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#*the sound of my poster falling off the wall*
animatedtext · 2 years
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neo-nomatrix · 10 months
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(My) Nuisance
Hobie brown x reader
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word count: 964
find the rest of the mini series here
synopsis: You thought you hated Hobie, but for some reason you’re starting to like him just as much as you like Spiderman.
a/n: (maybe too much) british slang used
You hate your next door neighbor. No, no you loathe your next door neighbor. You think he is the worst person to possibly exist. His stupid flat decorations, his loud punk-rock music blasting at unruly hours, the way he would come back to his flat at 4 am stomping his boots yelling with his friends about their latest anarchist protest. But you hate nothing more than the way he looks at you.
Everytime you try yelling at him he opens his door with the cheekiest grin on his face. While you’re standing there fuming he’s leaning against the door panel looking you up and down. The worst part is how much he tries to smooth talk you.
“I already told you how annoying your music is, no one wants to hear that at 3 am alright? Some of us have work in the morning,” you complain, smoke practically coming out of your ears.
“Oh c’mon love it’s not that bad. Don’t have to be such a tosser ‘bout it. It messes up that pretty face of yours,” he says.
“Are you daft? You’re the one keeping everyone up at night with your dumb guitar,” you roll your eyes.
“It’s not that big a deal sweetheart. Y’know i'm starting to think you’re making up rubbish just so you can talk to me more. I’ll admit it’s pretty cute but you could just ask me out,” he leans closer to your flushed face.
“I don’t fancy you if that’s what you mean,” you scoff.
“Not saying that. I’m saying if you wanna snog me so bad you could just say so,” he shrugs.
You could burst out laughing. Kiss him? That’s fucking hilarious.
“You’re joking right? i’d rather die.”
“I don’t believe in comedy, love,” he says.
“Of course you don’t,” you mumble as you storm off back to your door.
You’ve decided he is the worst person ever. He doesn’t deserve your efforts and time.
You set your keys down and fall into bed as you hear amp feedback and the sounds of Hobie strumming his guitar. You can’t help but roll your eyes. How could someone be so incompetent?
You reach your hand over to where the bed and the wall meet to grab your Spiderman plush. You hate to admit it because it’s kind of dumb but you’ve always loved spiderman. Ever since you were a little kid you collected posters, figures, pins, and merchandise having to do with the superhero. Even now, your walls are decorated in spiderman posters, you own spiderman clothing, and even printed your keys to have a blue and red spider web on them.
There was something so nostalgic to the vigilante and his style that you had to adorn your room with touches of blue and red. You thought spiderman was the embodiment of “cool.” From his suit to the way he acted around criminals to the electric guitar on his back. Sure, a guitar was the main thing you hated about Hobie but Spiderman did it better. He made it work in the way Hobie dreams of.
You wake up to the loudest knock on your front door you’ve ever heard. You immediately know it’s him. You try to ignore the blaring pounding coming from your door but it keeps going. You force yourself to get up and answer the door. You hope you can open it, yell at him, then go back to bed.
To your dismay the second you open the door Hobie places his hand on the top of the wood, stopping you from moving it anywhere else.
“What do you want this early?” you groan.
“It’s like 9 am, love. But anyway-” He cuts himself off before finishing his sentence. You’re too groggy to notice that he’s staring inside of your flat. His eyes search the walls and decor in front of him.
“So, I take it you like Spiderman?” He laughs.
“That’s none of your business,” you sigh, crossing your arms.
He pushes his way inside of your flat, moving around like he’s looking for buried treasure. He picks up memorabilia and smiles at them. He holds up a Spider-Punk figurine and turns towards you.
“Spider-Punk huh?”
“Don’t touch my stuff! You know this is technically breaking and entering,” you scold him, taking the figure out of his hand.
He puts his hands in his pockets and just smirks at you. That stupid smirk, displaying half of his teeth and perfectly showing his lip ring.
“What do you want from me, Hobie?” you question after placing the figure back on its stand.
“Jus- Just wanted to apologize for last night,” he starts.
“You mean this morning? We talked at 1 am, remember?” You say, passive aggressively.
“Right, whatever. You’re… You’re right,” he exhaled, “I shouldn’t be blasting my music that early. It’s inconsiderate and rude to the people in my vicinity,” he breathes.
In the time you’ve known him you don’t think you’ve ever heard him say sorry. You’re taken aback, did he really apologize? And did he sound genuinely sorry?
“Oh, oh uhm thanks,” you sat, still skeptical a camera crew would come out laughing saying this whole thing was a prank.
“I wanted to see if you maybe wanted to come to my show tonight? We could get dinner after or whatever you want,” He scratches the back of his neck, he’s nervous.
“I’d like that, I guess,” you reluctantly say.
“Wicked. Uhm, i’ll be leaving then. Sorry again,” he says. Shooting finger guns at you and making his way out the door.
You smile, maybe, just maybe, Hobies getting to you. As he’s leaving you could swear you see some blue and red material with spikes on it slipping out of his pocket.
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ichorai · 4 months
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tourney favor ; aemond targaryen (m).
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pairing ; aemond targaryen x wife!reader
synopsis ; it was rare for knights to ask married ladies for their favors, as it was often a way to win a lady's hand in the midst of courtship. but it wasn’t improper by any means. strange, perhaps, but not improper. you glanced back at aemond. he was studying you, single eye narrowed, jaw clenched. was he jealous?
wc ; 2.1k
themes ; smut, mild fluff, established relationship (married)
warnings / includes ; jealous aemond, unprotected sex, breeding kink and brief mentions of pregnancy/children, wall sex, foul language, mentions of violence/murder
a/n ; if this fic sounds familiar, i took some lines from my far-lengthier aemond fic, balance the scales :)
main masterlist.
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A grand tourney was held in honor of Jahaerys and Jahaera’s eighth nameday. 
You sat beside Helaena in the high platforms on the elongated arena, hands twisting in your lap. Tourneys usually bored you to no end—watching men hurt themselves over little else than theatrical show and bragging rights was not something you were very keen on. It felt like a waste of time to you, especially because you were already spoken for—you’d much rather be reading, or honing your needlework, or playing with the twins. To your other side was your husband, Aemond, looking equally disinterested in the event. You noticed his long fingers tapping impatiently against his knee, as if he were itching to leave. His older brother Aegon was nowhere to be seen, most likely somewhere in the bowels of the Street of Silk. 
You couldn’t help but feel envious. How come the father of the children the realm was celebrating was off gallivanting through the city, probably sunken into his cups and his whores? He was free to fuck whoever and whenever he wanted. Whilst you had to sit for hours on end beside your beloved husband, with whom you wanted to do nothing more than clamber into his lap and kiss him until the two of you grew dizzy.
Perhaps a large part of your agitation was due to the fact that Aemond had sunken to his knees in your chambers only an hour before, his tongue spelling worship over your drenched core. And you’d been so close, ever so close to falling off the edge—
Until there came a knock on the door, and Criston Cole’s muffled voice echoed through the shut door. He had to urgently speak to Aemond before the tourney, apparently. 
Something akin to a growl caught in his throat as your husband reluctantly drew away from you. You moaned lowly at the loss, sitting up at the edge of the four-poster bed as you watched him wipe your arousal from his chin.
“We’ll resume this tonight,” he had whispered into your flushed ears, before whisking off to speak to Ser Criston.
Seven fucking hells.
It took several moments for you to compose yourself, before you called in one of your handmaidens to help you dress for the tourney. Redo your hairstyle, too, because Aemond had certainly mussed it beyond salvation.
And now, as you fussed with your fingers in the stands, boredly clapping whenever the crowd was, it only came as an utter surprise when you heard your name called out. You sat up straighter, eyes falling from your hands to the riding grounds down below. It didn’t slip past your notice seeing Aemond tense, his fingers curling into a pale fist over his thigh.
A handsome knight donned in black-and-yellow armor stared up at you. You faintly recalled the patterned sigil emblazoned into the shield he was holding—he was of House Darklyn. He had taken off his helmet momentarily, lodged between his waist and his free arm. Gorgeous dark locks spilled over the nape of his neck, only slightly curled. 
The olive green of his eyes gleamed boldly, full lips upturned into a charming smile. “Might I be honored with your favor, my Lady? I can certainly use the luck.” 
Your gaze flickered over to his formidable opponent, a strong and muscular man, shrouded in white. His shield bore a red lion. House Reyne.
It was rare for knights to ask married ladies for their favors, as it was often a way to win a lady's hand in the midst of courtship. But it wasn’t improper by any means. Strange, perhaps, but not improper. You glanced back at Aemond. He was studying you, single eye narrowed, jaw clenched.
Was he jealous?
You could feel the muted arousal roar back to life in your lower abdomen. 
“Of course, Ser,” you called back with a knowing smile in your husband’s direction. You grabbed a ring of woven flowers and tossed it down over the jousting lance. “Be careful.”
Off the Darklyn knight went with your favor swaying by the lance’s handle, the metal grating of his helmet pulled down over his grinning features. You weren’t even sure what his name was.
The joust began just as you sat back down beside Aemond—but you found yourself barely paying attention to what was unfolding, and rather kept your eyes trained on your husband.
“Rather improper of him to ask for your favor,” he commented snidely, voice lowered so only you could hear. “You’re my wife.”
“Perhaps you should be down there, then,” you replied lightly, offering him a cruel smile. You knew well just how little Aemond cared for all the glamor the tourneys offered. “Show them who I belong to.”
Expression hardening to stone, he suddenly gripped your arm with iron-strength, hauling you up out of your seat, despite your half-hearted protests. You wondered if the Darklyn knight would search for you once the tourney was over. You found yourself unsurprised that you couldn’t care less about him.
Especially not with Aemond leading you down the halls of the Keep, twisting several sharp turns before shoving your chamber’s entrance open. Just as quickly as you were yanked inside, the wooden door slammed shut behind you, and you were promptly shoved up against it.
His lips were angry over yours, claiming you, biting you, devouring you completely. You fell slack in his arms, one of your hands resting over his chest, almost as if you were debating between pushing him away or pulling him closer. He swallowed the noises of contentment that slipped from your throat.
“You just couldn’t wait,” he snarled, shoving you against the door harder until he was pressed flush over your body. Jealous Aemond was certainly a sight to behold. “My greedy little wife.”
You preened at his words, arching your back, desperate to reconnect your lips to his. He didn’t put up a fight, allowing you to fight for dominance, claw at his neck and chest in desperation as you kissed him as if he were the very air you needed to breathe. 
Wasting no time, he reached down to yank the bottom of your dress upwards—cursing under his breath at all the damned layers you were wearing—and hurriedly shoved away your shift so he could reach your pulsing cunt. 
You were drenched. Warm and wet and fuck, he couldn’t wait a moment longer—
Sensing this, you made quick work of his trousers, yanking them downwards before moving up to pop off his tunic’s buttons. A startled, pleasured cry—verging on a hysterical sob—tore from your lungs and rattled across the chambers when he suddenly thrusted two long fingers into you, his thumb working quick circles over your sensitive clit. You’d already been denied an orgasm once, and you found a litany of breathless pleas erupting from your lips, as if it were just second nature.
“Please, Aemond, please—” You choked on whatever else you had to say, eyes rolling back as your orgasm slammed into you far too soon for your liking. Heavy and all-consuming. 
But it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, more, you’d always want more of your husband.
“Aemond, please, I need you inside,” you croaked, letting out a sigh when he drew a few tender kisses to your forehead. A glimpse of the softer side of your husband, scarcely shown unless it was with you. You loved him like this, but you wanted—no, you needed—him to lose all abandon with you. 
“If you won’t fuck me, I’ll ask the Darklyn knight,” you growled with a serrated tone.
Aemond drew away from you, violet eye ablaze. Was it fury or was it possessiveness written so plainly over his features? Perhaps both. “What did you say?” he whispered, a hand suddenly surging up to grip your jaw.
“I said,” you huffed, staring at him with a challenging quirk of your brows, “I’ll ask another man to fuck me. If my husband won’t do so, that is.”
Silence on Aemond was scarier than anything. You wished he would speak, or scream, or call you filthy names. But no, he… he was observing you. Calculating. Like a cat would a mouse. 
Or a dragon would its kill.
With one fluid motion, he drew his length into his hand—long and hard and angrily weeping with beads of pearly precum. The other hand abruptly flipped you around with surprising strength, crowding you against the wall beside the door so your back faced him. You moaned out his name when he pushed your dress up over your hips and dragged his tip over your drenched core.
“Please,” you begged, bracing yourself against the wall and jutting your hips back. If you could hear yourself over the buzzing in your ears, you’d be absolutely mortified at how delirious you sounded.
In one quick motion, he sheathed himself into you. Your warm, pulsating cunt was gripping him like a vice, eliciting a shuddering groan from his lungs. You mirrored his reaction, squeezing your eyes shut and holding onto him for dear life as he began to pound into you with no restraint. The lewd noises ricocheting in the room made your cheeks heat up until your entire face felt like it had been set aflame. With each snap of his hips into yours, you found yourself crying his name like a mantra, his hands bruising over your waist, pulling you back into him.
You were blubbering incoherently, begging for more. You just about lost it when one of his hands disappeared from your waist—only to roll over your aching clit with quick circles. A sob broke past your lips and you clenched hard around his length, feeling every hot inch of him buried deep inside you. His pace staggered with the sudden shift and he groaned out a curse, followed by your name.
“Who did you want to fuck?” he bit out, slightly breathless, words dripping with venom. “What’s his name?”
“I—” You hiccupped a cry with a particularly loud thrust. “Oh, fuck, Aemond!”
“Right,” he hissed, bending forward to bite down on your strained neck. “I’m the only one who can fuck you like this. Not pretty boys in silly costumes—mmph—not daft knights who lose tourneys. Me.”
The last word was ground out when your cunt spasmed around his girth once more, and you wailed out his name as your orgasm rolled over you. It was a wonder nobody had barged in to see if there was someone being murdered. 
“Perhaps I’d have to get you all round and swollen with my child. Show them who you belong to. Who fucked you this good. Would you like that, sweet wife?” 
“Yes, yes, Aemond, I need—I need you to come inside. Please, I need you to stuff me full.”
You reached behind you to blindly grapple for his arm and he briefly shifted the angle and began pounding into you even harder. His cock hit your sweet spot just right, and you saw stars swimming over your vision. 
A near animalistic noise tore through Aemond’s chest when you tightened around him one last time, your warm cunt fluttering around his cock. His rhythm faltered. What drove him over the edge was when he glanced down and saw the thick ring of your creamy arousal at the base of his cock. Gods, you were… beyond perfect.
With a staggered rasp of your name, he thrust into you thrice more before he spilled his seed deep in you, thick spurts of white coating your slick walls.
Heavy pants filled the room. You barely registered his lips kissing along your bare shoulder, where your dress had slipped in the midst of your heated frenzy. 
Slow, he eased himself out of you. “You did so well for me,” he murmured against your skin, smoothing his hands over your waist. “Are you alright?”
“Mmh,” you hummed, because no words would come to you at the moment.
He laughed, a wonderfully rich sound, before gently urging you towards the bed. 
“Get some rest, wife,” he told you, laying you onto the plush mattress and dipping down to kiss your forehead. He regarded you with raw adoration folded over his expression. Though, it was quick to melt into a thunderous one with his next sentence. “I have a certain knight to exchange words with.”
If you hadn’t been so high off your orgasms and exhausted with the new-found urge to sleep the whole night away, you would’ve realized that Aemond was likely going to commit manslaughter over something as trivial as a tourney favor. But you hadn’t thought about it much, not in your sex-addled haze, and promptly fell asleep with only the dream of silver-haired babes with wonderful purple eyes to accompany you. 
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momotonescreaming · 3 months
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Part One
“Jeff. Jeffers.” Eddie starts, as soon as he opens the door to Jeff’s bedroom, ignoring the way it slams into the wall with the force of it. “I am about to lose my shit.”
“So a normal Saturday, then?” Jeff replies, looking up from the music magazine he’s flipping through, not moving from where he’s reclined across his bed.
Navy blue comforter, pale grey sheets, tucked in tight. His mother’s influence, Eddie knows. Jeff’s mom is a good woman, is cool with the band, and the metal, and the DnD — but she’s a total neat freak. So Jeff makes his bed perfectly everyday, so she won’t barge into his room and do it for him. He bought himself a Motorhead poster from a record store in Bloomington once, and his mom framed it.
So there was Eddie’s room, with all his posters and banners haphazardly tacked to the walls and stuck to the mirror; and then there was Jeff’s, with his carefully curated selection of framed posters. Not very metal, Eddie thought. Jeff always said that if that’s what it took for his mom to accept to metal music? He’d take it.
Eddie shuts the door behind him, making sure it closes with a swift kick of his socked foot, before turning back to his best friend.
“Worse than normal, Jeffy-boy.” Eddie says, emphasising with his hands before gripping them tightly. “I bumped into Henderson at Melvalds this morning and he would not shut the fuck up about Harrington the entire time he trapped me in conversation.”
“Ah,” Jeff simply replies, closing his magazine and placing it off to the side, out of the way. “So it’s a Harrington breakdown today? I’ll clear my schedule.”
“Jeff,” Eddie says, trying to sound stern with all the emphasis on the word, but he’s smiling. Watches as Jeff pats an empty spot on the mattress next to him. He rolls his eyes, playing it up, before flopping face first onto the bed beside Jeff. He groans into the mattress, a long, drawn out sound, and can hear Jeff chuckling at the sound of it. “Please.”
Jeff pats his shoulder comfortingly, hand warm and steady, before Eddie rolls over. Stays laying down, and looks up at the swirly patterns of Jeff’s popcorn ceiling.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” Jeff laughs, before turning to look down at Eddie. “So. Harrington.”
Eddie groans again, ignoring the sound of Jeff’s laughter. “I made the mistake of asking Henderson what he was doing later — trying to make fucking small talk, or something — and apparently our little sheepie is hanging out with Steve Harrington.”
“Wait,” Jeff says with a start, his brows furrowing. “Harrington hangs out with freshman nerds? Willingly? And he knows Dustin?”
“Fucking apparently,” Eddie exclaims, throwing his hands up into the air and letting them fall back down onto the mattress with a thump. “Henderson would not shut up about how cool it was Steve was hanging out with him, like he was trying to brag about it to me. Asking me if I fucking knew Steve Harrington like, hello? I live in Hawkins, everyone knows who Harrington is.”
“I was gonna ask if he was lying,” Jeff starts, bringing his hand up to his jaw to absently press and pick at his skin as he thinks. “But you’d think he’s smart enough to lie about something believable, at the very least.”
“He’s definitely lying,” Eddie replies, sighing, letting all the air exit his lungs in one slow exhale. “Because I cannot handle it being the truth. Harrington being hot, rich, charming, and nice to nerds like us? No way.”
“I was wondering when the crush was going to make it’s appearance,” Jeff replies, finally letting himself flop down beside Eddie. Rumpling his nicely made sheets, not caring as his abandoned magazine falls to the floor.
“Oh it’s been here the whole time Jeffothy,” Eddie says, stretching his legs out before letting them relax again. Picking at the navy blue fabric beneath him. “As soon as Dustin said Harrington’s name I felt my traitorous heart speed up.”
Eddie wasn’t lying and he a little felt ridiculous about it. Like some leading lady in a rom-com, the second the words Steve Harrington left Henderson’s mouth he felt his heart clench, his pulse quicken, and a horrid combo of shame and wanting curl around his stomach. His crush on Steve was always there, simmering in the recesses of his mind like the burning embers of a fire. Just waiting for something to come along and set it alight.
“And that’s the main reason you’re losing your shit?”
“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, sounding a little defeated, before perking himself up and sitting up, the mattress bouncing beneath him. Pushing those thoughts to the side. Thoughts of Steve Harrington and his amazing hair. His charming smile and warm eyes. Thoughts about him leaning in towards Eddie as they make conversation, so much Eddie can smell his cologne, his shampoo. And Steve will ask him questions about DnD, and actually sound interested about what Eddie would say back. Shaking his head a little, Eddie forces himself to not get lost in the fantasy.  “But enough about me, Sir Jeffington the Just. Any progress with Chrissy?”
Jeff just snorts, looking up at Eddie. “You say that like there’s progress to be had.”
“Come on,” Eddie starts, nudging Jeff’s side. “There’s gotta be something.”
“Not really,” He replies, taking a deep breath. “I stare at her in the halls at school like a lovesick fool and I don’t think she even knows who I am. There’s no way one of the cheerleaders knows my name.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Eddie replies, pushing himself up off of Jeff’s bed and heads over to his desk, pushed up under the window. He had started to feel that itch under his skin, the twitching of his fingers, that feeling that he just couldn’t sit still anymore. So he moves to the desk, seats himself on Jeff’s nice office chair with the wheels, and fidgets with the mini’s he has scattered on the desk. “You’re hot and charming as hell, at least one of them has gotta know your name.”
“Not Chrissy though,” Jeff says, self-deprecating, pushing his socked foot along the carpet from where it hangs off the bed, gathering static. “Come on.”
Eddie sighs, long and drawn out and dramatic — turning into more of a groan at the end. They had done this song and dance before, Eddie hyping Jeff up, and his best friend responding with self deprecation. Jeff was a guy who was confident in himself, in his hobbies and interests — but when it came to love, he faltered.
Eddie could understand. They were both freaks who’ve never dated anyone, with crushes on two of the most popular teens in Hawkins. Peak conformists. It was never gonna happen but Eddie wanted.
“Fine.” He concedes. “We’re both pathetic, happy now?”
“Thrilled,” Jeff snorts, before sobering. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up, y’know? She’s with Jason and she’s not about to dump him to start looking my way.“
“I know,” Eddie replies, voice also sobering, so there’s something quieter about it now. He gently spins on the chair, pushing himself back and forth with his feet. Trying not to fidget too much, trying not to pick and rip at his nails. “I’m just trying to live vicariously through you a little because I am not handling my conversation with Henderson well. Chrissy just seems one step closer to us than Harrington. At least she’s still at Hawkins High and we actually see her on the regular. But what if Henderson is telling the truth and Steve like, picks him up from Hellfire? Leaning on the door frame, swinging his keys around his fingers, raising an eyebrow all sexy-like. Looking at me from across the room.”
