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loveshotzz · 4 days

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I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve x fem!reader exes to lovers

Chapter Four -

Honey, on your knees when you look at me

The consequences of your actions hang heavy around you neck when you wake up, so you go to the shop to tell Steve this is definitely not what he thinks it is.

warnings: 18+ slight angst, confused feelings, semi public smut, fingering (fem!receiving), oral (fem receiving), body worship, praise kink, unprotected p in v smut, cream pie, fluff.

wc: 10k

authors note: This chapter has been almost two months in the making between life and writers block, I didn’t think I would be here. Thank you to everyone who sent me messages about this story and about him because of you, I never gave up writing this series I was so excited about. beta’d by: @superblysubpar

series masterlist | series playlist

songs from the playlist that inspired this chapter: Unravel Me, If You Think I’m Pretty, Please Don’t Fall In Love With Me, Make Up, Eastside, Holy.

Streams of shining golden yellow make your lids still heavy with sleep flutter, lashes tickling the tops of your puffy cheeks as you surrender to the sun’s wishes to wake you up. The orange shag carpet in Robin’s living room slowly comes into focus, along with the rest of your surroundings as the ends of your palms rub the rest of the night from your eyes. Stretching your legs, they’re met with warmth like the rays of sunshine peeking through the blinds still lingering on the cushions next to you.

¨Shit.¨

Your muscles freeze, threatening to cramp in your calf as the night floods back into your memories. How his plush pink lips slotted between yours like they should never be anywhere else, or how they made your back arch, kissing a messy path down your neck, perfect teeth nipping, threatening to bruise your delicate skin that lights up under his touch.

A shaky breath pushes out of your lungs as you shimmy your body deeper into the couch, fingers finding their way to your chest where you swear you can still feel his smile pressed into your skin, the tips of them hitting something smooth and warm.

A metal chain.

The weight of it around your neck finally registers through the sleepy fog that lifts from your brain. Looking down the slope of your nose, you nearly go cross-eyed when you’re met with the rich yellow gold that matches the sun, especially because It looks just like the one that belongs to Steve Harrington.

“No, no, no, no.”

The realization that it is in fact, Steve Harrington’s kicks in just like your feet in a silent fit, the thin throw he must’ve put on top of you before he left falling to the ground. You remember his plea for a date, and it has panic curling deep in your gut, the consequences of your actions arriving first thing in the morning before you’ve even had any coffee.

There’s a little bit of pride that hides in a small space in your chest that you didn’t just fold and say yes. Something you would have done in high school when he was giving you much less. Still, you didn’t say no. You were just prolonging the inevitable matter of letting him down right? It’s the self-respecting thing, it’s what you told yourself you’d always do.

Say no.

You twist the metal between your fingers, your eyes finding the dust particles that seem to float between the plastic of Robin’s blinds. There’s an ache in your heart at the fresh reminder of what it feels like to be held in his arms, something he rarely did when you were dating, at least not if it wasn’t the dead of night. The sleepovers at his big empty house were your favorite until you realized how sad it was. All his whispered secrets and deep confessions that he only shared when you were lit by the moonlight - the kind that hid all the stars in the sky and that boy he was trying to hide. The ones that kept you hanging onto hope until the last bit of rope tethering you to him, cut your skin. Those were the nights that really made you have to run.

You’re not sure if you could survive it again, and the end of August is only a distant friend. Pushing yourself off the couch, your eyes catch the bright bold numbers on the microwave that read 9:45 AM and you try to remember all the reasons you left in the first place. Not the way he looked at you last night in the kitchen making your best friend’s favorite snack.

Your flip-flops clack loudly against the hot pavement, the determination in your walk up to the shop threatening to set the street ablaze. The spaghetti strap sundress you threw on in a rush trying to be careful not to wake up Robin does very little to help cool you or your mood down when you’re met with the mugginess of the Midwest.

Steve’s chain bounces against your chest with each step, the gold shimmering against the sunlight in a pretty reminder that you still haven’t taken it off yet. One that you choose to ignore in your huff trying to think of all the mean things he's done and not the way he begged you to make it right.

Reaching the end of the block, you notice Eddie’s van is missing from the parking lot, leaving only Steve’s BMW against the side of the shop. It stops you dead in your tracks because the buffer that would stop you from making the same mistake isn’t there. Your proven lack of self-control only a few weeks into the summer has your confidence waver with nerves that try and get the best of you, but with a deep breath, you force your feet to keep moving.

Steve’s side of the garage is the only one open, the faded green metal door at half-mast to keep some of the sun away. Michael Jackson’s The Way You Make Me Feel bleeds out of the open space, bouncing and echoing off the cars inside, waking up the butterflies and sending them soaring. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you try not to imagine the way he’s probably singing along, or that curl that won’t stay in place, falling over his forehead as he bobs his head to the beat.

Why is Eddie not here?

You see his black work boots first, then the legs that were intertwined with yours just a few hours ago, now adorned by blue coveralls. Walking across the grease-stained cement, he comes to an abrupt stop, and for a second you think maybe he sees you, heart thumping wildly in your chest until he shuffles back a few steps before continuing forward.

He was dancing and you hate the way the corners of your mouth twitch because of it.

The smell of oil is bittersweet hitting your nose as you stop in front of the opening, silently working up the courage to duck under the door. Steve doesn’t notice your sneaky entrance from where he stands at his workbench with his back facing you, completely lost in whatever’s on the paper he’s holding in black-stained hands. It gives you the few minutes you need to get your thoughts together as he bops his head to the music that’s loud enough to hide you a little bit longer.

Your gaze lands on Eddie’s empty office, successfully diminishing the last bit of hope you clung onto that maybe he just didn’t drive today, before your eyes catch the burnt orange of your car tucked away in the corner. A cherry red Corvette sits parked in front of it, making your face sour at the instant comparison. It outshines the car you scraped up enough money to get after moving to the city, sparking the kind of anger you’d been scrambling to cling onto walking up here. Maybe if your car hadn’t broken down, you wouldn’t have kissed Steve Harrington, and then maybe you wouldn’t be standing here secretly wanting to do it again.

Clinging to that notion with everything you have, you take a deep breath, straightening your posture before clearing your throat, letting him know he wasn’t by himself anymore.

”The music’s a little loud don’t you think?”

The pleased grin that spreads wide across your face can’t be stopped when the sound of your voice makes him jump with a ‘Jesus Christ’ so loud you can hear it over the music, crumbling the paper in his hands.

Point one - you.

Your victory is short-lived the moment Steve turns around with his ever changing brown eyes that are somehow warmer in the daylight, reflecting the flecks of green that shine and light up even more at the realization that it’s you and not some random intruder. He runs those long fingers through his hair, trying to tame the mess on top of his head that you made, while his heavy stare fixates on the chain still hanging off your neck. Right where he left it.

Leaning over to turn the volume down on his boombox, he doesn’t break eye contact, giving you that crooked smile that makes your heart skip a beat pushing up the two moles on his cheek. Raising his hands in a silent apology, you try not to think about how big they look or the way they grabbed at your hips last night. It's a fruitless effort, so you try to make up for it with a sassy tongue.

”Wow, I could have easily stolen one of these cars if I had wanted to.”

Crossing your arms, you suck at your teeth, deciding that standing right where you are is the best move, especially when you see the sweat that glistens, beading off of his tan skin, curling the coarse hairs on his chest that’s hardly hidden by the sheer white of his tank top. At least his coveralls are fully on this time.

“Maybe I should report you to Eddie.”

“Most of the cars in here don’t run,” Steve tuts, dark eyes roaming over your curves hugged tight by the soft cotton of your dress unashamed before meeting your narrowed gaze, “You of all people should know that.”

“Sounds like maybe you’re just bad at your job.”

You ignore the uncontrollable press of your thighs that only gets worse the more his smile widens with your attitude, reading your body language like his favorite book.

“Did you come here just to pick a fight?” Steve sighs, carding another hand through his hair, threatening to punch the air out of your lungs when he looks up at you through his lashes “Or do you just want another kiss?”

It’s impossible to sound out the word ‘no’ even though it’s just two letters because watching him lick his full bottom lip before tugging it between his perfect teeth makes you wish it was yours instead.

“Is that it baby?” Steve taunts, pushing himself off the work bench and tossing the crumbled paper aside.

”No,” you finally manage to get out, but the venom you had less than twenty-four hours ago is gone, and it barely stings when you try to deny with a jut of your chin and a quieter than intended, “That’s not why I’m here.”

The little bit of self-control you’ve been hanging onto with an iron grip starts to slip from in between your fingers with each heavy thud of his boots that bring you closer to your demise as he closes the gap.

”Are you sure?” He asks with a glint in the darkening russet of his eyes that land on the gold wrapped around your neck again, close enough now to smell last night's leftover cologne.

“A-absolutely,” you stutter, taking a few steps back, the clack of your flip flops echoing, making you wince with embarrassment as you try to counteract his advances only for your back to hit the cool metal of a pickup truck.

”Hmmm, I know what it must be then,” he hums, a faint hint of smirk twisting the corners of his full lips, big boots stopping with a scuff on the cement floor right in front of your pink painted toes.

Reaching up, his bold fingertips trace the smooth edges of his chain, rough calluses tickling your collar bone daring to explore a little more. The quick rising of your chest spurs him on as he tries to hold his composure, teasing the dip of your breasts, he curls his finger around the metal, lifting the chain a little before letting it fall back into place. Mischief twinkles in his stare that matches the same color staining his hands.

“You must be here to tell me when you’ll be ready for our date later tonight, huh baby?”

It takes your brain a second to catch up, the freckles that spread across his cheeks like wildfire in the light distracting you from this close.

“The opposite actually,” clearing your throat, you try to hide the way your tongue dries when he looks at you like this, “I’m here to say that whatever happened last night doesn’t change anything.”

The corners of his lips twitch, his gaze getting lost in the details of your features like you weren’t denying him, finally giving you the fuel you needed to make your blood simmer, the anger you thought you’d lost forever buzzing under your heated skin.

“So!” You snap your fingers in his face, interrupting whatever daydream he was getting lost in, getting the glare you were searching for, “You better get that out of your head right now. We’re not going on a date.”

Your words finally bite with a tone that almost seems final and for a minute it starts to feel like you have a semblance of your self-control back. Holding your head up high, you try to really end whatever started on your best friend's couch last night.

“We can be friendly for Robin’s sake, but it’s never going to happen again. I’m not your girl, Harrington.”

Steve rolls his tongue against the inside of his cheek, something you can’t quite put your finger on flashing behind the gold in his eyes. Leaning forward, his hand finds the chipped teal paint of the truck behind you. Caging you in, the spice of his cologne overwhelms you as it mixes with the heat in the garage, and the sweat glistening on his tan skin. The warmth of his breath fans across your cheeks that burn like they’re being licked by a flame, thighs pressing harshly under your dress as you try not to let his gaze swallow you whole.

“If that’s how you really feel, fine.” He says cooly, seemingly unphased and it makes your blood boil more. “I’ll take my chain back now then.”

“No.”

“No?” He snorts incredulously at your refusal, watching the way your fingers come up to play with it. Taunting him.

”I don’t even know why you put it on me in the first place,” you scoff with a roll of your eyes, channeling his nonchalance before ducking under his arm, your escape in sight.

You refuse to look back at him making a beeline to the open garage door, heart thumping wildly in your chest as you do your best not to give away the attachment you have to the weight of it around your neck that you really aren’t ready to unpack yet.

”I left it!” Steve yells hot on your heels, the cracks in his confident demeanor starting to show, “I left it so you didn’t think I just disappeared on you this morning because I personally have zero regrets about what happened last night.”

The sarcastic ‘HA!’ you let out is almost comical, picking up your pace with an extra sway to your hips because you know he’s staring.

”How about this, Steve?” You antagonize, turning around and walking backward with a smug grin that mirrors his from before, “I’ll think about it.”

Steve doesn’t take the bait, instead, he side-steps quickly to smash the round red button on the wall with a deadpan face. Letting the rumble of the garage door coming to life do all the talking for him.

”Are you serious?!“ You shriek, watching it close faster than your feet can carry you, even contemplating a tuck and roll when you see the sunlight and any chance you have at not going back on your promise start to disappear behind it.

“It’s simple honey,” he sighs with an irritated edge, “Give me my chain and I’ll open her back up so you can go run back to Robin’s and pretend like last night never happened. Just the way you want, right?”

”This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. Let me out asshole!”

A new level of stubbornness that you never thought you could reach locks you in place, facing him with arms crossed tight over your chest.

”I’m ridiculous?” Steve chuckles darkly, the steel toe of his boots echoing louder now that you’re sealed inside as he walks towards you, “Look at yourself.”

”What’s that supposed to mean?” You snap despite the way your teeth gnaw nervously on your bottom lip, greedy eyes roaming his tall frame as your body betrays you for what feels like the hundredth time today when he steps into your space again.

“I know you enjoyed drama club in high school, but you’ve always been a terrible actress.”

“And you’ve always had way more confidence than you should.”

Steve’s nostrils flare, his gaze threatening to set you on fire.

”I’m going to get back to work, you’re free to go whenever you give me my necklace back. I’m getting paid to be here all day baby, you aren’t, so just know that I’ve got time.” He holds your stare for a second longer, sucking at his teeth before turning around. Testing you.

“Come take it off me then, Harrington, if you want it so bad.”

Two can play that game.

He stops in his tracks, shoulders tensing at the implication of your words, turning his head to the side, he gives you a perfect view of his sharp jawline.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warns, with a tone sharp enough to make your stomach flip.

“I said,” your shoulders square with a defiance that matches your glare, acting as if you aren’t sealing your fate with the next four words, “Come and get it.”

Steve’s long strides close the distance faster than you can comprehend. A big hand grabs at your hip, grease-stained fingers digging into your curves, while the other cups the side of your face, surely leaving a mark. He's getting what he really wants.

Gasping into his mouth, the force of his kiss sends a shudder through the garage door when your back slams against it. Lost in the sensation of his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, you barely notice. Your fingers weave through the thick locks of his hair at the nape of his neck as if they were always meant to be there. A harsh tug on the silky strands earns you a groan that's deeper than you remember, and you immediately want to hear it again.

The clash for dominance ignites as your tongues collide clumsily, teeth grazing and noses pressing into each other’s cheeks. His grip tightens on your hip in a warning before his hand trails down to where the bottom hem of your dress rests at the top of your thigh. Pushing up the thin fabric, the blunt tips of his nails skim across your soft skin, goosebumps pebbling despite the heat.

His fingers tease the edge of your panties, tracing the curve where they meet your ass, stealing your whine with a cocky grin that he kisses into your lips. He lingers just long enough to turn you needy before he hooks your knee around his waist, getting the instant roll of your hips and more of your little noises that will haunt his every waking thought after this.

“Steve,” you breathe, tugging your swollen bottom lip between your teeth while he starts kissing a slow, agonizing path down your jaw, tickling you with the stubble on his cheek.

He hums in between kisses, nipping at the sensitive spot behind your ear, he soothes it with a swipe of his tongue before he starts to suck–hard. Your moan bounces off the metal and concrete that surround you, echoing in your ears while your greedy fingers tug even harder at his roots. His grip on you tightens when you start to squirm as his efforts to mark what’s his intensify, leaving a bruise you’ll have to explain to Robin later.

”Yeah?” He mumbles against your heated skin, the tip of his nose running along your pulse point, a saccharine smile pressing into the curve of your neck where his chain still rests.

“Shut up,” you manage to get out, despite Steve leaving open-mouthed kisses on the swell of your breasts, palming roughly at the dough of your ass, encouraging another rock of your hips.

“You're always so mean to me, honey,” Steve sighs, nipping at the supple skin, before meeting your poor attempt at a glare from under the thick hood of his lashes.

”Yeah? And? What are you gonna do about it?” You bite, but it doesn’t sting the way you want it to, not with the way your chest heaves in anticipation of his next move.

Steve flips you around so quickly that the change in position has you gasping, your palms meeting the warm metal of the garage door that bakes in the sun outside. Heavy work boots push your legs apart, while hot breath that rivals the summer dances across the nape of your neck. He presses himself into you, letting you feel just how hard you really have him, the tip of his nose brushing along the shell of your ear. Butterflies multiply, tickling your rib cage just like your lashes that kiss the tops of your cheeks.

“I think it's pretty obvious what I want to do,” he whispers against your neck, lips ghosting across the freshly formed bruise, “The real question is…”

The backs of his fingers brush along the sides of your breasts, goosebumps pebbling across your skin. His big hands follow the curve of your waist, smoothing down to the tops of your thighs. Taking his time, he curls them under the hem of your dress, pulling it up to rest on top of your hips, still giving you the chance to stop him. One you don’t take.

“Are you gonna let me?” His words are gruff coming out next to your ear, your walls fluttering around nothing because of it.

The humid air doesn’t help your sticky thighs that only get worse as two of his calloused fingers trace agonizingly slow along the waistband of the only fabric separating you now. Peppering soft kisses to all the sensitive spots that make your skin come alive, his teeth nip playfully at your earlobe, fireworks lighting up in the sky behind your eyes when he takes it into the heat of his mouth. The sensation has you mewling, jaw going slack as your toes curl into the foam of your flip flops from a feeling only Steve Harrington can give.

”I could be so nice to you, baby,” he whispers, letting you go with a pop, his fingers daring to go lower than just teasing, smirking against your cheek at the gasp you give when he drags them through your slick folds, wrapping your hands around his wrist for support, your hips chase him for more. “Don’t you want that?”

Your pride has your teeth biting into your bottom lip. Refusing to answer his question loaded with too many double meanings for your head to wrap around right now, but you still spread yourself wider for him, because the last thing you want him to do is stop.

“Gonna make me earn it, huh?” He breathes, biting back his groan at how you start dripping down his hand, “That’s okay. I’ll show you I’m worthy.”

His promise is enough to finally draw out the moan you’ve been fighting, the sound making him kick up in his coveralls, while the movements of his wrist become more pointed. Your head lulls back against his broad shoulder, and his cologne smells even better with the way sweat starts to drip from his pores. Your eyes are needy, meeting the black coffee of his and you know it, especially at the furrow of his brows when he looks at you completely transfixed.

“God, I almost forgot how soft you are. How fucking wet you get for me.” He whispers between gritted teeth, awestruck at the feeling of your silk walls begging him for more, daring him to explore, “Bet you taste even sweeter than I remember too.”

Leaning down, he runs the tip of his nose along the bridge of yours, the mint that still lingers on his breath tickling your lips. Your hips roll with the rhythm of his wrist, warmth spreading across your cheeks as the sounds of just how wet you are echo in the big space. Too close to falling apart all over his fingers to care, the blunt ends of your nails dig half-crescent moons into his wrist chasing it.

“Baby, are you gonna come already? I’ve barely touched you.”

His words mock you despite the sugary sweetness they drip with, every swipe against your bundle of nerves becoming unrelenting, determined even. But it’s still enough for you to take the bait and force your eyes open, meeting his hungry stare dead on and say:

”Y- you wish it was that easy.”

Amusement dances across the hard lines of his face, his dark gaze narrowing before something between a laugh and a growl rumbles deep from his chest. The motions of his wrist come to a halt, and it takes everything inside of you not to cry in protest. Pulling his hand from your soaked panties, his wet fingers dig into your hips spinning you around, quick strides pushing you to the corvette that started your spiral.

“What are you doing?!” You squeal, your butt hitting the cherry-red metal of the hood that sticks to your sweat-slicked skin.

He just grins, the pearly whites of his teeth showing as grease-stained hands spread your knees apart enough for him to step between, leaving raven fingerprints in their wake before grabbing at your chin, he forces you to look at him.

“Need you to keep your eyes on me, honey, and remember what you just said.” He pulls your bottom lip down with the pad of his thumb, watching it pop back into place.

Letting go of your chin, he holds your stare, fingers ghosting across the tops of your thighs as he drops to his knees like someone praying to a god. Hooking his arms under your bent legs, he tugs you to the end of the hood with a squeak. Spread wide for him to see, your calves rest on top of his shoulders that you hate to admit you wish you could see. Leaning forward, the tip of his nose traces the wet path of your covered folds, breathing you in like the sweetest summer breeze.

When his big eyes meet yours from between your thighs, just begging you to get lost in them like you used to, it’s almost enough for you to forget the game you’re both supposed to be playing. There’s a softness that lingers inside melting caramel that manages to shine through the black that overpowers it, and you wonder if he can hear the way your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

His touch is gentle now, long fingers curling around the waistband of your underwear, silently asking you for permission to cross the line that deep down you know there’s no going back from. Nodding your head with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you even help him, lifting your legs when he pulls them from around your ankles.

Steve stuffs the satin in his pocket ignoring the way you tell him that you want them back. His pink tongue that’s seconds away from being your undoing wets his lips, jaw going tight at the sight in front of him. Roses bloom on his tan cheeks, and he can’t help but run a hand through his hair, the reality setting in that he really has you like this. He looks completely wrecked. At least it isn’t just you.

“Fuck.” He breathes, the blunt ends of his nails digging into the dough of your thighs, shuffling himself even closer, his eyes glaze over.

Goosebumps pebble across your buzzing skin, your velvet walls fluttering around nothing as you lose the witty response you had saved on the tip of your tongue, managing just a quiet, “I thought you were supposed to show me somethin’?”

His lips twitch so close to where you need him most that you can almost feel the curve of them, your knees bending just a little more, urging him on by his shoulders.

“So impatient,” he tsks, the vibrations of his words only making it worse, “My girl needs me huh? She missed me as much as I missed her didn’t she?”

“Steve - shut uhhhhohmygod!”

His mouth latches onto your cunt like he’s thirsty for everything you’re offering him, collecting your dripping honey that’s sweet on his tongue. Running a broad stripe up your folds, his grip on your thighs tightens when you start to squirm, holding you in place, as he swirls messy circles on your bundle of nerves before sucking it hard enough for your head to fall back against the car. Your fingers bury themselves into the sweaty silk of his hair, pulling harshly at the roots, earning the kind of grunt that has you whimpering, dripping down the stubble on his chin as your hips buck up to meet him.

Letting you go with a loud pop, he huffs out a dark laugh at your whine, hardly giving you time to recover before pulling you even further down the hood of the car, till your ass hangs off the edge. The tip of his nose brushes against your sensitive clit while his tongue begins to tease your entrance that quivers just for him. The new angle has you practically sitting on his face, and before you have a chance to overthink it he slowly starts to work you open with his greedy mouth.

”Holy shit I -“ Your eyelids droop, jaw going slack as he starts to move side to side, licking into you like you’re the sweetest prize. His nose adds just the right amount of pressure while he eats you up like a man starved, “You’re gonna - fuck - Steve!”

His hands move from your thighs to the soft fat of your ass, encouraging your hips more, and if you weren’t so far gone, you’d be scared you’re suffocating him. You dare to look down at the scene between your legs, and it’s almost enough to have you cumming all over his face. His pitch-black eyes gaze up at you enamored, completely lost and still hungry because after all these years it’s still not enough. He moans into your folds when you meet his half-lidded stare, the sensation vibrating in all the right places, making your legs shake.

The feeling of your walls pulsing tight around his tongue, knowing how close you are already has him twitching painfully hard in his coveralls. It’s enough to ignore the discomfort of his knees, doubling down on the movements of his jaw. His name bounces off the metal and concrete, while the roll of your hips gets more and more aggressive because it feels like he’s eating you from the inside out, the tip of his tongue reaching the spot that makes you gasp.

“Right there, shit, right there, right there, I’m gonna, oh my god I’m gonna cum!”

Your scream is silent, body going rigid, giving into him already. The muscles in your legs tense, as your thighs squeeze tight around his head while your pussy tries to push him out but he only doubles down with a completely relentless tongue. He moans loud enough inside you to hear through the ringing in your ears, your fingers curling harshly in his thick locks, back hitting the metal of the hood again.

He ignores the first few pushes against his forehead when his kitten licks become too much before he finally listens. Sticky legs fall open releasing him from a trap he never asked to escape from, his shiny wet lips leaving kisses along your shaking thighs, tickling the supple skin with the stubble on his jaw. You feel his tongue dart out to collect everything he missed, earning the kind of sweet noises he can’t wait to hear all summer long.

Steve stands up wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and you try to be mad at his smug grin but your body can’t help its reaction to the way he struggles against his coveralls. The hard outline of dick reminds you of the stretch that you know will ruin you for anyone else, spent walls fluttering despite yourself.

”Now what was that you were saying a few minutes ago, pretty girl?” Leaning down, his palms find a new home on either side of your head.

The whites of his teeth shine at the eyeroll you find enough energy to give him, even with your legs wrapped around his waist. His nose nudges the tip of yours, the playful glint in his eyes changes into something lovesick and it brings the ache in your chest back because you know it’s going to hurt even worse walking away again.

“Hey, what’s going on up there?” He questions, placing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, eyebrows furrowing as he searches your face for answers.

You don’t give him one, pushing aside the worry for when you lay awake in the middle of the night. Instead, you let your fingers wrap themselves in the cotton of his tank top, pulling him to your lips that silently beg him to help you forget. He meets you with an eager mouth, and a big hand that comes up to rest on your flushed cheek. The pad of his thumb traces the high bone while his tongue asks you for permission for more.

Your thighs lock tighter around his waist, granting him the access he wants, tasting yourself all over him. Shaking fingers find the zipper of his jumper, tugging down the metal, he helps your shimmy off his sleeves. The freckles that dot his shoulders like the night sky beg you to open your eyes as the top of his coveralls fall to his sides, the rock of his hips making you say his name like it’s the sweetest thing.

“Want you,” you whisper with a nip at his bottom lip, ankles crossing at the two dips you know are on his lower back.

”Baby,” He groans, dropping his head down, burying it in the crook of your neck as you roll your pussy over the length of him that��s still covered by the navy blue material you can’t seem to get off fast enough.

He lets you do it a few more times before his hands find both your wrists, pinning them above your head, he peppers kisses along your jaw, letting his fingers glide down the length of your body, making sure to catch his chain still hanging off your neck as he stands back up. You finally get a good look at him, and the sight is enough to know the memory of today will be etched into the corners of your mind, just like the rest of them.

Pink cheeks still kissed by the sun, and dark chestnut hair that matches his eyes twist at its golden ends in an even bigger mess now on the top of his head. The thick thatch of it on his chest curling from the sweat that drips down his neck, leaving translucent patches along the white cotton of his tank top, teasing even more of him to your starving gaze. His uniform hangs low on his hips, giving you a glimpse of the waistband of his boxer briefs, making you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. He grabs at the sides of your thighs, his handsome face going kind.

“You came in here ready to tell me to fuck off,” he laughs softly, thumbs rubbing gentle circles, “I just need to know this is what you really want.”

His words tighten in your chest, forcing you to make a decision so that when you have no one else to blame but yourself when you lay awake in your apartment with a broken heart in the fall, you can’t hate him anymore.

“I really want it.”

The answer stumbles past your lips before you can think too hard about it, pulling the rest of your rucked up dress over your head, leaving you completely exposed for his heavy chocolate eyes to drink in. Despite the muggy heat of the garage, your nipples pebble under it, cheeks going hot because you always feel like the most beautiful girl in the world when Steve Harrington looks at you like this.

It’s all the encouragement he needs to let you go and do the same with his tank top, tossing it to the side before shoving the rest of his uniform down the tops of his thighs. Thick, long and heavy, your eyes widen as his hard length springs free, smacking against the happy trail at the bottom of his stomach. The pink tip leaks for you, shining with precum, while his big hand wraps around it, tugging a few times and making you drip more on the hood.

“I’ll go slow,” he coos, leaning down to capture your lips in something sweeter than the rest of them. “I know you can take it, honey.”

Nodding your head, you look up at him with glassy eyes, completely giving in, shutting off the part of your brain that’s telling you that you know better. Spreading your legs wider, his eyebrows marry in the middle of his forehead, cursing under his breath at the sight of you like this. He silently thanks whatever gods or girl that got Eddie sick, because this moment shatters any fantasies that have consumed his late nights.

He runs the length of his cock through your slick, spreading you apart around him, earning the kind of mewl that makes him twitch in his hand. Your back arches off the corvette when he does it again only this time with added pressure to your clit. Locking your legs around his waist, you make sure he doesn’t get away.

”So fuckin’ beautiful baby, Jesus Christ, look at you.” Steve grunts, lining himself up with your entrance, pushing just the tip into the tightening silk of your walls before both his hands find their way back to your hips, fingers digging into soft flesh. ”Wanna make you feel so good. You gonna let me?”

“Mmhmm,” you whimper a little high pitch and out of breath, letting go of all the control you’ve hung onto for the last five years with a dirty roll of your hips that begs to suck him in.

“Oh fuck, you’re still so - shit.” Steve practically whines, his jaw going hard with eyebrows that pinch together, trying to regain his composure from the way you pulse around him just nudging halfway in, the aftershocks of your first orgasm have you feeling every ridge of his cock, lighting your body up.

The stretch burns, your eyes rolling in the back of your head as flames lick deep in your gut from the feeling you’ll never get enough of. His calloused fingers grab at your chin, demanding your attention. Your lashes tickle the tops of your cheeks as you force them back open, only to find his face is closer now, both his palms landing on either side of your head, black iris’s threatening to drown you, holding your gaze with the kind of intensity that makes your heart palpitate.

”I want to look at you.” He breathes against your lips as one swift thrust has you completely filled up.

”Steve!”

Gasping into his mouth, it takes all of your strength to keep your eyes open, focusing on the imperfect circles of the chestnut freckles that explode across the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah?” He smirks, pressing his forehead against yours, the rough hair on his chest tickling the softness of your breasts, nipples pebbling as your arms wrap around his neck.

