontcha think?”
“Get to the point.”
“I mean, maybe you’re not up for the same challenge?”
Before you could blink, your phone is snatched from your hands. You think your phone screen might break with how aggressively he types in his number. You try not to smile too widely because you might look like too much of a maniac. “You’re pretty funny, you know that?” he tosses back your phone. “Just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, pretty girl.”
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When you call Jaemin at 8:04 a.m. asking where he is, he very kindly curses into your ear through the speaker, telling you to “piss off and let me fucking sleep, god fucking damn it,” before ending the call. You have to admit, it had you tempted to call him again— his voice in the early hours of the morning does wonders to the soul, and it nearly forgave him for swearing at you this time. But that would risk him not showing him up at all and that would put your itinerary to a waste. You wait at the park for another hour before he shows up in a matching pair of sweats. He looks like he’s just about to get into a gang fight instead of a date when he approaches you.
“You better have a good fucking reason for calling me out this early.”
“It’s nine-thirty.”
“I didn’t ask for the time.”
“You just wasted a good hour for us to study. Hurry up, let’s go to the library.”
No, you’re not trying to “fix” Na Jaemin by making him do good things. You’re not his therapist. You’re trying to put him through the same shit he did to you last night. Hope he enjoys behaving in the library for four hours. If he leaves before you let him, you’re never going to let him forget how much of a loser he is for not being able to handle an innocent library date.
It’s ten o’clock when Jaemin’s fuse starts to ignite. You even made sure to sit near the children’s section as another control mechanism to prevent him from doing or saying heinous shit, but you’re not sure how effective it is because his resting bitch face is scaring all the children.
“What are you thinking about, Jaemin?” you lazily ask, switching to the next page of your textbook. Attitude is important when negotiating with clients, you mentally read, running your bright neon highlighter on the word ‘attitude.’
“Thinking about how much you’re wasting my fucking time.”
You click your tongue. He seriously needs to work on his manners. “You act like you’re hot shit but can’t even study for an hour. What a fucking loser.”
That was a gamble. Sure, you’ve yelled at him and called him names before, but you’re not sure how well he’d take you actually swearing at him, but you want to push as many buttons as you can. You flinch when you look up from your textbook. He looks like he’s seconds away from punching you in the nose with how intense his eyes are staring you down. You take a hard swallow, nervously pressing your lips together as you slowly return to your notes to avoid his terrifying gaze. When you click the butt of your pen to jot down some notes, he snatches your pad and a ripping sound breaks your shock. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with him?
You’re about to swear at him for real this time, but your notepad is tossed back at you in less than a moment. Jaemin is grumbling curses as he rummages through your pencil case. “What’s the point of all your money if you can’t buy another pen that works?” You’re supposed to be the one mad at him, why is he scolding you?
Like your notepad, Jaemin tosses back your pencil case after he finds a working mechanical pencil. There’s now a mess on the table but he seems unbothered when he places his phone next to the sheet of paper he stole from you, tapping on the screen before he starts scribbling things down.
“What are you doing?” you snatch a glance at his paper. You can’t read his writing upside down.
“What else would I be doing at a goddamned library?”
Holy crap, it worked. “What’s your major?” you ask, scooting your chair a little closer to the table in a tangible burst of excitement from your success.
“Applied math,” he replies blandly. 
The next thirty minutes remain quiet, save for the occasional grunts and grumbles from your study partner as he continues writing, until he asks you for another sheet of paper. Jesus. Oh no. He instantly became hotter. Jaemin’s posture is laid back as he goes through what you assume are math problems, wrist flicking at the stroke of the pen with ease. His eyes are steady on the table, expression more relaxed. Mrs. Na would be sending wedding invitations if she sees how you managed to tame her son. You’re getting distracted from your own work and Jaemin notices.
“The hell are you staring at?”
“You’re prettier with your mouth shut.”
The words leave your lips without thinking and you’re doomed to suffer from the consequences of your thoughtless actions in the very next moment.
Jaemin gives you a flat look. Your heart races. Oh no. The next moment he opens his mouth, you’re horrified. He utters the most heinous, most obscene combination of words you’ve ever heard and your brain can’t even process it to repeat it. He breaks into a victorious grin which shouldn’t be so god damned attractive after scarring your ears. You want to punch him in the jaw but you’re already being ushered out of the library. You forgot that you were sitting by the kid’s section and the bastard’s nasty, disgusting mouth was a little too loud.
Now, the both of you are standing in front of the library right after getting kicked out.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you jab your index finger to his chest, evidently bewildered. “No, seriously. What the fuck? Are you insane?”
He only replies with a smug look. You really want to punch him. “My library membership could’ve been revoked, you little shit. This is the only good place to study near uni! You’re lucky they let us off with a warning.” Jaemin clearly doesn’t give a damn. He even looks like he’s enjoying your outburst. You let out an exasperated groan.
“Suck it up, pretty girl. You should have seen it coming when you said that.” He’s in a better mood than earlier this morning and it pisses you off even more. Your bitterness is probably seeping into our expression because Jaemin laughs when he glances down at you. He stretches your frown by giving you a pinch on the cheek. “Is that all you have in store? Are you done for today?”
You smack his hand off, shooting him a glare. You’re far from done. You’re going to give the devil hell.
“Let’s have lunch first,” you offer. Jaemin shrugs and follows your lead as you walk downtown. For a pissy rich boy, he doesn’t throw a fit when you mention a hole-in-the-wall pho restaurant by the intersection, but that’s fine. You have other plans for him. The opportunity to conduct it presents itself as you’re both walking down the sidewalk on the way to the restaurant, and your eyes gloss over to his left hand— the hand nearest to you— slightly swinging back and forth in tune with his large strides. Slowly, you reach down to grab his hand. The moment your thumb brushes against the warmth of his skin, he snatches it back. Abruptly.
You look at him, shocked. Jaemin tries to give you his signature look of contempt but miserably fails because his ears are pink and he’s clutching his fist to his chest as if it just barely survived from getting amputated. He must have noticed how weird he reacted, so he clears his throat and drops his hand back down. “Now, where the fuck is this sketchy pho place?”
Oh my god. You just discovered his weakness. This is a bonus.
“Across the street and we make a right,” you reply, making sure your unreasonable excitement isn’t too obvious.
Jaemin is evidently suspicious. You make it to the restaurant, receive your orders, and start eating without a hitch and all throughout Jaemin has been stealing narrow-eyed glances at you. Your chopsticks innocently clatter against the bowl as you finish your meal. When Jaemin finally lowers his guard, you tap a finger on the back of his hand and he pulls back, a little less panicked this time and he sends you a semi-confused glare. For someone who suggested that you watch him piss, he sure has the gall to act scandalized when you’re just innocently trying to hold his hand. 
“Calm down, pretty boy. I’m not trying to make a move on you. I just want to check something.”
You don’t give him the opportunity to retreat this time when you snatch his hand from the table. Your thumb traces over his fingertips, slowly following the crescents of his nails. Jaemin’s ears are pink again when you look at him. “You need a manicure,” you declare. He pries himself off and gets up.
“Hey, wait up!” 
Your shirt catches on the seat so you stumble, a loud noise following your quick response to chase after him, which inadvertently causes Jaemin to turn around and gives you an opportunity to catch up to him. “I already booked a nail appointment while we were waiting for the food,” you announce, latching onto his arm so he doesn’t run off. He doesn’t look too happy when you snatch a glance of his face. You give him a bright smile. “You don’t have your bike with you, right? That’s fine. The mall is just a few blocks away.”
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Just yesterday, you were so inclined to believe all the rumors surrounding Na Jaemin about his shitty personality and violent tendencies. The first one, there is no doubt. His personality and foul mouth can’t even be compared to the toilet seat of a dingy bar, but the second part seems a bit far-fetched— especially when you’re watching as his ring finger gets drawn with a cat head silhouette in white against the matching black paint of the rest of his nails. 
“Wow. That looks like you.”
“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up?”
When he sat down in front of the nail tech after your turn, he got complimented that his nails were pretty well maintained. He shot you a nasty look after that. Maybe you did lie about his nails needing fixing just to get him less fussy about your suggestion, but hey, it worked. You’re cooing at the silver glitter on his middle finger next. His knuckles twitch. When his nails finish curing, he grabs you by the arm and drags you to the counter, pays, and continues dragging you out the nail shop and into the mall lobby,
Jaemin has his nose scrunched. “Any longer I thought I would’ve gotten high off acetone. How do you stand that shit?”
“By imagining how pretty my nails would be after the session.” You flash the back of your hand, showing off your new french tips. He only rolls his eyes and starts heading to a direction— the exit, presumably— and you trail after him. “Are you sulking that I’m not complimenting your manicure? Your nails are really cute. They suit you very well. I wonder who picked the design.”
Na Jaemin really isn’t all that bad if you can get past his resting bitch face and colorful choice of words. He doesn’t complain when you stop by half a dozen kiosks because of the cute accessories that catch your eye. He even helps you choose a new barrette by saying “that one looks fucking ugly,” right in front of the store owner. You decide that’s enough shopping for today and start heading out, but upon seeing the Gong Cha stall right by the doors, your cravings got the best of you.
“Taro smoothie. 100% sugar. I’ll wait outside. I need a fucking smoke.”
See, he can’t be that bad when he drinks raw sugar through a straw. He takes the paper bag that housed the barrette you bought and disappears outside. Maybe it’s not the most ideal time to reconsider your opinion of Jaemin while you’re waiting for your orders, but at this point you’re really questioning the merit of the severe rumors weighed against him. Then again, you did believe those rumors upon first impression, so you aren’t any better. If only he tries to care a little more about his reputation, but from the limited time you’ve spent with him, you’re sure he gives less than damn about whatever people are saying about him.
Jaemin walks in one, straight line and only makes way for others when he wants to. The plastic bag of his taro smoothie and your drink adds weight to you. You stop trying to figure him out and start looking for him instead. He says he’ll be waiting outside but he’s nowhere in your line of sight when you step out the mall. Then it dawns on you.
He just ditched you. You give him a call and the line ends without an answer. Your mood sinks along with the sun, slowly setting from a pale orange to a rich blue violet. In other words, you feel like crap.
This is enough second guessing. All those rumors are true— he’s a fucking dick. It shouldn’t be all that surprising considering he swears at you every time he opens his mouth and he’s friends with the bastard that cheated on Myung. You don’t even know why you questioned it all in the first place. 
You’re livid. You stomp to the edge of the mall right by the parking lot, his sugar injected smoothie in hand, and the sky mellows darker. The lights lining the side of the large building light up. The cup threatens to explode from your grip.
When you reach the garbage bins, the drink slips from your hand. It doesn’t fall into the bin; it prematurely splatters against the concrete, a light purple sludge melting into the floor accompanied by gasp stifling from your throat.
There’s a fist fight in the parking lot.
There was a fist fight. Three bodies are already passed out and purple on the dirty freaking ground.
C—rack!
There are still two more people in the lot, but you can tell that the fight is already over. It’s a one-sided assault ending with Jaemin’s fist colliding against the limp individual’s nose with a sound that makes you wince. Holy shit, this is brutal.
“That it? Pussy ass bitch, couldn’t even take three punches. Hah.”
Jaemin releases his balled fist on the guy’s collar and drops him to the ground. He staggers, nearly stumbling down himself, but his back hits a nearby car and he slides down to the floor with a heavy wheeze. It’s only now that Jaemin notices your presence. There’s a manic shift in his gaze when he meets your eyes. “Shit, why are you—”
The aftermath of his fight drags him back down to the dusty concrete when he tries to pull himself up. You walk to him, crouching down when you reach him, and feel a lump in your throat when you finally take a good look at him. There’s a bruise under his left eye, more on his jaw and, matched with a gash on his forehead and a split lip that was still modeled into an intimidating grimace even when just got the shit beaten out of him. You click your tongue in disappointment.
“Your face is the only thing you’ve got going for you, but you can’t even take care of it.” He breathes out a swear when your fingers squeeze his cheeks to check if he had any more injuries. You’re sure there’s more under his clothes, but that would toe the line of propriety. Jaemin winces. You feel a pang inside your ribcage. “Get up, troublemaker. Let’s get you fixed up.”
He releases a groan when you help him up, and it takes you a moment to adjust to his weight. There’s no way that the security guards will let you back into the mall with a battered man in tow, so you ask him if he doesn’t mind walking to the nearest 7-Eleven. His reply is a mere grunt so you take it as a yes. 
Jaemin is leaned against you, arm over your shoulder which you hold in place, fixing your other hand around his waist as you begin your arduous journey to the damned convenience store before any passerby walks in on the incriminating scene you two leave behind. Your senses are attacked by a mix of cigarette smoke and sweat with a twinge of blood and oddly enough, it doesn’t make you gag. 
It’s a five minute walk. You drop him on one of the empty tables in front of the store before entering to pick up a water bottle, some bandages, disinfectant, towels, ointments, and a bag of peas. The last one, you throw at him when you get back out. “So,” you pull out the chair next to him and plop down with crossed arms. “What happened?”
Jaemin silently wraps a towel around the cold bag and presses it on his jaw. You jerk your foot, kicking him in the knee. There’s a sharp hiss and he drops the sad, damp, lumpy towel on his lap. “What the fuck?”
“How the hell did you manage to get into a bloody fight while I was ordering milk tea?!” you snapped. “Did they insult you? Did they make fun of your nails? Were they picking a fight because your nails are cuter than—”
“They looked at me.”
You blink. 
“I’m sorry?”
“Fuckers were looking at me for too long and it pissed me off,” he sneered. He’s already recovered the bag of peas and he has it fixed on the right side of his face. “Acted like hot shit when they couldn’t get in enough hits to make my nose bl— fuck you!”
“Shut your mouth for a sec.” You decide his swelling has gone down enough so you push his hand away and roughly pull his face closer by the jaw. He’s actually insane. Even more insane than the rumors painted him to be. 
You wet the towel with the water you bought, using the damp cloth to wipe away the dried up blood splotching areas of his face. You don’t understand how he’s still attractive even with a busted lip and an almost black eye. In fact, it even adds to his whole ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ vibe. This shouldn’t be legal. “Do you usually start swinging every time someone looks at you the wrong way?”
He scoffs. “They’re asking for it.”
“What about me?”
You let go of his face and take the ointment from the pile, squeezing a dollop on your finger and scooting your chair closer towards him. “I stared you down the first time we met,” you say. The cut on his forehead isn’t too big, but you think it still needs a band-aid. “Why didn’t you beat the lights out of me then?”
It’s hard not to notice the intensity of Jaemin’s stare when you apply the ointment on his cut. It feels like he’s burning through you. You swallow, noticing how much of his space you’ve invaded, so you pull back but are preemptively stopped when you catch his gaze. There’s a heavy thump in your chest. You feel the warmth of his fingers curling around your wrist, prompting you to notice that your other hand has been firm on his shoulder from when you were putting on the medicine. 
“Because,” he starts. “You’re a lot prettier when you look at me like you want to kick my ass.”
You continue to stare at him, lips pressed into a thin line. He breathes out a grin.
“You’re a fucked up little bastard, you know that?”
“Even more pretty when you talk shit.”
“I think you have a concussion.” You finally bring yourself to move away, ignoring the heat on your cheek bones as you clumsily dig into the pile of first aid to fish out a band-aid. Holy shit, you muffle out a breath. This is too much. This is out of line. He’s not trying to one-up you anymore. He’s trying to kill you.
“You’re crap at this,” he points out while you’re struggling to keep your hand from shaking too much because you still have to apply ointment on his busted freaking lip. Why did he have to get hit there? Why are your fingers twitching every time you feel his hot breath on your fingertips?
“Well, I’m sorry for never getting into a fist fight before,” you huff. “If you’re such an expert, then do it yourself.”
You shouldn’t have said that. You really shouldn’t have because Jaemin grabs your hand as if he hadn’t been avoiding yours since earlier, firmly positioned, and then you feel his plush lips against your two pressed fingers, a warm jolt pooling into thin skin as your fingers glide along the cut.
It’s been two days since you’ve met him and he’s already driving you insane. You squeak and pull back your hand in a flurry. There’s a layer of white glaze covering the deep red slit on his lips. Jaemin gives you a wide grin for the first time and he breaks into a short laugh— just when you think he couldn’t drive you over the edge any further.
But you can’t admit any of your inner turmoil out loud, else you’d be admitting defeat. You decide that you’ve finally reached your quota of weird hand holding for the day, but you regrettably manage to catch a glimpse of his knuckles, painted with red blotches and purpling edges. “You’re hopeless.”
“I didn’t notice,” he admits, and you clean the small wounds on his hands just as you did with his face, tracing over his vein lines and the contours of his skeleton while plastering bandages wherever you see fit, which earns you another insult about your shitty first-aid skills. 
His newly painted nails have some dried blood on them. Gross.
“Is it my turn tomorrow?”
To be honest, you haven’t been expecting a third date. It’s either Jaemin is that determined to have you admitting he’s something you can’t handle, or you’ve managed to get under his skin just as much as he has with you.
“Yeah,” you reply. Whatever the reason is— it doesn’t matter as long as you have the excuse to keep seeing him. “It’s your turn. Better prepare something worth my while, pretty boy.”
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Jaemin’s turn doesn’t come until Friday because you completely forgot that you still have to review for an exam on Monday. When you texted him about it, he didn’t seem pissy. Good thing because you were going to remind him that it’s his fault anyway for getting you kicked out of the library. He sent a semi-threatening message to make sure that you’ll free yourself on Friday evening, followed by ‘good luck on the quiz, pretty girl,’ which is just fantastic. You’ve been given mixed signals before but he’s on a completely different level.
Walking to your classroom for Intermediate Algebra leads you to the precipice of guilt knowing that you still are yet to talk to Myung and Saehee about Jaemin. You intentionally arrive early to get some last minute review sprints in, as well as to figure out how you should apologize to Myung for getting involved with her cheating ex’s close friend.
“That’s not what I’m upset about. Hell, I’m not even upset at all about that. Honey, you’ve heard that Na Jaemin is a piece of shit, why the heck are you going out with him?”
“He’s not that bad!” you defend, but quickly backtrack. “Well. Not entirely. And he’s the one my parents are trying to set me up with. I’ve known him for less than a week and it isn’t that serious so you don’t have to worry. I’m breaking it off soon.”
“You usually call quits the day after, though?” Saehee questions. “Why are you still meeting him at the end of the week?”
“To prove a point.” You know full well that that’s not entirely true anymore, but your friends would never understand why you’re attracted to an asshole such as him, anyway (neither did you), so you decide to spare them the headache.
Myung and Saehee look at each other, knowing full well that you’re way too stubborn and prideful for your own good. They cut the interrogation short, just before your professor enters. “Please give us a call or text immediately if you think he’s taking you somewhere sketchy. I just can’t trust the guy,” they tell you. You neither call nor text when Friday comes and Jaemin takes you on his motorcycle to another seemingly illegal venue. You’re starting to become convinced that his ideas for dates are synonymous to potential police chases.
“I thought your bike got confiscated last week,” you ask, hopping off of the vehicle with his assistance. Your voice is muffled by the helmet he threw on your head. You struggle to get it off.
“Got a new one.” He takes the helmet off for you, mindlessly tugging on the areas where your hair got winded up, trying to untangle them. “You like it?”
“I honestly can’t tell the difference.”
Jaemin pats your head to commemorate his handiwork and it’s honestly the gentlest he’s ever been with you, but you can’t even appreciate it because you’re parked at the edge of dingy freeway in the middle of nowhere and there’s not enough streetlights to see beyond twelve feet away into the road. “Good, because you’ll be seeing me riding a different bad boy tonight.”
“What?”
The quiet of the night is interrupted by the sound of a car slowly entering the parameters, its headlights bringing in another source of light into the dark field. You’re not sure if the vehicle is actually heading towards you two, but its windows suddenly roll down when it draws nearer, and a head emerges from the passenger seat. “Get in, dipshit!” the ashy mop of hair yells. Jaemin shoots up a middle finger. 
Your hair flutters when the car makes an abrupt stop before the both of you. There’s a click and the passenger seat flings open. “You didn’t say anything about bringing a plus one, you bitch.”
“Shut the fuck and help me load this thing in the back.”
“What the hell? Jaemin, what is this?” 
“A ride,” he simply replies. You look at him incredulously as he and the other guy throw his motorcycle in the back of the pickup truck.
“What’s the point when you already have a bike?”
Jaemin finds his spot next to you again, only to nudge you towards the vehicle. “Can’t have you all out in the open when we arrive. You obviously look out of place and that’s just painting a fucking target on your back,” he points his chin to the now open door, signaling you to get in. 
He keeps the door open. There’s a blank look on his face, but your eyebrows are still knitted in from the lack of understanding. The dots are refusing to connect. “At least tell me where we’re going?”
“Wherever it is, I’m sure you can handle it, pretty girl.” You flinch a little when he leans forward. “Can’t you?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” You jump even harder when someone shoves past you and the look on Jaemin’s face suddenly drops into a scowl. “Continue flirting or fucking or whatever inside the car. It’s fucking cold out, jeez.”
“Fuck off,” Jaemin spits, and roughly pushes you into the car. Good god, you’re not sure if you’re gonna make it the entire night. When Jaemin gets in, he gives the passenger seat a hard kick and you’re sure he just broke something. You look at him, wide-eyed. He just laughs when his friend(?) reacts with a loud curse.
“If you’re gonna fight, do it outside.” You hear the one on the driver’s seat speak for the first time and with his announcement, he starts the car without warning. You catch a glimpse of some of his features from the rear view mirror, and you feel the rest of your organs sinking into your stomach when you realize just whose car you’re in right now. 
“Aren’t you the piece of shit that cheated on Myung?”
You feel all three of their eyes on you, and you catch Lee Jeno’s through the same mirror. “Oh, you know her?”
“She’s my friend, asshole.”
“So, what? Want me to apologize?” His tone is mocking you. If the previous events weren’t enough to piss you off, then this is the mark that sets you off. Jaemin inspired you. You kick the driver’s seat. The car suddenly swerves a little too dangerously close to the edge of the road.
“Fuck!”
“Holy shit, man. Your girl is nuts,” passenger seat breathes out after Jeno recovers back to safety. He turns around to face you. “I’m Haechan. You three already seem to know each other so I’m feeling a little left out.”
“I’d say it’s nice to meet you but I’m kind of in a shitty mood right now to lie.”
“Wow. So charming. No wonder Jaemin’s cucked.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Another kick from Jaemin sets off Jeno’s driving again, and little did you know that this isn’t the most dangerous vehicular situation you’ll be witnessing tonight. The ride is short, and it’s filled by Haechan’s one-sided chatter until you reach what you think is your destination. 
Jeno stops at a place that looks no different from where you came from, except for the large crowd that’s gathering on the road that he would have run over had they not given way (read: scrambled and ran) to give him space to park. You’re convinced that you’re inside a car with less than normal people, but you’re not one to talk when you’re in here with them.
They exit the vehicle without waiting for you, so you quickly follow after them into the tight crowd. You tug on Jaemin’s sleeve when you manage to catch up. He pulls his arm away only to retrieve your arm without looking back, bulldozing into the epicenter of bodies with you in tow. “Will you finally explain what’s going on?” you ask with shallow breaths after you’ve finally emerged from the crowd.
“It’s street racing, baby!” Haechan butts in, and your eyes follow him as he moves further into the middle of the crowd. You finally find out what they’re all looking at. A line of eight multicolored motorcycles are stationed in front of a makeshift starting line. All of the bikes either already have a driver on them, or have someone tinkering with the vehicle. “My money’s on your boyfriend. Give him a kiss good luck so I can get my money’s worth.”
Your eyes frantically snap at Jaemin. He’s already left your side, walking up to the guy with the purple motorcycle and they talk a bit. You run after him fast enough to catch a glimpse of their conversation. The other guy told him that he was a piece of shit for demanding upgrades last minute. He leaves after Jaemin gives him a hard pat on the back. You lock eyes with him when you intersect.