“You think Henderson knows Chrissy as well?” Jeff jokes, sitting up and crossing a leg underneath himself. “Think he could put in a good word?”
Eddie snorts, rotating one of Jeff’s minis between his hands. “Definitely. That nerd is slowly collecting all the sexy jocks in Hawkins, just for us.”
There’s a moment of silence, slowly thickening in the air between them before Jeff sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “What would I even say to her? Hey Chrissy, I’m the DnD freak who thinks you’re super hot. I definitely haven’t started daydreaming about going to basketball games just so I can watch you cheer, wanna go out?”
“Oh my God, Jeff,” Eddie laughs, wiggling his legs, unable to contain himself.
“I know,” Jeff exhales with a laugh.
“When I asked if there was any progress on the Chrissy front,” Eddie says, laughing. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“Because it’s embarrassing! I’m so down bad it’s ridiculous.”
“This is a safe space, Jeffrey,” Eddie adds, nodding sagely. “I told you about how I started selling after games last year just so I could have an excuse to watch Harrington play. Did you see his thighs? Woof.”
“I did not see his thighs because I was busy lying to the others about how you were there because it was prime selling time, and you needed the extra cash to help Wayne,” Jeff adds, laughing., voice dropping into something more coy. Teasing. “And you definitely weren’t there because you were drooling over the idea of Harrington crushing your head in between his thick, sweaty, thighs.”
“As is my right, Jeff!” Eddie exclaims, feeling a little lighter, giddier, electric. A buzzing under his skin. Eddie launches himself off of the chair and towards Jeff — wrapping his arms around his waist and laughing all the while. Sending them both crashing into the mattress, rumpling Jeff’s neatly made bed even further. His face is pressed into Jeff’s chest, fabric of his Black Sabbath shirt soft against Eddie’s skin.
It always makes him feel better, talking about this sort of stuff with Jeff, letting it out, instead of holding it in. Eddie can feel Jeff laughing, his chest shaking underneath him as he wrestles Eddie off. Not hard enough to hurt.
He rolls off of Jeff, letting go of his waist, laughing as Jeff softly kicks him in the leg.
“I really can’t blame you though,” Jeff admits, looking over at Eddie. “Chrissy in that cheerleader skirt of hers is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s all about the thighs, I told you!” Eddie exclaims, laughing as he playfully shoves at Jeff again. Gripping the sleeves of his shirt, gently pushing and pulling him. His best friend lets himself be moved, used to Eddie’s shenanigans by now. “You want to give her a thigh hickey so bad, don’t ya, Jeffrey? Or maybe it’s her ass? All perky and round from cheer.”
Eddie cackles as Jeff covers his face with his hands, groaning, and almost definitely flustered.  He drags his hands down his face, drawing out the groan, before tuning to Eddie.
“I’m trying so hard not to get too gross about this, dude,” Jeff starts. “But you are not helping.”
“Nothing wrong with being a little gross with your friends,” Eddie says, slowly stopping his shoving at Jeff, moving his hand to gently pick at a stray thread. “I know you’re not, like, gonna be gross with her. I mean, unless she likes it.”
“Eddie!” Jeff exclaims, although he’s smiling, as he shoves his best friend off the bed.
Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
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liltangerineart · 1 year
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pairing: javier peña x f!reader
word count: 2k
rating: e (minors dni)
song inspo: dancing in the dark cover by juanes
summary: Ten years and two kids later, Javier still finds himself falling harder for you.
warnings: some language, major fluff, domestic javi deserves it own warning, soft piv sex, nothing too spicy here
author’s note: fuck yeah domestic javi requested by anon! I’m still taking suggestions for short fics if you wanna send an ask my way 💕
“It’s your turn.”
You breathe the words against the crook of his neck. His arms wrap tighter around you, trying to cling to what little sleep he’s been able to get tonight.
“I took care of him last night,” Javi murmurs.
“And I took care of you earlier,” you counter, nibbling gently at his skin.
Damn. He can’t argue with that.
He groans low and long. Mostly because he’s trying to stay tangled with you for as long as possible. With a deep sigh, he reluctantly pulls away from your bare body. Barely opening his eyes as he flips his legs over the bed and grabs the sweatpants he tossed on the floor from “earlier”.
“I love you~,” you sing drowsily from the bed, where he sees you’ve already sprawled across his half.
“Mmhmm,” he hums as he stumbles out of the bedroom and into the hallway where the cries echo through the dark house.
You’d think after the first kid he’d be used to getting up in the middle of the night.
Walking down the darkened hallway, he passes all sorts of pictures and paintings that decorate the walls. He passes an old photo of him and his father together outside of the coral on the family ranch. Giving his father a couple taps over the glass as he always does for the past 3 years now.
Coming to the bedroom before the baby room, he hears a small tinkling sound coming from behind the door. As soon as he stops, so does the sound. Javier carefully cracks open the door to his daughter's room. The dim glow from the salt lamp on her bedside table illuminates the room enough for him to see her tucked away in her puffy green comforter. Snug and sweet and “sleeping”.
“I can hear that gameboy beneath your pillow, Paola,” he says from the entryway.
Throwing the comforter dramatically to the side, his little eight year old girl pops out from underneath. Just as suspected, she’s wide awake. Her hair tangled in a hot mess and her little purple gameboy in hand.
“It’s not my fault! Jairo woke me up and I couldn’t go back to sleep,” she wines at him.
As much as he complains about it, Javi can’t help but spoil his kids whenever he can. All the toys, books, gadgets, and posters around the room stand as evidence of every time his daughter flashed those puppy dog eyes at him. Her mother’s eyes, and the same eyes she gave him last week when she begged for that new emerald monster game or whatever the fuck it’s called.
“Pokémon, dad!” He remembers the day you corrected/scolded him at the store with your hands on your hips. “It’s called Pokémon!���
“That’s what I said.”
“Off. Now. Or I’m taking it for the rest of the day tomorrow,” he tells her firmly. And the little gasp of horror she makes almost makes him laugh.
“Five more minutes?”
“Paola…”
“Ok ok ok, I’m done,” she quickly says. Taking the gameboy and placing it in the drawer beside her. Javi comes to her side to tuck her back in with the comforter then leans in to land a series of kisses around her round face.
“Punk,” he calls her. Ruffling the top of her hair and making her giggle.
Paola. That was the name you chose for her, and what a perfect fit it was. He let you take full reign on picking out a name because you had been dreaming of this child your entire life. It was only fair to let you pick the name of your firstborn.
Closing the door to Paola’s bedroom, he finally makes his way into the baby room. Finding his five month old son, Jairo, fussing and kicking in his wooden crib. He rubs away the sleep in his eyes before reaching in and taking him.
“It’s ok, you’re ok,” he soothes. Patting him gently on his back. He lays him against his bare chest as he starts bouncing him back to sleep. He starts going through his mental checklist.
His diaper doesn’t smell, he’s already been fed, the thermostat is set to 74 degrees… what else could it be this time?
“¿Que paso, huh? ¿Que quieres? (What happened, huh? What do you want?),” he mumbles against the skin of his head before pressing a kiss.
The love in his voice is one he never expected to be directed to any child, let alone his own. But any doubts he had of his ability of being a good father melted away the second he held his firstborn and heard her cries. He knew then that his life no longer belonged to him. And he would be whatever his family needed him to be to keep them safe.
An equally terrifying and wonderful moment.
His life took a complete 180 turn when he met you almost a decade ago. The bachelor life he thought he craved so much crumbled to pieces the second his eyes first locked with yours. The memory is so clear in his mind.
Your hair was loose and messy, you wore a blue sundress that made his chest tight, and the afternoon sun gleamed in your eyes. You met at a party he tried to avoid and suppose that he had. He wouldn’t admit it until much later, but he was instantly love struck. And a year later, he found himself on the beach, on his knee in front of you and all your close and personals.
It was honestly the uncertainty that he would come back to you alive that prevented him from taking the Mexico City assignment and solidified his decision of staying in retirement. He came to the realization that the purpose he found in his career, that drove him for over a decade, would never be as fulfilling as being by your side.
There were as many trials and tribulations as there were blessings through the years. Lots of gray hairs and arguments as well as love and tenderness. He could never imagine a better life. And being able to hold the best parts of the two of you in his arms makes him feel luckier than any man he knows.
After about ten minutes of rocking back and forth, the baby’s cries turn into babbling then eventually hushed breathing. Jairos eyes flutter closed as he falls back to sleep, looking incredibly small and vulnerable in Javi’s arms. His rocking slows to a near stop as a voice comes from the door.
“You’re too good at that. I’m actually kind of jealous.” He looks over his shoulder to find you smiling at him at the entryway, draped in one of his t-shirts, leaning against the door frame.
“I told you I got him,” he says quietly. “You didn’t have to get up.”
“I know. But then I felt bad so I came just in case,” you tease. He breathes a little laugh through the nose at your concern.
Stepping over to the crib, he carefully lays his sleeping son back down on the little mattress. Taking another couple of seconds just to look at him, burning this image of his son into his memory.
“I guess he didn’t need anything,” Javi yawns as he walks over to you.
“Yes, he did,” you say lovingly as you take his hand in yours.
When you both make it back to your room, you both take off what little clothes you had on and plop unceremoniously back into bed. You lay an arm over his chest and his arm scoops around you. And despite how tired he feels, he can’t fall asleep.
“I’m wide awake now,” you murmur.
“Me too,” he sighs heavily.
“I know something that might help,” you whisper and he raises a brow at your insinuation.
“Is that right?”
You hum a yes as your leg comes over his own simultaneously with your hand tracing down his chest. He feels the warmth from your thigh against his, making live wires go off underneath his skin and he agrees. There won’t be any sleep until he gets it out of his system.
Taking your cheek in his palm, Javi pulls you into a deep, slow burning kiss. Goosebumps rise to your skin and you build the energy of the kiss by pressing your breasts against his chest. His cock starts to pulse between your bodies and the impatient little moans coming from you tell him that you need more.
Groaning at the delicious contact, he slowly pushes you on your back. His hips instantly connect with yours and you respond by lifting your knees to his sides. With a gentle brush of tongues, the kiss becomes more heated and he’s not stopping until you're both satisfied.
“Did you lock the door?”
“Mmhmm,” he mumbles as he rains wet kisses on your neck.
“Paola’s asleep?”
“If you can stay quiet,” he chuckles.
Fuck, he’s happy. It sure as hell was a rough road, but it was worth the trek to lead him here. With a family, with a wife patient and sweet enough to love an old man like him. Javier, a damn father at forty six. He still can’t quite believe it. Even ten years later, he still gets overwhelmed just thinking about how lucky he is.
Mine. All mine.
“I need you,” you breathe into his shoulder, unable to wait any longer.
He hovers above you, propping himself up with one hand beside your head as the other hand takes hold of your hip. And with one swift movement, he guides his stiff cock inside your heat. You both pant out of pure ecstasy and he presses his forehead to yours. Holding your gaze as he starts to rock himself deeper, completely free of consequences.
You both decided that two kids was definitely enough. There’s already a perfect balance. But rather than have you on birth control again or having a shitty piece of latex between you, he took that option out of your hands and into his own. Best $500 he’s ever spent.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he praises. “I can’t get enough of you.”
His free hand finds the mound of your breast and you whimper when he rolls the peak between his fingers. When your ankles lock at his lower back, he takes it as a sign to move faster and harder. Still keeping a loving pace.
When he looks down at you, he still sees that girl he met by accident that hot summer day. He’s kissed your lips countless times, loved your body a thousand different ways, and it still feels as amazing as it did the first time. It’s a familiarity that never grows tiresome.
Pressure builds in his lower belly and he knows you’re getting close just by how short your breathing becomes. Your hands glide and scratch all over his back and he breathes out curses against your lips.
“Javi… Javi… Javi…,” you pant, ready to come apart.
When you snap, he snaps with you. Watching you squirm and feeling you squeeze around him enough to set him over the edge. He drives himself deep inside you, filling you up in more ways than one as your name drips like sweet honey from his lips. Your hands caress the sides of his neck as you both ride out the bliss. Peppering his jaw with lazy kisses before throwing your head back into the pillow.
He takes the moment to just look at you and fall in love all over again. You’re so fucking beautiful. Flushed and raw and perfect.
“I love you,” you sigh in a content, satisfied breath. Your voice, brimming with emotion.
He comes down to take your lips in his again. Feeling like he’s come home after a long, tiring journey. Like he does every time he climbs in bed with you, holds you in his arms, or even looks at you. That’s what you’ve become for him.
Home.
“I love you so much it hurts, baby,” he mumbles against your temple before laying by your side, taking you in his arms and finally getting the rest he’s spent his entire life looking for.
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please reblog and add a comment if you’d like. It means so much to writers like me and helps us share our work on here 😘
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velvetti · 2 months
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You are my liberty
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T/W: Imply human trafficking, alcohol abuse, mlm relationship, no direct mention of consent, minors/fem aligned DNI, angst/comfort + smut.
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To him, you were a fever dream, a beautiful white rose blooming under the moonlight in a garden of wilting wild flowers, a cold gust of wind in the middle of a hot summer night. You make him wonder if you ever existed at all, or if it's just another hallucination he had during his dark times, when he was struggling to live day by day.
The memories of your first encounter had long engraved itself into his soul. It was a snowy day, right in the middle of September just a few decades ago when he was a child. Forced to watch as the pedestrians walk by him, ignore him, trample him while he slowly dies from hunger and cold inside a dark alleyway, he calls that moment one of the luckiest in his miserable life.
Because, it's when you laid your eyes on him for the first time. He wished he could've travelled back in time and embraced you right then and there instead of halting for a moment like an idiot, but he couldn't blame his past self, you are the most beautiful person he has ever witnessed. Can you blame him for smiling stupidly like a puppy when you offered him a loaf of bread?
He really did love you at first sight, if not love, then what could explain his emotions whenever he talks to you?
His dreams were brutally cut off by the sound of his glass of whisky falling from his work desk. This was the third time that he fell asleep while doing paperwork, by the emperor's words, "A commander shall not halt the empire's progress with his personal troubles", thus, here he is, forced to finish his paperwork while being depressed.
He struggles with paperwork every single day after your disappearance, saying that he was worried was an understatement, the world didn't even have colours when you left. He refused to even go into any taverns during his day off as a commander, just because whenever he looked at the wall, he might be greeted with a missing poster with your face on it, smiling as beautifully as he first remembered you.
He wouldn't call you his soulmate, soulmates can live a life without each other, while without you, he just wants to drown himself in liquor so he could continue seeing you in his dreams. He needed you to live, not just exist.
It didn't take him that long to find a lead about you, after all, everything can be purchased by money. Just a few hundred gold coins and he had already managed to find out where you are. To his surprise, you were kidnapped and are going to be auctioned off soon.
So, he simply killed off the owner of the auction house and stole you before anyone else could even think of getting their pesky hands on your body :)
The bastard had the audacity to lock you in a cage, you even felt skinnier than the last time he hugged you! He should've made the death slower, but he was too excited to see you again. He quickly wrapped his cape around your body and hugged you tightly, at least you're back in his arms again.
;
Fearing that you'll find a way to leave him again, he has decided, why not make you his little husband? It's too cruel to lock you up physically and he doesn't want you to be depressed, you won't be able to get away when you're legally bound to him anyways.
So, without much of a thought, he literally begged you to marry him, hugging your waist while whining to your already flustered self, it took him days if not weeks just to convince you, but in the end, he managed and almost pinned you down and did you right then and there. But he held back, he wanted to wait for you guys' honeymoon, for you to have a proper wedding instead of acting by his own desires, he might've been a cruel person but he's not an asshole.
;
How many times was this already?
Counting just today, a total of three times. He had made love with you three times in a single day during your 2 weeks long honeymoon, and this is just the first day.
The first time was quite- no, very long. At first, he was very gentle, he didn't tore off your white suit the moment you both got on the bed, instead he went slow and made sure to prepare you thoroughly. He promptly fucked you in a mating press position right after you have adjusted though, only slowing down slightly when you sobbed and digged your nails into his back, he kept having that annoying sly smirk on his face, proud to be the one taking your first time and making it worthwhile. The total amount of rounds you've both gone in one night? 15 times, with breaks in-between, of course.
The second time, it was a little more tame compared to the first time. Well, if you count fucking in a garden, anything close to being tame. He bent you over the bench and rearranged your insides right then and there. Your body was still sore from yesterday, so he tried going gentle this time, but he had to grip onto your hips for dear life to refrain from losing his mind. You managed to keep your sounds fairly quiet, so no unfortunate servants passing by would have to hear the embarrassing sounds coming out of your mouth.
The third time, he held the grudges from the second time and let all of them out on you after dinner. You were forced to wear a pair of laced underwear, the provocative kind that shouldn't be seen by any children whatsoever. Your wrists tied together by his tie while he makes out with you and fucks you at the same time. The marks before haven't even completely disappeared from your body, yet they've been replaced with a new one, littered from your inner thighs to your neck.
All of that horny stuff aside, you had to give your little husband a kiss on the forehead after all the rounds you both have gone through. He fell asleep almost immediately afterwards, hugging your waist and resting his head on your chest, without any sort of defence whatsoever. Letting out a sigh, at this point, you don't know if your husband is secretly a golden retriever in disguise or not.
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A/N: The end was a bit rushed, if you couldn't tell. The golden retriever thingy is a reference to one of my work that's still a work-in-progress. Thanks for reading, I hope you like this post :b
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psychedelic-ink · 4 months
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ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄
ㅤㅤmike schmidt x nanny!f!reader
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genre: smut, minors dni, mutual pining, hurt/comfort
word count: 3.5k
summary: juggling your role as abby's nanny, tensions rise as mike's fixation on the past leads to a heated argument between the two of you. unspoken emotions linger, pushing both you and mike to the breaking point.
warnings: some arguing, tension, piv, oral (reader receiving)
**dividers made by @saradika xx
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A soft knock is enough for Mike to stir in his sleep but not enough to wake him. Abby is drawing happily in her room, content for now after you bribed her with chicken nuggets and a lengthy story time to come after. She’s been missing Mike. And she’s been wanting to go to work with him. You’re not sure how much longer you can tempt her to stay at home instead of going to the pizzeria. 
You close the door, a soft click following suit. He’s still sound asleep, completely unaware of your nearing presence. He asked you to wake him up. But it’s hard when he looks so peaceful. The sounds of birds and crickets reach your ear. You sigh. How long was he going to chase the past?
“Mike,” you say gently. “Time to go.” 
His brows furrow, a murmur falling from his lips. With a smile you shake your head, the bed creaks as you take a seat. “Come on dummy,” you pinch his cheek and his eyelids flutter. “You’re going to be late.”
“So close,” he mutters, his head moving to rest on your lap. Your heart jumps. All you want to do is thread your fingers through his hair and keep him exactly where he is but you know it’s not likely. As soon as he’s fully awake he’ll pull up his walls. “Can you help me take off my poster from the ceiling?”
As he talks his lips move above your thigh, the soft fabric of your sweats leaving little to the imagination. “Why?”
“Gonna take it to work,” his voice is hoarse with sleep. 
A sudden annoyance prickles over your skin, heat building in your stomach— Again with the dreams. Again with wanting to change the past. You’ve been working for him for months now (though can you really say you’ve been working for him when he hasn’t been paying you?) and he’s always been the same. You understand. You really do. But Garett isn’t here anymore, Abby is—you are. 
“No, Mike,” you say, your eyes following his sharp jawline dusted with a bit of stubble. He stirs a bit, legs moving underneath the covers one leg pops out. You swallow. It’s unbelievable the things he doesn’t notice about the people around him. His eyes finally open and you lean back, you’re not a fan of the angle. “Look, the poster is on the damn ceiling. What do you want me to do? Carry you on my shoulders?” 
“I was thinking the opposite.”
“Whatever you have in mind my answer is still no,” you eye the book on the bedside table. “You shouldn’t be sleeping on the job, you know that.”
“It’s called decorating,” he answers with a hint of annoyance laced into his voice. Well, he’s not the only one. He peels himself away from your lap and leans against the wall, you miss the heat of him already. “Besides what do you care about what I do during the job?”
“That place gives me the creeps. I’d prefer it if you’re fully awake.”
Mike sighs and stretches, the soft fabric of his shirt sliding up, a sliver of skin shows. Your knees brush against one another. It almost feels like you’re kids just hanging out with the parents still sleeping. It’s reminiscent, in a way. He runs a band over his face. 
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Too late for that.” 
“I’ll pay you with my next paycheck promise.”
You turn to him, eyes narrowing, “Don’t change the subject. You know I don’t care about any of that at this point. It’s been months, Mike. I would be gone if that was what I only cared about.”
He seems distraught by your answer, even more so than normal. “I... I know that. But you're always here, looking after Abby, taking care of the house. . . I want you to have a life and not be stuck here for Abby’s sake.” 
Ouch. Have a life? You don’t think Mike realizes that he basically shoved a knife in your chest. 
You slide off of the bed, your heart beats quick, a bit too quick for comfort. “Sorry that me helping out is a sign that I have nothing better to do,” you snap. You hear the start of an apology escaping his lips, both feet touching the ground as he contemplates if he should get up or not. “And if you’re so guilty about me being here maybe you should be here yourself.”
The regret settles even before you leave the room. You know he’s going to be thinking about what you said and twist it into the worst possible meaning his brain can fathom—which can be quite dark knowing Mike. 
You’re halfway down the hall, heading to the kitchen when Mike catches up to you. He takes hold of your wrist, slightly tugging you back until he’s got your full attention. You give it to him. Eyes fluttering as you find it hard to look into his eyes. He’s too expressive. You hate being able to see every emotion flickering in them, and likeways you’re scared he can read you just as clearly. 
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 
Oh, you’ve never heard him this mad before. Your eyes drop to where he’s holding you, his fingers an iron vice around your wrist. Your pulse races, the tips of your ears warm. His gaze follows where you’re staring, you expect him to let go but he doesn’t, instead, he squeezes harder, his thumb following the vein on the inside of your wrist. “Is this why you’re here? To play hero to my life?” 