“It feels, you feel -“

A loud moan rumbles from the back of your throat when the tip of him hits the spot that makes your toes curl into the fat of his ass, pushing him even deeper, the ends of your nails dig pretty marks all over his shoulders.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me how good it feels.” He grunts, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth, the roll of his hips becoming a slow grind.

His pelvic bone hits your bundle of nerves just right while the tip of him bullies the spot that has your eyes threatening to close against his wishes, and it has you sounding like ‘Steve’ is the only word you’ve ever known. It’s a hazy mess inside your mind, especially when he looks at you like this. It’s worse than before, and you don’t know how you’re going to find your way back this time, something different inside of his gaze that you know is going to make it impossible.

”Missed you so much, so damn gorgeous angel, think about you all the time. All the fucking time.” Steve babbles, completely drunk off the way you flutter at his words, the angry facade you’ve been putting on crumbling around him as your body lets the truth come out.

The confession makes your chest tighten with all the unresolved feelings you’ve shoved down for so long, the ones you almost forgot were there until a few weeks ago. Fingers curling into the hair on the nape of his neck you lean up, capturing his lips to shut him up, rocking your hips to meet his thrust. He grunts into your mouth, cock twitching against your walls, eagerly licking into your mouth.

It’s easier to get lost in him without the reminder of what used to be, teeth scraping together as the kiss gets messier. The metal of the car crunches and bends under your movements, but neither one of you can find it in you to care with noses pressing into each other's cheeks, tongues fighting for the kind of dominance your hips are at war about.

Steve is the one that breaks first, coming up for air, with eyes that seem even darker than before as he pushes himself up to stand. Big hands grab at your hips as a loose strand of hair falls across his forehead. Pulling halfway out, he takes a moment to admire the sheen you coat him, pink tongue darting out to lick his swollen lips before shoving himself all the way back in.

”Oh my god!” You gasp, throwing your head back against the hood, your hands landing on top of his, fingernails digging into the tops of them.

“I wanna watch you cum again, can you do that for me, baby?” He tugs you closer, your body squeaking across the metal that tries to stick to your skin, the tip of him hitting that spot again.

Nodding your head, every hard thrust of his hips echoes through the garage, the car shaking underneath you as tires threaten to roll. He feels himself getting close, the pad of his thumb finding your clit to rub the kind of messy circles that have you saying his name just how he likes.

“Come on, let me see how pretty you can get, let me have it.” He coos, finding the perfect combination to make you come undone all over him.

Your walls clench hard enough to try and push him out but he just buries himself deeper, a loud groan rumbling from his chest watching the way your face contorts with pleasure. White dances behind your heavy lids that squeeze shut as your legs start to shake around his waist. You try to shove his hand away, but he refuses, remaining relentless, milking your second orgasm for everything it's worth, making you cum even harder.

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s iiiiit, so fuckin’ good for me.” He praises, completely lost in the way your body responds to him and it’s enough to send him flying over the edge he’d been teetering on since had you against the garage door.

A string of curse words falls pretty from his lips, twitching hard inside you and with the last bit of strength you have, you squeeze him even tighter, relishing in the way his jaw goes slack because of it. The movements of his thumb finally end its assault so he can grab onto your sides with both hands, fingers digging bruises as one last hard thrust has his warmth filling you up.

The feeling of being so full sends your body buzzing, watching him fall apart on top of you with sweat dripping off the ends of his hair. His head drops between his shoulders, body shaking as his orgasm rakes through him. Red cheeks and skin so warm it rivals the sun, he lets himself collapse on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck totally spent, still chasing his high with a slow circle of his hips.

Your nose finds its way into his damp hair, inhaling deeply because it somehow smells even better than before. You wrap your arms around his shoulders even though you know you should leave and forget this ever happened, but it feels too good to have hands sliding up your curves as he starts to drip out of you and onto the car.

“God, Eddie’s going to kill me.” He mumbles against your skin, making you squirm because it tickles, and you can feel him smile because of it.

“How’s he gonna find out?” You giggle, the metal of the Corvette popping under your shifting weight.

”Baby.” Steve snorts, leaving a kiss on the curve of your jaw before pushing himself up on his elbows, the endearment falling too easily off his tongue in a casual way, reminding you very quickly of your reality.

It’s harder to meet his eyes that search for yours, but you do anyway. They’re warm again, like a dark sand beach and it's hard not to want to lay out a towel and live inside them. Both of you wince as he pulls himself out, cursing under his breath at your walls staying greedy and trying to pull him back in.

He doesn’t notice the shift in your demeanor pulling up his coveralls and tying the sleeves around his waist, or if he does he chooses to ignore it, grabbing your dress off the floor before offering you his hand. There’s less grease staining them now and you know it's because it's all over you, completely marked by him nearly head to toe whether you like it or not.

Sliding your hand in his, you duck your head down as you take it, legs wobbling when your feet hit the ground, not missing the smug grin that pushes up his cheeks clocking it. You go for your dress but Steve just tuts at you pulling it out of reach, ignoring your scoff he shakes it out before lifting it above your head signaling for you to put your arms up. Rolling your eyes with a smile you can’t fight, you pretend not to feel the butterfly wings tickling your ribcage, turning around and doing as he asks, letting him drag the soft cotton down your body. Calloused fingertips tracing the goosebumps they create.

”Let’s go get cleaned up in the bathroom,” he hums softly, grabbing you by the hips, and pressing a kiss into the fresh bruise behind your ear.

You tell yourself you’ll leave after this letting him guide you by the waist and a chin on your shoulder. You think it again when the small space of the bathroom is filled with giggles and bashful smiles as he sits you on the closed toilet seat, wetting paper towels that turn into mache in his hands. You scream at yourself to do it watching him try and fix his hair in the mirror after wiping you down the best he can, pressing kisses on both your kneecaps.

“I’ve been using this new product, but nothing hits like Farrah. I can’t believe they discontinued it. Dustin swears he can find me some, but who knows if you can even trust it’s the real deal, you know?”

Steve interrupts your inner turmoil with a face that’s far too serious for the words that just left his mouth and the thoughts running through your head. Your mood shifts almost instantly with a laugh loud enough to turn his cheeks the color of your toes, giving you an exaggerated eye roll despite the twitch of his lips.

“I can’t believe you still hang out with a middle schooler.” You tease, getting up on your feet, legs feeling a little less like jello but the reminder between your thighs only seems to intensify.

”I told you he’s like 19 - “

”Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Steve,” you grin, taking the break in the intensity of everything to try and work up the self-control to leave, wincing at the echoing clack of your flip flops that give you away instantly.

”Wait, where are you going?” Steve’s brows furrow in confusion, turning around to face you, he tightens the sleeves wrapped around his waist, biceps flexing while all the playfulness drains from his eyes.

”I should go before Robin -“

”What? No, she’ll be fine, it’s like noon. I’m sure she’s not even awake yet.”

“Steve.”

”Honey.”

The two of you face off in a silent challenge, stares unwavering, mimicking each other with arms crossover over your chests.

“Don’t run again.” He pleads with a whisper that’s barely audible against the beating of your heart in your ears, the room feeling smaller.

“I’m not running, I’m walking.” You try to lighten the mood with a joke, the corners of your eyes stinging but you refuse to acknowledge why.

”I’m not letting you walk home.”

“It’s down the road-“

“I don’t care! You’re not walking. Let me close up and then I’ll at least drive you.”

You don’t argue with the hurt expression on his face, you can’t.

It’s somehow even hotter outside when the two of you sneak out the side door of the garage. A different kind of tension hangs thick in the air putting the humidity to shame, even with the sun shimmering from the highest point in the sky. His skin glows like liquid gold in its rays as he walks in front of you, your eyes following the movements of his freckled shoulders that flex with every swing on his arms. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you hate the pit that settles deep in your gut because you don’t want to say goodbye just yet. Another consequence of a choice you made rearing its ugly head.

You aren’t expecting him to open the passenger door for you, the metal creaking loudly breaking a silence that’s filled with a thousand unspoken words just hanging on the tip of both of your tongues waiting to fill up the space. His gaze meets yours from under the thick length of his lashes, the corners of his lips twisting at the way you get bashful from the gesture.

”Thanks,” you whisper, catching a whiff of his cologne as you duck into the passenger seat that’s starting to feel like yours again.

He just hums in response, shutting it quickly and trapping you inside a metal box filled with every smell that reminds you of him. It pulls at your heart, and intensifies the burn between your thighs. Your fingers come up to twist the metal that still dangles from your neck, and you’re not sure you can bring yourself to give it back after this. The already small space of the car shrinks even more when the driver side door opens and he slides in next to you with a huff, keys jingling loudly in his hand closing the door behind him.

His shoulders brush with yours shoving the keys in the ignition, the seat vibrating underneath you as the beemer quietly roars to life. He keeps his hand on the stick shift, sweat slick skin pressing into yours shifting the car into drive. The radio isn’t as loud as you thought it’d be considering the way he was blasting it in the shop. Meatloaf’s I’d Do Anything For Love spills out of the speakers and you try not to laugh at the irony, scrambling to think of what to say to him as Robin’s apartment complex quickly comes into view.

But he never stops.

“Steve, what are you doing?” You sigh, crossing your arms across your chest watching the baby blue paneling of her apartments whiz past.

“This is technically my lunch break, and I’m hungry.” He shrugs, glancing at you with something mischievous in his eyes that you want to smack away because it makes your heart skip a beat, “You’re telling me you’re not starving after that honey?”

Smacking your lips together, you roll your eyes as hard as you can, trying to hide the smile that pushes up your cheeks.

“Wow, your confidence always just astounds me.” Shaking your head, your sarcastic laugh only makes him grin.

”I think you like it.”

You can’t bring yourself to deny it, fluttering your lashes at him with an attitude instead.

”But if you really can’t stand the thought of spending like another hour with me, I’ll turn around right now, honey.” You know he means it, feeling his foot slowly press on the brake in anticipation for your answer, “Just say the words.”

‘Say it, say turn around Steve.’

“Take me somewhere with fries.”

When you left Robin’s house this morning, you didn’t think watching Steve juggle two shakes and a large order of fries to the booth you’re sitting at with a heart so full it threatens to crack your chest, was where you’d end up at. His cheeks flush a deep shade red almost losing his footing, lovesick eyes too busy staring at you to watch where his boots land.

God, this was not a part of the plan.

“I got you strawberry,” his grin is proud, remembering your favorite from high school when he drops your cool treat in front of you, and instead of sliding into the seats across the table, he plops down into the spot right next to you, knees bumping underneath the wood.

“What if I wanted chocolate?” You tease, body turning into a lit match pressing into his side.

“That’s what I got, and maybe, if you ask nicely,” he breathes, leaning in close enough for the tips of your noses to brush, “I’ll share.”

You wonder if he can hear the way you swallow at his tone over that oldies station that plays in the Hawkins Diner.

“No thanks, you can keep your cooties.” Sighing, you have to fight the twitch of your lips tearing your eyes away from him to focus on the fried potatoes in front of you.

”I think it’s a little late for that baby, I’m afraid you’re completely covered in them.” He doesn’t hesitate to press a sloppy kiss on your cheek that's loud enough to catch the attention of the girls that’d been staring at him since the two of you walked in.

”Steve!” You try to scold, but the smile that spreads across your face gives you up, even if you wipe the kiss away with the back of your hand.

”What?” He smirks, grabbing a few fries and plopping them in his mouth and you try not to focus on the way his tongue darks out to collect the salt left over on his lips.

“I can’t stand you.”

It’s impossible to keep a straight face around him, even avoiding the playful gold that swirls in his gaze that hasn’t stopped showering you with adoration.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep better at night.” He shrugs, taking a big swig of his shake, subtly scooting closer so your thighs touch.

The two of you eat in a peaceful silence for a few minutes, your head swimming with questions as your morning starts to really sink in. But your nerves make it impossible to focus on just one, especially every time you fingers brush, catching his small smirk from the corner of your eyes.

”So tell me something,” you try, ignoring the slight shake in your voice, “How did Steve Harrington, ‘king of Hawkins’, become a mechanic? I always thought you’d be in some big office with a suit working for your dad.”

You notice the sour look that contorts the handsome features on his face at the former nickname again and you immediately feel bad for saying it. His thick eyebrows furrow, marrying in the middle as he tries to shake it off with a few harsh blinks grabbing another handful of fries.

”Umm, I did work for my dad’s firm for like six months actually.” He confesses, clearing his throat before tossing them into his mouth. “I think we hate each other even more now.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude that's not why I asked -“

”Honey, you’re fine.” He smiles warmly, a big palm finding the top of our thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it occupy the space permanently.

”Turns out I’m a terrible office manager. I’d get super overwhelmed, which made me disorganized and we’d lose clients making my dad pissed, then one day I just kinda snapped after he laid into me in his office. Had a panic attack and then never showed my face there again.”

”Steve-“

“I knew he was going to fire me anyway, it’s fine” he laughs, running his free hand through his hair, the other sliding down your thigh so his thumb can rub circles into the soft skin next to your knee cap.

“So I wallowed in self pity for a month before Eddie started needing help at the shop. At first it just gave me something to do, he’d teach me a few things and turns out, I’m actually pretty good at it. It honestly feels really fucking freeing to stop being the person everyone expected me to be.”

He smiles with all his teeth, the kind of pride radiating off of him that makes the hard brick wall you’ve built around yourself start to soften, cracks forming in its foundation.

”Well, it looks good on you Harrington.” You have to look away when you say it, the butterflies becoming unbearable, because you weren’t supposed to feel like this. “I guess.”

He snorts at your stubbornness, bumping shoulders with you before snatching your strawberry shake earning the kind of glare that makes him realize he’s never going to get over you.

Steve’s one hour lunch turns into two, almost becoming three getting lost in the kind of conversation that barely scratches the surface of everything you’ve missed. It’s all hushed tones, sweet eyes, and linked fingers that threaten to make you fold again, with the only thing saving you is the reminder of the mess you made on top of his client's Corvette, and Steve reluctantly admitting he needed to leave so he didn’t actually lose his job in the morning.

It didn’t matter though, he got his date.

And when he pulls up to Robin’s he doesn’t hesitate to steal your breath away, grabbing you by the chin, giving you the kind of kiss over the center console that leaves you dizzy, just like in high school. He doesn’t ask for his chain back, and you don’t offer it, bounding up the stairs to the apartment with it shimmering against your chest.

🌻chapter five

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #mechanic!steve #mechanic!eddie

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mingtinys · 9 days

Text

what dating seventeen feels like

pairing : seventeen x gn!reader

headcanons , fluff , misc

warnings : none

word count : 1.1 k

requested ? no

a/n: just a small collection of the things i love in life that i associate with seventeen

choi seungcheol

falling asleep on the couch and waking up in bed. chocolate-covered strawberries. the kind of love found in romcoms. expensive dinner dates and champagne.

cologne that lingers on your clothes and bed sheets. tight, bone-crushing, hugs. his hand almost always under the hem of your shirt, skin to skin (it grounds him). him letting you win when you play wrestle. cute aggression victim.

having a rock to hold on to amidst a raging current.

yoon jeonghan

diving under a crashing wave to find calm, gentle, water. rollercoasters with big drops. feathers. lavender fields. leaving the theater and realizing night has fallen.

always saying the same thing at the same time (it scares seokmin). naps on the couch. sending each other pictures of weird-looking animals with the caption "you" or "us." partners in crime. braiding his hair.

having not only a boyfriend but a best friend in jeonghan.

joshua hong

warm blankets, fresh from the dryer. pancakes and orange juice in the morning. raw honey. the scent of freshly baked bread. scented candles and wax melts.

lives up to the gentleman title. opens doors, bides by the sidewalk rule, lends you his jacket, etc. acts! of! service!! fighting over who pays the bill (he's actually ambushed your waiter to pay before you can even see the check). domestic, mundane, slice-of-life type of love.

a honeymoon phase that never ends.

wen junhui

walking down empty streets without a care in the world. morning cartoons. clingy cats. ice cream for dinner. frozen pizza with red wine. airport liminal space hours.

taking pictures of sunsets to send to each other. doodling on his hand. staying up until 3am accidentally. back hugs galore. resting his chin atop your head. him getting as close as possible when showing him something on your phone (i'm talking cheek smooshed up against yours). sleepy jun asking for kisses every morning.

living life in the moment because you know the future can wait for you two.

kwon soonyoung

energetic snow days. sledding, snowball fights, building snowmen. energy drinks and all-nighters. watermelon sugar. summer bonfires. the ambiance of muffled music through club bathrooms.

zoo dates. always wins you the biggest prizes at carnivals. his favorite place to nap is your lap. sweaty post-dance practice hugs. he gets pouty if you start a tv show without him. baking brownies at 3am. talks about you non-stop to anyone who will (or won't) listen.

excitement that isn't momentary or overwhelming. excitement that makes life meaningful.

jeon wonwoo

tulips blooming in the spring. waxing gibbous moons. amethyst. resting after a long, busy day. the scent of old, yellowed books. rhythmic clicking of a keyboard. warm, smooth, riverbank stones.

re-adjusting his glasses for him after every kiss. let's you design his character's outfits in video games. tells you about the book he's reading like it's gossip. he's always taking candid photos of you. quiet mornings. elderly couples who see you two are reminded of how they fell in love.

defining love not by how much it's said, but by how it's felt.

lee jihoon

thunderstorms that lull you to sleep. shiny, red guitars coming to life with smooth melodies. the crackle of a fire. rosemary. empty highways at night. lightning that strikes twice.

morning coffee dates at home. napping on his studio sofa while he works. quality! time! absolutely spoils you every chance he gets. pretends to act all cool when you catch him staring. writing songs for you. his hand routinely finds your knee when he's anxious. he prefers intimate and private acts of affection to the alternative.

cherishing all the little things that make your relationship important.

lee seokmin

wishing on dandelions. blue skies. morning dew on grass. golden hour. that burning sensation you get in your lungs when laughing too hard. iced lattes.

always asking permission to kiss you. so, so attentive. falling asleep on facetime. pillow forts. lots, and lots, and lots of nose kisses. him never wanting to leave you in the morning. "five more minutes" type of guy. his favorite feeling in the world is making you laugh.

finally knowing what it means to love someone so much you'd give the world for them.

kim mingyu

sleeping by a window with the sun warming your skin. hearing your favorite song on the radio. silky white sheets. first date jitters. first love. receiving a bouquet of roses.

admires you so, so, much. talks about you 24/7, much to his members' annoyance. (jk, they love you, they just like to tease him about it). literally a sponge the way he starts picking up your habits and slang. he's physically incapable of rejecting your puppy-dog eyes. likes to lay sprawled out on top of you. he'll often seek you out if he needs a little extra support.

the feeling that comes with knowing you've found "the one."

xu minghao

the autumn leaves changing. winter constellations. a solar eclipse. the quiet of a house before everyone wakes. those cozy granny-square blankets. white wine. laughing at scary movies.

wine and painting nights. him always making two cups of tea. art museum dates. swaying together to music in the kitchen. him secretly being a sucker for your doting. has your mannerisms memorized and prides himself on it. somehow always knows what to say when you're feeling down.

growing, learning, and experiencing life alongside each other.

boo seungkwan

warm, summer air. mystery flavored lollipops that somehow taste like every flavor all at once. rosy red cheeks.

teasing each other and inside jokes. nicknames like loser, stupid-head, idiot etc. (affectionate). hours long gossip sessions. kisses that taste of coffee and tangerine chapstick. stars in his eyes whenever you're doing literally anything. having his undivided attention.

resident happy pill and mood-maker seungkwan knowing he can let his mask fall around you without judgement.

hansol vernon chwe

watching city lights blur past in the passenger seat of a car at night. cereal at 1am. falling asleep while watching tv. poorly handmade, yet meaningful gifts. assorted candies. buying road trip snacks.

communicating with a single look. ice cream dates in the middle of winter. speaking purely in movie and tiktok references. late-night conversations that take a weird turn. (you've once debated if aliens would like pineapple on pizza). pretending not to notice how shy he gets when initiating physical affection.

loving the strange, bad, and hidden parts of each other as much as the good.

lee chan

the comforting buzz and motion of a subway at night. toothy smiles. watching reruns of your favorite childhood show. surprise parties. the first snow of the new year. concert lights.

driving at 2am, singing at the top of your lungs. random dance parties in the living room. getting noise complaints and giggling about it. pillow fights and board games, competitive, yet both trying to let the other win cause it'll make them happy. asking him to open jars. him getting exceptionally giddy to open said jars. (you're completely capable, but know he likes to feel needed).

making each other's inner child feel safe.

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 3 months

Note

A fluffy/ mild angsty valentines fic with Bucky where reader gets HIM flowers ( because of the whole guys don’t get flowers thing :((( ) maybe there’s some mutual pining and sweet confession? Like she gets the flowers for him because he makes some joke about not having had a valentine for nearly a century and she’s just like “absolutely not will not allow that >:(“ but he thinks it’s just a joke at first :(

Anyway thanks! Love you!

Bloom.

bucky barnes x female reader

warnings - none

valentines masterlist. inbox. masterlist.

“Are we almost done?”

Bucky looks so miserable, you can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, we are. We just need flowers, and then we have everything on the list.”

He grabs the shopping cart and pushes it across the grocery store, determinedly marching in the right direction. You’re practically running to keep up with him.

“Which ones?”

You look at all the flowers, touching some of the petals gently as you decide.

“I’m not sure. What’s your favourite kind of flower, Buck?”

He looks at you with a blank expression.

“I don’t have one.”

“What?”

Now it’s your turn to look blankly at him.

“I’ve never been bought flowers. Why would I have a favourite type?”

You frown at him. The idea of Bucky never receiving flowers makes you much sadder than it should, but you’re trying to play it cool.

“Oh. Well… which of these do you like the look of the most? They’re going to go in the middle of the table in the kitchen, so they need to be bright. Give the room some colour.”

He circles the flower display a few times, looking around carefully. Eventually, he picks up a bouquet of tulips, all pinks and oranges and yellows.

“I like these.”

You smile softly, nodding your head.

“Good choice.”

You’re somewhat distracted as the two of you check out. You put the tulips in the bag carefully, glancing at Bucky every so often. He catches you looking, and can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You’ve been standing outside Bucky’s door for the better part of fifteen minutes.

He knows.

He heard your footsteps, can hear your chest heaving, lungs working overtime. He’s just waiting for you to make your own decision.

Eventually, you do. After thirty minutes, you decide to just do it. You’ve got nothing to lose.

You knock.

Bucky swings open the door as if he’s been waiting for you, standing patiently on the other side.

“Breathe, honey.”

You didn’t even realise you’d been holding your breath. You exhale, never breaking eye contact with the man in front of you.

“Hi, Buck.”

“Hi, you.”

“I got you something.”

“You did?”

You grab the bouquet from where you’ve leant it against the wall, holding it out to him.

He stops in his tracks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“They’re… for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

You inhale deeply, willing yourself to find some temporary courage.

“Because tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. And no one has ever bought you flowers.”

He’s smiling now, soft and knowing.

“You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”

He says it so sincerely, so genuinely, that it makes you want to cry. You hand the flowers to him, grinning as he admires them up close.

“They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

That takes you by surprise.

You and Bucky have always had a careful, consistent friendship. Ever since he first barrelled into your life, you’ve thrown tender smiles his way, nodding your head in acknowledgement every time he passed you in the hallways. He warmed to you, slowly but surely. Your kindness, your generosity, your genuineness - you’ve charmed him delicately, somewhat accidentally.

You’ve also been in love with him since day one.

You never thought to mention it - he’s healing, learning, growing as he goes, and you don’t want to halt his progress. So, you’ve pined from a distance, gently and quietly.

“Buck… will you be my valentine?”

He beams at you, the most luminescent smile you’ve ever seen from him.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’ve been working up the courage to ask you that every year since I met you. Knew you’d beat me to it.”

You laugh, stepping in closer to him. He puts the flowers down carefully, reaching out to cup your face in his hands.

“Can I kiss you, my valentine?”

You nod, already leaning in. He presses his lips to yours, and he swears he feels flowers bloom in his ribcage, bright and alive.

#be murphy’s valentine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #marvel fanfic #marvel fic

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lovebugism · 6 months

Note

If you’re taking requests could I ask for one from the fall prompts with Steve and punchy?

“When she wears YOUR flannel shirt”

ty for requesting! steve x punchy nation rise! — you spend an autumn morning with steve which results in misplaced jealousy and spilled coffee (established relationship, fluff, v v brief miscommunication, 1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Steve, still wearing last night’s pajamas, stands barefoot on the patio and basks in the early morning orange.

Fall seemed to arrive in Hawkins overnight. It’s cooler than usual outside, and everything is weirdly more yellow. Every tree has seemingly shed its leaves, too, and somehow ended up right in his pool. He uses the net to fish the dying things from the rippling blue.

You watch him from the doorway. His golden arms tense with every scoop, and his sleep shirt is so tight you can see the muscles in his back flexing, too. Your bare legs are cold and prickly with it, but the sight of him makes you feel all warm — like the mug of hot coffee burning your palm.

“You have to stop being so productive so early in the morning,” you chastise, voice still heavy with sleep. “It’s getting weird.”

“It’s gotta get done, babe,” Steve retorts with a soft laugh, his back still facing you.

You take it as an opportunity to press yourself against him. You wrap your free hand around his waist and spread your palm along the faint pudge of his covered tummy. Your cheek melts between his shoulder blades as you mumble, “Not while normal people are still sleeping. Think about it— we could be spooning right now and not freezing our asses off—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Steve interjects with a boyish vibrato. Still gripping the metal handle of the pool skimmer, he turns around to face you. His honey eyes are wide as they dart up and down your form. “No way you’re wearing Eddie’s shirt right now.”

Your brows pinch together just like his bushy ones. You look down at yourself, at the deep green and navy blue flannel swallowing you whole, then back at him. “No?” you answer, though it comes out as more of a question. “This is your shirt.”

Steve shakes his head, puts a hand on his hip, and clicks his lips against his teeth.

“No… I’m pretty sure I saw him wearing it the other day— he said he was gonna cut the sleeves off and wear it over his jacket like a freak.”

“And I told him he couldn’t, remember?” you lilt with raised brows. “‘Cause he stole it from me after I stole it from you.”

Steve winces when you shove your pointer finger into his chest.

“So, it’s mine?” he questions, confused all over again.

You nod all slow. “Yeah.”

“Oh…” he hums, less jealous and more content than he was a moment ago.

His chest starts to warm now that he can see you more clearly, without the haze of misplaced envy clouding his vision.

Your hair’s a mess, and you’re still in yesterday’s makeup, and your legs are unshaven. The buttons on the flannel don’t quite line up, either, and the lapel droops off one shoulder to reveal the lovebite he left on your collarbone the night before.

If home was a place, he’s pretty sure it’d look an awful lot like you.

“…Oh,” he repeats, with a more profound inflection this time. ‘Cause he’s a boy, and you’re wearing his shirt, and it’s doing irreversible damage to his brain.

“I just got, like, ten times hotter, huh?” you tease with a knowing squint.

“Try a thousand,” Steve scoffs with a pink grin.

“A million?”

“A billion,” he argues, wrapping his free arm around your shoulders to pull you into him again. His other stays firmly gripping the pool net because he’s not diving in to rescue this thing if it sinks. “A kajillion, even,” he jokes with sparkling eyes that dance between both of yours.

You laugh before you mean to. “Wow. That’s a real big number, Harrington. Sure you know what it means?”

“If it means I wanna kiss the life outta you, then, yeah,” he murmurs lowly, already leaning in to kiss your smile.

You taste like coffee, where he tastes like minty mouthwash. It’s an unearthly concoction that feels like heaven on your tongue.

It’s perhaps too early to be kissed so ardently, with your head tilted back against the crook of Steve’s elbow while he steals the breath from your lungs. You get so effortlessly drunk on him — quickly forgetting the crisp cold and the fresh coffee in your hand.

Steve hisses when he pulls back from you, features contorted in discomfort. “Hot coffee,” he winces through gritted teeth. “Hot coffee on my foot.”

Only then do you recognize your limp hand and the subtle splashing of your drink against the patio.

“Oh, shit!” you blurt into the quiet, early morning. “Fuck, Steve— I’m sorry!”

He shakes his head and swipes a hand through his hair. He scrunches his nose and tries to smile. “It’s okay. Didn’t even hurt.”

Your eyes flit down to his splotchy red foot, then back at him. You look more pained by it than he does. “Yes, it did!” you agonize, wrapping your arms around his waist and smushing your cheek into his chest.

Thankfully, there’s not much coffee left in the mug to spill this time.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” you mumble into his t-shirt. “Fuck, I wish I wasn’t so clumsy all the time— it’s annoying.”

Steve laughs into your hair and abandons the pool skimmer to wrap both arms around you. One hand squeezes your shoulder while the other smooths up and down your back. “I don’t think so. I think it’s sweet.”

“…Even when I give you third-degree burns from my coffee?”

He exhales a faint chuckle. “Yeah, even when you give me third-degree burns from your coffee.”

Your cheek rubs against the soft cotton of his t-shirt when you turn to look up at him. Your chin tilts against his chest and bobs as you ask him, “Do you still wanna kiss me?”

A crooked smile tugs slow at his pink mouth. His honey eyes twinkle when they look down at you. He quickly forgets the tingling pain fading at the top of his foot because you’re so damn pretty wrapped up in his arms.

“I’d kiss you forever, baby,” he murmurs so fondly it makes your stomach whirl. “You know that.”