“Why do you have so many bikes?” He gives you a grin. You’re unimpressed.
“They all serve different purposes, pretty girl. S’not like I can take you around with this monster.” You look at the ‘monster,’ and it definitely looks different from the one that he left at the police raid and the one in the back of Jeno’s car. You’re not an expert on vehicle breeds, so you don’t bother to understand what he means, but you know one thing for certain.
“Isn’t that, kind of like, dangerous?”
The corner of his lip twitches. He leans down a little and asks, “Scared I’ll get hurt?” 
“No, I’m just worried you’ll fuck up your face again.”
“Is my face the only reason you’re sticking around me?”
“Stay alive to find out,” you jab your finger into his forehead. “If you finish without a scratch, I might just give you an extra turn.”
Jaemin grabs your wrist and pulls it down, but doesn’t let go. Instead, he used it to jerk you forward. You stumble into his chest and he looks down at you with an annoyingly attractive smile. “Looking forward to it, pretty girl.” 
You thought he was hot even when he wore a permanent constipated expression on his face, but this opened you to a whole new world. You can feel your balance slipping away. Your knees are jelly. He takes advantage of that and pushes you back with ease, a firm grip on both of your shoulders until he signals Haechan to take you away unless you want to get run over. 
“Stop eye fucking him, it’s gross.” 
You ignore him. Your attention is pulled, lured into a single subject. Jaemin’s on the bike now, his hands positioned on the handles. There’s so much noise rupturing around you and the smell of oil and attacks the other end of your senses. Your eyes can’t even catch up to the scene. There’s a bang and you cough with your eyes stinging from the burst of smoke. The cheers scream louder. When you regain your vision, he’s already gone.
“Alright, time to go back, princess. You can wait for him in the car.”
“That’s it? Can’t you like, actually watch them?”
“Babe, you think this whole jig has cameras set up around? There’s a bunch of people watching at different spots of the circuit. If you’re lucky, someone might snag a picture or tweet that two guys crashed into each other and exploded.”
You wince. The only benchmark you have on Jaemin’s driving skills are two separate occasions with one feeling like a horizontal gyro drop and earlier— which wasn’t any better. The fear that suddenly shoots into your bloodstream brings you to a halt. 
“Relax. Jaem’s been doing this for a couple of months now and he hasn’t died yet.”
“Do you guys come here often?” you ask. The both of you arrive at Jeno’s pick-up. He’s leaned against the vehicle and busy on his phone, and seeing his face suddenly melts your anxieties away, replacing it with annoyance. He takes your hostility pretty well and retreats into his car.
“Once or twice a month,” Haechan replies, helping you into the cargo bed. There’s very little space with Jaemin’s other bike squeezed in along with an ice box in the corner, so he decides to sit on the ledge. “Last time there was a raid so operations had to stop for a while. That’s why there’s more people than usual today.”
From congregating in the middle of the road, the audience is now scattered all over the venue, clustered into their own groups while waiting for the racers to make their way back. Some ran after the bikes, thinking they could keep up with the illegal modified vehicles’ speed. It’s dim— just barely a few street bulbs on and some fairy lights hung strewn around a couple other cars in the field. You catch a familiar face in the crowd— the guy Jaemin was talking to earlier about his new bike— and you notice that he’s actually walking up to you. You blink when he crosses his arms over the cargo ledge, looking up at you.
“Were you the one who got Jaemin to paint his nails?”
“Uh, yes?”
He gives you a thumbs up. “Respect.”
You’re not sure what just happened. Haechan slips into the conversation, swiftly throwing an arm over your shoulder and both your cheeks are squished together. You squint your eyes at him. He greets the other guy with a volume that causes you to wince. “Let me introduce you to each other. This is Renjun. Renjun, this is…?”
You tell them your name, not even the slightest bit surprised that Jaemin hasn’t mentioned it to them. Or maybe he has and they just don’t care enough to remember. Both seem equally plausible. Your attention returns to Renjun. He gives you a wave of acknowledgement before proceeding to tell Haechan that if he doesn’t turn in his part for their project by midnight, he’ll get his name removed. “Oh, come on. Cut me some slack, Junnie. You’re acting like we haven’t been through shit together.”
“You’re the one who keeps putting me through shit, Haechan,” Renjun deadpans. “Anyway, nice to meet you. If you know what’s good for you, you should dump Jaemin by tonight. See you around.”
Renjun disappears into the crowd after giving you his friendly advice. You already know that most people wouldn’t approve of your involvement with Jaemin, but you never expected his friend to say the same thing to you. It leaves a bitter taste on your tongue, but of course it’s not going to deter you. In fact, it just makes you all the more determined to make things work with Jaemin— not caring if that’s a good idea or a terrible one.
You turn to Haechan. He’s digging into the cooler and pulls out a can of cheap beer. “How long have you guys been friends?” you ask him. The drink doesn’t reach his lips.
“Gross. Ew. That’s disgusting, don’t ever ask me that again,” he grimaces. “But I’ve known your boyfriend since we were in primary school.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Yeah, and you’re not waiting for his sweaty ass to cross the finish line so you can have a celebratory makeout session. Hey, turn off the glare. Loosen up and have a drink.”
Haechan tosses you another can from the box. You stare at the beverage, ice cold in your hands. You made a vow. You said you’ll never drink again, but from the hour you’ve met Haechan, you’re sure he’s gonna make fun of you for not drinking and he’s gonna rat out your ass to Jaemin. If you have to make a decision, you’ll choose preserving your pride over anything. One can and that’s it.
The burning sensation in your throat feels foreign and you bite back a grimace. You should have known a year of abstinence was gonna hit hard.
“Was Jaemin any different when you were kids?”
“You asking if he’s always been an asshole?” Haechan raises a brow. “Fucker framed me for breaking the vase at Jeno’s place when we were like ten and tried to push me down the stairs as a joke. He stirs up shit all the time but makes sure to hide his dirt from his parents. But the one thing he can’t hide is his personality. So, yes. He’s always been a dick.”
You snort at the thought of tiny Jaemin being the devil incarnate, mindlessly taking another sip of beer. If he’s always been the same, you wonder if it’s already impossible for him to outgrow his nasty tendencies. “Does he also really get provoked when people look at him for too long?” you throw another question. Haechan doesn’t seem to mind.
“Ever seen me looking directly at him the entire night?” he replies. “He’s crazy. Not even Jeno can look him in the eye for more than five seconds before he starts sweating. I’ve already spread rumors around uni that looking at him is like deliberately walking in front of a speeding train, but people take it as an invitation to test it. Take Junho hyung, for example. He got out with a broken nose and fractured arm.”
So that’s what happened. Jaemin definitely isn’t guilt free but your senior practically walked into the bear cage voluntarily. You’re learning new things about him when he’s not even here. You make a mental note to treat Haechan to lunch out sometime.
“Jaemin’s straightforward and simple. He does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and doesn’t bend for anyone. But you don’t seem bothered by his attitude. Maybe because he’s nicer to you.”
“He’s brought me to two dates and so far both have been illegal.”
“That’s romance for you, baby,” he shoots you a wink with matching finger guns. You roll your eyes, feeling the alcohol starting to settle in your system and you’re sure you’re starting to get tipsy. Your tolerance has been completely trashed and this should have been a sign to stop drinking, but Haechan tosses you another can when he notices that yours is now empty.
With alcohol in the mix, your head is starting to go to different places. Haechan says that Jaemin doesn’t bend for anyone. It’s true for the most part, but he showed up at the park when you asked him to and even agreed to get his nails done. The amount of times you’ve looked him straight in the eye should be equivalent to at least two dozen beatings, but all he’s ever done is lightly shove you around and press your fingers to his lips like a jackass.
Your eyes widen. It’s past ten o’clock but you can feel the heat of the sun on your face.
Shit. What if he likes you?
“Oh, fuck. Hey. You’re gonna want to see this.”
Haechan had been on his phone the entire time you were doing mental gymnastics and flashes you the screen. It’s a blurry video. It’s a blurry video of Jaemin overtaking two guys at once and you can feel the violent tantrum inside your chest barrelling even louder, rougher, when the camera finally focuses and you can see the clear cut of his silhouette before he disappears again in a flash. Your head instinctively follows his phone when he snatches it back, and your cheek bumps into his shoulder.
Haechan cackles. “Can’t believe you’re hammered already.” You shoot him a glare and finish your second can, quickly moving on to the third. Your head fuzzes even more by the second, and as you feel the burn of cheap beer in your throat, your mind starts to wander again.
You can’t think of any other reason why he’d be making exceptions. It’s either he likes you or is shifting his attitude to get you to admit that he is too much for you to handle, but that’s sort of a reach, right? You’ve made a decision. Yes. You’re going to ask him once he’s done with the race. There’s a sudden stampede towards the street and the slow build-up of pandemonium meaning that they’re almost here. 
You stumble when you try to stand up, and your throat starts to dry up like sand. You push off Haechan who tries to help you up, but everyone is already running to watch them by the finish line and you don’t want to be a second late. The thought of seeing his face after the conclusion you’ve just made makes your head spin.
But you don’t get to see him race past the finish line. By the end of your third drink, you black out.
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Regret comes crashing in the form of blinding lights through an uncurtained window. You wince at the sharp attack on your senses, making the dull throbbing in your head feel even worse, so you sink further under the covers to block the light.
Wait. Covers?
“Morning, pretty girl.”
You jolt up and almost immediately regret it. If your headache isn’t enough to kill you, then your embarrassment will. You grace Jaemin with a horrified look. He’s by the doorframe, arms crossed and blankly staring. It hits you that this isn't your room. It hits you the second time that these aren’t your clothes.
“Did— did something happen between us?”
He doesn’t reply immediately. Jaemin takes a moment to enjoy the look of panic in your face and manages a short, quiet laugh before walking towards the bed. He settles on the right side of the mattress, covering the light leaking through the window glass and leans forward. His arm serves as a barricade, preventing you from bouncing up and running away in nervousness. The throbbing in your head is deafened by your heartbeat. 
“If you consider you puking your guts out all over me last night as ‘something happening,’ then, yeah. A lot happened. Good to see you’re still alive.”
You wait for him to take it back and say he’s kidding, but he doesn’t. Your face pales. You shouldn’t have drank. You really shouldn’t have and now you’re reaping the consequences of internalized pressure and pride. You want to bury yourself alive but you can’t throw out all of your dignity just yet. You’re going to pathetically hold onto it until the very end,
“Don’t give me that look. Jeno called your friend when we got to the apartment and she helped me clean you up. She’s the one that gave you a shower and changed your clothes. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
On second thought, you’re actually ruined now. You curl into the bedsheets. You indirectly caused Myung to talk to her shitty ex-boyfriend again to mop up your messy ass because you were with a guy she didn’t approve of. This warrants more than an apology. You should get on your knees and beg her to take you back in as a friend
“I’m a terrible person and I don’t deserve to live.”
“Stop fucking whining and drink some water.” You’re not sure how long the glass of water on his bedside table has been waiting, but he picks it up and shoves it to your face until your nearly dead limbs take it from him. “Haechan told me you passed out after three cans. You should’ve told me you couldn’t drink for shit.”
“I haven’t had any alcohol for over a year,” you shoot him a glare before bringing the glass to your lips.   
“Are you allergic or something?”
“No. Just parental trauma.” Jaemin gives you a look. You immediately clarify. “It’s not like that. My dad has a really embarrassing drinking habit and I vowed to stop drinking because I didn’t want to end up like him. Turns out I’m worse.”
“You’re fine,” he assures, taking the now emptied glass with one hand while he uses the other to wipe your mouth. “You didn’t get any on my hair, at least.”
There’s a conflict of interest and your brain is waging a war against itself. How dare he make your heart flutter and immediately make you want to bury yourself alive in the next second. He’s terrible. “Look. I’m sorry. I know. Please stop talking about that now.”
“You threw up in the doorway and in my shower.”
“I said shut the fuck up, asshole.”
Something in his eyes flickers, almost as if you flipped a switch on him. The air gets knocked out of your chest when your back hits the mattress, a gasp slipping out of you. You recall what he said to you the other night, when his brain was all messed up after getting a few too many punches in the head— even more pretty when you talk shit, he said. Those words in his voice ring inside your ears when you face him wide eyed as he’s practically pinning you against the bed. Maybe he was actually serious when he said that. He looks like he would eat you up. 
“It’s not like I’m actively being a dick, pretty girl. I just like being myself.” His voice comes off as a rumble. Your right hand twitches but it can’t move— he’s got his fingers clasped around yours and you swallow hard when he squeezes them tighter. “And I was pretty damn nice to you last night. You’re still pretty when you’re shitfaced and fucked over.”
Things are starting to click. Coming from a life of privilege and power since he was born, Jaemin must have been doing whatever he wanted his whole life without any significant consequences. The both of you might have similar backgrounds, but when you were younger, your parents used to be a lot stricter, a lot more imposing. They’ve become more lenient as you grew up, of course, but they still instilled a level of control over you to this day. When you and him first met, they forced you to come. His parents simply hoped that he would show up.
He did. But he showed up on his own terms and left in the same manner. You’re starting to understand him better. Still, understanding doesn’t mean condoning that he has, admittedly, been a total piece of shit at times. And knowing the reasons for his behavior doesn’t mean knowing how to fix it. Sometimes he would bend his ego and listen to you, but that doesn’t warrant a complete shift in his principles, either.
Well, that’s not your problem and you’re not sure if it is even a problem. You’re not here to fix him. 
“I know,” you tell him. “Thanks for taking care of me, Jaemin.”
You’re here to have a good time and he’s giving you a lot of it. It doesn’t really matter when he makes every second with him feel like you’re riding on quicksand and taming rabid fires. He’s turned the thing you hated into something you’re thankful for with his own two hands by being the terrible person that he is.
“You should be grateful.” He lets you off with an innocent pinch on your nose right after looking at you for a good few minutes as if he would actually devour you alive. Jaemin pulls himself back, a familiar shade of pink coloring his ears and neck. “Your clothes are still in the dryer. I forgot to put them in last night,” he informs. “Stay here until they’re dry. Or don’t. Do whatever the fuck you want.”
He gets up and starts making his way to the door. You remember the conclusions you arrived at last night while you were drunk and delusional— that maybe he liked you. You have most of your mental capacities in check right now, and you’re willing to further test that hypothesis. Him blushing isn’t enough. You need to have him keeling over his own (maybe nonexistent) feelings and falling flat in the face.
“What if I want to stay in your bed the whole day?”
You can’t see if there’s anything on the floor but he stumbles a bit. He turns his head. “By yourself?”
“You can join me if you want.”
Jaemin’s eyes are lowered. He looks at you in consideration. “It’s not a matter of whether I want to or not, pretty girl. It’s a matter of whether you could handle it or not,” he says. “Can you?”
As a response, you nudge yourself to the side and pat on the space beside you. Jaemin takes this as a signal— he sharply walks back to the side of the bed, leans down, and gives you a knock on the head. “I ordered hangover soup,” he tells you. “Get your ass up once you’re sick of invading my space.”
With the creak and slam of the door, he’s gone. You blink, hand on your head and eyes unfocused. You’ve cracked him. All that’s left is to dig under the crust and surface.
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The floor is cold and dirty and gross, but you’re on your knees with your head down in front of Myung. Your hands lay on your lap in repentance. Myung tells you to stop being an idiot.
“Please stop. You’re causing a scene.”
You do, albeit slowly and remorsefully. Myung lets out a sigh and you’re about to beg again. She grabs your shoulders before you could, and you’re forced to look at her. “You’ve been doing a lot of dumb things lately,” she starts. “Dumb things, but not bad things. You’re fine. It’s all fine. Next time you get hammered, I told Jaemin to call me directly.”
“Oh my god,” you lunge to give her a hug and she pats your back. “There won’t be a next time. I swear.”
“You’re worse than your dad.”
“I know,” you grimace, pulling yourself together. “And I thought you didn’t like Jaemin. But you even gave him your number.”
She shrugs. “Just in case. And he isn’t as bad as I thought. Poor boy was pale as fuck when you passed out. He wasn’t even useful because he was panicking too much. Guy acts like hot shit but gets pathetic when you’re passed out and puking. I doubt he’s capable of hurting you like his dick of a friend.”
You stare at her. Maybe that’s why Jeno had to call Myung— because Jaemin was practically useless. It’s a funny thought and it’s hard to believe, but your fingertips tingle at its mere possibility. Myung hugs you goodbye as she leaves for her next class, and you’re left in the hallway to check the time. It’s thirty minutes before noon, and you managed to remember your mental, though admittedly alcohol-stained, note of treating Haechan lunch for ramblings about his friend (of course, he doesn’t need to know that reason). You managed to egg Jaemin for his number before you left his apartment. You text him that you’ll be waiting at the restaurant.
“You’re nicer than your boyfriend.”
“I told you, he’s not my boyfriend.”
There’s a look of doubt on his face as he steals the sushi roll from the platter and shoves it in his mouth, inelegantly pointing the now empty chopstick at you with a muffled voice. “Maybe he will be soon,” he says, a bead of rice pasted on his chin. “Not sure about you, but he definitely likes you. At first I thought he was just fucking around, but then the loser missed the finish line and drove straight to the fucking car like a madman when he noticed you weren’t watching.”
You cough. Hard. You scatter to grab the glass of water and Haechan nonchalantly passes it to you. “I thought he was gonna kill me when he saw you passed out. You owe me another fucking lunch for that threat to my life. You’re looking a little too happy after being told that your boyfriend nearly murdered me, you bitch. Fuck the both of you.”
Admittedly, things are going a little too fast than what you’re used to. You’ve only known him for like, almost two weeks. At this point of time, your previous relationships and flings would still be trying to curry your affection, but Na Jaemin managed to grab you by the neck from the very moment you saw him— for reasons of affection or otherwise, but all that doesn’t matter when you’re itching to dig further and further underneath his skin at every moment that passes.
When you finish your lunch with Haechan, the first thing you do is give him a call. He answers after the first ring, “Talk.” Always so eloquent.
“You didn’t ruin your face during the race, right?”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then you hear him laugh. “Not a scratch. I wasn’t going to bring it up, but you seem to enjoy getting dragged around by me.”
“I think you’re the one getting soft, Jaemin.”
“You’re on thin ice.”
“Wow, I’m so scared.” 
“Where are you?” You can hear the sliding of a door at his end of the line, and the sound of the wind becomes clearer. “You’re getting pretty cocky. Sounds like I need to put you in your place.”
“Looking forward to it.” You end the call and send him your location through text. Jaemin doesn’t take long to show up on his bake, and the temptation to tease him for it is almost stronger than your fear that he would change his mind and leave you behind if you do. 
You decide to save pushing his buttons for another day and instead enjoy the way his warmth seeps into you whenever you press up against him on his bike, taking you to god knows where— probably somewhere illegal again. It isn’t clear when or how your desire to prove his arrogant ass wrong transformed into a general fondness and a sea of uncharted feelings, but you’re not questioning it. You let yourself get washed and carried away.
He brings you way past the parameters of the city and to the seaside, leaving behind his bike at the foot of a rocky, uphill slope where there’s nothing but the gray and black mix of rocks and stone, pointing towards the salty horizon. You can hear the sound of waves splashing against the cliffside, some tides riding high enough to splatter droplets on you. “Wow,” you gape. “This place is so pretty. How did you find it?”
Jaemin is already settled on the uneven ground, just a few inches away from the cliff’s edge. You walk towards him and sit down as well. You can see the seafoam and seawater if you lean forward. “I stomped on a kid back in high school. He tattled on his older friends. They jumped me and brought me here— threatened to throw me off if I tried to mess with the piece of shit again.”
You stare at him. He shrugs. “I took care of it. Paid some college idiots to fuck them over. Dumbass transferred before I could do anything else to him. Fucking loser.”
It horrifies and fascinates you that the backstory to this place stemmed from violent teenage hormones and pride, but that doesn’t detract from the scenery in front of you. Waves crash against the rocks in tumultuous shifts. You shouldn’t have to wonder how something so pretty could also be so violent when there’s Jaemin right before your eyes. There’s a slight breeze, and his hair shuffles along with it. There are barely visible lines in between his eyebrows from his frowning too much, but the rarity of his smile makes it a hundred times prettier.
“The fuck are you staring at?”
“I can’t help it,” you answer. “Quit having such a nice face then maybe I’ll stop.”
“I can’t help it,” he mocks. You jab his side with your elbow but he’s unbothered. “It’s the only thing keeping you around me. Why would I give up on that?”
You move an inch closer. Your cheek is pressed on his shoulder. He cranes his head to look at you. “Are you sure?”
Jaemin doesn’t say or do anything, but you can feel something shifting in the air. The both of you stare at each other for a while, the sounds of the ocean crashing and splashing into itself engulfing your surroundings. For a moment, you think he’s gonna kiss you, but Jaemin is frozen in time with his ears pink and eyes open. After his moment of weakness, nudges you off with a grunt and digs into his pockets. You don’t mask your disappointment when he brings a cigarette to his lips and mumbles swear words at the wind when it blows out his lighter fire.
“I take it back, Your face really is your only redeeming quality. You’re annoying.”
“Suck it up, pretty girl. So is yours.” He blows a tuft of smoke into your face when he finally manages to light it, and your face scrunches with a round of coughs, fanning it away.
You watch as he brings the unlit end of the cigarette between his lips again before he removes it with a trail of gray, toxic air. It’s like he’s showing off. You’re not thinking too hard when you ask, “Can I try?”
Jaemin looks at you. “Do you smoke?”
“No,” you reply. “I’ve never even touched a cigarette my entire life.”
“Then, fuck no.” Your eyes widen in surprise when he throws it somewhere you can’t even see. The relaxed look on his face is gone when he turns back to face you. “You should’ve said so when I took out the fucking dart.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “You looking down on me, big guy?”
“I’m making sure your paper weak lungs don’t shrivel up and die,” he clicks his tongue. “Quit forcing yourself to do shit you don’t actually want to just to prove that you can keep up with me. You’ve already made it obvious that you’re harder to put up with.”
He admitted it. You’ve just won your stupid freaking game or bet or whatever it even was, but you don’t feel the least bit elated.
There’s a weight in your gut that’s anchoring you to the ground. You’re almost disappointed— hurt, even. But then he throws his head back with a groan, a hand digging into his hair with a harsh grip. He turns to shoot you a glare when he drops his arm.
“You drive me fucking insane.”
This is Jaemin you’re talking to and he’s nowhere near normal, so you can’t expect him to admit his feelings for you in a normal way as well. He drives this point further when he says, “And I’ve already made up my mind. You’re not going anywhere. I’m keeping you even if my face gets fucked and even if you keep pussying shit out.”
Then your disappointment slowly climbs into a giddiness bordering on adrenaline. It stirs you to your knees, the rough terrain nipping against the thin layer of skin, but you ignore it just so you can have some physical leverage on this bastard. 
“Can’t you say something sweet and romantic for once, you piece of shit?”
Jaemin tries to blink away his alarm when you roughly jerk him forward by the collar. He stares at you— eyes first, but you notice his gaze lowering. “Your lips look extra pretty when you call me a piece of shit.”
You want to throw him off the cliff. “Try again.”
“I want to kiss you right now.”
“I’ll give you a pass.” You loosen your grip on his collar. “Hurry up. What are you waiting for?”
Jaemin doesn’t need to be told twice. He pull you down by the hips and kisses you like he’s following a script he’s run over and over again inside his head prior— biting, nipping, and you feel yourself falling back as you try and gasp for air, but he chases after your lips like he’s addicted to you and not the cigarettes you can taste on his tongue. He’s restless, grunting against your mouth, and you have to pry him off to make sure he doesn’t die from a lack of oxygen.