Your eyes narrow, “Fuck off, Mike,” you yank your wrist away, a bit of skin catching on his nail. It stings. “Just go to work. I’ll see you in the morning.” 
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You had just dropped off Abby to school and promptly doing the dishes before you head out. You didn’t need to wash the dishes perse, but you were hoping Mike would show up before you left. Alas, it was almost noon, and still no signs of him. Not even a phone call. Which he would usually do if he was coming back later than normal. 
You two did end the conversation quite nastily, so you guess you shouldn’t be too surprised that he hasn’t shown up, hoping that you’d leave before he came back. 
A bit too aggressively, you knead the sponge until suds appear. He’s a moron. A complete idiot to think that you were only around just out of pity. His words stung and biting back probably wasn’t the best solution. Shaking your head, you grab a plate and rub it hard enough to potentially peel off the enamel coating. 
“Stupid,” you murmur, finding a bit of relief in letting the words slip. “Stupid, idiot, moron—” 
“You shouldn’t do the dishes if it makes you that angry.” 
Your turn with a jerk, “Mike!” A plate slips, crashing into the sink, without even thinking another cuss drops from your mouth and you dunk your hand into the water to grab it. Just as your fingers graze the sharp pointed ceramic, Mike yanks your hand out of the water. 
“Are you crazy?” he says surprisingly calm, as if he’s to tired to raise his voice or show panic within the words. “Just leave it, I’ll clean it later.” 
Your chest heaves, he holds your wrist vastly differently compared to last night. Eyes wide, you feel the rise and fall of your chest, his gaze momentarily follows the movement before sliding his hand to your elbow. A shudder runs up your spine, your breath coming in short pants, your fingers curl into your palm. 
“Sorry,” he murmurs letting go. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 
“You’re still holding me, Mike.” He looks tired. The skin under his eyes darker than usual, he even looks a bit beat up. Closing his lips, he swallows thickly and lets go. Your hands are still dripping water, you wipe them dry against your shirt. “Rough night?” 
He shakes his head, “No. Just the normal. Dreams were a bit rougher than usual.” 
“You took your poster then?” 
His lips press into a thin line and he takes a seat. Fighting the urge to close your eyes, you bring out a bowl, milk, and stale store-brand froot loops. His lips tentatively twitch into a small smile. 
“It’s Abby you’re taking care of,” he says. “I can look after myself.” 
“Can you?” 
He ignores the subtle bite in your remark and pours himself a bowl of cereal. He doesn’t eat immediately, letting the colorful hoops sit there for a while, he clears his throat. “I got my paycheck.” 
“Congrats.” 
“I can pay you.” 
“I guess you can.” 
His eyes flash, brows furrowing, “Why are you being so difficult?” 
“I’m—” Once again his words hit a nerve. Difficult. Something you often heard right before people left you. Difficult difficult difficult. “I’m not.” 
Mike shifts and stands straighter, your eyes drift to the cereal—must be soggy as hell now. “I know,” he says barely above a whisper. “Yeah, I know you’re not. Sorry.” 
“It’s fine,” You lie. “And about the other thing, you can pay me later. Get Abby a new set of crayons, she’s going so fast through those things that I’m scared she’s just swallowing them,” you smile weakly as you get up. “I’ll be back before your shift, okay? And I think I should take some time off for a little while.” 
“What?” Mike stands up with you, his shoulders rise, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “Why? Is. . . Is it because of last night? I’m—”
“You’re sorry I know,” you sigh. “It has nothing to do with you. I just. . . I just need to think for a while. I. . just a day, okay, just give me a day.” 
His demeanor changes, his shoulders drop, his eyes grow soft. He nods and you take that as your cue to leave. You grab your back off the couch and he follows you to the hallway. With your hand around the doorknob, you hear him one more time. 
“I care about you, you know,” he calls out and you swear you hear the bob of his Adam’s apple. “I don’t show it but I do.”  
You don’t know how to answer him without bursting like a bubble, exposing every setting emotion that rolls in your gut. Your fingers tighten around the metal and you nod without looking. 
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“Red crayon, please.” 
You roll your eyes playfully, a small smile playing on your lips, “Abby, it’s literally right in front of you.” She just shrugs and extends her tiny palm towards you. “Fine you little artist, here you go.” 
You place the crayon in her open palm, she slowly closes her fingers around it and starts coloring vigorously. With a smile, your eyes move back to the TV, you’re not sure what’s happening on the screen. The picture on the screen blurs a little, static growing and growing until a soft creak of the floor catches your attention. You turn to see Mike leaning against the doorframe. You wonder how long he’s been there, watching you and his sister occupy the normalcy of the living room. 
“Hey,” he says. 
“Hey.” 
Abby doesn’t bother to look up, too entranced in her drawing. Mike sighs as his gaze lingers on his sister. “Abby can you give us a minute?” 
She blinks before she looks up, suddenly startled, her curious eyes flits between the two of you. “Are you two gonna fight?” 
“No, Abby,” Mike answers, exasperated.”We’re not going to fight. Just. . . talk.” 
Surprisingly Abby leaves without much protest. She gathers her things and heads to her room, while walking past Mike, he softly ruffles her air. She sticks her tongue out and glares at him before disappearing completely. His face falls a bit upon meeting your gaze. You pat the empty seat next to you but he ends up sitting on the coffee table instead, your knees brushing together, he levels you with a soft look. 
“She’s going to ask questions you know.” 
“I don’t care,” he says hastily. “I do think we need to talk.” 
“Fine then. . . talk.” 
He seems unsure of himself now, “I know you’re mad about me because of what I said but I didn’t mean it—” 
“It’s not that,” you cut in. “Sure I was hurt, but that’s not what frustrates me about you, Mike. You have to let go. . . of him. He’s gone, Abby’s here.” 
He suddenly stands up, taking you by surprise, heads towards the kitchen. Your pulse rises as your eyes remain glued to the TV. In the distance, you hear him, “You don’t get to say that to me,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “You don’t know what it’s like.” 
You hear the fridge door opening and closing. You know he’s doing it simply to get away from you, from what you’re saying. You follow him, anger warming your cheeks, you find him leaning back against the kitchen counter, knuckles turned white while holding the edge. 
“So just because I didn’t lose a sibling I don’t get to talk about it?” you scoff. “That’s bullshit.”
“You don’t know what’s it like to lose someone and for it to be out of your control.” He’s shaking slightly, shoulders rounding as he speaks. “I need to know who did it. And I’m close, so fucking close.” 
You shake your head and finally, with a burst of bravery, you hold his face between your hands. His mouth closes shut. Your chest feels as if someone filled it to the brim with rocks. It’s heavy and overwhelming. You can barely breathe as you fix your gaze on him. Without even realizing you begin to stroke the apple of his cheeks, you swear he leans into your touch, your bodies growing closer. 
“Listen to me, Mike,” your voice trembles. “If you don’t stop you’ll end up losing everyone who cares about you.” 
His hand closes over yours, “Does that include you too?” 
“What if it did?” 
“I can’t. . .” he chokes. “I can’t stop.” 
You pull away, body feeling chilled in his absence. You blink away the tears, swallow the persistent knot in your throat. It was an empty threat. You know you won’t leave, no matter how insistently you implied that you might. “Then I think you should go. You’re going to miss your shift.” 
“Fuck my shift.” 
You feel the soft touch of his lips. It grows violent, smothering. You moan eagerly into his mouth, your wrist caught between his fingers, he pulls you closer. Mike slips his tongue between your lips and tastes you eagerly. Arousal pools between your legs, your stomach bottoming out as he whimpers and licks himself deeper into you. You melt against him. Your nipples tight and tingling with every lick. 
His hand curls around the back of your neck, the gentle pressure making you break away, “Mike—” you whisper, eyes teary. He licks the seam of your lips and teases your bottom lip with his teeth. Slack-jawed, you tilt your head back, he eagerly dips down and closes his lips around your neck. “Take me to your room.” 
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He’s gentle. So painfully gentle that you fear your heart might stop at any given moment. The back of his fingers trace the contours of your body slowly, gooseflesh rising in his wake, he buries his face into the crook of your neck and takes deep breaths as he lifts your shirt. Your eyes roll when his hands immediately cup both your breasts, thumbs toying with your pebbled nipples. The pads of his thumbs smooth over them slowly, it’s almost ticklish. A shiver runs up your spine and you gasp, he sucks the air that escapes your lungs, slanting his lips over yours. 
The seam of your panties gather with slick. You desperately rub your thighs together. Heat blossoms over patches of skin, Mike sucks on your bottom lip and toys with the waistband of your sweats. “Can I taste you?” 
“Yes,” you pant, the thought of his tongue parting you making you near delirious. Your breath hitches. 
He gives your cheek a quick peck, “You have to get on the floor. My bed is too loud.” 
“Just how hard are you planning to fuck me?” 
His eyes darken, “Until you’re a mess.”  
You drop to the ground, Mike following you close with kisses down the column of your neck. Your legs spread and he tugs down your sweats, revealing your soaked cunt. His chest heaves. You follow the movement of his tongue as it swipes over his bottom lip, his thumb dips between your folds and moves up to brush over your clit. Your legs twitch, electricity coursing over your burning skin. 
“You have to keep quiet,” he groans, fingers slipping inside. Your head drops back, your back arches. A violent breath of air rips from your lungs and before it can become louder, you cover your mouth with both hands. “Good,” he murmurs, breath tickling your throbbing clit. Mike tentatively closes his lips around it, sucking, he pushes his fingers deeper. 
Your throat constructs in of itself. Waves of pleasure washing over you like warm grains of sand. The sounds coming out of you are downright sinful and with each thrust of his fingers it gets louder. Your insides clench around him and at the same time he curls his fingers, your eyes squeeze shut, your lips moving against the inside of your hand. Too good. It feels too good. 
Without even noticing you had begun to grind your hips, the sensitive bundle of nerves pressing against his mouth harder. Mike moans wantonly into you, the sound coming out muffled. He moves his head side to side and flattens his tongue over your clit. Your fingers delve into the soft locks as you pull him closer.
He delves his tongue back and forth, rougher this time, faster. Your body goes rigid, forcing you to cry out into your hands as your orgasm takes you over. Sudden sparks of pleasure clash throughout your body, intensifying to unbelievable heights as he plays with your swollen nub. His mouth and fingers move endlessly until you’re gasping for air, shattered remnants of your desperate pleas mashed against your palm. 
Mike glances up, eyes wild yet passionate with a cheshire-cat grin. His lips and jaw are soaked, glistening under the dim light. You feel your entire body motionless. He withdraws his fingers, licking them off one by one, he moves up your body and pushes his fingers between your lips. You swirl your tongue around them feverishly. Your cheeks unnaturally warm and heart thrumming fast against your ribcage. 
He pulls his fingers out, gently cupping the underside of your chin, he rolls his hips. Your breath catches at the feel of his cock against your sopping core, you squeeze his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons on his skin. 
Mike doesn’t bother to remove his clothes, instead, he slides his hand between your bodies and under his pants, pulling out his dripping cock, he aligns himself with your core. He pushes into you inch by inch, the sounds you make getting louder and louder—Mike covers your mouth with his hand. “‘Gotta keep silent,” he breathes into your skin. 
You nod frantically, your gasp bouncing off of his palm when he bottoms out. A loud groan escapes his lips, eyes meeting yours as his lips part. At the sight you clench around him, a fresh gush of wetness coating his cock.
Mike moves slowly inside you, finding a deep, rhythmic, steady rhythm that carries you towards bliss. His hips sway sensually, his thrusts pushing against the deepest parts of you. His hands tangle into your hair, and his eyes meet yours with a softened gaze. His breath is at your neck, and a guttural moan escapes his lips as he moves against you.
“Does—Does it feel good?” you whimper.
“Feels amazing,” he breathes into your open mouth, hips drilling into you, relentless. “You’re so fucking wet—” 
He guides both of your hands up your chest to your breasts, holding them subtly as you both explore each other’s bodies, his lips finding your neck and shoulders. Your fingers begin to move deftly over your hardened nipples. 
Breaking eye contact, he moves his lips down your neck, pressing them against your collarbone. His hips move faster now, and his hands roam over your body. You squeeze your breasts as a wave of pleasure washes over you, spilling out uncontrolled moans and cries that are subdued by his mouth above yours. He swallows the sounds you make. 
He presses himself in deeper, hips slamming into yours, you feel yourself quickly barreling to the edge. Your eyes tear up and his hand slips away from your mouth, down to your waist. You claw at his back, your toes curling. Mike breathes heavily against your skin, and his thrusts grow desperate. You lock eyes with him one last time before you come undone in his arms, your orgasm crashing around him—He quickly pulls out, making your breath hitch painfully at the loss of contact, he comes over your stomach. Cock sliding over the sweat-soaked skin. 
“Shit,” he grunts. “Fuck—That. . . that felt amazing.” 
Before you can answer he kisses you deeply. His tongue dances above yours, his hips still softly rolling as his cock softens. “Don’t go,” he whispers into your mouth, kissing you again. “Please don’t go.” 
You thread your fingers into the damp locks that are scattered over the back of his head, you tug gently, his eyes fluttering for a moment, a puff of air sensually leaving his lips. 
“I won’t,” you answer, nipping the corner of his chin. “Not sure I could even if I tried.” 
681 notes · View notes
iznsfw · 7 months
Text
Drunken
Loossemble's Son Hyeju x Male Reader Smut
19,012 words
Categories | cheating, longtimecrush!Hyeju, mutual feelings, drunk sex, daddy kink (and daddy issues), fingering, squirting, titfucking, anal, choking
Thank you for commissioning! Researched for the fic, ended up falling in love with Son Hyeju. Please give this a chance and read this for the story, too, and not only the smut. I indulged too much in this.
The relationship Hyeju and OC have is very much inspired by the one Cassy and Rob have in In the Woods by Tana French. Read it, please. Was amazing. The story was also written with someone I'm currently so in love with in mind, but we're not going to talk about that here.
And no, there's never enough daddy kink stories :P
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“This is not fair,” the two of you say the very second you step into your shared dorm.
Two papers in two hands of two people that show two scores that aren’t up to par for the two’s standards. You and Hyeju were always meant to be a dynamic duo: peas in a pod in every way possible, and that includes academic success and failure. It’s like there’s a kind of telepathic force between you that sends the other down with you, too. It’s too late to try and cut the connection when you’ve known Hyeju all your life, a wish that’s beyond reality for plenty of the boys at Idalso.
The dorm is clean. Mostly. You’ve done your best to tidy up the pile of clothes at the end of Hyeju’s bunk bed and she’s done the same for the relatively empty bags of chips you haven’t stopped the habit of laying around, but there’s still the telltale signs that if Hyeju isn’t organized, you aren’t either. Printed drafts of your thesis lay crumpled on the floor. Her posters are minutes away from falling off the poorly painted walls. The air-conditioner doesn’t work as well as it did in your freshman year when your rowdiness outdoors—knocking into each other, trying to race to the door and ending up messing up the other’s clothes that were ironed in a rush—isn’t as compensating.
Today, the rowdiness is lost. It gets translated into rough groans that follow you on the way to the dorms.
That’s when you realize it.
You and Hyeju look at each other. Both of your pairs of eyes widen.
“Miss Ha failed your test?” she asks, normally bored pupils widening in disbelief.
“Miss Ha failed my test.”
“No erasure rule?”
“No erasure rule.”
“Oh my god.”
“Oh my god.”
Ball up the paper and shoot it in the air. It adds to the numerous pieces of parchment on the floor. You kick the rest of them in the air while your roommate slumps on her bed and groans. 
“Fuck this,” you say, hands on your head. There comes the urge to tear all your hair out and leave it at that damned professor’s door, blood and all, to make her at least feel a miniscule bit of remorse for failing you. You didn’t deserve that. You studied and studied and she still had to implement that stupid rule.
Hyeju catches a wrinkled and crumpled paper globe. Her sui generis lips release a soft sigh. “At least we have thesis confetti,” she says sullenly.
“I’m dropping out,” you declare. You’re surprised at how serious you sound. Normally you’d say it just to get a laugh out of yourself, but now you’re actually considering doing it. 
“If you drop out, I’m dropping out, too,” she answers, looking at you spitefully. “And then who’s going to take care of Daniel?”
Think of Daniel. He isn’t your roommate but he’s gotten close with you and Hyeju the past few years. “His inheritance is what’s gonna take care of him. Did you forget he’s rich as shit?”
“Oh, right. How could I forget about him?” 
You start picking up the papers of your drafts faster and knocking them harder into the wall. Why are you doing that? Nope, don’t have an answer to that. There’s a fiery rage inside you that Hyeju’s latest sentence is the arsonist of. 
“The fuck are you doing?” she asks in amusement. There’s a hint of disgust on her face. “Calm down. What’re you, my dad or something?”
“S-sorry.” You know the whole deal she has with her dad. You have to stop—thus, drop the balls of papyrus from your hand. “It was just… I don’t know why I did that.”
Maybe you do. Can’t be about the test though it’s why you started throwing a thesis tantrum.
“Chill out, dude.” She pats your shoulder and gives you a pouty look. “If you want to play strict dad with me: no, I don’t like Daniel. If I did, I would have sat on his lap and said,” she assumes a high voice and flutters her eyelashes at you, leaning on your side, “‘Let me help you with that, darling. I’ll do the dishes, too! Or maybe you want to put a baby in me while I squeeze the soap on your di—’”
“Stoooop!” 
Throw a pillow at her. She dodges it and sticks her tongue out at you. Oh yeah. How could you forget that she plays dodgeball with the friend who’s taken up the topic of your conversation? 
Oh god, shouldn’t have reminded yourself that Hyeju and your other friend hang out. You’re feeling weird again.
“Earth to daddy, Earth to daddy,” she says, snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Li’l shit, what’s gotten into you?”
You’re feeling something again. It creeps into your heart and tugs at its strings, just like how your roommate loves to tie knots in yours and watch you struggle around trying to walk with them. That’s how it felt when she called you that. It’s not the first time she took on a roleplaying banter with you yet that specific title has you hot. 
You need to take a walk. Take a walk to somewhere that doesn’t have you in a place where you could easily pin Son fucking Hyeju to the wall and kiss her till the heat subsides.
-
Walking is your only exercise. You care not for the gyms and weights—why pressure yourself with those when you could just go for a simple walk? An hour is already sufficient enough to burn the breakfast. Only downside is that you get quite hungry afterwards, and though you don’t care for counting calories either, you’re pretty sure the food you have after your strolls is more than the amount you burned.
Actually, you could think of another downside: Hyeju doesn’t join you. She’s a homebody. A couch potato. A living pillow. She prefers to lounge at the dorm and play games instead of going out. She rarely comes along, which is why you’re guaranteed a few hours of isolation.
When you take into consideration that it isn’t isolation if tentative feelings accompany you, you’re partly glad Hyeju didn’t come along.
“Hey, is that you?”
You smile. There he is. You always pass by the apartments this time, and the old man who owns it is one of the few people you’re fond of. Being friends with a landlord wasn’t on your college bingo card, but you’re glad it happened. He’s kind, has white hair that almost matches the color of the spaces he owns, and a mouth that can simultaneously be like that of a sailor’s and a doting grandfather.
“Hi, mister Kim.”
“Hi there yourself,” he chirps. His smile is bright. Can’t say the same about the flickering bulb back in your dorm. “Where’s your girlfriend?”
Red colors your cheeks. “Hyeju’s not my girlfriend.”
“Never said she was.” He winks.
The explosion of scarlet first starts at your ears. He got you. But it isn’t exactly you to blame—everyone likes to push you and your girl best friend together. The old man knows what he’s doing. He just likes to toy around with you. 
“Mister Kim, don’t be like that,” you say. Scratch the back of your neck.
“I’ll be however the hell I want,” he replies, crossing his arms t in a friendly stance. “You two’re always glued to each other.”
“We’re just friends, sir.”
“Just friends my ass. Whenever that girl visits me, she’s always talking about you. It’s like you’re the only thing on her mind.”
That revelation was so out of nowhere, yet you welcome it. You like knowing that Hyeju, the girl you adore, adores you just as much. It’s the mutual feeling of fondness that keeps you breathing. 
“T-that doesn’t mean anything,” you say humbly. You’re somewhat right—just because Hyeju hides the truth that she drones on about you doesn’t mean she has a crush on you. You’ve seen and met her exes, and even back then they’re miles more charming than you.
“Wanna bet?”
“I’m broke—”
“No, no. Not in that way.” He shakes his head. “If you and Hyeju actually end up together, I’m letting you live in one of my apartments for free.”
“Mister Kim—”
“Think about it for your old man, will you?”
With that, he shows you a knowing smile and turns his back. Nothing more is said.
-
Just so it’s clear for everyone who comes across this story of yours: you don’t love Son Hyeju.
Anyone and everyone says the opposite. They treat you and her like famed characters on a popular teen show, pairing you up with each other and tearing off all hesitancy about thinking that they might be going too far. 
But now you’re here to make a stand against those falsehoods: contrary to popular belief, Son Hyeju isn’t the love of your life, and although you’ve been friends for so long people’d expect you walked into kindergarten class with your hand in hers, it’s completely platonic between the two of you.
There are no feelings. No speck of a disgusting yearning in your hearts despite the late night stroll you had to take to stop your wistful thoughts. No sir. Hyeju doesn’t love you that way, and neither do you. It’s simple.
Doesn’t seem that simple when you wake up in the dorm with what’s supposed to be a groan that folds itself back down your throat when you see her curled up in the other bed, blankets splayed and curled around her. No makeup on, except for lip balm she smears around her triangle-shaped mouth when they get chapped. No care for how she looks in the air (doesn’t matter when that’s the way you like it, the way she likes it). She lies there with slumber that could only be induced by an unmerciful college.
You’re glad you have her while you’re battered by the same cause of her sleep.
You try to be silent but her eyes open anyway. Her eyes are squinted, and she kind of looks like an emoticon as she pers around. She doesn’t know when or where she is. Grin because neither do you sometimes, but now that you hold that knowledge, you share it with her.
