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scuderiahoney · 4 months

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Always Walk Me Home

Max Verstappen x Reader // Strawberry Wine Pt I

Strawberry Wine Series

Masterlist

Summary: You and Max are keeping things casual. Sooo casual. You can be casual. Right?

Word Count: 4.3k

a/n: Heeeeere we go, his number is in my bio for a reason, it’s my other favorite boy! This one is heavily inspired by some of the prompts on this list. anyways enjoy!

Warnings: alcohol/mild intoxication, mild sexual references, google translated Dutch

Things with Max are… brand new. Everything is still fresh. Everything he does gives you butterflies, makes your heart skip a beat. It’s the honeymoon phase, as everyone calls it.

It’s so brand new that nobody knows. Nothing is… official, yet. You’ve just been on a few dates, had a few movie nights. You’ve stayed at his place a couple times, waking up with his arm around your waist and Jimmy and Sassy curled up next to you. It’s casual. You’re keeping things casual. Max seems content to feel things out, to keep seeing you without labeling it. You’re trying so hard to be casual about it that it’s almost embarrassing.

You feel like everyone sees straight through you. On top of spending time alone together, you and Max are friends, so you see each other at group outings and clubs and dinners with your other friends. Max acts the same there as he always has- kind, courteous, and friendly. You won’t lie, sometimes you wish he’d hold your hand or pull your chair out for you or something, anything to show you that you’re not the only one feeling less than casual. But you’re scared of scaring him away, so you keep your mouth shut.

…..

You’re out to dinner with friends, somehow ending up sitting next to him. It’s nice, really nice. You can smell his cologne, can feel the warmth radiating off of him at the packed table. You have to fight the urge to nudge his foot with yours, to press your knee against his. That wouldn’t be very casual of you. You can do this, you can be normal.

He’s saying something to the person next to him, laughing and leaning towards them. You want to be the reason he’s laughing, want to be in on the jokes. You keep your mouth shut and look at the menu instead.

“What are you going to get?” Max asks.

He’s suddenly in your space. He’s leaning close, his shoulder brushing against yours. Be normal. You shrug, sliding your finger down the menu.

“Probably the shrimp scampi,” you say, pointing at the item.

Max nods. “You love seafood.”

You blink, breath caught in your chest. He’s right, but you didn’t know he knew that. Let alone for him to say it as fact. It’s not like he’s whispering either- someone else could hear. It’s silly, because it’s such a small thing, but you’re overanalyzing everything about it.

“I do,” you agree, turning and smiling at him.

“I remember things,” he says, a soft smile on his face, and now your face is growing hot.

Someone draws his attention away, and you look back to the menu. You nearly yelp in shock when something brushes your knee, but- it’s Max, you realize with a start, his hand searching for something. You hold your breath. His fingers find yours, and he interlaces your hands, palm to palm. He keeps them resting on your leg.

You try to take even breaths. He’s holding your hand in public, with your friends right next to you. Sure, it’s under the table, but this is the most you’ve gotten from him in a setting like this. He’s held your hand on dates, done much more in the privacy of his home, but here it feels overwhelming. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, and you resist the urge to hold on so tightly to him that he can’t let go.

Eventually the food comes, and you both let go so you can eat. But it was nice while it lasted.

…..

Max’s apartment is spacious and cozy, despite the fact that he’s gone from it so often. There’s a warmth here, an aura that just screams Max. His cats roam freely, though while you’re there they have a tendency to follow you around.

“They are traitors,” Max accuses as Jimmy and Sassy weave around your ankles in the kitchen.

“Maybe I’m just better than you,” you say.

“Oh, you are,” he says, sending up a swirl of butterflies in your stomach. “But I feed them. So they are traitors.”

You laugh, leaning down to pet the cats. They nudge their heads against your hands and legs, paw at your socks, and when you walk into the living room, they follow after. Max just watches with disappointment.

By the time he joins you in the living room, drinks in hand, both of them are curled up in your lap. He lets out a huff and sets the drinks on the table. Then he’s nudging at the cats, and you cry out when he pushes them both off your lap.

“Max!” You say, appalled.

He laughs, lays down on the couch, and promptly placed his head exactly where the two cats had been. He stares up at you with a wide grin, eyes squeezed nearly shut.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you answer.

He reaches for one of your hands. He squeezes your fingers softly before bringing your hand up to his hair. You laugh and take the hint, start running your fingers through the blonde strands. He lets his eyes fall shut. Then you watch as he brings his hand up, purses his lips, and points at them.

You take that hint too, lean over and plant a kiss on his lips. When you try to pull away, he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and keeps you there. He deepens the kiss, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of your neck to hold you there. It’s not the best angle, but it’s nice, always nice to kiss him.

He finally lets you go and collapses back into your lap, a satisfied smile on his reddened lips.

…..

“I can’t open it!” You squeak. “What the fuck, how do they make it look so easy?”

You’re holding a bottle of champagne in your friend’s apartment, trying to get the cork out. It doesn’t help that you’re scared- one too many horror stories about someone getting a cork to the eye, or breaking a window. You huff and try again, gently. No use.

“Lando slams it on the ground,” your friend suggests, her eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, and he also shattered one of Max’s trophies,” you say. “So maybe not the best example.”

You hear familiar laughter, then, and you drop one hand to your side, still holding the bottle in front of you with the other. Max makes his way through the kitchen, a smile on his lips that paints his whole face. You hold it out to him, pouting.

“No, no,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

He wraps his hand around yours, around the bottle. You can’t lie, your mind goes somewhere else for a second, but you tamp those thoughts down and try to focus.

“See, you put this hand on the cork,” he instructs, “and this hand on the bottom.”

His hands are warm over yours. Your face feels hot. Does he feel the sparks when his skin touches yours, too? Or is this normal for him? Is it just a friend helping another friend? You wish you knew, wish he’d say something to quell your worries and calm your racing heart.

“-and then you twist, like this,” he demonstrates.

The bottle hisses, and you jump, but there’s no dramatic pop, no shooting of the cork. You just pull it out, and you stare at the bottle with wide eyes. Oh. That was-

“Easy, right?” He says. “You are already a pro.”

You laugh, shake your head, and hold out the bottle to your friends, standing there with their empty glasses. You want to study their faces, ask them if they noticed anything. You want to ask if they saw the sparks, too. Someone takes the bottle, and your hands fall to your side, the cork still between your fingers.

Your knuckles brush against something- when you look, it’s Max’s hand. He’s still standing there, watching as everyone passes the bottle around. You swallow tightly, bump your hand into his. Deliberately. You want to look up at his face, want to gauge his reaction, but you resist the urge.

Max reaches his pinky out and hooks it with yours. For just a moment, standing in the kitchen, surrounded by your friends, you’re linked. The sparks run from his finger, up your wrist and arm and straight to your heart. Your chest fizzes like the champagne, bubbly and overflowing.

…..

You weren’t even planning on seeing Max tonight. It’s a girls night, one that’s been suggested over and over, each of you being too busy to make it happen until tonight. You’re at your favorite bar, bass thudding in your chest, your friends all around you.

And then, there’s a tingling feeling in your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Someone is watching you. You turn over your shoulder and lock eyes with Max.

He’s leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. He has a black t-shirt on that’s always been one of your favorites- it hugs his upper arms and his chest so perfectly. He’s watching you, a soft smirk on his lips, a drink in his hand. Everyone is moving around you, but you’re stuck on him.

You smile, wave, and force yourself to turn back to your friends. You like him, you want to spend time with him, but you’ve been neglecting your friendships because of it. Your friends have been teasing you all night about how you’ve been too busy, how you keep checking your phone, how there must be a guy. You’ve denied it at every turn. You can’t leave them now. Ditching your friends for the guy who isn’t even your boyfriend would be the opposite of casual. You force yourself not to look at him, but you swear you can still feel him staring.

Ten minutes later, a bartender appears with a tray of shots and lime wedges. “For you,” she says, pointing at you, and your friends squeal in excitement. She points behind you, then. “From him.”

You turn over your shoulder again. Max is watching, and waving this time. You laugh and wave back, and your friends all do the same. He’s far away, too far to make it in time as you each grab a shot and throw them back in unison. You put the lime between your lips and turn to look at him again, raising your brows. He laughs, eyes lit up so bright you can see the blue even across the room, you swear. Then he juts his chin in the direction of the hallway when nobody else is looking. A message just for you.

You find him out there ten minutes later, trying not to make it obvious and taking the time to come up with an excuse- you fake a phone call. The hall is empty when you walk out, and you wonder if he’s given up on you- you know you saw him walk out. Then he pops his head out from around a corner and waves you over frantically.

He’s leaning against the wall, the same way he was in the club. You stand against the wall on the other side of the hallway and stare at him.

“I’m not leaving right now,” you say. “I promised I’d stay out late.”

“I know,” he says. “Just wanted to see you.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? Seeing me across the bar wasn’t enough?”

The tequila running in your veins has you feeling braver than usual. It doesn’t seem to scare Max. He just grins wider, brow quirked.

“No, it wasn’t,” he says. “You’re pretty from far away, but even prettier up close.”

Your face feels hot. He pushes off from the wall, leans towards you. He could box you in if he wanted, could pin you right there, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes your hand in his and pulls you away from the wall, too. The kiss he sweeps you into is sweet. He wraps his arm around you, and you sling yours around the back of his neck. One of his hands cradles the side of your face as he deepens the kiss. Out of all of it, you’re much more focused on the feeling of his thumb on your cheek than the feeling of his lips on yours. It’s strangely intimate, strangely soft, the way he holds you as he kisses you in the hallway of a bar. The way his nose nudges against your cheek, the way he pulls you closer and closer like he can’t get enough.

He pulls away, leaves you gasping for air.

“You taste like lime,” he says.

You nod, dumbfounded.

“You should go back to your friends,” he suggests, kissing your temple. “If I keep kissing you I won’t want to let you go.”

You breathe out a laugh and slap his shoulder. “If you keep staring at me in the club I won’t be able to focus on anything else.”

He laughs. “I know,” he says. “That’s what makes it fun. Besides, you’re fun to watch.”

…..

Three days later, Max is holding your purse. He’d taken it from you when you were all standing in the lobby of the restaurant and your friend dragged you into the bathroom. He’d promised to keep it safe. Now you’re back, your friends are gathering their things and saying goodbyes, getting ready to go home. You’re watching him.

The little black bag looks even smaller in his hands. His fingers are wrapped around the clutch, thumb rubbing back and forth across one of the stitches the same way it had on your skin the night before. He’s talking to someone else, but when there’s a break in the conversation, you nudge him.

“I can take that back,” you say, holding your hand out.

He tilts his head, blinks softly. “That’s okay. I’ll carry it.”

You’re sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights. “Okay, but I’m leaving, so I need my purse.”

He nods. “I thought maybe I could walk you home. If you wanted.”

You nod in response, feeling a bit dumbfounded. The two of you exit the restaurant, waving goodbye to your friends. He takes your hand the second you’re outside, your purse still in his other one. Your fingers knit together like second nature, now. You could predict the pattern of the brush of his thumb against your skin like clockwork.

Your apartment isn’t far, but you find yourself walking slow on purpose, prolonging the moment. You pass people on the street and you know that to them, the two of you look like a real, actual couple. It’s nice to pretend. You lean into his shoulder, and he stumbles and laughs and keeps both of you upright. The two of you talk the whole way there, about everything and nothing and all the stuff in between.

When you reach the apartment building, he finally holds your purse out to you. You open the clutch, digging through it to find your keys and the front door access card. He watches in amusement as your fingers fumble through the bag.

“D’you wanna come up?” You ask. “I have some of that wine you like.”

You pull the card triumphantly from your bag. You look up at him, and he’s smiling softly, something sparkling in his eyes that makes your breath hitch. Makes the champagne bubble in your chest all over again.

“That’s okay,” he says, softly. “I’ve got to get back to the cats. But can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

You blink, card still pinched between your fingers. “Yeah, sure.”

He tilts his head at you. “Maybe brunch. You are going to need sleep. How about you text me when you wake up and we’ll go from there?”

You nod. He nods back. Then he reaches up, cups the side of your face in his hand. He’s so gentle about it, more so than he normally is. When he presses his lips to yours, he tastes like gin and he kisses like… like he cares for you. Like this isn’t leading somewhere else, like he’s not going to pull you into his lap and start trailing kisses down your neck. He kisses you just to kiss you, just to say goodnight.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says when he pulls away. “Goodnight, liefje.”

You smile up at him. “Goodnight, Max.”

He smiles back. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to your forehead softly. You swear you’re melting into the sidewalk. You must be a puddle under his feet. You want to press yourself into his chest, tell him to wrap his arms around you, ask him to never let you go.

But you’re trying so hard to be so good at being casual, so you kiss his cheek, turn around, and walk inside. You take the elevator up, leaning against the wall and covering your giddy smile with your hand. When you get into your apartment, kick off your heels, and drop your bag on the counter, your phone buzzes. It’s a call. You look at the screen and see Max’s face.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Did you get in alright?” He asks.

Your heart squeezes fiercely in your chest. He sounds so soft, asking it. You walk over to the window, peel back the curtains, hoping you’re right about what you think you’ll see. There he is, still standing in front of the entrance, phone to his ear. He’s staring up at your window. When he sees you, he waves.

“Yeah,” you say. “You didn’t have to wait, you know.”

But I’m so glad you did.

“Yes I did,” he says, voice soft and scratchy from the night out. “Had to make sure you were safe.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “Let me know when you get home, okay?”

“I will,” he says. You watch as he waves again, smiling up at you. “Goodnight.”

…..

He picks you up for brunch the next day. By the time you’re in his car, it’s nearly 10:30. He drives with his hand on your knee, like always, fingers dancing across your exposed skin below the hem of your sundress. You like watching him drive, like being here with him. He pulls up to the restaurant and runs around to open your door for you, leaving you laughing. He hands the keys to the valet. Then he slips his arm around your waist and leads you inside.

You’ve been on dates with him, but none this fancy, none where you feel a little out of your element. Max seems comfortable, though- it’s moments like these where you’re reminded he’s not just your-friend-Max. He’s F1-world-champion-Max-Verstappen. Of course he can get a reservation here with such short notice. They’re honored to have him here.

A waiter leads you to a booth in the back. The restaurant is bright and airy, fresh flowers on every table. Max asks for a pitcher of water and orange juice before the waiter leaves. He pulls your chair out for you, pushes it in when you sit down. Your palms are sweating, heart beating rapidly. It’s just- this is the closest you’ve come to feeling like you’re actually dating him. Suddenly, it’s terrifying.

You ask him what’s good on the menu. He points out his favorites- the French toast, the eggs Benedict, the omelettes. He tells you he’s going to order a fruit sampler for the two of you to share, and you smile softly.

“They always have the best strawberries,” he tells you, eyes lit up. “You love strawberries.”

“I do,” you tell him, warmth filling your cheeks. “You do too.”

You’d bonded over that, when you first became friends. A strawberry wine that nobody else wanted to drink. Too sweet. You’d split the bottle with Max and went to bed with a sugar rush, your lips still tasting like strawberry. Ever since, for every special occasion, the two of you have gifted each other that same strawberry wine. It’s a running joke, among your friends- you’ll open the bottle, ask if anyone wants a glass. They’ll ignore you, but Max will come running.

He opens his mouth to say something, but over his shoulder, you spot something that makes your blood run cold.

“Shit,” you mutter.

He looks at you in concern. “What is it?”

“Nothing, just-“ you sigh. “Your coworker is here.”

Charles Leclerc has just walked in the door, a girl on his arm. The waiter is pointing in your general direction, towards an open table a little ways away. There goes your whole morning. He’s going to want to leave now.

Max turns to look, brows raised. “Oh. At least it’s one I like.”

You can’t help the laugh. “Should we go?”

Max turns back to you, perplexed. “What, get up to say hi? I don’t like him that much. He’ll come over here when he sees us.”

Us. You wish he meant it how you want him to.

“No, like-“ you sigh, gaze flickering down to the table. “You don’t want people to know, so-“

“What?” He asks, wide eyed. “What do you mean, I don’t want-“

“You didn’t want to tell anyone,” you say, quietly. You can’t look at him. “We haven’t even really talked about this, and… I figured you…”

You trail off, because you can feel him staring at you. He reaches over and tucks his finger under your chin. He tilts your face upwards towards his. His gaze is soft, a small smile on his face.

“Schatje, you have to be joking,” he says, and you stare back at him. “Of course I want to tell people. I have wanted to tell the whole world since I kissed you the first time.”

You blink. “But you- you didn’t want to put a label on it. You never…”

“We never talked about it,” he says. “I was giving you time. I’m a lot. Dating me is a lot. You are… I was following your lead.”

“Oh my god,” you blurt out, a giddy feeling in your chest. “Oh my god, I’m so dumb.”

The two of you just stare at each other for a moment. His eyes are bright and sparkling, his smile spreading across his whole face. You’re so done being casual.

Charles appears at the end of your table seconds later, smiling at the two of you. “Max, hi, good to see you. And I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” he adds, turning to you.

“Charles, this is my girlfriend,” Max says, reaching across the table to take your hand.

When you greet Charles, you can’t wipe the giddy grin from your face. It stays there the whole rest of the day- through breakfast, through a walk through a park, through a late lunch at Max’s with the cats winding around your ankles. Every time it starts to fade you think of Max, bright blue eyes, his finger under your chin. You fall asleep still smiling. You’re pretty sure it’ll be there when you wake up.