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satoruoo · 6 months

Text

✦°. COFFEE SHOP - gojo satoru

notes: someone asked me to do this! i don't even like coffee but anything for my man 🙌

"toru, honey, i think this is the seventh time we've walked past that tree."

your boyfriend of two years simply smiles, an innocent look on his face as he walks alongside you. there's a skip in his step - the kind that tells you he's got something up his sleeve.

the fallen leaves crunch satisfyingly underfoot, each one painted with individual hues of deep reds, burnt oranges, and bright yellows.

"really? i haven't noticed." he sings, looking rather happy with himself.

you huff a laugh into the chilly autumn air, deciding not to push the matter any further. satoru probably didn't know, but you already knew what he was doing; walking around in circles just to spend more time together.

it warms your heart, really. he'd been so excited this morning, insisting that you go on a date to the newest coffee shop that recently opened near your shared home. if you're being honest, you really want that coffee, but you'll be patient just for him.

satoru looks as happy as ever, a lopsided grin etched onto his beautiful features while he lightly swings your intertwined hands as you walk. the tips of his fingers are ice cold, but he barely feels it over the warm and fuzzy feeling that blooms in his chest.

he presses his face further into the material of his scarf - the one you gifted him last christmas - his already pink nose finding refuge in its fabric.

"we've passed that old lady a couple times too," you tease gently, "are you sure you know where you're going?"

satoru's smile grows ever larger as he shoves both yours and his hand into his trenchcoat pocket, squeezing it lovingly.

"'course i do, baby. we're almost there." he reassures, crystalline eyes looking down at you fondly.

you raise an eyebrow skeptically, bumping your hip against his (it's more of his thigh because he's so tall) causing him to stumble a little.

"whatever you say, sweets." you say.

he glares at you in mock offense, "no, i really do!"

"i know you do, toru. you've been taking the wrong turn purposefully for the past twenty minutes."

your boyfriend halts in his tracks, the tips of his ears turning pink from either the cold or the embarrassment of being caught. he groans, clearly upset about his plan being foiled.

"i would have taken us there eventually," satoru protests, "i just wasn't ready yet!"

you laugh, taking his hand again and pulling him in the direction of the shop. "there's no reason we can't walk with our coffee."

he groans again, louder this time, as he trails after you like a lost puppy. "there's no reason you had to see through my perfect plan!"

you roll your eyes, leaning into him to share body heat. though his extremities were always cold, the rest of satoru had become your personal furnace. he immediately shifts closer, as close as he can be while walking, eager to please.

"it was far from perfect babe," you retort. "who takes the same wrong turn seven times in a row?"

"it was not seven!" he objects immediately, pouting. it was seven, you had counted.

"sure, it wasn't," you respond dryly.

the bell of the cozy coffee shop chimes as you open the door. if it wasn't for your love of coffee, you may have let him have his way for just a little longer.

#♡. viascribbles #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo #gojo x you #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo drabbles #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru x you

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specialagentlokitty · 24 days

Text

Aizawa x reader - seeing you

A/N: thanks to @nyxiethesimp for the help and fuelling my Aizawa obsession 😌💜

Sitting in the windowsill, you ran your fingers along the braille of the book you were reading, a little smile on your face.

The apartment was quiet, and you were enjoying some much needed relaxation in the warm glow of the evening sun through the window.

That’s how Aizawa found you, most evenings you would be sat up there reading and he never really understood why you enjoyed sitting there so much, but he made it a comfortable spot if you with cushions and blankets, and the couch was just below.

Walking over, he sat down the the couch and you turned your eyes towards him, reaching out with your hand you gently placed it on his head, running your fingers through your hair.

“How was it?” You asked.

“Exhausting.” He sighed.

“You’re not staying in the dorms tonight?”

You felt him shake his head, and he tilted it back so he was able to look at you.

Taking your hand he held it to his forehead, letting out another small sigh.

“No, All Might has that covered, said I can spent the weekend at the teachers dorms with you, but I still need to go there during the day to help keep an eye on them.”

He sounded annoyed which made you laugh a little bit.

Setting your book on the couch, you swung your legs down next to him, sitting down after turning in his direction.

You couldn’t really see him, he knew that, all you could see was a thermal imagine of him, as you had described before he was basically just a silhouette of red, yellow and orange to you.

He loved how your eyes looked though, a gentle gold colour, and the brighter it was the darker they were, the darker it was the brighter they were, almost combatting the light so you could still see.

Right now they were a honey colour, and he rested his head on the back of the couch as he just stared at you.

“I know you’re staring.” You whispered.

“No you don’t.”

You grinned a little bit.

“Yeah, you’re right, I didn’t. Now I do.”

“Be quiet.” He huffed.

You laughed softly, and you held your arms out, waiting for him to adjust how he was sat and lay down with his head in your lap.

You placed your hands on the side of his face and leant down, and he lent up to meet you halfway in a gentle kiss.

Pulling away, you gently messaged his temples for him, working out all the stress of the day.

“Have you been inside all day?” He asked.

You nodded.

“Yeah, there wasn’t really much to do today, and I didn’t have to teach any classes, though some of your students did come asking for me to explain rescue missions to them.”

“Did you?”

“Of course, I’m not mean you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Alright, if that’s how we’re playing it I won’t do this anymore and you can suffer through the stress.” You taunted.

You quickly stood up, going to walking away but he was quicker, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back into his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You grinned a little when you felt him burying his face into the crook of your neck.

You didn’t say anything, you just took his free hand, lacing your fingers with his as you sat there peacefully.

You knew he had fallen asleep like that when his hand fell a little from around your waist, and you gave a little laugh, nudging his head a little with your shoulder.

“Shota wake up, come on.”

He grumbled something you couldn’t quite understand.

“Shota, you’ll get hurt sleeping like this, come on.”

He moved his head and stood up, and you held your hand out to him, letting him take it so you could lead him through to the bedroom.

Sitting him on the end of the bed, you stood in front of him, and he looked up at you.

“Go to sleep, I’ll start cooking.”

“Take a nap with me.” He said.

You laughed.

“Alright, I won’t say no to that.”

You walked around to your side of the bed and laid down, holding your arm out to him so he could shuffled over.

Aizawa tucked his head under your chin, and you softly gripped the fabric of his shirt as you closed your eyes.

It didn’t take long for either of you to fall asleep, but while you stayed asleep, when the sound of someone knocking resounded through the place Aizawa woke up.

He untangled himself from you, covered you with the quilt so you wouldn’t get cold and walked towards the door while tying his hair up.

“This better be important.” He huffed.

When you eventually woke up you noticed the empty spot on the bed, and judging by the fact it was mostly a shade of blue now it had been empty for a while.

Getting up, you walked to the kitchen.

“Shota?”

There was no response and you frowned.

Making your way back towards the front door, you you slipped your shoes one, grabbed your jacket and left, heading downstairs where a few other teachers were.

You made your way over, looking at each one of them until you recognised the silhouette of your friend.

“Mic?” You called.

He looked over to you.

“Therma! Our favourite rescue hero, what’s up yo?”

You laughed a little bit.

“You know where Aizawa went?”

“Yeah! Some trouble at 1-As dorm, he had to go sort it out before things got out of hand!”

You nodded your head, making your way outside and down the path.

It was dark, so it wasn’t hard to recognise the heat signatures coming from the dorms, and you noticed one coming towards you.

“What’re you doing out this late? Call out?”

“Oh, power loader, hey, no, I’m looking for Aizawa, apparently he’s at his classes dorms, do you think maybe you could help me get to the right one?”

“Yeah, of course.”

The other hero turned around to walk in line with you, both of you talking about work as you wondered, and after a few minutes you finally stopped.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

With that he left, and you knocked on their door before entering, looking around.

“Oh? Can we help you (Y/N)?” Mina asked a little confused.

“Looking for your home room teacher.”

“He’s gone back I think.”

You let out a slight groan, and turned back around, offered them a wave as you left their dorm, making your way back to the teachers dorm.

You were pretty close when you saw someone walking ahead of you, and you began to jog over.

Aizawa heard the sound of you jogging, he didn’t know you were awake or looking for him so at the noise of somebody approaching him he spun around, activating his quirk.

When your vision suddenly went from thermal to normal, you let out a confused yell, slapping a hand over your eyes.

Aizawa quickly walked over, taking your hand carefully from your eyes, placing a hand on the side of your face.

“Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”

You looked at him, and you let out a small breath.

“Do it again…” you whispered.

“What?”

Now he was just confused.

“Do it again.. please…”

Aizawa took you inside, back to your shared space in the teachers dorms, and he sat you down on the couch.

Crouching down, he rested his arms on your knees.

“What do you mean do it again?”

“I.. I think you cancelled my quirk…”

“Is that possible?”

“I.. I think so, Shota please I haven’t seen things normally in so long… I haven’t seen you…”

You reached out, carefully placing your hands on the side of his face.

“Please…”

“I don’t know if it’s safe.”

“Shota please…. Take it away again so I can see you…”

He sighed, slowly standing up, pausing so he could kiss your forehead before he stepped away, saying he was going to make dinner.

You sat on the couch with a small frown.

You didn’t think it was dangerous if he took your quirk away, neither of you had thought to try it before, he didn’t just want to erase your quirk and you had never asked him, not until now.

He wanted to make you happy and erase it, see if it worked and if you would be able to see the world as it was.

At the same time he didn’t want to do it because if he did, and you looked at him, messy hair, scar on his face, he hadn’t shaved for at least a week, wearing his baggy hero costume he was worried maybe you’d think he wasn’t like you thought.

He was worried you’d want someone better than him, he struggled as it was with showing affection to you, and he’d come a long way since the start of the relationship, but he still had his doubts.

You were too good for him. He always believed that.

He never brought it up again, and he was hoping you wouldn’t, but he could tell you thought about it, so after another week he finally sat you down.

He crouched down in front of you, resting his arms on his legs with a sigh.

“Close your eyes.”

You nodded, doing as he said.

“Alright.”

You opened your eyes, and immediately you noticed how bright everything was, full of different colours, but your eyes were locked on his red ones.

He was pale, his hair was floating upwards, a deep black, he was wearing a white shirt and a black tie, and you could see the scar on his face, just under his eye.

He realised his quirk, rubbing his eyes and your went back to normal.

He stood up, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he turned away from you, you didn’t say anything, was that a bad thing?

“I can’t hold it longer, sorry…” he mumbled.

He began to leave the room.

“You’re so beautiful…” you whispered.

Aizawa stopped, keeping his face away from you forgetting you couldn’t read his expression.

“Be quiet…” he mumbled.

With that he quickly left the room, and you smiled, your thoughts completely focused on that one pure clear image of him.

You kept asking him to erase your quirk so you could see him, and eventually you both went to power loader to get him to help make something.

Which took a few months to finalise the details and he did the paperwork for you, and finally you had the procedure to have it done.

Recovery took a while, but tonight you were allowed to remove the bandages from your eyes, and Aizawa was stood in front of you.

“Keep your eyes closed.”

You nodded, letting him unwrap the bandages.

He looked at the small device attached to your temple, and he made sure it was set to the right setting.

They had managed to make a device that was connected to your eyes, meaning you could hopefully control your quirk now.

“You can open your eyes whenever you’re ready.”

You took a deep breath, slowly opening your eyes, and there he was again, dark eyes, hair tied up, he’d shaved, dressed up nicely in a suit.

You smiled brightly, reaching a hand up to the side of his face.

Aizawa noticed your eyes had changed to (E/C), and he smiled a little which made you smile even more.

“You made yourself look so handsome for me…?” You whispered.

“I wanted to make a good impression…” he mumbled out.

He averted his gaze awkwardly, and you reached behind him, pulling his hair down.

Then you moved your hands to his tie, undoing it, carefully taking it from around his head and he looked at him confused.

Did you not like it?

You set his tie aside, and placed your hands on the side of his face, leaning up to kiss him before dropping yourself back down.

“No matter how you dress, or how often you shave, hair up or down, you’re still the most beautiful person I’ll ever see Shota…”

“Can’t say that when you haven’t seen other people it doesn’t make sense…” he mumbled.

You gave a small shrug.

“You’re right, it doesn’t. But I love you, so you’ll always be my favourite person to look at.”

He gave you a little smile, leaning down to capture you in another kiss.

When he broke away you went to go look at everything, leaving him to change back into some caudal clothes but he noticed you would come back every so often to look at him.

When he woke up the following morning you were gazing at him with soft eyes, a smile on your face.

You looked at him so softly, so lovingly as if he was without imperfection, and it was the same way he looked back at you.

Even when you weren’t together sometimes you would seek him out just to sit there and watch him, even if he did keep telling you that you saw him every day.

You just couldn’t get enough of looking at him.

He was sitting in the office of UA with you sat at your desk, head resting on your hand as you admired him.

“Are you ever going to stop?” He asked.

“No, because you’re absolutely perfect.”

You got up, walking over and placed your hands on his face, brushing some of his hair out of the way.

“My Shota…” you whispered.

He awkwardly looked away, but he did whisper under his breath that he loved you.

It wasn’t loud, but you heard it and you grinned a little bit as you walked back over to your desk to do some work.

This time it was his turn to just sit there and look at you, admire you and how perfect you were

#my hero academia imagine #my hero academia x you #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia #mha #mha x you #mha x y/n #mha x reader #mha imagine #Aizawa #Aizawa x reader #aizawa x you #Aizawa imagine

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lovepookie · 3 months

Text

₊˚ෆ Honey - k.gb

♡ sypnosis: you’re not really sure why the sight of gyubin’s eyes start to look different one day. they had your cheeks burning when he’d get even so much as a foot away from you despite him being your best friend, and they reminded you so much of honey when the light from the window hit them just right. you’ve slowly come to realize that the big brown eyes that belonged to the exhausting and annoying loser just might be the reason for your fast heart rate too.

♡ genre: fluffy, a hint of angst, fem!reader, bestfriend’s to lovers, college au

♡ 3.7k word count

♡ warnings: light cursing, playfully mean banter & nicknames, kissing, mentions of gordon ramsey and leprechauns, cardiac arrest is mentioned exaggeratingly. please lmk if i need to add any!

♡ nano note: hello beautiful readers, this is the fic for gyubin that won the voting poll!! please look out for more polls in the future, as i have lots of fics in my drafts! hope you like this very delusional piece of writing that i wrote when i realized kim gyubin was infiltrating my bias list. (lowkey wrote this to are you sleeping alone again? by bixby,, 10/10 song) enjoy! xoxo

.♡.

Your breath hitches as you take him in for the up-teenth time that day.

This time, he sat by the window, the golden-hour rays seeping through the clear glass and hitting his side profile just right.

As you stared, you found yourself drawn to his eyes.

They were….interesting.

They bulged out in a way that made them look so big and wonderous.

They were annoyingly endearing, and the way he blinked sent goosebumps down your arms because you felt like they were barely soft closes of the eye—the very idea of him being a living breathing boy made you feel…nervous.

He was kinda perfect.

But in this odd way.

It sent a shiver down your spine when his pencil went between his thick lips, and suddenly the angle of his head resting on his large hands had his brown orbs catching the light coming through the curtains in just the right way.

They were honey.

His eyes were honey.

And you couldn’t comprehend why it had taken you so long to notice.

Maybe it was his goofy awkward stature, or his funny but tantalizing way of teasing and talking that overshadowed it all…

But my, oh my.

Kim Gyubin was a beauty—an actual looker.

And within seconds, his eyes snap over to yours.

Honey.

A smile makes it’s way onto his face, and for a moment, it was just that; a simple smile.

Then, faster than you can blink, the smile streches teasingly and you’re reminded all over again why you hated it so much.

Yet, for some reason, this time…

These cheeky actions don’t sway you out of your trance.

They couldn’t, because the way his large hands lifted in the golden hour warmth and landed at the top of his curly brown hair in the form of a puppy ear swayed your heart more than you were willing to ever admit.

He was sweet—just like honey.

And it was slow; the realization that maybe, just maybe, Kim Gyubin held a honeycomb hexagon place in your heart.

It was soft, and slow and increasingly thicker—larger, more evenly spread out;

These thoughts of Kim Gyubin.

He looked so warm as the sun rays displayed hues of orange and yellow across the expanse of his face.

It was rich and undermining; the feeling that he was oh so real, oh so cute, and oh so…an option.

He was sweet and funny and…and...what exactly were you doing?

His eyes soften as they almost disappear in happiness; brown orbs like the base of the earth you stood on, like the smell of oak in the trees that helped you breathe—just gone in seconds as he let a chuckle leave his lips.

It was an exhilarating feeling; the slow burn of Kim Gyubin—but you somehow knew you’d always end up coming back for more.

Just like honey, the thought of Kim Gyubin slowly penetrated through every fiber of your being; your thoughts learning to love every part of him—just like honey was the feeling.

It had been a painstakingly slow realization; that Kim Gyubin was this sweet.

—

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

After your fun little run-in with your feelings, nothing was the same.

The tall third-piece to you and Gunwook’s friendship trio wasn’t the same to you.

It used to be you three against the world, but you can’t help but fathom what life could be like with Gyubin and you being more than just friends. It sucked so bad and kept you up at night sometimes.

His eyes.

His pretty smile and laugh.

Now the way he’d run over and throw his arm over your shoulders after the professor excused the morning class had your heart in your throat daily.

He did it before Gunwook could in order to use you as his “support beam” as you three walked through the campus halls. It was a race they’d play that just became a normal routine after class.

Everyday, after the class dismissal of course, they’d shoot up out of their chairs with their already packed things and scurry over to you, laughing about as they jammed their large arms and elbows around your neck, seemingly forgetting altogether that you were a very tangible and living being yourself.

It was a game.

A race.

However, what they didn’t understand was that everyday since your little epiphany, you’d so hopelessly wish that Gunwook would get to you first. And truth be told, fate was never really on your side, because for the last few days, Gunwook has been slacking.

So here Gyubin was, arms currently wrapped around your shoulders as he pulls you close into his chest. He laughs out loud freely as he sways you back and forth, and you feel your face go hot.

His laugh was so pretty and, despite hearing it all the time, it sent your heart beating faster than what you could comprehend was normal.

“Haha! I win again! What is that? fourth time in a row this week?” He laughs out, a smiley Gunwook hot on his tail with his backpack slung awkwardly across his shoulders.

Gyubins chest contracts in and out as he catches his breath; moving you to the beat of his heart in the process.

He smells nice, you note.

A little too nice.

“H-hey!-“ You stutter out as you pull away, cheeks pink and looking the most embarrassed you think you’ve ever been in front of the tall duo.

Gyubin stares down at you, smile still in his eyes as he sends you a questioning look.

“I’m sorry! Did I knock into you a little too carelessly?” He asks whilst stepping back.

Your heart skips a beat, and even thought you’re a few steps away now, you can still smell his cologne.

Without ever letting you answer him, Gyubin sends you a playfull look.

“Next time I’ll make sure to run faster and knock you off your feet altogether.” He muses, sending you a wink.

Gunwook just laughs and slings his own arms over Gyubin’s shoulder, putting him in a choke hold and raising him down to your level.

“Yah! Don’t make our Y/n flustered. Look at her cheeks already.” He teases, looking over at you and barely managing to bite back his playful gummy smile.

You can’t help but huff and roll your eyes mindlessly at the pair.

Were you seriously that easy to read?

This wasn’t good.

“Stop messing around. I’ll kill either of you if you knock me down you big fools.” You mutter, packing your things so that you can quickly get out of the two’s presence.

To be more specific; so you could get out of his presence.

Out of the corner of your eyes you see them send eachother a look. It was one of confusion, maybe even a bit of curiousity.

It made you burn inside because wow, you’re doing the exact opposite of what you intended to do and were now drawing attention to yourself and your newly odd behavior. But the boys are quick to move on when you put your backpack on and look over to them with a subtle grin in order to try and sell your supposed unbotheredness.

It seems they buy whatever it is that you’re selling, because Gyubin is quick to laugh as he tries to get out of Gunwook’s tightening grip on him. You start to walk and they follow, Gyubin clad in Gunwooks headlock as they both usher up next to you in the halls and continue their power struggle.

You can’t help but chuckle.

They were cute.

“Fine! Damn-“ Gyubin chimes up, finally giving up on getting out of the big baby’s grip.

This left him to turn his head to you, just for you to realize that you don’t think you’ve ever seen his face this close before.

“Wow- I’ve never seen you from here.” Gyubin teases, big eyes peering up at you.

“Ha-ha, so funny.” You deadpann, just on the verge of flipping him off—you hadn’t done that today and it was already lunch time.

A new record.

Still, Gyubin laughs out, a twinge of pink going up to the apples of his cheeks as his Adam’s apple bobbs up and down.

“Wow, you’re seriously irritated today huh? What happened? Did Ricky not look your way?” He questions, prying at what he believes to be is your crush. He’s got it all wrong though, Ricky’s just a friend that he and Gunwook like to tease you about.

You’re not even sure why.

One day Ricky sat next to you during a lecture and your two bafoons-for-friends had found out about a rumor that said you miraculously seduced the new blonde kid.

For a few semesters, you and Ricky would just mildly conversate but that was about all, yet still, Gyubin and Gunwook wouldn’t live it down.

All you can do is roll your eyes and continue walking, hoping Gyubin would drop the subject altogether.

I like you idiot, not him.

“Wow~ So that’s what it is! Your pretty blonde boy ignored you, huh? What did I tell you about him? I knew he’d hurt you-“

You cut Gyubin off by halting your trudge down the halls.

“Kim Gyubin, what’s it to you?” You counter boldly, face pulled into a frown.

Why was he being so protective?

It stung.

It hurt.

Because you knew it was out of friendliness, not jealousy.

Not because he reciprocated your feelings.

Not at all.

At the sight of your pissed off state, Gunwook is quick to let go of Gyubin, wide eyes of shock watching as you stride off quick without another second to spare.

Gyubin was completely taken aback.

Did Ricky really hurt you?

Did he flirt with you and lead you on like he thought he would?

Why were you so angry?

What was it to Gyubin?

He sighed as he stood up straight, the whole campus practically watching the two big boys in the hall and the interaction they just had with you.

Still, he paid no mind to them.

Where were you off to?

“You need to lay off the questions KimGyu…” Gunwook speaks up, placing a hand on his friends shoulder.

“…and if you’re so worried and like her so much, why don’t you just go after her?” He finishes, gaining a scared and irritated look from Gyubin.

Gyubin knows he’s right.

It was now or never.

“I really hate you right now y’know?” Gyubin utters, then with one swift movement he’s patting Gunwook on the chest and zipping off after you.

Gunwook let’s a laugh slip.

Was today the day his bestfriends finally admitted their undying love for eachother?

“You hate me because I’m right!” Gunwook shouts after Gyubin’s awkwardly trailing figure. He then lets a grin grace his face, pretty eyes curiving, completely unable to contain his gummy smile.

And like clockwork, he’s turning a corner and coming face to face with his own crush.

His eyes soften for a second, completely embarrassed that he ran into her to begin with.

“Oh- I’m- I’m sorry!” He let’s out shyly, hand going to grab her arm as she almost stumbles off of her feet. It was electric, the feeling, and for a second her eyes meet his before they shy away at the same time.

“It’s alright…you’re Gunwook right?” She mumbles out, looking down to his large hand still clad on her arm.

He’s shocked for a moment, completely entranced by the fact his crush knew his name too.

This wasnt a dream?

“Yeah, It’s Park Gunwook. Thank you for remembering…” He says, stars in his eyes as he speaks smoothly. For a moment she laughs, and Gunwook’s smile falters.

Then he realizes he’s still holding her and he very much wants to sink into the floor beneath him.

“Oh- I’m sorry! That’s not mine haha-“ He laughs out, deciding to make a joke of it anyways. She laughs, the prettiest laugh he thinks he’s ever heard, then she brushes her hair away from her face.

And just like that, Gunwook thinks he understands Gyubin.

He thinks he completely gets him now.

—

“Y/n!? Hello?” Gyubin shouts, peaking his head into almost every empty classroom on the level you disappeared on.

Yes it was lunch time, but he wasn’t able to find you in the cafeteria or at the restaurants across the way. The only other idea of where you’d be was a little corner somewhere in an empty classroom.

Sighing because he’d just searched the last empty classroom on that floor, he decides to close the door and lean his back against it as he looks up at the ceiling in deep thought.

Where could you be?

He was all out of options.

After a few seconds of moping about and praying you’d just appear in front of him, his brain suddenly starts to work, and within the next seconds he’s fumbling to take his phone out of his pocket. After successfully fishing it out of his baggy jeans, he opens his phone app and immediately scrolls to find your name.

You were labeled ‘passenger leprechaun🧟‍♀️👩🏻‍🍳🧔🏻‍♀️🧌🛒🫶🏻’ as courtesy of him obtaining his drivers license before you. The leprechaun part was—no not because, you were ‘magically delicious’, your words not his—but because once you once joked that you were his lucky charm due to you landing him free food at restaurants whenever you were together. This name followed by a slew of emojis were things he added overtime because of random moments he cherished with you.

He put a zombie emoji because of the one time he and Gunwook knocked on your door in the middle of a Tuesday night—they had bought cinnamon rolls but, alas, their dorms didn’t have an oven. You answered the door with bed head and mismatched pajamas, completely unaware that you’d be greeted at such a time when the world was to be dead. He called you a zombie. You flipped them both off. Regardless, you allowed them in to wreck your kitchen whilst you slept. You woke up to cinnamon rolls, so it all worked out just fine, Gyubin reasoned.

The chef emoji is actually something completely unrelated to food. Once, you two were in an argument and randomly you had put on this British accent and puffed your chest up to his—which made him blush furiously—then, you proceeded to cuss him out as if you were Gordon Ramsey. “Fuck out of my kitchen! Don’t just stand there you big fucking muffin!” You shouted before snatching the Wii controller from his hands as he bent over in a fit of laughter. He couldn’t even remember what game you two were playing or why you two had fought, he just remembered how hard he laughed. He swore that was the first time his heart skipped a beat.

The bearded woman emoji was because you claimed once that you could grow a better beard than Gunwook. That was all—Gyubin just held so much admiration for you after that because you were so shameless. It made him laugh and get all giddy too. He didn’t really know why at the time.

The troll was because you were ugly. Not really, quite the opposite actually, but he added it to get on your nerves and to convince himself that you were. The shopping cart was because once you three found an abandoned shopping cart and he pushed it around with you inside it at a park. Finally, the hand-heart was added very recently when he found himself staring at how small your hands were compared to his after he had forced you to complete the gesture.

He’d laugh and smile and cheese at a picture of you posing and completing his heart begrudgingly.

He stared at it for hours.

But now that he’s eyeing down the funny face you’re making in your contact photo, his heart is racing in a way that is making him very sure of himself and his next choices.

Without another second to spare, Gyubin is dialing your number, heart beating out of his chest as the receiving end rings—as he waits for you to pick up earnestly.

One ring.

No pick up.

He starts to pace back and forth in the hallway.

Two rings.

No pick up.

His hands go up to his mouth, wondering if he should break his sober streak of two months of not biting his nails.

Three rings.

“What do you want Gyu?”

Your voice suddenly booms through the phone speakers and oh my god Gyubin’s heart feels like it’s moving so fast, he might be going into cardiac arrest.

“Y/n! I- I have to tell you something.” He blurts out, eyes as big as flying saucers because what the fuck, is he really about to do this?

“Go ahead…” You mutter nonchalantly, and he swears he feels even more worried because of your upset tone.

“…should I come find you?” You ask a second later.

“No! I just need to tell you that- I kind of- maybe-“

He hears the absence of people talking on the other side of the line, and wow are you really isolating yourself right now?

Were you really that upset?

Is this truly you and him, alone in different places, left alone to nothing but eachother’s words in a place silent enough to hear a pin drop?

Is he really going to spill his guts right now?

He felt a burn in his throat, and he wished he could eat something to soothe it and unleash whatever it was that was stuck in his airways and preventing him from getting his words out.

Something warm and soft like honey.

Just…something.

He paces towards the end of the hall, readying himself for any outcome.

“Y/n, the truth is, I know we’re friends and I really like that but-“

“Do you want to stop being friends?” You ask, complete defeat in your voice.

“No! I-“ He’s quick to shut you down.

He really doesn’t know what to do, what the fuck was he doing right now!?

“I-…Stupid, I’m in love with-“

Gyubin rounds a corner and before he can finish his sentence, his eyes are locked onto one’s of honey.

Honey.

Smooth, warm, honey-like orbs that’d easily cure him—yet it seems to do quite the opposite.

You start to walk towards him, eyes locked onto him.

And then you stop when the last word drops from his mouth.

“…you.”

You both continue to stare at each other for a bit as you stand quaint and out of breath at the revelation that was Gyubin’s last sentence.

Your hand drops down with your cell phone, but never once do your eyes leave his.

And you hang up.

You hang up the call.

He can hear it go silent.

He can see it all happen.

And he knows you heard what he said.

Stupid, I’m in love with you.

He’s in love with you.

And for a moment, he watches your cheeks burn pink, and a smile raise to your face.

For a moment he’s speechless all over again.

Then before his mind can register it, his legs are moving and he’s walking towards you.

The corners of his lips are rising.

His arm is lowering as he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

His pearly whites are on display and suddenly the honey in his eyes disappear because he’s bending over quickly and engulfing you in a hug. Gyubin feels your heart beating just as fast as his, confirming you feel the same.

He was your stupid too.

“Oh my goooood!~ Stupid where were you?” He wines out, very awkward and new to the energy that was just created in the studio.

You laugh and sway his big self back and forth whilst patting his back comfortingly.

“I went to get a coffee and then stop by my apartment…but what was that Gyu? Kim Gyubin what did you say on the phone?” You tease quietly, laughing as your cheeks burned red.