“Earth to Hyeju, Earth to Hyeju.” Echo her words from last night and resound them back to her.
“Earth?” she groans. “Wake me up when Idalso sends me to Mars.”
Yeah, that’s the Hyeju you know. The Hyeju you love. 
(Huh? Where did that come from?)
“I’ll go with you. Could use miss Jeong not trying to kill me.��
Hyeju runs a hand through her hair groggily and smiles sweetly. “Maybe she should come along and go through with killing you if you don’t stop ‘forgetting’ to pay me that five thousand.”
“Cute. I’ll pay you later, I promise.” Rise to sling the blinds up, letting light five-thirty a.m. sun spill through the squares. “Catch some breakfast at McDonald’s before class?” you offer. She’s your usual companion in the morning—you’d split the bill (because “you’re broke, and I’m broke,” she said, “it’s only fair we try to stop being poor together”) and have a nice opening meal of egg and chicken nuggets.
“Sweetie, it’s Saturday today,” she reminds you. “Don’t you remember?” She looks up from her phone and smiles at you condescendingly, as if she knew how that friendly nickname causes your system to shut down. 
You try not to show it. Try not to make it obvious that you turned your head to hide the fact that you were flustered. The fact that despite being only friends with her your chest still tightens at her casual pet names for you, like what she called you last night as well. It’s what friends do: joke with each other, call them unflattering names one second then sweet ones the next. The dorm has enough fans to keep the air circulated, and the sweat you broke last night is gone. So if that’s that, why do you feel so warm right now?
You wonder if Hyeju also feels the same heat in her stomach when you say, “Grandpa can’t remember things well anymore, darling. You’ve got to cut him some slack.”
“Wow, okay. That’s one way to put it, I guess.”
It’s lucky that it’s still dark enough for your red ears to be invisible. You hate it when you mess up your laid-back persona in front of Hyeju, the one you put up whenever you engage in these playful arguments. “Look,” you say, “do you want to get McDonald’s or not?”
“Can’t. Won’t. Shan’t. Too lazy.”
Your heart sinks. “Fine, I’ll just go to a café then. Still have that thesis to do.”
Hyeju lays back into the bed and shuts her eyes. She’s learned that when there’s a chance to sleep, she should take it. To you, it doesn’t look like she’ll let go of this one, even if rejecting it means eating together with you. 
You put on a coat and some shoes, then turn away. Fine, let her be like that. What did you even expect? You can’t be her only priority in life. Sleep, of course, and rest should come first, especially if you’re a college student. You have to brush the hurt creeping in your heart and do your own thing, just like you’d let her do hers.
Don’t catch her eyes opening and lingering on you. Your back is turned and therefore doesn’t let you see it. But if only you did, you wouldn’t have been doubtful about your future concerns, all related to her.
-
This is a different story though. This isn’t a love story—if anything, it’s how a love story ends.
-
Just so it’s clear for everyone who comes across this story of yours: you don’t love Son Hyeju.
Yes, it bears repeating. Sometimes you need to say it again to convince yourself. Convince yourself that you’re not constantly in lectures wishing that it was her beside you instead of your groupmate. Convince yourself that your soul doesn’t shatter in pieces when she refuses to join you in anything. 
Maybe you just need someone to talk it out with. Yes, that’s right. The whimsical yearning in your heart isn’t for Hyeju. You swear on it.
Oh, but you’ve never been very good at that.
“What’s going on? I came as quick as I could,” says Daniel. Yeah, that’s his name. It’s a common name that sounds foreign and unique, especially since he’s a transfer student who came from the U.S.. He has pale skin and brown eyes that are as kind as he is. You like him—he’s the only one you bother bearing besides Hyeju.
But this isn’t about her. You need to let go of her. What? “Let go of her”? Why do you think about her like you two were actually a thing?
“Nothing. Just… feelings.”
“Something happened?” He sits down and looks around confusedly. “Wait, where’s Hyeju?”
“That’s the thing,” you say as you smile tightly. “She’s what happened.”
Daniel’s not stupid. And even if we say that he was, he’s been your friend for two years. It’s short in comparison to your time with Hyeju, you know, but it remains impressive. You don’t have that many friends besides them. That, of course, eventually led to Hyeju and Daniel becoming friends with each other. That’s the reason for him catching your drift—he knows you like the back of his hand.
You order the third cheapest option on the list: an iced latte. Your friend opts for a croissant and some tea, something that reminds you that he isn’t actually from Korea. You often forget that when his Korean is more fluent than a native’s and he gels with other people so quickly. He’s an easy-going guy with everything flowing well for him.
“Let me guess: she did something?” he asks. Alright, close enough. His fingers drum a steady rhythm on the table while yours do so on your laptop keyboard.
“Yeah.” Shake your head immediately and contradictingly. What are you saying? “No. Yeah, probably. But I think it’s my fault.”
No, it isn’t a mere probability of it being your fault. It is your fault. Why are you placing expectations on Hyeju to show up for you? It isn’t on her that you get hurt when she doesn’t have the time or willpower to come along with you. So, why are you even bothering to talk about this? You should let this matter slide. Brush it under the carpet. Rewrite the news headlines. Whatever.
“Ah, couple’s quarrels,” Daniel says teasingly. He thanks the waiter for his croissant then takes a healthy bite into it. “Out of the honeymoon phase already?”
Should you be delighted that people think that she’s yours and you’re hers? You’re split between these two emotions—choose to be frustrated instead.
“Why does everybody think that we’re a couple?” 
“Well.” Your friend twirls his teaspoon into the dainty cup. Drill your eyes on it. The café is simple and affordable to eat from, but the furniture and aesthetic make you think of it as a fancier place to eat it. “You’re always together.”
“That’s all?”
“Let me finish. When some guy has the balls to ask her out, she says she has a boyfriend. She shows him your profile and number. She goes, ‘My boyfriend wouldn’t be too happy about that.’”
The latte somehow doesn’t finish its journey through the straw. “She does?”
You’re split between two thoughts to go by again. You should be happy that your friend, a friend who’s a girl moreover (never confuse a friend who’s a girl with a girlfriend—ever), feels safe enough with you to refer to you as someone who’d protect her, whether from creeps or the aggressive dogs that patrol your college grounds. It takes real trust to call a guy who’s a friend (again, avoid the confusion) your boyfriend when the time requires it. This means she trusts you to come to her if she needs saving from an odd guy or an escape out of situations.
But at the same time, you wonder if that’s what you really are to her, what you’ll only ever be to her: a fake boyfriend. The guy friend who doesn’t mind being called a boyfriend because he knows his low place in her heart. Does Hyeju even look at you as someone who’s not just an acquaintance?
“Yeah,” Daniel says matter-of-factly. “She really likes having you around.”
You don’t need to think about it when you reply, softly: “I do, too.”
The two of you sit in silence you don’t know the source of. Daniel stops eating suddenly. Similarly, all the appetite is lost and you have to put your plastic cup of latte down before you throw it at the wall and ruin the dining experience for everyone else. No, this is your problem. You should deal with it before dragging anyone into it.
“So, why did you call me? What is it about Hyeju?”
Ah, what are you thinking? Daniel shouldn’t even be here. Why did you even call him over? You did and now you don’t know why you suddenly want to throw the contents of your plastic cup into his face. If you give in, you’d be feeding into the delusion that he’s the one standing between you and Hyeju. 
That only leads to the second question of the day:
Why do you suddenly hate Daniel? Daniel is a nice guy. He doesn’t even make a move on her or disrespect her. 
You don’t like these feelings. It’s causing you to think all sorts of nonsense about everybody else, not excluding Daniel, who hasn’t done anything wrong. 
“I…” Sigh. This is the second time you’re finding an escape route so that you could be alone with your feelings. “I have to think about it. I need some time alone.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry about that.”
Hate how more guilt washes over your heart. See here, he doesn’t even protest or say something that might even be right, like tell you how you called him to come over in the first place or how there isn’t a good reason why he should leave. He simply wraps his croissant with a plastic he asked for at the counter and leaves, tea and all.
Great. Now you’re alone, like you usually are and always will be. Attempt to use it as a pro and work on your thesis. Type it all down on a Word document. Wait patiently, as you learned to, as your old laptop stops for the suffering you’ve caused it with the extra storage taken up by assignments. Contact your groupmates. Remind them to do their jobs.
It’s all going so well. That’s when she pulls up to the cafe you’ve been writing at with her hands perched on the wooden surface of your table, with the smirk that doesn’t ever leave without making sure it’s her certified look featured on her lips.
No need to mention names when there's only one girl who could make your world stop spinning.
You can’t stop staring, and it’s not even because she turned up out of nowhere. You’re always in a state of shock when Hyeju is around.
She never allows her hair to be restrained in a tight tail, so there she is with those luscious black locks spilling all over her shoulders. How she manages to look so cool and be the very person everyone wishes to be while having those soft cheeks only the evillest of people wouldn’t pinch you don’t know. Son Hyeju is cool and cute at the same time, somehow balancing those everyday without effort.
But you don’t love her. Just to remind everyone once again. No matter what happens, you have no feelings for her. And that’s that.
"Hey," she says, putting her weight on one arm. Then she curves down her head to peer at your screen. "Whatchu doin'?"
Immediately slam your laptop shut and look at her with annoyed eyes. Oh, why do you even try? You could never despise her. You could pray to god all night and day for you to hate Hyeju, to hate her to the ends of the Earth just to banish these strange feelings, and he wouldn't give in. Crazier and crazier her antics shall get and you'd remain loyal to her.
And that's all because she's a good friend. That's everything there is to it. 
Wait. Who are you convincing again?
"Oh, come on. Smile a little, pretty boy." Hyeju places a finger on one edge of your mouth then pulls it upwards. "There you go. Suh-miiile—"
Pretty boy. She called me a pretty boy.
"You p-plan on getting off the table or what?" you say.
People are staring at you and Hyeju but that isn't what's making you blush. What's gotten into you? You can't tell yourself it's because of her simply because it isn't because of her. Hyeju has as much effect on you as a cup of coffee.
(You thrive off caffeine, by the way, but that's not the point.)
"Sure. No. Uh… probably?" She looks up at the ceiling as if she's figuring something out, then clicks her tongue when she does. "Yep, nah."
Groan. 
Secretly, confessed only in the deepest corners of your mind, you like people paying attention to you and Hyeju. It’s not much about the attention itself but the way it makes them think that the two of you must be really close. Like, really really close. The kind that makes those who want Hyeju rush to her only to be met in the face with a barrier: you. They can’t have her because you do.
Not in that way, of course, but it still means something. If she has you, nobody else could, and if you have her, more so.
"Son Hyeju,” you say, fighting back the smile on your face as she ruffles your hair, “I swear to god—"
"Oh, please," says Hyeju, leaning forward with narrowed eyes and a wicked smile, "spare me, oppa. Spare me the blasphemy—"
That's enough from her, you think. Your hands dive for her waist. Pull her down onto your lap. Your thighs soften the blow and also play the role of a launch pad as one kick sends Hyeju in the air. More chances to tickle her come along with it. Okay, that bit about the lap was wholly unintentional, and you'll swear to god again for that. 
What isn't unintended though is the tickling you do on Hyeju's midriff and arms. It helps that she's so sensitive—soon she's laughing boisterously, struggling in your lap with her head upturned and triangle-shaped mouth letting out unkempt guffaws. She nearly kicks the two of you out of the café seat.
"Dude, you are such a loser, stop!" she laughs, still winding around like a screw on top of you. Laughs alternate between each syllable. "P-people are looking, fffucking quit—"
When that beautiful gummy smile breaks on her face, you don't want to. People can look as much as they like and you wouldn't give a damn. Tickling is Hyeju's punishment, and you'll do it to her anywhere to teach her a lesson.
"Ha, haha, I'm sorry, okay!"
"That's my girl." 
You’re not hurt anymore. For a few delicious minutes, you’ll forget you were ever pondering if you like her or not.
Stop completely because you’re easy to convince like that All she needed was that one magic word. Place her on the chair beside you and fold her hands on her lap as if she were a misbehaving child. 
"Now behave yourself."
Hyeju rolls her eyes. "And if I don't?" she challenges you. 
You raise your fingers in a curled position and direct them threateningly centimeters away from her ticklish spots. She gives up. She can't find a punishment worse than that.
"Why are you here anyway? I thought you didn’t want to come," you say, taking the liberty to open your laptop again. The screen directs you to your assignment tab after you type in your password. Sigh; still five thousand words to go. 
"I'm here because I've got nowhere else to be," she answers. She practices her own liberty, too, and sips shamelessly at your iced beverage.
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Her eyes light up at the taste. "I got bored being alone in the dorm."
You think of her alone, and your heart immediately sinks. Maybe you should have stayed there. You’re her roommate—you’re there for her to have company. Sure, the roommates were paired up randomly, but it must lead to something now that you and Hyeju have met again. It was by pure chance that she reunited with you after years of being apart. There’s a string drawing you together, and you don’t know what it means. 
You do know that the reunion with your childhood best friend and seeing how she’s grown made your heart flutter. You act all mean when you’re around her, which is confusing when you’ve missed her so much.
"And I needed somewhere else to finish this thesis before miss Wong realizes it was due three weeks ago." Glare pointedly at her. Here you go again. Told you so. "Somewhere that's not occupied by a brat."
It's true. Call it what you will: an insult, a pointless accusation, but what you said rings true even in your childhood best friend's defiant mind. She could be a handful often.
"I am not a brat," she says, offended. She knows the truth and chooses to deny it. Typical. You should have seen that coming when she’s the girl who lies about the extra dishes in the sink not being her fault and her turn with the laundry.
Sigh. Act as the lawyer; you’re studying to be one anyway. It’s best to practice. "Remember when you cut up the slogan on the mayo label then taped it on me? I had 'white creamy filling; taste me!' on my back for the whole day!" 
"It was a big-ass sticker for a mayonnaise, okay? I couldn't stop myself." Hyeju admits this with hands raised in defeat. "But what about that time you shoved a Toblerone in my mouth while I was sleeping then took a photo of me?"
Raise your hands, too. You realize there's no way to weigh in the blame on a single person when you and Hyeju brought the brat out of each other. It's impossible to go by a day that isn't filled by at least one prank and joking quarrels.
Still, you find it fun. Hyeju's so easy to bond with, so easy to love. 
Whoa, where did that suddenly get here? Like you said, you love Hyeju, but only as a friend. 
So you do love her, in a way. Huh. 
That realization settles in and suddenly you're rendered frozen at the table. Your hands that ought to be finishing your schoolwork are frozen in mid-air. You're staring at the screen like you were watching a gory movie instead of trying to tick off your to-do list. 
"You okay?" she asks, one-of-a-kind lips sealed around the paper straw. "You kind of, like, went to another dimension for a bit."
How do you tell her you’re considering the fact that you might actually like her? You’ve known her for years. Something’s inevitably going to bloom inside you for her, right?
"Y-yeah. I'm good." Not. “And stop drinking my coffee.”
“You wouldn’t need it if you just did the thesis early. What’s so hard about it anyway?” Hyeju stands then bends over to glance at your laptop.
You don’t realize how short her dress is. It rides up to the centers of her thighs and you don’t know how to prevent anyone from seeing something forbidden without brushing down the hem of her dress. If you went down that road, you’d have to run your hand along her back and ass—you’d look like a pervert. 
Idiot. Think of something. Something that isn’t how you’d love to see more when you're just like everyone and shouldn't be allowed more eye access to her body. Only you know how many times Hyeju’s body came up in your mind when you were alone. Paired up with that attractive face that held a permanent pout, it’s impossible not to think of anything else. 
“Ugh! You are so dumb, you know that, oppa?” To your horror, Hyeju sits down neatly on your lap. She has her hands quickly frisking on your keyboard. “There’s a comma missing here, and a citation over here… oh, and a—”
“Save some for the rest of us!” a man about your age and height yells jokingly, cheering you on with a raise of his mug of hot coffee.
Both you and Hyeju look at him with confusion written all over your faces. Your words of surprise almost sync and match with the other for you realize your hands are on her hips, and Hyeju’s leaning back so comfortably in you that anyone would have thought it was another case of couple’s PDA. They’d be wrong though. She’s not your girlfriend. She can’t be your girlfriend.
So why is she so comfortable on top of you, as if she’s always been there? Why did your hands naturally rest on the beautiful slopes of her hips and pull her down the moment she stooped?
The guy’s grandmother smiles adoringly. “Young love,” she says with a dreamy tinge to her aged voice. "What wouldn't I give to experience that again."
You and Hyeju meet each other’s gazes and suddenly you’re unattached to each other. She guiltily settles on her chair and you take your hands off her. That was wrong. Why were the two of you so comfortable with being so touchy? Best friends don’t do that. At least, not best friends of the opposite sex. 
“I should go,” she stammers, standing up. “Call me i-if you need help, oppa.”
Just like that, she’s gone. Where did she go? Why did you lose her so fast?
-
Hyeju’s always called you oppa one way or another, but that moment left a particular jar in your heart. It shards the depths of the core and renders you speechless. You didn’t know that the person you’d love to hear that title the most from is your best friend. She’s supposed to call you that when she’s younger, but even if she weren’t, you’d still love to hear her call you that.
There’s a sense of fulfillment in being able to be Hyeju’s oppa. The one she always relies on. The one she sticks to through whatever happens. That’s why now that she’s told you to call her if you need help makes you ache. It’s the things that are seemingly so simple as that that send more yearning inside you.
The question is: what exactly are you yearning for? Who are you yearning for?
You think you know the answer. It’d take guts to admit it, to finally come clean. But what’s there to come clean about? You don’t love Hyeju. 
A ding from your phone just now. You’re nearly finished with the thesis, and it’s lucky that way since it’s from Hyeju. God knows she has ways of distracting you. Her clean moves at the dance she led and her chill yet stern voice when she commands a rowdy classroom steer you away from what you should be doing, like get away from her. Avoid her at all costs. Never tell her what you’re feeling because it’ll only end up badly for everyone involved. You don’t want to hurt Hyeju, and still you remain hopeful to not get yourself hurt, too.
It takes several seconds for courage to tie you down and pick up the phone. It’s a series of texts from her.
HyejU_U: hey
Sooooooooo
I’m sorry for what happened earlier. 
I didn’t really think and thought that you'd be fine with it
cause yknow
You pulled me down
and
We’re friends.
right?
Yeah, we’re friends, you think bitterly. And no matter how touchy you get, Son Hyeju, it’s all we’ll ever be to you.
HyejU_U: can we just move forward from it? If you want to ofc
Do you? Graduation is near and it’s still taken plenty of years of your life to get over Hyeju. Do you go forward and start on a new slate with her, or dwell in places you shouldn’t be?
Your fingers linger on the keyboard, then—
You: Sure.
Sorry, too
if i like
Made you feel uncomfortable
Wasnt my intention, i promise
HyejU_U: oh you didnt make me feel uncomfy at all.
So don’t worry <3
What a relief.
HyejU_U: i should be the one apologizing anyway
I thought it would be nice to be on you since ur arms feel good around me
Cock a brow. A giddy smile itches at the ends of your lips. Stifle it you will, though she can’t see you through her screen.
HyejU_U: sorry again
i just wanted to see if what i thought was true
Anyways. 
yeah, sorry.
You: so we’re good?
HyejU_U: we have a deal, dickface
;)
See, this is the thing you’re afraid to lose with Hyeju: the carefreeness of your little friendly touches and hugs, insults that take it just far enough, everything. If you told her how you felt (keep in mind that you might not actually like her romantically; you’re just thinking that you might), you’d lose your relationship with her—the one that formed before the two of you even knew what romance was. The one that’s kept the reunion as natural as could be without the need for awkwardness.
You’re so glad to have her back. As a student you’ve nearly cried knowing you passed a semester and worked night and day to finish a difficult assignment—none of those feelings can match the one of relief you felt when Hyeju told you everything was good on both ends. 
But for now, you’ve gotta try to put a dent into this thesis. You’re almost done, you swear. You’ve just been stalling—not intentionally. You swear on that, too. Your whole afternoon’s been swamped up in thoughts about her plus the thoughts about if you’re too perverted a man to be with her. There are a lot of questions left by you immediately responding to Hyeju choosing to sit on your lap. A lot of which are left unanswered.
Priorities. Sigh a little; there’s still work to be done, yet worrying about your best friend is on top of the list. You really should find a hobby when you’re already dragging your teammates behind. Plus, there’s the capstone to worry about that you haven’t prepared for even in the most miniscule bit. So there really shouldn’t be an explanation for why thinking about what she thinks of you is your number one priority. Why, you have plenty of other things to worry about.
You just can’t get her off your mind. These days it’s impossible to.
Abstain anyway, the best you can, from thinking about her and finally complete the thesis. It’s lengthy, well-edited, and has the perfect format to finally make you a lawyer. Attorney doesn’t sound too bad when it’s added to the front of your name.
You should celebrate, actually. The moment you think of it, Daniel suddenly messages you. He’s saying something about it being a Saturday, so you should go to the bar with him. You’re a social drinker, anyway. You could go there without going overboard. Addictions and vices form in these years of fresh adulthood, but you’ve never found yourself wound up in something.
So you do. They ask for your IDs and let you in after a short study of the cards. The guard gives you a lengthy lecture about not being alcoholics as young as you are, but welcomes you anyway.
If we’re talking about getting yourself wound up in someone, though…
“Dude,” Daniel says. He motions his glass to someone coming from the door. “Hyeju.”
You already know he’s rich, but what teacher did he pay to study him into mind-reading? “I wasn’t thinking about her,” you tell him defensively.
“No, I mean, she’s here.” He stares at said woman walking over to the bar with swaying hips. “How the fuck did she get here?”
Hyeju’s here? Swallow. Quick. What do you say? Where exactly in the bar is she right now? Why is she here? When did she get here? Why the fuck are you talking like a news reporter? 
“Hullo, boys.” She stops your train of thought and makes sure to dedicate all of them to her with her hands set on the table and a pretty crop top attached to the curves on her perfect body. You wonder where she got that dress. If she thrifted it, it isn’t obvious—her body does good work in making it look like couture.