“Calm down,” you breathe out. He lunges forward again in response. You should have remembered that the edge of a cliff isn’t the safest place to make out. When you stretch an arm behind you to balance yourself, you touch nothing and gravity pulls you down from behind.
Your scream snaps Jaemin out of his high. In your panic to grab onto him, the rocks crumble from underneath you and you’re sure you’re about to slip and fall off along with the crumbling edge. Jaemin manages to grab you by the arm, but you’re still centimeters away from death with the ground on your feet slowly falling apart and your weight tipping off your balance. You wait for Jaemin to pull you back into safety, but you see the look on his eyes. The same look when he’s hellbent on fucking with you to test just how much of him you can handle.
“Jaemin,” you warn. “Na Jaemin.”
You can see it. He’s tempted to loosen his hold just to scare the crap out of you just like how you nearly pissed yourself when he first made you ride on his motorcycle. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
He doesn’t. He pulls you forward with his other hand landing on your back to steady you on the ground, but you push him off. 
Jaemin is nicer to you, softer on you, and treats you like an exemption which makes you forget that inherently, he’s not a good person. He’s an asshole even to his friends and he’s a dick even to you. You’re livid. He kisses you like his life depended on it but hesitates on saving your ass the next second because he is and he will always be a piece of shit. 
He’s straightforward and simple. He does whatever he wants because knows there won’t be any consequences. He should learn that won’t always be the case.
“Where are you going?”
“Away,” you slap away his hand when he tries to reach out to you. “Don’t follow me. Don’t try to contact me either.”
You’re fueled by a mix of anger and disappointment when you leave him behind. Normally, you’d shrug his shitty behavior off like you’ve always done, his pretty face and understated affection always trumping whatever nasty things he says, but this time it’s different. You can hear your barrelling heartbeat inside your ribcage when you’re on a cab back home, feel the threat of cold winds on the back of your neck when you were partially dangled in the air.
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It’s been a week. You’re less mad about the stunt he pulled and more so about the fact that he actually never tried to call or text you within the seven days that passed. This made you realize that he’s never been the first person to call or text between the both of you, either, so even though you want to see him, you’re more bent on letting him marinate in the salty consequences of his personality and actions.
That is until your parents bother you again. You’re reading a magazine on the living room sofa when they tell you to get dressed and get ready for another dinner with Jaemin’s family. You sit up, hair a mess. “Why didn’t you tell me beforehand?”
“I did. Over dinner the other day.”
Admittedly, you have been out of it the entire week, so you might have missed it. You’re not sure if you’re ready to see him already. He hasn’t even gotten on his knees and groveled for forgiveness yet.
But, like last time, you don’t have much of a choice. It’s deja vu when you get in the car and complain about having to go with them. “I already told you earlier, sweetie,” your father tries to placate you. “I promised Jaehyuck that we’d all be having dinner together. You can leave after the first course if you don’t feel too well. It didn’t seem like you and their son got along last time, so I won’t force you to stay long.”
You scoffed at his statement. Oh, the both of you would be getting along really nicely right now if their son just fixed his personality a little. Not that you’re any better. The main reason why you got entangled with Na Jaemin in the first place was because of your ego, after all. You both bring out the best and worst in each other.
However, it’s not pride that compels you to delay having to see his annoyingly pretty face again. When you arrive at the hotel’s restaurant, you make a detour to the bathroom, pretending that washing your hands would be enough to wash away your nerves because really— you’re super fucking nervous. What if he never actually liked you and he isn’t bothered by all this at all? He never said it. He never admitted it. Your stupid arrogant head might have jumped into that conclusion all alone.
You have your head down facing the sink when your phone buzzes on the counter, loosening your grip on the surface’s edges to read her text message. Where are you? she asks. The smiley face emoji that follows after threatens you to your feet.
“Sorry. I had to answer a few calls for a class project due this week. Mr. and Mrs. Na, it’s nice to see you again!”
The couple greet your arrival. Mrs. Na gets up from her seat to give you a welcoming embrace and in the midst of all that, you manage to lock eyes with Jaemin.
He’s sitting on the long table. It feels like your roles are reversed, but unlike last time, his attire looks more appropriate for the occasion and you hate how he in a neat button up and coat ties knots inside your stomach. He’s nodding along to whatever your dad is saying, but his eyes are on you. You swallow. 
“How have you been, dear?”
You snap back to your senses, giving Mrs. Na a bright smile. “I’ve been doing well. Never been better.” You hope you managed to compose your expression because the last thing you need is them finding out you’re having a falling out with their son after flirting and messing around for a good two weeks.
The dinner seems to be going well. You smile and join the conversation when you’re needed. Jaemin does the same. You caught all four of your guardians sneaking concerned glances at the both of you considering the first interaction you had with each other wasn’t exactly friendly, but they relax after the second course when neither of you showed any signs of talking to each other.
You’re starting to feel nauseous. This is getting ridiculous. You make an excuse and leave the booth. You’re halfway to the bathroom again when someone calls out your name.
Jaemin is standing a few feet away from you in the hallway. You cross your arms, giving him time to catch up to you. He looks troubled when he meets you face-to-face— mouth pressed together in uncertainty, brows knitted from an emotion other than annoyance. He fishes the words from the air, clearing his throat before finally breathing out, “I’m sorry.”
You compose yourself. You try your best to keep your emotions from leaking through your expression, making sure your arms are still firmly pressed against your chest. “For what?”
“For trying to test your patience while you were hanging off a cliff.”
“Glad you know what you did wrong.”
“Like hell I’d let you fall off.”
“I was still fucking scared, Jaemin.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
You snort. “You don’t do that often.”
“Fuck off,” he snaps. “Wait. No. Sorry.”
You hold back a laugh. He’s crude, he’s impolite, and his personality will get him into a truckload of problems in the future, but you don’t think it’s a problem to you when he’s trying his best and looks like he’s in genuine panic, thinking that he screwed up again. Jaemin is everything the rumors say about him and nothing at all. You cut off his incoherent swears and apologies with a tug on his sleeve. “C’mere,” you open your arms. He doesn’t think twice to lock his arms around your waist which causes you to stumble into his chest.
He isn’t groveling on the floor, but you don’t mind. This much is already a lot for his self-centered ego. “I’ll forgive you,” you tell him after managing to find your balance in his tight squeeze. He smells like cigarette smoke and vanilla. “I’ll forgive you if you stop swearing for a day.”
You hear him groan. “Fuck you, that’s too much.”
“I’ll consider letting you be my boyfriend if you stop for three.”
Suddenly, he pries himself off. He has a tight grip on your shoulders and he’s looking at you like he’s carefully picking out letters from the alphabet to formulate his reply. “Okay,” he finally says. “Alright.”
Your parents would be elated to find out that their whole matchmaking stunt actually worked, but you put breaking the news to them into the backburner for now. It won’t be easy to explain that you and Na Jaemin started dating just to prove each other wrong. It’ll be even more difficult to describe how you ended up catching feelings. 
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can’t handle this. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.
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iadoreneteyam · 9 months
Text
e!42 miles and his girlfriend going to his family barbecue
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e!42 miles who begs his girlfriend’s to match shoes with him
e!42 miles who laughs in his girlfriend’s face when she says she wants to make a good impression on his family and says “why would I give a damn if they like you, mami?”
e!42 miles who makes sure his girlfriend has everything she needs to do her makeup as she sits down at his desk and looks into the led hello kitty mirror he bought her specifically for his house.
e!42 miles with a girlfriend who allows him to do her lipliner
e!42 miles who willingly sits in the backseat with his girlfriend when heading to the barbecue even though the passenger seat nexts to his mom is open
e!42 miles who does everything to annoy his girlfriend in the car.
e!42 miles who falls asleep on his girlfriend and drools but immediately denies that he drooled on her when they arrive at the barbecue
e!42 miles who puts his arm around his girlfriend’s waist to move her away from all his family members crowding him and his mom before leaning into his girlfriend’s ear and whispering “don’t want you to be overwhelmed, mami. my family is a bit of a handful y’know.” and kisses his girlfriend behind her ear before backing off.
e!42 miles who fights the urge to punch his cousin in the face when he hears something along the lines of “yeah, I don’t know how Miles ended up with a girl like that.” Miles heard murmurs agreeing before his cousin continued “wayyyyyy out of his league, man. he doesn’t even know what to do with that.”
e!42 miles and his girlfriend who runs to be the first in line to get barbecue when his older cousin yells that the food is ready only to be pushed aside with his cousin telling them “older men eat first.”
e!42 miles and his girlfriend who finally get their food and make and effort to sit away from his family because he “rather be with you than with them, y’know that mami.”
e!42 miles who refuses to let his girlfriend get herself another drink. “Imma get for ya so tell me what ya want, mami.”
e!42 miles who also refuses to let his girlfriend throw any of her own trash away
e!42 miles who immediately brings his girlfriend inside when she claims “it’s so hot, baby.”
e!42 miles who regrets coming inside because everyone now sees it as their chance to question him about the girl he brought
e!42 miles who is so happy to get away from all the hassling and to sit on the couch with his girlfriend
e!42 miles who smiles when he sees his girlfriend with his seven year old cousin in her lap as she helps her play uno against his mom
e!42 miles who comes over to the three of them and asks “y’all got room for one more?”
e!42 miles who groans after he loses to them twice before rushing his cousin off his girlfriend’s lap so he can pull her closer
e!42 miles who swings his girlfriend’s leg in his lap and asks her if she’s having fun
e!42 miles who silently begs his mom to go home once they hit the five hour mark to which his mom keeps waving him off saying “yeah sweetie let me just finish this conversation.” (they did not leave after that conversation)
e!42 miles and his girlfriend who don’t get to leave the party until it’s dark outside
e!42 miles who sits his girlfriend at his desk chair and grabs makeup wipes to help her take off her makeup
e!42 miles who lets his girlfriend take a shower first when they make it to his house so she can get more rest
e!42 miles who gets out the shower only to see his girlfriend still awake waiting for him
e!42 miles who gets in bed with his girlfriend, kisses her on the lips, and says “what I say about staying awake for me, mami ?”
e!42 miles who fights the pout on his face when his girlfriend tells him that her parents said she has to come home tomorrow
e!42 miles who just can’t sleep knowing his girlfriend is leaving in the morning
e!42 miles who wakes his girlfriend up and says “ya think ya parents will let me stay a couple days?”
e!42 miles who breaks out into a grin when his girlfriend tells him “ if you go get me breakfast in the morning I’ll ask, how’s that sound, baby?”
e!42 miles who kisses his girlfriend goodnight
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chelseeebe · 3 months
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still into you
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after abruptly leaving hawkins (and you) seven years ago, eddie munson, ex-boyfriend turned rockstar, makes a grand return. how will things pan out when your lives couldn’t be further apart?
this has been in the drafts for god knows how long and you can definitely tell where my writing started to improve as i came back to it.. hope y’all enjoy anyway! this is so long good lord. also includes a bit of bestfriendism with stevie!
18+. mdni. smut. mentions of alcohol. eddie is a dickhead. no use of y/n!
read part two here.
‎♡‧₊˚
‘you know he’s coming back next weekend?’ steve mutters, nodding towards you as you rip the sellotape from the brown box, beginning to stack the cans of soup.
‘is he? oh my god oh my god,’ feigning excitement with a straight face.
you’d already known he was coming back, you’d received the invitation just like everybody else. except, you’d swiftly put the gimmicky piece of paper into the trash and got on with your day. confused why everyone else seemed to be losing their goddamn minds over it.
he huffs quietly, helping you with the heavy tins, ‘are you gonna go?’ steve didn’t actually work in melvalds but came in on his breaks purely to chat and distract you from your work.
‘am i gonna go? hmm, let me think.. no.’
‘he wants to see you.. you should come,’ prodding his elbow into your side, collapsing the box into a flat piece of cardboard.
‘you spoke to him?’ ears perking up. you didn’t care if he’d mentioned you. no, really.
‘yeah.. he called a few weeks ago, y’know when the invitations got sent out,’ picking up the next box to start filling the shelf.
‘oh! it’s nice to know he called you and just hilarious to know i never got a phone call,’ getting frankly quite sick of hearing about eddie fucking munson and his grand return.
once upon a time, eddie had actually been your boyfriend. must’ve been 7 or so years ago by this point.. anyway, that was before he’d got his big break and decided that he was going to completely forget about hawkins.. and about you. you’d still been together after his first tiny tour, excitedly waiting for him to come home when he just.. never did.
he’d had the decency to at least call and tell you that he was breaking up with you.. we’re just in different places right now.. it’s not you.. i don’t want you to ruin your life waiting for me..
it was essentially a whole bunch of bullshit, because the very next month he was spotted with some bottle blonde model looking suspiciously close at some club he’d have absolutely hated the year prior. it was like a punch to the gut, flicking through the pages of the trashy magazine just knowing that you hadn’t been enough for this new lifestyle of his.
from then on, you’d decided to disengage with any and everything about him. turning the tv off when corroded coffin came on one of the morning talk shows, leaving the room at parties when one of his song’s inevitably came on and just completely blanking out of the conversation when his name was brought up. it was easier that way, saved your feelings and the awkward glances you’d get.
at some point things had become slightly more complicated and you’re not sure how exactly it had happened but you had wound up pregnant. and by jason carver no less. maybe it was your shared disdain for eddie that had brought you together. who knows?
but it had happened and now you had to deal with it. and although jason may come in a close second to world’s biggest assholes.. you had gained a beautiful daughter from it all and had become quite content with your single mom life.
people had come and gone, robin jetting off to some fancy college in california.. jonathan and nancy ending up in new york at some hot-shot newspaper.. the kids you’d sort of gathered had all gone off to various colleges, becoming adults themselves. all except for steve.
steve had stayed in hawkins like you, begrudgingly following his father’s footsteps, getting a job at his accounting firm. it was good money and kept his dad happy so he couldn’t fault it really. he’d even got his own place just down the street from your house and at some point you’d just accepted that he was probably your only friend in hawkins.
it had brought the two of you undeniably closer and maybe you’d even call him your best friend now. well, except for right now as he was beginning to piss you off with all this fussing over eddie.
‘you have to come.. it’s not just for him, everyone is going.. it’s a reunion,’ steve continues to pester you despite your efforts to shut him down.
‘steve, i’m not going and that’s that.’
he sighs, staring at you with a blank expression, ‘okay, well.. i’ll tell him it’s a maybe,’ checking his watch before frowning, ‘shit, i’m late.. i’ll see you later,’ throwing the empty cardboard to the floor before dashing off down the aisle, giving you an exaggerated wave as he disappears.
you just knew that he was not going to drop this until you agreed to go. but he could kick and scream as much as he liked, you had absolutely zero desire to go this flimsy reunion and even less desire to see eddie in the flesh.
-
it’s another dull week of stacking shelves and managing a team of absolute morons and before you know it, it’s the day before that fucking reunion and steve is still as incessant as ever that you must go.
‘my mom can look after ella.. please just come,’ he sounded like he was a second away from getting on his knees to actually beg you to go.
you’d started to just ignore him now, getting on with whatever you were doing, choosing to give him the silent treatment. he hated that.
‘you’re so annoying,’ he scoffs, still helping you unbox the bags of chips, ‘will you just come for five minutes.. you don’t even have to talk to eddie, it’s the first time we’ll all be together again.. puh-leaseee,’ breaking into a weird sort of sing-song tone.
you exhale through your nose, visibly frustrated by the man, ‘i’m going to ban you in a minute,’ raising your eyebrows, taking the same tone you used when ella was being a brat.
‘no you won’t,’ furrowing his brows, ‘what if i promise to stand in between you the whole night? i’ll beat him with a stick if he even tries to talk to you,’ completely serious with what he just said.
you chortle, covering your mouth as one of the elderly customers walks past, slightly bewildered by the noise that just escaped your mouth, ‘couldn’t you just beat him with a stick anyway?’
‘ehh.. not really, he is paying for the whole thing,’ straightening the bags of air he’d just placed on the shelf, ‘i mean, i could if you really want me to.’
you roll your eyes, of course he was. he’d rented the fanciest restaurant just outside of town for your gaggle of pals. any chance to flaunt the fact that he’d made it out of this hell hole and left the rest of you in the dirt.
‘i have a child, steve, i can’t just go out and leave her at home.. some of us aren’t free like you are,’ turning to face him with a stern hand on your hip.
‘i just told you my mom’ll look after her.. she hasn’t seen her in so long and.. and you can stay at mine and i’ll take you to her first thing in the morning,’ his eyes are round, glimmering in the harsh overhead lights.
‘i don’t have anything to wear,’ shrugging, you really didn’t. becoming a mother isn’t quite so glamorous and a lot of clothes you’d once fit into had become a little tight.
‘when d’you finish?’
narrowing your eyes at him, ‘two..’
‘great.. okay well, i’ll take a half-day and we can go shopping.. on me,’ wiggling his eyebrows at you. the thing about steve is that he believes that most problems can be solved by throwing money at it.
he wasn’t wrong, of course.
because you reluctantly agree to go shopping with him on the condition that you weren’t definitely going to this thing. you were just going to try on dresses. that was it.
-
you get a cab to the restaurant, there was no way in hell you were doing this sober nor did you want to subject steve to being sober for your sake. palms clammy as you clamber out of the vehicle, immediately regretting your decision.
no one would care if you didn’t go, right? you could quite easily just get back into the taxi and go home without forcing yourself to endure the night.
steve’s one step ahead of you, grabbing your hand so you can’t run away. throwing him an awful glare but you weren’t really mad, just annoyed that he’d succeeded in persuading you to come.
‘c’mon.. it won’t be so bad once you’re in there,’ smoothing down his fresh shirt as he begins to walk up the winding path, dragging you along behind him.
he’s wrong. it’s so much worse inside. the place was huge, extravagantly decorated and full of people you’d once regarded as your best friends, all too busy in their own conversations to notice you and steve walk in.
it wasn’t like you hadn’t heard from them, it had just been through occasional letters and christmas cards rather than seeing them face to face. robin would call sometimes, fill you in on whatever she had been up to and beg to speak to ella who absolutely loved it. you were sure they were on the same wavelength.
you look to steve with wary eyes, digging your fingertips into his hand, ‘we could just leave right now.. no one would even know,’ tugging gently on his arm.
‘hey,’ he whispers, ‘it’s okay.. look, robin’s coming over, we’ll say hi and see how you feel,’ using his spare hand to wave at the bubbly girl, dropping your hand to give her a hug.
‘oh my god,’ she rushes, ‘how are you? you look so good.. and i don’t mean you,’ pulling away from steve to throw her arms around you, her gentle hands rubbing on your back.
‘hah, it’s nice to see you too,’ steve rolls his eyes, grabbing two of the champagne flutes being ferried around by fancy waiters.
she pulls back, ‘i didn’t think you were coming.. how are you doing? how’s ella?’ the words falling out of her mouth at super speed, it was as if her mouth moved before her brain did.
‘i wasn’t gonna but i wanted to see you guys,’ you nod, taking the glass from steve’s outstretched hand and taking a lengthy sip, ‘i’m okay.. ella’s okay.. you’ll have to come and see her before you leave.’
‘i will i will! i literally landed like two hours ago and had to rush but i’m back until friday,’ her hands flying around as she spoke, ‘come and say hello..’ her arm intertwines with yours as she leans in closer to your ear, ‘he’s staring y’know..’
your eyes roll back on their own, not even wanting to search the room for him, ‘i’m not speaking to him so he can stare all he likes,’ straightening up as you approach the group robin had left.
nancy’s talking to max about something in incredible detail but is quite to stop when you approach, mouth in a small ‘o’ as she hugs you, ‘you came? i thought we were gonna miss you,’ grinning wide when she pulls back.
you give an overdramatic sigh, ‘of course i had to come.. you’d all miss me too much,’ waving to the rest of the group.
there are a lot of small pleasantries swapped, asking about their journey’s here and how they’d been.. standard small talk. but then el asks to see a picture of ella, ecstatic that their names were so similar. you’d come prepared, pulling the creased picture out of your bag.
they all gush and coo over her, it was a picture you’d snapped from her first day of kindergarten, cheesing with her pigtails and pink hair bobbles. passing it around the gathered group, still steadily sipping on the bitter champagne.
‘who’s that?’ eddie asks, you hadn’t noticed him sidle over to the crowd, stood peering over lucas’ shoulder at the photograph.
your eyes meet his, seeing his face for the first time in what felt like centuries. he looked older, obviously, still sporting the same long curls except now it actually looked as if it’d been styled. he’s in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, forearms now littered with tattoos and a nice looking watch. your heart just about stops beating when you realise you’ll now have to explain exactly who that is.
‘uh.. that’s ella,’ you nod, not quite meeting his eyes, ‘..my daughter,’ taking the photo from lucas’ hand, the atmosphere had quite suddenly shifted and people begin to scatter, starting their own conversations so they don’t have to bare witness to this one.
‘oh.. oh, right.. well, congratulations then,’ the shadow of a smile on his lips, could he feel how fucking awkward this was?
‘thank you,’ giving him a half nod, startled as steve’s hand brushes the small of your back. he’d seen that you were in conversation and had left dustin to fulfil his security guard promise.
‘it’s nice that you two found each other.. you have a beautiful daughter,’ still not fully committed to smiling but he was getting there.
your face contorts, immediately looking to steve before letting out a god awful cackle, ‘oh no.. she’s not steve’s,’ covering your mouth before another taunting laugh comes out.
steve is trying to stifle his grin but fails, reaching his hand out to shake eddie’s hand, ‘ah man, no ella’s not mine but she is beautiful, isn’t she? how are you?’
you’re eternally grateful that he he’s managed to sway the conversation and you aren’t forced to explain why or how you’d had a child with jason fucking carver. turning back to robin as you hear steve ramble on about work and corroded coffin’s new album, something you had absolutely no care about.
‘shall we get another drink?’ robin asks, eyeing the open bar and your empty glass.
‘please.’
the rest of the night is going.. relatively well. it’s kinda unsettling to watch the younger kids drink legally, getting more boisterous and loud as the night progresses. it’s nice, if not a little sad just thinking about how you weren’t really able to enjoy yourself at their age because you had a newborn.
you must’ve been deep in thought as you don’t even notice eddie creep up to the empty table, standing awkwardly besides your chair, ‘can we talk?’
your eyes shoot up to meet his, baffled by his presence, ‘what could we possibly have to talk about?’
he exhales through his nose, ‘uh.. a lot? we don’t have to do it here.. i have a room upstairs or.. outside?’
‘no,’ gripping onto your glass of wine, desperately trying to grab the attention of someone behind eddie to come and save you, ‘i don’t want to speak to you.’
he’s exasperated, clutching onto his beer with strained white knuckles. how were you ever supposed to move past this when you wouldn’t even give him the opportunity to explain himself. but that was exactly it. you didn’t care about any of the silly excuses you’re sure he’d conjured up, he did what he did and that was that.
‘i’m trying here..’ sounding exasperated, ‘how ‘bout dinner? sometime this week, on me,’ his voice is deeper now, raspier. you figure as a result of constant partying and chain smoking while on tour.
‘i have a child and a job.. i don’t have time for dinner with you on top of that,’ swallowing the rest of the sweet white wine, putting the empty glass back on the table with a forceful slam.
you make brief eye contact with will who was passing behind eddie and decide to take the opportunity to pounce, standing from your chair and rushing over the second he nears your table.
‘will.. hey,’ speeding to catch him up, mouthing a small save me, clinging to his arm as you move away from eddie who was stood deflated at the table.
will thankfully catches your drift, steering you towards the bar, ‘you okay? i was just about to leave..’ placing his empty glass onto the bar with a soft sigh.