…..

The next time you go out with your friends, Max carries your bag the whole night. He also keeps his hand on the small of your back nearly constantly. He orders and pays for all of your drinks, includes you in all the conversations, and brushes his lips against your temple every time there’s a lull in the talking.

Nobody questions it. None of your friends even bat an eye. You find out why when you end up in the bathroom with the girls, a tradition as old as time itself.

It turns out they all already knew.

“Max told us all the day after he kissed you the first time,” someone tells you. “And then he told us we all had to act like nothing was different, because he didn’t want to scare you off.”

You collapse into a fit of laughter, bracing yourself against the sink. All this time, you were worried about it, and he’d told everyone right away. You’d thought you were the one struggling to be casual. God, you’d have saved yourself so much trouble if you’d only asked. If you’d only told him straightforward what you wanted. If you’d only been up front.

You’re giddy with it, then. You can feel it coursing through your veins and buzzing in your fingertips. You won’t call it love yet, at least not out loud. It’s too soon, right? It can’t be love. But it’s something, and now you want him next to you. You want his lips on yours again. You’re missing him even though he’s just through the door, waiting for you, your bag in his hand.

When you return to his side, you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. You watch his smile grow and his cheeks turn red. You place your hand on his shoulder and put your lips against his ear.

“You should take me home,” you tell him.

His cheeks get even redder, and he turns to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “You’ll walk me home, right?”

“Always,” he agrees.

He takes your hand, squeezes lightly. You feel like you’re glowing brighter than the neon lights above your head.

…..

You slip up over your morning cup of coffee three days later. The cats are in your lap. There’s the perfect amount of cream and sugar in the mug, he’s made it exactly right. The sun is shining through the windows, bouncing off his hair and painting his skin in golden light. You weren’t going to say it out loud, you really weren’t, but it slips past your lips anyways.

“I love you,” you say.

Max laughs, takes the mug from your hands, and kisses you.

Then he says it right back.

read the prequel/ sequel, Someone Sane

okay, now I’ve got my three favorite boys in the masterlist! thanks for reading! come say hi, or check out more of my writing here. drop an ask or a dm to be added to the tag list!

taglist: @4-mula1

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #max Verstappen #fanfic #max verstappen fluff #fluff #honeywrites #mv1 #strawberry wine verse

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upsidedownwithsteve · 3 months

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Eddie Munson x fem!reader

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I want to.”

It had become a call and response of sorts, a mantra that Eddie seemed to live by, if not only for you. Usually his words were followed up by a kiss, something sweet pressed to your cheek. Or he’d pull you into him by your belt loops, hands a little rough but his intentions always soft, his face dropping to the crook of your neck so he could nuzzle his nose there, like he didn’t really know how else he could possibly give you all the love he had for you.

So when your car inevitably gave up, the clutch grinding and the gears sticking, Eddie didn’t hesitate. You didn’t even ask, always feeling bad for expecting but it didn’t come to a surprise when he took your keys from you and dropped a kiss to the corner of your mouth, a little off kilter from the early morning sleep that still clung to him.

“Eddie,” you began, as usual. Soft and shy and guilt ridden. “You don’t have to. I know you’re busy right now.”

“Never too busy for my girl,” he responded, wincing a little as he dug out his chocolate pop-tart from the still too hot toaster. He’d learnt the hard way not to use a knife anymore. He tore off a piece of pastry, a sprinkle on his cheek, ruby red. “Besides, what do I tell you, huh? I know I don’t have to - I want to, sweetheart.”

He grinned when you scrunched your nose, embarrassment and too much love clinging to you, Eddie’s adoration too obvious when he leaned down to where you sat with your coffee. He let you brush away the sprinkle, grumbling about how he was saving it for later but his protests died off on his lips when you stole them for a kiss, your hands on his stubbly cheeks.

The boy was pink when you pulled back, pleased looking and much more awake. Then, Eddie winked as he spun your keys around own finger, the rest of his breakfast bitten between his teeth as he left for work, always a flurry bed mussed curls and silver chains.

When he didn’t arrive home by five, you knew exactly why. It wasn’t too long a walk to the garage, but you knew he’d scold you all the same. That’s why you had a Tupperware box full of pasta in your hands, a foil wrapped cookie on top, still warm from when you’d pulled it from the oven.

Sure enough, when you arrived at the almost empty garage, your boyfriend was the only one left working. You passed Wayne as you ducked under the half closed shutter, sharing the same fond look of faux annoyance that you pretended to both have for the younger Munson and you promised the man there was more pasta for him at home.

Eddie didn’t see you approach, too busy with half of his body under the hood of your car, poking and prodding it with tools you didn’t know the name of. You made sure to make enough noise before you rested a hand on the small of his back, fingers skating over the bare strip of skin left exposed between his shirt and jeans.

His smile was too much when he appeared from the car, always happy to see you. And like you thought he would, despite his grin and the way his eyes lit up, he grumbled:

“What’re you doin walkin’ half way across town on your own, huh?”

You rolled your eyes even if you didn’t mean it, your expression still fond and you pushed his dinner to his chest. He accepted the food with a happy hum, peeking into the container to eye it appreciatively.

“It’s a twenty minute walk, handsome,” you replied. “And it’s very much still light out.” You smiled at his worry because the evening behind you was barely beginning, the summer sun still high enough in the sky to keep the sidewalks golden, the warmth lingering.

Eddie grumbled again, no real heat behind it as he leaned in for a kiss, careful not to put his dirty hands on you. “Still. You’re too pretty to walkin’ around alone.” Another kiss, this one softer, longer. “Thanks for dinner, sweetheart.”

You beamed, happy to have helped. “Least I can do since you’re fixing my car.” You frowned at the vehicle like it had offended you. “How’s it looking?”

“She’ll live,” Eddie sighed dramatically, giving the roof a pat. “If you remember to change her oil, that is.”

Your cheeks burned.

“But I’ve sorted the clutch, so that shouldn’t stick anymore and there’s a part needed for the gearbox, but I’ve got that on order,” the boy bit into his cookie, desperate for sugar. He moaned, a sinful noise that was meant for both you and the chocolate. “Hopefully it’ll be here tomorrow so I’ll do one more late night, get this hunka’ junk back on the road for you in no time.”

You knew it was a fruitless effort to ask Eddie to let you pay in anyway. Hell, Wayne would shut you down just as hard. Eddie didn’t want you paying for any of his hourly rates, overtime or not. And as he’d told you before, costs for parts could get lost sometimes, receipts slipping down the backs of desks, never to be seen again.

So you smiled at him instead, soft and sweet and warm like the summer. You didn’t mind the oil stains on his shirt as you leaned in, hands against his torso, feeling the faint lines of muscles and soft skin there.

“Thank you,” you murmured against his lips, stretching up on your toes to bump your nose against his. A kiss, tasting like chocolate chips, lingering and lazy. “I love you.”

Eddie went shy like he’d never heard you say the words before. Maybe you didn’t say them enough, maybe you needed to remind him hourly, especially if it got him looking at you like that, eyes all wide and soft and awe filled.

He pecked your lips, your cheek, your jaw, nose pushing at the space under your ear as he told you the same. “I love you too, pretty.”

You didn’t need to hear it back, as nice as the words sounded on his lips. Eddie showed you how much he loved you every single day.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson blurb #Eddie Munson imagine #UDWSLOVELANGUAGES

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yanderenightmare · 6 months

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Bakugou Katsuki

TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, kidnapping, captive darling, gross Bakugou

fem reader

Thinking about hermit forest-dweller Bakugou who lives alone in his lodge…

You got a little lost off the beaten track and were so relieved when you happened upon his homey red-wood cabin, spotting smoke from the chimney and feeling your stomach gurgle from the promise of warm food when knocking on his door.

You’re so terribly sorry to bother him – but your phone has no cell reception, and the map you brought with you had gone pasty and torn in the rain and you have just no idea where you are or how to get back.

He’s rather handsome for a loner, you think. Rough around the edges – hairy and reeking of beer and barnacles. He grunts out a “come in” after you’ve explained yourself, and you follow with a relieved smile, already thanking him.

But only a short second after you’ve taken a step over the threshold comes a hard cack to the back of your head. And for a cloudy moment, you’re something akin to numb all over – only barely registering the harsh feeling of splintery wooden floors against your cheek where you’d fallen to – slowly succumbing to the darkness that forced your eyes to glide close – but not before you could recognize and curl your brows to the big pair of black mountain boots in front of you.

When you wake up, you’re in a bed. It’s a welcomed softness – a warm pleasantness against your wintered skin after you’d wandered aimlessly around in the cold rain – now getting toasty from the heat of the fireplace.

But there’s something more – something not right.

You’re not wearing any clothes. And your hands have been roped behind your back in a strict knot, keeping them locked tightly together.

And you’re being rocked against the sheets – back and forth, back and forth – and you can barely breathe because of it.

And there’s something on top of you – and something fat and wet stuffing your cunt from the back, fucking your taut hole while your eyes flutter with sleep and the start of a pounding headache.

You try screaming when it dawns on you – try twisting your arms free – try getting up, but your mouth has been filled with what you think is your underwear and only muffled cries manage to escape it.

He gruffs out something like, “Quiet, whore.” Planting a harsh slap against your ass while keeping his rhythm steady, thrusting his thickness inside the wet welcome of your quivering little cunt as it seeps with slick for him, soaking him so sweetly it’s even trickling down your thighs in slim lines.

You cry, feeling the stranger touch and fuck you, his heavy hands gritty from work groping the soft fat of your ass while his booted feet kick yours further apart once you try pulling them closed – punishing you with another mean slap to your plush.

The ache in your belly tells you he’s been at it for a while. Having fucked your tightness sore with his girthy meat – shoving it so hard it bends in order to fit all of him inside. His heavy-hung balls swing beneath him, clapping with wet slaps against your budding clit – making your cunt squeeze and suckle him despite your efforts to ignore it.

He groans at the feel before thrusting in all the way to the hilt in one harsh jab – spewing his gross warmth right into your womb.

You’re shell-shocked. Eyes terror-wide, drying as you stare into nothing – waiting for it to make sense – but it doesn’t. A stranger had just spunked inside you and you can feel the warm fatty liquid trickle down your cunt and thighs once he pulls his chubby member out.

“S’been a while since I had my balls emptied like that. Good puss’ milked me dry.” He grumbles with satisfaction, lifting his pants from the pool around his boots and buckling himself back up – giving your puffy cunt a wet slap before he’d quite simply just walked off and gone about the rest of his day – returning to use you later.

From then on, you wear nothing but an old red flannel shirt – it smells of man sweat and other things and is so well-worn all the buttons are gone. The clothes you came in were used as easy firewood. He’d burned it all – every article in your backpack except one – the panties you’d worn – which he instead nailed to the wall like it was another pelt or the head of an animal he’d hunted down.

He keeps you on the floor most of the time. You’re leashed with a fat metal chain meant for a rottweiler – and a leather collar kept snug around your throat with a lock and a tag that reads Pup. He must’ve had a dog at some point, but you’re guessing it died – and you’re its replacement – and whether you want it or not, he’s going to train you into being his proper bitch.

During morning news, you take care of his morning wood – sometimes with your cunt and sometimes with your mouth. He’s still cuddly after waking up, needy for warmth, wanting you skin-to-skin – mostly seating you down on his lap, bouncing you lightly on his cock with his chin resting in the grove between your neck and shoulder. Groaning tiredly while pawing your tits.

If he doesn’t blow his load before the news is over, he’ll bring you with him in the shower. And in the steamy heat, he’ll wake up to give you a real pounding. Your face mushed against the tiles – chin and cheekbone bruising from the force of it while he holds your arms behind your back and rams up into your cunt faster than the droplets fall to the floor. Quick juts until finally creaming inside you, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades while dumping every last drop in deep.

After a long day, he likes when you suck his balls while he drinks his beer and eats his dinner, watching sports. Licking the sweat off the back of his cock, no doubt tasting the dried piss from when he’d taken a leak in the forest. Sometimes he’ll say it. “Suck it clean, slut- be happy I didn’t take a shit, or you’d be tonguin’ my ass with that pretty face too.” Always threatening you with something gross that’ll kick you into the right gear – motivating you to be his little cock-eager whore – down there on your knees with your hands bracing against his thighs, throating his length while he holds a firm hand at the back of your head, fisting your hair so tight strands rip free from their roots while you desperately try and will away your gag reflex in order to please him – eyes squeezed tight with slobber making spit bubbles down your chin.

You’re not allowed dinner before swallowing his load. Dinner – being the leftovers he’ll scrape off his plate into a dog bowl. The first time around, you’d looked up at him like he couldn’t be serious, and he’d only squeezed your face rough and said, “Be happy I don’t piss in it, slut.” And then he’d spat on you, once on your face, then once more in your mouth. It was thick and tasted of brown nicotine and ash and you haven't gotten rid of the taste since.

He’ll throw his feet up on your back while you bow down to eat out of your bowl – using you like a warm footstool until the game is done. If his team wins, he fucks your cunt like usual – but if they lose, it’s your assthat’ll pay the price.

When you’re allowed on the couch, he likes sitting opposites so you can take his muddy boots off and massage his feet. They’re still clammy with sweat from work when you peel his woolen socks off. Chipped dry toenails and scaley callouses, the skin yellow and cracked and rough where you dig your fingers in.

He’ll take his cock out after a while and gather your smaller, softer feet around it – rubbing himself through them while you keep rubbing his soles. When you’re busy with one, the other rests heavily on your tit, pawing it. Sometimes, he’ll even bark at you to suck on the toes.

But it's only until the news is over. After that, he has you crawl over to rest on his chest, nose stuffed with the musk of sweat, wood oil, and leather while he sinks his fat erection all the way up into your womb – storing it there, where it will stay nestled and warm while you watch a western or hunter’s documentary.

He’s hairy like a bear and it makes you feel extra naked. Feeling it tickle your soft skin while he rests an arm on your back – a hand absentmindedly twiddling with your pretty hair.

When he’s not outside cutting down trees and hunting or inside on the couch with a beer, he’s in the meat locker – skinning animals and sectioning flesh. He often fucks you in there. Bent over the cold metal slab, your face in the stags' blood while he growls at your ear how that’ll be you on one of them hooks if you don’t squeeze his cock harder.

But he’s not always so mean.

He’s nicer to you when you act cute for him. When you lie belly-up, raising your thighs and keeping them spread wide for him – covering your gash with your hand while you work it into a nice glossy welcome, wet and ready to get fucked like a little breeding cow. Pretty words on your pretty lip while you beg him with pretty pleas, asking him to stuff you like one of those animals he’s mounted on the wall.

Rich city sluts like you need to be taught you can’t fuck around in his forest without paying your dues. And you’ve learned your lesson – riding him like he’s a mechanical bull from the rodeo like a good tramp should – jumping on his fat shaft with your perky tits bouncing in his face.

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luveline · 2 years

Text

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one | part two | part three

summary you’re a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. queue lunch break visits, rocky road ice cream, a too-big bouquet, and the rainbow connection.

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie’s birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, tw talk of dying (and past lives)

𓆩❤︎𓆪

You're dozing against the back wall in the kitchen when Benny clears his throat. The grease back here while he's cooking tends to get pretty thick and you're tired to begin with. It's a recipe for nodding off.

Flinching into a proper standing position, you give your boss an apologetic smile. "What?" you ask, blinking hard.

"Your boy's here."

"My boy?"

"Curly hair, tattoos. Looks like he hasn't showered this week. Or any week, actually." Benny laughs, a chesty, self-satisfied chuckle.

You rush to his side, careful of the spitting hot grill, and follow his gaze out of the kitchen window. Eddie's about two seconds away from opening the glass door, clad in his smart work uniform.

"He's not my boy," you say.

Benny scrapes his spatula across the grill's bubbling surface and flips a burger. "If he's the reason you're tired today, you can consider him banned. He's ruining my best waitress."

"I'm your only waitress." The door opens. Eddie stops in the doorway and casts his gaze around the room. You hide behind the wall and fuss with your hair. "And no, he's not keeping me up. It's Junie." Isn't it always Junie? She's your baby and you adore her, but that doesn't mean she's getting any easier to handle. The terrible twos are persevering with a ferocity you can't quite withstand, or at the very least sleep through.

"He eating?" Benny asks.

"I'll go find out."

You wipe the oil from your nose and grimace as you walk out into the actual seating area of the diner. It's empty but for one person and Eddie, who grins when he sees you.

"Hey, sweet thing."

You try not to show how much you like being called 'sweet thing'. Your face must betray you somehow because Eddie's grin turns smug and he approaches until he's basically stepping on your toes.

"How's it hanging?"

You snort. "Benny asked if you're eating."

"What's today's special?"

"Cheeseburger."

He fixes your shirt collar. You can feel the warmth of his fingers and the cooler metal of a ring grace your throat. "Yeah, I'm eating."

You report back to Benny with his order and find the cook's already added two burgers to the grill. He points his spatula at the now grilled and constructed burger for Darren. If you hadn't taken it you'd still know who's it was; Benny's regulars are loyal to a fault. The same old guys come in here day in and day out, and they all want the same thing.

Quarter pounders.

You take it, twist around a childish Eddie trying to trip you up and deliver it to Darren, a frowny-faced farm-hand that Benny swears is a nice guy deep down. You've yet to dig far enough.

Eddie tries to trip you up again when you come back. You glare at him, stepping on his toes gently – more a threat than a real show of aggression – and disappear again through the kitchen door.