“Hi, Hyeju.” Daniel acknowledges her with a nod. He’s a friend of yours and hers, just to remind everyone. He wouldn’t take another step with Hyeju, but you still have yourself staring daggers into his stubbled beard that lines his face and how he takes life as he would a game. There’s a reason why you’re the least tipsy among the two of you. He likes a challenge.
“Hi,” you say meekly. Hope your voice doesn’t sound twisted when your stomach suddenly is. Oh, and it’s not because of Hyeju. It’s the alcohol, pinky promise with a finger heart after. Alcohol’s never made your stomach turn this way though. 
Hyeju regards the shotglasses. “You went drinking without me?” 
“What does it look like?” Daniel asks, giving her the finger. It’s just the usual friendly argument that doesn’t cross lines or anything. The ones that you and Hyeju have. Why do you feel like punching him in the face?
Luckily, she doesn’t have a fragile heart. “Cute. Keep it that way.” She rolls her eyes then turns to you. “Oh, and you. I thought you liked having me around.”
“I’m sorry.” Ask the bartender for another shot then hand it to her. “I guess we just thought you were busy with training.”
She’s training to become an idol. It’s been her dream since she was a kid, when you played in the slides and dropped from monkey bars. She’s always told you she was going to be big someday, and you never doubted that for a second. She even had a name she planned to use if she were to be a performer: Olivia Hye. You weren’t gonna lie, it had a nice ring to it. Not too bad for a name she made up after skimming through a baby name book from the bookstore.
“I dropped out,” she says simply, downing the shot like water.
“What?” you and Daniel ask together. Both of your voices sync with the shock, too. Neither of you could get why she did that. It’s been Hyeju’s dream to become an idol for so long. She couldn’t give that up just like that, but she did.
“Yep.” There’s pride in her voice. “The whole thing was a shithole. I already have Idalso to deal with. I’m not gonna put up with that, fuck no.”
Your heart aches for her dream. Idalso University really is blocking her from achieving it. She could be out there on the stage, maybe having found a better agency, singing and dancing her heart out. Instead, she has to choose one problem at the time and hence goes with college. She has her own parents to please, and because you have yours, you get it. You truly do.
As for Hyeju getting a problem off her mind, like that terrible agency, your spirits lift. You raise a glass and clink it with hers. 
“To getting the hell out of this shithole,” you say; look at the girl you’ve lived for and loved with a smile, “and Son fucking Hyeju for doing it again.”
Your glasses meet. You’re somehow happy that it’s only two, yours and hers, that join. You can’t explain it for the life of you, but you like seeing Daniel become like a background character to it all. Just another extra in Hyeju’s show and yours. It’s cruel, especially when he’s been nothing but a good friend, but it is what it is.
“Tell you what,” Daniel says. “Let’s go to a noraebang tomorrow.”
She’s contemplative. “Isn’t the one near Idalso… like, expensive?” 
“So what?” He shrugs. “You did it, Hyeju. You got out of that company thing. I’m done with my capstone and so is he with his thesis. I say we all have some fun. On me.”
Daniel has the privilege of not worrying about things being expensive or not. It’s the norm for him. You kind of want him to play Dorothy and put himself in your shoes, then make him go through what you did. 
You know it isn’t fair and he’s just being kind. Still and all, your hatred rises.
“What now?” Daniel asks. “You guys in!”
“Of course!” Hyeju nods and claps her hands together. There’s a gummy smile on her face again. You’ve seen it on her many times, but you’ve also seen the sunset everyday—therefore, you’ll still be glad to catch a glimpse of it.
You guess since she’s in, you have to go, too. You say yes and that of course you’d love to go, and this time three glasses clink together prettily. Smiles are on each of your faces albeit yours is artificial.
"Could you act any less like a deadbeat dad?" Hyeju asks. She sits down on the stool beside you after Daniel leaves to get some air. Still feels like he's here when you feel like everyone's eyes are on you and her.
"I'm not doing anything." You say that because you aren't. You definitely aren't stirring a brew of jealousy inside you that poisons the maker, too. You're its creator yet the prophecy that was written tells that it'll turn against you, too. You’re Kronos, and it's an inevitable fate. 
"Exactly. That's what deadbeat means." This matter-of-fact statement from her is followed by Hyeju stealing your shotglass out of your hand right before you drink it. "Seriously, dude. What's up with you?"
Oh, you don't know. Maybe her possibly being your crush? It's such an immature matter, but you haven't had a crush like this. The others were just sweet-faced and from afar. Those are the girls you dream of. To have a girl like Hyeju, the one you've known since forever, with a spunky personality but an opposing pretty face, the one who's been your ride-or-die—it's complicated.
What else could you say to her when the truth is something you'd rather she not hear?
"I'm fine, Hye."
"Are you? You look…" She thinks about it for a while as she studies your hair and poorly combined outfit choices. She slicks your blunt strands back and smiles teasingly. "...sleazy."
"Fuck y—"
"Shhh." She places a finger on your lips. The side of her thigh touches your lap. You're so close that any word you utter won't pass without hitting her. "It's okay. I like it."
You purse your lips. You didn't expect that. She's taken seats on your lap that were uninitiated by you and let you lift her in the air when you hug her. All that and her fingers in your hair are the most surprising.
"You're drunk," you say, although she’s only had a few shots. 
Hyeju inches closer to you and holds your chin in place. "I'm sober as the next wolf, sweetie," she tells you. Her next words fail to show her hesitance. "And… and it just so happens that I really, really want to kiss you."
She's joking. She's playing around with your heart. You're not a virgin—you know what girls do. Hyeju doesn't strike you as the type to do that in spite of what’s going on, but you have to be careful. Your heart’s been bruised too many times already. 
Careful isn't the word for it when you take the first step and lean in for a kiss. Maybe you're drunk yourself. Dizziness enchants your mind as Hyeju's dreamy lips perfectly pout to the shape of your mouth. Her eyes are closed. It's like she's in a restful dream.
You can’t believe you’re doing it. You’re kissing her. Passionately, too—there’s real determination in the way you hungrily lean forward to devour her lips. 
The bar oohs and ahhs, then erupts into a crowd of applause. A few whistles come your way. You can feel Hyeju smile into your mouth.
-
Proclivities upon proclivities to keep her around you and only you couldn’t stop Monday from coming. You’ve only been to a noraebang once and that was with your family. It excites you to go to one again. However, you’d rather have only Hyeju to come, to be the exclusive member of the club that gets to hear her soft, pretty voice echo in the mic.
She’s really doing a number on you. Daniel’s your friend—sure, he might be out of touch with the local games and experiences, yet he’s still important to you. You can’t be mad at him over a girl who probably doesn’t even think the kiss at the bar was anything special. She hasn’t even talked about it with you and acts like it didn’t happen. Just another boy, just another day. That’s probably how you are to her.
Ouch. Way to go hurting yourself with your own made-up scenarios. As expected from you. 
The three of you decide to cut classes. It’s not like you’re in high school anymore. Professors just don’t give a fuck, unless it’s miss Wong. She’s pretty and quiet at first. Then you have to wait to see her get angry—that’s when all hell breaks loose.
No hell on the loose today. Just three little demons from hell called Hyeju, Daniel and yourself down on the loose and down the road to the noraebang. Hyeju’s in a loose black jacket and a plain white tee. You somehow notice that more than Daniel who’s sporting a graphic shirt with swear words from every language printed on it. You don’t have much to say about your attire when it’s nothing special, not even compared to Hyeju, who’s wearing simple clothes like you.
“If a teacher sees us out here—” says Daniel nervously. He’s never rebelled before. The most he’s done is missing a class. 
“No one will,” Hyeju promises him, opening the door of the place for the two of you though in your opinion it should be the other way around: you opening the door for her. What better way to show Hyeju that you could be a gentleman? Too late now. Plus, she doesn’t care much for that. That’s what keeps your excitement on a low burn. It takes more than opening a door and waiting around to impress Hyeju. 
You sign your names at the front. Daniel picks a nice, wide room with a glass table perfect for chips and bottles. The bright screen already shows snippets of K-pop music videos, involving sweet-faced Korean girls waving at the camera and running along a beach. As boyish Hyeju is compared to other girls, you could definitely see her doing that for her passion of becoming an idol. 
“What should we sing?” asks Hyeju, sitting down on the black plush seats comfortably. Her gummy smile is precious.
“Anything you want.” He slings an arm around her. His looped arm tugs her into a warm embrace. “Anything for the soon-to-be lawyer slash K-pop idol.”
Stiffen. Turn away and suddenly take good interest in the walls with a carved 3D effect. Much more interesting than whatever Daniel’s trying to pull on your best friend. Right, Hyeju’s your best friend. Nothing more. That kiss was a drunken mistake. You shouldn’t be getting angry. Besides, this noraebang was rented for you to have fun, not glower at Daniel doing nothing but be a good friend.
Hyeju laughs and leans into him gladly. “Stop, you’re gonna make me throw up!”
You feel out of place all of a sudden. Has she always been that affectionate with him? You thought that those touches and hugs were reserved for you only. Apparently not.
“Sing a song, Hye.” Your eyes don’t meet her gaze.
“They wanted me to debut with this song,” she says. The mic is shaky in her hand. “I—” She blushes. “I want to sing it for you.”
Sweetness infiltrates the air. It’s not of a scent or touch, but of hearing. It's Hyeju’s voice. It's smooth and soft as it passes through the empty atmosphere. No instrumental accompanies her voice, and you’re glad it’s that way. It allows you to marvel at Hyeju’s tone, quiet in spite of its sexiness.
And it takes that and several songs later, sung daringly by all of your trio, and jokes passed among friends that make you think about it. Really think about it. While Daniel and she sing their hearts out to the point of their voices cracking and laughs transforming into guffaws, you sit there and submerge yourself in thought.
You’ve seen Hyeju smile. It's pretty and sweet; her triangle-shaped mouth curls up into a half moon and it's everything you've ever wished for in life. No, fuck food. Fuck oxygen. All you need is her smile. It's cheesy as hell when you page through those types of quotes in those teenage romance books you probably shouldn't even be holding, but you swear that if Hyeju smiles for the rest of her life, it's enough for you to live. She just looks so pretty. Her resting bitch face, stone cold as the title of the expression suggests, is hot (yes, you're using that word), but when she chooses to smile—oh, you're as good as dead.
You don't like Son Hyeju though.
You’ve heard her sing in the noraebang room with her soft voice filling the vicinity. She doesn't sing much although she could. The day would come when she’d say "you know, I almost became an idol. I trained then dipped halfway,” and the pitched raspiness of her voice still would send you to heaven. It's a natural and beautiful thing, a trait she couldn't learn from the best vocal coach.
You don't like Son Hyeju though.
You’ve felt her hair when she leaned into your lap after laughing too much. "Stop, or I swear to god I will fuck your shit up," she told you, slapping your thigh after your terrible dad joke. You ran your fingers through her hair to calm her, but if anything it's an excuse to just touch her. You want to touch Hyeju, and not even in a sexual way. You just want your bodies closed up on each other with no awkwardness barriering the freedom to hold and be held.
And it’s not the kiss, but all these that make you stop your denial, and discover that you—
“—think I like Hye,” you whisper to Daniel when said girl leaves to get some beer. The flashing disco lights hanging from the ceiling can’t camouflage the red on your face. 
Daniel laughs and puts down the mic. The bump on the crafted table sends a tinged pitch of feedback to your ears. “Everyone likes her. So?”
He’s right. Everyone likes Hyeju. Yeah, they like her through every name she’s taken up. She was the star of the school back in middle school when she went as Hyejoo, then the ice princess of high school as Olivia Hye, and finally… as herself now that she’s grown up with you, Son Hyeju. She’s become so many versions of herself and yet people still like the real her. You still know the real her.
“No,” is what you say, as you twiddle your fingers. You don’t know how to say this without causing an uproar. “I like Hyeju.”
He considers this for a moment, weighing in your words. “Like as in… like like?”
A nervous swallow. Is Daniel the right person to tell this ? “Like like,” you reply nevertheless.
Daniel locks his chin between his rough fingers and strokes it thoughtfully. His face is clouded with a feeling you can’t read. “Well, a lot of people do, too. And they wouldn’t blame you for it. She’s—” He looks down at his shoes then back at the noraebang screen. “She’s a pretty girl.”
The understatement of the century. Hyeju’s face was carved with such beauty—curved, pyramid lips; slanted eyes; a cold look that you, unlike people when asked about their first impression of her, weren’t scared of—and she’s just so… easy to love. 
Yes, Son Hyeju is easy to love. Everyone loves her, but she can only ever reciprocate it in a different way to one man. Woman, perhaps? Anything goes, but you'd rather she gives it to you.
You're a selfish person, you admit that. More so when it comes to her. 
"Let's get this party started!" she says. You don't intend to flinch yet you end up doing it anyway when she sits down next to you and hands you canned alcohol. 
"There's only three of us, Hye," Daniel points out. The rounded metal springs up from the can and he gulps down a hefty amount of the spiked liquid.
"Three's a crowd. Especially when it's with you guys."
"So you're saying we're too much?" Match her sass with hidden bits of your own. You're only trying to make it seem like your heart doesn't beg to be held close to hers. 
"Too much is just enough for me." 
Hyeju drops both of her arms around you and your other friend and ruffles your hair. It's sweet. It should be. It’s exactly that which makes you fail to understand why your heart feels squeezed. Why is she also hugging Daniel in the same manner she hugs you?
The kiss at the bar means nothing. The kiss at the bar means nothing. You have to stop thinking that it means there's a ring on your finger already. 
You rise from the sofa to purchase chips because you’re starving, but not for healthy food. You wouldn’t dream of eating a salad when there’s junk food in your general vicinity, and it just so happens that there’s a vending machine you’ve got your eye on at the counter. Soon, a rainbow of plastic bags fills your arms. What they contain would work well to repay your debt with Hyeju. Daniel can eat these without worrying about money. He’s been a good friend. He deserves chips after the evil you’ve thought about him.
"I bought chips—"
Daniel is pushing Hyeju to the end of the sofa and has his lips locked on hers. His hands are in her hair. Her eyes are shut. You can hear the sloppy sounds of kissing bouncing off the noraebang walls. The instrumental from the radio is the cherry on top of everything.
Does this kiss guarantee a ring? 
"Wow," you say. Nod then laugh, as if doing it would make your situation better. “Wow.”
Hyeju turns her head and scrambles for broken dignity. It's too late. You've already seen it. Daniel doesn't even bother running after you when she bursts out of the room to chase you. You're immovable—each step is a promise to take you far away. You trust that promise to skewer you away from Son Hyeju, Son fucking Hyeju who led you on and played with your heart.
"Hey.” Her steps catch up with yours. Walk faster, but she only draws closer. You can’t escape from her now. “Hey!”
"What?" Turn to her, heavy breathing lining your shoulders. You stare into her small face and silently dare her to make an excuse.
To your surprise and her audacity, she does. "It's not what it looks like!" she says, swallowing. How could she be the one near tears when she's the one who kissed him? "Let me explain—"
"I know what I saw."
"Well, you don't see the bigger picture. He sm—"
"—smart? Funny? Rich?" Laugh and shake your head. Your laughs sound more and more genuine. You've gone a little sick in the head. "Yeah, I know. But hey, we're not supposed to be anything, right? Why am I mad? It's not like our kiss meant anything."
"Please, oppa. Listen to me."
"No, go sing together,” you say, then thrust the junk food you bought in her arms. “I’m sure you’re better off with him.”
Mean it. Turn away. Don't bother to look at her when you know she'll go crawling back to Daniel. He's totally her type. He's everything, you're nothing. He's smart, you're not. He loves her more, and you do—just not enough. Now you understand why they were so touchy and close in the room.
Anger is irrational when it was just a kiss. The two of you weren't official, either. If you weren't before, you sure as hell aren't now. It's just not meant to be. 
She likes Daniel, not you. And even though you want to be, you aren't supposed to be angry at Hyeju. She was swept into a high school love triangle that happened a little later in her life, and ultimately chose the better guy. No need to drop names. The kiss was enough for you to know which man she chose.
Besides, you don't love Son Hyeju anyway. Isn't that what you've always told yourself? That's right. You don't love her.
Denial is a river flowing down your cheek.
-
The dorm becomes a cemetery of the living dead. You and Hyeju have not spoken to each other for three months. She stops waking you up for class, and you do the same. The place is notably cleaner after the two of you rely only on yourself to tidy up. Lost are the sarcasm, friendly touches, teasing arguments. It’s like the two of you never knew each other.
It’s through this that you discover that you have to be careful what you wish for. You always thought about Daniel putting himself in your place, and it happened. Ever since the kiss, Hyeju’s been chattier with him, and he pulls her close the way you used to, and she smiles at him like she used to at you, except that it’s wider now. They’re together. Officially together; you’ve seen their Instagram posts. 
Moreover, she’s happier than ever, flourishing without you.
And you? You’re still stuck in that noraebang, replaying that fateful kiss over and over in your head. Each time you close your eyes you see Hyeju and Daniel in a passionate liplock. It’s the kiss that ruined what you had with Hyeju and has made your quality of life deteriorate. You didn’t know that Hyeju makes up almost every part of your day. Mornings are empty without your stroll with her. Post-exam nights aren’t as fun when she’s not there to bring drinks. Afternoons are lonely when she’s always out with Daniel.
You hate the fucker. He knew you liked Hyeju. You’ve told him about it right before the thing he did with her even happened, so it’s impossible that he’d forget. Besides, like he said, the two of you are always together. He surely would have picked up the signs. Unfortunately, he whisked her away just like that.
You dislike to feel like the scheming guy in coming-of-age films who doesn’t get the girl, but it’s the perfect portrayal of your emotions.
Wake up for class. She does, too. You have the decency to not gawk at how good she looks even in a casual tank top and plaid shorts, but she doesn’t even try to hide that she’s staring at you. Just not for the same reason, you assume. You’re just her boy best friend. With the way things are, you aren’t even a friend to her anymore.
You smear cheese onto a soft slice of bread. Still, her eyes are on you. From the corner of what takes up your vision, you could tell that she’s trying to figure out how to make this less awkward. You’d think that an eternity’s worth of effectively giving each other the cold shoulder would make her learn how to do it. She’s a smart girl anyway. She should have figured that out.
“You know… you can’t just keep ignoring me.”
Freeze—it’s the first time she’s spoken to you in a while. And you weren’t prepared for that. It’s like someone threw a punch in your stomach, but it’s also a breath of fresh air. How those two feelings could converge into each other you don’t know. 
“So stop it, will you?” she continues. She swings her legs out of the duvet and places her hands snug on the edge of her bed. “Stop treating me like I’m a…”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m your fucking ex,” Hyeju snarls. The duvet crumples in her fist.
Scoff. Fold the bread slice tight onto the other squared end. Talk about a good morning. “Ex? We were never a thing, Hye… ju.” 
Right, it isn’t like that anymore. You can’t call her Hye like the old times.
The hurt that registers on her face, still pretty in the midst of pain, comes by so fast it would take a magnifying glass to see it clearly. Now she’s the one scoffing. She recovers quickly from the stifled nickname so well that you never would have guessed you disarmed her. “That’s the thing. You’re right—we weren’t boyfriend-girlfriend. So why are you acting like I’m a ghost?”
“I wonder why,” you say. “Couldn’t be because you kissed me then decided to kiss another guy while I was away. Nope, totally out of the question.”
What happened? It seems like just yesterday the two of you were throwing insults and playfully quarreling with each other like it’s natural. This is a real disagreement here. This can’t be resolved with a smile or hug. You and Hyeju aren’t like that anymore. It’s a thing of the past.
Just like your friendship.
“If you’d just let me explain—”
“You know what? I don’t have time for this. Go with Daniel to class. Have a good life with him. Just call me if you get lost.”
Don’t even try to take a bite out of your cheese sandwich. You leave it on the table. Later, it’ll become stale and cold, similar to your friendship with Hyeju, or whatever kind of fucked up relationship you have.
You storm out of the dorm. You’re glad to get out—you’re already worried about the test later and the night class with miss Wong. Don’t need a situationship to take up your mind either. 
The day passes like a car on a rocky, jagged road. It’s difficult to muster a smile to the freshmen the moment you come in to help miss Jeong teach, or work on your test when that argument with her fills your mind rather than equations you should have memorized. The whole day is torture, and you don’t dare wish it on anyone. Not even that asshole Daniel
“What’s up with you today?” people ask you. “You sure you’re alright?” “Where’s Hyeju?”
You don’t answer.
When the night comes, it’s relief for your sore mind and body. That test beat you up and the sun was too cruel to your skin. Even if night classes could last till the brink of dawn, you don’t mind. Take comfort in the fact that it’s only a discussion and nothing more. 
Barely listen though. Two a.m. creeps by and you haven’t taken in a thing. Usually miss Wong would have you focused, keeping in mind that she’s strict and merciless, but you’re too tired today. Your bones ache though you didn’t do much walking. They’re only symptoms of heartbreak.
You don’t want to see a doctor. In fact, you want to get worse.
Miss Wong looks up at the clock. “Is it alright if I extend for just five minutes?” she asks. Her pencil skirt struggles to contain her strides on the platform.
A chorus of mixed responses echo in the classroom. Others, the top students in particular who participate in every club you could name, say it’s fine. Some already have excuses to make: they need to work on homework; they have other classes to go to; every excuse existing. You don’t know which side you’re on—you don’t want to come home to another angry night with Hyeju, and at the same time, you can’t be assed to stay.
Then—
Ringing. It’s all you hear. Your classmates’ voices drown out in it. It’s supposed to be soft, but it isn’t anymore when everyone shuts their mouth in alarm. Look here, look there. You don’t know where it’s coming from. 
Your hint is the light in your pocket. Fish it out. It’s coming from your phone.
“I thought I told you guys to put your cellphones on mute during class,” Wong says, sighing. Her glare shoots you a warning.
Okay, you’d say sorry to her and put your phone away. Drop the call. Anything. But the first thing you do is wonder:
Why the fuck is Son Hyeju calling you?
Aside from all the tension between you, your natural instinct is to answer. Your next is to ask her, “Hye?”
“Oppa…” comes her voice from your speaker.