He pulls away quick and shoots a glare your way, grabbing your hand and lacing it with his. For as long as he could, he was going to avoid that question.

His pride would never let him face it.

He was a goner.

“Anyways, your class is in twenty minutes, let’s go find Gunwook-“ He says, trying to change the subject, but his hands interlaced with yours told you everything was different now as he dragged you through the hall.

“Why do we need to find him? Are you in love with him too?”

Gyubin halts his actions, staring off into the abyss as his tongue connects with the expanse of his inner cheek.

You stifle your giggles as it looks like he’s really working out what to do next in that small little brain of his.

So you take him in.

The beauty of his side profile; the sun once again finding homage across his skin. He lets a smile raise to his face and there it goes again; honey crescent eyes turning to stare back at you.

Like wind that blows swiftly across the night, he glances over your features naturally too—it feels like you had been truly seen for the first time.

Maybe he owned a bit more than one hexagon.

Just maybe.

“…I don’t know, is Gunwook my girlfriend?” He says nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow at you with that cute smile on his face.

You blush and cock your head to the side.

“What? Does that make me your girlfriend?” You question.

Gyubin shifts to hold both of your hands and before you can register, he’s leaning in and pecking your lips quick. Your heart feels like it shatters and then is put back together to something even greater.

It was a feeling you never knew you could feel for your best friend.

And Kim Gyubin was at the center of it all.

It felt…sweet.

He pulls away, and before you’re ever able to gather how to react to what just played out, he opens his pretty plush lips one more time.

“I don’t know, does it? Are you my girlfriend?”

And he leans; leans back with a smile as he peers down at you through his lashes, your hands still clasped in his.

The sun catches his eyes again.

And it all makes sense.

Honey.

2024 © lovepookie

♡ please do not plagarize, repost, copy or translate any of my works. thank you.

185 notes · View notes

just-come-baek · 2 years

Text

under the rose

Pairing: Joshua Hong x female!reader

Themes: 18+ smut | fluff | childhood frenemies to lovers!au | kinda historical!au (no specific time, but it’s not modern, like idk maybe 1950?)

Word count: 6k

Summary: You’ve known Joshua your entire life, and it has always irked you when he got praised for the same things you were scolded for. You hate these societal double standards thrown upon you almost as much as people who judge you for it. Thankfully, you have Joshua, who just gets you.

in other words...

They fuck on the blanket by the lake.

A/N idk what got into me

Although summer was officially gone, Mother Nature still spoilt people with sunny days and warm nights. Plants and trees all over the area were still in full bloom, letting the locals and tourists admire the beautiful landscapes.

The windows of your bedroom were facing the east. The bright rays of sunshine woke you up as soon as the sun rose over the crown of trees. With a smile, you stretched your limbs, happy to start your day.

Quickly, you opened the window, letting fresh air into your bedroom.

Enjoying the slight breeze, you walked over to your massive closet. You had no plans for today, nor you knew what to wear to celebrate this beautiful day. Too bad you weren’t allowed to leave the house in your satin sleeping gown. It was the most comfortable thing you owned. You didn’t give a fuck that men could find it scandalous or indecent.

You were always told not to provoke men as if it was your fault they couldn’t control themselves. It was incorrect reasoning, but for your mother’s sake, you decided not to speak your mind as openly as your heart desired. After all, these men weren’t ready to hear what the root of the problem was.

You tapped your chin in thought as you skimmed through your outfit choices, ultimately deciding to put on a cute summer dress that should appease your conservative mother. It was an A-frame white dress with little yellow flowers embroiled into the fabric. (Your mother insisted they were yellow roses, but to you, they looked more like daffodils.) It had cute tulip sleeves and a bodice – it didn’t offer a lot of support for your breasts, but at least it covered your nipples and fooled your mother into thinking you were wearing a bra underneath it. Carefully, you did the half-shank buttons that trailed up your sternum and tied a golden ribbon around your waist to accentuate your figure.

You looked like a prude, but despite all of that, you felt pretty.

Maybe a little bit of blush and lipstick could spice up your cute but upright look, you wondered as you rummaged through the drawer of your vanity. As it was officially autumn, so you decided to go with an orange palette, trying to match shades with your complexion.

Admittedly, it added a sexy edge to your overall look. Now, you only hoped your mother wouldn’t tell you to wash it off as it was inappropriate for such a virtuous young lady she thought you were.

You didn’t put much effort into your hair; you brushed out all of the tangles and put on a headband. That was it. The wind would ruin your hair anyway if you tried properly styling it.

“Good morning,” you said to your mother as you walked downstairs for breakfast. She was drinking her morning tea as she glanced at you, trying to find flaws in your appearance and expurgate them.

When she didn’t say anything to put you down, you figured you passed her censorship test today. Good, because you didn’t even try to anger her, you just wanted to enjoy yourself outside.

“Good morning, honey,” she said as you sat down by the table opposite of her. Smiling, you reached for the bread and spread raspberry jam over it. “Joshua came by earlier. He’s such a nice boy. He asked you to meet him by the lake. Of course, I said you’d join him,” she announced, and you nearly dropped your knife upon hearing his name.

Joshua Hong was your mother’s best friend’s son, and your mom sometimes (always) acted as if she loved him more than she did you. Whenever you had guests over, she would go out of her way to brief them on his whereabouts and eulogize him at every given chance.

Joshua always accompanies his mother to church. Joshua graduated at the top of his class. Joshua rescued a dozen of puppies from drowning.

You were sick and tired of her Joshua this, Joshua that. If only she knew what he was like when mothers couldn’t see him... You were basically the same age, so you hung out with him quite often throughout your childhood and adolescence. Although unwillingly, you knew him inside out, and he most definitely did not fit your mother’s description.

“Thank you,” you finally said, offering her an unconvincing smile. “I’m dying to see him. It’s been too long,” you added, your voice full of sarcasm (which your mother thankfully did not pick up on). Smiling, you stuffed your mouth with the toast as you wanted to be done with breakfast quickly. You could only stop yourself from giving mean comments for just a while, and you didn’t want to upset your mother with your point of view on Joshua’s behavior.

“It’s nice to see you so eager to see him,” she beamed, incorrectly reading your intentions.

“Right…” you said, pouring juice down your throat. “I should get going. It would be rude of me to keep him waiting,” you added with a fake smile spread across your face. Your mother must’ve found your considering tone a bit strange, but she ultimately decided to believe that you grew up.

“Joshua is such a gentleman. There are so few of them nowadays,” she carried on, and you rolled your eyes at her comment. Your mother could read people like a book, and you still didn’t know how Joshua managed to fool her.

Having sat on the bottom of the stairs, you put on your shoes, carefully tying the shoelaces.

“Wear the nice ones,” your mother commented as she picked up your everyday muddy shoe and threw them back onto the shoe rack. You didn’t want to argue with her, so you listened to her, knowing your feet were going to hate you in the evening. Maybe the pumps were pretty, but it wasn’t the footwear of your choice. It was impractical. Joshua was waiting for you by the lake. That’s about thirty minutes away on foot from your house.

“I shall be back for dinner,” you said, even though you were going to return much sooner. Even if Joshua wanted to see you and talk to you, it was one-sided. You’d just go there and tell him to go home and stop bothering you.

You loved being outside. As soon as you set foot on the porch, rays of sunshine hit your face, making you smile in content. Despite Joshua’s short visit and request, it was going to be a beautiful day.

Slowly, you strolled towards the lake, humming to yourself as you mentally tried to plan the rest of the day. You could pick some flowers for the vase that was sitting on your nightstand as the old bouquet of white camellias started to wither. Then, maybe you could go to the swing set and watch the sunset.

It sounded like a good idea.

You felt pain in your heels. Cursing under your breath, you hoped you didn’t get blisters.

Finally, you reached the lake. Joshua was waiting for you by the pier, holding a paddle. As much as you hated to admit it, he looked hot in his white shirt. Three top buttons were undone, showing a lot of his neck, collarbones and chest, while his sleeves were rolled up all the way to his elbows. His light brown trousers, black shoes, and matching suspenders looked great on him.

“Took you long enough, love,” Joshua greeted you, sending you a bright, genuine smile. “Don’t you look beautiful today,” he added, carefully studying you from head to toe. His sight was definitely better than your mother’s – Joshua instantly picked up on the absence of your bra, what made him shamelessly smirk.

“What do you want, Jisoo?” You asked, cocking up your eyebrow. You hated when he referred to you per love, so you also decided to rile him up by using his Korean name. You were the only one who had the balls to call him that – ever since childhood he hated it when people did that. “Your early visit got my mom unreasonably excited. I wouldn’t be too surprised if she already started planning our wedding,” you deadpanned.

“You should be happy. I’m quite a catch,” Joshua replied, smugly smiling at you.

“Ew,” you commented, turning your face in disgust. “You better talk to my mother and undo it. I wouldn’t marry you even if you were the last man on Earth,” you demanded, hating the way Joshua’s insignificant actions had huge impact on your life. You weren’t going to suffer the consequences of his shenanigans.

Instead of giving you a reply, Joshua sighed and shrugged his shoulders, tilting his head to the side.

“I meant no harm. I just wanted to ask you to come here and boat with me,” Joshua said, pointing at the small wooden boat tied to the post on the pier. “We used to do it a lot when we were children.”

You hummed, reminiscing. It really was your tradition. Every summer you could come here and have a lot of fun. Usually, one of you ended up in water, almost drowning. (Nine out of ten times it was you, since Joshua was a sore loser and didn’t know how to treat you like a lady.)

“Fine, but if you try to push me into water, I’m dragging you down with me,” you warned him before you marched past him in a straight lane to the pier.

“Ladies first,” Joshua replied with a wide grin as he tried to catch up with you.

Carefully, you got on the boat and took a seat at the front. You figured if it was Joshua’s idea, he would sit at the back and do all the paddling. After all, you were a lady, and everyone would frown upon seeing you do such a manly labor…

Smiling at you, Joshua rowed the boat to the middle of the lake.

When he had his mouth shut, it was rather peaceful. You could feel the sun and wind on your cheeks as you close your eyes, allowing yourself to enjoy the last bits of warm weather. The sound of water and faint chips of birds echoed in your ears. Admittedly, the little boat trip felt nice – until Joshua decided to interrupt the soothing silence with his annoying voice.

“Why do you hate me so much? Is it something I have done?” Joshua asked as he tossed the paddles to the side beside your legs.

“I just do,” you replied, having no intention to elaborate. It’s just the way you felt – you didn’t owe him any explanation. Joshua needed to understand it and leave you alone.

“We both know it’s not true,” Joshua egged you on, and you rolled your eyes, regretting meeting him today. Too bad Joshua began that topic only when you were stranded on a boat with him in the middle of the lake.

Maybe it was a lie, but you were never going to admit it. You didn’t hate him – you hated that he got praised and applauded for things you always ended up getting reprimanded for. No matter what you did – you were always judged and put down. And if Joshua did it – he was a noble gentleman.

“Come on, love,” he urged you, nudging your knee with his. “Talk to me. Let me fix everything.”

Although you knew he meant no harm, his words riled you up even more.

“That’s the problem,” you sighed, looking away. “I don’t want you to do anything. Even if you tried, you would make everything worse,” you concluded, realizing no matter how charming Joshua could get, he had no power to solve the societal problems you often fell victim to.

You remembered the one time you went hunting with Joshua and Jeonghan. At first, your mom hated the idea, but Joshua somehow convinced her it was safe for you to accompany them. Needless to say, you shot down three pheasants while Joshua and Jeonghan none. You had no experience, yet you turned out to be better than them.

However, the real cherry on top was when you returned come for supper. Your and Joshua’s moms were ecstatic when you brought so much food home. Unfortunately, happiness turned into disappointment when you told her it was you who had hunted them. That night, not only you got scolded for engaging in a typically male activity, but also for disobeying Joshua.

Just the thought about that day made your blood boil in your veins.

Joshua seemed concerned. Whatever made you feel that way, he wanted to change it.

“Is it about Sooyoung? I’ve already told you that I don’t like her like that,” Joshua wondered out loud, even though he suspected his guess was incorrect.

“What? No! It’s not about her,” you confirmed, your voice getting louder. “I never understood you. Sooyoung is literally perfect. Every man wants to marry her,” you started, but Joshua quickly interjected you.

“I don’t,” he admitted with no hesitation in his tone. “Even if she’s perfect, she’s not you.”

Joshua’s words made you gasp in shock.

“What? Did you want me to come here to mess with me?” You asked as you stood up to lean in and flick his forehead. You were somewhat friends – such love confessions were way out of line!

“Of course not,” Joshua quickly reassured you as he grabbed your wrist, stopping you from inflicting any pain. (You have flicked Joshua’s forehead so many times throughout your friendship his skull was impenetrable at this point.) “I mean it. I love you as a friend and as a woman. Can’t you see it?” Joshua asked, staring into your soul. His lips were twisted into a genuine smile as he waited for your reaction.

Joshua Hong loved you.

His confession left you speechless. There were some signs along the way, but you decided to ignore them. It was easier that way. Even if you cared about Joshua as much as he cared about you, you still couldn’t marry him.

Everybody always told you it’s a wife’s duty to submit to her husband, yet you adamantly refused to give into that mindset. Since early childhood you were taught how to serve a man, and you hated every second of it.

If anyone ever gave you a chance, you could prove you were equal, or better than a man. Too bad no one ever treated you seriously.

Despite your feelings for Joshua, you had to reject him. As long as society considered women as lesser than men, you had no interest in marriage.

“Do you have feelings for me, too? Or am I an idiot?” Joshua continued as he pulled your wrists down gently, so you’d lean forward a bit. You were bent in an uncomfortable position as you stared into Joshua’s eyes, wondering how to phrase your rejection.

“That’s not important,” you said, and Joshua frowned, not liking the tone you set for the conversation.

“Of course, it’s important! That’s literally the only thing that matters,” Joshua argued, massaging your wrists with his thumb, hoping his gentle moves could soothe you.

“I can’t be with you. You deserve much, much more.”

“I don’t want more. I want you.”

“I can’t,” you said, your voice breaking.

“Why?”

You dreaded that question. Joshua wouldn’t understand. He’s a man, and you doubted he could see the issue from your point of view. Fuck, even your female friends didn’t get your reasoning.

“I hate it. I hate all of it,” you confessed, letting your bottled up frustrations out. “I hate the idea of marriage. I hate taking orders from people. I hate being judged for everything I do. I hate being perceived as less worthy. I’d rather become a spinster than marry. You have to understand it.”

Joshua knew you better than anyone, and he completely understood where you were coming from. He could see the despair in your eyes whenever someone made an unfair comparison to you. He could see the change in your mood when someone suggested you shouldn’t do something.

“I should be offended. I had no idea you think so lowly of me,” Joshua spoke up, his eyes avoiding you as he tried to properly word the rest of his speech. “I know you. I know you hate these things. I’d never treat you like that. I love you the way you are. You’re stubborn, independent, and fierce. There’s not a single thing I’d change about you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I want you to challenge me. I want you to correct me when I’m wrong. I want you by my side wherever I go. I’ve always treated you as equal, marriage won’t change it,” Joshua said, pressing a chaste kiss against your knuckles.

His affectionate gesture shocked you. Instinctively, you yanked your hands out of his grasp and took a step back. Unfortunately, you failed to coordinate your swift movements. Due to a sudden change of weight, the boat wobbled to the sides, making you lose your footing.

You put your hands in the air, trying to find your balance, but when Joshua stood up to steady you, you tipped off the edge and fell into the cold water with a shriek.

After a few seconds, you resurfaced and coughed out water that accidentally got into your mouth and nose.

“Hong Jisoo! I hate you,” you yelled, kicking your feet in a feeble attempt to stay on the surface. Although you knew how to swim, the cold water seemed to slow down your reflexes.

“Here,” Joshua shouted as he stretched his arm, hovering over the edge to hoist you up. “Grab my hand,” he ordered, laughing at you.

“I’m going to murder you someday, Jisoo,” you warned him as you grabbed his hand and pulled him into water with you. “Maybe sooner than later,” you added when Joshua swam up to the surface and shook his head to the side, trying to get his wet hair out of his eyes.

“You little–

Joshua tried to catch you and make you regret, but you were a faster swimmer.

“Come back here,” he shouted after you, but you just laughed as you tried to distance yourself from his wrath. “I’m not kidding,” he carried on, sending a plethora of threats your way. You, on the other hand, were ignoring him as one of your legs was already hooked over the boat’s edge.

Giggling at Joshua’s antics, you waited for him to swim closer to the boat before you helped him out.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Joshua muttered, giving up the stink eye. “Let’s get back to the shore. I left there some towels and blankets.”

“You planned this, didn’t you?”

“What do you mean? I’ve known you my entire life. Every time we’re here someone ends up in the water,” Joshua concluded as he sat up and put the paddles in the hooks.

“Let me help you,” you said as you sat down beside him, yanking one paddle out of his grip. You weren’t a damsel in distress – you could prove yourself useful. Besides, you needed something to keep you warm, and paddling seemed a perfect solution to your problem.

“Your mother would kill me if she knew I let you do that,” Joshua commented as the both of you put your muscles to a good use. Quickly, you paddled to the short in great synchronization.

“You better get used to it because I intent to live my life how I want it,” you replied, laughing. “Besides, she loves you. If she had to kill any of us, it would be me.”

“Hopefully, we’ll never find out.”

As soon as Joshua tied the boat to the post, you ran uphill where he left the picnic basket under an old oak tree. Initially, he thought it would be nice to enjoy a meal after the boat ride.

Quickly, you wrapped a towel around your frame, trying to dry yourself.

“Come here,” Joshua said as he tossed his towel on your head, aggressively drying your hair.

“Stop it,” you hollered as you rolled your towel and smacked Joshua’s butt with it.

“Truce. Truce. Truce,” Joshua shouted, trying to block your attacks. “Are you still cold?” Joshua asked, staring at you fondly. You nodded, and Joshua wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug before he began rubbing your limbs, hoping friction could help you warm up.

“I hate you,” you muttered as Joshua pulled you against his chest and kissed the top of your head.

“Good girls don’t lie,” Joshua pointed out, and you rolled your eyes at his comment.

“Have I ever been good?”

“Fair enough,” Joshua chuckled, tightening his grip around your frame. “But you don’t hate me. In fact, I think you love me.”

“Thinking has never been your strong suit,” you teased, poking his chest with your forefinger.

“Doesn’t matter because you still love me,” Joshua proudly remarked, ignoring your jab.

“Jisoo–” you started, but you choked on your breath when Joshua’s hand slapped your butt. It took you by surprise – you didn’t expect Joshua to do that as well as you didn’t imagine you’d like the stinging sensation. “But you’re right. I love you, Jisoo,” you added, earning another spank on the other butt cheek. This time, Joshua applied a little bit more strength, making you stumble forward and press against his crotch.

“Hopefully, after we get married, you’ll call me by my name,” Joshua said with a sigh. Gently, he massaged your butt, holding you in your place, so you could rub yourself against his cock.

“You can try and make me,” you carelessly answered, adjusting the wet collar of his shirt. “Joshua. Joshua. Josh. Shua. Joshie,” you tried different variants, but there was something lacking in the way it rolled of your tongue. No matter how many times Joshua tried to correct you, he’d always be Jisoo to you. “See? It sounds weird. I don’t like it.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Joshua winked at you, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “Are you hungry? I’ve brought some sandwiches,” he asked, pointing his head at the basket.

“Not really,” you admitted, giggling under your breath. You had a lot of fun and all the happy hormones that were cursing through your veins made you forget about hunger. Though you you’d never admit it out loud, you’d rather cuddle and kiss him.

Smiling at each other like idiots, you sat down on the blanket. Joshua had his back pressed against the tree, while you sneaked your way onto his laps.

“We’re gonna be in so much trouble if someone catches us,” Joshua commented as he looked around, hoping to not see any prying eyes.

“Worried about your gentleman reputation?” You teased as you squirmed on his laps, pressing yourself against his crotch again. Getting caught with you must’ve excited him, and you could feel the hard evidence trapped in his pants.

“Not one bit,” Joshua admitted, smirking at you. “You’re here with me, so I don’t mind.”

“Good to know,” you innocently replied, batting your eyelashes at him. “So… I’m guessing you wouldn’t mind if I did that,” you carried on as you lowered your hand and cupped his erection, stroking it gently through the fabric.

“I’ve been dreaming about it for years, love. I’m shameless, and I don’t care,” Joshua confessed, and you shied away by his straight-forward statement. “I want you to touch it and do much, much more,” he added as he placed his hand over yours to help you properly feel all of it.

“You’re a devil, Hong Jisoo,” you concluded as you leaned in, letting your breath tickle his full lips. You were maybe an inch away, waiting for him to close the distance and finally kiss you.

Staring into your eyes, Joshua cupped your cheeks and pressed his lips against yours, kissing you gently. His soft nibbles were driving you insane. Your heart was pounding against your ribcage quickly as you shut your eyes close and kissed him back, letting yourself get lost in delight.

Joshua put his hand in your hair, holding you close as he deepened the kiss, pushing your lips apart with his tongue, making you moan into his mouth. For him, it was the most sinful sound he had ever heard, and it instantly made his blood rush down to his throbbing cock.

Suddenly, Joshua flipped you both, so you were lying flat on your back on the blanket with him on top of you, trailing wet kisses down your neck, careful not to leave any marks. If your mother found them, she would kill the both of you despite your honest intentions.

“I will never get enough of you,” Joshua muttered as his mouth slowly moved towards your cleavage. “I still can’t believe your mother let you leave the house without a bra. What was she thinking?” He carried on as he glanced at your breasts, your nipples peeking through the soaked fabric.

“Can we stop talking about her? I’m sick and tired of that woman,” you snapped, feeling angry. She was your mother, but she didn’t even try to understand you. The only she could do was to punish you for your disobedience. Thankfully, you’d move out soon, giving her enough space to reflect.

“Sorry, I was just –

“It’s okay,” you smiled as you ran your hands across his chest and wrapped your legs around him. Smirking, you pushed Joshua to the side and climbed on top of him. Joshua knew you were feisty, but he never expected you to try to dominate him. Now, when he was under you, he didn’t mind you taking the lead. Admittedly, you were incredibly sexing doing so.

Staring down at him, you slowly undid the buttons of your bodice, letting your breasts fall out of it due to the lack of support. Joshua’s eyes were on you, biting his lips as he watched you in admiration.

“Every inch of you is just… breathtaking,” Joshua confessed, shamelessly staring at your breasts. They slightly bounced whenever you inhaled and exhaled, but when you grabbed and kneaded them in front of his face, he almost came in his pants. You were astoundingly erotic, and Joshua had to fight his inner urges to remain in his place.

When Joshua’s brain malfunctioned at the sight of your bare breasts, you roamed your hands across his chest and shoulders, undoing the buttons of his shirt and pushing his suspenders off his shoulders. Who knew it was that easy to shut him up and keep him busy.

Taking your sweet time, you peppered his chest with delicate kisses while your hands disappeared under the hem of his trousers. Joshua hissed the moment your hand grabbed his erection and gave it a few cautious pumps, spreading the precum across all of it.

“Do you like it when I touch you like that?” You asked, smirking at him.

“More than you can imagine,” he admitted, gently thrusting his hips upwards, needing more attention than you were currently giving him. Dreams and sexual frustration that he had accumulated through the years were making him act desperate.

“Then pull your pants down, okay?” You asked him, and Joshua eagerly raised his hips and freed his hard cock. “You’re so big,” you admitted with a gulp, wondering if he was going to fit.

“Don’t worry, love,” Joshua smiled, reassuring his dick wouldn’t break you in half no matter how hard he was to fuck you. “I’ll prepare you for it,” he added before his hand slipped under your dress. Carefully, his fingers pulled your panties to the side, allowing him access to your clit.

“Oh my,” you whispered, tilting your head to the back when you felt a pulse of electricity run through you thanks to Joshua’s fingers. The pads of his digits gently rubbed your clit and smeared your juices across your folds. “Please,” you moaned as Joshua pushed one of his fingers inside of you, curling it.

Your breaths were uneven, your back was arched as Joshua scissored you. In no time, his entire hand was drenched in your dripping essence, and it required Joshua to flick his long fingers inside of you a few times.

“Jisoo,” you breathed out, ready to welcome the pleasure that was building up in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s not what you should call me, love,” Joshua spoke, pulling his fingers away, leaving you frustrated. “Come on, it’s not that difficult,” he urged you, hoping you’d cave. After all, he wanted to finish the job and see you come on his fingers. “You can do it.”

“I seriously hate you right now, Hong Jisoo,” you stubbornly said to which Joshua decided to raise his knees, making you stumble forward against his chest. Thanks to your quick reflexes, you didn’t hit you face against Joshua’s chest.

“Do you want me to get mad?”

“Depends,” you stated with a giggle. “Do we still make love if you’re mad?”

“You’re impossible,” Joshua huffed, thinking what he should do with you.

Was it even that big of a deal? Everyone called him Joshua. You weren’t everyone – you were special. And Joshua was special to you.

“Don’t be mad,” you cooed, drawing swirly shapes on his bare chest. You knew he couldn’t resist you; it was only a matter of time for him to forgive you for the relentless teasing. “Please,” you begged as you rocked your hips, rubbing your clothed sex against Joshua’s painful erection.

“I’ll let it go just this one time,” Joshua said before he harshly pulled you down to give you a rough kiss. “You’re just asking to be punished, but I’ll let it slide for now,” he added, and you trembled. His tone was stern and domineering, you had no doubts he meant what he said.

“I want you inside of me,” you confessed as grinding against him wasn’t enough.

“Take off your dress first,” Joshua ordered as he grabbed the hem, willing to help you pull it over your head. “So you can act like a good girl… you just refuse to,” Joshua concluded as he tossed your dress on the grass next to the basket.

“I’m a good girl when I want something, and right now, I want you to fuck me,” you shamelessly admitted, not even trying to sound like a lady. You were aroused, and with Joshua’s hard cock under you, you paid no mind to proper manners.

“I should’ve figured this one out,” Joshua said under his breath as he hooked his fingers under the hem of your panties and tore them apart, getting rid of the annoying fabric that was in the way. “Since you’re so eager, why don’t you fuck yourself on me, huh?”

Joshua’s sinful words rang in your ears, making you dizzy. It was an order you were more than willing to listen.

Tentatively, you wrapped your hand around Joshua’s cock and aligned it with your entrance.

“Just like that, love,” Joshua whispered, urging you to keep going.

Stress was eating you from inside. You had no experience in sex – you just heard a few detailed stories from your married friends. Sometimes it hurt. Given Joshua’s impressive size, it was going to apply lots of pain.

“Take it slow, love. You’re going to be alright,” Joshua reassured you, reading you as if you were an open book. “There’s no rush,” he added, and you nodded, cautiously rubbing the tip of his cock across your folds.

“Oh my god,” you panted as you slowly sunk on his pulsating length.

“That’s it,” Joshua cooed, trying his best not to thrust from beneath until your walls stretched around him. Your teeth were clenched as you slowly got used to every inch of his impressive erection.

Frankly, you expected it to hurt more. You had period cramps worse than this.

“It feels nice,” you mindlessly said, feeling his cock throb inside of you.

“Only nice?” Joshua teased as he grabbed your butt and gave it a few squeezes.

“I want to ride the hell out of you,” you confessed as you started to rock your hips up and down his cock. Your rhythm was uneven, but you didn’t care. You were chasing your release, and you needed to figure out the speed and angle to make yourself come around him.

“Just like that, love. Keep going,” Joshua moaned, giving you lots of compliments to encourage you to let go and give into your primal urges. The harder you bounced on his cock, the less you could hear him say. “Fuck,” Joshua cursed as your walls began tightening around his erection as if trying to squeeze all of his release.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you groaned as the upcoming pleasure started to overwhelm you. You didn’t think you could feel this good, and your orgasm was yet to come.

“You can, and you will,” Joshua ordered as he grabbed you by your hips, holding you steady, thrusting from beneath you. You were slowly losing your stamina, and Joshua needed to help you. After all, it was your first time – it needed to be magical.

“Josh-

“That’s right, love. Come,” Joshua egged you on, smug about the slip of your tongue. You absentmindedly almost called him by his full name, and Joshua was going to remind you about all the time. (While also hoping such happy mistakes could happen more often.)

“Oh my god, Joshie, I’m coming,” you moaned at the top of your voice, knowing it was so loud people on the other side of the lake must’ve heard you. “Fuck,” you cursed as you arched your back, letting the pleasure consume you.

The way you were spasming around him pushed Joshua over the edge almost at the same time. Screaming your name, he thrust all the way in, emptying his load deep inside of you.

“I love you,” you murmured against his skin as you collapsed on his firm chest. Your mind was still a bit cloudy after reaching your peak. Gently, you drew random shapes on Joshua’s chest, trying to focus on breathing.

“I love you, too,” Joshua confessed for the nth time today, casually kissing your temple. “I could lie here all day,” he added as he pressed you closer.

“Let’s not push our luck here,” you jested as you propped on your elbow to look into his eyes. “It’s a miracle no one has caught us yet,” you carried on, looking around and hoping you and Joshua were here alone. However, you felt so blessed right now – getting caught would be definitely worth it.

“We should make ourselves look decent,” Joshua said as he sat up, pulling out his flaccid cock out of you. His release began to ooze out of you, so he scooped it with his fingers and pushed it back inside.

“Define decent,” you challenged as you reached for your dress and threw it over your head, trying to quickly cover yourself. As long as your breasts were in his line of vision, he didn’t make any effort to cover himself. Too bad you weren’t in his bedroom. He could make love to you for hours.