"So." Benny throws down a basket of fries before moving to the chopping board with a fresh tomato in hand. "He's your boyfriend?"

"Do we have to do this?" you ask, joining him at the chopping board. You try to snag a slice of tomato and are quickly tutted away.

"Is he?"

"No," you say, trying again for some tomato.

"Kid, if you don't wait."

You pout and set back on your heels.

The burgers sizzle. Benny throws a slice of cheese over Eddie's and lets it melt. Quicker than you can believe, Benny constructs two burgers and fills a red plastic basket with fries.

He offers them to you. "Lunch break."

Free food. You smile at him sheepishly and try to take them. He pulls his arms back.

"Wha-"

"If he's your boyfriend, you better tell me now."

"Benny, I don't know if you know this, but I'm an adult. Already got knocked up once."

"And where is he now?"

Chastised, you mumble, "He's not my boyfriend," and Benny finally hands over the food. He looks like he might try to ruffle your hair if you stick around, so you knock open the kitchen door with your hip and make a speedy exit.

"What's with the face?" Eddie asks as you sit, reaching for the hot plate balancing across your forearm.

"I think Benny just tried to give me a dad talk."

He laughs like this is the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Really? What did he say?"

You shake your head. That's not a bag of worms you're interested in delving into right now. Your brains too fried, and the food smells great. Your stomach aches with hunger.

"You want a coke?" you ask.

Eddie stands up. "I'll get them. Sit down, okay?"

You sit down and shove a greedy handful of fries into your mouth, turning in your seat to watch Eddie talk.

He leans over the metal ledge of the kitchen window. It's quiet enough to hear him laugh, hear him say, "No, sir," in a tone that borders sarcastic.

He wields a five dollar bill at Benny, who shoots him down.

"Put it in the Junie jar," Benny says.

"Junie jar?" Eddie questions, though he's smiling.

Your eyebrows furrow at the expression. You've never heard it either.

"I don't bother pretending she spends it on anything else."

"You got that right."

You flush with heat all the way to to the tips of your ears and turn back to the table before Eddie can catch you watching.

He throws himself into his seat like he's collapsed. The twin cokes in his hands upheave and then splash back into themselves, an impressive and ridiculous show of skill that makes you gasp.

"For you." He shoves a glass down next to you. The ice cubes clink.

"Thank you," you say, and don't waste any time digging into your food.

He squints at your eager eating, though he waits until you've taken the worlds biggest bite of your burger before he asks, "Hungry?"

You swallow before you mean to and have to take a big sip of your drink to avoid choking to death. "I didn't eat breakfast."

"How come?"

You can't take his concern. Your eyes drop this hand where it picks through fries, no rings in sight. He’d told you once he can’t wear them at work, because he gets really warm and the rings are costume jewellery. His hands look bare without them, but they’re very nice hands. You follow the stark line of a bone down from his knuckles and focus in on his simple wrist watch as you explain.

"It took me an hour to get her to finish a slice of toast this morning. I usually wouldn’t make her finish, but she's not eating well."

You don't have to say who. Eddie tips his head back to eat a handful of fries like a courtesan eating grapes, all grandness.

"Teething?"

"She has all her teeth already," you say. A laugh bubbles up, delighted at his suggestion.

"What do you think it is?"

You wipe the corner of your mouth with a napkin and shrug. Eddie sees straight through your forced nonchalance.

"No, seriously. What do you think?"

"I don't know. Maybe she's gonna come down with the flu. She didn't sleep all night either, and…" You rub your tired eyes with the backs of your hands. "I don't know. I hope she's feeling better at pick up, but I doubt it."

"How are you feeling?" He says 'you' softly, almost crooning.

"Tired, Eds."

"I can see that."

The door opens and a breeze whips your ankles. You hide them further under the table and cringe when you kick Eddie straight in the foot. He only raises his eyebrow at you and kicks you back. "What's your problem?" he mumbles under his breath, smiling.

When the burgers are gone and there's only a couple of cold fries left, you and Eddie fall into conversation about tonight. He's finally playing a gig after months without one, and you're riddled with guilt.

"I wish I could come," you tell him, feeling gutted that you won't see him in action.

You wonder what he looks like on stage. Sometimes it's hard to coalesce the Eddie you know and the other Eddie, rocker Eddie. He's so sweet. The image of him on stage and sweating, rocking out, you can't summon it.

You clear your throat. "I'm sorry we can't."

Eddie shakes his head quickly, fingers playing with the chain around his left wrist. "Don't worry about it. Junebugs's gotta sleep. You gotta sleep."

You pick at your nails, shame-faced. If you were a good friend you'd go and see him perform, but you're a good mom so you can't. Maybe you could get a sitter… only you don't trust anybody to look after her. Not the way you would. And people can be evil.

Maybe I could take her to the Hideout, you think tentatively.

You couldn't. It's too loud, it's too rowdy. You're not sure they'd even let you in with a baby.

"Sorry," you say again, dropping your cheek into your palm.

Eddie doesn't smile. He turns his wrist, the back of his hand to the table and his palm open between you.

"Don't be sorry," he says. He watches your face and slowly, slowly, mischief creeps into his expression. "How about I give you a private show?"

Your breath catches in your throat.

"You and June've never heard me play. I could bring an amp. June can play drums. You'll sing."

His allocation shocks you out of your thoughts. "Why can't you sing?"

"What will you do, then? If I sing?"

You flounder.

He lifts his coke to his lips and smirks at your silence. "Exactly."

"Eddie, I can't sing."

He waves his hand at you rather than answer.

"I won't sing."

"Oh, you won't?" he asks, tone enough to make you cross your legs under the table. He rolls his eyes.

"No. Let Junie do it. She's always singing."

"And you'll-? What?"

You shrug. He imitates you, over-exaggerated enough to make you gasp a laugh.

“Is that supposed to be me?"

He ignores your question in favour of his own. "You'll do nothing. Typical."

"You're getting too big for your boots, Munson," you warn, sliding his plate on top of yours.

He stacks your empty glasses. The two of you stand and linger. He should go back to work. You should too.

"I'll come over tomorrow?" he asks finally.

"Okay." You look over him in his clean clothes and neater than usual hair and can't help smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," you say quietly, opening your arms just slightly.

Eddie takes the hint and wraps his arms quickly around your shoulders, careful of the plates in your hand. He rubs them once, a good, grounding pressure across the breadth of your back. Your nose presses against his neck. He smells like aftershave and cigarette smoke and skin.

Before you know it he's pulling away, the end to an amicable embrace between friends. Almost disappointing, not quite what you want anymore, but a relief and a comfort all the same.

He chucks your chin. "Tell Junie I miss her."

"I will."

"Okay." He turns to walk away. "Bye, sweetheart," he shoots over his shoulder.

"Bye!" you call.

The door shudders in his wake. You stand there watching until Benny clears his throat pointedly and asks you to come and make some more coffee.

You rush through the rest of the day. You finish earlier than you should because Benny's in a gracious mood, thrusting your tip jar into your arms with a command to get some sleep. You promise you'll try your best and head out for the daycare.

Junie's asleep in a bean bag by the baby gate when you get there. You stop dead in your tracks. She has her shoes and coat on already, her backpack in her lap. You look up at the childcare worker in charge today, a nice lady called Deborah, quizzically.

"She's been like that for an hour. I'm sorry we couldn't keep her awake."

You pout at Junie. "Why she got her coat on?"

"She insisted. Screamed bloody murder. Think she was excited to see you," she says, smiling softly.

You smile in return. "Thank you, Deborah. Have a nice weekend.”

Deborah nods and disappears back into the play room. You open the baby gate with likely less dexterity than you should have as a mom and drop to your knees in front of the beanbag, careful not to make too much noise. You're wondering if you can carry her to the car without waking her up when her foot moves, then her arms. They fall to her side as her eyes open.

"Hey, baby," you say, feeling weirdly emotional. She looks so lovely and pretty, and if she's sick that's gonna pluck your heart strings (and cause a boat load of problems).

"Mommy," she mumbles, eyes bleary.

"That's me." You reach out to squeeze her little thigh. "My poor girl, what's the matter? Does your tummy hurt?" you ask carefully.

She blinks.

"Why're you sitting here all by yourself? You didn't want to play with Adrien? Or Lucy?"

When she doesn't reply you take her backpack and thread your hand through the strap, offering your open arms to her. She can barely sit up, her movements slow and sluggish.

"Here," you murmur, sliding your hands under her armpits and pulling her into your chest.

She finally smiles, hands bunched up at the collar of your shirt. You leave some room to look at her and she looks at you. You're surprised she's not whining or crying.

"Hey," you say again, amazed at her droopy smile. "You look like you've had a good day."

Her head drops forward. You think she's nodding, though that might be wishful thinking. You don't even know if toddlers can nod.

Of course they can nod, you think to yourself scathingly. I mean… can they?

And Junie isn't like most toddlers. She hasn't really done anything by the book. She meets milestones when she wants to, sometimes early, sometimes really, really late.

You pat her back, her nylon coat crinkly under your hand. "Ready to go home?"

You stand up with her clutched to your chest. Usually you'd have her say goodbye to Deborah or the other daycare workers but Junie doesn't look like she knows her own name right now. You frown at her and encourage her forehead against your chin, trying to gauge if she's a little warmer than usual.

"I missed you," you tell her honestly. You miss her every single day. "I want to know everything you did today. Do you remember what you did?"

Junie pushes against your chest with her hand as you walk out of the daycare centre and into the parking lot.

"Did you do… colouring? Or… building blocks? Did you sing?" you ask, grinning.

You cross the road, and when you look back she's staring at you, straight into your eyes.

"Hi," you say with a laugh.

Her hands rise to your face, fingers thankfully clean and warm against your wind-bitten cheeks. You slow, gazing down at her expectantly. She raises her chin as high as she can and smiles big.

"You want a kiss. I can tell," you croon smugly.

She kisses you. It's a little drooly as baby kisses always are, but it's the best thing that's happened to you all day. It's always so surprising when she initiates affection. That she loves you just as much as you love her.

You steal another kiss.

"Guess what?" you ask, reaching a hand to stroke a little baby hair back.

She says a word that isn't real. It sounds like 'mod'.

"It's payday today, which means…" You beam at her. "Ice cream!"

That grabs her attention.

Eddie can't believe it. "You had what without me?" he asks over the phone.

Junie herds your knees, arms around your legs and face turned to the TV. You stand slumped against the wall where your phone is plugged, curling the landline's coiled cord around your finger so Junie can't grab it.

"Ice cream," you supply helpfully.

His voice isn't easy to understand. The Hideout is a very loud place. Eddie's practically shouting down the line. "I can't believe it."

"It couldn't be helped. She needed to be tempted."

"Tempted! Has she eaten anything else?"

You look down at the girl in question and reach down to rub her back. "Oh yeah. She ate like, an entire bag of lays, one of the big ones. She still smells like honey barbecue."

"Nothing else?"

You sigh, that creeping, ringing thought edging in. You're a bad mom.

"I made her cereal, and celery sticks and sandwiches and little cut up peaches and- and she won't touch any of it," you say, like you're promising. Your tone begs to be believed.

There's a loud racket. Eddie shouts, "What did you say? I can't hear you!"

You repeat yourself. You miss the start of what he's saying, but you catch, "-not your fault! She's probably just having a moment. You remember when she kept throwing her bottle? She doesn't do that anymore."

You nod. "Yeah, maybe it's like that. She's figuring she has choices." Not the best timing for your kid to decide she's gonna get picky.

"Exactly! Or maybe she is sick. Does she look sick?"

You look back down at Junie and feel across her smooth forehead for the twentieth time today. "She doesn't feel warm."

"Good. I'm sure she-" You miss the rest.

"I can't hear you," you say with a small laugh. "I can hear the drum kit though. Are you going on soon?"

"I said, 'I'm sure she's fine.' And yeah, couple of minutes."

"Okay. Um. I'll let you go, then."

"Okay." A small gap where you think he's hung up, but then, "Can I talk to her?"

You bite back a smile. "Sure."

You kneel down. Junie looks a short fall from suspicion, though her arms quickly reach out for a hug.

"June, d'you wanna talk to Eddie?"

"Eddie?" she asks, turning to the door.

You catch her hand before she can walk away. "No, babe, on the phone."

You sit down flat with your legs crossed and encourage her to do the same. She doesn't not want to be encouraged, eyes still trained on the door.

"Baby," you say, though you're bringing the phone to your mouth as you do. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Okay, I'm gonna pass her the phone and you're gonna have to talk straight away, because she doesn't know how it works. Alright?"

"Yeah, alright. Bring on the junebug."

You press the phone to Junie's ear. She looks startled and then annoyed, shoulder hiking and head moving in like she might push it away. You can see the moment she realises Eddie is on the other side, her lips part and her eyes widen in wonder.

She listens for a while, flabbergasted. You think you might be able to hear his voice. Not what he's saying, but his bubbly baby tone.

"Eddie," she says suddenly. She looks at you, says a bunch of nonsense words and babbling punctuated by Eddie Eddie Eddie.

"Are you listening to him?" you ask, excited at her recognition.

She grabs the phone out of your hand and stares at it. You try to wrangle it back and put it back to her ear. She is not happy.

Hardly news that your toddler's mood may swing, you shove the phone between your head and your shoulder and wrap her up in your arms with a placating shush. She starts to cry regardless. You think they might be crocodile tears.

"Eddie?"

"Sweetheart, I gotta go, okay? I'm sorry if I upset June–"

"You didn't, you didn't, she–"

"– I'll make it up to you, I swear."

"– misses you, I think–"

"See you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. Good luck!" you say. The line's already dead. The dial tone makes your ear prickle.

You feel upset for a second. It's a mess of feelings. You're too tired to deal with any of them.

"Eddie?" Junie asks, hands pulling at the hem of her nightie.

"Just mommy," you say with a smile. The longer she looks at you the easier it gets. "You wanna go to bed and cuddle?"

She laughs and runs away from you.

"I'll take that as a no."

Eddie knocks the door and doesn't get an answer.

He pauses, a bouquet behind his back and his acoustic guitar heavy around his neck, a grocery bag hanging from the crook of his elbow. It's a very heavy grocery bag. He'd figured he has a lot of apologising to do this afternoon.

It seems like there's no one home to apologise to.

"Girls? It's me."

Still no answer.

"Eddie," he adds, like a loser.

He thinks he can hear small footsteps.

"Eddie!"

He laughs to himself. "Junebug? Where's mommy?"

"Hello?" you call finally.

"Hey, can you let me in?"

He keeps the flowers hidden firmly behind his back as you open the door. He hears the deadbolt, the chain slide free and then the regular old lock unlocking, and you pull the door open and suddenly he can't breathe. You look that pretty.

"Eddie!" Junie shouts, to his pleasure.

You grin brilliantly as he steps over the threshold.

Junie's arms are quickly around his legs. She's in a sweet blue dress and frilly socks looking almost as pretty as her mom does, hair neat and tidy, face pristine.

You're nearly matching her. You've a soft white shirt on, tucked into a simple blue skirt and a cardigan to match.

You barely stop to look at him, flitting back to the kitchen where you’ve brown paper bags upended, the fridge and freezer doors both wide open. "Sorry, I'm just putting the groceries away. How did the gig go? Did you rock the house?" You giggle to yourself.

Eddie wants to scream, you’re that endearing. “It went great. Awesome. Not sure I rocked the house, but it was metal.”

"Amazing! I- I'm sorry I didn't hear you, I was in my own head," you say as you go, stepping over toys and frozen peas and Junie's Muppet Babies backpack like a natural. He notices your small white socks and feels himself slipping that little bit further into a terrifying feeling.

He doesn't have time to tell you it's okay, or that he wishes you’d been at the gig, or to watch your step. Junies's babbling for his attention and he'd rather die than not give it to her, moving the grocery bag he has hanging from his hand over her head and tossing it toward the couch, where it lands and spills.

"Okay, June, I'm gonna pick you up," he says quickly, pulling the guitar over his head. He props it up by the open doorway, Junie tugging at his jeans the whole while.

"So demanding!" he teases, scooping her up to prop on his hip and unveiling the flowers at the same time.

You aren't looking. He nudges them towards her face and shakes them gently.

Junie can't decide what's more fun, the flowers or Eddie. She wraps her arms around his neck as best as she can but stares at the flowers with a dawning comprehension.

"What are these, baby?" he asks, holding them lower so she can see them all in view. They're mostly red. There's some whites too, big round roses among other flowers he can't name.

"Red," she says quickly. "White. Yellow, blue, green."

She's not right, there aren't any yellows or blues, but he can only blame himself for drilling them into her the way he had. She's showing off that she knows them all, and she deserves some praise.

"Good job! Red, white," he shakes the bouquet enough to reveal a few small pink ones, "pink flowers. They're pretty, don't you think? Pretty as you and mommy?" He hums to himself, patting her back thoughtfully. “Maybe not that pretty."

You're not listening. If you were he's not sure he could say it, not while you're looking like you do. You're always pretty, always, but right now he feels like he did the first time he saw you. Just gone.

Junie tells him something, a more factual tone and air about her. He rubs the top of her upper arm encouragingly, asking, "Is that right?"

"Do you want food?" you call.

He sets June down on her feet and she hates it until he wraps her hands around the bouquet's neck. "Can you give these to your mom for me? Please?" Junie stares at them. "For mommy," he adds, pointing at you where you're closing the cabinet door.