Before you could wonder why she’s calling, you notice that Hyeju’s voice is… lonely. Yes, lonely. That’s the word you’d use right away if you’re asked to describe it. No, it can’t be just that. It’s mixed with something else. It’s higher, a little more groggy.
Forget that you were fighting. Forget that she kissed Daniel and broke your heart. She wouldn’t call if it isn’t something even her pride can’t protect. “Hyeju? What’s wrong?” 
“I’m lost.” 
-
Those are the two words she utters before breaking into sobs. You’ve never heard or seen Hyeju cry. She likes to treat problems with anger rather than sadness, slicing away at every conflict with groans and cursing professors for low grades. If she’s crying, it must mean something’s wrong. Something’s very, very wrong.
You’re keenly aware that all eyes and ears are monitoring your moves, but you don’t care. You rise from your seat and start gathering your laptop into your bag. You forget about your notes. Fuck them. Hyeju comes first. 
“Where did you go, Hye?” Walk out of the class. If miss Wong has a problem with that, she can tell you about it tomorrow. 
Sniffles on her end. Her quiet, low cries break your heart. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I need you, oppa. I have… I have nobody else. Please come and get me.”
“Hyeju—”
“Please,” she whispers. Her voice lowers to a whine. “I’m alone. I’m so alone.”
Tears itch at the bottoms of your eyes. You have to come and get her. Need to forget the fight and silent treatment that ensued. All that means nothing if Hyeju’s in need of your help.
Where the fuck are your keys? Remove them from the loop of your jeans and click the button. In the driveway, your car’s headlights shine. Yep, there it is. You once regretted buying a secondhand car like that. Now that it can get you to Hyeju, you vow to take care of it for life. You’d spend thousands to repair it if it breaks down.
But right now, it’s Hyeju who’s breaking down. She’s all alone somewhere and she needs you. In a way, you need her, too. She’s the one who’s braver to admit it.
You’ve never driven faster in your entire life. All the while you stay on the line with Hyeju. Your grip on the wheel tightens whenever she lets out a hopeless little sob. She’s crying so hard that you want to roll into a ball in the corner and cry, too. You can’t do that. You have to be the stronger one, the one who comes to her like she’s done for you and tells her that everything’s going to be alright.
You make no promises. 
Eventually you coax a location out of her and break several speed limits. Ignore the cops that yell at you. They can all go and fuck off. Hyeju needs you. You’re her best friend. It’s what friends do.
“Motherfucker,” you curse, upon seeing that the location she led you to was a club. It’s hidden in the corner of a creepy alley. “Hyeju, are you drunk?”
“Nooooo…” she drawls, giggling through her tears. “Your voice is so nice, oppa. It really makes me feel better. Did’ya know that?”
No time to be flattered. You burst into the club and find her in the midst of flashing lights and crowds of bodies. Your ears ring because of the music. Whose idea was it to hire this DJ? He thinks he’s doing such a good job, too. 
Hyeju’s in the center of it all. Her black coat is too big for her, but so is the crowd. When it moves, it drags her along by the toes. She’s… smiling? Wasn’t she crying on the phone just minutes earlier? Maybe she drank more. This can’t be good.
“Hyeju!” Start walking faster. 
She sticks her tongue out at you and starts to sprint upon seeing you get close.
You have no time for games. This isn’t even in the least bit funny. What if someone spiked her drink? What if that was the reason she’s acting funny? Worse: what if someone’s planning to take advantage of her? All these concerns bump into each other in your head as you run after her. 
A couple of “excuse me”s and “sorry!”s after you quickly squeeze in between dancing people. Drinks spilled on the floor. Anger from two dolled up ladies. (A look to your right and… yep, not only from them.) Disapproval from the DJ who even calls you out. Boos from the crowd. You don’t care about them. You only care about getting Hyeju to safety. She can’t be here in her vulnerable state.
Before she could dash out from your line of vision, you grab her wrist. Seal your grip around it tightly so she can’t escape. “Son Hyeju,” you say, glaring at her. Ever since she stopped crying, she started to play around. This isn’t a game but to her it is. A fun game, to be more precise. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Oooh, you caught…” She burps. Playful giggles spill from her mouth. “... me!” Hyeju gives you a drunken smile and claps for you regardless of her right hand being held into position. 
“Why are you here?”
“Why are you here? See? I can ask stupid q-questions, too!”
You whisk her away from the ongoing party and into the cold night air. You’re about to throw your jacket on her when you see that she’s wearing one, too. 
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People are starting to stare. Pray that no one intervenes, even if they have good intentions. After all, you’re a man with a woman under the influence. They have every right to be concerned, but you hope that just for now they know you wouldn’t dare hurt Hyeju.
The wind blows a breeze that almost knocks you to the floor. You draw Hyeju to yourself to warm her. You can’t risk her catching a cold. 
”Let me go, oppa!” Hyeju’s mood goes from sad to drunkenly cheerful to pained. She forces her wrist out from your fist harshly. Your arms no longer wrap her. “You don’t like me anymore, right? And I have a boyfriend!”
Capture her hand again. She can’t escape and run away a second time. You’ve done that too much to know that it’ll send her down into a dizzying spiral. You’re cowards, the both of you—that’s why you flee whenever a problem arises. You don’t know how to deal with it. 
That changes now. Get in your vehicle. Pull her in, too. “For your information,” you say, locking her seatbelt in place, “you called me. You asked me to pick you up.”
The car roars to life and speeds down the road. The night barely provides light for you to move along. It’s beautiful nevertheless. Stars peek out from the depths of black. The moon is dim yet reassuring. What fate does it have in store for you? Would you accept it if you knew? How could they all look so serene while you have your drunk crush next to you starting an argument?
“And you’d loooove not to do it, wouldn’t you?” Hyeju’s words suggest that she’s no longer that drunk but the way her words come out like jumbled words in a newspaper crossword tell you otherwise. She leans against the door and crosses her arms. “It was a mistake to call you. You, you fucking hate me.”
Does she really believe that? You may hate Daniel, but you never once hated Hyeju. You’ve only had wistful feelings for her even after she kissed him. You still checked up on her socials and watched her as she ate lunch with him. You remained loyal to her, like a dog following its owner through scoldings.
Yeah, you really are just her dog.
“I don’t hate you, Hye,” you say with conviction. You’re determined to make her believe that. It’s difficult when you’ve never been the type to be good with words. 
“Yes, you do! You wouldn’t even let me explain why I kissed Daniel!”
“For fuck’s sake, I was hurt! I didn’t know what to do!”
“Then hear me out for once!”
“Alright.” Your hands slap the wheel, unintentionally bumping the horn and causing Hyeju to cringe. “Go on. Tell me what happened.”
“He was the one who kissed me, the fucking idiot! He kissed me out of the blue and wouldn’t stop!”
Wait.
What? 
Daniel, your friend and Hyeju’s, initiated the kiss? Hyeju didn’t want it to happen?
If only you knew, you would have beaten up Daniel a long time ago. 
You can’t even speak. You had it all wrong. You can’t believe there was an explanation for everything and you refused to hear it. 
Hyeju begins to sob again. Her words circle in the air like an incantation. It’s equally because of the alcohol and her emotions. “I was… talking to him about my training, but then he kissed me.” She wipes her face and laughs humorlessly. “He started making out with me and, a-and I didn’t know how to stop it. It was like I was frozen.”
“You… you didn’t kiss him?” Your tone is broken and incredulous. “He made you do it?”
She looks almost offended. “Why? Why would I ever kiss that bastard?”
“But you’re dating him.”
“I am,” says Hyeju, hands in her hair, “Hah, okay. I'm dating him, yeah, but that’s just because I thought you didn’t like me. I only want one person in the world, and it isn’t Daniel Smith.”
“Hyeju—”
“It’s you, you clueless little shit!” She punches your shoulder and muffles her face into your car pillow. Her next scream is elongated, filled with frustration. When she lifts her face from the pillow, her eyeliner and blush are smeared and wet with teardrops. “It’s you, and I only want you!”
In vino veritas.
The confession is as out of the blue as Daniel’s kiss was. You’re in a state of shock and disbelief—too much information is coming into your brain. You want to punch Daniel in the face for shocking her with an unwanted move. You want to hug Hyeju. You want to tell her that you’re sorry for not hearing her side of the story. 
Most importantly, you want to tell her that you want her, too.
It’s too late now. She’s seen you disregard her voice and choose to have a one-track mind. There’s no way she wants you anymore.
“Why the fuck would you ever want me, Hyeju?” 
“Because!” She lets out a shivering little sigh. “You don’t treat me like… hlk, like I’m a trophy to show off. You’re my friend. You know how to be mean but you take care of me even if I’m too moody sometimes. Even if I don’t want to come along with you outside because I’m scared I’ll make myself look stupid in front of you. Even if… even if I love too hard but don’t show that I love you most and that sometimes you take care of me more than my dad does and I know it’s wrong to see you that way when I’m with him now but I really want you to take care of me but still kiss me too if I need it and be okay with me calling you names like ‘daddy’ and still being your best friend besides being my boyfriend… but I know it can’t happen anymore and I ruined everything—”
“Hyeju.”
More tears flow down her face. “—and I know you won’t ever love me the same again but I’ll regret forever, long after we graduate, that I never showed that I loved you, that I was a coward—”
“Hyeju,” you say, gently. Pull over at the university parking lot. You have your finger on her mouth, sealing them to stop her droning. She pauses. She doesn’t do it without breaking down. “Please. Don’t tell me you don’t know it. It’s been happening under your nose every single day.”
“What?” she murmurs, eyes glassy as they connect with yours.
“I like you, too.”
Silence. Several beats go by. They’re too lengthy to be fake. The next nuance confirms that:
Talk about relief. Talk about passion. As if she’s forgetting that a sudden kiss was what opened Pandora’s box, Hyeju grabs your face and does exactly that. Again, it has too many things to it that blocks it from being faux. The unique shape of her lips mold onto yours, as if your lips were made to kiss each other all the time. It’s back to the café again, wherein she does something and you subconsciously follow along. Your hands are on her phenomenal waist. And soon you’re unbuckling her seatbelt so she could sit safely on your lap, where she’s supposed to be. Where she belongs.
She drops her touch to your shoulders. She massages them, and you groan delightfully. Now it’s your turn to hold her face and lean in closer. Hyeju’s mouth tastes of sweetness and alcohol. You don’t know how those two tastes could mix together. Hyeju makes it work.
“Oppa, daddy,” she whimpers. She pulls away. The distance is still close to nothing. “Daddy, I love you.”
It’s a sudden nickname, still detached from when she uses it with you jokingly, yet there’s no hesitance here. You know your truth. “I love you, too, Hyeju.”
“Will you take me to bed?” She starts grinding down on your shaft needily. “Please say you will, daddy. Please say you’ll make me happy.”
“You’re drunk. I… I don’t know if I should.”
“‘m not. Maybe. But I’ve wanted it to happen for a long time,” Hyeju says. “I won’t mind, I promise.”
She couldn’t get any more sober with that. So you do what any man would do if they were called daddy by Son Hyeju: lift her out of your car, not caring to check twice if it’s locked, and bring her to bed. Take her coat off—she won’t need it if you’ll make her warm from the inside and out.
Her arms round your neck and her face is buried in your chest. Her words come out in a desperate, needy tone that you haven’t heard from her since the day you met. Who exactly were you to make her this small?
Her daddy, of course.
See, as tough as Hyeju makes herself out to be, she’s still needy. She still has her own problems that haven’t let go of her now that she’s older, like the daddy thing. You only fully understand it now when you lay her on the bed and continue kissing her. Hard. Her moans call out for you. They aren’t merely things to whine if it feels good. It’s not even a matter of want anymore; her shivers and cries indicate of her carnal need for you to do what you will with her.
“Don’t be scared,” she tells you, closing her eyes as you kiss her perfect jawline. “You wanted me for so long, right? Well, I did, too. Do what you want to me. Fuck me, daddy.”
“You talk extremely dirty for someone who’s drunk,” you chuckle. 
“Not so drunk anymore. You make me sober.”
“Sweet talker. You’re all bark and no bite.”
Hyeju has no retort to make. Your lips on her gorgeous nipple render her speechless. The cute pink nub is hard, and grows harder at your loving suckles. Her breasts are the perfect size for squeezing. Relish in that fact by squeezing her left breast while dedicating more of your attention to the other, making her become sensitive with each action. 
You’d say you have bite, for you do so lightly on her breast. She gasps. “Daddy!” she cries out.
“Fuck, don’t say it like that.” Your cock throbs already. It’s the same feeling you get all those times before, the times you’d get into an argument with Hyeju and she’d call you that.
“What? It’s not my fault you can’t handle me,” she says wittily.
“Don’t try me.”
“What?” She cocks a brow. “Hit too close to home?”
You have to shut her bratty self up. Tug her pants off, sliding them off her silky legs. Her pink panties are a hint to the gentle color of her pussy. Find out about them anyway—push the underwear aside and shove three fingers in her.
“Oh shit.” Hyeju’s squeeze on your digits is instant, like an impulsive reaction. 
Think about if Daniel has done this to her before and pick up the pace. You’re fingering her like the walls of her soaked pussy would banish him and let you have her all to yourself. “Son Hyeju,” you growl, “shut the fuck up.”
“W-won’t—ah!” 
If you don’t make her quiet, you’ll at least reduce her words to pathetic moans. You’d say you’re successful. Your rapid thrusts send Hyeju’s screams paralleling the night wind with their strength. 
You’re surprised again and again at how loud she could get. She’s always so quiet except for the occasional sarcastic remark. She can make no more of those if faced with the relentless fingering you do unto her pussy. They draw out strings of dampness when they withdraw, and fill her right to the knuckles when you go back in. Her hips squirm and you have to place a hand on her thigh to continue.
“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” she screams. Her mouth is open while she sits up to look at what you’re doing to her vulnerable cunt. “It feels so fucking good, don’t stop!”
She looks beautiful. Her shirt is lifted above her breasts, making them bounce madly due to the timing and force of your thrusts. Her eyes could never be more watchful. She can’t believe she actually has you between her legs and fingering her to orgasm.
“Got any comeback for me, Hye?” you ask smugly. 
Hyeju nods. Her lips are parted again. Although you haven’t had sex with her except for now, you know what that dropped jaw means: she’s close.
Her walls are impossible to part completely. She’s too damn tight that you bet she’d still be so with one finger. The grip of her slippery, wet cunt is like no other. You reach deep into it and stroke out till you find the place. That’s how Hyeju starts to shiver. She can’t manage it.
“Oh, yeah? What do you have to say now, sweet?” Wrap your lips around her nipple. It’s another one of your unfair advantages over her.
“I-I-I—I can’t!” 
The recoil of Hyeju’s tits is amazing. Harshly squeeze the boob you’ve relatively neglected to make sure she can’t get a word out of those pretty lips. Take a further step and smack it, too. She moans in satisfaction. Your harsh squeezes imprint a replica of your hand on her pale skin. 
Of course, you don’t forget to keep your fingers going. You change techniques now and then, switching from gentle circling to rapid fire shoving. Whether it’s one or the other, Hyeju’s fuckhole swallows you up. She doesn’t mind which or what; she needs your harshness the most. It’s what counts as a whole.
“Daddy, I’m gonna cum! Please make me cum on your fingers, make your babygirl cum… oh—oh, fuck!”
Combined with your thumb nudging her small clit and your digits absolutely destroying her tightness, Hyeju does the unthinkable: she squirts on your hand and on your bed. Liquid gushes on your shirt; it’s so consistent and clear that a new determination is founded within you. It’s to make your unbearably hot best friend cum like she never has.
For the record, it’s the first time you’ve made a girl squirt. You didn’t expect that it would be this satisfying. Seeing Hyeju’s blissful face and the shake of her beautiful legs make your efforts worth it. Watching yourself do it to your best friend and make her feisty, boyish self let out screams and pleas brings increased triumph.
“No, oh god, it’s too much!” Hyeju says this but her legs part more. Her head is tossed back and her moans don’t stop. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t—daddy!”
“Messy little brat.” Rub away at her clit. Feel the spurt of her cum hit your finger. “That’s it, cum for daddy. Keep those pretty thighs open.”
Hyeju mewls at the mixture of degradation and moans. If Daniel had said that to her, she probably would have thrown up in a bucket. When it’s you, on the other hand, everything changes. She wants you to call her every harsh name out there and accompany it with sides of praise. She’ll only feel this good when she’s with you.
Hyeju is anything but obedient. Things change here in the dorm, where her pussy is spread and prone to your touch. Her midriff, soft yet slender, rises over and over. The hose of her wet orgasms still hasn’t stopped.
“Goddammit, you’re squirting so much. Am I that good, hm, Hyeju? Is daddy that good to his pretty little girl?” 
“Mmm, mmm, don't— no more, daddy, no more!” Hyeju’s core is already spent, and you haven’t even put your cock in her yet. 
Stop. Not before you leave a kiss to the sensitive bundle of nerves that you abused. It’s a mark now, something invisible that subtly says to everyone that you got to fuck her. You got to fuck Son Hyeju. You made her cum like never before.
Spit on Hyeju’s center then spread it to her lips and nub. She moans. “You’re so wet, Hye.”
“Whatever.” She’s blushing. “I’ve had better.”
You have to say you’re a little provoked. You know it’s false seeing the smug look on her face and after making her squirt, but who exactly has done her better? Daniel? Definitely not him. The possibility still does well to spur you to jealousy.
“Oh,” you say, smiling tightly, “so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”
Hyeju gasps happily when she’s pushed to the wall and on her knees. It’s reminiscent of how Daniel did exactly that: pinning her to the wall before kissing her. Your anger brews into a fire just thinking about him. 
“Yeah. What’re you gonna do about it?”
Unbuckle your belt. Your jeans join it on the floor as well as your briefs. “I’m gonna clean that dirty mouth of yours.”
“And how are you gonna do that, daddy?” Hyeju pretends not to know what’s coming.
It’s your belief that actions speak louder than words. That’s why when you place your cock in between Hyeju’s lips, it resonates inside her more than your promise to purify her mouth. Logic fails here when dirty sins can’t remove Hyeju’s dirty words. One wrong and another doesn’t make a right. Oh, who cares? This isn’t a class. This isn’t your thesis. You focus only on feeling the softness of her triangular mouth, the wetness of the back of her throat.
Holding your cock by the base, you lead its tip into rubbing every corner of Hyeju’s mouth. Her cheeks make an outline of your girth as you press your head against them. Her jaw becomes slack after you press your dick down to her tongue. You’re technically doing all the work here because you’re fucking her face, but you’d argue that Hyeju contributes just as much with her tearful eyes that are more puppy than wolf.
The shape of her wet orifice leaves ample space for you to rub against everything. Your tip draws a triangle on her lips right before slipping inside. There you keep your word and clean her dirty mouth. Push those naughty words down her throat with immediate thrusts. That way, she can only moan, nothing else. No sass can be heard from her now.
“You’re such a bad girl, Hyeju,” you say. Curl your hand ‘round her messy hair and direct it downwards. She groans, her mouth now upright for yout fuck easier into. “You shouldn’t like having your mouth used like this. You shouldn’t be on your knees for your best friend when your boyfriend’s waiting for you at home.”
Hyeju knows you’re right. She shouldn’t. She isn’t supposed to enjoy having her throat rammed and spread. She shouldn’t be cheating on the man she claims to love. It’s a mistake of hers to be here anyway, underneath another man. 
Her second mistake is to like everything the way it is..
Her third is to tongue your shaft like she would a sweet treat. She wants to taste all of you, from your thick tip to the base. She’s not had much to work on with Daniel, but she knew it would be a good time when you sprung out your cock. She makes this worth it—she seals her lips at your base, her nose pressed firmly at the bottom of your tummy, then produces such a harsh suction that the grip you have in her black locks of messy hair tightens. A curse is what you let out besides precum. 
“Fuck,” you say. Pull her head closer. Aggressive thrusts fire away. “Didn’t know your pouty little lips could suck dick so well. I bet it’s bulging your throat. Is daddy right about that?”
She tries to nod. Her gags stop her intended action; your thrusts have sped up and are now destroying her tight throat. No space is left for her to breathe when her mouth is stuffed with your length. Even her nostrils can’t take in much air if her nose is pressed that tightly to your stomach.
Place a hand on the wall in order for there to be no aches for her head when you thrust wildly. “You know, I changed my mind. Maybe you’re a good girl, especially with that face. Go on, touch yourself. I know you want to.”
Permission is granted by her daddy. Hyeju gives a cry in response then leads her hand between her legs. Letting you fuck her face has made her wet beyond imagination. She doesn’t need to press directly on her pussy when there’s slick all over her thighs. She gathers them all up and places them back in her pussy. She moans as she swirls her digits inside her. Here’s how it works: she has one hand masturbating, and the other on your thigh to caress it and at the same time keep her balance.
Take note of that. “You’re a smart girl, Hyeju. Smart girls shouldn’t be letting their faces get fucked. We can’t have that happen, right?”
You say that yet your actions tell a different story. Your violent pumps into Hyeju’s mouth to use it to the limits are endless. Hyeju’s moaning. She enjoys it more than she should. Of course, you jam those moans, as pretty as they are, down her throat. 
Slap your cock on her lips.
“You know what I mean.”
Slip the whole of your length out then in again. Make her brush those luscious lips against every inch.
“We really, really can’t have that happen.”
Caress her cheek. Her eyes are awaiting and obedient. Look down into them and almost feel bad for ruining her, your best friend.
“Daniel might walk in anytime. He’ll be looking for you.”
Your movements are cruel as time goes by. You shouldn’t be treating your best friend like this. You shouldn’t even be having sex with her. All of these ought to stop you in your tracks—you don’t.
“And what will he say when he sees his precious girlfriend on her knees for his best friend?”
Hyeju begins to whine. She doesn’t want him to walk in; she’s enjoying this too much. What she doesn’t want to happen even more is for you not to blow your load inside her warm throat. People can’t have what they want all the time, but she swears she won’t want anything else if you just give her what she wants. That’s for you to absolutely use her. Be cruel to her and it wouldn’t sting.