‘what? no.. if i can’t go then you’re not allowed either,’ talking sternly to the boy even though he now towered above you and just about everybody else in here.
he screws up his face, looking over to the dance floor, ‘it’s just..’ sighing once again, ‘awful, isn’t it?’ following his gaze to an intoxicated mike performing an elaborate air guitar routine in the middle of the floor.
it wasn’t exactly the same, but you could empathise with the difficult situation and that foul feeling in your stomach that you were sure he could feel too. you could imagine that it wasn’t easy to see the man you’d once, or perhaps still loved after so long. in fact, you didn’t really need to imagine at all.
deciding it was better to change the subject, distract him from the unraveling scene on the dance floor, ‘d’you smoke?’
he looks around quickly, watching out for a listening jonathan, you assume before he nods quickly, ‘but no one can know,’ a hint of a smile creeping onto his face.
you return the devilish grin before hooking your arm in his, pulling him towards the door where you could get the hell away from annoying men and their long black hair.
-
it’s gone three by the time you get back to steve’s, genuinely having to coax him from the party and into the cab you’d shared with a belligerent dustin, making sure he had got home safely.
‘i wasn’t too mean, was i?’ snuggled up in steve’s blankets, facing each other in the low light of his room.
‘nooo, no you were on fire,’ he laughs, he was still tipsy and slightly reeking of booze as he lay next to you.
‘really? you’re sure?’ he was definitely just drunk and blabbing on but you’d take it.
‘yes.. it was perfect,’ he hiccups, interrupting his sentence, ‘buuut.. and i’m not the only one who said this so don’t kill me..’ kissing the back of his teeth, ‘you’re not gonna like what i have to say.’
‘what? what is it?’ prodding his shoulder with a quick jab. knowing eddie, he’d probably gone round the party whispering some bullshit about the two of you.
‘well..’ holding his hands in the air, ‘there’s still chemistry there.. y’know i could see it,’ raising his eyebrows, hands collapsing onto the blanket.
‘right, i’m going to sleep.. you’re drunk and just saying stupid shit now,’ rolling your eyes as you settle into the soft pillow, closing your eyes so you no longer had to entertain his idiotic nonsense.
he chortles, hiccuping mid-laugh which makes a horrid choking noise, ‘i’m not that drunk.. robin said it too,’ the lamp clicks off, darkening the room, ‘and dustin..’
‘go to sleep steve,’ unamused and tired.
‘okay okay.. goodnight,’ he calls, you can hear the smile in his voice as he turns to face the other way, taking that as your opportunity to rest your head on his back, nuzzling into the soft cotton t-shirt.
-
monday is particularly awful and you’re reminded exactly why you don’t drink often. two days on and you’re still exhausted, half-heartedly filling the shelves and just trying to make it to two o’clock.
in your tired state, one of the bottles of shampoo you were putting out, falls out of your hand and rolls off somewhere down the aisle. you sigh, a deep, fed-up, exhaustive sigh and get up to go and fetch it when the bottle appears before your face, a tattooed, ring-filled hand latched onto it.
‘carver? really?’ eddie frowns, watching you from above, eyebrows furrowed together.
you place the bottle onto it’s rightful spot on the shelf and choose to ignore him. if he’d come all the way down here just to piss you off about your poor life choices then he could get fucked.
‘when’d that happen?’
blanking him again as you continue to put stuff onto the shelves. this was the easiest way to guarantee that you weren’t going to get yourself fired for being rude to him.
‘you gonna ignore me? i just wanna know,’ still poking and prodding, he clearly wasn’t very good at picking up on context clues.
nothing.
‘fuck, can you just talk to me for five minutes?’ your silence was driving him crazy, aggravating him to no end.
‘i’m at work, so no,’ hurriedly trying to finish the stock you had so you had an excuse to rush out the back and away from him.
he was fortunate that it was a quiet monday, the store full of mostly older ladies who had no idea who he was. you sorta hoped that he’d get mobbed and would have to hurry off and leave you alone.
‘why jason? out of literally everyone else in this shithole you choose jason?’ screwing his face up in disgust.
you slam the box cutter down with a loud clatter, causing a few turned heads and raised eyebrows. fuck ‘em. if you had done what you’d really wanted to do, you’d be locked up forever.
‘i don’t know if you remember this but my boyfriend of like, two years ran away and never came home so yeah.. that kinda fucked with me a little and lucky for me, jason carver was there and also hated my ex’s guts.. so it was perfect, you know?’ staring flatly at him, you were not dealing with his shit today.
eddie scoffs, ‘so you had a kid with him? and now.. what? you play happy families just to spite me? is that it?’
‘yes eddie, i had a whole child just to piss you off.’
he gawps back at you, clearly also did not possess the ability to sense sarcasm.
‘no,’ scowling at him, ‘it was an accident and now he’s.. i dunno, coaching basketball at some school in ohio or some shit.. why don’t you go and bother him?’
‘so you’re not together?’
you can only roll your eyes in response, in sheer disbelief that he’d made such a fuss because he couldn’t just outright ask if you were single.
un-fucking-believable.
you’ve had just about enough of this conversation, pulling your little trolley back towards the swing doors that lead to the warehouse. at least he wasn’t allowed in there.
‘wait! wait..’ he grabs onto the other side of the trolley, stopping you from walking off, ‘have dinner with me tonight or.. tomorrow?’ eyes big and pleading.
‘now why would i do that?’
‘because i want to explain myself.. i need to.’
one of the younger shoppers notices who he is and begins trying to talk to him, coming over to where you two stood rather excitedly. eddie is kind enough to smile and give her a few polite words, eyes still latched onto yours despite the ecstatic woman beside him.
‘okay,’ honestly just wanting to get away from all this commotion, ‘tomorrow.’
his scowl subsides, replaced by a gleaming grin, ‘six o’clock.. pino’s, i’ll sort it, okay?’ already starting to walk away from the crazy woman.
‘right,’ you nod, pulling your trolley away and into the back warehouse, leaning against the concrete wall. the whole exchange was tiring, knocking whatever tiny bit of energy out of you.
were you actually gonna go?
absolutely fucking not.
-
by the time six rolls around the next night, you really had forgotten all about it. rushing to get ella her dinner after swimming lessons, already worrying about paying for yet another field trip she’d sprung on you earlier. you’d begun to wonder if they even taught in the classrooms anymore with the amount of permission slips she brought home.
she’s finally settled into bed, after much protesting and a lot of coaxing. you’re just about to finally relax on the couch when someone hammers on your front door. and if you weren’t already pissed off with ella’s whining, you were most definitely about to be with whichever mindless prick was banging on your door.
‘what do you want?’ you hiss, jerking the door open to reveal a pathetic looking eddie on the other side, face forlorn and dejected.
he’s in that white shirt again. it makes you sick to your stomach to admit that it really does look good on him. his arms now more defined, the cotton sticking to his muscles, briefly showcasing the new tattoos underneath. maybe he’d actually got off of his ass and did something other than smoke weed all day.
‘oh so you are alive, d’you forget about something?’ he’s snarling now, having conjured up some elaborate excuse in his head as to why you hadn’t showed, only to find you at home, seemingly with no care in the world.
‘oops,’ the corners of your mouth twitching into a smile, you hadn’t even actually meant to stand him up, you were just gonna call his hotel and cancel but the thought had just completely slipped your mind.
and even if it shouldn’t, it really did feel good. knowing he was the one sat waiting for you for once.
‘oops? i sat there for an hour waiting for you and then spent the last hour trying to convince dustin to give me your fucking address.. and all you can say is oops?’
you shrug, ‘feels pretty shitty to be forgotten about, doesn’t it?’ tilting your head, watching as his face falls. he’d been got.
‘okay.. okay, i get it, and i’m sorry.. there’s not a day that goes by that i don’t feel like shit for how i treated you,’ his head dips low, looking particularly sorry for himself.
and for a second you do too. not that he deserved it. quickly having to remind yourself exactly what he had done to you, which was not at all helped by the fact that he now had everything he’d ever wanted in life.
and you couldn’t fault your life. truly. but fuck did it sting sometimes, to know that your life had stagnated, stuck in the same shitty town you’d grown up in while he was on the other side of the country, more money than sense and a hoard of doting fans that would do absolutely anything he’d ask of them.
‘good,’ you bark, going to slam the door shut only for it to bang against his black boot wedged in the door, ‘if you don’t move your foot i’ll- i’ll call the police.’
‘no you won’t,’ his hand reaches out to grab onto the other side of the handle, he could’ve easily pushed his way in if he’d really wanted, ‘let’s talk.. like adults,’ begging you now, ‘please.’
you huff, this would end with you either letting him in or being forced to wake ella after you bashed his head into the doorframe. it was easier to just accept the first option and you’d find some bullshit to get him to leave later on.
opening the door wider to let him in, keeping your eyes square on the ground as he walks through, peering around at your home. probably comparing it to his mansion in the hollywood hills the pretentious fuck.
‘nice..’ he nods, leaning in to look at the photo of you and ella a few christmas’ ago, she was tiny then, sporting a miniature santa hat.
‘yeah well, she’s asleep upstairs so.. make it quick,’ you frown, closing the door behind him, watching as his eyes take in the cluttered room, smile fading when he catches sight of the singular picture you have up of jason and ella.
‘i can’t believe you chose to fuck jason of all people.. i mean, i’ve made some shitty decisions in my life but..’ he stops himself from going any further when he sees your face, if looks could kill, he’d be long gone by now.
‘did you come here for a reason? or are you here to talk about my life decisions.. because i really don’t want to hear it from you,’ crossing your arms over your chest, wanting him out of your house.
‘no.. no, shit- i’m sorry,’ he shuffles on his feet, banging his head, ‘i wanna talk.. properly.’
you roll your hand to motion for him to continue, ‘go on..’
he inhales, chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying to psyche himself up to actually say what he wanted to say. it wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say, he just couldn’t string it together to make sense.
‘i’m sorry for the way i treated you.. it wasn’t right and i know that now,’ his hand coming to rub the back of his clammy next, why was your house so fucking hot?
‘okay.. apology accepted, was that everything?’ you say flatly, glancing up the stairs to make sure ella wasn’t awake and out of her room.
his face falls, ‘can you just.. just let me explain,’ his adam apple bobbing as he swallows, ‘why don’t you sit down..’ motioning towards your ratty couch.
you relent your stern stature, hesitantly going to sit on the couch, trying to ensure that he couldn’t possibly sit next to you by sprawling your legs out onto the empty cushion. so he takes the seat furthest away, running his hands down his tight jeans. designer, no less.. the only person you knew stupid enough to spend thousands on designer jeans just to tear holes in them.
‘when i ended things with you, i wasn’t.. well, it was me, but i had my manager screaming in my ear that it’d never work and he could hook me up with some fuckin’ model.. it’d help the band.. so that’s what i did,’ and for once, he looked genuinely remorseful, fiddling with the loose threads on his expensive jeans.
‘so you sold out? that’s your excuse?’
his head shoots up, mouth hung open with absolute disgust all over his face, ‘i am not a sell out.’
which is incredibly refutable, you’d heard a snippet of one of their recent songs on the radio at work and it had sounded exactly like the commercial shit he used to rag on when you were together. not a touch on the corroded coffin you sat and watched practice for hours on end.
‘oh? so you didn’t break up with me to further your career? you just wanted to fuck hot models? which one is it ‘cause i’m a little confused here,’ completely losing it, springing up from your slouched position.
‘okay, yeah.. yeah i did, i broke up with you because i wanted to fuckin’ make something of my life.. and look at where i am and look at-,’
‘-don’t you dare finish that sentence,’ you snap, gritting your teeth together as you near his face, positively shaking with rage.
‘what’re you gonna do? you gonna hit me? do it,’ his chin tilted to match your elevated position, eyes glued to yours.
‘i should.’
his lips twitch into a smirk, ‘you won’t.’
and before your brain has the time to really process your next movements, he balls his fist into your t-shirt, causing your chest to collide into his as his lips smash into yours, knocking the air out of your lungs.
scrambling to find his shoulders for balance, sliding one hand onto his stubbly cheek. it’s all teeth and tongues, he’s ravenous and unrelenting, letting go of his grip on your shirt to place his hands on your hips, ‘move,’ mumbling against your lips as he attempts to manoeuvre you onto his lap while twisting around.
he slides down the couch, keeping a solid hold of your body as you find the right position. your legs are either side of his waist, sliding into the gap between his body and the couch sitting right on his crotch. wasting absolutely zero time in connecting your lips against, honestly not wanting to run the risk of him opening his mouth and ruining this.
his large hands find solace on your ass, creeping up to remove the oversized shirt you’d thrown on. you place your hand above his, restricting him from moving any further. it’s not that you were embarrassed- okay, maybe you were a little. but your body had changed since becoming a mom and eddie had become accustomed to gorgeous models and perfect women that he’d certainly not want to see your boring, frumpy mom body.
he groans in protest, trying again to lift the shirt further only for your fingernails to dig into his hand, ‘no,’ speaking into the filthy kiss.
eddie pulls away from the kiss, fingers coming to gently brush the hair from your face, ‘you can’t be serious? i’ve seen it all before,’ he grumbles, fingers itching to try lift it again.
‘not like this you haven’t.. i just.. want it on, okay?’
‘no- why won’t you let me take this off?’ fingers curling around the hem, already trying his luck with getting it up again.
you sigh, meeting his blown out eyes with your glossy ones, ‘i don’t even know what i’m doing.. fuck,’ attempting to climb off of his lap while the spare hand he has on your ass clamps you down, keeping you pressed to him.
‘hey.. hey, keep it on.. i don’t care,’ already trying to chase your lips, ‘i’m just saying, you don’t need to,’ the denim covering his growing erection starting to rub against your throbbing clit, the sparse material of your pajama shorts were not leaving much to the imagination.
‘jesus christ, just take it off,’ giving up in your protest, it was useless against eddie’s persistence.
you press your lips to his the second your shirt is off, there was no time to judge your body if he couldn’t see it. pulling at his jacket to get it off, the metal buttons digging into your now bare skin.
‘i didn’t.. i didn’t mean.. what i said..’ babbling through the kiss as he shimmies out of the jacket, landing on the floor with a soft thud.
‘shut up,’ you whine, running your hand along the length of his chest until you reach the hem of his black shirt, gripping your fingers around the fabric and lifting it slightly, exposing his midriff, the soft trail of hair ascending the skin.
his head jerks backwards, allowing you to tug the shirt off, finally allowing his eyes to wander to your chest. ‘holy shit,’ he remarks like he’d never seen a pair of tits before. it’s futile for him to pretend that he hadn’t seen some amazing boobs in his time so you scoff, rolling your eyes.
working your hand at his belt buckle, fiddling with the metal until it pops undone. he’s hard already and it makes you groan, brushing your hand over the raised denim. this week seriously must’ve been difficult if he was getting hard so easily over you.
it doesn’t ever occur to you how much of a mistake this was. and even if it did, you didn’t have much time to ponder on it as his hands are grabbing at your breasts, palming them as his lips suck at your jaw and down onto your neck softly. guaranteed to leave a lovely violet mark that the old ladies at work would certainly gasp at.
he’s helping you with his jeans, one hand gripping onto your waist to keep you steady as he lifts his hips from the couch and the other hurriedly yanking them down just enough to reveal his boxers. that’s the next port of call, fingers grabbing at the thin black cotton, pulling them down his thighs as his cock springs into action.
eddie’s lips are still on your neck while you mindlessly wrap your hand around his cock, pumping your fist as you shuffle upwards. his breath hitches in his throat, still peppering sloppy kisses to the sensitive skin.
‘oh god,’ he whines into your collarbone, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your jaw. for a man who had been painted as womaniser in the media, he sure was still just as pathetic as he used to be underneath you.
you’re a little annoyed that it’s you who’s taking control right now. after so many years of disrespect from his end, you think he at least owed it to you to take charge.
your hand grabs onto his shoulder, pulling his face from your neck, ‘be quiet, okay?’ sitting taller to position yourself comfortably, the harsh fabric of the couch grazing your knees.
he nods, sliding his hand up your waist and back to your hip, taking in the sight of you. you wouldn’t ever admit it aloud, but truthfully, you really did miss him sometimes. missed the way his pretty pink lips looked after being glued to yours or the way he gazed at you doing the most mundane tasks.
you cant your hips, sinking down onto his length slowly, biting down onto your bottom lip as his cock fills you to the hilt. his eyelids flicker, fingernails digging into your doughy hips. it’s been a little while since you’d done this so you have to take a second to become accustomed to the slight stretch. it’s good, in the most masochistic way.
your hands cling onto his shoulders, watching his slack jaw, tiny breaths escaping from his mouth as you attempt to move. painstakingly slow at first, knees beginning to shake as you try to remember what you should even be doing. your cheeks flushing, feeling so incredibly embarrassed. the man was fucking models and then you’re here, pitifully trying to ride him. it’s awful, you know it’s awful.
his arm comes to snake around your waist, taking matters into his own hands and flipping the two of you around, your back suddenly pressed into the couch. holy shit. you appreciate the initiative, wrapping your legs around his waist, readjusting your grip on his shoulders.
‘need you a little faster than that darling,’ large hands digging into the couch either side of your head. you’d feel utterly mortified if you weren’t thoroughly enjoying the sight of him looming over you, his hair falling beautifully into your face.
eddie starts slow at first, moving his hips slowly, obviously well versed. your mouth opens but no noise escapes, well aware that you weren’t the only ones in your house. instead you pant softly, desperate for his lips to grace yours again.
it’s not long before he’s quickening his pace, unable to contain himself when you feel so perfect around him. ‘i missed you- fuck, i’ve missed you so much,’ he groans, keeping his voice low despite wanting to start screaming.
you don’t reply, too fucked-out to even think about words. eyes drooping as his cock nudges against the soft spongy spot no one other than him had been able to reach.
the couch creaks beneath you, the old thing unable to keep up with his rutting hips, the top of your head knocking into the arm rest every time his hips collided with yours. your living room had never bore witness to such filth and as quiet as you were trying to be, the sounds are indistinguishable.
having to bite down onto your lip when his thumb meets your clit, legs tightening around his waist with every soft circle he draws around the sensitive bud. eddie was never bad in bed but holy shit, maybe money had done something right for him.
he sits up, soft sighs falling out of his lips as his hand disconnects from your clit, sliding toward your knee and positioning your leg onto his shoulder. your nails press into his forearm, willing yourself to stay quiet even now he’s seemingly trying to kill you.
and through it all, he’s smirking. relishing the way you’re writhing around, trying not to cum when he nudges against that sweet, spongy spot this position allowed.
his thumb finds your clit again, ‘holy shit sweetheart.. you gonna cum?’ grunting softly with every thrust.
you’re positively wrecked beneath him, face pressed into the couch cushion as your stomach flips. panting into the fabric, incoherent ramblings of eddie’s name and a bunch of curse words fill the room.
‘cum for me baby.. shit,’ struggling to keep his own pace as you tighten around him, leg trembling around his neck as your orgasm takes over. pleasure overtaking your limbs as your hips buck instinctively, thankfully muffled by the couch.
‘oh my god,’ you breathe, struggling to see straight when your eyes eventually reopen, gazing up at eddie above, certain he’s about to draw blood from his teeth digging in to his lip.
‘where.. where shall i- shit,’ he squeezes out, feeling his hips begin to stutter, eyes rolling to the back of his head. he’s just about quick enough to pull out, thick ropes of cum paint your thighs. narrowly avoiding the couch.
if you had the energy to get annoyed, you would’ve snapped, but in all honesty, your brain was still reeling and anger was the last thing you felt.
eddie reaches over, ever the gentleman and grabs his shirt to clean his mess. didn’t matter to him obviously, he had more than enough money to buy another.
and there it is. the bitterness filling your body again the second he’s no longer on top of you, or inside of you rather. you attempt to bite it down.
‘you wanna talk now?’ he asks, pulling his boxers back up to a more respectable position.
‘i’m tired eddie,’ and you are, on a school night like tonight you’d have been fast asleep by now.
he sighs, shoulders slumping over. even after you’d just had the most mind-altering sex, you couldn’t speak to him. ‘please,’ pleading with you almost, desperate for one more chance.
maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe the dopamine still pumping through your brain but you concede, pulling your shirt back over your head before motioning for him to speak.
‘i don’t have any excuses, i’m just-,’ he sighs, turning on the couch to face you fully, ‘i’m sorry for hurting you, i was wrong and i know that,’ his eyes are dipped, peering at you from underneath his spindly lashes, ‘why d’you think i’ve avoided this place for so long?’
‘i don’t know? because you’re a pussy? because you’re too scared to face me?’ letting the words rattle off your tongue without much thought.
‘because i’m embarrassed,’ he corrects, without much offence, ‘because i’m ashamed and feel like i owe you more than some dick and a shitty apology.. i just didn’t know how i could ever make it up to you,’ half-moon eyes glossy in the low light.
your heart thumps in your chest, blood echoing through your ears. eddie munson, world renowned rockstar was sat on your couch, apologising for something you should’ve forgotten about a long time ago.
the years of hatred and avoidance come tumbling down in a millisecond. all you’d ever wanted was to hear him say sorry. to admit that he’d fucked you over for a life of fame and now you had it, you weren’t exactly sure what to even do with it.
‘okay.. now what? are you gonna make it up to me? because i want to believe you eddie, i do.. but you can’t just traipse in here and expect me to forgive you like that,’ the tears roll over, sliding down your warm cheeks.
he nods, grabbing onto your hands in a last ditch gesture to show his sincerity, ‘i’m going to.. i-i want to,’ he’s still nodding, bringing his face closer to yours, ‘tell me how, i’ll do anything,’ adam’s apple bobbing with every word.
‘stay here,’ your eyes are trained on him, ignoring the blurred vision, ‘not forever, just for now,’ lips pursed, ready to be broken once more.
you half-expect him to come out with some sorry excuse, tell you he had to get back to his hotel so he couldn’t possible stay here.
but he doesn’t.
eddie takes your hand, tugging it gently and with words you don’t register, babbles something about bed. so you follow him, allowing him to guide you to your room and slide in between the sheets next to you.
everything is so gentle, soft and pure. something you hadn’t felt in a long time.
-
‘hey.. sweetheart,’ eddie’s hand gently shakes your arm, whispering into your ear, ‘you awake?’
you squint in the dim light, feeling his hand descend onto your waist, chest pressed against your back, ‘i am now,’ you grumble, it was early.. early even by ella’s standards.
‘i gotta go.. you got work today?’ he asks, making no effort to actually get up and leave your bed though.
you nod into the pillow, rubbing your sleep heavy eyes. in your sleep hazed state, you shuffle, moving backwards against him.
‘okay.. shit- don’t do that,’ strained as you shift against him, unknowingly brushing against his cock, ‘i’ll be back.. after you..’ he’s losing it a little now, ‘after you finish..’ lips pressed to your ear.
you were moving deliberately now, just ever-so-slightly rocking your hips back and forth, you could feel him growing against your ass.
‘i can’t..’ he groans, grip tightening on your hip,
‘please,’ you breathe, reaching backwards to find his mop of curls, taking a fistful for leverage as his own hip’s thrust into your backside, his low growls only spurring you on.
you had been on your own for so long now, could he really blame you?
eddie doesn’t leave for another hour, creeping out of your house with his head low and a shit eating grin plastered on his face.
-
the key turns in your door as you’re loading the dishwasher. you’d given steve a spare for emergencies but it seemed to get used for anything but.
he slinks into the kitchen where you stand with your back to him, ‘hey,’ already knowing who it was.
‘well hello,’ announcing his presence, something about his tone of voice already seemed off, he sounded short, annoyed almost, ‘how have you been?’
‘i’m good..’ you spin to face him, puzzled by his strange demeanour, ‘how are you?’
he’s holding onto something behind his back but you can’t quite catch a glimpse, ‘actually.. i’m a little pissed off,’ you can tell he’s not completely serious by the hint of a smile on his face.
‘hmm? why’s that?’
he looks around the room expectedly, ‘oh i don’t know.. you don’t have anything to tell me, do you?’ shaking his head, still gripping onto this mystery object.