“Do you have any plans for the evening?” Joshua asked when he came back to his senses.

“Why?”

Joshua just couldn’t get enough of you.

“Do you want to sneak out tonight? We could hang out or something,” Joshua offered, and you smirked, a few ideas crossing your mind. “Or maybe you want me to sneak into your bedroom? That sounds just as fun.”

“Sorry, I have plans,” you deadpanned, bursting out laughing a second later after seeing Joshua’s pouty reaction. “Just kidding. Wait in front of my house at 10. My mother should be asleep by then,” you instructed him before you jumped to your feet and ran away.

“I can’t wait!” Joshua hollered, already counting time until your next meeting.

“Me, too!” You yelled as you put your hands in the air, waving at him in excitement. “Don’t be late!”

#joshua smut #seventeen smut #kvanity #joshua fluff #seventeen fluff #joshua #joshua hong #hong jisoo smut #hong jisoo

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elmundodeflor · 1 month

Text

And just like that, she’d fallen for him.

Spring. Summer. Autumn. The world had its cycles. There had been peace before war, and peace would come after bloodsheds and battles.

Katara looks at Zuko, at how he stares out to the width in the horizons. The curves of his nose and lips are soft, much like the colors of the leaves around them. The lines of his jaw and cheeks are sharp, in contrast.

He’s a beautiful man; she’s always thought so, even when they were enemies and he’d sworn he’d kill them. She likes it better this way, though— being friends, confidants, long-time companions. Kindness suits him more, either way. She likes how his face looks when he’s calm, — when there’s no rage to contort his scar, no scowl furrowing his brow.

She also likes that he knows her. That they can stand, silence pending between them, and it’s never too tense or uncomfortable. Zuko is just that good to her. He never puts too much pressure on her shoulders, — she’s had enough of that already. Instead, he soothes the rough edges. Lets her make her own choices and never judges her for them.

He looks back at her. An easy smile grazes his features; baffling, tortuous, beautiful. Katara has to fight the urge to freeze some water from her bottle and smash it across her searing face.

“Do you wanna…”, his voice cuts through the wind, raspy as it ever was. When he talks, it’s evident that he’s nervous. That he’s been circling around his thoughts and can’t seem to find the words. “I mean…”, he tries again. “Do you wanna stay here until you decide what to do?”

She hums, then turns her gaze back to the gardens. Aang had asked her to travel the world along with him, — to be by his side and help other people, from other nations and villages. She had yet to give him a proper answer.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to— go on missions, hear the masses’ suffering and be present in whatever way she could. Maybe, it was that she simply had pictured something different for herself. She could be so much more than just the “Avatar’s girl”! She could go home, lend a useful hand to Sokka and her dad advocating for their tribe. She could be an ambassador.

She could be with Zuko.

She can imagine the whole thing all too well, actually, — being on the palace, with him, until she could confront Aang about what to do. They could go for an evening stroll, feed turtleducks by the lake. Zuko’d make tea way past dinner time, and she’d laugh along with Suki when he’d burn his tongue by the first sip.

“There’s nothing I’d like more.”, she tells him, then. They are in one of the many balconies, staring out at the sun. The last scraps of summer have flushed with the breeze, and now the trees look all kinds of reds, yellows, oranges. Almost like they’ve caught on fire.

Zuko smiles at her again. A shy, wonderful thing that makes his eyes glint. His hair’s shaggy and overgrown, and falls limp between the honey of his irises. His cheeks burn a bright pink that, Katara deduces, might be from the gentle light warming up their faces.

“Okay.”, he says. He likes this, as well, — having her around. That he can open up to someone he can share his scars with, both the physical and the ones that lay underneath.

Katara inches close to him, just enough so that their elbows nudge together. The world has its cycles, she believes. Blue skies bleed into the darkness of the night. Ice defrosts when heated-up. And just like that, she’d fall for Zuko— delicate, and raw, and over and over. Helpless, like the moon that carries down the tides. Hopeless, like the autumn leaves that fall, ever so slow, and now gather at their feet like sea-foam.

“Okay.”

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 9 days

Text

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six

TW: violence, choking, mentions of bdsm, abuse of authority, cops, unfair power dynamics, harassment, body fluids and drug use mentions, mentions of harm/accidents

For California, it’s a bit chilly out this morning. The sun is getting a lazy late start, just beginning to yawn golden orange and fiery yellow over the horizon. Julian’s hair in that light is the high shine of fashion magazine model locs, and you’re, as usual, opening your mouth before you think. “What shampoo and conditioner do you use?”

He seems thoroughly amused. “Honestly? You’re going to be mad about it.”

“Try me,” you prod, slipping inside his little sports car that smells like lemon air freshener and coffee.

He seems a little cramped in the seat, knees bent up and head almost touching the ceiling, and you wonder if he actually even tried to get into this thing before buying it.

“It’s a rental,” he explains.

“Did you get into an accident?”

“A truck hit mine while it was parked.”

“How are you so calm about that? I’d punch someone.”

He looks over at you with a sculpted, raised brow. “I just cannot imagine you hurting a fly, y/n.”

“Flies are innocent, truck drivers are free game.”

He gives you a big laugh that strokes the flame of your ego. “You’re hilarious. I use men’s body wash.”

“What?” Okay, he’s right, you are a little mad. You use shampoo and conditioner that are specifically supposed to soften your hair, but the poof on your head absolutely pales in comparison to his soft, beautiful mane that gets the luxury of â€¦ what? Old spice? Axe body wash?

“I told you,” he sings, turning on the engine.

Genetics is a bitch.

He takes you to a fancy little French inspired coffee shop cuddled into the center of an outlet mall with salt lamps and big ferns and comfy chairs. You settle into a nook closests to the sunned windows so Julian can keep an eye on his rental, which is understandable. No part of LA is good to have a Porsche in, but especially not the inner city.

“This is delicious,” you tell him through a mouthful of warm croissant, covering your lips in embarrassment when you realize that your table manners are less than adequately prepared for a date with a doctor.

“They have the best coffee,” he agrees, taking a sip of his steaming latte.

You don’t have time to stop your brain from comparing Julian to a certain cop you know who prefers his coffee black and bitter, or at least that’s what he told you when he saw you drinking your vanilla cream cold foam at the nurse’s station.

Julian is talking, you think, and you’re only half listening while you remember how Tom had snatched that drink right out of your hands and held it up in the air.

“Give it back!” You hissed, reaching up on tiptoes while he laughed at the pathetic rescue attempt.

“Careful, honey, don’t hurt yourself for this pathetic excuse of caffeine. What is it anyway? Is there even coffee in here?”

After he walked away with his discharge paperwork, your coworkers were understandably curious about the tall, puckish cop who fucked with you any chance he got.

Miguel watched his ass move the whole way down the hallway and out the glass exit doors while literally clutching the rosary under his scrub shirt as if a devil had just walked by, then looked over at you. “What a man.”

“Are you alright?” Julian asks, bringing you back to the present conversation with a hand over your forearm. He does seem concerned, and it makes you feel like a piece of shit. This guy is a gentleman and here you are on a date with him fantasizing about the brute that is Tom Ludlow.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You wave away his concern. “Tell me about you, Julian. What do you do for fun? Doctor-by-night, Violin-player-by-morning?

He chuckles. “Nothing that cultured. I like riding motorcycles.”

“Really?” You ask, genuinely surprised and trying to imagine Julian in a gang of bikers with cracked leather skull and snake jackets.

“I love them.” He nods. “I have three that I take for long rides along the coast. You get lost in it, the wind and salt and sand. The rumble of the engine under you.”

“I’ve never been on one,” you tell him, “and I’m honestly surprised you ride them after what we see in the ER. Don’t you remember that guy that had his calf hanging on by a tendon? Or that woman who had half her face missing?”

“Yes, I do. But I go the speed limit and wear the proper gear. And I like the thrill.”

It’s not just the casual t-shirt and worn jeans or the way the light halos his thick silk nest of hair or the roguish grin that makes you see Julian in an entirely new way, now. “You’re wild, Dr. Mercer.”

He licks spilled cream at the ridge of his coffee cup, rubs at the skin of your forearm with his fingers, and winks. You wonder what he would look like between your legs doing the same thing, except with your fingers gripping that luscious hair.

“You should let me take you for a ride, sometime,” he suggests, and for a minute you forget you’re talking about motorcycles.

“Oh, I don’t know, Julian.”

“C’mon.” He nudges your knee under the table and relaxes back into his seat, now reminding you too much of someone else you know. Same height, same hair color, same facial structure.

Fuck. Really?

“Good boyfriends take their girlfriends on long, romantic motorcycle rides.”

“But you’re not my boyfriend.”

His smile droops a little bit and it makes you feel bad for being so illiterately ignorant. Well, you feel bad until he opens his mouth. “I am, though.”

He paints it playful, but it sounds a little bit pushy-bossy, even. “I don’t know about that, either, Julian.”

He tries a different angle. “You know, believe it or not, most women would consider me quite the catch.”

You hope your face doesn’t betray the little bit of ick you get from him saying something so egotistical. “I don’t doubt it, and you deserve someone that can give you what you’re looking for.”

“You think you can’t give me what I’m looking for?” He leans across the table in sudden intensity, and you balk at the notion.

“No, I honestly don’t.”

“Why?”

You start to say something, but he cuts you off. “And, I really mean why? Why can’t you give me what I’m looking for? Enlighten me.”

“I’m not-I have too much baggage.” You unconsciously lean away from his swelling intensity.

“That’s a little vague.” He frowns.

“I’m not normal, Julian. You seem like you would like normal women.” You cringe at the childish sentiment, but truly have no idea how to get the point across except for basically telling him that you’re a freak with a bad past and worse coping mechanisms. You eat slices of bread for dinner and drink out of the milk carton. Julian probably irons his shirts. This will not work.

“You’re assuming I’m normal?”

“Yes. I guess I am.” You lean back and cross your arms over your chest.

“Well, I’m not. In fact, I’ll prove it to you.” He takes out his wallet, pulls a laminated card from it, and slides it over the table to you.

“What..” It’s a little red card framed in black with big bold letters on the front advertising a BDSM club in the heart of downtown Venice. “What is this?”

“BDSM is bondage, domination-“

“I know what that is,” you interrupt. “I just meant.. You go here?”

“I do.” He nods and takes a drink. “I occasionally engage in scenes.”

You decide that you should coat your suddenly very dry mouth and drink a big gulp of your coffee. “Like with a dominatrix?”

He laughs at you, puts his head in his hand and shakes his head. “No. I prefer to be the dominant one.”

You look at-really, really look at this man for the first time and honestly cannot imagine him taking that role.

He must see the confusion on your face, because his laughter grows. “That’s the usual reaction I get.”

Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity killed the-you know what, fuck it.

“So, what do you do at the club?”

“A typical play scene, you mean?” How in the hell he can be so casual and relaxed about this you’re not sure. Because you can already feel the cold sweat breaking along your shoulders and neck.

“I guess? Yeah.”

“Well, ideally the woman is tied up in some fashion, and of course there’s a safe word, negotiated limits. Perhaps a punishment scenario with pain play. Are you okay?”

He looks at your table-clutching, white knuckled hands, searches your face, giving you a genuine concerned expression that makes you wonder what actually is going on with you right now. You feel like you're on a tightrope over a ravine of crocodiles and Julian’s on the other end lazily sawing at the rope with dull scissors.

“I’m fine,” you say breathily, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “Honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about all that.”

His gentle smile is nothing less than kind, though maybe also, a little disappointed. “I get that a lot too.”

“Is that…the only way you enjoy sex?” you ask quietly, leery of the blue-haired old lady just two tables away.

“No,” he seems happy to tell you. “Though it is…the way I enjoy sex most.”

You blink, digesting this with understandable trepidation. He’s basically telling you that it would be impossible to be in a relationship with him without dipping into this eventually. And you…?

Are definitely intrigued, and you’re not really sure why.

“You said you have baggage,” Julien probes cautiously. You can feel him looking at you, but you’re not quite up to eye contact with him yet. You fix your gaze out the window. “Well, I do too. I haven’t had a perfect life. No one does, and I’m not interested in a perfect girlfriend. I like you, y/n.”

You feel your breath go out in an audible whoosh. It actually makes him smile-you feel it like rays of the sun. How can this man be so warm, and yet have such a dark side?

Well, maybe it’s not a dark side, you reason. Maybe it’s just…a thing he likes, and between consenting adults, what’s the harm?

“Soâ€¦” You can’t help but think about how odd this is, discussing this in this coffee shop filled with mild-mannered caffeine addicts. What you really want to ask, is what happened to him that makes him like this kind of sexual play, but you know it would be too far, and you damn well don’t feel like talking about your own fucked up past. But there is something you do feel you have a right to know. “Is this something you want to do to me?”

Again, he fixes you with that bad boy smirk that gives you chills and utterly ruins your panties. “Since the moment you stood up to me over that patient,” he admits. And maybe that should alarm you, that he wants to tie you up and hurt you for being defiant about something that deserved defiance. It does alarm you, but… It also… It sounds a little thrilling. “In fact-“

Julian and the rest of the world and even your own thoughts disappear when you meet a pair of familiar, sun tinted eyes out the window of the coffee shop. He’s grinning-when is he not grinning at you like he knows what it does to your helpless insides?-and licking his fingers, tearing off a yellow parking ticket to slap it under the windshield of Julian’s rental.

“Uh, Julian-“

“Just let me finish,” Julian insists. His bossy tone irritates you, but Tom brightens the mood by making a jerking off motion towards the doctor, and then winking at you.

You can’t help but laugh. It’s honestly involuntary, the loud wheeze that tears from your chest and makes Julian look outside to see the yellow ticket shining under his wiper as Ludlow’s ass saunters away.

You’re not sure what Julian’s plan is when he storms outside to catch Ludlow by the arm, but you’re definitely following ten strides behind to prevent his untimely death.

“I’m parked legally.” His voice is a menacing growl instead of the smooth honey you’re used to, and yeah, maybe now you can see a little bit of that Dominant Persona he was talking about.

“Not after 9AM,” Tom says, unbothered by Julian’s anger, still grinning like an idiot.

“It’s eight-thirty,” Julian argues, tugging on Tom’s sleeve-that earns him a bent back arm and even the appearance of handcuffs.

“Tom, stop it, fucking really?”

“Sorry, honey, your boyfriend’s going to jail.”

“For what?!” You and Julian both demand at once.

“Putting his pristine fucking hands on what’s mine.” Tom tugs Julian up on his toes and clicks one handcuff into place.

You hope he means his uniform, but you have a feeling he doesn’t.

“That’s way too tight and you know it,” Julian grunts.

“What, someone likes to dish it out but can’t take it? Don’t be a bitch,” Tom muses, grabbing Julian’s other arm and twisting it-not gently-behind his back.

“Tom, you fucking dickhead.”

He looks at you as he’s putting the other cuff on your date. “Oh, I’ll deal with you later.” His grin looks more like a snarl at this point, and you think that Julian could probably take some pretty good Dom pointers from Tom, because your heart is galloping and your clit is pulsing despite the absolute absurdity of the situation. Also-it's a miracle-your sassing mouth has snapped shut.

After Officer Ludlow practically throws Dr. Mercer into the back of his Charger, slamming the door, he turns to you with a smirk and his thumb in his belt. Goddammit, if that fucking look doesn’t go straight to your lady parts.

“Tom…you cannot do this.”

A tow truck has pulled up, and is in process of impounding the sweet little Porsche.

He steps up to you in those big black boots that make him a mile tall.

“You’d be surprised what I can and cannot do, sweetheart.”

“Please.” You hate how desperate you know you sound.

He taps his chin. “Well, I do like the sound of that. But it would be a lot more convincing if you got on your knees and said it.”

“You asshole,” you seethe, even as you can feel the moisture pooling between your legs.

“That kinda language definitely isn’t going to get Doctor Bitch Boy out of my car.”

“What the fuck do you want then?” You know it was a stupid question the moment it flies from your mouth. He’s going to reply with something filthy, and demeaning, and-

“Have dinner with me.”

You’re going to need another tow truck just to get your jaw up off the ground.

“You’re going to get in trouble for this,” you say. “This isn’t harassing a lowly broke-ass nurse. He is going to sue the shit out of you.”

Tom just snorts at that, unimpressed. “Did you know your friend likes to hang out at a BDSM club in Venice Beach? Whips and chains and shit? Bet this asshole has mommy issues from here to Pasadena. Come on, y/n, you don’t need that in your life.”

It almost sounds like he’s…worried about you?

Officer Ludlow has no idea how badly he’s misjudged you, now that he’s pissed you off. “Maybe I like it,” you snipe back, stretching up so you’re almost in his face. “Fact is, it’s none of your fucking business.”

Ludlow just narrows his eyes down at you, those dark orbs glinting like sharp obsidian. “Well, sorry, guess he’s not tying you up tonight, baby. He’s gotta cool down in the tank.”

He makes to go, but you reach out, not grabbing him, per se, but just touching his chest. He freezes, and you can practically feel him vibrating beneath your hand. With excitement, because he fucking lives for being an asshole, or…you hate to think you know the real answer.

His mitt of a hand covers yours, holding it just above his heart.

“Tom….” Caught up in this tension between you, you’re not even sure what you’re asking now.

You expect him to say something dirty, or snide, but instead you swear that just for a moment, his gaze softens as he looks down at you. “Dinner?” he asks again, with a note of hope in his voice that is almost endearing, if he wasn’t being such a class A jerk.

“I can’t.”

His demeanor changes in less than a second, drawing up to his full height, his shoulders squared. He flicks down his sunglasses that were on his head, so you can no longer even see his eyes. His voice changes, drops an octave, something. The authority in it makes you shudder inside. “Wave to Dr. Bitch Boy, y/n, we’re going for a little ride.”

Before you can grab him, or do anything, really, Tom is behind the wheel, speeding off with a very pissed off Julian in the back seat.

Your heart drops to your feet as you are left standing there alone on the sidewalk without a ride, and completely at a loss as to what to do.

***

“I’m going to fucking sue you,” Julian grits, kicking the back of Tom’s seat for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah, with your doctor money,” Tom grumbles, taking a big swig of coffee with one hand and steering recklessly with the other because it’s fun to watch that skinny fuck bounce around helplessly in the seat.

“I’m not getting booked tonight, Officer Ludlow. I’m calling my fucking lawyer.”

“Sorry, Doctor Bitch, your Lawyer’s busy until tomorrow afternoon, didn’t you hear?”

“You son of a-“

Tom gasses the car over a big pothole and it sends Julian flying into the opposite door. It’s a sight he could almost get off to.

Julian, big goose egg swelling up on his temple, gets yanked out of the squad car and tossed on the shit smeared, needle peppered streets of South Central. “They probably need you here more than the hospital, Doctor. Have funâ€“”

“Wait! Fuck. I’m still cuffed for fuck’s sake!” Tom gives the little guy credit for being able to get up on his feet so fast with his hands behind his back and a probable minor concussion. “You can’t leave me here.”

Tom pauses with his hand on the lip of the hot car door, but only to memorize the sight of a sweat-stained, wild eyed, trembling distinguished doctor about to get his shit wrecked on the mean LA Streets. He’s guessing Julian’s never visited much outside of Hollywood, Venice, and Santa Monica, and the cute little horrified expression on his face is testament to that.

Tom taps the hood of his car. “See ya, Doc.”

“You know,” Julian says, “this isn’t going to stop me from seeing her, Tom.”

Well, if he wants a fight.

Tom slams the charger door, whips off his belt, backs Julian up until he falls on his ass into a steaming puddle of unknown origin, and loops the leather around his neck.

He tugs him up by the belt, onto his toes, eliminating that fraction of height difference just so he can see the whites of this prick’s eyes.

He doubles the wrap of the belt in his fist, and Julian sputters something unintelligible through a thick choke.

“What’s wrong? Thought you liked this shit?” Tom pretends to wait for an answer that he prevents. “Oh, that’s right, you like being the one doing the choking. That gets your dick wet, huh? Beating on women?”

He wants nothing more than to choke this fucker unconscious and leave him on the streets for the hepatitis rats to chew on his toes, and, fuck it, if he ends up passing out by the time Tom’s done saying his peace, then so be it.

“You can see her all you want, asshole. Take her on as many dates as you like. But if I see one fuckin’ bruise on her-one red mark on that pretty skin-I’m gonna make the rest of your short life very fucking unpleasant. Comprende?”

#tom ludlow x reader #tom ludlow #street kings #keanuverse fic #keanuverse

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katsu28 · 9 months

Note

Hi!! May I request a Roy Kent x Fem!reader with the Alstroemeria prompt as well as the “saying I love you in between kisses” from the physical intimacy prompts? Please & thank you!! 🤗

thank you so much for requesting and for allowing me my first attempt at writing roy! <3

alstroemeria: going to an event that the other person is interested in just to see them happy + saying i love you in between kisses, roy kent x fem!reader, swearing ofc (it's roy, what did we expect), 1.2k

Roy Kent had never looked as out of place somewhere as he did right now. Broad and tall, covered head to toe in black leather and denim, scowling at the world around him like he’d been personally wronged by it, he proved a stark contrast to the quaint little farmers’ market you'd dragged him to.

The market itself had been popping up near your place every weekend and you’d been hinting at wanting to go with Roy, but he never wanted to. Going by yourself was always a choice, but there was something about roaming the cobbled streets browsing for fruits and veggies and other cute trinkets with your lovely (albeit perpetually grumpy) boyfriend that just seemed so…domestic.

You’d recently moved in together and this was the perfect way to jumpstart your lives with each other. Maybe you’d get some fun knick knacks for your shelves, or a painting for your walls.

He’d said no to going the first few times, but once he caught sight of your sad little frown he caved instantly, promising the two of you would go this coming Saturday. That was today, and you were beyond excited.

You made sure to get there early so you could have the best pick of everything, and to avoid the crowd—another reason you suspected Roy kept turning down your invitations. He was a private guy, so purposely going someplace where he would be recognized almost immediately wasn’t really his cup of tea. Most Richmond fans were fine, but with social media nowadays, some always meant more, and more often than not that always led to the two of you being swarmed and having to go home before you could do whatever you’d left the house for.

But until that happened, you could just enjoy this time you had with your boyfriend, walking hand in hand through the area. Rows and rows of stalls with fresh fruits and veggies, bunches of flowers bursting with vibrant colors, baked goods alongside jars of jams and honey. It was overwhelming in the best possible way. You didn’t know where to start, so you went everywhere, milling around aimlessly, perusing the tables and chatting with folks along the way.

Roy grunted his approval at some things, raising a brow at others that had you putting it down. If he really liked it, he would nod, and you picked up a little something. Ingredients for this week’s dinners, a still warm loaf of crusty sourdough with a jar of orange marmalade to go with that you were looking forward to enjoying when you got home, a beautiful set of handmade earrings for Keeley’s upcoming birthday—even a mug with a coffee pun on the side of it for Ted that Roy snorted at.

Had you been paying a little bit more attention to Roy, you would've seen him almost, almost smiling as he watched you scurry from tent to tent to explore. You were enjoying yourself, and that was all he could ever ask for.

You were less than halfway through the market when you spotted the cutest little flower tent off to the side.

“Roy, look! Flowers!” You exclaimed, practically skipping over to one stand with the prettiest arrangements you’d ever seen. Roy trailed behind you like a stoic shadow, looking half nauseated by the bright colors.

Wandering a little further into the tent, you grew more and more in awe at the sheer beauty of each bundle of flowers. They were perfect, each bud and leaf handpicked to create a masterpiece, but one bunch in particular caught your eye.

Gorgeous pale pink alstroemeria surrounded by hyacinth in the lightest of yellows, tiny daisies paired with another tiny white flower you didn’t recognize dotting the dark green leaves. It was a simple arrangement, but still beautiful in an effortless kind of way.

You’d never been more obsessed with anything in your life (except for maybe Roy).

“They’re nice.” He observed with a sharp nod, but he was more focused on the way your face had lit up when you’d spotted the flowers.

You turned to him, beaming. “Should we get some? We can put them on the table in the breakfast nook, maybe brighten up the place a little bit.”

“Brighten up the place? There’s a window, I think it’s fucking bright enough.” He grumbled, but he just looked mildly amused. “Besides, I have allergies.”

“Yeah, to rabbits, not flowers.” You reasoned, giving him a teasing nudge with your elbow.

“Same fucking thing!”

“It’s really not.”

You ended up leaving the tent without the flowers, opting to forgo them in favor of possibly picking up some other things whilst you continued your market explorations. You’d been a little sad, but Roy kissed your temple and laced his fingers through yours and everything was fine again. They were just flowers after all.

Roy stopped in his tracks a few stands later, digging his buzzing phone out of his pocket. “You go ahead, I’ve gotta take this call. It’s Ted.”

You hummed in agreement, giving his hand a squeeze before moving to walk ahead. “Tell Ted I said cheers!” Roy grunted again, stepping off to the side to speak in hushed tones.

As a result of leaving Roy to his own devices, you actually lost him for a while, but you assumed your grump of a boyfriend would find his way back to you eventually. He always found you. You stopped for a second to readjust the produce in your tote, and when you looked up there he was, wading through the crowd a head above the rest, searching for you with a bouquet of the flowers you’d been eyeing earlier clutched in his fist.

He reached you quickly, thrusting the flowers out towards you. “For brightness in the fucking breakfast nook.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“They made you happy.”

“You’re just a big softie, aren’t you, Roy Kent?” You were all smiles again, reaching out to pat his stubbled cheek.

Roy rolled his eyes, but there was still a whisper of a smile gracing his lips. “Yeah, yeah, don’t fucking tell anyone.”

You stifled a giggle, grabbing him by the front of his jacket and pulling him in for a kiss. His free hand instantly came up to loop around your waist, thumbing at the strip of bare skin between your shirt and jeans.

“I love you,” You mumbled against his lips, pulling back for just a second to admire his softened features. The hard line of his brow was relaxed for once, his usual angry scowl nowhere to be found. He was looking down at you like the two of you were the only ones in the world right now, already leaning back in for another kiss that you gladly went along with, sliding your hand around the back of his neck. “God, I fucking love you. You’re perfect. How are you so perfect?”

“Could be asking you the same fucking thing, can’t I?” He grumbled, looking a tad annoyed that you’d suddenly grown talkative in the middle of a makeout sesh. Part of you felt guilty because Roy didn’t usually enjoy this much PDA when you were out and about, so maybe you should’ve been taking advantage of it.

“I asked first.”

“I’m not perfect. But I love you, and that seems pretty fucking perfect to me.”

“Who are you and what’ve you done with the real Roy Kent?” You gasped playfully, drawing yet another eye roll from him. He kissed you one more time for good measure, short and sweet, before easing the heavy tote from your shoulder and hiking it onto his.

“Let’s fucking go home now. I wanna try some of that bread you got earlier while it’s still fresh.”

“And so you can pick out the biggest piece from the middle? Fucking heathen.”

“I’m the heathen? You like the fucking ends! Who the fuck likes eating the bread’s ass?”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

#roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent x y/n #roy kent x you #roy kent fluff #roy kent one shot #roy kent imagine #roy kent fic #ted lasso

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valhallaas · 1 year

Text

Love Me Tender

pairing: jake hangman seresin x artist!reader

word count: 2k

warning: none, only fluff

summary: when the greek god in your bed knows you better than you know yourself

a/n: this is for @roosterforme’s love is in the air tgm challenge! Thank you for letting me be apart of it. Writing soft Jake really did something to my heart, let me tell you. I hope you guys love it!

Rain pitter patters outside. It’s two in the morning, you should be asleep but it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. How did Atlas do it? Bear so much weight, but never broke. Your knees are starting to buckle from the pressure. You asked for this, of course you did. There isn’t anything you’d trade it for. Turning your head, a satisfied smile rests on your lips. I’ll make it baby, he said. I’ll make it all night. Jake lays next to you, his breaths deep and even. You’d picked him up from the airport not too long ago. You’re sure he doesn’t even know what day it is. He’s just happy to be home. You’re happy to have him home.

Slowly, as not to wake him, you shift your covers and climb out of bed. A nice fire and a cup of tea sounded perfect to go with the rain. It’s not like you were getting any sleep anyway. Rubbing at your eyes, you make your way to the living room not bothering to flick on any lights. You’d been in this house long enough you could map it blind folded. Turning on the kettle, you made your way to the back sliding glass door to grab some wood. You’re more than thankful that Jake had cut more fire wood than needed last winter. He was always saving your back.

With the crackle of the fire you made it to the kitchen just in time, hearing the whistle of the kettle. It’s nearing three a.m. but you’re still wide awake. You’re stirring honey into your cup when you hear the creak of the floorboards. That didn’t last long, but that’s the way it goes. How either of you survive when he’s deployed is a mystery. He can’t sleep without you when he’s home.

Warm hands set themselves on your shoulders causing goosebumps to break out across your skin. Soft lips press against the back of your exposed neck, your eyes shut at the feeling. No, you hadn’t wanted to wake him, he needed his sleep, but you were glad he was here with you.

“What are you doin’ honey?” His voice is run through gravel, coated with sleep.

“Think I’m going to draw some.”

Jake hums, turning you in his grip so you’re facing him. His hands trail up from your shoulders to cradle your face. His thumb ghosts over your bottom lip, once, twice before you nip at it making him smile.

“I’ll get your supplies. Go get comfy.”

You should be drawing the view right now, but you’re not.