“He’ll start to think how better you are with me. You’re a bad girl, Hyeju. You know that and you still want me.”
You’re right in every way. She is better with you. You just fuck her better, treat her better, kiss her better. She can’t kiss better the wound she’ll leave in Daniel if he just so happens to walk in. Maybe she could, but she’d put salt on it when he discovers how good you make her feel. It isn’t fair to anybody. To you, the one she accidentally hurt; to Daniel, who was the one (no, make that the two with how he was her last resort and how she gave him false hope); to her, who can’t go without you.
“Let go.”
Nine.
It takes exactly nine strokes in between her folds for her to cum. Drool sheens your girth. Some even drip from her mouth. It’s like she’s in heat; she’s whining as she tries to cum and suck you off at the same time. Hyeju ends up sucking your shaft with desperation, legs quivering and threatening to give away.
“Cum with me, Hyeju,” you command her. Pull out, rather regretfully, but take comfort with how pretty she’d look covered in your cum. Your hand wraps around you and jerks you off. Although it can’t match Hyeju’s mouth or her ass, it’ll do well in shooting your load on her.
Your best friend keeps calling your name squeezed between “daddy”s as she fingers herself to orgasm. She collapses pathetically on the floor, in a pool of sweat and cum. Her shirt and the floor of your shared dorm room are stained. No need to wonder where those white stains come from; the only suspects are you and Hyeju. It’s a partnered crime for her squirt comes out at such a velocity that it rivals your cumshots.
“Take my load, Hyeju, fuck!”
If there’s anything Hyeju isn’t, it’s submissive. It somehow changes when she nods and opens her mouth. You’re introduced to a whole new side of her. Her post-orgasm face is one you hope to admire everyday. Look at the expressions she makes when her eyes are crossed and her tongue is out for you and you have difficulty choosing between the two. 
You and Hyeju exchange a tired look. If you’re to be specific, a look is how everything starts. You became friends with her because she was staring at you too long a time in class. You quickly reunited with her in college when you looked to your back to see to whom the familiar voice belonged. It took one quick glance to see that Daniel had kissed her in the noraebang.
Similarly, a look is what causes you to shamelessly throw Hyeju on the bed again. By now her limbs curl into yours like this were a completely natural thing that happened between you, as if she were always being fucked and manhandled like this. Your kisses now are more aggressive, too. They aren’t nervous like earlier, when you still weren't sure if doing this was right. Hyeju responds by engaging in a battle for dominance, pushing forward and pulling the forces connecting you. 
You win in the end.
Slam her back down to the mattress. Her anticipation is written clearly in her eyes. “I’m going to ruin you, Son Hyeju,” you say.
She laughs in your face. “Bet.”
Alright. You’ll show her. It’s a friendly bet you’ll take all seriousness in.
Align your dick with her waiting cunt. You shed all attempts to tease her or dive into foreplay. What she needs is your cock inside her, rearranging her insides. If that’s so, you’ll give it to her. 
“Oh!” Hyeju gasps. Her pretty eyes are big above her hands covering her face. She never guessed you would feel this good inside her. “You’re so fucking big, daddy. It's, it’s better than I imagined, fffuck.”
Steer all your weight into this thrust specifically. Your tip makes contact with her G-spot and sends her legs shaking. Send her a couple inches further on the mattress. Her godly tits begin another round of bouncing. There’s no other routine you’d love to watch. 
Already you've put your hands on her hips. They’re to pull her closer if she gets lost. Again. You have to make sure you won’t lose her this time. This chance was given to you for a reason. You have to keep her here, show her all the love you’ve kept bottled up all these years.
Hyeju squirms a lot. That’s what your grip is for. It’s to keep her on the bed so she can easily receive your pumps. And what a good job she does at receiving them—Hyeju’s hips shiver as they’re subjected to a force her sensitive pussy can’t handle. She’s always going into things she can’t handle. This is no different. Time with Daniel was okay, but you’re a different story. You ensure that she’s always filled to the hilt until she’s bottoming out. 
Deeper and deeper you go. Your cock knocks up into her tummy. You curse; it’s hotter than it’s supposed to be. Something as simple as that shouldn’t be so arousing.
“Oh, you like that? You… you like seeing your big cock stuffing my little pussy?” asks Hyeju. Her teeth are parted to let in air she so desperately needs to formulate these words. She knows they’ll turn you on. “I know you do, daddy. Look at your meat ruining my insides. You’re going to cum so much inside me. And I’ll take it all. I’m a good girl. I’ll show you I’m a good girl.”
She leads your hand to her throat and closes your digits around it. Get the message. Squeeze there tight. Her strangled gasp is everything.
“You are, huh?” you say. Your composure is long gone. “Are you always this tight, Hyeju? Are you always this good? Or is it just for daddy?”
There’s something incredibly hot in the way Hyeju gushes and screams for you. Her nipples stand in the air, aroused by the quick penetrating done to her pussy. It seems almost impossible for her to be this wet. Each push of your hips brings forth a gush of wetness that wets the sheets and your joined crotches. Bring out your cock for a second to quickly flick its tip on her clit.
Hyeju gropes her own chest with closed eyes. “Ohhhh, fuck!” 
Return to your routine of drilling her. Her whole body reacts violently to your pounding. Moreover, every part of Hyeju’s beautiful body screams to be touched. Her jiggling thighs and breasts, her midriff prone to your thrusts, her face that’s never looked this slutty… where should you start? Your touch is given multiple choices, and you choose all of them. Your hands roam her body and squeeze and feel and grope. In response, she moans. The volume of her acute voice turns up with each, almost like her body has triggers that would draw out louder sounds. 
You think of it that way and now Hyeju’s screaming as you propel inside her while keeping a hand on her clit. 
“Daddy, o-only you, daddy!” she proclaims in a helpless scream. “No one can make me feel as good as you do, just keep fucking me, don’t stop!”
You’ve got your answer. Smile in satisfaction and, since she’s a good girl and gave the correct response, lean it to worship her breasts. Does slapping them count as worshiping? Hyeju thinks it does—her high groans and yells are enough to be context clues. You marvel at the size of her chest, so subtle with the baggy clothes she wears but now in their full, naked glory before you. It’s impossible for them to be presented to you without a squeeze being done.
“You like my tits, daddy? I’ll let you fuck them all you want, just finish inside me. I’m safe today. Promise, p-pro—”
Bury yourself deep inside her, to the point that your cockhead pushes at her cervix. Fill her up. Hyeju moans happily. She rolls her body up and down. The stimulation seduces you into making (kind of) breeding her a job well done.
“Thank you, daddy.” she sighs. She’s still erotically grinding her hips. It’s karma for overstimulating her a little earlier when your fingers filled her. 
“S-stop, Hyeju.”
“Stop? Alright, sure. I think that’s enough now. Daddy doesn’t want to fuck my tits anymore.”
Naughty little brat. She knows just the right words to tick you off and turn you on. It makes you want her to pound her into the bed again so that not even the old mattress can forget that it was the place you and Hyeju fucked.
“I’m just kidding, silly. Sit down! Yes, thank you.” 
She flashes you a smile after you do as she says. It’s a rare moment in this session with her that she has the say in what happens. Somehow. It can’t be completely true, not when she’s on her knees again for you. Not when her tongue trails worshipful lines on your cock and draws tight licks on your tip. Shiver. You’re a bit sensitive yourself.
“Now see how good this feels?” 
She takes her glorious breasts in her hands and wraps them around your cock. You let out a guttural moan. Hyeju’s tits rival her mouth and pussy. It’s a close competition, with the advantage of softness most of all. Oh, when she starts to move, gliding her supple skin up and down your size, you almost cum on the spot.
Her bosom is a portal to heaven, you swear. Your legs feel light. Your core is hot as your size disappears between her breasts, buried in the soft and safe haven she provides. The friction is so overwhelming that you doubt it could even be a real sensation.
She makes a show of rubbing your tip on her nipple, similar to what you did to her clit. The two of you are sensitive, so you moan in harmony as it happens. After gliding your cock on her large breasts, she goes back to titfucking you. 
It’s all a matter of technique. Whenever she presses her chest together, your cock is suffocated with euphoric tenderness. On the other hand, when she simply moves up and down, you’re given the opportunity to grind down at the skin between her pale breasts. Each route leads to an inevitable fate: exploding all over her a second time.
"P-please stop, Hyeju," you say. You can't handle no more and there's so many more things you want to do to her.
"Awh." She pouts. Fat tears risk spilling from her eyes. God, she could be so cute sometimes. "What do you want, daddy? I can be good."
"Turn around."
"Ohhh, I see what you want." Hyeju turns around and spanks herself. Her ass ripples photogenically. "Of course. Of course you want it."
Hyeju can be so many things. A few minutes earlier she was a submissive babygirl for her daddy, and right before that she was a brat. Now, she transforms into a seductress. She doesn't lace or lingerie to become one. She has that fantastic body to do the work for her.
Hyeju starts to dance. Your eyes are trained on her. They never want to see anything else than her swaying her butt with a dancer's grace and charm. 
"Giving me a show, huh?" 
"Unless daddy wants it already." 
"I do."
She squeezes her ass cheek before reaching her pussy. Then, she rubs her wetness on her pink, puckered hole. She lathers some at the inside of the rim, too. She didn't expect to fuck you today, no matter how many times she's dreamed of it, so there's no lubricant around. Hyeju has to make do.
"Oh!" she squeals when you give her a playful smack on the ass. "Impatient. Daddy's impatient. Don't worry, I'll give it to you."
“You did this before?”
“Duh.” Hyeju smiles sweetly, quickly returning to her good girl side. “You ready now, daddy?”
Apparently, it’s a rhetorical question, for Hyeju immediately guides your tip into her backside. You do your part in spreading her cheeks. Both of you moan at the first contact. It’s difficult by itself to insert just your tip through. She’s too tight. 
You’re sinking into this long-chased dream. You’ve seen Hyeju walk around the dorm with no shorts on. Sometimes you're able to catch a glimpse of her bare ass when she dresses up in the dark. It’s normal when it’s with you, considering that your friendship transcends time, but she doesn’t know that yearning’s been put in your heart in those moments. You want her. You want Son Hyeju.
And now, she’s submitting herself to you. She’s given you her body, her tits, her pussy. Now she offers you an equally delicious choice: her supple ass that’s bouncy as it finally sits down completely on your lap. 
“Good daddies bounce their babygirls on their knees, right? Should’ve known that, dummy. So come on, pound me. It isn’t hard.”
Well, you are. Hyeju’s ass is constricting you yet you enjoy every second of it. Her tight little asshole clings to you as you do as she says. You’d do anything for Hyeju, and that doesn’t exclude engaging in anal sex with her.
Choose a rhythm to go by to enjoy the tightness Hyeju gives you to the fullest. She leans into you and hums quietly, lower lip worried between her teeth and ass steadily rising and resting. The flexes of your thigh also stimulate her needy pussy. Your knee brushes her clit steadily while your cock penetrates her asshole better than any toy could. Better than any boy would.
“Oh, that feels so good, daddy…” Hyeju murmurs. “Keep spreading me like that, yes.”
Just when she thought you’d switch to being gentle, your thrusts become sporadic. She can’t find which timings you’re going by. The calm before the storm, so to say. Hyeju’s whimpers and whines are your thunder, and they soon live up to their name when they grow louder, filling your ears as would the violent downpour of raindrops. 
“D-daddy, daddy, oh my god—” Pain partners up with pleasure in wrecking her hole. Darn you for reaching in front of her to rub her clit as well. Too many things are happening at the same time. “Daddy better make me cum, please, please—”
Your size fills the tight space of her ass so much that it’s difficult to move. The juices of her pussy that she’s used as makeshift lube can’t even do the job they’re assigned to. However, you don’t care about that. You simply fuck Hyeju’s fat, delectable ass like it’s been your long-term dream. In a way it is, but you’d be dreaming about it long after it’s already been fulfilled.
Hyeju stands up to take the lead and work her butt on you. You know she’s an excellent dancer but you never knew she could be this good at twerking either. 
“Holy shit, Hyeju, your little asshole feels amazing,” you moan. Spank her, though she’s undeserving of punishment when she’s amazing at using that ass.
“And your cock is so fucking big in my ass,” she says. “I don’t want anything else, daddy. Ohh, god, keep doing that.”
Her rear end bounces and claps together as they take in your fat cock. She looks back at you lustfully, watching you ruin her supple ass. Reach for her breasts to match the velocity of her thrusts. You’re two forces colliding, each filled with fire to defeat the other with pleasure. It’s a losing game when Hyeju’s ass is just as good as her pussy, which you continue playing with to bring her to orgasm.
“Good girl, Hye, keep bouncing that fat ass on daddy,” you whisper in her ear. Love to hear her weak little moans; they show you that she likes this as much as you do. Probably more. “You want to cum, right? You want to squirt on me again?”
“Yes, daddy, please!” Hyeju is in paradise although her skin feels like it’s been set on fire. She hasn’t felt this good before. “No other cock can do me the way you do, daddy, I’m all yours! Make me cum, cum inside me, daddy!”
You’ve changed her. She’s a totally different person outside of the bedroom. She hides her approval in sarcastic comments and teases you about them. How is it that she’s completely submissive and good for you? 
Your ego swells. Smack her pussy just enough to make her gasp. “Whose pussy is this?”
“Yours, daddy!” 
“And this ass?”
“It’s all yours, daddy,” sobs Hyeju. “Always so fucking big inside me, so much better, you need to make me cum—”
Pull her down to your lap then thrust inside her all while not letting an inch withdraw from her snug butthole. “Cum for me,” you say.
“Ohhhh fuck!” 
Hyeju begins her sexy body rolls again as a profane spray of clear liquid fires from her pussy. She’s so wet; when you rub her clit, a squelching sound is produced. She’s too turned on from the feeling of you savage pounding inside her. She slaps her own pussy to go along with your rubbing, then leads your fingers inside her cunt again. She’s still so tight. 
The combined feeling of two of her holes being violated has her tired. She could be murmuring a spell and you wouldn’t know because of how jumbled and jarred her words are. The syllables make out your name and title. At least, that’s what you could understand. It would take an experienced veteran transcriber to make sense of Hyeju’s sounds.
You blast her ass with so much cum that it overflows, like water threatening to spill from the brim of a glass. Your joined cores are so wet and sticky that neither of you feel like moving. You want to stay in the narrow yet pleasurable comfort of each other’s touch forever.
It’s so pleasant that you could only hear the gratifying sound of each other’s pants and not the knocks on your door.
So safe that you don’t hear the sound of a lock being skewered with because each other’s bodies are more homely than this dorm.
So distracting that when he comes in through the door and yells in disgust, it’s the first time you feel an awakening sobriety.
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the-kr8tor · 22 days
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In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.
Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader
Word count: 5.6k
Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.
Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.
A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)
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The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.
He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.
The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.
The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.
He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.
The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”
The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.
“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”
Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.
“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”
Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.
The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.
“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”
The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.
“Fuck you, Hobart!”
He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.
The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”
Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.
“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.
He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.
“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”
The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.
“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.
Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.
“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.
“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”
“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.
Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”
The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.
“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”
Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.
Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”
You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.
“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”
A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’
You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”
The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.
“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”
He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.
“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.
“Good times.” He chuckles.
“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.
“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.
“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”
The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.
“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.
“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.
Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.
“Good for you, finally saved up then?”
Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.
“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”
“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”
Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”
Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.
“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”
He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”
You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”
He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.
Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.
Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”
You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.
Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.
“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”
Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.
“Who's giving you a bad time?”
You audibly groan. “No one.”
He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”
Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.
He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.
With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”
Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”
You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”
He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.
“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”
Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.
“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”
“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”
“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”
You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.
“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.
“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.
“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”
Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”
“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.
“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”
You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.
“Because they turned into a bat?”
He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.
“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”
He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.
Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”
The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.
Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.
He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.
“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.
The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.
In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.
The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.
“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”
The camera shuts off abruptly.
The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.
He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.
With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.
His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.
Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.
“What's the watermelon saying?”
“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.
Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”
Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”
“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.
“Augh, they're still following you?”
“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.
“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”
“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.
“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”
“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”
You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”
Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”
The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.
You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.
He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.
Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.
“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”
He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”
“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”
Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.
“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.
“Because it attracts—!”
You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.
“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.
“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.
“What are you a Pokémon?!”
Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.
The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.
“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.
Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.
Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”
Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.
You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”
“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.
It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.
Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.
The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.
But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.
“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.
The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.
He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.
“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.
Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.
“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”
Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.
“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.
You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”
Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”
The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.
The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.
You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.
The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.
“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.
“It was for your great great uncle—”
“Ew!”
“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”
“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”
He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.
“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”
“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.
“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”
“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.
“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”
“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.
“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.
“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.
You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”
“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.
“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”
“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”
Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”
He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”
“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.
“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”
That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”
You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”
“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”
“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”
“Are you really sure?”
“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”
Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.
“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”
“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”
“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.
His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.
“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”
With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.
Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.
You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.
He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.
“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.
He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.
Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.
Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.
Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.
It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.
He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.
Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.
You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.
Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.
“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.
You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.
“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”
You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.
“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”
“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.
“Lookin' forward to it.”
Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.
“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.
They all nod frantically.
With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.
You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.
“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.
“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.
“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”
Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”
Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.
“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.
“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.
“Uh—”
Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.
“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”
You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.
Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”
“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”
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Support banner by @/cafekitsune
A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉
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rebelfell · 5 months
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The Third Date
Eddie Munson x Anorgasmic!Reader
It’s finally the night of your date with Eddie and everything is gonna be fine. Great. Fine and great. Right?
Part One. Part Two.
cw: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, making out, fingering, sexual anxiety/panic attack, discussion of difficulty climaxing, eddie being sweet and reassuring, fluffy ending.
I was kinda in my feelings and needed Eddie to tell me all the right things. Sue me. 6k 18+, MDNI.
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You’ve barely finished knocking on the bright red door to Eddie’s when it swings open to reveal him grinning back at you. He ushers you inside, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he shows you around his place.
It’s a small apartment, but for two young guys living together it’s surprisingly tidy and well furnished. That must be Steve’s influence, you muse, noting the plushness of the sofa and an overstuffed armchair. Shelves piled with books and board games sit off to the side and next to the screen door is a plant that could do with a little water, but ultimately is surviving fine. It’s bordering on cozy in here, cast in the glow of a couple lamps and a candle flickering on the coffee table. The warm, sweet smell of some nonspecific baked goods filling the room.
“So, this is my castle,” Eddie says, bowing slightly and brandishing his arms.
“I like it,” you nod as you glance around. “It’s not quite what I expected.”
“What? You were thinking empty liquor bottles, a couple camp chairs, a half dozen posters of babes in bikinis?” He quirks his brow at you, seemingly reading your mind.
“That may be exactly what I was picturing,” you reply with a knowing smirk. “Though it is you, so maybe a dragon in a bikini instead?”
He laughs at that and bobs his head a few times in agreement as his eyes drift to the overnight bag you’re clutching. “Here, let me put that in my room for you,” he says with a sweet smile.
You hand it over and your eyes follow him as he heads down the hall. He pushes open the door at the very end and you catch a glimpse of his old Corroded Coffin banner hanging on the wall that brings a smile to your face. Below it is his bed, nicely made up with a navy duvet.
Just the sight of it makes your heart race and every thought falls right out of your head.
When he re-emerges from the room, you realize he’s been talking to you and you have to force yourself to focus on his voice rather than your deep contemplation of his sheets.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered dinner already,” he says. “There’s this Thai place that’s seriously incredible, but it takes a while to deliver, so I wanted to be sure it got here on time.”
“That sounds great,” you say, still milling about to take in the rest of Eddie’s place.
He rattles off all the dishes he ordered, each one sounding better than the last, and you pause by the fireplace. A row of knick knacks interspersed with framed photos sit on the mantle. Some are his figures from Hellfire and you delicately touch a fingertip to the top of each one until you reach a photo in a frame made from popsicle sticks.
It’s a picture of you and him—one of the few in existence. You think you must be six or seven based on his buzzed haircut and your braces. Instinctively, you run your tongue over the front of your teeth, almost expecting to feel the thick metal wires there. Eddie moves silently to stand at your side and peers over your shoulder at the picture now held in your hand.
The two of you are at Forest Hills, sitting on top of the dome climber across from he and Wayne’s trailer. You must have spent all summer on that thing, pretending it was a deserted island where you’d been marooned after refusing to marry the merchant sailor your evil father had betrothed you to. The picnic table nearby played the role of Eddie’s pirate ship where he spotted you climbing to the top of the island’s mountain to signal for help. He would oblige, rowing an imaginary smaller boat to your island and bravely scaling the mountainside to sit beside you at the top. He offered you passage on his ship as a member of his crew, assuring you it would be hard work but that your new life would be filled with riches like the freedom to sail the seas and explore worlds unknown you could not even imagine.
Wayne must have interrupted your epic play to snap this photo. Eddie is in his signature pose. He’s got his hands raised to the sides of his head, fingers pointed to resemble horns and his tongue flicked out with his eyes wide and wild. You’re not even looking at the camera, enamored gaze unable to tear away from him.
“It’s like you had a crush on me or something,” Eddie says teasingly.
“Yeah, clearly I wasn’t hiding it as well as I thought I was.” 
You chuckle, but Eddie’s brow furrows and his voice loses that playful edge as he dips into pensiveness. He takes the frame from you and carefully places it back on the mantle.
“Did you really?” he asks. “Did you really like me all that time and I was too stupid to know?”
The question catches you off guard. You’d sort of just assumed he had to know that was the case, given how things had progressed between you, seemingly overnight. Well, overnight plus five years. It's the first time you’ve stopped to question what had inspired his pursuit.
“I’m not sure,” you say slowly. “At the time, I don’t think I knew the difference between how much I liked having you as my friend and how much I liked you. Eventually, I figured it out.”
You pause, summoning the strength to ask the question you’re dying to know. The one you’ve been wanting to ask practically your whole life.
“Did you ever think of me like that? I mean…before now?”
Sadness flickers in Eddie’s deep brown eyes and he takes a steadying breath. He moves into you, slipping his arms around your waist and holding you by the small of your back. You feel yourself tremble as he tucks his chin down and gently rests his forehead against your own. 