‘no..’ narrowing your eyes, determining whether he knew what you thought he knew.
he did, he one hundred percent did. holy fuck. he’d figured you out already. eddie had opened his big, stupid mouth and told dustin, who would’ve told steve and god knows who else. fucking moron.
‘no? soo..’ his pulls the magazine from behind his back, flipping it to the page he’d already saved, ‘this isn’t real then?’ shoving the glossy pages into your face, ‘because to me.. this looks an awful lot like eddie.. at this very house,’ he jabs his finger at the pixelated image, ‘and this little blob here.. that’s you, no?’
you’re utterly gobsmacked. mouth hung open in pure shock. because that most definitely was eddie.. and your house.. and you. you hadn’t seen anyone with a camera, hell, you hadn’t seen anyone on the street at all.
‘and correct me if i’m wrong, but is this not our friend eddie leaving your house the next morning?’ showing the next image of him leaving your house the day after, hair unruly and messed up, holding his denim jacket in his arms as he climbs into his car.
your mouth moves but no words come out, croaking as you struggle to meet steve’s eyes. completely speechless, there was no feasible excuse. you had been caught with your pants down. literally.
‘i can explain,’ waving your hands around while steve stands smug against the kitchen counter. ‘..no i can’t,’ shoulders slumped as you blink at your best friend, no you really couldn’t. suppose you could’ve come up with some lie about a look-a-like you’d been seeing but that would’ve made you look particularly strange.
‘were you ever gonna tell me?’ he’s almost hurt that you hadn’t ran to him to tell him immediately. this was true best friend gossip and you’d kept him from it.
‘i was! steve.. i don’t even know what happened- he came over to apologise and then we were arguing and then.. then we had sex and it’s not my fault..’ you’re trying, and failing, to contain your smile, flashing your cheeky grin to your best friend in the hopes he would let this slide.
‘i can’t believe you didn’t tell me!’ jutting his bottom lip out, ‘so, you’re getting back together?’ his eyes sceptical yet sparkling with a sense of hope. you’re grateful that all he seems to care about is the fact you lied. or actually, withheld the truth as you preferred it.
‘no.. well.. no, we had dinner together yesterday and he might’ve stayed over but no..’ shaking your head, ‘he’s leaving again soon and we both know what happened last time..’ you shrug, leaning back against the counter, ‘i guess i don’t hate him now, that’s good isn’t it?’
steve looks perplexed, ‘wait wait wait.. so you’re just.. screwing around? and then he leaves again, that’s it? what’s the point?’ taking a seat at the small kitchen table, fully engrossed in the conversation.
‘i dunno.. i guess that’s it?’ you hadn’t really thought about the fact that he’d be leaving again, in fact, you hadn’t really had time to think much at all about what was happening.
you’d just sort of acknowledged that at some point he’d go back to california and you’d stay here and whatever was happening would.. end? it wasn’t as if you were going to be super upset about it like you once were. lots of people fuck their ex’s.. this was fine.
because that’s what this is, right?
just sex with an ex?
‘that’s it?’ steve reiterates, looking completely flabbergasted that the woman who once left the room whenever eddie munson’s name was mentioned was now being so casual about this.
‘yeah,’ you shrug, not wanting to make a massive deal out of it though you could always rely on steve to be over dramatic on your behalf.
‘no,’ he straightens up in the chair, ‘all of this can’t be for nothing,’ sounding utterly exasperated, ‘you two obviously belong together so why don’t you go for it? i could see you living it up out in la.. big house, big car-,’
you cut him off before he can divulge into his delusions any further, ‘i think you’re getting ahead of yourself steve,’ shaking your head at his ludicrous attitude.
you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it once or twice but it seemed silly to start imagining this crazy life together after all these years. he’d barely just made it into your good graces again, you were hardly going to run off to california with him. it was utter delusion.
‘okay okay..’ he scoffs, ‘but i still think you need to talk to him. i don’t want you getting hurt again, okay? just make sure that you’re both on the same page,’ nodding as he stands from his seat and begins to rummage through your cupboards for something to eat.
he was probably right and you knew it deep down. you weren’t keen on being the one to bring the conversation up, not after that first night. after you had sobbed in his arms in bed, letting him soothe you to sleep with a bunch of probable empty promises.
-
when eddie lets himself into your house a few hours later, steve’s eyebrows fly up his forehead but he doesn’t say a word. instead, he nods at the man, keeping his opinions to himself.
the pair of you resemble an old married couple, except you’re the grumpy old man with your wife cuddled into your side. your wife being steve that is.
‘oh.. is this uh, something that happens often?’ eddie asks, settling into the empty chair across from you. slightly miffed that steve was nestled into your side.
‘yup,’ you nod, smiling at him your chin resting on steve’s head. he hadn’t a reason to be jealous, you’d really rather poke your eyeballs out with a fork than do anything remotely sexual with steve.
‘right.. yeah okay,’ eddie says, looking perplexed but sitting back in the chair. if he was going to stick around then this would have to be something that he got used to. because you sure as hell weren’t going to stop being so close with steve for the guy that broke your heart at eighteen.
‘you want a drink?’ you ask, realising that you should probably be a good host even if it was only eddie.
‘yeah sure.’
you untangle yourself from steve and trundle off into the kitchen. steve takes this as the perfect opportunity to grill eddie on his intentions, sitting up straight and making sure that you were really gone before beginning his interrogation.
‘so.. you two?’
eddie shrugs, not wanting to get into it with steve after such a long day.
steve sighs, leaning toward eddie, ‘i’m gonna say this once.. but if you hurt her again, i will kill you,’ staring the other man down. contempt in his eyes. he was dead serious too.
‘i’m not- i’m not gonna hurt her,’ eddie sits up, praying that you’d hurry back with this damn drink.
‘i mean it eddie,’ raising his eyebrows, ‘you didn’t see how she was after you left.. i’m not going through that again, i’m not letting her go through that again.’
‘steve-,’ eddie blinks, stopping himself as you re-enter the room. hoping that you hadn’t heard their conversation, he’d only just got you to stop hating him. he wasn’t prepared to go back to that like, ever.
‘what’re you talking about?’ placing the bottle of beer in front of eddie and collapsing back into your spot on the couch.
‘football,’ steve answers quickly, groaning as he pushes himself off of the sofa, ‘i’m gonna head home, got work in the morning but i’ll see you tomorrow,’ he smiles, winking at you from above.
‘okay,’ you utter, sounding more like a question than a statement, watching carefully as he gathers his things without so much as a glance at eddie. you can only imagine what was actually said but that was truly none of your business.
you’d just grill eddie later to make sure steve hasn’t been too much of an asshole.
‘byee,’ you call out behind him, already eyeing a sheepish eddie. this’d probably be it. you’d known it was coming at some point, you just weren’t sure of when.
if steve’s sudden departure was anything to go off, you were probably right.
the door clicks shut and you turn your attention to eddie who was still sat on the solemn chair. oh god. maybe you had got a little used to having him around again and now to know that it’d all be coming to an abrupt end once again.. yeah you felt a tad shit.
‘what’d you say?’ you ask outright, it made zero sense to beat around the bush.
‘me?’ he looks almost offended, ‘i didn’t say shit.. didn’t get the chance to,’ but he’s smiling ever so slightly and your heart relaxes.
christ you were so stupid. letting him back into your life just to let him walk away a second time. perhaps you’d done something horrific in a past life to deserve this same fate twice.
‘so what did he say?’ you press, unsure of if your even wanted the answer.
eddie sighs before coming to collapse on the couch next to you, ‘it wasn’t important.. look, i wanna be honest with you,’ his hand comes to grab yours and you freeze, bracing yourself for what was inevitably going to come next. ‘you mean a lot to me and.. and i don’t want you to think that i don’t care or that i’m just leaving you again,’ his eyes are focussed on yours, full of what you hope is sincerity.
you don’t reply, instead you nod slightly and urge him to continue. this was it. the kicker. 
‘i’ve gotta go back to la next week,’ his grip tightens around your hand, ‘but i’m coming back as soon as i can, okay?’ he’s serious too and you’d like to believe him but if the past was anything to go by, you weren’t eager.
you nod silently. fuck this. once again, you were sat before eddie munson, listening to his plans to jet off to la. it felt like the cruelest case of deja-vu. if anything, you want to kick yourself for even allowing him to wiggle his way back into your heart. most people know better after the first time.
‘it’s three weeks.. maybe a month, but i’m coming back, i promise,’ he pleads, hanging his head low. he knows there’s absolutely nothing he could say to you that would make you believe him but he had to try.
you hum, frowning just a little before finally replying, ‘i’ve heard that before,’ not meaning to sound as snarky as you did, but it was true.
‘i’m serious, i’m not.. not gonna lose you again, i’ve learnt my lesson,’ his eyes are big and pleading and you’re thrown right back to being eighteen, listening to him convince you how going to la would be the best decision.
‘so.. what? you’re gonna come back to hawkins just to see me? i don’t-,’ you sigh, as much as you wanted to believe him, it just wasn’t plausible in your mind, ‘i just don’t understand, are we together or are you just coming back to fuck? you don’t have to, you know? i’ve made peace with it all and i’m fine.. you don’t have to lie to me anymore.’
if anyone was going to fuck this up, it would be you. that’s for certain.
‘what the fuck?’ he exclaims, genuinely flabbergasted, ‘this is me telling you that i’m serious about this.. about you,’ he takes your hand into his properly, scooting around to face you fully, ‘i love being here with you, and ella and there is nothing out in la worth more than this,’ you think he might just start crying, or you might. or perhaps both of you.
you sniff, not wanting to speak in fear of bursting into hysterics. it was all just so confusing and weird. you’d grown accustomed to eddie being on the other side of the country and now suddenly he was back in your life with what seemed like a a declaration of love. it was just too much to handle. and maybe you blame yourself a little, for not truly thinking about the implications of fucking your ex that had abandoned you years prior. but now it all just seemed to be hurtling in the most intense direction.
you were the one that had told him to stay after all. because really, you could’ve kicked him out, refused to ever even acknowledge him again. but you hadn’t.
‘are you telling me the truth?’ is all that you manage to squeak out. baring resemblance to a small child.
you really must’ve looked pathetic, eyes brimming with tears, bottom lip quivering as you hold in the implosion of emotions. it’s always scary being vulnerable with someone, let alone someone that once meant so much to you.
he still did. as much as you’re absolutely petrified to admit it, he’d weaselled his way back into your heart and now here you are, a mess of emotions and perplexing feelings that are too complicated to handle.
‘i promise you,’ he sighs, clearly fed up of your whining, ‘i’m coming back this time.’
and maybe you’re stupid. maybe you’re still hung up on some high school relationship that ended long ago but you can’t help it, you nod.
idiotically believing him because what else can you do after letting him into your home and your heart again.
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teatreeoilll · 3 months
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w/c: 750 Part I - A drabble - headcanon thingy of our favorite king of red flags curses, set in a Heian-era village. i dunno anymore. | Part 2 here
Childhood!FriendSukuna who first met you as he stood at the brink of death.
"Mom, hey, mom." You tugged at her sleeve, directing her gaze at a frail boy, about seven or eight, on the verge of collapse behind the village market stall, "Can I give him an apple?" It's a bad month, she thought, glancing at the contents of her basket; this kindness might cost an empty stomach later on.
"No dear, he'll be fine." But you already ran off with an apple, your tiny legs making their way to the sickly boy.
"Here," you held the apple in front of his face, to which he narrowed his eyes, extending a scrawny arm to smack it away.
"I don't need your trash." He barked, his voice harsh as he gathered saliva in his mouth, spitting at your feet, “Peasant.”
As soon as your mother dragged you away, he picked up the apple, eating it whole.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who didn’t mind the insults the villagers threw at him while he was knee-deep in mud, plowing the fields for a cup of stale rice in the evenings.
"That brat is cursed," the whispers would grow amidst the village's council meetings, "If we stop feeding him, he'll leave."
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna, whose malnourished limbs betrayed him as he fell face first on the rice terrace with the hot sun still ablaze on his back.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who woke up almost a day later under an unknown ceiling, fever gnawing at his head under a wet cloth.
"Mom! Mom!" You shrieked from the corner of the room, "He's awake!" and a woman came in with a warm cup of tea, the taste of which lingered on his tongue as he drifted back to sleep.
"Let me die, brat." His hoarse voice was still weak when he came back to his senses as you placed a fresh, dampened cloth over his forehead.
"My name's not 'brat,'" you informed with a scoff, "It's (Name); what's yours?"
Too ashamed to admit he didn’t know the answer, he turned away and closed his eyes.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna, whose mouth hung agape when you pressed a chaste kiss on his forehead one night while muttering, 'mother told me that a kiss can heal any sickness'.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna, who disappeared as soon as he found the strength to walk again, returning to the fields only to find that the farmer's wife would no longer spare him dried-out rice when he finished a day's work.
"They should have let him die," he heard the farmer's wife proclaim through the thin walls of the cabin, "That self-righteous linen maker and her irritating daughter. That brat probably cursed them, too."
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who killed the farmer and his wife, unleashing a torrent of power he never knew resided within him; some kind of strange magic, he thought, wondering if the whispers of curses were more than the village gossip. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood, and for the first time, he could breathe.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who disappeared after the crime, only to emerge a decade later, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake as he razed and burned each village in his path - laughing as he watched the terror-stricken villagers bow at his feet, crying and begging and dubbing him devil.
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who spared you as the village you once called home turned to ashes around you.
"I owe no debt to you now." He announced.
Tears pooled in your eyes, and a scream escaped your lips as you broke down on your knees before him, "I should have listened," you wailed, fingers clawing at the dry dirt beneath you, "They said you were cursed," you hurled a mass of dirt at him, hitting his chest, "They said the devil came to the village the day you were born."
ChildhoodFriend!Sukuna who passed through the village again the next day, just to see you lying between the rubble, limbs sprawled on the dirt and ashes.
"I've extended you kindness." He said, covering the sun with his frame as he loomed over you, "Leave."
And you laughed, shaking and howling until the sides of your body started stinging, and the words came out as mere gasps; "And go where?"
"Wherever you wish."
"Home," You declared, locking eyes with his confused expression, "I want to go home."
You weren’t sure what sick thoughts ran through his mind when he leaned down to press a chaste kiss on your forehead, so you smiled, his face still a mere inch away from yours; "It's my fault." you confessed, "So, the next time we meet, I'll fix it, okay?" A deadpan expression took over as you added, "I'll kill you myself."
-
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satoruhour · 3 months
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a/n: not sure if other countries have rubbish chutes but my country does! i have to get out of my house to go to the common floor chute to throw my rubbish so this is just a little drabble based on that + spider-man!gojo :) / tagging @osaemu @jabamin @shotorus @hyomagiri @mysugu ✶
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“yes, yes! i’ll take out the trash—” you’re shouting to your mom when you’re called upon again, the third time within ten minutes to take the trash out. through your one-sided airpods (your left one always dies first), you can hear your mom tying the plastic bag and cleaning up at the sink.
it’s always been her bringing it to the chute outside your house; occasionally, you’d help but routine has never really let you do it, so later when you’re awkwardly tucking your phone into your pocket and listening to charlie burg’s voice through the right airpod, you can’t help the grimace that takes over your features at the wetness all over the trash bag.
“oh, it’s just water; stop being dramatic!” your mom chastises whilst on her nightly cup of water, gulping down the beverage before nodding towards the master bedroom, “i’m gonna go to sleep first.”
you hum in a half-hearted response, a little annoyed that you were interrupted from your lazing around but you still manage a soft goodnight when she disappears into the room and the house falls quiet. apart from the background classical music that plays from the stereo in the room and the laughter of the older kids downstairs outside, you’re living in a world of both music and silence, feeling a little disoriented by the one-sided song.
the walk to the outdoor chute is short in your oversized puffer jacket, flip-flops seemingly slapping against the floor in attempts of waking up all your neighbours beside you but thankfully they don’t seem to mind when you walk past their homes. it’s cold, feeling the snow that beats into the open corridors that lead to the rubbish chute. beside it, there’s a ledge that overlooks the other buildings, too.
with one swift step to the foot lever, the chute opens and you’re dumping the trash bag into the dirty, stained metal device and with a listening ear, you grin when you hear the bag travel through the tunnel and reach the bottom with a big plunk!, not really realising the ledge now held something.
or someone.
“h—”
if your slippers didn’t wake the neighbours up, your scream definitely did when spiderman himself hops off the ledge and leaps forward to place his palm over your mouth. it only fuels your desire to scream even more before you remember that your damn boyfriend is the vigilante that the police are looking for and citizens are rooting for more and more and that calms your racing heart just a bit.
but you still give him his due treatment . .
“what!” smack. “the!” smack. “fuck!” smack. “were!” smack. “you!” smack. “thinking?!” smack.
. . even if the widening of his spider-man mask eyes were adorable.
“sorry! sorry, sorry—” spider-man!gojo only continues to apologise but you can tell he’s enjoying it at least a little, hands gripping your biceps to help you to centre yourself. and as you predicted, once your boyfriend pulls off his mask, there’s a shit-eating grin and a cheeky glint in his eyes.
you muster the most unimpressed face you can — “really? i’m starting to think you’re not really sorry,” your mouth twists when you roll your eyes, getting ready to make a show of heading back into your house before he brings you into his arms. even with a hint of faux protest from you, you’re melting into his embrace, grumbling into his chest.
there’s a hint of wetness along his suit that you feel against your body, probably from the snow outside, but mostly you can feel the cold air against your hair and laboured breaths in your ear.
“i am! i missed you . .” he mumbles, suited fingers gripping your body tight against him like you were an apparition, “i just wanted to, uhm—”
it’s rare that you see your boyfriend having such a hard time with words, but it’s a cute sight when he pulls away and stumbles in his sentences and quickly removes the backpack that he’s webbed to the wall outside. there’s a noise of surprise from you as you watch him crawl outside on all fours and rip the backpack, scrambling to remove something from it.
and you’re so caught off-guard — in his hands are a ruined bouquet of flowers and a mixtape he’s put together for you — that you giggle at the state of it and coo at his downcast expression. he’s looking in the bag, outside, anywhere for what might’ve been the culprit to make the flowers turn out that way until he realises he had bought them a tad bit early and had been swinging around with it the whole day.
“aw . . satoru, they’re still pretty!” you take the gift with grateful hands, something you cherish despite his busy schedule of school and fighting villains. “but maybe don’t go on missions when you’ve got fresh flowers in your bag?”
satoru whines at that as he instinctively webs his backpack again, sulking until you’re leaping forward to give him another tight hug. alas, you would’ve preferred the comfort of his familiar hoodie but you can settle for the spandex of his suit as you squeeze him tight, ignoring the cold air that seeps into your bones.
“thank you, thank you ’toru . .” you smile, pulling away slightly before you take in the state of him. you didn’t have much time before, but now you can fully appreciate his white stark hair that matches the snow outside and the blue of his eyes that mirror his suit.
“it’s the thought that counts right?” he asks awkwardly, scratching his head with the hand that clutches his mask.
you burst out laughing, “yes. yes it indeed is,” you smoothen out his hair, but not before you’re forming an idea, “i’ll— i’ll go put these in water and see if i can salvage them. you, stay here.”
with one peck to his cheek, you’re off back to your house but the bouquet of flowers is only left on your bedside table. in your hands are something else, a scarf and beanie that you take back to the area of the rubbish chute.
it’s not a place you deem romantic, but you’d never pass up a surprise visit from your superhero boyfriend. when you get back he’s removing the fallen petals from his bag, interrupting his activity when you place the scarf around his neck.
“here,” you smile, wrapping it around once and tucking in the ends, “it’s cold.”
satoru looks at you like everything good in the world, a bright grin breaking through when your eyes meet his in the midst of your adjusting.
“just so you know, you might not see this scarf ever again, sweetness.”
you laugh, “why? cause it’s got my scent all over it?”
gojo shrugs and gestures, “partially, but also it might fall off while i’m doing big boy things and swingin’ around in the neighbourhood.”
you push his shoulder lightly and joke, “if my scarf touches the city ground, you’re never hearing from me again.”
and all he does is cross his heart and hold out his hand, “i humbly hold your promise to my heart, your royal highness.”
gently you pull him towards you with the scarf ends, careful not to choke him. there, your lips collide with his glossed ones that manage to stay like that despite the cold weather, while your chapped ones only surprise him. but he swallows the shock soon enough, humming into the kiss softly as he wraps his suited arms around you. you’re so warm, puffer jacket and all and his neck is already heating up from the scarf and his flustered state, enough heat to fuel him through the night.
when oxygen becomes scarce you find that you need to pull away, met again with his pretty eyes that soften just by looking at you, but you both know that he needs to go when the notifications on his phone don’t stop. it’s probably his trackers notifying him about the villain, so you help him put on his mask, making sure the eye holes fit exactly where it needs to go and the sewing lines up with the rest of his suit. the beanie goes on last.
“baby— i . . i just needed to come see you before i fight green goblin,” he mumbles, brushing hair from your face and even with the barrier between the both of you, you know he’s smiling under, “some good luck would suffice, don’t ya think?”
“it would. now, go.” you pat his cheek, pulling away reluctantly as he slings his backpack and you suddenly feel cold again. “stay safe, spider-man.”
satoru cannot wait until he’s in your arms again, so he lunges forward and pulls his mask up just to his nose to give you one last kiss and you indulge him; when your eyes open, he’s already on the ledge.
“merry christmas, baby.” you can see the familiar stunning smile and a soft confession before he’s hopping off and you’re running to it to watch him swing away with a loud, lovesick laugh that sounds a little too much like the star student, gojo satoru, but it doesn’t matter when you know you’re the only one who knows his secret.
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part two
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ssahotchnerr · 1 month
Note
hi babe! was wondering if you could write something abt hotch + reader having their daughter’s first birthday and all of the team is there and it’s so cute and we get big brother jack.
maybe it including light bickering between them but it’s so clear they love each other so much still and it really is just pointless bickering. something fluffy for sure.
up to you! i trust your wonderful writing , thank u bunches !
- 🕷️ [is this anon emoji taken yet? oops if it is!]
take the bench
AHH that's so adorable 🥹 cw; fem!reader, jack calls reader mom, domestic banter <3 and aaron being very dad <3
"are you kidding, look how cute!" you exclaimed, holding up the little outfit for all to see. your daughter's tiny hands immediately made a grab at it. "this is perfect for spring."
"after two boys, i can't express enough how fun it is shopping for a girl." jj gushed, resting her chin comfortably on her hand. "new section of the store unlocked."
all had gathered for baby girl's very first birthday, and it's been quite the eventful afternoon. lively conversations, a plentiful spread of food, cake on the horizon.
currently your daughter was sat comfortably on your lap, while you orchestrated the whole present-opening extravaganza.
at her young age, she could pull the tissue paper out of the gift bags as instructed, you and jack helped with the actual paper ripping as needed. whether it was you tearing off a starter piece, or jack proudly fulfilling his big brother duties - simply unwrapping it entirely himself and excitably showing his sister what she had received.
and meanwhile, aaron had the most dad job: trash bag duty. it was right up his alley naturally, being sure to punctually collect the scraps of paper before they touched the ground; preventing a mess at all costs.
which ultimately, led up to a new game.
"jack," aaron grabbed his son's focus, holding the bag open and jack caught on instantly. he grinned, balling up and throwing the tissue paper in hand in aaron's direction.
it started off gentle; quiet cheers when jack made the shot, not to mention the growing smiles on both ends. but then it soon turned into them firing off at each other, a bit too aggressive in the constraints of the living room. jack's laughter heightened with each throw, and henry even began to join in from time to time.
while still enamored by the gifts, all thanks to her brother and father's volume, baby girl's attention was quickly drawn to them. she let out a high pitched squeal every time wrapping paper flew over her head and through the air, attempting to wiggle her way off your lap.
as much as you loved aaron and jack carelessly enjoying themselves, and the addictive giggles emitting from your daughter, you also didn't want to take the focus away from everyone's generous gifts. they had spent time, and money, and deserved the proper recognition in return.