Junie, the tiny smarty-pants that she is, runs to you. Eddie's a coward for it, but he doesn't think he can give them to you himself under honest pretenses, doesn't think he could admit that he'd been thinking about getting you flowers for a while now. Much easier to have her give them to you.

You make a sound like you've swallowed a gasp and stare at them.

"They're nice, right? I saw them and I thought they'd make a good apology for last night."

You don't take them. You can't contain a smile, but you don't take them.

"I'm sorry if I made any trouble for you," he says tentatively.

You drop your hand on top of Junie's head. Your tone is warm, each word reassuring. "No, you didn't. She just… you know, she has a routine, and she loves when you come around. She missed you. That's not your fault."

"Okay, good. I missed her too. Nobody can jam out like she can.”

Junie whacks you in the thigh. Eddie's starting to think he did something wrong because you still haven't taken them from her, your eyes as unreadable as the way your hands move, rigid and curling.

You shake them out and finally take the flowers.

"Thanks, baby," you say. Then, looking at him. "Thank you."

"You can get me back," he says.

Shell shock turns to eagerness. "Yeah, anything."

He picks up the spilled groceries and brandishes them at you. In one hand is this week's dessert, a huge carton of rocky road ice cream, the fancy kind with big chocolate chips and fluffy marshmallows on top. In the other, a plastic jug of your favourite drink.

"Find room for these in the fridge?"

Since accepting them, you've yet to put down the flowers, holding them protectively to your chest as you take what he’s offering and carry them into the kitchen.

June runs full pelt at his legs and he doesn't hesitate to pick her up.

"You're so happy today!" he cheers, saccharine sweet as she burrows her little face into his collar. "Have you been having a good day with mom? I love your matching outfits."

You try to hide how the compliment affects you, face buried in the freezer. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that your freezer has ample room, you don’t need to look for space. and he can see the way your hand tightens around the bouquet. He loves how shy you've become lately over his compliments, no matter how small. It's worth the possibility of making a fool of himself to see you flustered.

Junie reports back on the day. Eddie listens intently for words he might understand but finds none.

He doesn't let this bother him, leaning against the counter behind so he can hold Junie low on his stomach to watch her expressions flicker, hands encapsulating her back. She looks happy, obviously, but she also looks very intent on something.

"Yeah?" he asks, tilting his head toward her knowingly. "Was the grocery store exciting? Did you do anything else?"

"Duckies!" she says.

"Duckies? You saw ducks?" he asks curiously, looking to you for confirmation.

You're still holding your flowers to your chest.

Junie chatters. "Duck, duck, duck."

"What's she talking about?" he asks, pulling her up enough for her head to rub against his chin.

"Oh, we went to the duck pond. She was obsessed," you say.

"Right, right. Can't say I blame her.”

"Trying to explain why they weren't yellow took some dedication."

Eddie smiles at you softly. "You can put them down, you know."

Your eyes flicker between him and the flowers. "I- nobody's ever got me flowers before. I don't know what I'm s'posed to do with them. I don't… have a vase."

He hadn't realised he'd be the first guy to get you flowers. It makes him wanna wrap you up and hug you, because how is it fair that a girl like you never got flowers? Not once?

"Shit," he says instead.

He flinches hard and looks at Junie. She's too busy with her hands in his hair to notice what he's said. He apologises anyways.

You roll your eyes. Eddie's relieved to see it's with obvious fondness, a funny lopsided smile to your lips.

"If she starts dropping s-bombs, you're the one who has to deal with it," you warn.

"I will.”

He takes a step toward you and you take a step toward him.

You hum and hold the flowers up to Junie as he had before. "Aren't these just something else? Look how pretty they are! Why don't you pick one, baby?"

Eddie shifts her onto the right side and you both watch her touch them, hands adorably careful as she feels the leaves between her fingers and pokes the fuzzy yellow centre of a flower with white, round petals.

"That one?" you murmur, pulling it out from the rest with the same adorable carefulness.

Junie accepts the flower and immediately shows it to Eddie, ecstatic.

“Yellow," she proclaims.

"And white," he says, ruffling the petals with his index finger.

She smells like talc and you, that soft jasmine perfume, and her hair is fragrant where it tickles his face. He indulges and hugs her that little bit tighter. She indulges him in turn and hugs him back, the flower petals cold and silky against his neck.

"How do you…" You scratch the base of your neck. "Do you think I could squeeze all the stalks into one glass?"

It's only a bunch from the grocery store but he thinks a glass might be a little too small. "Maybe you can split it? Have one in your room, one in here."

You set about following his suggestion, snipping away the cellophane with a pair of scissors and acquiring two tall glasses. The stalks are tall. You trim them down and begin arranging them. Eddie has no clue why you're being as particular as you are but he's happy for you to do as you please, traipsing into the living room where Junie seems to have been running rampant before his arrival with intentions of cleaning up.

He closes the front door and bends at the waist to let Junie back on her feet.

She goes down easy enough. Eddie turns on the TV to keep her occupied while he whips around the room. He wants to clean (as best as he can) before you see him and tell him to stop. He puts your small handbag and Junie's backpack at the sideboard by the door. He sweeps up all of her toys and tucks them under the television as you would, then moves onto the rogue dirtied pajamas on the floor. They're Junie's favourites, the ones with tiny strawberries that she always chooses when given the option.

Your laundry basket isn't anywhere in the living room or kitchen. He attempts to sneak past you where you're still arranging flowers intently. The sight of you stops him in his tracks.

I need to get her a vase, he thinks. And another bouquet.

You turn to him, a pleased expression turning your features from pretty to chest-achingly lovely.

He holds up the pajamas and then keeps on down the hall to the bathroom, even as you chasten, "Eddie," with a fond exasperation.

You showcase your first bouquet upon his return, sheepish, awaiting judgement. You're conflicted tonight, a handful of emotions shaken and stirred.

"Tada," you sing.

"Looks sick, sweetheart. If this whole waitressing thing doesn't work out for you, you could definitely be a florist."

You huff a laugh. "Oh, for sure."

"I'm serious. It looks really nice."

He thinks maybe he can see the way you might've been before, in that moment. There's something so young – and you are young, as he is, as he keeps forgetting – about your face and how you take praise. You look like you want desperately to brush it away, and you look like you want him to give you more.

He stands close enough that you're forced to turn back to the counter where the second bouquet is taking form. "This one looks nice too."

"I thought I'd put the prettiest one out here." You lean back and your shoulder presses to his chest. "And then the reject in my room," you say, chin lifted to look him dead in the eye.

He feels heat crawling up his neck and decides to fight fire with fire, even if the fire is entirely imagined. "Do you often have rejects in your bedroom?" he questions with a smarmy smile.

You laugh. Far from the polite and prim giggling you'd used when you first met, though that was cute, too, this laugh is something else. He wishes he had a tape deck with him to record it, play it back.

"Only if they're very pretty," you say. You place the last of the flowers into the second bouquet. "And these ones are beautiful. Thank you, Eddie. You didn't have to get me flowers."

"I wanted to."

Your head falls gently against the top of his shoulder. He stands very still.

The faucet drips. The TV plays. If he listens, Eddie can hear the sound of kids outside on their bikes, shouting and jeering.

Like this, he can see the curve of your neck, the hill of your chin. He can see the pillows of your lips and the slopes of your cheek. The darling shape of your nose. He knows a kiss would fit there well, fit there perfectly, if he would only raise his hand to your shoulder. Turn you ever so slightly.

Even the flat of your forehead begs for affection. He can almost feel it from looking at you – the warmth of your skin under his lips. He can't decide whether he'd kiss you from temple to temple, or smack dab on your crown. Between your brows, at the tail of them. The corner of your eye might work.

Anything would work.

Eddie lifts his hand. Careful not to startle you, he cups the side of your waist like he had before a hundred moons ago when you'd cut his hair in this same kitchen. He spreads his fingers wide and inches over your soft abdomen, feeling for the shape of you.

You turn your cheek into his shoulder. He lets his lips touch the back of your head.

Plinking echoes from the living room sudden enough to startle you in tandem. Kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, you and Eddie both turn to the living room and come away from one another. You're more confused than Eddie at the sound; a split-second and you're out of reach.

He closes his hand and follows you. Now past the obscurification of the cabinets, he can see that Junie's finally noticed his guitar and has pulled it down flat on the floor.

She plays with the strings enthusiastically. Eddie can't bring himself to care at her roughness when she looks the way she does, curious and entertained, giggling her contagious baby laugh.

"I forgot you brought that," you say, looking to him, he suspects, for a cue. A silent, Is she allowed?

Of course she is. “I told you I'd give you a private show."

"What happened to the amp?"

"My hands were full." Eddie sits on the floor to Junie's left. "Whatcha doing, trouble?"

She hits the neck.

He takes her hand in a gentle grip and encourages the side of her finger across the strings.

She laughs thick and sweet as honey. "Brmm," she imitates, lips pinching between giggles as he helps her do it again.

"You're a total rockstar," he says.

You kneel opposite. "She's gonna lose her mind when you play something."

Eddie feels very smug at what's to come.

You let Junie play for a time, and then you open your arms and she walks around to your side, sitting on your thighs. She continues to reach for the guitar, seems sulky when Eddie picks it up, and quietens when he plays an experimental note.

"Are you gonna sing? I've heard you sing before, you know? You're not bad."

You wrinkle your nose.

First, he plays the Muppet Babies theme tune for June. She gets excited and starts to hum. You have to hold her in your lap to stop her from messing him up. He wouldn't mind if she did. He's hoping, maybe one day when she's old enough to understand, he could get her behind her own guitar. He's not kidding about starting a band.

He drops his eyes to his fingers, shaking his head on instinct to try and shake away the thought.

June sings and sings and eventually, quietly, you start to sing too. You’re purposefully not trying but any flatness is easily made up for by the familiarity of your voice alone. The way you talk, so charming and careful, the sweetness of your newfound shyness and the rough hint of ever-present tiredness you carry, it all seeps into your singing. Eddie adores it.

Junie almost gets some of the words right. It's very exciting for you, Eddie can see it in the tilt of your head. You enunciate precisely and he slows the tempo to give you time.

"It really sounds like she's almost there. She definitely said 'dreams come true,’” he says as the song ends.

"You think?"

"Definitely. Do you want to sing it again?" he asks, words falling into a high-pitched sugar, eyes on Junie.

"More?" you add, a slight correction. Junie doesn't know what 'again' means yet, but she understands 'more'.

"More," she says seriously.

You go through it one more time. If he plays slow to drag out your reluctant singing, that's his business.

He unveils his next song with a dash of edgy stage presence. "For my next song, I'll be playing what can only be described as the absolute pinnacle of music."

He sounds legitimate.

Your eyebrows pinch together at his sombre attitude. "Sure."

"I'm gonna play it as true to form as I can, but… I don't have a banjo. So…"

He plays the first few seconds of Kermit The Frog's The Rainbow Connection.

When he sings, he does it after an internal pep talk consisting of a scathing, Be brave, idiot.

"Why are there so many, songs about rainbows. And what's on the other side?" he sings, trying and failing to sound like Kermit. He abandoned that pursuit immediately in favour of his regular voice. Thankfully it's a slow song. Simple. It doesn't take much to play, either. The real challenge are the lyrics, which he doesn't really know. "Rainbows are visions, but only… illusions?"

You bob your head appraisingly, hands crossed over Junies front, cheek pressed to the top of her head.

"And rainbows have nothing to hide."

You’re making it impossible to concentrate, looking as earnest, homespun, and ridiculously pretty as you do. Pretty in more than just your looks. The way that you watch him, the way you rub a pattern over Junie's ribs, it’s all so indicative of your heart.

He fucks up the rest. Bad timing, amateurish fingering over the struts, lyrics that escape him. You'd never know he could play Master of Puppets a month after it's debut from the way he performs now.

You cheer, gathering Junie's hands into yours to help her clap.

He blushes like a fool.

—

Dinner tonight – take out.

You're prouder than you should be when Eddie asks, "Can I help you cook tonight?" and you get to say, "No, you can't. I'm not cooking."

You'd never shake your head at a frozen pizza but there's an irreplaceable satisfaction that comes from getting hot food delivered. Maybe it's the convenience, maybe it's that you don't have to cook it yourself. It might even be the grease. Whatever it is, it tastes better than any freezer food ever could.

You've trapped Junie in her high chair. Diaper changed, pajamas on, bib in place. You rolled her sleeves all the way up and gave her two slices of cheese pizza cut into small pieces that have been blown on for a more than generous amount of time and tell her to go ham. She doesn't bother with her plastic fork and you don't blame her, eating your own pizza in a similar fashion.

Rather than sit opposite you or next to Junie, Eddie has opted for the chair on your left. Junie on your right, your daughter eats with an animated little grin that apples her cheeks, giving her that chubby baby-like smile.

"You see her smile?" you ask, taking a big bite of perfect crust. You have to stop yourself from sighing happily, fingers covered in crumbs.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, pizza sauce or his face like a little kid.

You sit back in your chair so he can really see her. "She's always been a smiley baby, and when she was much smaller all her smiles were so chubby cheeked. She was chubby cheeked. Now when she smiles like that she makes me remember her when she was a baby."

"I'm not surprised she was a smiley baby if she had you… D'you miss having a baby?"

"Watch yourself," you say, and then giggle as all the blood drains from his face. "Kidding. I don't know if I miss having a baby baby. I mean, she's so little, she's practically still a baby. But I do kinda wish I could go back and hold her as a newborn."

Eddie wipes his cheek and stands up to get some paper towels. He wipes his face and hands and grabs the juice from the fridge to fill his glass (that's basically still full) and then yours (the real reason he'd stood, you reckon).

"Was she heavy?" he asks.

You worry for a moment he's humouring you. It's clear how much you love Junie, you know it is, and that shows in how much you want to talk about her. You'd never expected that part, though of course it makes sense – sometimes she smiles and you wanna call the newspapers – and you don't think Eddie's insincere. He seems like he genuinely wants to know and that's enough for you to want to round the table and throw your arms over his shoulders.

"I think…" You pick up your glass and hesitate with the rim to your lip. "I think if you'd held her back then, you wouldn't think she was heavy."

He practically smolders, bringing an arm up to tense his bicep. "Thank you."

You laugh at him. "Shut up! I just think, you've been good with her ever since you met her. When I held her for the first time it's a good thing I was laying down. I probably would've dropped her."

Eddie takes Junie's sippy cup to fill. You'd say it was a waste if he hadn't bought it himself, she's too busy eating her weight in cheese to care about something as rudimentary as juice.

"You would not have dropped her."

"I would've."

"You wouldn't have! And if you did, it would've been an accident. Next point, they don't have skulls, right? No harm, no foul."

"Who told you babies don't have skulls?"

"...I'm not at liberty to say."

You eat the rest of your crust and shake your head at his misguided education. "They have skulls, Eddie. The scalp is super soft and fragile for ages, but they definitely have skulls. You know what they don't have?"

Eddie squeezes Junie's shoulder as he walks behind her. "What?" he asks in alarm, passing you to sit down again. His knees touch the side of your thigh.

"Kneecaps."

His hand stops on the way to the pizza box, body frozen.

"What?" he asks, his alarm doubled.

"Swear down. No knee caps."

"Don't they need them? For crawling? I feel like knee caps are more important than skulls."

"If you didn't have a skull you wouldn't be able to breathe," you say, though you're guessing.

"What use is breathing if you can't move?"

You turn to him to take him in properly. You beam, because this is an outlandish conversation and you're enjoying every second of it and he looks just as happy as you feel.

"Do babies need to move? June could never move again and I'd still look after her,” you counter.

"Sweetheart, you're cheating."

"I can't exactly breathe for her-"

"What are you talking about? Of course you could. I don't know how but you'd find a way, Y/N, I know what you're like."

Your teeth click together, a funny retort squashed down by his unexpected admittance of faith. He always does this; Eddie loves to tell you the kindest things anyone has ever told you like they don't cost him a thing.

"I would," you agree, blinded by love rather than supported by any logic.

"Mommy," Junie says, like she knows she's the topic of your hypothetical devotion and she wants in. "More pizza"

"Please?" you tack on, though her small sentence had impressed you to the point of elation. You turn to her already with your hand in the pizza box.

"Pizza," she says. You love the way she says it, like the 'zuh' sound at the end is a complete surprise.

The pizza's cold enough by now to give it to her intact. She's amazed at the big slice you put on her plate, picking it up with a coordination you know is taking a lot of effort for her.

"Good job, baby," you praise, using her distraction to pull a little string of cheese off of her messy cheek.

She takes a huge bite. You watch her worried she's gonna choke, and feel Eddie's knees press deeper into your thigh as he moves forward to join in.

"Is it weird that she's impressing me right now?" he asks.

You giggle and roll your shoulders back until you can feel the brush of his hair against your shirt. "No, she's awesome."

For dessert, you insist on plating up. Or bowling up. You scoop a more generous than she should really have portion for Junie, something similar for Eddie, and a normal portion for yourself.

"On the couch?" Eddie asks.

You can see him cleaning up Junie out of the corner of your eye. You wish he wouldn't but you're grateful that he does. His attentiveness makes your hands feel heavy in that you remember you have them, and you remember what it's like to want to hold someone else's.

"Yeah," you say, though eating on the couch makes you nervous. You don't want to ruin it. You're lucky you even have one.

Eddie scoops Junie up easy and pats her back.

“You put away a lot of cheese, kid. A lot. Was that yummy or what?"