It’s not for lack of inspiration. There’s a reason you weren’t sleeping. You wanted to catch the storm. In any other circumstance you’d be completely captivated by the dark beauty of it all—the slow flowing raindrops rolling down the window. The dark clouds that keep the moon from shining in its dim light, all the stars hidden away. The quick flash that freezes the dried leaves and barren trees swaying in the winter air, giving you the perfect picture. Winter storms were your favorite and they were hard to come by. You normally wouldn’t pass this up. But somehow, your inspiration is solely coming from the man lying on the couch across from you. He’s sprawled out, relaxed, and completely at ease. His arms are folded behind his head, eyes closed as he breathes in deeply.

You told him to go back to bed, but he wasn’t sleeping without you. So this is the compromise. There’s a playlist on your phone playing through the speakers. One you always listen to when Jake’s away. Maybe that’s what keeps pulling your attention to him. The glow of the fire paints him in the warmest hues of yellows, oranges, and reds, making his lightly tanned skin glow. You smile, teeth biting into your cheek when green eyes flick over every few minutes to check that you’re still here with him, and it’s mesmerizing, his gaze. It’s almost the same color you thought his aura to be. Calm, steady, grounding, secure.

You keep your eyes trained on the sketchbook in your lap, attempting not to be conspicuous when you look up to study him every now and then. The idea makes you snort. As if your staring has ever bothered him. You stared so hard when you first met him that you hadn’t heard a thing he said to you for about three minutes. It was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to you, but hey, he thought you were the cutest thing.

It all worked out.

When he looks up at you now and catches you lost in thought as you admire him, his lips tilt up into a teasing grin. You wink at him before looking back down at the book. You’ve drawn him a hundred times before. This one is probably your favorite. Him at home, content with you. Holding the piece back a bit, you study your favorite parts. The gentle way his lashes rest against his cheeks. The slope of his nose. He looks peaceful. Godlike. Not that you’d ever tell him that, his ego did not need to hear it.

“What are you drawing over there, honey?”

You don’t have to look up from the sketchbook to know that his smirk has turned more haughty than before, and when he leans forward a little, you lean back at the same time to keep your sketchbook out of his reach.

He knows you draw him. He’s seen a few of them. He’s seen almost all of your artwork. In fact, he has one of your drawings tattooed on him. He got it while on your honeymoon. You thought he was crazy but he thinks he was being romantic. Whatever. But this one, it feels different. More personal. It’s not him being vulnerable on the page, but you as well.

“Just the rainstorm,” you lie, with a little shrug, looking back out the window for added effect, scrunching your eyes slightly as if to examine it in depth.

“The rainstorm,” he repeats. He doesn’t believe you. Not like he has to. He knows without a doubt you’re lying. “That why you keep looking at me?”

“Maybe I just missed you, ever think of that?” You counter, but it comes out in a harsh whisper, like you're trying not to cry. Closing the sketchbook quickly, you nearly jam your finger in between the pages. His gaze burns over you, taking you in from your averted gaze, hands clenching your sketchbook, your rigged posture, back pressed so hard against the couch, as if purposely trying to keep a distance from him.

“Baby, I’m right here.”

You huff. As if you don’t already know this. Like you haven’t had your eyes on him since you crashed into him at the airport, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. It’s why you can’t sleep—because he’s home. He’s here and all you want is him close. You want him with you. You want him living inside you where he can’t ever escape; where the thought of losing him is only a nightmare. Your eyes have gone misty, something you can’t hide when you glance up at him when you feel a finger lazily drag up your leg. You raise your brows trying to feign innocence as you place the sketchbook on the other side of you. He could easily reach it if he wanted to, you’d have no chance at keeping it from him, but it seems that he can sense the anxiety radiating off of you. Jake’s smirk falls into something softer, gentler. Something you’ve only seen a handful of times—something that he saves just for you.

“Dance with me.”

You hesitate for a small second. “What?”

His eyes brighten as he pulls himself up into a sitting position. He grabs your phone that’s sitting on the coffee table and raises the volume. Suddenly, it’s three years ago, the beginning of June and you’re standing in the middle of an empty Texas pasture dressed in white. The song tugs on your heartstrings more than it ever has before. Jake’s eyes slightly crinkle with his smile.

“Dance with me.” he says softly as he extends his hand out for you to take.

For, my darling, I love you And I always will Love me tender, love me long Take me to your heart For it’s there that I belong And we’ll never part

Without much effort you're in his arms, swaying to the song that played during your first dance as a married couple. You can’t seem to stop the tears that fall from your eyes. You aren’t sad, but this feels like a lot. He’s got you wrapped up in him. One arm wrapped around your waist holding you to him, while the other is cradling your head, fingers weaved through your hair. Your head rests on his shoulder, hands tight around his waist, both of you lost in each other, in the magic of the firelight, the silence of the early morning.

“Do you regret marrying me?” Jake whispers in your ear.

“No.”

“You’d choose this life again?”

“I’d choose you every time no matter what it meant. I can deal with this, Jake, long as I get you back every time. Every time.”

His eyes rest heavy on you, and your pulse starts to race when the soft light in his eyes slightly darkens into something else. His gaze lingers on your lips long enough for you to tilt your chin up, bringing your mouth closer to his, and when his lips realign to that familiar smirk you know, like always, he’s more aware of the effect he has on you than he should be. Maybe you should be embarrassed by that, but it makes things easy. You never have to ask, he just knows. Like how you’re standing here with the electric hum of excited energy flooding your veins already, desperately waiting to feel his mouth on yours. He lowers his head slowly, eyeing you with a playful gleam telling you that he’s teasing you — that he knows his slow pace is driving you crazy. But it doesn’t last long, the moment you run your tongue along your bottom lip, his playful attitude breaks, and his lips collide with yours. You pull him closer as his hand slips down to grab at your thigh. Without much thought you jump, wrapping your legs around him as he carries you back to your bedroom.

With Jake, kisses are more than just feeling his lips against yours. It’s his calloused fingers slowly brushing the inside of your thighs, in a slow teasing motion, that drives you crazy until you're grinding against him. Desperate for him to touch you, really touch you. It’s the taste of his spearmint tongue brushing against your own, sending white-hot jolts of pleasure straight down to your core. It’s the smell of him—intoxicating, mouthwatering, enough to make you weak at the knees. But more than anything, it’s the sound of him—of the deep exhales when your fingers dip into the band of his pajama pants to tease him, the throaty groan when you grind your hips down into his, the position of you resting over him on your bed one of power, one he gives only you. It’s the surprised laugh that echoes from him whenever you nibble on his bottom lip or pull away to catch your breath.

Your seconds away from doing that when he breaks away from the kiss, grinning up at you like he knows you weren’t breathing. He probably does. The man knew you like the back of his hand from the moment you met. Jake only shakes his head, a soft laugh pouring out of him, his thumb running along your cheekbone. He’s looking up at you like you hung the stars and the moon. But that can’t be right, can it? Not when he’s magic, a myth. Something you can’t really phantom. A god in your bed, carved marble under your fingertips. He is Apollo and you, Icarus, willing to burn for a moment of his time. Willing to go to war with the sun, a battle you know you will never win.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips.

He smiles against yours. “And I love you.”

#love is in the air tgm #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman Seresin x you #hangman x reader #hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin one shot #jake seresin x reader #top gun maverick fanfic #jake hangman Seresin fanfic

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punk-in-docs · 1 year

Text

🕷️ Vanilla Tobacco 🕷️

Eddie Munson x Reader

10.9k words

Summary: Based on one of my favourite Eloise songs- this pure mush but please believe me on the life of my dog, the next piece to follow this with smut is coming in so fast I may get whiplash- watch out- also

Thank-youuuu all of you for being such angels and commenting on my stuff all the time it’s honestly amazing. I know I’m a lazy bum and I need to reply to your astounding comments. But pls know I do see each one and it’s just what makes this all so worthwhile to see how much you all love Eddie X Pencils.

Your morning had been hell on wheels.

You slept through your alarm. Stubbed your toe stumbling out of bed in your rush to get dressed. Burnt your tongue on your too hot coffee. Ended up being late for home room. And now you’ve been lumped with an art essay. Perfect.

Self directed. Six thousand words on a particular art movement of your choice. Which somehow made it even harder to pick-

It’s pokey glass shards stabbing into the already festering wound in your side that was your day.

This would mean you’d be surrendering your lunchtime to this honey of a new project which was due in a week. If you got the books and notes gathered for it now, it would be a great help and a load off further down the line.

You trudge out of class, and back down to the hallway to your locker, with an armful of textbooks and sketchbook. A free period now that you’d spend the entirety of in the library.

In the absence of a certain jingly jacketed, metal head, the music you’ve got blasting through walkman headphones right now, is the only soothing thing that’s helping your scratchy mood stay buoyant.

Well. That and one other salient thing-

You can’t help but draw your thoughts back to yours and Eddie’s movie night. That memory certainly lifts and delights. Wraps up your stomach like being bound in sunny butter-yellow silk.

Being tangled up on Eddie’s terrible scratchy orange couch with wandering hands, seeking more, and so much making out it was like you were kissing each other’s lips raw. Seeing Eddie with those beautiful lips all bitten pink certainly tugged on your guts in the most horny way.

You devoured the pizza together, and he’d tasted like hoppy lite beer and salty pepperoni - licking the greasy cheese mess of it off the corner of your lips. Smiling with oily pizza grease fingers gripping your chin.

You’d laughed so much your ribs hurt. Prodded fun at the gore of his selected horror movies - awed by his taste too. Agreed on the worst and best parts of grainy black and white eerie tones of night of the living dead. The ham acting. The swelling suspense.

He’d grinned with the way you’d squirmed and jiggled and scrunched up your feet in unease at the bit in Nightmare on Elm Street. When Tina grabs Freddy’s face and the whole thing slips into her hand in a bloody rubbery landslide, revealing raw teeth and bulging eyes, scarlet black chasm of a nose.

I love this movie. But I freakin’ hate that bit.

Eddie curls around you tighter. Beaming. Chuckling dryly. Ringed fingers splaying over your hip. Nose nestled in the back of your neck.

Squeamish much, pencils?

Shut up

You both watch as Tina cups at the four claw marks in her stomach as she’s tumbled around the bed and jerked up to the ceiling. Crawling sticky blood up the flowery walls.

You hide again with an ‘Ick.’ Which prompts you to twist around and face him. You don’t do well with blood.

He very kindly lets you shield your eyes behind his hand. Rings warm on your skin.

Freddy’ll have to get through me first. Don’t you worry.

I’ll never let you sleep again, Munson. I will blast the loudest Motörhead in your ears. Okay?

Okay sweets. He winked.

You’d flown into swooning bits at the recollection of how you’d spent a great deal of time on that date, horizontal with Eddie’s warm nose buried deep in your neck. Or his tongue in your mouth. Spit wet lips, hoppy beer breath, and grinding hormones.

Later, much later, after two beers, his teeth and lips were plucking hickie’s at your collarbones and under your jaw. Mainly to distract you from Wes Cravens gore. But, funny how even when the movie ended, neither of you seemed to notice.

Too busy scrunching your hands in his messy hair and kissing him back hungrily. His hands smoothing up your back. Your legs curled open over the cradle of his skinny hips. Grinding into the clutch of yours. His hands were blazing hot on your ass where your skirt was rucked up. Fingertips slipping just-so, under the edge of your panties.

Whenever you hummed or moaned it made him smile. Made his hips jerk to yours. You were grinding on each other like this world would end soon. Entirely composed of rutting feel-good hormones for each other.

He pulled back because he was definitely popping a boner in those skinny jeans and you can’t lie either - you’re wet - you’re both very flimsy underwear barriers away from doing some very x-rated things.

He begs you that he doesn’t wanna be cumming in his pants like a ninth grader. You can’t deny with his hips grinding you like that it wouldn’t take much for your orgasm either. But, you both agreed, that for now, you’d keep it to second base.

All bets are off next time though, Pencils.

Deal. You grin back.

He sighed happily, blushed as a matter of fact, as you nudged a kiss under his ear.

You made out and ate and cracked jokes and chatted for what felt like hours. You tired the moon with your talking - and kissing. So much sparky hot kissing it stunned your lips numb.

You’d never get enough of the taste of Eddie. Smoke and beers on his tongue. Fake snap of chemical apple from his shampoo. Some distant lingering cedar and vanilla cologne that was definitely Wayne’s and had definitely been put on to impress you-

Hewalked you out to your car when time came for you to go. Leaving felt like a ripping pain. Like tearing layers of skin away. You kissed for ten minutes before you even managed to fumble blindly behind you for the door. He kissed you up against the door. Next to the door. All over you with your hands sunk and lost in his hair.

Don’t go I’m not done yet. As he cupped your face and waddled you up against the door - again.

Traffics bad this time of night, Pencils. Give it five if I were you.

I’ve heard a really bad storm is closing in.

Every time you levered apart, he was spinning you back with “Okay but how about one more, y’know, for the road…”

Then proceeded to melt you into another thought-stealing kiss.

Made you laugh into it when he palmed your car keys right out your hand whilst you were distracted by his tongue. And fully launched them over his shoulder.

They landed with a jingly thump over his shoulder on the malt brown carpet. He wrapped his arms around your waist even tighter. Muffled your protests onto the silky bed of his tongue. You moaned and curled your arms around him again.

Thinking of Eddie was definitely one part of your day that didn’t suck. That didn’t scrape rock bottom. It actually lifted you off your dragging heels a bit. Laced a spring in your step that you were careful not to let creep out too much around others.

You lose yourself to that, and into the jagged punk carnality, and let it be known Billy Idol’s sneering roar of a voice was a balm to you.

What didn’t help was that when you came to your locker, Linda was stood against it with the nuclear warhead of a mega-bitch that was Carol P.

They’re gaggled close and smirking about something. There should be a cauldron between them for the amount of shit-stirring and poison slinging they do. You’re thankful you can’t hear it. You turn up Rebel Yell just that tad louder.

Carol was the worst when it came to high school hierarchy. Not only an asshole but determined to drag that festering quality out of everything she touches. Withers the people she considers below her like dead leaves. Thought because she was giving blowjobs under the bleachers, and playing spin the bottle since seventh grade, that it somehow made her the epitome of cool.

You think that much like Linda, its just wearing a mask to cover over the craggy potholes and ultimate shallowness of their personality. They turn into mean, bullying people. Dog eat dog world of high school. Eat or be eaten and these are the pedigree girls with shiny hair, sharp teeth and bitchy smiles.

Really they’re just entirely composed of vanity and rot. Shallowness and arrogance entwined.

Linda barely acknowledges your emergence, as you open your locker and swap out an armful your books for the ones in your hands from an earlier class. You kept your headphones on, muffled the world away to rock music.

A hand shoots over your shoulder and annoyingly jerks on your headphones. Tugging them down the back of your head with a clatter. Making your heart flash fast at the jump of it.

You turn with a glare and see Tommy. H jaunt up to his girlfriend. Giving you a stupid grin. Sneering words back at you. “S’up, Pencil neck.”

Pencil Neck. Mother Mary. Those were some of the ingenious little pet names they had picked out for you.

Because you haven’t had sex and you aim for good grades, apparently this makes you worthy of freakdom in their rabid eyes.

Linda purses her lips a little. Smiles like it’s funny, them calling you that.

Carol barks out her shitty grating laughter. Tilts her head at you and those loose Farah Fawcett auburn curls dance around her snarky face. Popping neon pink gum and looking sly.

Tommy loops his arm around her neck. They stand and eye you like you’re something amusing. Freak show in town. Roll up for tickets.

“Original.” You bite back as you reach for your books.

“Ooh.” Tommy chirps at you. “Not in a friendly mood, are we.”

“My tolerance for vitriolic jackasses is limited.” You narrow your eyes at the pair of them.

You detest the way Carol scans you up and down. Judging your hand me down plaid, jeans and sneakers like you got them from a yard sale. Thinking you’re cheap trash, with a trampy single mom.

Just cause her manicured and caustic mother was the sales rep for a big cosmetic company, and she lives on the gleaming streets of Loch Nora, that it made her perfectly able to peer down her nose at the lower echelons.

She pops her gum with a snap looking at you. Then doesn’t even deign to pay you any attention. Looks towards Linda. A decided bitchy ally.

“You’re coming to the house party at Josh’s tonight, right, Martelli?” She grins as she chews loudly. Wet gummy clicks that get on your nerves. Raking an annoying knife up your spine.

You turn to your locker and ignore the bunch of cognoscenti assholes. You were ashamed to say that included your once fond friend among them.

“Sure I’ll be there.” Linda shrugs like it isn’t a golden gilded invitation handed over, direct from the Queen Bee herself.

“You’re gonna bring Jonny right?” Carol leers. Smile filthy. Like she wants to be the one sucking face with him, as opposed to her own boyfriend currently slung off her shoulder.

“If he can sneak out. His dads being a real dick at the moment.” Linda tells with a glum pouty tone.

“Sneak him out. It’ll be so fun. We got tonnes of beer. There’s bound to be some wet n’ wild fun in the pool.” She grinned all bright and naughty. Sticking her tongue out.

House party on a Tuesday night. These dicks really had nothing better to do than suck face, trash the place, or hump. Make a mess like silver back gorillas parading around in the zoo in their natural habitat.

Tommy decided to drag you back into this razor blade and lemon juice studded conversation. Oh joys.

“Probably not Pencil neck’s kinda evening.” He pouts sticking his lower lip out.

“She’s gotta be back in her convent by 9. Wimple on. Back home with her trampy mom like a good little girl.” Carol mocks in laughing. It’s shrill. Brings to mind a hyena.

Somewhere along the line, the fact your mom was mostly absent and single had become the butt of a joke to these people. Because you don’t live on Maple Street or dress like a Pat Benatar wannabe. You defend your ground in your paint spattered clothes, tatty jeans, and oversized hand-me-down plaid from Charlie, and tees from the goodwill.

It stung like acid each time they swiped and spit nasty words aimed at your mom. Needles pushed under your skin when they sniped their mockery.

You rose above it and grit your teeth. Even though it made you want to start swinging clenched fists. Real tempting to shove the wrong end of your paintbrush in carols stupid eye some days. Splat paint on her expensive jacket or jeans. Knock the books out her hands for once. The dream.

Tommy chuckles along. Carol loves pushing your buttons. It’s her defining character trait. Slamming down on them til they crack into spiderwebs like broken porcelain. It’s all she does best.

“I’m amazed you manage to walk like that what with your head being all the way up your ass.” You slam your locker and turn to talk to a very silent Linda.

“See you after third.” You offer blithely. She barely meets your eyes. Doesn’t answer. She shrinks down. Dumbly clings to her own silent cowardice. Shoves her hands in her pockets and looks at a scuff on her shiny white cavalier boots.

“Got bible studies?” Tommy jumps in quick to say.

You roll your eyes over, let his comment go unmatched. You didn’t have the energy for these two.

You heft your books into your arms and walk away. You hear their laughter and more snideness rips it’s razors at your back as you leave. More insults you don’t care to listen too.

You blast more Billy to blot them out. Forget about their stupidity as you head to the library. You hate the way they slide under your skin like it’s nothing.

You push through the doors and pad through the winding warren of the shelves. Thick carpet tiles muffled your steps. The overly harsh lighting almost buzzed above you. Students hunched hushed over tables, or scanning the stacks. A low thrum of noise and activity compared to the teaming hallways.

It’s a soothe for you. A harbour for you to switch your brain into a slow gear, push it into focusing on something else.

You find a table and set out your books and sketchbooks. Loop your bag on the back of the chair and get scouring through the arts section. You find a stack and pile it against your chest. Take them to your table and hunch over a legal pad. Madly brainstorming ideas for what you wanted to pick.

You settle and let the onslaught of your morning grow quiet. Meld as one into pages and passages. Art Nouveau with its goddesses, natural flowing forms and it’s mimicry of flowers under arched curves. The limpid neon minimalism of Dan Flavin and his light installations. Hockney and his searing blue pool paintings.

There’s so many influences crashing through your head. You skip from book to book. Unable to decide. Tapping the end of your pen against your chin. Raking hands through your lose hair.

You’re curled over a punk art book, looking at the ripped Jamie Reid images, jagged text and rude political satire sprayed and bastardised with paint drips, when something soft hits you on the side of your head, grazing by, and skittering down to your desk. Bouncing off your hand.

You twist back in your seat. Bewildered. Scanning the stacks and there’s nothing save for the usual soft footed librarians drifting around, with their glasses chains, sensible skirts, and hushed voices. The same few quiet kids sat at their tables, dotted around. Unmoved.

You frown and turn back around to the crumpled paper. You smooth it out and make out the chicken scratched words etched there. It was a note.

A love note. Etched in Violet sharpie. It sets a blaze in your chest.

Hey sweet cheeks. You look hot hitting the books. Making me jealous that they’ve got your undivided attention.

Signed it with an E with little sprouting devil horns coming off the top - as if he really needed to identify himself.

You smile when you suddenly feel the tickle of long dry hair feathering it’s tips at the back of your neck. Ringed hands drape for your shoulders. Cold rings even through your worn flannel. Smoke comes with him. Fresh too. He’d just had a cig break you’d guess. Reds curled new on cold leather and carried along with apple.

How was it the worlds nosiest metal-head with his jangly wallet chain and apparently limitless racket, could sneak up on you in absolute silence.

Materialising out of nowhere, like a suddenly gathering storm. Subtle as an earthquake. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. Inhaled deep like he was trying to drag you in via his mouth alone.

“There’s my little bookworm.” He hushes. Voice all trying-to-be-low and hissing. Rumbling down on your skull. Nuzzling his nose to your hair. Coconut. That Amber and Lavender perfume of yours. Clean luminosity of honeyed notes, and the plain spice of hearty lavender that drifts off you.

It’s dizzying. Consuming. He’s missed it the way a man could miss food and water.

“You threw paper at my head.” You faked mild insult.

Eddie leans up on his sneaker tip toes to peer over your head and catch onto the book that has you so engrossed.

“You looked very invested. How else was I supposed to get your attention.” Comes a clever curl of a grin.

It makes little flecks of gold stars shine and shimmer in those inky eyes.

His hand that landed heavy with a whump on your shoulder, curled up a knuckle and played with an idle curl of your hair. Cool fingers leaving sparks where he touched the nape of your neck.

“What are you doing in here, anyway? You know this is a library don’t you.” You tease him. Rotating in your seat. Gazing up at him. “Books. Studying.”

“Mistook it for something else. Won’t make that error twice.” He tells with that signature clever grin.

“Although it does have you in here, so I automatically like it very much, indeed.” He preens.

Your smile makes his spine slope into fuzziness and tingle all warm. Where his hand is on your shoulder, you edge and curl your fingers over his own. Lacing them through.

He wasn’t gonna be a complete letch and admire the way the twist of your body gaped the buttons of that oversized green and navy plaid you wore. Teased him with the silky valley of skin running downwards from your collarbones. Sternum. Bra. Tits. Your tits.

Okay he wasn’t gonna look, but he’s certainly thinking about it.

Those sweet slips of collarbones he’d been sucking and mouthing for eons long just the other night and was that-

That’s a hickie on your neck. From him.

His stomach trips and crashes into feral frenzy knowing he’s the one to have placed it there, in a rabid fit of horny hormones. Horizontal on his couch with hands all stuffed in tops or jeans, roaming in places that felt so so good.

Tongues fat with kissing and mouths smashing together, raw. Charred bodies grinding. Your fingers edging his stiff jeans zipper. His squeezing your tits through your top. Delightful touches that burned bliss through you like biting electric bolts. The muggy heat of breath on lips.

“That big beautiful brain of yours at capacity yet?” He asks. Swaying into the back of your creaking hard chair.

“I’ve yet to hear a pinging noise indicating it’s full.” You decided. Tapping your pencil down on your book.

“Can my bookworm take a break?” Eddie asks with a conspiratorial looking grin. You tip your head back and meet his gaze.

That ‘my’ warms your belly right though like bad cheap whiskey.

“Why would that be?” You ask cheekily. All lowering your lashes and peering all coquettish.

“Cause if you’re not at capacity yet. I think there’s a little more to learn.” He teases and his smile is all dirty dimples and schoolboy cheek.

He whirls back from your chair and pauses at the walkway between two bookcases. It hooks a smile right out of you when you watch him jerk his head in that particular, enclosed, direction.

Your smile grows, crawls across your lips and you keep your butt planted in your seat. “Gee. I don’t think I know what you’re getting at.”

“Need me to spell it out for you?” He asks with narrowed eyes and a wide wide grin.

You lean in said chair and cast your eyes towards the librarians. Who coincidentally have their backs turned to you. One at the desk, the other helping a freshman locate a physics book.

“I don’t know. Maybe if you could find it in book form and read it to me.” You rile. Poking him with a stick.

“Sure. Where’s that Biology section at.” He leans in and bites his lower lip and grips your sleeve. He doesn’t grip your skin with his rings. Worried they’d dig. Even when riled he’s still gentle.

Scrunching up his nose all silly as he’s yanking you out the chair. You laugh softly as you swing off the thing and slink after him.

You both pad silently down the row of bookcases. Eddie tugs you along to the end. Nestled into the crook with paper spines and a shelf digging in your back. The touch on your sleeve travels up your arm, he’s holding your forearm and then impressively smooth, he’s cupping your hip. Slings a finger in your jean belt loop - keeping you tethered to him.

“You going to reinforce a lesson for me. Munson?” You ask.

You rest your hands on his t-shirt. The almost threadbare black sabbath one that you could barely read the scratchy logo on it anymore. It’s almost flaked away. All that’s left is this beaten old black tee that hangs softly in creases off him.

“Yup.” And he pops the P. Staring at your lips. Thumb rubbing soothing circles on your worn plaid stomach. Soft aged flannel. “Gonna reinforce my brains out.” He decides.

“They say repetition is the best way to learn.” He adds. Flirty brow raised. Body flush to yours. Wrapping you in leather smoke and apples.

“And please don’t go hurting yourself on my account. I won’t allow it.” You say as you smooth a hand over the crazy hair beside his jaw. Stroking your fingers under that handsome cut of a jawbone.

You feel his nearness like a gut punch. Every damn time. Has you squirming in every single good way you can muster. This crush blazes so fiery strong. It’s swallowed you whole whilst you weren’t looking. You were too busy watching him smile.

You tip to him. Tilt to him. Up on your toes. Arms going for his neck. Circling around as his hands smooth across your belt loops and cup your hips. He rolls your bottom lip between his. Sucks you into this sloppy kiss as his hands cup you sacredly.

The moment you’ve both been longing for.

You’d never grow tired of kisses like these ones. It left a chasm when you pulled away from his lips on your date. And now again, finally, it’s like a cool clear sip of spring blue water after years of thirst.

Eddie nibbles your lower lip and it draws an unexpected squeak out of you. Plush and tongue and molten. He pulls back and his spit shiny smile liquifies your insides. Warm air puffs over your lips. “Careful pencils. Gotta keep it on the down low in here.”

You half heartedly whack at his chest with an open hand.

He sways with it. Sways into you. Barely noticed your nudge. He catches it with his own fingers, twining into yours. Through yours. Knuckles slot together. Fused. Your hand in his. He brings it up and rests your hand on his neck.

Drunk hazy eyes cast all whiskey puddle brown in yours. Soft as butter and he melts into you again. Nose brushing alongside yours. You taste like the fruity sour bite of chapstick and he’ll definitely chase some more of that fake nectar sweetness, thank you very much.

“How can I be expected to keep quiet when you kiss me like that?” You ask. Tilting in again, legs knocking into his as you press your lips to his in a slow smooch. Long, languid. Taking the kiss off his slanted mouth, honey smooth.

Your hand follows his lead. You cup his soft neck. Thumb brushing the join of his jaw. His hands rearrange themselves. Wandering to settle neatly. One bunching an arm around your waist. The other cups your head. Tilts your mouth to him so he can take and take and unleash on you more of these amazing, demanding kisses.

You should be caring how loud your making out is. Sloppy mouth sounds and little grunts he makes mixed with the thrill of your moans. It rises just a little above the din of the buzzing lights and the swipe of book pages being leafed over.

When you part again you gasp for breath and your knees are stunned into weakness. Your bodies are so close it’s pretty damn evident that soon you’ll be making noises you cannot hide in the whisper quiet library.

It didn’t help that the swelling hunger for more is prodding between your legs. As urgently as his own must be in those tight jeans. Every kiss is laced with a hunger that could proceed sex if you let it.

You really want to let it. You’re so ready to let it.

You exhale onto each other lips when you next part and take a huge pull of breath. Warm whispers sealed to mouths. Bodies tangled. Sure a book was jamming your spine, and the shelf behind you was not exactly sturdy. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered that wasn’t Eddie’s kiss bruised mouth aligned on yours.

“We should probably have another one of those date things soon. Don’t you think?” You ask. Fingers sneaking to his cheek to just touch his skin. A little stubbled.

“You reckon?” He smiles all slanted. Eyes twin honeycomb suns. You stare, stuck into them.

You’ve never seen such warmth leak out those expressively deep carob-eyes. You look at the entirely too long flick of his lashes: the raw pinkness of his cushiony lips. Entirely unfair how he was so pretty. It should be outlawed for a boy to look this pretty when kissed.

Really it was a danger to your health. Your school work would certainly suffer. Your essay sat screeching to be started from your desk.

“I really reckon.” You nod. Eddie swoops in and smooched a boyish charming peck onto your mouth almost in thanks. Pulls back from you with a wet smack.

“If you didn’t say it, I was gonna have to insist.” He teases. Stretches out the last word to almost a hiss so you know he means business.

You bite your lip. “Ok Mr. forceful. What did you have in mind?” You smile. Leaving your arms around his neck. To not touch him would be a stinging agony.