"aaron." you warned lightly, raising an eyebrow when his gaze shot to yours - a silent, but loving nonetheless, quit it.
"alright bud," aaron caught the last makeshift ball from jack with his hand, shoving it into the trash. "take the bench. the ref is giving me that look."
"but dad-"
"you heard me. and your mother."
jack let out a small whine, but promptly complied. he returned to the stack of his sister's presents, shifting through and looking for the next one to give her.
"for someone on clean up duty, you sure are making quite the mess." you teased once you caught aaron's eyes again, jack placing the next gift in front of you, "a larger one, if i may add."
"mess isn't in my vocabulary." aaron quipped right back, a delightfully smug look on his face. "you shouldn't be the one talking."
you cocked your head to the side, comically, "oh?"
"who's side of the closet is currently exploding?"
"who's sock drawer has seen better days?"
"the parents are fightingggg." derek stretched out his voice, murmuring humorously under his breath and nudging penelope with an elbow. while the soft tone, his statement was for all to hear.
now, it was your turn to (lightly, as to not jostle baby girl) chuck a ball of wrapping paper at him. derek ducked, barely, laughing loudly as he straightened his posture back upright.
"good try, but not good enough mamas. you gotta work on your aim."
"see, i'm not making a mess." aaron teased as he came near to grab it off the carpet, taking a detour as well to give your lips a quick peck. "you have that title perfectly under control, darling."
you playfully rolled your eyes, a smile dancing its way onto your lips. aaron couldn't resist the sight, kissing you once more. "oh bite me, hotchner."
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sukunas-wife · 3 months
Note
you could do something where sukuna and yuji team up to protect their mom/wife when a person is bothering or harassing her, they love her so much that they won't let someone hurt her 🥹💗
Leave Mama Kuna alone 😔
Old Day, because no one was brave enough to confront Sukuna for murder.
Warnings? Murder, in red text a man attempted to force himself on reader, Gore, Blood
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It didn't take much to upset Sukuna, he was always looking for a reason to snap at someone and end a life. Sadly his son Yuji was a cock block for murder, and it irked him that he basically had to shake and rile his son up to get angry and then he’d just flat line and “but why don’t we-“ They didn’t agree to often on why a man should die- but in this case they were all agreeing. “Get him daddy!” Yuji yelled, pointing his chubby finger at a man maybe in his early Twenties who had been talking to you while you were trying to pick out Snacks for Yuji. He had wandered off after passing a candy stand and usually you’d send a maid or help to get the necessities but today you wanted to take Yuji out to walk and play and hopefully learn some self preservation, Sukuna, well he was feared and he just wanted to come along to make sure no idiot would try to disrespect you. “Listen, I’m just trying to get some things for my son. Leave while you still can and maybe my husband will let you live.” You smiled nodding at the man who scoffed “Your husband? What is he? a Mercenary? What’s he gonna do to kill me? That’s probably a lie you probably don’t even have a so-” you sighed turning away when Sukuna lifted the man by the neck with one hand twisting him around to face him, “No, I’m your God,” his stare darkened “but I’m not so merciful.” There stood Yuji by his dads leg, “Yeah! You deserve no mercy! That’s my mom you were disrespecting!… Idiot!” You tried not to laugh at Yuji’s extra words and went back to paying the scared vendor for the snacks you had picked out. By the time you looked back the guy was laid out on the floor bloody and probably just barely clinging to life, head being pressed into the dirt being grinded on by Sukuna’s large foot. Yuji was swinging away on his ribs and stomach, for a 7 year old his hits were surprisingly solid.
As the day progressed you had managed to convince Sukuna to have lunch despite the fact he didn’t eat human food. But he watched as Yuji sat beside him slurping away at noodles and his rice topped with diced meat, “Boy’s more human than curse.” Was all Sukuna said when Yuji looked up at him, noodles hanging out his mouth before he slurped them up smiling. “Daddy I gotta Pee.” Sukuna sighed standing up out of the booth, “then go.” “…go with me?” Yuji looked up at his dead with pleading eyes before Sukuna groaned and motioned for him to go, “Fine.” Sukuna was waiting outside the bathroom when he heard a trio, two men and one woman. “That's her isn’t it? She’s the Deity at the Shrine house isn’t she?” One man asked the girl. She just shrugged, “Yeah but I don’t see what’s so special about her? So she had some big curses kid, her body’s probably trashed or something.” “Shut up Kaguya, you're probably just jealous, any man would give anything to lay that woman in their bed. If I had a chance I’d get her pregnant too, look at her, I’d do anything to pull her robes off.” The second guy spoke up, “That’s sick man, she has a husband and kid, Yeah she’s pretty but she’s literally a deity, have some respect.” Kaguya interrupted “She’s probably a slut and maid who just had sex with him and got lucky she got pregnant, she’d probably spread her legs for anyone if they offered a comfortable lif-“ Sukuna’s hands were bloody, in a matter of seconds he had ripped th hearts out of the first man and the girls chest. It hadn't been processed as they managed to look up his blood covered hands. The smirk on his face was sinister and became worse when the second man looked up at him in fear, struggling to scream. He shoved the man’s friend's heart into his mouth like a gag, leaning down with a threatening voice “You’d do best to keep your mouth shut.”
Yuji and you had wandered off from Sukuna when he became surrounded by people bearing gifts to honour him. He was annoyed and even more when he turned to realise both you and Yuji had left his side. You were taking Yuji with you to the shrine house the people had built for you. The eunuchs at the entrance greeted you, stopping to ask if Yuji would be entering with you, which caused him to hold onto the side of your robes and sleeve, you put your hand on his shoulder comforting him, “Yes, this is my son after all.” Entering the shrine, you made your way all the way to the back where you would sit and wait before the doors would open to the public. Yuji was walking around the room looking around until he stopped. You had a wall where all the drawings he’d ever given you while leaving the palace had been framed because “I don wan you to forget me” A young girl came into the room shocked that Yuji was there until you cleared your throat, “oh! Forgive me Lady Y/n, I didn’t know you would be here today.” You waved a hand of dismissal. “I didn’t expect to be here either, but I thought Yuji,” you looked at him, he was staring at the girl in the door, slowly walking to you, his eyes never left her face. He looked serious, a face his dad often wore when something was wrong and he was watching it play out or when he was lost in thought. He turned away from you leaning against your lap standing between you and the girl. “Who the hell is she?” He sounded like a younger version of his dad with his demanding tone and dead stare, his curse word caught you off guard. You tried to form words stopping when you couldn’t, “she’s a servant who works here Yu, what’s wrong?” You leaned trying to get a look at his face, but he wouldn’t turn to look at you, he had his target. The girl became uncomfortable under his stare, “well, him Lady y/n there was an expecting mother who came by begging for a miracle.. the details shouldn’t be explained in front of such a young boy or boy at all really but-“ you held up your hand silencing her. “Bring her into the main room. I'll be out in a minute. I just need to make sure Yuji will be okay here for a few minutes.” She bowed, closing the door, Yuji turned to look at you and he seemed visibly at ease, “Yu.. what’s wrong?” He looked at the door, “She’s funny.. in a bad way..” you didn’t know how to answer. “Alright, I’ll remember that then.” You stood up, setting him on your chair and kneeling in front of him, “Will you be okay here? Alone for a short bit?” He shook his head no while kicking his feet, “Don’t leave me.”
That’s how you ended up with Yuji following quietly behind you when you made your way through the hallways to the main room. He got distracted stopping for a moment to look at a picture, the end of the hallway split two ways. There was a painting of Sukuna holding newborn Yuji, he looked so serious in the painting, when you told Sukuna you wanted it for your shrine he refused to smile saying it wouldn’t look good in the public eye or something along those words. Yuji was pulled out of his day dream when he heard you scream, he ran trying to find you. He froze seeing a man cornering you in the hallway, you were fighting him off the best you could but you couldn’t only do so much against a half curse half man that was attempting to measure up to Sukuna. He was far off from even touching the hem of Ryomen’s robes, but he was an entitled arrogant bastard. When the servant girl came, Yuji saw how she smiled at the scene. Yuji ran in blind, jumping and climbing the man’s back, wrapping his arms around his neck and biting into his shoulder. The man screamed and tried to pull Yuji free. He couldn’t do it alone so the servant girl tried, you fought harder when you saw how she was shaking him around. You broke free from the man's grip pulling Yuji free from her before rushing screaming for Sukuna, all the eunuchs wouldn’t be able to help you. The man grabbed your robes and Yuji fell from your arms, he watched his man lift you by the front of your robes and your hands, nails were digging into his wrist.
Why don’t you use your technique mom!? DO SOMETHING! dads not he- “Domain Expansion” the room went black, there was the sound of a drip and everything was dark, it felt hard to breathe, “Cleave.” Your eyes widened before you shoved the man off of you. You heard the squelch and thud of a body, and the crashing and cracking of the walls to your shrine being torn apart. Turning to look you saw Yuji, his hand sign was opposite his fathers, but he looked livid. His face was covered in markings mirroring his fathers more human form. You wanted to say something, but you turned to the gaping wall. The Cursed man was laying in the dusty street, he was sliced deeply but not fatally. The servant didn’t stand a chance. She was sliced finely for betrayal. Watching a crowd gather you pulled Yuji with you to see if the cursed man was alive. He was laying there, unfocused, he saw you and yelled “ILL FUCKING KILL YOU AND YOUR DAMN CHILD I AM THE ONE DESTINED FOR GREAT I WILL BE THE KING OF CURSES YOU BOTH WILL DIE AT MY HANDS,” before forcing himself up, chest, arms, and waist crossed with deep gashes.
He tried to lift his hands only to realise they weren’t there, his arms were gone. Yuji was mad that a man would try to take advantage of his mother, but as long as his father wasn’t there he would be there, but for now, a low chuckled rumbled behind the man, “You’ll need your hands to even think about laying them on my wife and son.” Sukuna wrapped his arm around the man from behind, large hand squeezing his neck, a low grumble, “You aren’t strong, you’re a fool and your brain is a pile of shit. You deserve only the worst death, but I’m having a little fun here so I’ll make this slow and painful.” Uraume approached Sukuna holding out his staff. Sukuna stabbed it into the ground piercing the man on the pointed edges, letting him sink down until it pierced through his chest. There the cursed man screamed and no matter how much he squirmed and begged for mercy Sukuna would push him down further. The man begged for mercy, for him to stop, “Did you listen to my wife when she asked you to stop?” He took the man’s jaw in his hand forcing him to look up at him, the pressure slowly fracturing his jaw as he shook his head no trying to profusely apologise. Sukunas nails dug into his face before he let go, “Did you have mercy on my wife when you grabbed her like this?” His large hand crushed the man's throat, nails digging into his skin, blood flowing, “WHEN MY WIFE TRIED TO PUSH YOU AWAY DID YOU WALK AWAY? NO YOU TRIED TO TOUCH HER LIKE THIS.” Sukuna placed his hand on the man’s chest, “dishonourable actions will be paid for with blood.” The crowd was watching when Sukuna drove his hand into the man’s chest squeezing his heart in his chest, the man screamed and gurgled as he spat up blood. Sukuna ripped out his heart throwing it on the ground and ripping off his head crushing his skull in his head, “Let this be a warning to every human in the vicinity, in this city in the existence of this time, that any man or woman who would act to lift a hand against my child or wife, your blood will be spilled to atone your sins.”
The crowd quickly cleared out and Sukuna turned to you, Yuji still had the markings on his face, his eyes were red. Sukuna nodded, holding an arm out to you. Pushing Yuji ahead of you, you started to tear up, hugging your husband’s side. Yuji was hugging your side. “Ryo-“ he shushed you using a hand to press your face against his chest. Burying your face against his hot skin your body wanted to tremble while you cried into the comforting of your husband but his presence was reassuring as surprising as it might sound. He rubbed his warm hand up and down your back “I’m here now.” He rested his chin on top of your head, he looked down at Yuji pulling him into his other side ruffling his hair. “You did good kid.” Yuji still looked serious before he leaned into his dads side with a slight smile. He went over to hug you, you took hold of him and he didn’t let go until you stopped sniffling. He smiled up at you, puffy eyes and red cheeks, Sukuna snickered, pinching your cheek making a joke, Yuji’s bright smile didn’t falter, “I still think you’re pretty.” Your sudden laugh made your husband and son laugh. Kneeling down you pinched both of Yuji’s cheeks lightly as he laughed, before cupping his face in both hands bringing him close to kiss both of cheeks and forehead calling him “My Little Protector.” He smiled with pride before you got up smiling at Sukuna, he sides eyed you before sighing leaning to the side giving you his face, “and my big hero.” Cupping his face you brought him into a kiss and he smirked against your lips when Yuji let out a loud “eeeewwww”
“Cmon Yu,” you held your hand out to him and he took it happily walking while holding your hand, “I’ll be stronger next time!”
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Tag:
@sakuxxi @mercymccann @simpforyoubitch @certainduckanchor @domainofmarie @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @sad-darksoul @cyder-puff @satorisgirl l @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 7
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loveinhawkins · 1 year
Text
Steve doesn’t notice the answering machine for several weeks.
His time is split between the hospital and donating food and clothes; and when he’s not doing that, he’s helping put up missing posters for people’s loved ones.
It’s only when both Max and Eddie are discharged that he has a moment to even catch his breath—when, half-dozing on his feet, waiting for a microwave ready meal to heat up, he notices the blinking red light in the hallway.
He feels like he’s still in a dream when he presses ‘play’, hears his mother’s voice. There’s people talking in the background, the echoing, constant chatter of a hotel lobby. She’s laughing at something someone must have said before the answering machine kicked in.
She sounds… happy.
“Steve? Steve?” The rustle of the receiver getting briefly pressed to her blouse, a muffled, “Just a minute, hon, he might still pick up.” Then, clearer: “No, you must be out. All right, Steve, it was just to let you know that we’ll be home a little sooner than we—yes, I’m telling him, what do you think I’m doing?”
Steve’s thoroughly grateful that he’s listening to a message, and no response is required—can only stand there, jaw slack, at just how light his mother’s voice is.
“A couple of work things fell through,” she continues with a breeziness that probably means several major ‘things’ went disastrously wrong, work related or otherwise. But it doesn’t sound like she cares all that much; if anything, she sounds excited.
“So I thought we could—well, I don’t know how late we’ll be, but if you’re not too hungry, we could just order some pizza, lazy dinner? Plain cheese for you, right?” The distant ring of a bell on a counter. “Steve, darling, I know we haven’t been—” She cuts herself off with a sigh that’s gone too quickly for Steve to parse.
He hasn’t ordered a plain cheese pizza since he was 12 years old. But she’s trying, he thinks. She’s trying.
“Oh, we’re just checking out. What? No, I thought you had that bag. Oh, well, just—sorry, Steve, see you tonight. Love y—”
The message ends.
In a daze, Steve replays it once, twice—it’s on the third re-listen that he hears the mechanical voice intone what date the message was left.
See you tonight.
He inhales sharply just as the microwave beeps, and then he’s out the door, leaving the food to congeal.
-
He knows the route they would have taken. Plays it backwards in his head as he drives. Can see them in his mind’s eye taking the exit that leads into Hawkins—his mom berating his dad for not using his turn signal.
He finds the road. Stops. Gets out and presses his hand to the tarmac. He can feel it under his palm, like a scar.
The gates spread, at the end.
There’s no proof, nothing he can point to and say there, that’s what happened to them. Not a trace.
But he knows.
He knows.
-
“Okay, what’s up?” Eddie asks him three days later.
It’s almost funny, how little things have changed. Steve keeps waiting for a knock at the door, a just kidding! There’s no harried phone calls from their work, so they must have taken extended leave or—he doesn’t know.
He’s never going to know.
“Nothing,” Steve shrugs. “Just thinking if the kids want popcorn now or later.”
Eddie’s suspicion melts away with a snort; it’s too easy. “Stupid question—the answer is always now.”
“Yeah, yeah. Second cupboard on your left, Munson, knock yourself out.”
“What am I, the maid?” But Eddie’s already reaching for the popcorn, opening the microwave door with a clunk, and then there’s an abrupt silence.
Steve realises why a second too late. “Shit, I—sorry, lemme just—”
He picks up the plastic tray full of mouldy pasta and throws it in the trash—feels a prickle of shame as he does so.
It’s stupid that this is the thing that makes his breathing catch. So fucking—senseless.
“Steve,” Eddie says haltingly, like he somehow knows this isn’t just about being absent-minded.
“Don’t,” Steve says.
He knows that’s practically a signed confession already. But Eddie nods and even cleans the damn microwave without a word of complaint. Because the popcorn still needs to be done, and the kids are waiting, and they’re pretending, Steve thinks.
They’re all just pretending.
-
He loses himself in washing up, makes the water run hot and doesn’t wear gloves, lets his skin scald. They’d all ordered pizza, and Steve had hidden every slice he’d taken, torn them all up and stuffed them into a napkin.
He stops when he comes to a large plate with a floral trim.
Would she have picked this one? he wonders. The pizza would’ve looked pretty, served up on that.
And then, as quickly as that thought came, another takes its place. How dare she? How dare she think that a fucking lazy dinner would fix everything? Did she think he’d just forgive her, forgive them both, just like that?
But she never got the chance. He’ll never get the chance to—
A sharp, stabbing pain. Steve turns off the faucet automatically, sees that the plate has smashed in the sink. A shard of china in his palm.
Eddie’s voice echoes in the hallway. “Um, I called Wheeler? Uh, Nancy. She—she took them all home.”
“Cool,” Steve says, voice tight.
He knows that Eddie has entered the kitchen when he hears a shocked hiss. “Dude, what the fuck? You’re bleeding, wait there, just—”
It’s not a deep cut, Steve thinks numbly. He doesn’t know why Eddie is worried. But he lets him fuss, lets him gently pry the remnants of the plate away, lets him wrap a bandage tightly.
“Hey,” Eddie says. His voice is soft. “Whatever it is, we’ll fix it, ‘kay?”
Steve can’t look at him. Clenches his jaw.
“We will, you hear me, Harrington? I promise.”
Steve shakes his head. “Can’t fix—” he gets out before his throat closes up, and when he glances back, Eddie’s eyes are wide and fearful.
“What?” he says sharply, and he looks almost nauseous, like he suspects he’s about to be told that the monsters are back, that they have never even left. “What the fuck do you mean? You’ve got to tell me, man, just—”
Steve makes an anguished noise that feels like it comes from somewhere in his chest, and Eddie freezes. He considers Steve for a long moment.
“Okay,” he says, a wary placation. “Can you… um. Can you show me instead?”
Steve blinks. He flexes his hand, uncaring of the cut, and jerks his head to the hallway.
Eddie stares. Frowns. Then leaves.
He figures it out, of course he does. Steve just stands there, hears the click of the answering machine. He closes his eyes.
This is all that’s left; these are his scraps. A sigh he’ll never understand. An aborted, “I love you.” It had never come easily to her, but it had left her freely then.
Why?
A hand on his shoulder. Steve opens his eyes.
Eddie looks stricken. “Steve,” he whispers, then stops like he doesn’t have the words.
Steve can’t blame him. Neither does he.
“I didn’t—I didn’t know,” Eddie says. “Steve, I didn’t—”
“They were coming home,” Steve says stupidly, feels a bit like he’s twelve years old. “They were—Eddie. They were gonna come home.”
“Oh,” Eddie says, and it leaves him all in one breath. “Oh, Steve. C’mere.”
Steve falls against him, muffles something that’s half a cry, half a scream against his shoulder—and mourns the loss of a conversation he will never have.
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hypewinter · 1 month
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A continuation of this
It was amazing how interesting the hors d'oeuvre table became when one was avoiding social interaction. Danny pouted as he filled yet another plate with the tiny little snack foods. He should have listened to Mom. She had warned him he wouldn't like the party but he insisted on coming too. But how could he resist? When he heard all the fun stories his uncles told, he wanted to see for himself. And his grandpa had been so happy that he wanted to come too. Danny thought he would be in for a night of excitement especially since he'd be able to stay up past his bedtime yet instead he was currently bored out of his mind. He was also incredibly uncomfortable.
Danny didn't like how all these older people kept coming up to him and asking him weird questions or squeezing his cheeks. His mom and uncles tried to intercept as many people as possible but some people had gotten to him and. Danny didn't complain though as he's the one who wanted to come anywhere and he didn't want to seem like a brat. Plus he was still holding out hope that one of his uncles would do something interesting and if he complained, he might be taken home early.
That's why Danny had taken to avoiding his mom. She was very good at reading him and was even teaching him how to read others. If she saw him it would take 0.2 seconds for her to realize he didn't want to be here anymore. Mom was really nice so she would probably take him back home when she noticed. But Danny was a big boy and big boys suck it up for uncomfortable parties that they begged to attend. Though he still wished Sam were here. Sam? Who's Sam? He couldn't remember. There were a lot of things Danny couldn't remember. Even when he tried really hard to.
"Ah so this is the newest Wayne brat!"
Danny was pulled from his thoughts and looked up to see a man staring down at him. The man's blonde hair was very shiny. Must be full of a lot of that gel Uncle Damian liked to use. But he had put on too much and now his head looked all flat and shiny. But maybe the man liked being shiny since he had a lot of gold jewelry on too.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare?" the man said harshly, his lazy brown eyes boring into Danny. His body language was practically screaming How dare you? Better than you. This man seemed to sway quite a lot too. Was he drunk? Mom had warned him to stay away from drunk people but it would be rude to just walk away wouldn't it?
Instead Danny put down his plate and signed, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. You just have really pretty jewelry sir."
The man's glare only intensified. "Huh? Whazzat? Talk damnit!" He began to project annoyance.
Danny furrowed his brows slightly. The man had said a bad word. You're not supposed to say bad words around children. At least that's what Grandpa Alfred had taught him when Uncle Jason got in trouble for saying one near him. It was also frustrating that this man didn't know any sign language.
Nevertheless, Danny pulled out his phone and opened the notes app. He clicked on the first page which read, "I'm sorry, I have limited speech and use sign language to communicate. However I can use this notepad instead." He held it up for the man to read.
Yet again the man didn't seem to be satisfied as he retorted, "You can speak but you choose not to? You're an arrogant little brat aren't you?" Angry. How dare you think you're above me? Uh oh.
Danny quickly scrolled down to a blank space so that he could explain it wasn't like that but he never got the chance. The man snatched the phone from Danny's hands.
"Listen you little turd," the man hissed, leaning in close. It took all the self control in Danny's body not to gag at his breath. "You may think you're all high and mighty just because you got lucky but make no mistake. You're just gutter trash. Just like all the other pests Wayne brought into his household and just like your mother."
Tears pricked at Danny's eyes. That wasn't true. Neither his uncles nor his mother were trash. They were good people. The nicest people ever. They saved Danny from that terrible terrible place and gave him lots of hugs and sweets and warmth. This man didn't know what he was talking about.
The man continued, "You'll do well to respect me as unlike you and your little pretend family, I actually come from a distinguished background. I'm not some orphan from an unknown background whose parents probably sold him for drug money. Do you hear me?" Hostile. Don't mess with me!
"If I tell you to speak to me, you speak to me. Is that clear?" You're beneath me. Know your place.
Danny didn't know how much longer he could keep the tears at bay. Luckily he didn't have to.
"Is there a problem?" There she was. Mom! In all of her glory. Her hair done up in a little bun and dressed in a suit matching his. He had actually picked it out for her.
Danny rushed over to her and clung to her leg. Not trash he projected. My family. Meanwhile, the man's attitude did a complete 180. "Ah Ms. Cassandra it's so nice to see you again! I was just complimenting your little one on how cute his suit looked on him!"
Mom ignored him and looked to Danny instead.