She burps. His laughter is roaring and boyish as he applauds her.

"You're patting her back, she's gonna keep burping.”

"That's what you're supposed to do for babies, isn't it?"

He stands under the harsh kitchen light with his face turned away and down toward Junie, hair a mess of flyaways, t-shirt covered in shiny toddler fingerprints over one shoulder and jeans slipping down low on his hips. Your explanation comes breathlessly. "When you give a baby a bottle they suck in too much air and it gives them trapped wind. You burp that kind of baby. Not greedy almost three year olds."

"She is not almost three."

"I think I'd know, Munson."

"She's like, two and a half at most."

"I'm rounding up for emphasis," you say, and glare at his eyebrows rising.

He pats her back some more anyways. She burps again and he laughs even more. "Juniper The Burpiest," he says to himself as he walks away, voice fading as he settles down across the way on the couch.

Junie has crashed and burned, warm thick cheese and dough putting her quickly into a close to listless state in his lap. He faces her out toward the TV and she leans heavily against his chest with his hands around her torso, propping her up. You shepherd in the desserts.

"Gimme Junie's," Eddie says.

"She's gonna fall asleep," you say, but pass it over anyhow.

Eddie places the bowl of rocky road in her lap with a hand between to stop from making her legs cold and starts to spoon ice cream into her mouth. She accepts. It's adorable to watch. His face over her shoulder, Junie's face slowly deflating, eyes bleary and blinking as her lips close lazily around the spoon. She barely flinches at the cold.

You eat your own ice cream in the seat next to them and wonder if this is forever.

Eddie wipes her chin with the side of his hand and watches her head fall. He wears a loving smile. It makes you want to cry, to know someone else loves her.

You let all your weight fall against his shoulder and eat your ice cream casually. This is the least casual thing you've ever done. Spoon in your mouth, you press your cheek to the top of his arm and glue your gaze to the TV.

You swear you can feel his eyes on you, but when you chance a look he's watching the TV, head inclined to yours ever so slightly, a hand brushing Junie's hair from her dozing face. You're weak. You give yourself over to what you want and turn your nose to his arm. He smells lIke he always does, warm in the truest definition of the word.

You close your eyes. After a few minutes, you feel Eddie take the bowl from your hands and set it next to Junie's. You want to open your eyes and say sorry but they’re heavier than you'd thought, and you can only manage a murmur of sound.

His hand sliders under your elbow and curls around your arm. His head drops on top of yours so softly you almost don't feel it.

You doze, digging your face further into his arm, feel the curve of it under your cheek and the cut off of his sleeve rising.

A frayed thread tickles your cheek and you complain without thinking, sighing your annoyance.

"What?" Eddie asks.

You raise a hand to rub at your face and eyes. "Tickled me."

"Did I? M'sorry."

"T-shirt. Did you cut them yourself?"

"You know it. Was going through a phase."

"Going through."

"Say it to my face," he says. Soft, teasing.

You lift your head and find him smiling at you.

He has a beauty mark under his eye, occluded near completely by his eyelashes. You can't believe you've never noticed it before.

"You have a freckle," you whisper.

"Where?" He nods. "Under my eye?"

"Yeah."

You sit up and stare at him. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. "I've never seen it before," you continue, still whispering. "It blends in with your eyelashes."

"I think you're the first person to see it who isn't my mom. No one ever looks at me this long,” he says quietly.

If his eyes weren't closed you'd never have had the courage to do what you do next. You raise your hand with his cheek, thumb pressed to the skin beside his nose and fingers slipped under his ear. You turn his face toward the light. Eddie lets you without complaint, his breath warm where it fans over your thumb. You push your fingers further until they've threaded into his soft hair, your thumb brushing up under his eye. You part his mess of dainty lashes with your thumbnail until the beauty mark is clear in view.

"That's so sweet," you whisper, awed.

Eddie readjusts Junie in his lap with an overabundance of caution and doesn't speak. He's lax under your touch.

"It's really pretty. You had it since you were a baby?"

"I think so."

You laugh under your breath.

"What?" he asks.

"It suits you." Something pretty hiding in plain view.

"I heard," he says hedgingly, "that freckles are a sign of how you died in a past life."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Bet it was something really gross, like a parasitic worm-"

"Ew."

"Or someone stabbed me. Or shot me. With an arrow."

"You're only twenty. Your past life would have still been in this century."

Eddie opens his eyes just to glare at you. "Don't deprive me of a badass past life. How would you have had me die?"

You push his hair from his face. "You know what I heard about them?"

"What?"

Fun to whisper with him like this. Like you’re younger than you are, trading secrets in the dim light.

"I heard they're kisses from a past life."

You raise your second hand to his cheek and cradle his face.

Eddie leans into it. “You wanna give me one for the next?” he asks, a short fall from salacious.

Your breath doesn’t catch. Your hands don’t shake. “Is that what you want?”

He falters. Bravado slips. Your heart skips a beat, worried maybe he doesn’t like you the way you’re thinking after all.

“Y/N,” he says.

You can’t hear his rejection. You won’t.

You close your eyes and kiss his cheek. Your nose slides over his skin, the heat of his blood under the surface warming your palms, and you steal a second there, two, breathing in his smell. If this is all you get, you can be okay with it. Eventually.

You pull away.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says. You can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | this fic is multi-chapter

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

please forgive any mistakes and how long it took, i have been a bit unwell! hopefully it won’t be too long before part four :3

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x afab reader #mom!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader

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7ndipity · 7 months

Text

“You Broke Me”

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Just clingy, fluffy Yoongi after Reader comes home after a month-long trip

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Suggestive, Swearing, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! I got a little carried away with this one, so it is just nothing but tooth-rotting fluff. I hope you like it!

Masterlist

Requests are open

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You weren’t surprised when Yoongi insisted on picking you up at the airport, even though you told him that he didn’t have to, that you could just get a cab home so he wouldn’t have to risk being spotted, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He’d been telling you for days that waiting at home would have driven him crazy and that he wanted to see you as soon as possible.

In previous relationships, Yoongi had never really considered himself to be the needy type, but something about you had changed him drastically in that department. Now, he didn’t care if it made him sound melodramatic, the last three weeks without you while you were overseas visiting family had been absolute hell for Yoongi.

Later, as you walked through the terminal, it was easy for you to spot him. Even with the bucket hat and mask hiding his face, you could’ve recognized him anywhere, eyes scrunching up in a smile as he watched your steps begin to pick up speed until you were practically running to him.

As soon as you were close enough, he pulled you into a crushing hug, an audible sigh leaving him as he hooked his arms tightly around you.

“Hi.” You giggled.

“Hey.” He said, burying his face in your neck.

You let yourself relax into his hold, closing your eyes in contentment. After having gone nearly a month without his touch, the warmth of his body against yours felt like absolute heaven.

Eventually, you started to pull away in order to see his face, but he tightened his grip to keep you where you were instead. “Just a little more.” He muttered.

You chuckled. “Yoongi, people are looking.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He grumbled, squeezing you more to prove his point.

After another long moment, he finally released his hold on you, pulling back just enough to cup your face, his eyes dancing with happiness as they met yours.

“Ready to go home?” He grinned.

“So ready.”

He quickly helped you wrangle all your luggage together before heading to the car, making sure to keep one hand free in order to hold yours as you walked.

On the ride home, you talked about your flight and the trip, his hand never leaving yours for more than a few seconds, letting them rest together on the center console.

Once you got home, he quickly set your bags down by the door before turning and dragging you to the sofa, pulling you down so that you were straddling him.

“What are you doing?!” You squealed.

“Catching up.” He said simply, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I have been neglected for an entire month, it’s a miracle I haven’t shriveled up and died.”

“We talked literally everyday.” You pointed out.

“ ‘s not the same, and you know it.” He groaned, letting his lips drag along your jaw before returning to yours, silencing any further potential argument or teasing.

Although Yoongi was normally quite physically affectionate with you, you weren’t used to Yoongi being this needy and insistent, though you weren’t complaining by any means, following his lead as he turned his head slightly to the side to deepen the kiss, your fingers having slipped into his hair and giving a slight pull, earning a pleased sound from him.

At this moment, however, your stomach decided to announce itself, much to your embarrassment and Yoongi’s amusement, earning you one of his breathy laughs as you separated.

“Have you eaten?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Not since this morning.”

“Aish, no wonder your stomach’s complaining.” He said, sitting up more and rummaging for his phone. “Here, I’ll order us some food and then help you unpack.”

“You don’t have to do that, I can do it myself.” You said.

“Humour me, would you?” He frowned at you, making you laugh this time.

The two of you made quick work of unpacking your suitcases, chucking clothes into the wash and putting the rest of your things back into their usual places around the house.

As you were unpacking the last bag, he came over and wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you from behind as you continued.

“Are you okay?” You finally asked, still thrown by his uncharacteristic clinginess.

“Mmm, just missed you.” He mumbled, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Yeah?” You said, glancing back at him, biting back a grin as you took in the positively love drunk expression on his face.

“Mhm, so much.” He hummed, burying his face in your neck as he spoke. “Turns out I can’t sleep without you.”

“Oh no.” You cooed, turning around in his hold to cup his face.

“Yep, I think you broke me.” He pouted, making you chuckle.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’ve broke me too. Here.” You held out a dark grey hoodie that had been tucked at the bottom of the case.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for that!” He exclaimed, snatching it and looking at you in disbelief. “You little thief!”

“It smelled like you.” You explained quietly, avoiding his gaze as you felt your face heat up self consciously.

You were expecting one of his usual teasing remarks, what you received instead, however, was him tackling you to the bed, pressing more kisses to your face and neck.

“You’re really fucking cute, you know that?” He said. “I can’t fucking stand it.”

The fact that you had stole one of his hoodies should’ve annoyed him, normally it would’ve, but in the moment all he was thinking was that it showed how you had missed him, and knew that your were going to miss him, making his own longing for you seem justified, even though it didn’t need to be.

“I love you, so much.” He said, slightly out of breath as he stared down at you.

“I love you too.” You replied, smiling up at him.

“Promise you’ll never leave me for that long again?”

“I promise.” You swore, kissing his nose and making him chuckle.

Just then, the doorbell rang, making you both jump slightly in surprise.

“That’s probably the food.” You reminded him.

He let his head droop down against your chest, letting out a low whine. “I wasn’t done yet.”

“We have all night.” You giggled, patting his head gently before nudging him to get up.

You had all the time in the world.

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hyunverse · 26 days

Text

when you know, you know ☆ hwang hyunjin.

hyunjin x gn! reader. fluff. hurt comfort. no warnings.

wc: 800 words.

song: margaret by lana del rey.

in the darkness of the night, he asks for your reassurance. super soft hyune.

“Why do you love me?”

Hyunjin whispers, his voice hushed akin to a nightingale’s, it blends with the darkness of the night. You feel his body shift closer towards you, his warmth blanketing you better than the cotton duvets could.

He waits, and you swallow as you try to put your words together. Hyunjin hasn’t been feeling the best, constantly letting his mind drift as his eyes stare at the wall. You know that with the right words, he’ll hopefully pull away from the awful headspace.

“Well,” you mumble, inching closer towards him to the point he could smell the mint in your breath. “I like the way your eyes light up whenever we visit your favourite bakery and you see that your favourite baguette’s fresh from the oven. When you run around with Kkami in your backyard and desperately try to get his kisses.”

You pause, looking up at him to catch sight of his softened expressions.

“I like it when we visit your parents and your mom lets you taste her food. You tend to dance around and giggle. It’s cute. I also love the way your eyebrows scrunch when you observe your painting. Or when you spill coffee on your shirt and pout at yourself.”

All of the words spill from your mouth in one breath — seamlessly, like you’ve memorized all of them and have been waiting for someone to ask. It leaves Hyunjin speechless.

“So,” his voice trails, “You love me for just me? Not for what I can give, but for me?”

You nod, reaching a hand out to push his bangs off his forehead, then lean in to kiss.

“Of course, I also like you for what you have to give. It’s like an added bonus. Ultimately, I love you for you and your little things.”

Hyunjin could only weep. A rivulet of tears traces down his cheeks as he sniffles. Through his tears, he tries to speak.

“I thought,” he sobs, “I’ll only be loved if I give something — if I keep giving. I didn’t know I could be loved for just me.”

The confession has your heart aching — like somebody had ripped your heart from your chest and squeezed it dry. Your hands reach to his face and wipe away his tears, but the tears keep coming. So, you wrap your arms around his neck and cradle him, and he nuzzles his face into your shoulder like he wants to hide away from the world.

“My baby,” you comfort him. His demeanours since the past week suddenly made sense — the extra hours he’d spend in the studio and coming home long after dusk. Seungmin telling you that he’d been staying back even after all the members had left. “Is that why you’ve been working so hard?”

You could feel him nod, and so you reach to his nape and gently massage — an attempt to comfort him. You wish you could do more. You’d take away all his pain and endure it by yourself if you could.

“You don’t have to push yourself too much, my baby,” you whisper, “I’m proud of you even if all you did was breathe.”

At that, Hyunjin pulls away. He looks into your eyes, his own a pale red.

“How did you know that you love me?”

You smile. Gently, you squeeze his shoulder. He could feel the affection in the action.

“I just knew.”

"You... just knew?" he repeats your words like a pre-schooler learning ABCs for the first time.

A fragment of your memory comes into mind — of the first time you told him you love him. Hyunjin was biting into a footlong baguette in his favourite cafe, happily dancing in his seat. The smile that plastered across his visage at the time was huge, it reached his ears and formed crescents under his eyes.

People say that it’s not hard to realize that you’re in love with someone. The feeling either hits you hard, or it seeps into your bones gently. Either way, you’d know.

When you know, you know.

You knew, then.

“When you bit into that footlong baguette in the cafe, I just knew. I was in love with you.”

This time, Hyunjin smiles. Like moonlight that brightens darkness, he smiles. Like you just put up stars in the sky for him.

Hyunjin remembers it too. It’s not easy to forget the memory, of how he stopped in his tracks and stared at you. How his heart fluttered in his chest and realization seeped into his bones, prompting him to tell you that he loves you too.

Another tear cascades down his cheek but this time, it’s from happiness. You giggle, reaching out to wipe the tear and to press a kiss on his nose.

“I love you, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin looks at you like it's the first time someone has ever told him that.

“Say that again, please.”

taglist — @zoe8stay @starlostseungmin @bakugossanity @hwajin @sleepyleeji @skizzel-reblogs @jdopes-recorder @sherryblossom @cb97whoree @alyszaen @aaliyahxsx @jeonginsyoungestsibling @hyunluvxo @bokk-minnie @ghostyycat7 @fortunatelyhertragedy @yongbokkari @ameliesaysshoo @seoli-16 @jisungsdaydreamer @soobnny @seolboba @in2heartz @jehhskz @astraystayyh @mnwrld @hanjsquokka @pheonixfire777

networks: @k-labels @straykidsland @skzstarnet @kflixnet

#k-labels #straykidsland #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin drabble #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #hwang hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin fanfic #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x yn #stray kids fluff #hyunjin drabbles #hyunjin oneshot #hwang hyunjin oneshot #hyunjin oneshots

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bby-deerling · 2 months

Text

just the tip (law x reader nsfw)

this came to me in a dream (and by dream i mean goon session)

18+, mdni, nsfw, wc: 1.0k masterlist

cw: afab!reader, teasing, edging, dom law, pwp, spanking (law smacks your ass, no weird undertones to it), messy sex, devious backshots, evil sex

tagging some law kissers: @eelnoise @ragethebunny @willowhaze26 @sanjisjuul @sanjisprincesswifey @risenwrites @kaizokuniichan @alicesfracturedmirror

“Law, please…” you whine, knuckles turning as white as the sheets threaded between your fingers. A tease at his core, he’s floating on cloud nine as he watches you, sprawled out, face buried into the pillow and whimpering in frustration as he continues to only allow himself to slip just the slightest bit into your drooling pussy. Though he considers himself benevolent in his own twisted way, for working you up so slowly and thoroughly, the soft, needy, desperate pleas that fall from your lips land on deaf ears; Law will only give you the fullness you crave on his terms—no matter how much you beg and plead, you’ll only get it once he’s ready.

You’re so pretty like this, heat radiating from your body as blood pumps rapidly through dilated vessels, mewling and whining each time he barely presses into your weeping sex. The way that such a small portion of him slipping inside of you turns you into a writhing mess makes Law drunk on the high of control, satisfied in his ability to render you into a pile of mush to sculpt as he sees fit.

But as fun as keeping you in this state is, he has other plans for you.

His hand comes down sharply against the plush skin of your ass, making you let out a small yelp, muffled by the dark cotton fabric of the pillowcase. Before you recover from the shock, he bottoms out inside of you without warning, frying the circuits of your mind as he fills you up with his length.

Reaching down towards the vertex of your thighs, he traces his fingers along your folds, coating them in the slick arousal that envelops every inch of his cock as he keeps himself buried inside you, but remains painfully still. “Looks like someone wants it bad…” he taunts, smearing his fingers down the side of your inner thigh, making you twitch as cool air runs across the remnants of your essence.

“Mhm—” you whimper softly, body flooding with relief at finally having him inside of you; though, now that he’s given you what you’ve been yearning for, it’s not enough. More than anything—more than the need for air, food, or drink, and more than the urge to feel the sun’s rays on your skin after weeks spent submerged beneath the water—you need him to move.