“Anything. So long as we can do this for a good 95 - 98% of the evening. I’m willing to negotiate on the exact percentage.” He asks. “But I would ask you wear that chapstick again.” He requests, no holds barred on the flirt, nudges his lips sweetly to yours.

The flick of his tongue on your lower lip makes your brain twirl and cloud. So naughty.

You kiss him quick. Yank his jacket. Pull back to speak which he pouts at you a little for.

“We could go see a Movie. Go to the arcade. Get ice cream. Go to the old quarry and 420 blaze it, and stargaze. The options are endless.” You say as your fingers find his and twist through. Knuckles stroking those worn metal rings.

“Arcade sounds good. Ice cream is a must.” He says, a little reticent. No one has ever asked him on a date. Much less delved into what he actually wanted to do on said date.

“Arcade and Ice cream it is.” You fix with a grin. “You’re easy to please.”

“Yeah but when it comes to ice cream toppings I’m very picky.” He sneaks forwards and kisses under your jaw.

You have to bite your lip cause he knows how it weakens you. Your gasp from the other night when he slipped his lips all over your jaw is etched interminably in his brain. His tongue traces a hickie he knows only all too well how it got there.

The tip of his nose brushes into anther hickie he’s just given to you. Devil boy. He knows very well what effect it has.

“Whipped cream, Cherries. Lots of cherries, sprinkles. The works.” He whispers all muggy hot into your neck.

“Gotta have cherries. Pencils.” He rasps inbetween heavy plucked kisses on your skin.

You shiver all over with the innuendo. He feels it ripple through you. The way your skin pimples with pleasure that pops, stringing along your veins.

You dig your nails into his hands cause holy shit. Every time you kiss you creep closer and closer to the idea of just slipping your hand inside those ripped jeans and going to town- that barrier of your willpower is being worn paper thin with every caress.

“All the cherries you want, pretty boy. Maybe afterwards we could take a, uh, scenic route up to skull rock and be fools, fooling around.” You smile.

It’s dizzying to him. That idea. Better than Colombia gold spreading all vibrant verdant green and dozy through his lungs.

“I’ll bring the jester hat, Mi’lady.” He flat out grins. It’s borderline Munson manic.

“Perfect evening.” You summarise. Shaking your head and eyeing his lips again.

“Perfect date.” He adds on. Biting his lower lip.

“My god. We’re corny. Even meatloaf would refuse to write a mushy ballad about us right now.” You joke. Hands still looped around his neck. Like hell would you wanna let go.

“Need some help with that essay?” He offers. Closing in for your mouth again.

“Mmhmm need all the help I can get.” You whisper. Barely a brush away from his gorgeous lips.

He kisses you again and it’s stunning. Births a wild jungle of fiery mush and kicked butterflies to rioting life in your belly.

“I promise to be such a huge help. You may not even need those books babe. Don’t you know I’m so brainy it’s unreal.” He wheedles at you.

“I never doubted your big beautiful mind even for a second.” You admit. Holding his chin as you lean in and kiss him solidly once more. Coaxing a lovely sounding whine from the back of his mouth when your tongue swipes his lip.

You drag him back out into the open. He goes - somewhat willingly.

Slips himself into the chair beside yours. Hands splayed over your books as he twirls a pen in his hand as asks you probing and philosophical musings about art.

Cubism. I’m sorry. C’mon? Those guys must’ve been on seriously good pills, man.

How about Constructivism then? You ask.

Gesundheit, pencils.

He scrawls some more devils and live hearts with your name, and leafs through another thick old book. The yellowed pages crack with age.

I got a new twisted sister tape. You should hear it.

I like watching you study. It’s freakin hot. You’re so brainy.

Hey, this chicks kinda neat. She looks like a character from Lord of the Rings or somethin’. He decided as he pawed over an Alphonse Mucha picture.

My favourite too. I love the way he uses colour. It’s dreamy.

You’re dreamy.

He laughs when you bite your lip and look bashful.

He will not stop shooting you a flirty smile as he doodles idly on your legal pad. Swirls big loopy letters of ‘I Love Eddie.’ And ‘Hellfire rulez’ and lots of demon faces, and skulls with horns. Lightning bolts and leathery bats.

His restless hands cannot be stilled. He steals a scrunchie from your bag, and it sits looped on his wrist next to his chain bracelet. Lilac borders leather. He makes no intention of giving it back. Magpie manners.

You make a face at him, asking how you’re supposed to tie your hair up for still life class after school.

“I like it loose and wild.” He says as he skims his eyes over your hair. Thumbs a piece back by your ear so sweetly.

You crook a brow. Smile tips lopsided.

He seems to realise that what he said can be taken an alternative way. “Well, no I uh, didn’t mean it like that.”

Your laugh spins his head into adoring craziness.

“Alright. Alright.” He consoles you by picking a W.A.S.P pin out his denim vest and leaning over to stud it into the collar of your plaid. Tongue bitten between his teeth as he concentrates. Fingers brushing your neck. Skin on skin contact leaving kicks and flutters that shoot stars in his wake.

You look down at it. The shiny metal gleaming in the buzzing light. “Okay, that is a worthy consolation.” You offer.

He makes you smile until your cheeks hurt, and you spend more time leaning into him and trying not to laugh too loud over discussing movies, favourite arcade games and music, than you do actually choosing your essay topic.

When the bell rings for next period you actually detest the thought of scurrying away to your Math class. Yet, Equations and trig beckoned.

Eddie walks you out the library. Opens the door all charming, waves a hand to gesture you on through first, like a true gentleman. You thank him and glide past with your books clutched to your chest.

The hallways are bustling but emptying fast. You twist back and tell him you’ll catch him later. Maybe at lunch.

He smiles that wide trouble-stroked grin. Clutched your hand and leaned down all showy to kiss the back of it and shoot you a dirty flirty wink, before he too whirled away.

You smile and it lingers on your lips even as you part. The press of it makes your whole arm come alive. You watch him for a scant moment before walking off down the corridor the opposite way.

You both look back over your shoulders after about five meagre steps away. Eddie gives you a melting grin, you return it. All eyelashes and beaming.

That grin said a lot. Dead giveaway. The hand kiss. The lingering and swirly body movements, not ever wanting to pull apart. Spoke volumes to those who bothered enough to really look and see it.

The feminine flash of a lilac scrunchie on Munson’s wrist. The telltale purple splotches of hickies hiding just below your collar. The heavy metal pin punched through your collar all shiny. Winking like a far off star.

Far enough down the hall that neither of you paid any notice, Jonny Lopez shut his cloud-grey locker door and leaned against it. Lake blue eyes swam cold. Watching the Freak practically skip away.

He saw him kiss your hand. Saw him pull you close by the corner of your plaid, reeling you in, and all warm smiles backed in flirting familiarity. Watched you beam back, and linger to chat a moment. Your hand laid on leather lapel, brushing at his chest.

It didn’t add up. It’s coming out odd to him. You and the Freak? Close? Since when?

He frowned and tugged his backpack on his shoulder.

Strange sight, that.

“Okay. Please please please for the love of god and on all things holy, don’t get weird.” You call out to your mom as you trudge down the stairs.

Not yet coming to the bottom but you could hear her rifling around in the fridge. Billy Joel’s Anthony’s song clunking out it’s piano notes from the stereo in the kitchen that she always has on when she makes dinner

Which is a strong term for when she just scrounges and grazes stuff out of there like a jackal. When she’s so dragged by jet-lag, she only has the energy to slam some pop-tarts in the toaster and throw back a beer for an evening meal.

She was most definitely not a baked ziti or a casserole mom. She overcooks tater tots, or survived on boxed mashed potatoes and a can of limp greens with some breaded frozen chicken.

More than once she’s resorted to a bag of chips for her dinner. Now you know how she stays so trim. And it’s true what she says about your older sister Charlie being the cook in the family, cause that trait had seemed to have skipped you and her, altogether.

After long haul flights like these, she’s usually all set to scarf a meal down in dribs and drabs and grab a beer, to fall asleep with, as her TV soaps blare on. More than once you’ve had to rush in and stub a Newport gold out her dead asleep hand. More than once she’s burned holes in the couch. Covered them up with a crocheted blanket.

Right now, she’s humming and tapping her toes as she eats cool whip out the tub with a spoon. Stood there in her indigo bootcut jeans and oversized cable knit sweater that slid off one shoulder. White and fluffy.

“Alright.” She calls back slowly. Digesting your words. “Colour me intrigued…” She turns the music right down for this. For whatever this was-

You round the kitchen doorway. And it becomes obvious.

Your wearing a dress, and the oversized box-back leather jacket that once upon a time, belonged to her. With rhinestones on the back that spelled out ‘rock n roll’ with a flaming skull underneath. You’d paired it with a red dress that clung and a nipping big white leather hoop belt stretched around your middle. Sneakers and white socks on your feet. Silver wet n wild on your eyelids. Liner and mascara. Your hair all fluffed and kinked

“You’ve joined a rock band? I want front row tickets. I like the jacket. Very Joan Jett.” She grins wide. The flash of that pearly perfect smile. No whiff of how it was hers that you’d poached for the evening.

“No.” You explain.

Her eyes pin you down. Widening under her shiny bangs.

“Intrigue.” As she lopsidedly and untidily stuffs more groceries into the fridge.

“Linda is dragging you to a… club? Or another trashy house party?” She asks.

“Wrong, again.”

“Ok, connect some dots for me cause I’m lost here.” She waves her hand at you as she unloaded tubs of ice cream into the freezer. Peanut butter chocolate chip.

“Don’t get weird.” You point a finger at her. She holds her hands up in surrender.

“Well, weird is my wheehouse kid. My basic operating system.”

“Mom.”

“So intense tonight.” She grumbles all chirpy.

“I actually have a date.“ You lay out.

She looks right at you as she lets the fridge door slam shut. Mouth gaping.

“A date?” She checks.

“Are you a parrot now, or what.” You tease.

“Look at you. Hiding your light under a bushel.” She beams. Hands on her hips.

“Boy or girl?” She asks, blinking.

“A boy. Mom.” You offer up. “But thank you for that.” You wave your hand at her.

“Hey. No judgement here babe. A date. My god.” She looks floored. Hand laying on her chest floored.

“Yes.” You respond. “Well. Actually to be honest, It’s kind of our second date. We had a movie night at his place last week.”

“Second date huh.” She waggles her brows at you like a dirty minded frat boy.

“Well, tell me how it goes. You can leave out all the gross- y’know.” Bringing her hand up to her face and making obscene wet kissing, slurping smacking noises. Cooing at you across the kitchen.

“You are four years old.” You narrow your eyes at her. She grins.

“Do you need me to feed you and put you to bed before I go?” You jest tiredly as you walk to the hall. Check your hair yet again in the mirror.

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just be sticking my fingers in the electrical sockets and running with scissors here, totally unsupervised.” She jokes. Picking a rogue hair off the back of your jacket.

“Guess I’ll just have to sit on the couch and watch reruns of Golden Girls on my own. Eat sad Beefaroni and be a tragic spinster mom.”

“Do so quietly.” You wave off.

When you move to get your shoes: she follows. You have a shadow, apparently.

“So this booooyyy- honey tell me about the boy.“ She grins all giddy. Leaning against the door and swaying her body like a preeny high school girl.

Like she should be twiddling pigtails with a lollipop in her mouth. Candy saccharine sweet.

“Is he on the team?” She seeks. And then gasps. “Is he gonna give you his letterman jacket if you get cold?” She clasps her hands and her voice teeters all high and romantic-like.

“Yeah. Then he’s taking me and Rizzo to the sock hop in his Studebaker and then onto some racing for pinks.” You joke with her archly.

“My god. You got your penchant for dragging sarcasm from me.” She pointed out. Unhelpfully. Shoving you half heartedly in the shoulder for being smartly rude. Beer now in her other hand as she drapes herself against the kitchen doorway.

“Not a letterman then?” She scrunches up her nose. She knew well of your distastes.

“If he was I wouldn’t be touching him even with gloves on, and ten f oot pole.” You insist as you make sure you’ve got everything in your purse.

“Less Steff McKee, more Duckie. I got it.”

You smile at the way she’s phrased it. Whatever Eddie was he was definitely way more Duckie territory.

“So he’s not a jock, alright. That narrows it down. Is Duckie atleast cute? Or am I gonna have ugly grandchildren.” She asks.

“Mom.” You hiss with skated laughter as you fluff your hair in the mirror. She winced suddenly.

“It’s not Keith from the Arcade is it? Cause he’s always been sweet on you. You went in last time and I swear he was drooling over you in your Talking Heads tee.”

“It’s not Keith.” You answer nicely. You liked Keith, but he could be sleazy, and a catty kind of mean, and had a bigger chip on his shoulder than you when it came to the preps and jocks.

Plus he would literally date any girl with a pulse that breathed his way. Besides, he was way way deep into crushing on Nancy Wheeler territory.

You exhale into the mirror. Wondering if the sweet sheen of lipgloss was too much. If you should rethink these earrings. You’re a mess. It’s all whirling around a stubborn coil of packed nervousness in your stomach. A fever twist.

“What you kiddos getting up too? Something salacious? Gonna knock off a liquor store? Go to Wild biker parties with lots of vomiting and sex?”

“We’re going to the arcade and grabbing some junk food. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll have time to work a teen pregnancy or a vomit sex party into the mix.”

“Now see here, Mama didn’t raise no quitters.” She salutes towards you with her beer before she swigs back a sip. You know she can’t resist delving a little more into the nitty gritty details.

“What’s he like. Your Duckie. Blonde, tall, short, fat, thin, dark, athletic. Is he in the chess club? Is he trouble? Does he have a motorcycle or a criminal record?” She’s tapping your arm with the back of her hand as she keeps thinking of more things to ask you.

“All good if relentless questions.” You temper her rambles. “You may need to cool it with the Pretty in Pink references.” You chuckle.

“Spill spill.” She encourages.

“Less chess club, more DND club.” You tell her. Fiddling with the earrings. Definitely deciding to take them out. Untangling them from your hair.

She’s gets very excitable about that prospect. “Is he nerdy hot…” She gets close and rasps at you all low.

“Yes. The orthodontic headgear from his braces, combined with his pressed slacks, Mmmm, really gets me going.” You lie.

She smiles wider. You’re all snippy sarcasm and fluffing hair and you keep peering past her at the banana yellow cat clock with the wagging tail and rolling eyes in the kitchen.

“You’re nervous.” She hits the nail right on the head. Rubs your arm up and down. Cups your shoulder.

You let out a deep breath. “Correct.” You tell her.

You can’t lie to your mother. She’s a human lie detector when it comes to you. She’ll sniff it out of you like those bomb dogs at the airport. One whiff and she’s all over it.

“You must really like this mystery nerd Huh?” Shecomes over and strokes the hair spilling down the back of your neck.

You meet her gaze. You scrunch your nose with a kinda giddy smile you can’t hide bursts across your face. “I really do.”

“Why haven’t I heard anything about him you sneaky thing… you been holding out on me? I mean, I know my being out the country isn’t conducive to mother-daughter late night talk over a tub of ice cream… but-” She wonders. Idly playing with the bangs framing around your forehead. The soft yellow light from the cheap yellow flicks off the fine French manicure sleekly and pretty pink on her nails.

“Recent development. I haven’t been holding anything back from you. Promise. You’d root it out even if I did. Not to mention the guy turning up on the doorstep would be a big tip off.” You suppose.

“There is that.” She nods. Standing her beer down on the hallway table. Coming up behind you and idly rearranging your hair where you’d mussed it.

“Any pearls of wisdom I need to give you? Do you need the talk again of where babies come from.” She plays around.

Give her ten ways to say something serious and she’d still be clowning around.

That actually makes you laugh. You meet her solid gaze in the mirror. It’s so warm. It’s like sun skating on emeralds. The crinkled corners of the eyes that are entirely more hazel than yours.

You’d always thought she was the pretty exception. Pearly smile. Dazzling eyes. It didn’t help that Charlie got her stunning silky hair and piercing eye colour too. You got the frizz and the freckles and the big hips. The hair that more belonged on a wiry messy dog. That never laid nicely or did as it was told.

“Is my hair bad? I used too much product. It’s too frizzy. ” You wince as you ask her. Faffing with it still around your ears.

“No. Baby. It isn’t.” She tells you softly with a grin that’s circling somewhere proud and awed. She puts her hands on your shoulders.

Growing up she taught you that women didn’t need to be only pretty to get by. She’d remind you how you were stunning in your unique way and it was entirely up to you what way you made it.

When toxic high school mixed with the uncertain churning of puberty, she was there to reinforce the idea that you could be brainy, and take up space, and spit and shout, bare your teeth, and throw punches and be gritty, all that- be a fierce Amazonian of a woman. Be wonder woman. Be a sultry sizzling Marilyn. Be whomever you wanted-

“You gonna let me meet Duckie when he gets here?” She asks.

“Well, actually, I was gonna lock you in the attic.”

Her mouth gapes. Offended. “What, like I’m suddenly a Kennedy.”

“Tough choice when you’re a Kennedy. How do you even chose which one in the family to hide in the attic.” You ask dead serious.

She closes her eyes and exasperatedly makes a fist with one hand.

“Ok, kid, we’re veering off topic here. Can I meet him, please? C’mon I will only say two embarrassing things tops.” She grins. Holding her fingers up to signal the two things.

“Don’t explode all over him with questions. He’s nice.” You promise.

“Baby, he’s dating you. Of course he’s gonna be nice. I like to think I raised you with standards.”

“You did think I was dating a jock up until two minutes ago.” You level at her.

“Touché my sweet.” She holds a finger up and gives you an invisible tally mark.

“No interrogations either.” You add.

“I’ll put my interrogation lamp away. And no explosions. Promise. Internal implosions only.”

“Try not to be- y’know? Your usual level of insane?”

“Why. He’s not here to date me. I shouldn’t have to hide my eccentricity in the comfort of my own home.” She mocks, looking evil.

“Good grief.” You sigh as you double triple safety sure check you’ve got everything in your purse. Candies. Lip smacker. Money. Coin change for the arcade machines. She leans over and peers into your purse

“Condoms are in the bathroom cabinet by the way.” She winks before tipping back more beer.

“Right. No to that.” You snap. “Go get in the attic. Now.” You tell her with no evident humour. Snapping your fingers and pointing up the stairs.

She pokes her tongue out at you in a very mature move.

You twist to the direction of the door when you hear a clunky rumble of something that was definitely a van engine, music all shredding shriek and rock heavy, easing to a stop. And then the thump of a door.

She practically inhaled all the air in the house when Eddie does one of his fumbly music-riff knocks on your front door. Deep Purple, you reckon.

“I think your nerd hath arriveth. Mi’lady.” She beams.

Claps her fingers together in overdone excitement. Trying to gawk through the blurry glass in the front door to make out his general shape.

Fuck. Now this is all so real and your stomach is clenching, doing those gravity defying swoops like it’s trying to take off without you.

You fluff your hair one last time and step to the door across the spongey purple entryway rug. You take a deep breath. Palm clammy and slipping on the doorknob. You twist it open.

Eddie breaks into a sunshine stroked grin the other side when he sees you. It melts you. Makes something inside glow coal hot at the sight of him again.

He’s wearing his jacket with a Van Halen tour tee. Faded wings of an eagle and band name crackled on old wash grey. The usual ensemble of chains and ripped jeans. But you see the new sight of fancy polished combat boots.

Wayne had made him sit his bony butt down for five seconds and polish them before he whirled out the door to come get you.

“A man takes pride in his shoes when taking a young lady out on a date, Edward.” As he gruffly handed him a shoe brush. Gestured with a lit red in the other hand.

Full name. Serious. Scary.

“Listen I need to get going if I’m gonna make it out of the Victorian Era on time.” Eddie sassed. Elbow folded up. Checking his Casio.

Wayne pushed the brush into his hand. Slammed the silver pot down in front of him. The claggy thick smell of polish coming from the well used army tin he had sat on the counter. Face as stoic as an Easter Island head. He wasn’t taking any bull.

“Less cheek. Get buffing.”

“Child labour has been outlawed you know.”

“Not in the Victorian Era it hasn’t.”

Eddie did as his Uncle ordered. Now here he is.

Smelling like cologne, cigarettes and the unmovable sticky tinge of dark boot polish. Hair having had a briefly tangled

liaison with a comb.

He’s chewed gum the whole way here worried about his smoky acrid breath. Piece after piece shoved into his mouth. Sharp spearmint spiking the bed of his tongue. It didn’t settle the squirming worms in his stomach. Nor the tap of his newly polished shoes in fidgeting.

“Hey.” He smiles. Nervously tucking his hands in his back pocket. His jacket jangles. The chain around his hip and his bandana sways with him as he stands on your porch.

“Hey yourself. You look nice.” You beam back. There’s an undeniable allure in your pretty face. Honey gold smile skated in shiny gloss. He equates to something like pure magic.

“Ditto, Pencils.” He smirks. Veiled flirt. Not letting himself get too eager with it. His eyes flick up your dress, down your legs, and back up.

Holy shit. Good doesn’t even begin to cover how you look right now.

You also cannot ignore the lingering looming presence of your mom as she practically leaps into his eye-line behind you. She’s utterly vibrating with excitement. You can sense her just jiggling with it.

She sidles up behind you and shoves herself into the gap you’ve left in opening the door.

Whatever he was expecting of your mom, he certainly didn’t imagine this whirlwind of a woman behind you.

She’s young too. Must’ve had you in her late teens. Not stuffy. No silent husband like a fixture in an easy boy chair in the living room. Silently scathing with disapproval. She’s not sporting a beige cardigan and a constant threat of neighbourhood watch association snobbery. Sneering at Eddie on her porch like he’s a flea infected stray, yowling at her door.

There’s no way in hell anything resembling stuffy could cling to this woman.

Fierce hazel eyes traced with crows feet, shiny dark hair all free-wild and choppy. She’s old movie star kinda striking. That Colgate grin touted about in the 1950’s. One he recognises as the one that closely and genetically mirrored yours.

Boot cut jeans and a pearly smile and a big fluffy sweater and denim jeans. Entirely mad and friendly and she’s only met him two seconds ago. Some punchy shredding ZZ top blasts from the kitchen and something tells him that’s all her taste too. As well as pair of violet rhinestone cowboy boots sat by the doormat. Whacky.

He thinks how wildly accurate it is that this busy bright, kinetic energy ball of a woman, raised an unconventional and awesome girl like you. That’s no leap there.

“It is so nice to meet you. Duckie.” She out and out grins. You give her one of your looks.

Eddie chuckles. A little lost. “Duckie?” He asks.

“Her grip on sanity is loose at best.” You explain.

She elbows you in the the hip as she takes the grin down to a less terrifying notch. “Ok. Ugly grandchildren are struck off the list. He’s adorable. Look at those Bambi eyes.”

You really wish you had locked her in the attic. She’s exploding all over the poor boy.

“She’s loopy when she’s off her meds. And around new people.” You sigh to him. It gets an easy smile. Buffs the nervous look away.

“Mom this is Eddie. Eddie, I’m so sorry, this is my Mom.” You introduce. Skating a hand to the woman chomping at the bit behind her shoulder.

“Don’t you say sorry for me.” She slithers her arm through the gap you’ve left in the door. Fluffy jumper all cable knit bobbled and fuzzy. She’s a wave of zingy energy smelling like smoky Newports and designer Yves Saint Laurent perfume.

He shakes her manicured offered hand. “It’s very nice to meet you. She’s told me only good things.”

“Then she’s totally been lying. Edward. A pleasure. I’m Veronica but please don’t call me that, everyone calls me Ronnie. Awesome awesome shirt by the way.” She beams as she peers around the door. Releasing his hand from hers. “Like your metal huh?” She asks.

She perched her hands on the doorframe and stuck her head into this pick up between the two of you.

“Only with my oxygen, food and water.” He jokes. A little of his truer wide smile comes sneaking out. Now he knows there’s no need to stand on awkward shuffly doormat ceremony with your parent.

Because he knows he isn’t a meet the parents kinda guy.

He’s the guy parents ring Principal Higgins about. With distaste sour, and judgement nastily spewing off their tongues. He’s tatted, he’s a cheap weed seller, he’s crazy and scraggy weird, and he lives in a trailer park. Stamp mark of future-convict hovered heavy and eternal over his head.

He’s a jump out the window, hide in the closet kinda guy. No one would ever bring him home all hair combed and sparkly clean, pressed button down, to mom and pop, for a meatloaf dinner. Cause he’s no one to be proud of.

Yet here? Perhaps in the eyes of the most unconventional mom in all of Hawkins, something has shifted.

Something feels like it’s been spun off its axis and set down wrong, cause this bubbly woman is smiling at him and excitedly prodding her daughter out the door to go on their date. And maybe she is insane. As you said.

Talk about falling down the rabbit hole. Punctured through the splintered looking glass. He’s not high, but he could swear on seeing white rabbits and mad hatters right about now. It’s fucking nice. He’d never have expected this funky curveball in coming to pick you up.

“Edward? Eddie?” She asks.

“Eddie is fine.” He offers. Nodding, as he slips his hands into his pockets. Self conscious move, even though he didn’t need to be.

She widens her smile. “Where abouts you from? I know DND club and the fact you’re a white male in high school. Other than that I’m out. She’s been stingy with details.” She jerks her thumb at you.

His tongue shrivels up. She’s tolerated him so far. Maybe this is the sour turning point that will tip the introduction on its head.

“I live in Forest Hill’s with my Uncle. My folks, uh aren’t around.” He tells with a tone she can tell is used to receiving nasty scratchy criticism. Eyebrows raise and moods change when he’s said that before.

She nods. Her smile doesn’t leave. Doesn’t even drop.

“Honey. I grew up in paradise trails mobile park in Sloan Nevada. Don’t sweat it. Doesn’t make us lepers.” She shrugs.

Like it didn’t just wash a whole wave of unease aside in his chest.

“People in this town seem negatively charged when I tell them that’s where I live.” He admits with a big clown smile. Your heart bleeds at the true reverence in his tone.

“People in this town, are snooty assholes.” She chuckles wisely.

Debbie Harry is throatily singing one way or another from the stereo in the kitchen now.

“You done grilling my date?” You ask her with a sickly smile.

“If you stick around, there will be a follow up round where I fetch your baby pictures. And invite him in for a beer.” She threatens. Eyes widening. Kubrick crazy.

“Bye Mom.” You say as you step out the door to join him on the porch. She catches it where you’ve left it open. Calls out as you stand in the clear night listening to the cicadas hum and the street lights buzz and blink into sleepy orange. You leave her chuckling.

“Wise move. Now scram before I dust off my pipe, And my old ‘what-are-your-intentions-towards-my-daughter’ queue cards.” Your mom winks at you.

“Enjoy your night, crazy lady. Go feed the cats.” You answer, calling back over your shoulder as you sling your hand into Eddie’s lapel and pull him across the lawn.

“Let’s get away from this house of lunacy.” You tell him.

He stumbles after you waving a goodbye to your mother. Almost tripping over his boots.

“Home by midnight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. No 420ing it without me.” She calls out to you.

Eddie chuckles as you bring him down your front lawn. Sneakers brushing the grass alongside the gentle thuds of his foot falls. Your hand migrated to holding his.

“That’s your mom.” He states. Sounding dumbfounded.

“I know. I should’ve warned you. She’s a whole new spin on the word eccentric.” You offer.

“She didn’t bark at me to get off her porch like I’m some stray, Pencils. That’s a hell of an improvement versus the reaction I thought I’d get.” He says as he looks down.

Avoiding stepping on the dandelions that are scattered across your lawn all yellow and happy. Just trying to grow upwards and peep at the sun.

You slope your fingers through his. He looks up and gazes at you as you fall in step.

“As insane and untethered to planet earth as she is, she’s really not like other moms around here. She likes you already, probably on sight of the Van Halen tee.” You tell him with smiling weight to your meaning.

His grin lopes across his face.

“She’s cool y’know. No stuffiness. No essence of church on Sunday is the law and green bean casseroles.” He nods. He likes it. He really does.

“She had my sister Charlie when she was a teenager. Me a couple years later. Possibly too young for the likings of the pissy bible study moms in this town. She dropped out of Berkeley. Parents chucked her out. She worked three crappy jobs whilst raising us and coping with my deadbeat dad, always hoping for a little better and, being, well, as you saw, entirely unhinged.” You gestured to your house.

“And…” You add. “She’s not a green bean casserole person. She stinks at cooking even by her own admission. Thankfully, we have Charlie for that. She’s the domestic one.”

Eddie smirks. His smile is pure warmth. “You guys are close, though. Tight knit. It’s cute.”

“I love that she’s not a run of the mill mom. Growing up, others didn’t tend to be as kind about it. They see a single parent, they immediately go to trashy, trampy, drunk, who doesn’t give a shit.” You roll your eyes.

Genuine hurt backs your voice though. “They set her and me aside cause we’ve always been different. We don’t have tonnes of money or a fancy house.”

And who knows that better than Hawkins own freak?

He squeezes your fingers. Warm rings all marking their usual grooves in your skin. A thorough loving squeeze that makes your heart go pattering all soppy in your chest.

“People are assholes. So I’m reliably told.” He parrots as he brings to you both to the passenger side of his van. Rings clack on the handle as he gets the door for you.

You stand and smile. “People are assholes. Look at the unfair bad rep they give you.” You point out.

He shrugs. Smirking. “What can I say? My handsome face and awesome personality protects me from total infamy.” He grins all

cheesy.

Yanking open the van door with a hand and turning his palm up to you.

“Here now, I was prepared for a little infamy. Munson. Are you telling me I’m gonna be disappointed?” You smirk as you step up close.