What happened?
Insulted you. Insulted my family. Mean man. Bad man.
Cass gently patted Danny's head. He loved when she did that. Okay now. Don't worry.
Mom turned back to the man. "For someone so much better than everyone, you really like hanging out in the Bowery," she said. I know your secret.
The man stiffened. Does she know? How does she know? "I'm really not sure what you're referring to Ms. Wayne." Nervous. Agitated.
Mom didn't say anything. Just leveled a stare at the man. His smile began slipping in the awkward silence. Panicked. Must leave.
"Well I should probably be going now. I feel like I've had too much to drink. Perhaps I'll go sit down," the man said quickly, excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd.
Once he was out of sight, Cass turned back to Danny. Okay? Danny buried his face into her leg. Wanna go home. In the next moment, Danny felt himself being picked up and cradled in his mother's arms. Let's go home, she portrayed with a smile. Danny desperately clung to her suit as his bottom lip wobbled.
"Sorry," he whispered. He wanted her to know he really meant it. That he was truly sorry.
He felt a kiss be planted on his forehead. "Don't be," Mom replied. Danny wrapped his arms around her neck and closed his eyes, finally letting the tears he'd been holding at bay fall. He took in the warmth and love his mother showered over him. His family wasn't trash. They were his saviors.
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munson-blurbs · 7 months
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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16
Summary: Your weekend getaway to Indianapolis comes with a boyfriend who's trying to quit smoking, a five-year-old who has difficulty acclimating to new routines, and your own insecurities about your mothering abilities. What could possibly go wrong?
Warnings: angst, insecurities about motherhood, lost child, Eddie gets mad at us, discussion of menstrual period/PMS
WC: 7.7k A/N: There is a moment where someone refers to us as Harris's mom; however, she doesn't see us. There is no indication that we resemble Harris in any way.
Chapter 16/20
Divider credit to @saradika Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsonsmum
--
The morning dew still kisses the grass when you arrive at the Munson apartment, hauling your duffel bag up to their half-packed car. Eddie’s leaning into the backseat, only his jean-clad legs visible from your vantage point. Harris stands behind him, watching his dad’s every move earnestly and intently. If you had a camera on you, you’d take a photo of this Kodak moment.
“Hi, boys!” you chirp as enthusiastically, tucking your lips into your mouth to stop yourself from laughing when Eddie bangs his head on the roof of the car. “You okay?”
“Y-Yeah, ‘m good,” he mutters, rubbing at his scalp with one hand, expression somewhere between a grimace and a smile.”Morning, Sweetheart. You sleep well?”
You nod, opening your arms as Harris races towards you for a hug. “What about you guys? Or were you too excited about our super-fun weekend?”
“Daddy snored!” Harris reports with a grin, overjoyed to share what he perceives to be a juicy morsel of gossip.
Eddie gasps in mock-offense, reaching out to take your bag and arranging it amongst his and Harris’s in the trunk. “I did not!”
“Did too!” Harris retorts, turning back to you and adding, “like, so loud!”
You crouch down, and hold a pinky out in front of him. “We’re gonna have to stick together this weekend if we’re going to survive,” returning his smile when he wraps his little finger around yours in a promise.
“Can’t believe my girlfriend is conspiring against me with my own flesh and blood,” Eddie grumbles, eyes widening when he realizes what he’s said; rather, in front of whom he’s said it. His panicked gaze meets yours, and you both anticipate some reaction from Harris, but he’s fortunately unfazed and too fixated on the utter silliness of his dad’s snoring. Eddie clears his throat, determined to change the subject before his son catches on. “I think we’re ready to ship out,” he offers, slamming the trunk shut and pressing down to double-check that it’s closed.
“Snacks?” you ask, running through a mental checklist of necessities.
Eddie holds up a family-size bag of pretzels. “Got ‘em.”
“Water?”
“Backseat,” he points to the floor to the left of Harris’s booster seat–a recent upgrade from his carseat. “Harris will be in charge of that, right, Har?”
“Right!” Harris confirms with a thumbs-up.
“Sounds good. Put him to work,” you tease. Eddie’s heart skips a beat at the playful relationship that you and his son have, swapping smiles and making each other laugh. “Music?”
Eddie juts his chin towards the center console, filled to the brim with cassettes. “Always.”
You cock your eyebrow knowingly before posing your next question, preparing yourself for some visceral response. “Nicotine gum?”
Eddie groans, patting the pack of Nicorette in his pocket. “Unfortunately, yes.” About a week and a half ago, Harris had come home from school crying after the school had put on an assembly about the dangers of smoking. Eddie had been meaning to quit for a long time, but his son worrying over real problems, using words like cancer and heart attack, was what finally pushed him to chuck every pack of cigarettes he owned into the trash. 
“Okay,” you smile and clap your hands together, “I think we’re good to go!” You help Harris buckle his seatbelt before climbing into the passenger seat.
The sedan rumbles to life, catching on the second key turn and disrupting the otherwise still morning. “Gentlemen, start your engines!” Eddie roars in an exaggeratedly deep voice, and Harris giggles from the backseat. With Eddie’s hand on the gearshift, you seize the opportunity to squeeze it, light pink tickling his cheeks at your touch.
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It’s only thirty minutes into the drive before it starts.
“Daddy, I gotta pee!”
You can practically feel the patience leaving Eddie’s body, fingers tightly gripping the wheel until his knuckles flush white.
“Har Bear, we just hit the road,” he tries, knowing his efforts are fruitless. “Can you hold it?”
“No, it’s a ‘mergency!”
“Fuck,” Eddie swears under his breath. The likelihood of it actually being an emergency is slim to none, but he’s in no mood to risk it. “All right, I’ll pull over at the next rest stop, ‘kay?”
Eddie takes the next exit, parking at a truck stop and nearly falling out of the car in his scramble to get Harris to the bathroom. “C’mon, c’mon,” he mutters, walking so quickly that Harris nearly trips over his own feet. You quicken your own pace just to keep up with them. 
The scent of coffee grabs your attention as soon as you walk in the door, and you make a beeline for the tiny Dunkin Donuts tucked in the corner. The cashier looks as though they could use a shot or two of espresso, eyelids closing under their visor as you give your order. When the boys get back from the bathroom, you present Eddie with a large coffee with far more milk and sugar than your own, and hand a chocolate donut to Harris. 
Eddie's eyes shift back and forth from the donut to you before he speaks. “It’s, like, 9 am,” he points out. “He’s gonna be bouncing off the walls if he eats that now.”
Oh. Obviously. What were you thinking, giving an already-hyperactive child pure sugar in the morning? All of the times you’d cringed when parents had sent their kids into school with Cocoa Puffs or some equally sugary cereal, and you’d given his son a chocolate donut for breakfast. “I’m sorry,” you sputter, shaking your head in frustration. “I should’ve asked you first, or saved it for later.” 
“‘S fine,” he mutters, heaving an exasperated sigh as Harris takes a giant bite of donut. “At least there’s two of us to chase after him,” he adds with a weak smile. 
Harris has devoured nearly the entire donut by the time Eddie’s buckling him back in, chocolate crumbs tucked into the crevices of his mouth. He’s oblivious to your faux pas, and you’d like to keep it that way. 
“I really am sorry,” you say again, guilt gnawing in your stomach. “I should’ve known better; I guess I just got excited about our little vacation together.”
Eddie’s grin is more genuine this time. “Me, too, baby.” He sneaks a quick kiss to your cheek when Harris is focused on what remains of his snack. “The whole no-smoking thing has me extra bitter, y’know?”
You know. You definitely know, but you’re not about to point out all of the ways he’s been short-tempered lately. Instead, you relax into your seat and try to brush off your mistake as Eddie turns on the radio and guitar riffs replace the silence. 
Eddie rolls down the window as the springtime sun warms the air, and you stretch as the rush of wind cools your body. His curls whip around the base of his neck, dancing in the breeze, and you can’t help but push them out of his face haphazardly. 
Your stomach growls, and you’re grateful for the blaring music masking the embarrassingly loud noise. You’d forgotten to grab something for breakfast in your rush to leave your apartment, and coffee is a poor substitute for the most important meal of the day. 
You reach down to the bag of pretzels nestled against your feet. “Y’want?” you ask Eddie, who nods and opens his mouth for you to feed it to him while he concentrates on the road. Laughter bubbles up from within you as he takes one from your hand by pinching it between his teeth. 
Harris giggles, too. “Daddy, you look like a goat from the zoo!”
“Oh, yeah?” Eddie slides the snack into his mouth and bites down with a crunch, “and what sounds do goats make?”
“Hmm,” Harris ponders this for a moment before bleating a resounding, “maaaah!”
You swivel in your seat to give him a high-five. There’s donut residue on your hand when you pull back. “Smarty pants! I bet you know every animal sound there is.”
You and Eddie rattle off different species as you feed him more pretzels. Harris manages perfect impressions of each, until you call out, “sloth!” and effectively stump him. 
“Ms. Sweetheart!” he cackles maniacally, partially because of his sugar rush, you’re sure, “that is so silly!”
“Y’just gotta do everything suuuuper slooooow.” You drag out the last two words to emphasize your point. “Like this: Haaaaarrisssss…caaaaan…youuuuu…haaaaand…meeeeee…aaaaa…waaaaterrrr?” This brings on a fresh round of giggles from the backseat; even extra-bitter Eddie manages a hint of a smile.
Harris grabs a bottle at a snail’s–no, a sloth’s–pace. “Heeere…youuuuu…goooooo!” His pace is far from hurried, and you feel the gentle tap of the plastic cap against your shoulder blade a full thirty seconds later. 
“Thaaaaank…youuuuu!” You crack open the bottle of water and take a swig, quenching a thirst only made worse by the salty snack. “Wanna play again? See how many other animal sounds you can do?” you ask, grateful to have found a way to keep him occupied. Before you can close the bottle, Eddie reaches over and snags it, lifting it to his lips. 
“Daddy, no!” Harris screeches from the backseat, little hand shooting out in protest, causing Eddie to slam on the brake. Water sloshes over the top of the bottle and onto his pants. 
“Shit—what, Har?” he snaps, shoving the now half-empty bottle into the cupholder. He swipes haphazardly at the wet patch on his thigh, darkening the denim as it spreads along the fabric. He gives up with a mumbled, “whatever,” when he realizes he’s only rubbing it in more. 
“You’re gonna get her germs,” Harris points out matter-of-factly. 
Eddie huffs out a terse chuckle, slightly amused but still irritated. “Yeah, yeah, right,” he mutters, and you take that as a sign to reach back and get him his own bottle. 
The remainder of the drive is uneventful, though Eddie has to dip into his Nicorette stash when a maroon Toyota Corolla weaves in and out of lanes at lightning speed and cuts him off. He instinctively reaches for the pack of cigarettes he’d always kept in the console, groaning when he remembers that it’s long gone. 
“Good job, baby,” you murmur softly, giving his knee a quick squeeze in approval as he pops a piece of gum into his mouth. “‘M proud of you.” 
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You pull up to the hotel just after 10 AM, the morning chill has dissipated as the sun’s rays warm the air. The fair weather made the trip smoother, a small miracle if you’d ever seen one. Truthfully, you don’t think Eddie’s frayed nerves can handle a rainy day.
Eddie takes Harris’s hand as you all walk through the parking lot and up to the front desk. A middle-aged concierge greets you, the customer service smile plastered across his face faltering when he clocks Eddie’s ripped jeans and disheveled wind-blown hair. 
“Reservation’s under ‘Munson,’” Eddie says to him, not making eye contact; your heart is a sinking stone when you realize that he also noticed the man’s shifting expression. “I called ahead and they said we could check in early.”
The concierge nods. You catch a glimpse of his shiny silver name tag, proudly proclaiming “STU, ASSISTANT MANAGER” gleaming in the overhead fluorescent lighting. “Room 325,” he grunts, handing you and Eddie keys dangling from matching logo-branded chains. Elation is a sunflower blooming in your chest; your first vacation has officially begun. Maybe it’s a little getaway only ninety minutes from home, but it’s a new adventure that you’re taking together.
Eddie flings his and Harris’s shared bag, then yours, onto one of the queen beds with a groan. “We made it!” he announces, flinging an arm over your shoulder. The pads of his fingers brush your upper arm, a tissue-paper light touch that has you soaring.
“Daddy? I gotta pee again,” Harris’s urgency breaks the moment. He’s hopping from one foot to the other, a potty dance if you’ve ever seen one.
 “Go for it,” Eddie says, pointing towards the bathroom. He shakes his head when his son sprints the short distance.
Once the door closes, Eddie’s hands are on your hips, tugging you so close that your stomachs touch, your breasts pressed to his chest. His mouth immediately swoops down to your neck, nipping gently at the flesh along your collarbone. 
“Hello there,” you manage to speak through a laugh. You’re unable to say more, as he’s pressing his lips to yours in a hungry kiss so fervently that your teeth nearly click together. 
“Hi,” he breathes once he’s pulled back, brushing the tip of his nose against your own. “Sorry, y’just look really pretty.”
You wrinkle your nose in confusion. “I’m wearing sweatpants. I don’t even have makeup on.” Truthfully, you’d meant to at least swipe on some mascara, but you were preoccupied making sure that you’d packed everything you needed for the weekend. 
“Don’t care,” Eddie mumbles, leaning in for another kiss, “still s’fuckin’ pretty. Don’t know how I’m gonna keep my hands off of you.”
The solution to that problem comes in the form of a flushing toilet and Harris calling out, “I’m done! Gonna wash my hands!”
Eddie throws his head back in frustration before burying his pink-tinged face in his hands. “This, uh, was not exactly how I imagined our first time in a hotel together,” he admits. 
“At least he’s washing his hands,” you joke, trying to ward off the throbbing need building in your core. It fails miserably. You want him, need him, to relieve the ache in the way that only he can. You yearn for the way his fingertips dance across your skin, eagerly reaching under your shirt or dipping below your waistband, desperate to make his girl feel good.
The two of you break apart as the bathroom door swings open. You fly across the room and pretend like you’re rifling through your duffel bag while Eddie flops onto the bed. His shirt rides up slightly as he lays down, and you have to fight the urge to bite the exposed sliver of tummy. 
“When are we going to the market?” Harris asks, catapulting himself onto the bed and landing next to his dad. 
Eddie rolls over and checks the digital alarm clock between the two queen beds. “Doesn’t start for another few hours,” he says. “I was gonna try and take a quick nap before we—”
“I’m not tired!” Harris whines, and you can see in Eddie’s deflated, tense physicality that his already thin patience is wearing down further. “I wanna go now!”
“Hey, Har Bear,” you try, hoping you’re not inserting yourself into the dynamic too forcefully, “why don’t we go on an adventure while Daddy sleeps? We can wake him up when we get back.”
Harris hops down onto the floor and readily slips his hand into yours. “Bye, Daddy!” he calls out, dragging you towards the door. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart are having a ‘venture!”
Eddie gives you a weary but grateful smile as he scoots upwards to rest his head on the overstuffed pillow. “Godspeed,” he mumbles into the sheets, already beginning to doze off as he speaks.
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The elevator dings and you shuffle into the small space, reaching for the “L” button to bring you down to the lobby.
“I wanna push the button!” Harris laments, and his sudden shriek has you instinctively pulling your hand back before regaining your composure.
Do you correct him? Let him press the button despite raising his voice? Deciding a consequence comes naturally to you in the classroom, but the anxiety of making the wrong choice serves as a massive roadblock. “You have to ask nicely if you want to push the button,” you offer, sending up a silent prayer that this staves off an impending tantrum.
He pouts for a moment before relenting. “Can I push the button?” It’s more grumble than request, but you accept it anyway.
His hand remains tucked safely into yours when you leave the hotel, basking in warm weather. You breathe in for three, breathe out for three. Okay. You can do this. Your job revolves around children; you can survive an afternoon taking care of just one.
Except that one happens to be your boyfriend’s son, and if you mess this up, it could ruin both Munsons’ perceptions of you.
“Where’re we going?” Harris asks, and you realize that you have no earthly idea; to be honest, you’re surprised that he so readily agreed.
”We can go for a walk?” you suggest, pasting on a smile in feigned confidence. “Maybe we can find a playground or something?”
“Okay!” he chirps. He’s fast for someone with little legs, and you have to remind him multiple times to use his walking feet. Yeah, this kid needs to burn off some energy, stat.
To your relief, there’s a playground just a few blocks away, fully equipped with a swing set and a jungle gym. Harris races across the grassy field onto the wood chip-covered area, assessing the space to figure out what he wants to conquer first.  
You sit on the bench next to a woman who simultaneously reads a James Patterson novel and keeps an eye on the jungle gym, where a little girl is dangling from the monkey bars, putting one hand in front of the other. 
She looks over with a sympathetic smile when you breathe out a long sigh, sinking into the wooden back like a weight has been removed from your shoulders.
“I hear that,” she says with a kind chuckle. “Mine will be tired for about…hmm, five minutes? Just long enough to get her home, and then she’ll be hopping around like the Energizer Bunny.” She shakes her head. “Is yours the same way?”
Yours. The term is peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth, and it takes a beat too long for you to respond. “Y-Yeah, I’m pretty sure he would sleep run if he could.” The stranger laughs at your joke, and you relax a bit. “Sorry, he’s really my boyfriend’s son, and it’s kind of…new to think of him as being mine, too.”
You expect her to pick up and move to a different bench, away from the weird woman who’s baring her soul on the playground, but she just closes her book and turns to you. “Carly is technically my stepdaughter,” she explains in a hushed tone, “but her mom’s not in the picture so, for all intents and purposes, she’s my daughter. No ‘step’ necessary.” 
“Is…is it hard?” you ask, the question spilling from your lips in a desperate plea for answers. “Being a stepmom?”
She nods. “Oh, absolutely.” She brushes a strand of hair from her eyes, and you can see a sparkle behind them. “But, trust me, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
Her words, spoken freely of judgment and purely with empathy, alleviate the nervousness burning through you. “Thank you,” you murmur, gratitude forming a lump in your throat that you struggle to swallow.
“Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris shouts from the top of the jungle gym. “Look what I can do!” He hesitates for a moment before reaching out his arms and grabbing onto the metal pole. You stand up to call out a preemptive warning, to get to him before he can fall, but before you can, his chubby hands grip the pole. He hooks his legs around it and slides down expertly, not letting go until his sneakers are firmly planted on the wood chips scattered across the ground. 
Pride warms your heart when his eyes lock with yours, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he awaits your approval. Anticipation reverberates within his little body, and before you can get in a word edgewise, he’s jumping up and down with an excited, “didja see me?”
“You’re amazing!” Your praise floats through the air and envelops him like a long-awaited embrace. “Super brave, too. I don’t think I could do that.”
He furrows his brows before a knowing smile forms on his lips. “Yes, you can! I’ll show you.”
Kind of walked right into that one, you lightly chastise yourself, but you dutifully shuffle towards where he’s already darting up the steps on all fours, hands splayed out for balance. 
“C’mon, Ms. Sweetheart!” Harris cheers, waving his fists in the air in earnest, and you simply cannot let the boy down. He easily glides down once more, big brown eyes looking up at you from the ground. “Just like that, see?”
“Right, got it.” You give him a thumbs-up and emulate his movements, holding on tightly to the metal pole and sliding down. You grimace as it squeaks under your grasp, nails on a chalkboard, but your feet reach the ground soon enough. 
Harris flings his arms around you, chin digging into your thigh as he gazes up in adoration. “I told you you could do it! Y’just had to try!” His admiration is fleeting; he soon spots another child leap from the swingset to play elsewhere. “Can you push me on the swings?” he pleads, already leading you to the equipment. “I just need a little help getting started, but then ‘m good.”
You hold the chain links dangling from the top of the structure, allowing Harris to maneuver himself onto the rubber seat. He scoots back so his bottom is fully supported and announces, “‘m ready!”
“Hold on tight,” you remind him, more out of routine than necessity, as you pull back the rust-covered chains. You move as far back as you can, double-checking that he hasn’t let go, and release the swing. His squealing giggles are music to your ears, and you push him a few more times before he’s able to take over independently. 
His mop of curls defies gravity as he sails back and forth, pumping his legs to gain height. “Ms. Sweetheart?”
“Hm?”
“Do you love my daddy?”
You ponder the thought for a moment. You know exactly how you feel about Eddie; he simultaneously kicks up the butterflies in your stomach and calms every buzzing nerve in your body with just a smile, but you’re unsure how much he wants to tell Harris. You settle on the truth, direct and simple: “yeah, I do love him.”
Harris wastes no time asking a follow-up question. “A lot or a little?”
“A lot,” you answer quickly, realizing the magnitude of your enamoration as you say it aloud. The way Eddie’s kisses wrap you in an armor of safety; you hope your kisses have the same effect on him. “Definitely a lot.”
He hums his acknowledgement. “Grampa Wayne says Daddy loves you a lot, too, but I can’t ask you to be my mommy yet.”
You freeze in place so suddenly that the swing’s momentum nearly knocks you down; you step out of the way just before his sneaker-clad feet can make contact with your torso. “You want me to be your mommy?” you repeat dumbly, still half-convinced that you heard him incorrectly. 
“Mhm,” Harris confirms, “but Grampa says that being a mommy is a big ‘sponsibility, and I gotta be patient. That means I gotta wait until Daddy says it’s okay to ask you,” he elaborates matter-of-factly. 
This is clearly something they’ve talked about, extensively enough that Harris knows that he shouldn’t say anything about it. You’re temporarily rendered speechless, words failing you as you search for an appropriate response. Do you thank him? Act like you hadn’t heard him? Hope that a sinkhole opens up in the middle of the playground and swallows you whole?
“Th-That’s great, Har,” you manage, shoulders suddenly heavy with the weight of his statement. He goes back to focusing on pumping his legs, leaving you to tend to the anxiety gnawing at your insides.
Motherhood–the term stepmother seems arbitrary, given that Harris’s biological mother has all but dropped off of the face of the Earth–is a terrifying prospect. Any time you try to explain your fears, people just shrug them off, claiming that you’d be a ‘natural,’ that your years of teaching would ultimately ‘pay off’ when you had children of your own. As if teaching and parenting were remotely the same.
To you, the differences are as clear as day. When you’re a parent, there’s no ‘clocking out.’ Your obligations don’t begin at 9 AM and end at 2 PM; they’re twenty-four hours, seven days a week. It’s not the same thing. Not even close.
Before you became a teacher, you had to go to school and take education courses. Read your textbooks cover to cover. Had to do an internship for a semester. You’d had ample opportunities to determine whether or not it was the right job for you. Motherhood doesn’t offer that luxury: you don’t know if you’ll be a good mom until you’ve already chosen to become one.
“Ms. Sweetheart?” You jump out of your skin when you realize that Harris is slowing himself down, scuffed Reeboks scraping against the ground as he comes to a stop. “Can I get ice cream?”
You bite back a laugh. “You just had a donut, silly boy,” you remind him with a gentle ruffle to his curls, trying to keep your tone breezy, “but we can grab some sandwiches. Maybe even get one for Daddy, too?”
His lower lip quivers, making your heart lurch. “B-But–”
“And,” you interject, “we can go out for ice cream after the market. With Daddy.” You hope it’s a promise you can keep.
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It was too good to be true. Deep down, you knew it, despite the fleeting victory of getting Harris to eat an actual lunch. His hands were sticky with peanut butter and jelly–you were making a mental note to reassure Eddie that, yes, some had gotten in his mouth–when you’d done the unthinkable. The unimaginable. 
You hadn’t let him press the elevator button.
He howls and sinks down to the floor, knees slamming into the linoleum tile and making him scream even louder. 