Seeing the way your back arches towards him in response makes him exhale sharply with amusement; though you're laying face down, you can feel the feral grin spreading on his face as he stares down at the way the base of his shaft is flush against your entrance. You’re molten hot, dripping, and gripping his cock loosely with tiny intermittent flutters, all from simply having him inside you, in the most basic definition of the term. Though, the way your whole body slightly jumps when his hand makes contact with your skin once more piques his interest and makes him throb and twitch inside of you. “You like that, don’t you?” he purrs as he runs his tattooed hand across the flushed, red mark, grasping a handful of your plush skin between his fingers.

Had any sanity been left in your buzzing, dizzy mind, you would tell him that you love every bit of it, from the way that tiny pockets of electricity rush towards the point of impact, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake, to the warm press of his hands across the freshly marked skin, smoothing over the shock with the roll of his fingers. However, too lost in the dense fog of lust clouding your senses, all you can muster is a needy whimper of mhm. With a smirk, he gives you one last smack before laying on top of you, caging you beneath him.

Warmth envelops you as he presses his chest flush to your back, and he uses the opportunity to bury himself even deeper inside of you; his slow, controlled exhales are hot on your ear, creating a dissonance with your shallow erratic breaths. The gap only widens as he softly chuckles against the crook of your neck and slips an arm underneath your waist and starts to play with your aching bud, making your cheeks burn and your heart race. “Take it for me.” he whispers lowly as he starts to move, sinking himself into you as far as possible, but at an agonizingly slow pace. Though he was giving in to the allure of your needy body, he remains steadfast in his aim to work you up slowly, rubbing lazy circles into your clit as other hand kneads the plump flesh of your ass, smoothing out any remaining stings from his smacks that were coursing underneath your skin.

Limp and pliant underneath him, you’ve given in and surrendered to his iron resolve, mewling and drooling into the pillow as he rolls his hips into yours and scatters bites and kisses along the column of your neck; once his tongue starts tracing rhythmic circles along your skin, matching the pace of his inked fingers on your bud, glowing white-hot heat begins to pool in your core. You try to let out a mangled please, but the word is incoherent, melting into the amalgamation of whimpers escaping your throat; as the frequency of your walls clamping around him increases, Law knows you’re close—for a moment he considers denying you and stretching out your climax even further, though you look so sweet underneath him that he can’t help but let you come.

And when your mind shatters, with nothing remaining but the drag of his cock along your insides and the heat of his tongue along your neck, he gives it to you—hard and frenzied, losing his own mind as he pounds you into the mattress and sinks his teeth into your skin. The head of his cock brushes against your sweet spot with each pass, leaving you mewling and nearing your crest again, though right when you are about to fall into another abyss of pleasure, he stops.

Teeth sink into fabric as you let out a muffled scream of frustration that Law ignores as he desperately tries to control his strangled breathing—he hadn’t intentionally meant to deny you this time—he was simply giving himself a piece of his own medicine, slowing down his thrusts once his thighs began to twitch.

Though your pleas for him to keep going are beginning to sound sweet and convincing, he continues to draw out his own orgasm, inadvertently torturing you in the process; Law knows exactly what he's doing with each halt of his hips and every stutter of his pace, but finds himself unapologetic—after all, why should you get to have all the fun?

#one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x you #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law smut #law smut #law x y/n #trafalgar law x y/n #one piece smut #one piece fanfiction #one piece scenario

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superhero--imagines · 7 months

Text

Being Sanji’s GF would include:

A/N: this is the ugliest banner I ever made I swear.

Tags: Female reader

* A man that is 6 ft +, can cook, and treats you with respect? I can’t believe we as a society weren’t simping for him before

* We already know that he loves pretty girls, so if you reciprocate his advances—he’s down hook, line, and sinker

* I feel like he’d fall hard and fast for someone a bit shy, with a soft form of kindness

* Sanji himself is so kind, even if it’s in these extremes depending on the gender of the recipient

* So seeing someone who kindness comes to so naturally, where it isn’t a flickering flame or a bright fire, but just a soft warmth that linger in all of their actions leaves him in awe

* “You’re amazing.”

* He’s still got a wandering eye though, so catch him randomly slapping himself or sitting with his face in his hands as he tries to restrain himself from ‘being unfaithful’

* “Hey Sanji?”

* “Hmmm.”

* “Have you ever thought about cheating on me?”

* The dishes he was washing clatters in the sink and he grabs your hand in both of his, kneeling in front of you

* “Never!” And he means it, he might look but he would never dream of being with someone other than you. “You’re the only person I want to be with.”

* I think as time goes on he gets a lot better at understanding why he feels the way he does, and eventually the flirtatious behavior cools down even though he’s still as kind as always because he realizes it comes from a place of craving validation instead of genuine love

* And honestly, now that he has you he doesn’t need it from anyone else anymore

* “(Y/N)-chan, can you get me the oregano?”

* You smile as you get it from the fridge, it’s not easy for him to ask you to do things

* He has the biggest goofiest grin on his face when you wrap your arms around his waist and rest your head on his shoulder

* Sanji would literally give you a romance as big as the world — or he’d try to at least

* “Sanji this is really lovely.” And you mean it, the candle lit dinner and all your favorite foods at the center of the deck

* “But um, I feel a little bad for Luffy.” It’s more than a little, there’s an entire waterfall of drool falling past his lips from his spot behind a pillar.

* His fingers curl under your chin, urging you to meet his gaze

* “There’s nothing to feel bad about, of course I would spoil the most important person in my life.”

* Your cheeks heat up from the words.

* “But Sanji—“ you look to the pillar seeing seven faces quickly duck, and a hand grab luffys still salivating head. “—they’re all staring!”

* If you could die from embarrassment you’d be six feet under

* “Let them stare, it’s because they’re dazzled by your beauty.”

* “Actually it’s because we’re hungry!” Luffy shouts, only to have his mouth covered by Nami.

* Sanji ends up making them a snack.

* His favorite hobby is pretending Chopper is your child when you guys go out

* “When are you guys going to stop pretending he’s your baby?” Zoro growls

* You look over at Chopper who’s happily sitting on Sanji’s shoulders, munching away on cotton candy

* “When he stops pretending to enjoy it,” You respond

* “That’s never going to happen!” Chopper shouts with a giggle

* He’s so greedy with you I swear

* You give him a kiss, he gives you back at least five

* You hold his hand, he keeps you glued to his side for the rest of the night

* “I know it’s ugly of me to get an inch and take a mile, but…around you I just can’t keep myself from trying.”

* He learns how to make all your favorite childhood foods, either from a relative or by studying old recipe books from your homeland

* And if you ever seem homesick or you’re feeling down he’ll suspense you with the dish

* “How did you learn to make this?” Your region is a far ways away from his usual French cuisine

* “I have my secrets.”

* Please cook for this man, just once, make a fancy dinner and have the whole crew pitch in as wait staff

* “You’re always taking care of us so this time we wanted to serve you!”

* He’ll eat half-burned pasta with tears of joy streaming down his face

* “This is the best meal I’ve ever had.”

* He’ll fall even harder for you if you have his wanted poster near your bunk bed

* “There’s a little red stain near my lips though—“

* “Ah, sometimes when I can’t see you at night I give it a little kiss for luck haha.”

* He’s dead. Sanjis dead.

* Cause of death: love sickness

* He died happy though

* He’s just such a simp for you man

* Like, take the shirt off his back and lay it over a puddle so you don’t get your feet wet, hear you’re craving a certain type of food and make it the next meal, buys you feminine hygiene products from the store with pride (along with some snacks he knows you like, kiss your hands and worship the ground you walk on type of love.

* Honestly what a dream

A/N: kinda wanna make a nsfw version too.

#one piece #opla x reader #one piece x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #sanji imagine #sanji vinsmoke #sanji vinsmoke x reader #black leg sanji #sanji fluff

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frogchiro · 3 months

Note

can I request thots on hybrid coyote graves and maybe a sweet little farmer who dotes on him- she legit gives him food and scratches all the time thinking he's a dog because of how sweet he is to her- plot twist he's just being polite cuz he's in love and is ready to mate her anytime she bends over 💕 bonus points if she's totally receptive and that makes him go feral

I think you'd like my cottage core!Reader au I did a while back!! Bc it's basically what you described, just Coyote!Philip being the biggest menace to poor reader who just wants to live her quaint and calm life in her cottage surrounded by forests and rolling fields of green, but suddenly this loud, cocky coyote hybrid appeared!

He may be loud with his howls and yowls and keeping you up at night but that are just his mating calls! He wants you to know he's an eligible coyote male, very strong and virile and that he's ready to mate with you! And he has to let you know too!

But you never hold that against him, bless your heart. You can never say no to those big blue eyes and the charming, toothy smile he sends your way. He's older but very handsome in a rogue-ish, rugged way. And he's very friendly and chatty too! Swings by your cottage every day to chat with you and spending the whole day with you (sometimes the night too, unknowingly to you he sometimes sleeps in your garden) and sometimes he comes bearing gifts! They range from berries to dead birds he hunted for you to fluffy warm pelts and blankets for the harsh winters here! (You don't ask how he got the last one)

And after all his efforts you can't just not try and repay him :(( Philip wants to prove he is a great provider and can and will take care of you (and any possible pups you produce) so you make delicious jam from the berries he gathered that you later put into those cookies he loves snacking on and you use the birds he hunted and the vegetables from your garden to make rich, nutricious meals for the hybrid and he is yet to turn a single one of them down <3

As for the pelts and blankets they come in handy when a harsh winter hits and you're scrambling to put together a fire in the fireplace to warm yourself and your home and assemble what is basically a pillow fort in your bed to warm yourself....But you couldn't help but worry about Phil. You know he has his den in the woods and that the pelt on his back and chest give him some warmth but this winter is worse than any you've seen and you worry about your hybrid companion, what if he freezes to death?

You were about to dress yourself and go out looking for him to invite him but luck was on your side and the hybrid male came to you first! He had his charming smile as always as he nonchalantly asked if he could warm himself up in your cottage and despite his bravado, you could see that the man was freezing cold so you immediately pulled him inside and basically stated that he is going to be staying with you for the rest of the winter and you won't take no for an answer.

Of course Philip was elated to hear it! For him this was basically a proposal and before long you two were snuggled under the warm furs and blankets Phil gave you (not before he insistently rubbed himself on your entire bed to 'scent it thoroughly'), falling asleep blissfully except for your hot blush as you felt the hot and hard pressure between your thighs and the blonde's panting and whines :((

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #this got out of control very quickly😭#but I hope you will like it love<3 #hybrids au #hybrid au #cottagecore!reader #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x reader #philip graves

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thecampjuicebox · 4 months

Text

Astarion relationship headcannons that I cannot stop from absolutely ✨rotting my brain✨(SFW & NSFW)

Early on in your relationship, he would be absolutely caught off guard by any sort of affection, and would probably prefer much smaller forms; gentle brushes of your hands together. A passing kiss on the shoulder. Small acts of service like sharing a piece of food, fixing an out of place curl, adjusting the ruffles on his tunic, etc.

Once he becomes more comfortable, he'd search for more frequent displays of affection throughout the day, probably whining if he goes too long without a touch or a kiss or a hug. He'd pull you to him in front of the others in camp just to hear them snicker and groan at how disgustingly cute the two of you are. Cup your cheek and hold your gaze as his lips hover over yours to tease you before kissing you like he's out of breath and you're his only source of oxygen.

He'd hold you by the hips when walking through the city. Or the hand. Or the back of the shirt. The pocket. The beltloop. Anything to keep constant contact and subtly but not subtly show everyone you belong to him.

Clingy? Yes. Possessive? Secretly. But not really. He'd shoot eyes like daggers at anyone that looked at you with too much interest. He'd mostly keep quiet about it, the fear of upsetting you much more important to him than how he feels about the situation (absolutely to his detriment)

He'd probably try and teach you how to sew. How to fix garments, make new ones, hem pants and tunics, anything he'd deem useful information if for some reason the two of you were to separate or be separated (Not that he'd expect that to happen, or would allow it). He'd see it as a bonding opportunity, for sure.

In the beginning of your relationship he would still offer sex regularly, even though he'd still struggle with actually enjoying the act. He'd put all of his focus on you, your pleasure, how you're feeling, what you want, etc.

When you'd offer to reciprocate, he wouldn't know how to feel. He'd always been made to perform and give instead of receiving and it would take a long long time for him to become okay with it again. You'd be patient, though. And he'd appreciate it more than he could ever express in words.

Once he IS okay with sex again, my gods he'd out-do himself each and every time.

He'd do his best to make it as romantic as possible at first. A warm bath to soothe your muscles, candles, a good meal, a massage, he'd brush your hair, butter you up as much as possible before absolutely ruining you for hours on end.

That time of the month? No problem. He'd relish in your moon blood. Take his time with you. Little bites in your inner thighs so you're reminded of him the following day. Bruising kisses, exploring you with his tongue, tasting every last drop like he's starved. All the while being as gentle as possible with his hands and his words. Help clean you up, lest a single drop be wasted. Not on his watch!

He'd definitely be the type to talk you through your orgasm. Tell you how beautiful/handsome you are, cumming for him. Stare into your eyes and watch as you unravel completely. Kiss you so you're forced to moan into his mouth. He wants to taste your pleasure. Taste your desperation for closeness. And he'd deliver each and every time.

When it comes to his pleasure, I think he'd be relatively simple. Sweet kisses along his cold skin, enjoying the warmth of your hands and lips all over his body. He'd prefer you on top so he can watch you the entire time, or have you pressed tightly to his chest so he can hear your heart quicken and your blood rush through your veins. A symphony to his ears. Your life force, your sweet nectar, all driving him absolutely mad as you ravish each other.

I live and die by this, Astarion would be BIG into aftercare. Giving it and receiving it. Kisses, cuddles, cleaning each other up, picking out comfortable clothing for bed or just stayed pressed together in the nude.

Sleeping next to Astarion would never be truly sleeping NEXT to him. He'd bury his face in your breasts or neck. Or rest his head on your stomach and giggle at the gurgling noises it makes. Tangle his legs with yours, hold your hand, press your foreheads together, anything to be as close as possible. Eventually this becomes the only way he can sleep. The only thing to keep his nightmares at bay.

I hope you guys enjoy my lil headcannons. I'm sure they're not much different from others, but my gods do I think about these REGULARLY.

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons

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onlymingyus · 3 months

Text

warm hearts

pairing; choi seungcheol x gn reader

genre; fluff

warnings; just two simps in love, mentions food and eating

w/c; 500 and some change

a/n; cheol posted these pics and he is my comfort member (one of them). i am struggling really bad mentally right now and i just needed to write something about how warm these pics made me feel. this is just a special posting, not on y schedule and it's very short so -- enjoy. thank you to @junkissed for the quick beta

before continuing remember reblogs are incredibly important and please read how to support me here

“It’s cold, baby…”

Seungcheol’s pouty voice makes you smile as you look at him through the viewfinder of his camera. His lips were pursed to match his voice and his eyes locked on you as he watched you take another step back in the snow.

“I know, Cheol, but you look so cute. Just a couple more.”

He was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to be the one to pose in the middle of the snow heart but seeing your smile as you looked at him over the camera made him want to agree to it all over again. You watch as his lips soften into a smile and you snap a few more shots, biting at your bottom lip as your stomach comes alive with butterflies.

You had been dating Seungcheol for a couple years but moments like this, when he would smile at you like that, made you feel like it was brand new. You fell in love with him all over again and it felt like he was doing the same.

Lowering the camera, you sigh, your breath visible in the cold, night air as you look at your handsome boyfriend, waiting patiently in the heart made of snow. He looked so small, crouched down, his arms resting on his knees but you knew that he wasn’t. You knew that at any moment he would have his arms back around you, cradling you against his body.

“All done. I think there is a market a little further up. Do you want to get a snack?”

Moving to his feet, Seungcheol seems to read your mind as he presses his cold lips together, moving in behind you to pull you, wrapping his arms around you. His eyes scan over the pictures you have taken of him as you click through them, a smile on his face as he leans his cold cheek against yours, enjoying the warmth of your body against his.

“Mm, yeah. I’m craving fishcakes.”

Sliding your hand along Seungcheol’s arm, you laugh at his craving before nodding in agreement to the idea of the warm broth that would accompany it.

“Sounds good, only if we can get hotteok too.”

Taking a step from Seungcheol, you laugh once again when he walks along with you, keeping his arm wrapped around your stomach.

“That’s basically written in the rules, so of course we will.”

A bright smile is on your face and you lean your head back against Seungcheol’s shoulder as you both walk in tandem. The walk is awkward and slow but it’s worth the effort as you feel not only the shared warmth but also that you don’t want to be anywhere else.

“Thank you for today, Cheol.”

Your soft words cause Seungcheol to smile as he leans against you, finally coming to a stop in the market. You didn’t have to thank him for something like that; he wanted to spend the day with you, the night, his life, but he would give you anything you asked for.

“You’re welcome, baby. Thank you for spending it with me.”

#seungcheol fluff #seventeen fluff #svthub #svt fluff #seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #scoups fluff #scoups x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagines

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woso-dreamzzz · 3 months

Text

Firsts

Hardersson x Baby!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first week at home

You get to come home the day after you're born.

Thankfully, you sleep the entire time though Pernille stays in the back with you just in case. It's a little strange, she thinks. The last time she was home, she was pregnant. Now she has you.

Your name is decided the day you come home and you do little but nap and eat. You're a little devil that first night and wake up on the hour, every hour to cry and feed.