Eddie’s poor little rabbit heart flashes fast with the way your dress is kinda, pretty well low cut. And skimming and squeezing every beautiful curve. When you step close he can smell perfume and cherry gloss and all things sexy sweet.

You’re looking at him directly. Eyes smouldering under your eyeliner and wet n’ wild silver glitter. Angling for a kiss that he’s happy to give you til his lips damn well fall off.

He leaves the van door open. Steps you back just a little. Nudged your hips back to the body of it.

“Think I’m flirting with bad company here.” He smiles. Traces his nose along yours.

“Doubtlessly. Wanna back out now?” You ask in a husky whisper against his mouth. Hearts racing. Pulses whipping fast. Lust stirs.

His chest may implode but he’d be fine with that. Atleast he’d die kissing you. What a way to go-

“Yeah. I’m running for the hills here.” He teases. Cupping your neck and gingerly laying his fingers over your hip. You stroke hours through his long black vines of soft tousled hair.

Then he’s leaning all the way in to kiss you properly, so firmly and urgently on the mouth. Languid spearmint tongue tasting sharp and delicious, playing with your lower lip. You tug him in by his leather collar. Loving the way his body leans against yours. You moan softly.

Maybe you should’ve taken the freakin condoms after all?

Beyond the kissing, you barely hear your front door whine as it’s cracked open. Your mom hollers across the lawn with her beer in hand, and makes the dog down the street bark it’s damn head off.

“Gross. Get a room!”

You pull apart and he can’t help bursting into a smile.

“Let’s leave here. Please.” You ask of him. He can’t contain his blushy laughter.

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liz-allyn · 1 year

Text

sugar and vice, pt 4 [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: Honey wakes up to a new life.

words: 5.8 k

warning: mob-typical violence. whump. hurt/comfort. drugging. threats of violence. coersion. kidnapping. traumatic flashbacks. violence. blood. shameless forced proximity trope. imprisonment. slowest burn. a dash of questionable and/or morally grey intentions.

you're responsible for your own content consumption. but that being said, if your parents aren't harboring a several hundred dollars-worth stash of beanie babies that are worth maybe $1 today, then this is not your jam.

Back to Part 3

Part 4

When her eyes cracked open, she was staring at a chandelier made from antlers. She blinked several times, noticing that the ceiling was different from any of Peter’s other rooms. She was gazing up at a vaulted A-frame ceiling with exposed redwood beams. The peak of the frame opened to a glass wall where sunkissed blue-green needles of giant Eastern white pine trees billowed.

She groggily sat upright, realizing she was nowhere near the familiar Boroughs of the city. Her limbs felt heavy. Once again, she was alone and buried in another heavenly-soft bed. She was in a bedroom, but it featured no personal touches. It could’ve been a hotel room, or a vacation rental.

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and her bare feet touched the floor. She shuddered at how warm it was. Heated floors. A very, very expensive vacation rental.

Rubbing her dry eyes, she made her way to a closed door. It opened to a loft balcony, which overlooked the living room of a massive, two-story modern cabin. She gawked at the floor-to-ceiling windows, her breath catching in her throat at the splash of greens, yellows, and oranges from the trees lining the house. Beyond the thick treeline, she could see the smoky blue haze of a mountain range in the distance.

She stood dumbstruck, like Dorothy emerging from her tornado-tossed house.

Not in Queens anymore, was all she could think.

“You’re awake,” his voice echoed from the lower level.

She glanced down at Peter, hands in his jean pockets, wearing a thick cable-knit sweater. He looked up at her with a twinkle in his eye, one that made her fret over the state of her bedhead. She felt ridiculous up on the balcony, like someone would start the monologue from Romeo and Juliet.

She bit her lip, pulling her eyes away. No good could come from seeing him as a Romeo. Even if he easily looked the part.

“So...” she began awkwardly, her cheeks flushed by his gaze. “Are we at Disney World or something? Did we check into the Wilderness Lodge?” She studied the rustic-meets-mid-century modern furnishings, idly rubbing the lace sleeves of her blouse. Her leather jacket had been removed and she honestly didn’t know how she felt about that.

“Sorry, Honey,” he said with a soft laugh that made her stomach weak. “No Mouse here. No gators either.”

Her cheeks pinched into a smile, before she remembered how she got there. The previous day’s events— Had it only been a day? How long was she out?— hit her like a truck. Her grin faded as she recalled her kidnapping. Her abduction. Her shameful, subservient soak in a stranger’s bathtub, followed by a dreary, restless slumber in his sheets. She’d been fed and given a good wash, like a stray dog. Dressed in clothes she could never afford. And had been drugged and taken to—

“Where are we?” she sharply questioned, anxiety chilling her tone.

Whatever smile Peter wore faded. “Not in Orlando,” he bit off.

He turned his back to her and crossed the enormous but cozy living room. Returning to his previous task, he crouched down in front of a soapstone, wood-burning stove in the corner of the room. He pulled the logs loose from a small bundle of firewood, and began loading it into the stove’s iron frame.

Frustrated, she huffed, glaring at the back of his head. Wondering what she was supposed to do.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Wherever here is?”

“Well, I’m building a fire,” he gave a haughty reply. “I’ve already tested the fuses, turned everything on, unpacked, changed clothes, and made coffee in the kitchen.”

“So you do know how to make it,” she muttered under her breath, sarcasm dripping from her mouth. It was quiet enough that there was no way he could’ve heard it.

“Lemme know if you want a taste,” he coyly replied, and it made her question whether or not he had.

He hadn’t looked at her when he said it, and she was grateful because the innuendo was making her stomach flip. “I’m good.” She cursed the fact that her voice sounded more like a squeak.

“Well, since you’re wide awake,” he countered, in a teasing way that sounded too much like flirting. “Lemme show you ‘round the house.” He came to a stand, brushing the dirt and wood fibers from his hands. She found herself staring at the way his large palms glided across one another.

It triggered the memory of those hands on her waist as he helped her into the bathtub. As he dressed her wounds. As he cradled her in his arms as he carried her away from her captors. As he cupped her face, wiping away tears, shielding her from the sight of a bloodied man who likely was dead because of her.

A chill went down her spine, her arms hugging herself tighter. “Maybe later,” she frowned, tucking her chin to her chest.

Silence settled for several seconds before she peeked at him from beneath her downturned brows.

He considered her with pursed lips, silently observing. He shoved his hands back in his pockets. She bit her lip, and for a moment, she expected to hear another thinly-veiled insistence.

“Okay,” was his calm reply. It surprised her. “But do me a favor instead. Go put on some hiking boots.”

“Hiking boots? I don’t have any—”

“They’re in the closet of the room you were in,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Grab a coat too. Meet me in the kitchen in five.”

Without waiting for a reply, he strolled away. Once again, she had no room to protest.

When she opened the closet door in the room she assumed was ‘hers,’ she found a decent, walk-in space with rows of clothes hung up. She found a pair of leather hiking boots that looked brand new, in a cubby space next to 18 pairs of other shoes for a variety of occasions and seasons.

Curiously, she checked the size. She was surprised to find that whoever she was borrowing these from had similarly small feet. Looking up, she spotted a lightweight puff jacket— Patagonia, of course— hanging up among the other articles of clothing. With a sigh, she pulled down the coat and checked the size. Another lucky match. She felt odd putting on someone else’s clothes. An uncomfortable thought crossed her mind— how many women had Peter brought to this cabin?

It was a thought she didn’t like.

When she traveled downstairs, fully dressed, she found the kitchen. She could tell he had a particular style, not too far removed from the one in the penthouse she’d observed earlier. A Scandinavian take on rustic. Immaculately organized open shelving. Spotless stainless steel.

Curiously, she opened the fridge. There were a few groceries. Eggs, milk, sliced cheese, lunchmeat, orange and apple juice. It was a lot of empty space save for a few basic condiments in the door. Mustard that had exceeded its “best by” date by several months.

The more she studied the kitchen and its contents, the more information she gathered about the man currently occupying it.

An extravagant house in the mountains with breathtaking views. A kitchen worthy of Thanksgiving Dinner and every holiday celebration of the year.

Barren. Untouched. Lonely.

A few minutes later, Peter approached with the handle of a small cooler in his grip. A backpack thrown over his shoulder. She curled a brow at him.

“Sure you don’t want any coffee before we go?” he asked. “I’ve got a tumbler if you wanna take it to go.”

“Where are we going?” she asked suspiciously.

He shrugged his shoulders, a half-smile on his face. To her astonishment, he seemed...excited? Like a teenager going on a camping trip.

“Hiking,” he shrugged, like he was keeping a surprise.

She stared at him like he had grown an extra arm.

“You’ll get a chance to break those in,” Peter added, pointing at her shoes. “‘Sides, it’ll be fun.” He reached into his backpack, inspecting the contents, mentally going through a silent checklist. She hadn’t moved a muscle when he looked back up at her.

“We outta get goin,’” he explained, disagreeing with her lack of hustle. “Sun’ll set in a few hours.”

She stared. Unnerved. Swallowed hard. She picked up her boot slowly, as if it was lined with concrete.

He started shuffling towards the door, before pausing and turning back to her. “Oh, one more thing,” he added. He locked eyes with her, smile never fading. “Lose the knife.”

She blinked. Her heart skipped. He watched her, eyes piercing like a hawk.

“Y’know,” he nodded nonchalantly, “the one you took from the butcher’s block?”

Her pulse started racing as she gazed blankly at him, rendered motionless. He jerked his head towards the butcher’s block on the counter, acknowledging that he noticed one of the knives was missing.

With wide guilty eyes, she glanced at the block, then back at him.

“Go on. Put it back.”

She felt like he was staring at her forever. Every second that passed, his eyes got darker. More challenging. More dangerous.

Eyes on the ground, she crept slowly back to the block on the counter. Pulling up her shirt, she retrieved the 8-inch steel butcher’s knife tucked in the waist of her jeans. She slid it back in its proper place, then turned towards him. Trepidatiously, she lifted her eyes off the ground. Peeking up at him, afraid of his wrath.

What she found was his eyes locked on her, a satisfied little smirk on his lips. He gazed at her with an expression that was either affectionate or amused. Either way, he made it clear that she was practically powerless in this situation. She posed no threat.

“Good girl,” he appraised, before turning and heading out of the kitchen door. “Follow me.”

The hike through the woods was quiet, but not tense. At least not on his part. Peter led her on a path through a thick grove of trees. She was still shaken by being confronted about the knife. It was obviously a shock to her, but not to him. She couldn’t know that his observation skills were sharpened by years of people trying to stab him in the back, and not just metaphorically.

The trail was solid with only a few patches of mud. Luckily, the weather had been ideal for his plans. It wasn’t wet, or too terribly cold, especially with the sun positioned where it was. The increased blood circulation from the gradual upward climb helped. There was snow in the forecast but it wouldn’t start until tomorrow morning. They were lucky enough to enjoy one of the last days of fall before the winter would sink its teeth in.

Luck was not something he was used to, but he always seemed to find it with her.

Peter felt his own heart begin to beat faster, but not due to physical exertion. He dragged his hand through his hair. His palms were sweaty. They were getting close.

“Almost there,” he announced, trying to maintain his cool. Or whatever it was he was pretending to be. Many awkward years as a teen and even more awkward conversations with women proved that he was anything but cool. He’d always been a nervous wreck. It was pure luck that he’d undergone the changes in life to be able to talk to a girl, let alone have the confidence to ask them on a date.

And here he was again, feeling like he did in high school. He didn’t really know what he was saying, probably didn’t make any sense, and had no idea how to ask such a pretty girl whatever it was he was asking.

His lack of practice was showing. It had been a long time since he felt this way about anyone.

Not since—

“Are you taking me out to the woods to kill me?” his Honey blurted out.

He stopped in his tracks, turning to her with an incredulous stare.

She stood several feet from him, ramrod straight, shoulders tense.

“Really?” he breathed. More confused than offended. “That’s what you got outta this?”

She shrugged her shoulders, with that adorable anxious look on her face—the one she’d make when the wheels in her brain were spinning, and her mouth was moving a mile a minute, and all he could do was be hypnotized by the way her lips moved. “I mean... you’re you,” she softly replied, in her defense. “What else am I supposed to think?”

He pursed his lips. The sting of her words seized his throat.

'You’re you.' He considered her meaning, heart sinking. A monster, she intended to say. He couldn’t keep the sorrow from filling his eyes and her expression changed. She looked apologetic.

It made him feel even worse. She was apologizing to him. He swallowed hard.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said sincerely. He held his chin a bit higher, and she considered his truthfulness. He turned back towards the path. “C’mon.”

Quietly, she followed.

A couple of minutes later, they arrived at a clearing next to a huge flat rock. It was from an elevated vantage point that offered a beautiful view of the valley through the trees. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the vista. With ease, he scaled the rock, setting down his backpack and the cooler.

She watched him curiously as he pulled a blanket from the backpack and began laying it out on the solid surface. Once it was flat, he began pulling items out of the cooler. She heard the rustling of plastic, staring up at him curiously. He came to a stand and leapt down to her level with surprising agility. He extended his hand to her.

“C’mon,” he beckoned. “I’ll help you up.”

His Honey hesitated, as she always did, looking up at the rock, then back at him. His smile began to falter, worrying that she would refuse. She had no reason to trust him, after all. But slowly, she took his hand. He smiled, feeling his heart soar.

He clenched her body to his, wrapping one arm around her waist. He used the hand to quickly scale up the rock again, in a move so quick and effortless it made her think he was a professional rock climber. Or a mountain goat.

He held onto her tightly when they were at the top of the rock. Like the night before in his bathroom, he found himself not wanting to let go. He stared down at her bright, beautiful eyes—soft, gentle, timid— and breathed in her air. The scent of his body wash on her skin. Mingling together in an aroma that made his heart flutter.

Sheepishly, she glanced away, not able to withstand the heat of his gaze. As if remembering what planet he was on, Peter released his grip and let her stand on her own. She looked down curiously, her eyes widening to the sight at her feet.

Peter had laid out a picnic blanket and a delicious-looking spread complete with sandwiches, fresh fruit, cookies, charcuterie, and empty champagne flutes. The small gasp she let out as she observed the meal made his stomach flip. He was excited and terrified—not sure himself how she would react to his attempted olive branch.

She blinked up at him, astonished.

He felt his tongue go dry as he stammered anxiously. “I, uh... thought we could have a late lunch?” She stared, stunned and silent. “Um,” Peter felt his fingers begin to twitch. He glanced around the space, swallowing hard. “Um, p-please... Sit.” He lowered himself onto the picnic blanket, crossing his legs like a kid. Slowly and hesitantly, she followed, mirroring his position.

He beamed at the gesture. He turned his attention back to the spread. “So, yeah—um, we got sandwiches. Uh, I did turkey, cheese, with tomato, I... I-I sorta forgot the lettuce. We can still get some though. Tomorrow, not now. Because... yeah.”

She gazed at him, her expression softening as he stumbled his way through the menu.

“Some other stuff here—crackers, salami, this sliced cheese I got at a Middle Eastern grocery. I don’t think there’s anything regionally specific about the cheese, though. I think it’s just cheddar and gouda...”

He worked to hide his flustered blush. She looked up at him with a soft gaze. He hoped she found it endearing, maybe even charming—and not like he was a dork. Which is how he felt.

He rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Um, cookies—The good kind with the chocolate chip chunks that are really big. There’s also some raisin cookies because I accidentally grabbed them from a place thinkin’ they were chocolate chip, and then I got the chocolate chip cookies, but I had these oatmeal raisin ones, and nobody likes those when you think you’re getting chocolate chip, but maybe if... you had them... in addition to chocolate—”

He cleared his throat. Pictured the way his last serious girlfriend would grin at him when he was babbling. He relished the memory, and glanced up. She looked different. Not just in the obvious way, but not in a bad way. Her expression wasn’t judgmental, or annoyed, and she didn’t make him feel like a dork. She stared at him in silent astonishment, almost like she was marveling at him. Almost like he was worthy of her.

It made his heart flutter. “Anyway... uh... you can have whatever you want, um... I...” He swallowed hard. “Um, there’re also grapes. And, uh—” He glanced down into the cooler, his smile falling. “Shit,” he quietly muttered. “Damn it.”

“What is it?”

“The champagne,” he huffed in defeat, frustrated with himself. “I forgot the goddamn champagne.”

“Oh,” Honey said, gently. “It’s okay.”

He ran his palms down his face. “Nah, s’not okay—”

“No, really, it’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine,” he groaned. “I didn’t bring anything else to drink. I-I didn’t think—”

“This is—this is great,” she emphatically replied, trying to ease the pain of his embarrassment. It was another one of her kindnesses toward him.

“No, no, no, it’s—look, I got it.” He hopped to his feet and it made her nervously stretch her arms, as if she could somehow catch him if he slipped off the rock. “Don’t worry, I-I-I got it. It’s... it’s right back at the house, I can run back real quick—”

“Seriously?” she replied. “It’s... it’s way back there? I mean, you don’t have to! I promise, I'm not even thirsty. Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“No, no, no, I already laid everything out. The food’s out. It’ll just take me 2 minutes. You should dig in.”

“Wha-what? Are you sure? I can wait for you.”

“Have a cookie,” he pleaded, filled with a nervous energy that had him scurrying down the rockface. “Don’t worry, just 2 minutes. Less than! I’m gone. Already gone. Be right back!”

He took off in a frenetic jog, disappearing from her sight. She watched him, curious and confused at how he’d be able to cut down a 10-minute hike into just two.

Honey glanced back down at the appetizing spread and the thought and care that went into each detail. When did he even have time to do this? She picked at a sandwich that was cut into an elegant triangle and wrapped with cellophane. Examined it.

Then, it hit her. She glanced back at the trail, eyes wide. Peter was nowhere in sight.

He was surprised at how fast he could move through the woods, almost as quickly as he could navigate through skyscrapers. His mind was still churning over the picnic, scolding himself for forgetting something so pivotal. He grumbled about his forgetfulness, and about the awkward dissertation he decided to give about the cookies. He also neglected to bring anything else to drink. He should’ve remembered the moment she turned down coffee back at the kitchen—

He froze, dropping to the ground from the canopy. Both feet hit the dirt with a soft thud. His stomach plummeted even further.

He glanced back at the trail behind him. Where he had left his Honey.

Where minutes ago she’d questioned whether he was plotting to murder her, a thought so obscene it made him sick to his stomach.

And just a few hours before that, he’d drugged her and brought her to a location so secluded she wouldn’t even know what state she was in, not having seen a license plate.

He’d left her. Alone.

“Mother Hubbard!” he growled.

What a fucking idiot. A lovesick, bumbling dork.

At once his senses shifted into overdrive. Panic rising within him. An urgency overtook him, like a scream crawling up his throat. He was hurtling back through the air, cursing himself as he broke his body on every branch along the way.

By the time he approached the rock, he landed hard enough to crack the surface. His fears were confirmed. The picnic blanket was abandoned. The young woman was nowhere in sight.

“No, no, no, no, no…” he babbled to himself, pulling at his hair as he scanned the clearing desperately. “Honey!” His voice boomed, a crack of thunder wrapped in frustration and fury.

No reply. Not that he should expect one.

He shouldn’t expect anything.

He shouldn't expect to see her ever again—not alive, anyway.

His stomach lurched. The next time he would see her face, she’d be beaten beyond recognition. Her skull and body broken on the fists of Wilson Fisk, her blood staining the cuffs of one of his dress shirts.

“Honey!”

His second shout came out with more desperation. Breaths exploding in short bursts. The trees were spinning. His heart threatened to break out of his chest. It felt like it already had.

He dashed down the trail, eyes scouring the landscape. Senses were hyper-aware of every rustle of leaves, every snapped twig. It was too much information to take in at once.

She was gone, and he wouldn’t find her again until it was too late. Why would he think she’d stay put? Why would he think she’d stay with him a moment longer than she had to? He had her, and he lost her.

She was gone.

—stay with me, Gwen, please—

“Honey!” he screamed with a flayed voice—shrill, broken, terrified.

She had been terrified. Shaking like a leaf when he’d found her on the freezing concrete of the auto body shop. Scared of what had happened and what could happen. Scared of what Fisk’s men would do to her. Scared of what Peter would do to her.

Peter Parker, the monster.

He was trembling. He was about to cry—when had he started to cry what a fuckin’ loser— as he stared at the soft dirt and crushed leaves of the path he was on— Gwen’s broken body, spine smashed to pieces, blood spilling from her nose and eye sockets, about to be interred in the soil—searching desperately for footprints...

Katzenberg had been terrified, sputtering petty excuses through bloody lips. Half-dead, incoherent pleas. Desperate in a futile attempt to save his own life.

“It was nothin’ personal, I swear it.. I-I... It was all Kingpin’s idea—takin’ pictures... I-I-I’m not even into that sick stuff... It’s disgusting, what he wan’ed... Can’t even watch it on the internet, I gotta kid sista, y’know...”

Peter dug his nails into his palms.

Honey had been terrified.

Gwen had been terrified.

Ben had been terrified.

May had been terrified.

He was terrified. He knew Wilson Fisk and what he was capable of. Peter had seen with his own eyes the victims of Kingpin’s wrath. The gender made no difference. He left bodies destroyed.

He was going to be sick. In a fit of panic, terror and rage, he started stalking down the path, roaring out her given name.

“Your hands, Nicky,” Peter sneered as he approached his terrified captive. He was sobbing over his gag, fat tears, snot and blood streaking his face. “You put hands on a woman for the last time...”

Peter gripped the hammer tight, brought it down onto Katzenberg’s knuckles. Then he did it again. And again. And again. One for each knuckle. One for the gash on his Honey’s forehead. Eventually, he quit counting.

Peter was cupping his face, nearly dropping to his knees in the dirt. The sun would set soon. It would be dark, how would he find her in the dark? He could barely breathe. Deep breaths.

“People are so lame sometimes,” Honey gave Peter this weird little face, like she was saying ‘bleh’ and gagging simultaneously. It was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.

They had been in one of those rare, magical moments where it was an odd hour of day and the shop was empty save for the two of them. It felt selfish, having her all to himself. Indulgent. It was an indulgence that made his mouth water.

Bright-eyed, body poised like a ballerina, she craftfully poured foam into his cup. He fell under her spell. The aroma of coffee and lavender flowed through his senses, and he felt himself relaxing as he sank deeper. Taken by the current. Longing to dive into her magic.

“Ugh, it’s the worst,” she said. Even her complaints were done with a smile. “Things get a little crazy in here—like that one time during the marathon when the street was closed down so the crowd could watch so we were just friggin’ blitzed, like DEFCON 1, and it was the Rock’n’Roll one, and y’know we’ve got that drag queen revue across the street, too—super fun by the way if you haven’t gone yet—but they constructed a stage on the street with like 100 giant speakers so that one of the queens could perform as the runners went by, and they turned the volume way up and everyone kept piling in here wanting coffee. Meanwhile I can’t hear any orders because Cher is belting it out.”

She giggled and the sound alone could break his heart. “S’anyway, that’s not the point—When it gets all crazy train in here, I just hafta close my eyes and think to myself ‘deep breaths.’ In and out.”

He took a deep breath, pulling his hands from his face. Inhaled the chilly air. Breathed in the scent of wet leaves and pine and the memory of coffee and lavender.

In and out.

In his mind, she was staring at him. Giving him that look that hurt to look at. Like staring at the sun. Burned his eyes and his soul.

He’d take that image home with him, wired from the excessive amount of caffeine, and think about it when things were too overwhelming. Whenever he felt his anger building. Or when he was showering off his sins for the day and he’d let his hand wander to the part of him that burned the most for her.

In and out. Breathe. Listen.

He felt the tingle crawl up his spine. Then he heard it: a twig snap.

Before he could see it with his eyes, the picture was in his head. He bolted in its direction just as a crack rang out overhead.

Honey was falling. She let out a squeaky shriek that Peter never wanted to hear. She was plummeting, her eyes staring up at the tree canopy. She was falling to earth from her hiding place in the tree above their picnic spot.

The solid rock beneath her rushed up.

Impact. And another.

Peter gripped her body close to his chest, his arms wrapped around her like serpents. He’d snatched her from her free fall, catching her in midair and landing with a heavy thud. Chest heaving, his eyes shot to her face, searching for blood.

Her eyes fluttered wildly, disoriented from her near-fatal fight with gravity. She sucked in breath, heaving in a gasp. Gently, he lowered her to the ground, dropping to his knees. It’s like his brain lagged behind his eyesight. The fierce sound of her pounding heart released him from his terror-striken state.

When she made eye contact with him, his eyes were red-rimmed and bleary, tears welling with relief. They stayed like that for a moment—he kneeled while he cradled her, fingers trembling against her skin. He searched her eyes—you stay with me—listening to the song of her pulse.

Her hand lay limply in the dirt beneath her. Fingers brushed the sharp rough face of a softball-sized sandstone. She gazed up at him, blind instinct taking over, and slammed the rock into the side of his head.

He tumbled to the side, releasing his grip immediately. She hesitated, glancing back at her devastating hit—both shocked and horrified at her own actions. Then the panic set in. She flipped around and scrambled to her feet. She pumped her legs, running as fast as she could down the dirt trail away from her captor.

Suddenly, her feet were pulled out from underneath her. She came flying down, chest slamming into the dirt. She coughed as the air expelled from her lungs, tears filling her eyes from the shock. Reflexively, her legs were still moving, almost like a cartoon character.

No! No! No, please, no! She was unsure if her screams were in her head or if she actually recognized the sound of her own disembodied voice. Kicking her legs, confused and frustrated as it seemed they were bound in some sort of stringy—what the heck is this stuff?—material that wrapped around her legs like snakes. She kicked wildly to no avail, like her legs were tangled in blankets made of glue. She reached down, trying to free herself, snatching her hand back when she felt how sticky her binds were.

A shadow fell over her. Peter’s silhouette stood tall, back against the setting sun, as he glared down. Blood trickled from the temple near his ear. Eyes blackened with rage.

The sound she made was barely human, a pathetic yelp, as he snatched up her body and yanked her into his grip. Her legs were useless, so she used fingers, fists, palms, nails—anything to get him to release her. His hold was iron around her waist, throwing her over his shoulder like a ragdoll.

He marched down the path with her writhing desperately on his shoulder. A mix of blubbering sobs—please, nonono, please, somebody help me, please help!— and savage scratching. When she was able to angle her arm and drive her elbow in the back of his head, he whipped her body around to his front. The ease at which he tossed her made her feel infantile in comparison. A muzzled, declawed feral kitten, whom he could easily toss off a bridge into a river.

He was going to kill her. She knew it. She had screwed up badly, and now he was going to kill her. Her fight wore down, the overwhelming exhausting sorrow bearing down on her, and soon she was a weeping mess of desperate pleas. He said nothing, paused for nothing, and gave her no inclination of what was next. The way he gripped her prevented her from being able to see how infuriated he was, but she felt it in his muscles. Like osmosis his fury seemed into her and it made her shudder.

There would be pain, she thought. She was certain. Her mind flashed back to his victim in the chair and her imagination pictured what he must look like right now. She imagined a torso floating in the East River, picked apart by fish. Head and arms buried somewhere nearby in concrete.

She screamed, terrified. Begging desperately that someone could hear her. Praying for salvation.

Sooner than she thought, he had kicked open the kitchen door and was carrying her through the living room.

She could barely breathe through her sobs. “Please, please, don’t—I’m sorry, I’m sorry s-so sorry, please, don’t do this—”

He marched up the staircase and turned down the balcony to the bedroom she had woken up in. As he passed the threshold her fight came roaring back.

“No, stop! Please, please stop! No don’—I won’t run away, I promise—!”

He threw her, and her body was flying backwards. Landing hard against the mattress. The force of it silenced her for a moment as she struggled to catch her breath. Like a lion, he was on her. On top of her. His hands caught hers as she came up defensively to hit him. Wordless and possessed, he dragged her up to the headboard, his weight smothering her.

She wailed incoherently—Please don’t do this, I'm sorry, please— and was silenced by a sharp thwip. Her wrists flew to either side of her head, covered in the sticky gunk that restrained her legs. The sensation stunned her. Her body went rigid as he straddled her hips, pinning her hips down with his weight while her hands were unmovable at the sides of her head.

His eyes were the color of ink. The darkness in them threatened to swallow her. She went still, save for the uncontrollable heaving of her chest, as she peered up at his nightmare-stare with horror.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he glowered and hissed through his teeth. Her fear beckoned her to look away, but he gripped her jaw tight. Forcing her gaze into his. Pupils blown, blood trailing down his cheek like motor oil, he glared at her. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t.”

It was more than a threat. It was a promise. She knew it. Her heart seized in her throat. She cowered beneath him, trembling and pliant. Silent as a mouse.

“And I swear to god—on my mother’s soul,” he breathed through his mouth, speaking so quietly it was nearly a whisper. “If you ever pull that shit again... I will.”

It was a horrible look he gave her after that. Chilling, to say the least. Something so intimately livid. It bordered on obscene. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience, watching his body leer over hers threateningly. It wouldn’t surprise her if he reached up and snapped her neck. She was expecting it.

But he released her chin, withdrawing himself. His footsteps pounded like a hammer as he marched across the hardwood floor. The heavy door slammed, shaking the top story of the house.

With a trembling chin, she gazed up through wet eyes at the ceiling. At dust-covered antlers suspended by chains, swaying in the gentle draft.

The sound she heard outside of her room was almost inhuman. A bellowing roar. It frightened her—of every fuckin’ little thing, always so frightened, scared of your own shadow, when would she going to be done being so scared all the time?—and she squeezed her eyes shut.

She wept as quietly as she could until sleep overtook her.

Continue to Part 5

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