“Buddy, you’ve got peanut–” 
“I wanted to press…the…BUTTON!” he shrieks, every minor inconvenience he’s encountered today culminating in what you can only dub the Tantrum of the Decade. The crash from the sugar rush, not going to the market when he wanted to, the lack of ice cream are represented in every fat tear rolling down his reddening cheeks, in every flail of his legs as you try to scoop him up and bring him into the elevator, in every heaving breath. He’s overtired, overwhelmed, and out of his normal routine.
Your own eyes get misty as the metal door slides shut, enclosing you in a small space that seems to shrink with each wail. The kid has the lung capacity of an Olympic swimmer, while you’re drowning in your own pity.
He’s still sobbing when you reach the third floor, and Eddie’s flying out of the room as soon as he hears the sound of his son crying. Curls disheveled from his nap, crust still at the corners of his eyes. I woke him up, you realize. Another nail in the coffin.
“Wh-What happened?” His voice is raised, not in accusation, but just to be heard over Harris yelling. “Did he get hurt?” He takes Harris from your arms, clutching him to his chest in sheer panic. Reflexively, he inspects his boy’s head, arms, and legs for bruising and blood.
You shake your head, afraid that any attempt to speak will have your voice fracturing into pieces, no better than the little boy’s meltdown.
Fortunately, Harris has no problem filling his dad in. “I–wanted–to push–the button–and–she–said–NO!!!” Each word is punctuated with a hitched breath and is angrier than the last.
Eddie looks at you, more puzzled than worried now that he knows his son is unharmed, and a visit to the emergency room is unnecessary.
“His hands were sticky from his sandwich,” you mutter, unable to make eye contact with either Munson. “Oh, um, this is yours,” you add robotically, handing him the bag containing his hoagie, now a darker shade of brown from the grease it’s soaked up. You wince at how stilted you sound, simply going through the motions, not at all like the enthusiastic presentation you’d planned on the walk back to the hotel. 
“Thanks.” Not unappreciative, but far from enthusiastic, and you can’t blame him. “Let’s just, uh, let’s just get him in the room.”
The sleepiness consumes Harris after a few more arduous minutes in his dad’s embrace. Eddie rubs circles on his back to calm him down, tiny shh sounds passing through his teeth. Harris begins to catch his breath; hiccups like aftershocks ricochet in his chest, gradually subsiding into soft snores. 
“Jesus,” Eddie whispers as he gingerly places him onto the unmade bed, still warm from where he was lying just moments earlier, “that was one hell of a wake-up call.”
You speak at the same volume as him, though you don’t even have to try. Shame buries your voice deep in your diaphragm. “I’m so sorry.” Your right incisor digs into your lower lip as emotion ravishes you. The absence of Harris’s tantruming creates a loud silence that neither of you have the energy to fill. 
“I could say the same to you,” Eddie says with a soft chuckle, taking your hand and squeezing it tight as he sits down on your bed. “His meltdowns are no joke.”
“I should’ve just let him press the damn button.” You’re only half-serious, but your stomach sinks when Eddie says nothing; instead, he carefully unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. A glob of mustard lands on the parchment paper with a soft plop. 
He doesn’t disagree. You made a mistake—two mistakes, if you’re counting the donut fiasco—and Eddie saw it. Saw that you’d failed. 
“Did you get enough rest?” It’s a feeble attempt to change the subject, and you both know it, but you go for it anyway. 
He lets his knee knock into yours. “Never enough, Sweetheart,” he says with a smile, wiping his lips with the flimsy deli napkin. “But, yeah, I got some sleep.” He leans in and murmurs in your ear, “Would’ve been better with you next to me, though.”
You turn so that your nose brushes his. “If I was laying next to you, you wouldn’t be able to sleep,” you quip, stifling your laughter when he takes your cheeks in his hands and smacks a kiss to your lips. 
“I would be a perfect gentleman.” He stretches and exposes the happy trail below his navel. “My eyes are up here,” he teases, catching you checking him out. “And you were worried about me.”
The dynamic shifts back to playful and lighthearted, his joke chipping away at the tension that’s been weighing you down.
“Shut up and eat your sandwich, Munson.”
“Yes, dear.”
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You’ve showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes, jeans replacing the ratty sweatpants you’d donned earlier. You’d tried to wash the day’s stress down the drain along with the eucalyptus-scented soap suds, and though you don’t feel completely recharged, you’re ready enough to tackle the market.
Still, you can’t stop yourself from murmuring to Eddie, “d’you want me to stay here with Harris? Just in case it’s too much for him?”
He considers it for a moment before shaking his head, shrugging on his denim jacket. “Nah, he got his nap. Should be fine.”
The little boy in question slips one hand into yours and looks up at you with a grin. Eddie had talked to him earlier, reminded him about expressing himself in ways that didn’t hurt people–or their ears–and Harris apologized tearily. All is forgiven; at least between you and him. You still feel an uneasiness with Eddie, though it may be one-sided, as he’d quietly lamented that you two couldn’t shower together.
“We’re goin’ to the market! We’re goin’ to the market!” Harris chants, shuffling on the balls of his feet in a little dance. “Ms. Sweetheart, guess what?”
“What?”
“WE’RE GOIN’ TO THE MARKET!”
“Shocking,” Eddie mutters under his breath, a wry smile on his lips, and you use your free hand to swat at his stomach. “Okay,” he pats the wallet in the side pocket of his jeans, “got the company card, keys, handsome son, beautiful girlfriend…” He glances around the room; this time, he’s either unaware of his slip-up or is unbothered by Harris knowing your relationship status. “Looks like we’re good to go!”
The car ride isn’t too long; it’s only about a ten minute drive before you reach the market. And since you’d remembered to let Harris press the elevator button, it didn’t feel endless.
“Now, Harris,” Eddie says as his son climbs out of the car, hopping onto the parking lot pavement, “the market’s gonna be busy–”
“I know!”
“--so you have to hold my hand, or Ms. Sweetheart’s hand–”
“I know!”
“--the whole time. Got it?”
“Yes!” He’s far too exasperated for a five-year-old, and you have to bite your cheek to keep from laughing. “Can we go in now?”
Eddie obliges and takes Harris’s right hand; you take his left, the three of you walking towards the gigantic building together. 
You’d figured it would be crowded, but you’re unprepared for just how overstimulated your senses become upon entering. Vendors shout advertisements for their booths, beckoning potential customers to check out their wares. Snippets of different conversations infiltrate your  ears, and you swallow hard to clear your head, though the grainy muzak pumping through the overhead speakers doesn't help. 
Immediately, you spot a booth selling secondhand books, and you look at Eddie with a hopeful gaze.
“Go,” he motions with a smile, laughing when you all but skip off to the stack of novels. You don’t want to take too long, as neither Munson has the patience to wait while you peruse your options. A weathered paperback copy of The Grapes of Wrath catches your eye, some pages dog-eared and smelling faintly of stale smoke, and you fish out two quarters from the bottom of your bag and place them in the vendor’s hand.
“Okay,” you breathe when you get back to Eddie and Harris, overwhelmed just by the short walk. You grip Harris’s hand even tighter, all-too protective of him in such a crowded space. “Let’s go get some records!”
Eddie finds a variety of vinyls that he knows will sell at Rock Records—from older classics like Louis Armstrong, Etta James, and Buddy Holly, to more recent gems from Van Halen, Queen, and Michael Jackson. 
“Babe, check this out!” he announces gleefully, showing off a copy of Metallica’s Ride the Lightning. “I must’ve listened to this a hundred times when it was released in ‘84.” His enthusiasm is palpable, and you have to wonder if this purchase is for the store or for himself.
To his credit, Harris lasts a full twenty-five minutes before he starts asking for ice cream again. “You promised, renember?”
Eddie grins at him, then at you. “A promise, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “Can’t break that.”
“I think I saw a booth down there that’s sellIng some.” It’s a local shop, and you know one cone will probably cost more than a half-gallon at the grocery store, but you’ll risk the upcharge if it means avoiding a second meltdown today. 
“I’ll be right there,” Eddie tells you, eyes flitting back towards a row of booths you’d passed by earlier. “Just get me something with chocolate?”
“What’s the magic word?” Harris interjects. 
“Please.” He lays it on thick, throwing you a wink before turning around. 
You grab a $5 bill from your back pocket, change from when you’d bought the sandwiches earlier, and approach the ice cream stand.
“Can I please get one cherry chip cone, one chocolate fudge cone, and…what do you want, Har?”
“That!” He points to a giant display of model cars displayed in front of a toy vendor’s booth. “I want the orange one!”
“We can look after,” you reassure him. “First, you have to pick the ice cream flavor you want.”
“Hmm,” he presses on tiptoes to peruse his options before pressing his forefinger to the glass, pointing to cookies ‘n cream, declaring, “that one!”
The vendor hands him his cone, then turns to you and confirms, “just the three cones?”
“Mhm.”
She punches some numbers into the register, expression far too serious for the gig. “That'll be $6.”
Exhaling, you hand her the bill in your palm. There’s no way the stodgy woman is going to cut you a break for the extra dollar. “Give me a sec; I should have a single in my wallet.” You let go of Harris’s hand, fumbling around in your bag until you pull out what you’ve been searching for. 
The vendor takes your money and hands you the remaining two cones, already starting to melt with all of the body heat surrounding you. 
“Thank you,” you say with a polite smile. “Okay, Har, let’s—” Your blood runs cold when you realize he’s nowhere to be found.  “Harris!” you call out, voice shaking on the last syllable, unable to hide how frantic you feel. “Harris!”
Eddie, already on his way from his earlier errand, runs over to you. “Where’s—”
“He was just here!” You push your way through the crowd, accidentally brushing your scoop of cherry chip along someone’s jacket, but there’s no time to apologize. 
You and Eddie take turns yelling out his name, bile rising in your throats with each unanswered shout, until you hear somebody ask, “is that your mommy and daddy calling for you?”
Both your and Eddie’s heads swivel towards the conversation, breathing identical sighs of relief when you see the familiar mop of curls in front of the toy car display.
“Oh, thank God.” It comes out in one breath, your chest deflating as you and Eddie rush towards him. 
“Harris, what are you doing?” Eddie admonishes him, heart still racing as the surge of adrenaline tapers off. He picks him up, fingers digging into the shirt fabric as he holds him as close as possible, and presses a kiss to his scalp. There will be some sort of consequence later–revoking TV time and a lecture on stranger danger–but for now, there’s only the comfort of knowing he’s safe.
“I just wanted to see the cars,” Harris protests, trying and failing to wriggle from Eddie’s grip. “Can I get the orange one?”
Eddie huffs out an incredulous laugh, astounded that Harris doesn’t understand the seriousness of his actions. “No, you can’t!” he yells, attracting unwanted attention from other shoppers, “and you can’t wander off like that! I told you that you have to stay with one of us the whole time!” He flexes his palm before clenching it into a frustrated fist. “What were you thinking?”
Harris’s eyes fill with tears. “I j-just wanted to s-see them,” he tries again, taken aback by the anger in his dad’s voice. “An’ Ms. Sweetheart was right there!”
The mention of your nickname reminds Eddie of the other adult involved. “You were supposed to be watching him,” he spits, gritting his teeth to keep from raising his voice at you. 
You wince at his tone, filled with venom for the first time since his comment about Grandma forgetting you all those months ago. The difference is that, now, you deserve it. Letting go of his hand was careless; at the very least, you should have reminded him to stay put. The early morning donut, the elevator button were menial indiscretions compared to this mistake. There’s no denying that you’d royally messed up.
“I’m so sorry.” Sorry for not keeping a closer eye on Harris. Sorry for waking him up from his nap via a screaming child. Sorry for waltzing into their lives and thinking you had a snowball’s chance in Hell of being a decent parent. The ice cream drips down the cones and onto your hands, pooling in the crevices between your fingers. You dump them in the nearest trash can, neither of you hungry anymore.
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You can’t return to the hotel soon enough, and as soon as Eddie puts an episode of Rugrats on TV for Harris, you begin inconspicuously packing your collecting your toiletries from the bathroom to back in your luggage.
“What’re you doing?” Eddie asks from the doorway. He’s got his arms folded across his chest, perplexion wrinkling his brows. 
“Going home.”
He presses his forefinger and thumb to his eyelids and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like–”
“No,” you interrupt him, choking down your frustration, “you were right. You trusted me to watch him, and I didn’t.”
“Hey, hey,” Eddie steps forward and puts out a hand to stop you from grabbing your toothbrush, “it was an accident. Things happen in a split second, yeah?” He thinks back to the way Harris had tumbled off of the bed months ago. “We found him, and that’s what matters.”
He’s trying to comfort you, which somehow makes you feel worse. You lost his kid, but he’s focusing on making you feel better.
The next words out of your mouth shatter his heart into pieces: “I think it would be better for everyone if I leave.”
A small puff of air escapes his nostrils, unsurprised but hurt nonetheless. “‘S too much for you, isn’t it?” he mumbles, not even daring to glance in your direction as he says it. 
He knows. He knows that you aren’t cut out for this, that you’ll never be the mom Harris needs or deserves. In his own words, he knows it’s too much for you.
You say nothing in return, and your silence is louder than the cartoon squabble just a few feet away.
“Fine, just…just go, then.” He slams one palm on the bathroom sink, the other raking through his hair so forcefully that a few strands come loose. “God, I need a fucking cigarette!” he mutters, jaw clenched.
“I’m so sorry.” It’s all you can think to say. You’ll repeat it over and over again if it rectifies the situation. 
“Yeah, whatever.” He starts to leave the room, not even turning back around to say, “I’ll tell Harris you’re not feeling well.” He wants to ask you to call the hotel room when you get home but bites back the request. That’s something one partner asks of another, and you aren’t partners anymore, he realizes bitterly, and it’s his fault. He’d put the responsibility of parenthood on you far too quickly. 
He could have insisted that Harris stay and nap with him rather than letting him go to the park. He could have kept Harris by his side while you got the ice cream, or the three of you could have gone together. Instead, he’d just assumed that this was a role you had no qualms about taking on. In his eagerness to build this little family, he’d squandered the foundation before it had even set.
Eddie watches as you walk away, the words wait and don’t go and we can figure this out lurking behind his molars, but he remains silent. 
When the door slams behind you, he bites on his thumb. Go after her, some part of him—his conscience, maybe—nags, but he pushes the thought away. He can’t ask you to stick around and be a mom to his son if it isn't truly what you want to do. 
He removes his finger from between his teeth and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, temporarily confused when he’s met with some resistance. The tiny brown paper bag crinkles as his fingers make contact with it, and he pulls it out dejectedly. 
He’d spotted the necklace while scavenging for record vendors and made a mental note to return to it when you weren’t there to see. A tiny metal heart on a chain that he’d planned to give to you at the end of the trip. It was the reason he’d left you alone with Harris; he’d wanted it to be a surprise. 
“Well, that was a fuckin’ waste,” Eddie says to no one in particular, shoving it back in the confines of his pocket. He sits next to Harris, hoping Tommy Pickles’ shenanigans will melt his brain for just a few moments. 
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The next bus to Hawkins pulled up thirty minutes after your cab arrived at the station. It was the only way to get home, and an embarrassingly large part of you hoped that Eddie and Harris would swing by, enveloping you in a tight hug and promising you that you’re doing a great job. That you’re enough. 
That moment remains a daydream, one that replays over and over as you lean your head against the window. It’s all highway from here to your small town, close to three hours on the road because of the intermediate stops, but you’re in no hurry to return. If it hurts now, you can’t imagine the pain when the loneliness sets in. 
Of course Eddie wasn’t coming to rescue you; you’d let him down right when he’d needed you. It was all so superficial on your end, thinking that you could be a mother just because you’d taught Harris how to read and have dinner with him and his dad once a week. 
Wallowing in pity is too indulgent, too pathetic, but you can’t keep from berating yourself. You’re a preschool teacher; how hard is it to remember to hold a kid’s hand?
Tears slip down your cheeks involuntarily and you swipe at them before your seat partner can notice. The last thing you need is to strike up an emotional conversation with a complete stranger. 
And what is it with you and crying today? Getting choked up when Eddie had pointed out the donut mistake, feeling like you were going to have a meltdown alongside Harris, and now this? It’s like you have an endless supply of tears. 
The most likely culprit is your run-of-the-mill PMS; you can always count on being overly sensitive on those select few days. You open your bag and take out the pocket calendar where you keep track of important appointments and dates, including your periods. 
Today’s April 26. You flip back to March, rifling through the pages until you see that the first day of your last period was the twentieth. 
You’re almost a full week late. 
--
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superluver · 8 months
Text
What was in the bag? G.S.
Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Wife!Reader
wc: 1516 | cw: Gojo is annoying, fem!Reader, Married, Pre established couple, mentions of bounty&death, FLUFF
Description: Gojo's students meet his wife without knowing it's his wife. Spoiler alert, they think you're his mom.
STARTING HERE
You weren’t really a secret per se.. more of underwraps.
Married to Satoru Gojo, strongest man alive in modern times, you were kind of on the radar for multiple things. Bounty’s on your head reaching over 600 million yen, though they’ve never actually gotten you.
And your daughter, it’s even worse. The highest you’ve heard of was 1 Billion yen, but as Satoru always tells you, he wouldn’t have married someone unable to take care of themselves. You were strong on your own, sure, not a special grade, but a high Grade 1.
You were more than capable of taking care of your family.
“Sora, ready to go?” You coo at her, looking down at her. She babbles in responde, kicking her legs and thrusting them up and down. It’s quite funny.
You are wearing a big hat, large sunglasses and a mask, your 5 month old daughter only wearing the hat and glasses. Her body facing your chest.
A large, garbage bag sits at the door. You recall Satoru texting you to bring it to the school because he forgot it, so with a sigh, you take it in your hand.
It’s heavy, but not unbearably so.
You embark on your journey to the school, which was only about two miles away if you walked, so it was nothing. The only thing concerning you at the moment would be the summer heat beating down on the two of you, wondering if it would be too hot for the small child, but you push on.
“Okay Sora, you have to be good.” You tell her, her big blue eyes staring into yours as you slip on her small glasses. Her hands go up to her face, trying to take them off, but you stop her. That’s when she begins to whine.
“Sora,” you sigh, pressing the hat further down your head. You want to chuckle at her pouty face, her white hair curling over the rim of her small sun hat. You step out of the house into the sun, the large trash bag in your hand. “We’re going to see Papa, but you need to be a good girl.” You tell her, your free hand patting her back, her front pressed onto you from the carrier she’s strapped to that brings you two together.
Immediately, her small whines stop. She looks up at you, her mouth slightly open. “Yes, your papa is at work, and we will visit him.” You tell her in a higher pitch, and she begins to babble out of happiness once more.
It’s been about thirty minutes, Sora taking a nap and you still holding the trash bag. You gain many stares, but you don’t seem to care.
Behind you, someone creeps up. You can feel an immense amount of cursed energy from him, causing you to tense up, and you’re sure Sora can feel it too as she begins to whine again.
“Excuse me?” The person begins, and you assume the person behind you is male from their tone. To turn around, eyebrows furrowed and free hand to your baby's head, pressing her further into you.
“You seemed to be struggling with the bag, so I—” he stammers, and you really look at him. No evil intentions, but that dangerous cursed energy coming from him alarms you.
He’s got pink hair, and a very child-like face. His hand is at the back of his head, scratching awkwardly. You take notice of his uniform, and all that tenseness dissipates. “Are you a Jujutsu Sorcerer?” You ask him, and his eyes go wide.
He shakes his head, hands thrown up. “No-! No, no! I’m— a student! From Sendai, I’m on my way to school!”
You deadpan, he’s clearly lying. Raising an eyebrow, you scoff, “Sendai? What are you doing here in Tokyo. And anyway,” you glance at his uniform, the head holding Sora’s head presses on one of the gold buttons, “I know a Jujutsu Sorcerer’s uniform when I see one. No need to lie, I’m one too.” You confess, finger to your lips(though they’re covered by the mask) like you just told him a secret.
“O-oh! I feel a little embarrassed now..” he tells you bashfully.
“Are you a first year?”
He blinks, nodding slow. “Yeah, I am.”
“Great! Where is Satoru Gojo?” You ask him, and again, he blinks. “I think… he went to get some dessert.”
You groan, readjusting your hat further down.
He leans down, taking the bag from you before stumbling from its weight.
‘She was carrying this!?’
He smiles, re-adjusting it in his hold, then thanking God for his strength.
“If it’s too heavy you can leave it on the ground.” You grumble, sitting under a tree on the stone ledge that surrounds it. The two of you sit under the shade, and Sora, now fully awake, is kicking her legs out. You pull her from the carrier, still facing you, you bounce her on your knee.
The two of you still adorned in your heavy disguises as another person comes by. A girl, wearing a Jujutsu Uniform, brown hair— though clearly dyed— cut into a cute bob. You chuckle, it reminds you of Shoko.
“What’s taking you so long— OHMYGOD!?” She shouts, staring at you. You probably scared her.. you think, but when she steps to you, kneeling to you and asking if you were a celebrity, sweat drops.
“Hm?”
“I'm asking if you’re a celebrity. A model? Maybe an actress.”
You find yourself laughing, shaking your head at her antics. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“A singer! See you have a very nice voice.”
Your head tilts, confused with a hint of embarrassment— though you end up laughing it off— it seems they don’t know who you are.
Sora, still in your arms, is again pressing her hands to her face, knocking her glasses off.
The girl, which you still haven't learned her name, bends down, picking up her glasses and when she leans back up, she sees Sora, looking down at her. Her big blue eyes staring back into the sorceress’ brown ones.
“Holy shit.” She murmurs, wordlessly giving you back her glasses. You stare puzzled, watching as she stands up and walks back to the other boy.
“That— that woman is Gojo’s MOM! She must've been hit by a curse that takes her to the future, because the baby she’s holding is a literal baby Gojo!” Nobara informs Yuuji in whisper, who shakes his head at her.
“No way,” he glances back at you and Sora, who is now tearing off her head revealing her snow white hair. She blinks at him, showcasing her beautiful eyes— identical to his teacher's— and he gapes.
“See! I told you!” She whispers back.
What they don’t realize is that their teacher is looming over them. “What’re you two whispering about?” He asks with a teasing grin, his hands in his pockets, around his arm is a paper bag of Kikufuku.
“Your mom!” Yuuji and Nobara tell him, pointing to the disguised woman. They still haven’t seen her face, but the baby was enough evidence for them.
Megumi stares at them like their idiots, even worse when he watches what his teacher and caretaker does next.
He glances at the woman, then smiling. “Mommy!” He shouts, walking up to her with a wave.
You look up and frown. His students stare at the supposed reunion with him and his mother, his hands to your face pulling off your glasses, then your hat, then ripping your mask off. The three are unable to see your face, though Megumi already knows what you look like.
He leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips, then one to the top of the Sora’s head. Still, his students can’t see your face, but their faces are disgusted. “What the hell do you do with your mom?” They asked, Megumi glancing at them like they were stupid.
Satoru laughs, “That’s the beautiful Mommy of my child,” he tells them, watching them go from relaxed to pure shock.
“WHAT YOU DIDN’T TELL US?! AND YOU HAVE A KID?!"
“NO ONE KNEW?!”
“Megumi knew!” Satoru chirps, and the boy’s friends turned to him. “You knew he was married and didn’t say anything.”
“That guy has nothing to do with me.” Megumi tells them, rolling his eyes at his friends interrogating him.
They’re extremely loud, loud wnough to the poiny where tou’re getting embarrassed.
“Excuse me?” You speak up, and they all turn to you. Your face on full display, and this causes them to gape further. “Could you guys be just a little bit more—”
“HOW DID YOU BAG THAT GOJO-SENSEI?!” Nobara asks, pointing at you them him.
He laughs, throwing his head back at the chaos.
Megumi shakes his head, and you stand up, Sora back in the carrier. You take Megumi and walk off with a sigh, still able to hear their screams in the distance along with Satoru’s laughter.
“What was in the bag?” Megumi asks in a disinterested tone.
You, looking ahead, think about it before shrugging.
“No clue.”
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