Pernille has to get up because she's practically your walking food source but Magda gets up in solidarity too (though it's mainly to coo in awe at you).

The next day is more active. Magda drives you all to the registry office where they finalise your name and then to the embassies to register you as a citizen of Denmark and Sweden.

You seem to like the car because it sends you to sleep every time but dislike leaving it because you cry and whine until one of them holds you nice and tight.

You seem to like affection though. You're most content in Pernille and Magda's arms and you get all wiggly and weird when you're put in your car seat or crib. Magda can't quite tell yet if you just like their presence or if it's because of their warmth. Either way, she doesn't really care, more than happy to give in to your every need.

She takes a lot of pictures of you, sending them to family members who lament about not being able to visit but promise to book tickets to Germany very soon.

The exhaustion kicks in around day three. You haven't settled since your last feed of the night and Pernille's practically falling asleep in her seat as you suckle at her insistently.

Her eyes slip closed every few seconds and she has to wrench them open each time just in case something happens to you. Magda looks to be in a similar state as she lies on the floor at Pernille's feet, snoring softly before lifting her head when Pernille nudges at her.

"Huh?" She asks groggily," Wha's...Wha's goin' on?" Her words are slurred and she blinks the sleep from her eyes.

"She needs a change," Pernille says, unlatching you and handing you down to Magda.

Magda mechanically takes you, still completely exhausted but still awake enough to hold your properly.

You scrunch up your face in annoyance when she strips you of your babygrow and changes your nappy. It's one of the few things Magda can say that you absolutely hate. You screech loudly and kick out your little, uncoordinated limbs while Magda scrunches up her nose at the smell.

You're a little darling most of the time but she absolutely hates changing you. She thinks it's a fair exchange though. Pernille's barely producing enough milk to keep you full so there's none to express and put in bottles for Magda to use to feed you so Pernille stays as your sole feeder and Magda does the changing.

The little stump where your umbilical cord used to be looks fine when Magda checks it, a habit she has found herself doing ever since the nurse said that there was always a slight chance of infection. She tickles your stomach to distract you as she slips on a new nappy and buttons up your babygrow again.

"There," Magda says," All done!"

She picks you up and brings you into the crook of her neck. You're rooting immediately, trying to suck in her collarbone like it's going to get you milk.

Magda laughs a little, patting you on the back softly.

Day four and five happen much the same with the three of you trapped in your sweet little bubble at home.

Day six doesn't have much excitement either apart from the Wolfsburg chat blowing up when Nilla finally lets slip that Pernille has had you.

Most of the day is spent on a video call with you propped up on Magda's chest as Pernille shows you off to the camera. Everyone coos and awes over you as you yawn and clench your little fist.

Pernille swipes a finger against your cheek to show off how much you like to eat because you automatically move your face towards the pressure and start trying to root, searching for her breast.

It causes a fresh wave of coos to sound from the phone.

It makes you demonstrate your startle reflex expertly as your eyes go wide and you fling your arms out.

Magda likes to say that she knows you're going to be smart when you grow up just by how strong your instincts are but Pernille's planning on waiting until you're at least strong enough to hold up your own head to make such judgements.

"She's so pretty," Noelle coos from where she's squished between Ewa and Sara on the screen," When can we come to see her?"

"Pernille will come to you guys," Magda says as she holds you a little tighter with a wink to the camera. "We're keeping her to ourselves right now."

"Unfair," Ewa complains," Why can't we get baby love too?"

"Baby love is reserved for her mothers right now," Pernille laughs as she begins to say her goodbyes to everyone.

"How long do you think you can hold them off?"

"Probably until you leave. Frido, though, should probably get told before Nilla blabs to her too."

Magda sighs deeply. "I'll text her later."

"You better hurry," Pernille says," Or you're going to get a very angry phone call later."

On your seventh day at home, you let Magda know how you feel about her taking you from Pernille's breast before you're ready by spitting up all over her back when she tries to wind you.

Somehow, you've even gotten some under her shirt and she can feel the milky mixture slide down her skin.

Half-delirious from sleep exhaustion, Pernille finds this hysterical and laughs until she cries as Magda can do nothing but writhe in disgust.

"Pernille!" She whines," Stop laughing! Hold her so I can change!"

Pernille is still hysterically laughing as Magda feels your spit meet her waistband. To your credit, you're not crying or anything. You're just happily blowing spit bubbles out of your milk as Magda wriggles around.

"I've got her, I've got her," Pernille giggles as she takes you and mops up your face," Go and change. You smell."

"It's her fault!"

"Don't blame, princesse! She's just a baby!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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minisugakoobies · 3 months

Text

Paradise | JJK - Fifteen

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: smut, neighbors to lovers (not quite friends but not quite strangers), slow burn, love triangle, Stripper!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: we finally get a JinKook showdown in the most ridiculous way possible, the tiniest bit of angst, CONFESSIONS!!, followed by post-confession sex, JK hits it raw, OC in lingerie, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lots of talking about feelings, I'm sorry but this gets a little soft because I love these two

Word Count: 6.3k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: That sexy man on stage - the one currently giving your friend the lap dance of her LIFE - is your super shy neighbor, Jeon Jungkook?!

A/N: We're back and we're nearing the end! Thank you to everyone who has been waiting patiently for the next chapter - I didn't mean for it to take so long, but, well, life 🤷‍♀️ Anyway, I'm very excited to share this chapter with you finally - I hope you enjoy!

Unbeta’d as usual. Please don’t be a silent reader, I’d love to hear from you! 💕

Previous Chapter ♦️ Paradise Masterlist

Despite his words earlier, Jungkook is in fact one of the first people on the dance floor when it opens. And of course, you’re right there with him. How could you say no when he holds his hand out and smiles at you like that - like nothing else would make him happier right now than you in his arms?

After all the time you’ve spent admiring Jungkook’s moves when he dances for you, it’s a whole new perspective to get to experience them when you’re dancing with him. Part of that difference is due to the deejay keeping it wholesome with the song selections, since Jennie and Yoongi’s family members are the majority of the revelers surrounding you. So there’s a lot less grinding and a lot more distance between the two of you.

You don’t really try to keep up with him - it’s not that you’re a terrible dancer, it’s just that he’s so fucking good. His every movement is so natural, like he’s not even trying. He does show off just a little bit, when Jisoo eggs him on, slipping into a freakishly accurate robot that has a small ring of guests gathering around to cheer him on. The giant grin on his face tells you he’s enjoying the attention just as much as the faint blush on the tips of his ears tells you he’s just a little bashful about it.

After a few songs, the music finally slows a little, the crowd thinning as only couples are left. Jungkook draws you close, one arm sliding around your back as the other clasps your hand, holding it to his chest. The room around you falls away as he takes the lead, swaying with you around the floor.

“Are you having a good time, jagi?” he murmurs after a moment.

“I am, Kookie.” Lifting your head from his shoulder, you gaze into his eyes, feeling that familiar warmth overtake you when he returns your smile. “Thanks for coming with me today.”

“Like I’d turn down the chance for free food and drinks,” he teases, laughing when you huff and try to pull away, tightening his grip to keep you locked in place. “What? I’m just being honest.”

“Ass,” you mutter, but you can’t stop smiling, and neither can he. He lifts his arm, hand pressing lightly on your back to guide you in a spin, then brings you back into his embrace. You spot Rosé across the room, watching you and Jungkook dance, and she politely claps as you shake your head, grinning.

The beat picks up again, and your friends surround you and Jungkook. Rosé, Jisoo, and Jin all dance together as Lisa introduces Yi-Jeong to the group. Even Jennie and Yoongi join in, and it’s true what Jennie told you yesterday - her man definitely has moves. Everyone’s happy and laughing, and you’re so full of joy you could just burst.

Jin suddenly twirls, facing Jungkook with an intense look on his face. The younger man takes a step back in surprise as Jin starts to rock his body back and forth, like he’s about to bust out a breakdance move. Is he seriously about to -

“Ooh, dance battle!” Jisoo cups her hands around her mouth, yelling. Your other friends start whooping, forming a circle around Jungkook and Jin. Jisoo pulls you next to her from where you’ve been standing, so you’re not between them anymore. “Get it, Bambi!”

While the others around you are shouting encouragement, you just gaze silently between the two men, unsure if you should be joining in. Unsure if this is a friendly competition or if the tense vibes you feel radiating between them is something more. From the expressions on their faces, it’s clear that they’re going to do this, so you just sigh, bobbing along to the beat, waiting for the show.

Jungkook stops gawking at Jin and begins bedrocking, swinging his hands as he faces Jin with a fierce look. Jin glares back, sticking his arms out as he undulates in a rather impressive wave, rolling his long limbs from left to right.

It’s not until you hear clapping behind you that you realize that more people have joined the circle, crowding in behind you, shouting Jin’s name. Jungkook hears it too, his brow furrowing slightly. It’s clear his competitive nature’s kicked in when he peels his suit jacket off. You hold your hand out for it automatically, feeling a swoop of heat in your stomach as he gives it to you with a wink.

The tip of his tongue slips out as Jungkook suddenly throws himself towards the ground, landing on one hand like he’s doing a handstand, and then kicks his legs out in a cartwheel kick. He’s so smooth with it, inverting himself like it’s nothing, that you actually gasp.

It’s like he cranked the volume up on the crowd, and someone - Rosé, maybe? - starts chanting Jungkook’s name. You can’t help but add your voice to the mix.

Jungkook lands back on his feet and motions for Jin to go. Jin also takes his jacket off, jaw clenching firmly. He rolls his body a few times before bouncing into the Roger Rabbit, feet stepping quickly, arms flapping at his side like wings. It’s surprisingly loose and funky, two words you don’t typically associate with Jin.

Lisa yells, “Go chef!” and the crowd divides itself into two chants. Jin ends his turn with a little flourish, dusting imaginary dirt from his broad shoulders. But you know from Jungkook’s smirk that he’s undaunted, and without a second’s hesitation, he swiftly dives to the floor, launching himself into a windmill.

Your friends explode into cheers, watching Jungkook roll round and round the floor. As he picks up speed, he tucks his arms up onto his stomach, doing the trick with no hands. Then he comes to a stop with a freeze, legs hanging in the air.

The crowd chants Jungkook’s name only as he rises to his feet. He straightens his tie, then gestures to Jin. Jin rocks for a few beats, a strange look in his eye.

Then he throws his hands out in front of him, holding one steady while the other mimics winding a reel.

“Is he - is he fishing for Jungkook?”

You don’t answer Rosé as there’s no need to. Jin’s clearly doing the fishing pole move. One by one, the voices around you grow quieter. Jungkook blinks at Jin for a few seconds, obviously thrown by this decision.

Then he grins, flapping his hands by his face like fins.

“Oh, wow, they share a brain cell,” Lisa says. “Did not see that coming.”

Jisoo groans. “Well, this is anticlimactic. I was promised bloodshed.”

“Who promised you that?” you ask, laughing. Feeling a tiny bit relieved.

The crowd departs, but the two men keep dancing. Jungkook pretends he’s been hooked, thrashing from side-to-side before dropping to the ground in his signature dolphin kick. Always a performer to the end, you think, as he hops back to his feet, and he and Jin take turns bowing to one another.

The smile on his face gets wider when Jungkook sees you clapping for him. He reaches for his jacket, and you impulsively press a kiss to his cheek, biting back a laugh as his eyes widen slightly.

“If those are the moves you pull out for a dance-off, I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for later,” you whisper. Jungkook’s arm grips your side as he tilts his head to look at you. His touch is warm, but it can’t match the heat in his eyes.

“Careful what you ask for, jagiya,” he replies, gaze dropping to your mouth so briefly that you almost miss it. “I need some water. Do you want anything?”

You shake your head, and he disappears towards the tables. As soon as he’s gone, you feel someone brush your arm.

“Okay, I’ll give it to the kid - he’s got moves,” Jin declares, holding his hand out in an offer to dance. You silently take it, letting him pull you close as the deejay cues up a ballad.

Jin’s quiet for a few beats, leading you in small circles around the dance floor. It strikes you that this is the first time the two of you have really been face-to-face since yesterday, that weird standoff in the hallway earlier notwithstanding. You haven’t had a chance to talk to him alone since -

“So what’s up with your boy?”

You meet Jin’s gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Jungkook? What do you mean?”

Jin shrugs, the movement jostling your hand where it rests on his shoulder. “I mean, he looked like he was ready to throw hands when he introduced himself earlier. Like he was just itching for a fight.”

“And you’re not?” You snort when he blinks in exaggerated confusion. “Oh, come on, all those snide little comments you were making at the table? Arguing with him about who has it worse? What was that all about?”

Jin maintains his affronted expression for half a minute longer before he starts to laugh. “Okay, fine, I admit I was just pushing his buttons at dinner. In my defense, he made it too easy!” He laughs harder when you roll your eyes and start to pull away. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. But I had to do something to cheer myself up. It wasn’t easy for me to sit there and watch the two of you together, to see the way you look at him.”

Your curiosity tampers down your annoyance for a moment. “How do I look at him?”

Jin smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Like there’s no one else in the world.”

You glance away, unsure what to say to that. Your gaze flits around the room until it lands on Jungkook, finding him at one of the tables, chatting with Lisa and Yi-jeong. His nose crinkles as he laughs with your friend, tattooed hand coming up to swipe away the hair that falls into his face, and you hear Jin sigh.

“Yeah, that’s the look,” he says, shaking his head. He shifts his arm from your back, leading you into a gentle spin. “I was honestly surprised at how easy it was to antagonize him. Figured nothing I could do or say would bother him, knowing he won your heart.”

When you don’t respond to that, staring at Jin’s bowtie instead of meeting his eye, he hums.

“Oh, I see. You haven’t told him yet.”

Without warning, Jin dips you. You gasp, clutching his bicep to steady yourself.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he murmurs. His hand grips yours tightly, arm cradles your back, keeping you in place while his face hovers a mere breath above yours.

It’s an intimate pose, the way he holds you now, yet just like yesterday, you feel nothing.

“No. No second thoughts.” You’ve recovered from your momentary shock, voice steady as you reply. “I’m sorry, Jin, but like I told you yesterday, it’s Jungkook I want.”

Immediately, you’re back on your feet.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Jin grins a crooked grin. “Had to ask, though.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m starting to regret this whole ‘let’s be friends’ idea.”

He ignores your jibe. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

You take a moment to study his face before answering. All traces of humor have vanished as he waits for your response. Slowly, you nod.

“What are you waiting for?”

The rooftop garden glows softly in the night air, lit by tiny lights strung along the trees and flowering plants. Hidden speakers strewn around the open space bring the music from the reception outside, providing a gentle soundtrack for a beautiful summer evening.

“Where are we going?” Jungkook asks, hand clasped firmly in yours as you lead him out of the reception and across the garden.

In the corner of the roof, there’s a small nook carved out between two potted cherry blossoms, their branches obscuring the two of you from any of the other guests milling about. Right now, you need a little privacy.

You also need a moment to gather your thoughts. Your stomach’s jumped into your throat at the thought of what you’re about to do, and your anxiousness makes it hard to think straight. It doesn’t help that you’re slightly distracted by the sight in front of you.

Although the sun’s long since set, the air is still warm. Jungkook’s shed his jacket, has his tie loosened, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hand still in yours as he looks at you expectantly, patiently waiting for you to speak. You can see the moon reflecting in his bright eyes, and for a moment, you’re back in the elevator at your apartment, staring at your handsome neighbor, that shy man with the sweet smile.

It wasn’t that long ago that he was a total stranger. Someone you saw occasionally at the mailboxes, someone who regularly ran away when you tried to talk to him. You didn’t know anything about him back then - what he did, what he liked, what made him laugh. What his kisses felt like.

It wasn’t that long ago, yet it already feels like a distant memory. One that you never want to return to. Knowing everything you know about him now, feeling everything you feel - you can’t go back. There’s only one thing you need to do now - tell him.

No reason to wait a second longer.

Taking a deep breath, you squeeze his hand. “Jungkook, I brought you out here because I wanted to tell you something. I’m… ah, I’m not very good at this kind of thing, but I’m gonna try because I don’t want to drag this out when I don’t need to.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows twitch slightly, but he doesn’t say anything, so you go on.

“You know how I went to Jennie’s yesterday? Um, Jin was also there, with Yoongi. He pulled me aside and told me that the job Wendy asked me to interview for is actually his show for Nosh. And then he started talking about the two of us working together and traveling and -”

“Choose me, jagiya.”

“Huh?”

His interruption throws you off from the rambly mess you were attempting to say. Jungkook reaches for your other hand, holding both against his chest, and gives you a shaky smile.

“Choose me, jagi. I know I don’t have a career like Seokjin does, or his money, or - or even a guarantee that I’ll ever have either of those things. I probably can’t promise you most of the things he can.” He pauses to draw a long breath, like he’s trying to slow himself down and not rush over his words, and oh, you want to kiss him so much right now. Even if this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “But I can promise y-”

“No no!” It’s his turn to look surprised as you raise your hands to his mouth, muffling his speech. “Jungkook, stop! I was trying to tell you that I ended things with Jin yesterday. You don’t have to say another word because it’s over.”

“Mmt’s omer?” he mumbles against your fingers, eyes widening.

“Yes, it’s over,” you giggle, uncovering his mouth, and suddenly all of your nervousness floats away on the evening breeze. “Come on, Kookie. Don’t you know? I’ve already chosen. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Jungkook continues to stare at you with those big doe eyes as your words slowly sink in, and you can’t help but smile, fondly, so, so fondly, that familiar sensation of warmth surging up from your chest, and you know now that it has a name, that buzz, that elation, that euphoria, and it’s on the tip of your tongue, just waiting for you to breathe it to life.

So you exhale.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

For just the slightest of moments - a fraction of a second, a single heartbeat - when he doesn’t do anything, doesn’t so much as blink or breathe, you’re scared you’ve said too much. It’s too soon, too fast, too everything.

But then he wraps his arms around you, holding you close enough that you can feel his own heart thumping wildly within his chest, and puts your fears to rest with four simple words, whispered softly against your lips.

“Jagi, I’ve already fallen.”

He kisses you, soft and slow, every touch so full of tenderness that you could cry. You tangle your fingers in his hair, desperately seeking something to hold onto, to keep you from floating right off the roof. He’s fallen for you. Jungkook’s fallen for you.

You never knew your heart could hold so much.

All your nervousness from before has dissipated. Now the only reason your pulse races is the nearness of him.

“Are you in any hurry to get back in there?” he asks, tipping his head towards the party.

You shake your head.

He smiles. “Good.”

He takes your hand again, locking his other arm around your back. You lay your head on his shoulder and close your eyes, listening to him sing along lightly with the music drifting across the rooftop. Even when the song changes to something more uptempo, he doesn’t let go, just laces his fingers through yours and continues to sway with you beneath the stars.

Many songs later, when the two of you finally return to the party, you find that it’s already winding down. Jennie and Yoongi are making their rounds to say goodbye, needing to go home and pack for their trip to Jeju Island in the morning.

Jennie grabs your arm and pulls you away from Jungkook, waving the other bridesmaids over. “I’m gonna do it tonight!”

Jisoo pinches her cheek. “Babe, you’ve already done it. That’s why you’re late, remember?”

“Ha, ha.” Jennie smacks her hand away. “I mean I’m gonna tell Yoongi I’m pregnant, smartass.”

“Ah, I’m so excited for you!” Lisa gives her a hug, and then you’re all hugging.

“Have you all had a good time tonight?” Jennie asks, not waiting for an answer. “This has been the most amazing day! Thank you for everything, I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Yes, you could have,” you grin.

“Okay, true, I could have. But it wouldn’t have been as much fun without you all. I love you so much!”

“We love you too. Now go celebrate with your husband!” Rosé giggles, emphasizing the last word with an energetic wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Yeah, get out of here. Some of us have plans tonight but we can’t leave until you do.” Jisoo declares.

“She makes a good point,” Lisa chimes in, glancing over her shoulder at where Yi-jeong sits alone, clearly waiting.

“Wow, okay,” Jennie laughs, but she’s flying too high to really be mad. “I’ll see you all in a week!”

It’s as you turn to walk back to Jungkook that you remember.

“Oh! Lisa!”

Your friend glances at you as you back away with a giant grin.

“Pay Rosé her fifty bucks.”

“Why are your friends screaming like that?” Jungkook asks when you rejoin him.

You just smile and press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Ready to get out of here?”

Riding Jungkook’s motorcycle is a much more pleasant experience tonight than it was on your way home from your first date. The sky is clear above you as Jungkook expertly weaves through traffic, and you’re warm and dry sitting behind him, wearing his suit jacket, arms tight around his waist. You spend most of the ride hugging more than holding on to him.

Every few blocks, he releases the hand grip to let his palm rest on your thigh for a moment, squeezing gently. You think he means it as a reassuring touch, knowing how shaky you are with the entire concept of motorcycles to begin with, how just the thought of riding one still makes you nervous, but the actual effect he's having on you is far from comforting. It’s driving you insane.

By the time you reach your apartment door, you’re feral with need. You toss Jungkook’s jacket onto the floor and Jungkook lets out a surprised yelp when you tug on his arm as he’s closing the door. He barely has a chance to turn the lock before you’re pulling him down, passionately kissing away his confused noise.

“B-baby,” he finally manages to stammer out after a few minutes of intense making out, “baby, do you wanna move to the couch?”

You shake your head. “Need you now.”

“Yeah?” His eyes are so dark that it makes you shudder when he catches your gaze. “Always so needy for me, huh? Just like the first time?”

You remember that night, the way he’d fucked you against the hallway wall, both of you too desperate to even make it another ten feet to your bed. That same greedy desire burns through you now.

Thank god for the slit in your dress. Hitching your leg up, you wrap it around his back, guiding him back down on top of you.

“Just like that,” your voice trembles, back arching as Junghook’s hand snakes between you, rubbing at you through your dress. “Ahh, fuck, just like that!”

You grasp at the side zipper on the dress, fingers fumbling too much to yank it down as quickly as you want. Jungkook has to do it for you, helping you sit up long enough to shed the entire gown.

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Jagi.”

If you weren’t already dying for him, the expression on his face when he sees you in the lingerie you’re wearing beneath your dress would do it.

“Does it look better in person?” you ask, running your fingers over your chest, thumbs pressing in slow circles to wake your nipples, feeling them swell beneath the lace.

With a pained groan, Jungkook starts hurriedly tearing at his suit, throwing the items nearly halfway across the open space of your living room in his urgency, not stopping until he’s completely naked, cock already hardening between his legs.

“Yeah,” he grunts, biting his lip to let his hands do the talking. They travel over your torso, up across your breasts, squeezing your hands so you grip yourself harder. He laughs at your little gasp, and then he’s swallowing your sounds with his eager mouth, knocking your legs apart with his knee so he can press his body to yours.

Your own impatience has you hooking your calves the backs of his thighs, bending your knees to urge him nearer. But no matter how close he is to you, it’s not enough, an itch you can’t scratch no matter how much you try.

“I think this is going to have to come off now,” you frown, tugging at your bodice. You need to feel him, skin-to-skin.

“Oh, not yet,” Jungkook says, voice near enough to be a growl. “Please, jagi, keep it on a little longer. For me.” He looks at you with such a lustful gaze that you find yourself nodding, immediately caving to his wish. If he wants to fuck you in your lingerie, fine. There will be more time to feel him later.

There will be more time for everything you want with Jungkook.

His mouth reconnects with yours. You sigh into him as his fingers find the snaps at the crotch of the teddy. He’s not gentle with them, practically ripping them open, but he’s more delicate as he slides his finger into you, finding you just as wet as always. He plunges two fingers in, and you know he’s trying to take his time and make sure you’re ready, but you’re too impatient for his consideration right now.

“Come on, Kookie,” you plead, cupping his chin to draw his gaze away from his work, “I’m ready. I need you now.”

“Shit,” he mutters, clearly reading your frustration. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I wanna feel you.”

He reaches for his pants, which have been flung over the back of the couch, and you stop him.

“No, I mean, I want to feel you.”

Jungkook swallows hard, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing. “Jesus Christ, jagiya, you’re going to kill me.” He kisses you again, before his expression turns serious. “Can we? I mean, are you on something -”

Laughing, you grab his face again, pulling him back to you for another kiss.

“I have an implant. And I haven’t been with anyone since you and I have been…” you trail off, unsure what to call it. Dating? “Not since the last time I was tested.”

“No one?” He doesn’t say the name, but you know what he’s asking.

“No one.” You and Seokjin never got that far.

“I haven’t been with anyone either.” Jungkook strokes his thumb along your cheek. “It’s just been you. You’re the only one I want.”

“Then have me.” With another sigh, you lift your hips, rolling against him.

Jungkook groans, and you barely have a second to breathe before his lips take yours again. There’s some shifting, you spreading your legs while he’s propping himself up on one elbow and lining himself up with his other hand, and then he’s sinking in, slowly, filling you up hot inch by hot inch, until he’s completely sheathed.

You got your wish. You can feel all of him. It’s a new sensation, and it’s intense, but you can tell it’s even more so for him.

“Oh, goddamn, jagi.” Jungkook presses his forehead to yours. His chest heaves as he holds himself completely still. “You’re so - fuck.”

“Yeah? Is it that good?”

He nods a little, eyes squeezing shut, and you run your fingers through his hair, trying to impart some comfort. As much as you want him to rail you through the floor right now, you don’t want to rush him anymore.

“Does it really feel that different?”

Jungkook shakes his head. “It’s not that. That’s part of it - you feel so fucking good, baby - but it’s - it’s…” He huffs out a short breath, shaking his head again. “I don’t know how to say it. It’s everything.”

And you understand exactly what he means, not by whatever he’s trying and failing to say, but by the look in his eyes.

“Oh,” is all you can say, feeling your own words slipping away from you, as he starts to move.

His cock drags slowly, so slowly at first, his head bowing as he concentrates on the feeling of you, the way your cunt seems to suck him back in eagerly, walls clenching when he snaps his hips experimentally. He observes every breath that escapes you, every mewl and whimper, and adjusts his pace, the strength of his thrusts, all the while drowning in his own perception, the tight heat and wetness of your core making his eyes roll back in his head with each pump.

Neither of you speak after that, but you don’t need to. Your bodies communicate everything you’re feeling, punctuated by the unrestrained noises you both make. Your nails rake down Jungkook’s back as he fucks into you, drawing whine after whine from him, broken cries of desire, of wanting you to hold him, claim him, just as he’s claiming you. Mine, your fingernails declare, inscribing his skin with scratches. Yours, his hips answer in return, powerfully driving into yours, connecting you again and again, faster and faster.

His hand clutches at the thigh you’ve wrapped around his waist, fingers twisting around the garter straps, and you can tell from his unsteady panting that he’s close. Your own pleasure is nearing the precipice, but you know he’s going to reach his first. Which he confirms with a strangled whimper.

“Jagi, I’m - I’m gonna come,” he grits through his teeth, brow furrowed, like he’s focusing all his energy on not coming right then and there. “‘M sorry, I can’t stop, I can’t - “

“Don’t stop, Kookie, don’t stop!” You don’t care if he finishes first. This isn’t about just sex anymore. All you want is for him to feel as good as he makes you feel, all the time. “Come on, cum inside me. Give me everything, fill me up!”

“Fuck!” he grunts, moaning your name, and with only a few more thrusts, he follows your command. His hips jerk wildly as he gives in to the burning need beneath his skin and fills you with his hot release. It seems to go on and on, until he’s gasping, sagging against you weakly, too wrung out to hold himself up any longer. “Holy shit.”

You just hum, stroking his sweat-soaked hair, until he finally lifts his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I got caught up in the moment. Too much going on in my head and - and, fuck, you felt too good.” He gives you a sheepish smile.

You shush his apologies with a laugh, wrapping your arms around him again, urging him to lay down, so his head rests on your chest. “You don’t have to explain. It’s been… it’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything like this.”

He sighs, moving slightly so he can leave light kisses over your covered chest. “Me too.” His hand trails lazily down your torso, following the swirls in the lace’s pattern. “I’m glad you said what you did. On the roof. I wanted to tell you before how I felt, but I was afraid you’d think I was rushing things.” His voice gets quieter. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

There’s a sadness in his tone, a naked vulnerability that makes your heart ache, so you squeeze him a little tighter. You know exactly what he means.

He raises his head a little, starts kissing his way down your stomach. “Are you still…”

“Am I still what?” You bite your lip as he reaches the apex of your thighs, gently nudging them further apart so he can lie in between.

Jungkook presses soft kisses to your inner thighs, one side, then the other, before he looks up at you. “Was that enough for you or are you still wanting more? You were so needy earlier, jagiya.”

Of course you still want more. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of him.

“Yeah,” you say, your fingers combing his hair out of his face so there’s nothing hiding him from you, just as there’s nothing hiding you from him, “I want more. Please, Kookie.”

The smirk that spreads across his lovestruck face sends your heart racing. Your back arches off the floor when he coaxes the first orgasm from you with his tongue, feels like it might snap in half by the time he pulls the second one with his fingers.

You melt into his embrace afterward, so thoroughly satiated, so utterly content, that you nearly fall asleep. But Jungkook coaxes you off the floor and into the bathroom, to wash his back in the shower before he tenderly scrubs yours, and then into bed, where the last thing you see before closing your eyes is the smile on his face as he whispers good night.

“What does this one mean?”

It’s late. Very late, sometime between midnight and early morning, when you should be asleep. You’d awoken in need of some water, slipping out carefully, trying not to wake Jungkook, only to come back to find him up and waiting for you to return to bed. He wasn’t just awake but up up, and you couldn’t resist, climbing directly into his lap for a slow, lazy ride.

Now, you’re lying together, back pressed to Jungkook’s chest, with his arm draped beneath your breasts, as he gives you a tour of his tattoos. He tells you that most are symbolic, but a few have stories behind them, and you listen raptly to each one. Even though he’s probably tired, he’s indulging you, answering all your questions without so much as a single yawn.

He tilts his head to look at where you’re tapping on a striped snake. “That one? That’s supposed to represent growth. You know, shedding my skin, like a snake.” He flexes his forearm and the snake moves as if undulating on its own. “Do you like snakes?”

“I like them a lot more than spiders, I can tell you that,” you reply, giggling.

He laughs, watching silently as your fingers roam over his skin. There’s so much ink covering him, and you’re dying to know about all of it, filled with a buzzing curiosity despite the late hour.

“What about this one?” Gingerly, you trace over the orange tiger lily etched onto the inside of his forearm, as if afraid that pressing too harshly will cause the petals to crumple. It’s gorgeously vibrant, the glowing color popping vividly against his skin.

“Ah, that’s my birth flower.” Jungkook laughs a quick laugh. “That one was actually Taehyung’s suggestion. Do you know what the flower is supposed to represent?”

“Uh-uh.”

“Self-confidence.” He laughs again, shaking you a little as his chest vibrates. “He said it’d be a good reminder when he’s not around, that I still need to be confident.”

“Taehyung’s a good friend,” you remark, and Jungkook hums in assent. He rubs mindlessly at the flower with his other hand, fingertips bumping against yours.

“You know, there’s another reason I got this one. A hidden meaning that tiger lilies are meant to express.”

“Ooh, a hidden meaning?” You tilt your head to peer at him. “And what’s that?”

Even in the dim light from your bedside lamp, you can see the tips of Jungkook’s ears turning red as he smiles bashfully, his eyes crinkling when he answers. “Please love me.”

It’s impossible to resist kissing him, kissing that shy bunny smile that you’ve adored all this time, so you don’t even try, cupping his cheeks gently while you brush his lips with yours. When you pull away, his face is flushed, and he laughs, dipping his head in embarrassment even as he whispers, “Keep going.”

You giggle, and kiss him again, and then stop. “Oh! Wait a minute.”

Jungkook lets out a small grunt of displeasure when you leave his embrace, but you return quickly, handing him a small frame from your desk.

“Jagi, you framed this?” He stares through the glass at the tiger lily sketch he’d drawn for you, back when he asked you out on your first date.

“Well, yeah. It was too pretty not to.”

You take your place between his legs again, his arm automatically sliding around your waist while he gazes at the picture. “But it was just a quick little drawing. It’s not my best work.”

“So? I think it’s beautiful. And… it’s from you.” You can feel your neck warming as you speak. “I like to keep it on my desk when I’m working. Every time I get annoyed by something, I look at it, and it calms me down.” Your lips quirk in a little smile. “So you can imagine that I look at it a lot,” you say, half-joking, half-not. Because it’s true, you do stare at it a lot. The drawing always brings you peace. Because it reminds you of Jungkook. So fiery and bright, but also so lovely and delicate.

“Jagi,” Jungkook says again, swallowing thickly. His arm squeezes you closer.

You take the frame from his hand, placing it on the nightstand, before shifting to face him, legs straddling his as you loop your arms around his neck. “Be honest - were you sending me a hidden message with this?”

His ears are burning red again. “Maybe. Guess it worked.”

You surge forward, kissing the cheeky smile right off his face. His hands settle on your hips, holding you tightly, as if right now there’s any danger of you leaving. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be, with no one else.

But you’re also wondering something you’ve been wondering for a while now, and since he’s been so obliging so far, you decide to ask him one more question. “Can I ask you something?”

“Jagi, all you’ve been doing is asking me questions,” Jungkook grins.

You roll your eyes at his teasing tone. “Yeah, okay, I just mean, can I ask about something that doesn’t have anything to do with your tattoos?”

He nods.

“If I hadn’t come to Paradise with my friends that night, would you ever have made a move?”

He clearly wasn’t expecting that question, judging by the look on his face. His eyes fall out of focus as they stare unseeing at you, and you know he’s lost in thought. You give him the time to find his way to an answer, running your fingers through his hair soothingly while you wait.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits. “I’d like to think that yes, I would’ve gotten up the nerve to talk to you. But it might’ve taken a while. Seeing you at Paradise kind of gave me an opening.”

“I think this still would’ve happened,” you tell him, suddenly filled with an unusual amount of confidence, bolstered by his hands on your waist, his eyes locked on yours, “all of this. I think we would’ve ended up just like this.”

“How do you know that?”

“I would’ve worn you down at the mailboxes,” you grin. “At the rate we were going, it probably would’ve taken a decade, but we’d get there eventually.”

He laughs, hands locking behind your back as he holds you close. “Or maybe I would’ve shown up at your door one night and danced for you. Maybe that’s what I did in another universe.”

“I’m sure it worked,” you murmur, leaning closer to his lips. “I think in any universe, we end up like this. We’re just lucky that we got here so fast.”

“The luckiest,” he agrees, closing the space between you.

When you finally fall asleep again, you dream of falling through other universes, following the same dark eyes and wicked smirk through each.

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