“All the fucking time,” he whispers. “I liked you so much, but I…I couldn’t imagine you’d ever want me back. I guess I was too scared to find out.”
“Oh, Eddie,” you sigh mournfully. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” he mutters. “Trailer park loser. Criminal. Freak. Who would want me?”
You shake your head at his disparaging words and overwrite them with your own. “Honest. Fearless. Kind. Trustworthy. Genius.”
A bashful smile spreads across Eddie’s face and he tries to look away, but you surprise yourself with your own boldness as your hand comes up to catch his face and turn it back towards you.
“I wanted you,” you confess softly. “I always have.”
He leans in and captures your lips with his. It steals every speck of breath from your lungs and you think you could fly apart into a million pieces if it wasn’t for his hands gripping your waist. It feels like the kiss goes on forever and yet it’s not nearly long enough. You instantly miss the feeling of his mouth when he pulls away, but he keeps his face close to yours.
“Sorry I wasted so much time,” Eddie whispers. “We could have been doing this all along.”
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When dinner arrives, you guffaw at the array of food before you. It seems entirely possible he just ordered one of everything on the menu. You dutifully sample a little of each dish and have to resist stuffing your face full after one mouthful of this roasted duck Eddie asserted was the best thing they made. Delicious as it is, your nerves have made your stomach too jumpy to eat much and before long you’re helping Eddie box up the absurd amount of leftovers. 
Guilt pangs in your chest thinking how much he must have spent, but Eddie chatters excitedly about how it only gets better the longer the flavors have to sit and meld together.
“Are you sure?” you ask, handing him the last container.
“Absolutely,” he says as he pushes the fridge closed. “You can take some home with you, too.”
His hand finds the small of your back as you walk back into the living room. His touch is gentle and reassuring as you head to the couch, but it does little to quell your nerves.
“How about a movie?” he asks. “Steve brings home a bunch of different stuff. We’ve got some horror, some comedy…”
There’s a knot in your stomach as he bends in front of their entertainment center, rifling through the rentals piled up next to their VCR. The lingerie under your clothes rubs raw against your skin as you shift in your seat on the couch, threatening you with the stinging humiliation of wearing it all night long only to never be seen.
What if he’s changed his mind? What if he doesn’t want to anymore? What if he thinks you don’t want to? Is there some signal you should be giving him? Some move you should be making? Ears now ringing, you clear your throat and he glances back at you over his shoulder.
“Maybe later?” you say softly.
Eddie smiles and nods in agreement before returning to his spot on the couch. He sinks down next to you and lays his arm across the back of the cushions. His eyes stay fixed on your face, taking in every inch. It makes your breath catch as you study him back, his features as mesmerizing as always.
You hurl yourself at him, realizing just a second too late his head is dipping down to kiss you at the same time. His face knocks against yours and you wince as you pull back, a dull aching where his chin connected with your cheek.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you mutter frantically. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he laughs. “No permanent damage.”
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely,” he says, his head tilting to the side. 
He reaches out a hand and cups it against the side of your face, his thumb stroking your jaw. You have to resist the urge to ask again if he’s sure, he’s sure. You know you ask it too often. It’s not even conscious at this point, it just comes out. Are you sure? Are you sure?
“Hey…are you okay?” he asks. “You’re shaking.”
“Yeah, I-I’m sorry,” you stammer out your response, heart still pounding in your chest. “I don’t know, I thought maybe I was supposed to like…make a move.”
Eddie’s brows raise and smiles impishly. “What kind of move?”
“Like a…a hook up move.”
Eddie chuckles, his dimples deepening in his cheeks as he scoots closer and leans in so close you can feel the warmth coming off his skin and smell the light, fresh scent of his aftershave.
“How about you let me worry about the moves?”
You inhale sharply, his words zinging straight to your core and making you squirm in your seat from the need to be closer to him. His eyes flit down to see your thighs pressing together and a knowing smile curls up the corners of his mouth. His beautiful, perfect mouth…
He helps you climb onto his lap and wraps his arms tight around your waist, squeezing you against him. He stares up at you, the tip of his nose bumping against the bridge of yours and then mashing into the softness of your cheek as his lips cover your own.
The kiss ignites everything inside of you. Years and years of built up feelings for the boy beneath you begin to smolder—a pile of kindling finally stoked into a flame. 
Experimentally, you shift your hips and begin to rock back and forth in a slow, deep grind. You can feel the effect you have on him in his stilted breath and the prodding of the hardness growing in his jeans. He kisses his way along your jaw and when his lips ghost over a sensitive spot on your neck just behind your ear, you give an involuntary thrust forward.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, tightening his already firm grip on you. “Do that again…”
You oblige him happily. Enthralled by the need in his voice and spurred by his gritty tone, you grind down on him again and squeeze your thighs around his hips. A strained gasp bursts from his lips and he fumbles to grip the back of your neck and hold your mouth against his.
He’s wearing another button up tonight, dark hunter green this time that sets off the rich brown hue of his eyes. Your fingers find the hem of his shirt and begin to unbutton it from the bottom, revealing inch by inch the clingy white tank underneath. It does little to nothing to conceal the solid muscled form of his chest and it makes your heart pound imagining it bare. But sitting down, there was still that soft roundness to his belly you’d always liked. It made you want to scratch him like he was a stray mutt from the junkyard, scraggly and carefree.
When the last button is pulled open, you help him shrug off his shirt, revealing corded arm muscles that twitch and flex as he reaches out to wrap you back up in his arms.
“God, Eddie, I need you—please.” 
Your voice is plaintive and desperate in a way it’s never been before. He groans into your neck and you feel your hips take on a life of their own. The seam of your jeans catches perfectly on your clit and the feeling makes you rock harder, sliding back and forth on his lap and despising every single layer of clothing separating you.
“Hang on, hang on,” he pants, breathless as he sits up and slips his hands up your back to hold you in place. A chill runs down your spine and you sit back on his thighs, body going rigid.
“What is it? D-did I do something wrong?”
“No, not at all,” he laughs, his pale cheeks tinging pink with embarrassment. “But if you keep that up, I’m gonna come in my fucking jeans.”
Heat rises in your own face, his words filling you with a mix of excitement and shyness. And you know he has to be able to feel how it causes you to flutter. He smooths his hands firmly up and down your back, bringing one of them up to the nape of your neck and beginning to massage your hairline with his fingertips.
“How about we…slow down a little?” he asks, his voice gentle but still husky with need. 
You nod wordlessly and let your eyelids drift closed, rolling your head into his strong fingers as they continue rubbing your neck. Shivers ripple down your back and your mouth falls open with relief when he finds a knot in your shoulder and presses down on it. A heavy, resonating moan releases from deep in your chest and you immediately stiffen.
Panicking at the realization the practically pornographic sound you just heard came out of you, you slap your palm over your mouth and stare wide-eyed at Eddie. He just smiles.
“Don’t hide it, sweetheart,” he hums. “I wanna hear you.”
He pulls your hand from your mouth, bringing it to his own instead. Warm lips and hot breath caress your fingers and the pad of your thumb brushes over the impossibly soft skin of his lip. You tug it down gently, letting it spring back up.
“Your moans are so pretty,” he sighs. “Will you make some more for me?”
The words are lilting like he’s writing lyrics for a song. He looks up at you with those pleading eyes and you bury yourself in the crook of his neck, hiding your face in his curls. His lips and teeth nip at the skin behind your ear, causing you to release breathy sighs and moans just for him. He shivers beneath you and the evidence of his pleasure throbs, unable to be ignored. 
Your mouth seeks his blindly, messily, desperately. Your own hands slide up his chest and around the back of his neck, raking your fingers into his curls until the heels of your palms meet the base of his skull. Firmly and slowly gripping the hair close to his scalp, you guide him deeper into the kiss. He moans into your mouth and relaxes his whole body, giving you the control to put him exactly where you want him.
So much for slowing down, you think.
His hips suddenly jerk upwards, lifting you with him, and you moan again. It’s not as loud as before, but its enough to make your lips break from his. It all feels too good, too overwhelming. The anticipation is killing you now. You’ve spent your whole life waiting, you can’t waste another second. It’s time. It has to be. It’s now or never.
“Can I, um…freshen up?”
Eddie looks up at you with a dreamy expression, his eyes a little glazed and pink lips puffy from kissing. He nods down the hall to the door adjacent to his bedroom, his eyes never leaving you as you slip off his lap.
You don’t enter the bathroom, though. 
Instead you push open the door to Eddie’s room and slip inside, leaving it just ajar enough to spark his curiosity. You place yourself at the end of his bed to wait for him, half sitting up leaning back on your elbows. The mattress dips as you sink into the softness—a far cry from the lumpy thing he slept on in Wayne’s trailer. Your heart races hearing the soft clinking of his belt as he comes down the hall and pushes the door fully open. 
He leans against the frame and smiles.
Eddie looks at you like a kid on Christmas Eve—not feral and wide-eyed like he’s ready to tear through a mountain of presents in an early morning frenzy, but serene and reverent like he’s looking at the tree bathed in the soft glow of twinkle lights strung on its branches.
“Hi,” he whispers.
You smile and tuck your bottom lip behind your teeth. “Hi…”
He gently pushes the door closed behind him and moves towards you where you sit on the bed. But rather than climbing onto the mattress, he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of you and rests his hands on the tops of your thighs. 
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, voice still hushed like he’s afraid this is a dream and you’ll twist into smoke if he speaks too loudly. 
You nod back at him. “Me too.” 
His hands move steadily up your thighs to your waist and he gathers your blouse to lift it gently over your head. Lit only by the lamp on his bedside table, the blue of your bra looks even more like the night sky and the light catches on the silvery threads, making the stars sparkle. Your whole body shivers with excitement as he takes you in, his eyes drawn to the swell of your breasts and your nipples standing rigid, pushing out from behind the unlined mesh.
“Fuck…”
His voice is soft. So soft, you think he might not even realize he spoke out loud. You smirk at him, a little disbelieving even as he sounds genuinely awestruck. His eyes dart back up to yours and he grins, chuckling with mirth at his own reaction.
“Sorry,” he says. “I just…you’re so…god, you’re gorgeous.”
Eyes falling to your breasts again, he reaches out to cup them gently and lets his thumbs brush over their stiff peaks. You hum softly at the feeling of him flicking your nipples with calloused pads worn that way from years of guitar playing. With a soft kiss, he continues on—his hands reluctant to leave them, but eager to touch you more places. 
He slides them downward, relishing every inch of the curve of your waist until he finds the top of your jeans. “Do you want these off?” he asks, voice wavering slightly. 
Your own breath is getting uneven itself as the beginning flames of nerves start to flicker and nip at your ankles. Eddie’s eyes parse your reaction, but you divert his attention by unbuttoning your fly and helping him shift your pants over your hips and down your legs. He tugs them off until they sit in a heap on the floor and he can take you in fully, the reveal of your matching set clearlying having the desired effect.
“Wow…” He stares, eyes soft with awe. His strong hand flexes to extend his fingers and he reaches out to gently stroke the navy material. “I like this a lot,” he says.
“That’s good,” you say, peering at him shyly. “I got it for you.”
His eyes light up at that, brows raising in disbelief. Not that he thinks you’re lying, but that he can’t possibly fathom how he got this lucky.
“Seriously?” he breathes. “No one’s ever…”
He clears his throat, trying to choke back the incoherent stream of words threatening to spill out of his mouth. And his mind scrambles to say something that doesn’t sound completely idiodic. He feels like a caveman seeing fire for the first time and trying to think of a word for it.
He’s just so fucking happy.
Cupping your face tenderly in his hands, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks, he gazes deep into your eyes. “You’re so special to me,” he says. “I want to be sure I do this right.”
“So far so good,” you whisper.
He’s left his button down in the living room, leaving him stripped down to only his white singlet. The muscles in his shoulders ripple as he lifts his arms and you whisk off his tank to unveil his bare chest. A couple new tattoos catch your eye. A black widow spider now sits over the demon head on his left pec, just beneath his collarbone. There’s a sword etched into his ribs and as you follow the point down, you spot two pale nicotine patches in the usual spot on his hip.
It makes your heart swell thinking of how he’d explained it that night you played pool. For when I’m really nervous, he’d said. It still seemed so silly that you could make him nervous. 
“Can I kiss you more?” he asks.
You nod and close your eyes to wait for the feeling of his mouth on yours, only to gasp softly when he goes to your neck instead. His lips vibrate with a gentle groan as he kisses down the column of your throat, sucking at it lightly and listening to how it causes your breath to hitch when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. Shivers cascade down your back as he continues on his path, kissing over the mounds of your chest, down your belly, nudging your legs apart.
“Eddie, you don’t have to—ohhh…”
His mouth trails over your hip and they flex upwards, seeking more. He smooths his hands over your legs and every inch of your skin he touches buzzes with anticipation.
“Please, sweetheart?” he says, baring his teeth in a sinful smile from between your thighs. “Been dreaming about this so long…I just want to make you feel good.”
His lips ghost over your heat, the tip of his nose brushing against your sensitive button through the thin barrier of your underwear. Your breath hitches in your throat as he starts to slowly nod his head, giving a preview of the motions he’s dying to use on you. Warm, broad palms coast over your hips and ringed fingers curl around the elastic band circling your waist.
“Can I take these off?” he asks. “I want to see you.”
You hum a noise of approval, so dizzy with need you can’t even form a real word. He glides your panties down your legs, nails raking over your skin all the way down to your ankles. Fighting the urge to cringe at how exposed you feel, you bring your focus back to Eddie—back to his eyes and the way they drink you in. The tip of his tongue ekes out between his lips to wet them and he turns his head to make a path of delicate kisses along the inside of your calf.
You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay, you chant internally. God, you want this so much.
Excitement pools in your belly and the feeling mixes with your nerves into a lethal cocktail. As he kisses up one leg, your other begins to tremble against his ear. You feel as though you’re about to float away and drift untethered into the ether.
“Eddie?”
His kisses pause at your knee joint and he looks up at you. “Yes, princess?”
“I…I need you closer,” you admit meekly.
He obliges instantly and slides up onto the bed, cradling your body against his. The hardness in his jeans prods against your side and you almost black out thinking how he could be inside you any minute now. Except Eddie seems perfectly content taking his time. 
He skims his fingers from your navel up your sternum, relishing every quiver of your body. His touch follows the graceful lines of your collarbone and neck up to your jaw. With his other arm under you, head resting securely in the crook of his elbow, he traces more of your outline. 
At last he begins his descent, teasingly light touch weaving back and forth across your tummy in swirling patterns down to your mound. He tenderly spreads you apart and strokes your center, fingertips brushing ever so gently over your clit. His eyes stay fixed on your face as he applies more pressure, seeking your reaction.
“That feel good?” he asks, his breath warm on your cheek.
“Yes,” you gasp softly. “Keep going.”
With a little more intention, he dips a finger into your entrance and his chest rumbles with a moan. “You’re so wet,” he whispers. “Is that all for me?”
You can’t answer, your eyes falling closed and your head tipping back—almost wanting to cry because it feels so good in a way it never has. He slides further inside, gently massaging your warm, wet walls. With his thumb pressing on your clit in time with his thrusts, he adds another finger, stretching you open further. Your pussy positively blooms for him, enveloping his fingers and taking him in eagerly.
“Oh, god, Eddie…”
“That’s it, beautiful,” he husks, his digits expertly curling inside of you as his thumb swirls outside. He lowers his voice further, a heated whisper in your ear. “I wanna hear you come…”
His voice sends a jolt straight to your core, but the words cause your mind and body to diverge. You try to stay present. You try not to dwell on it, but his statement echoes. It fills your head and ricochets around the inside of your skull, taking over everything. That’s when you feel it.
Suddenly, it doesn’t matter what he’s doing down there or how good it felt just moments ago. That rigidness you know all too well permeates your body and stills everything—a boulder at the bottom of a frozen lake kind of stillness. You can’t believe you let this happen. You can’t believe you’re ruining this. You can’t believe how stupid you were for thinking it would be any different. Your heart races, pounding like a battering ram behind your ribcage like it’s trying to burst out. 
“Eddie,” you croak. “Eddie, stop!”
He pulls back immediately, his eyes round with concern at the sudden panicked tone in your voice. He stares at you, his own expression descending into remorse.
“Shit, shit, I’m sorry,” he says. “Does it…did it not feel good?”
“No, no, it—I mean, yes, it did, I just…”
Your chest gets unbearably tight, the pressure crushing your windpipe. You try to inhale, but it feels more like sucking air through a pinhole. You sit up, hands fumbling for the sheets to cover yourself. Your whole body is on fire. Blistering, burning, searing pain replacing every speck of the pleasure you’d been feeling. And Eddie…poor Eddie is looking at you like he’s about to cry.
“Hey,” he soothes, timidly reaching to touch your knee. “Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t know,” you gasp, still struggling to get air and failing. “I-I-I feel…”
“It’s alright,” he says, voice steady but urgent. “Look at me, yeah? Take a deep breath in and blow it out quick like you’re blowing out a birthday candle? Okay? Do it with me.”
He locks eyes with you as he demonstrates, sucking in a breath and holding it in his chest until you do the same. Once you have, he blows out a big puff of air and begins breathing steadily in through his nose and out though his mouth. You mimic him, remaining held by those deep  brown pools until you feel your heart rate slow and finally steady.
“That’s good,” he says, shifting so he can rub his hand in wide circles across your back. “You’re doing so good, just keep going.”
You can’t decide if he’s patronizing you, praising you for breathing of all things. But his words are calming regardless and his hand on your back has a comforting weight to it. He keeps up with rubbing small circles across your back until you swallow hard and open your mouth to speak.
“I have to tell you something,” you say.
“Okay. What is it?”
“I can’t, um…I’m not going to…I don’t…finish.”
He frowns, brow furrowing as they knit together. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve never been able to get there. And I-I guess I panicked. I didn’t want you to spend all this time on it when it’s not going to happen.”
“Oh,” he exhales softly. “So…never?”
You shake your head, hugging your knees to your chest. “No,” you sniff. “Never.”
“But what about with Carl? You guys were together for like years.”
“Yeah, but he never…” You sigh and pinch your eyes closed. “I mean, I never—”
“He never made you come?”
Shame radiates in your chest like heartburn and you feel the sting of tears that threaten to spill over your eyelids. “I know, okay?” you whimper. “It’s humiliating.”
“No, no! That’s not what I meant. I mean, it should be humiliating for him. Isn’t it?”
“I don’t see how,” you shrug. “It’s not your food’s fault for being cold if the microwave is busted.”
“You’re not busted,” Eddie insists. “He’s got to try. He should have helped you get there.”
“He did try. We’d have sex and it would feel fine, but we’d always get to this point where I knew it wasn’t gonna happen. And it…it was just easier to get him taken care of.”
“But what about with his fingers? Or his mouth? Or a toy?”
Your face burns at the memory of similar past conversations. Bringing up things you thought seemed obvious only resulted in Carl feeling insulted, like you were saying his dick wasn't enough for you.
“It, um…it took too long.”
“What’s too long?”
“I don’t know,” you mumble. “It felt like an eternity. And I’d get all wrapped up in my head kind of…kind of like I did just now. And it didn’t make sense to waste all that time—”
“It’s not a waste of time,” Eddie scoffs. “Did he actually say that to you?”
Anger flashes briefly in his eyes and you quickly shake your head. It was true, Carl never outright called it that. He just didn’t disagree with you when you apologized for taking so long.  And when you started to feel him getting tired and frustrated, it only added to your stress.
“How about like…on your own?”
“I mean, I-I’ve tried.” You look down again, your body still prickling as you try to answer without crying. “I don’t know why, but I can’t relax? I start thinking about, like, f I’m doing it right or if I’m doing it wrong. And I wind up laying there for hours trying and I feel like such a failure. Like I can’t experience this thing everyone else can and I don’t think I ever will.”
A dark, wet splotch appears on his sheets as a tear falls from your eye. You brush furiously at your cheek, smearing the trail it left behind.
“I guess I get close. I think? I don’t know, it feels good up to a point, and it feels kind of, vaguely, like something, but then it just starts to hurt and ache. And I guess that could be it, but…like, the way people talk about it? I can’t imagine what I feel is what they’re referring to. You know?”
Eddie’s head hangs low. His expression churns with a myriad of emotions like he can’t decide which one to feel. Sadness for you. Anger at Carl. Disappointment with himself.
“I’m so sorry,” you sigh. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Furiously, you wish you’d just faked it. How hard would it have been to breathe sort of heavy and writhe around a little bit? It would have been worth it to avoid all this. But even as you’re thinking that, something tells you Eddie never would have bought it. He was too attentive, too attuned to any shift of your mood, of your body. He would have seen right through you.
“Don’t apologize,” he says calmly. “I’m glad you told me, I just…I wish I’d known. I wouldn’t have rushed you. I wouldn’t have said that…”
He hangs his head again and rubs his hand across the back of his neck. You sneak a glance at him, the sadness in his eyes that you caused making your heart ache. This is all your fault, you think. You don’t deserve someone like him. You don’t deserve anyone.
“I, um…I’m gonna get out of here,” you say quietly, scooting towards the other side of the bed. Eddie’s head jerks up at your movement.
“Wait, what?”
“I should just leave, I’m…I’m really sorry.”
“Hang on, hang on, don’t go—” He lurches forward, reaching for your waist to stop you and then abruptly pulling back when he realizes what he’s doing. It breaks your heart a little, the look in his eyes like he’s afraid to touch you now. Again.
“Eddie, it’s okay—”
“It’s not okay,” he says. “Please stay? This is my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed so fast, I was just excited for you to stay over. And I thought this was what you wanted.”
“It was,” you say solemnly. “It is, I mean. I do want this. I’ve wanted this for so long, I just…I don’t know what’s wrong with me and now I’ve ruined the whole night.”
“No, no, not at all.” Eddie shakes his head emphatically. He lifts his hands and cups your face, calloused thumbs rubbing the smoothness of your cheeks. “Absolutely nothing is wrong with you,” he says. “You’re perfect. The only thing that could ruin tonight is you leaving.”
“Are you sure?” you rasp.
He smiles and chuckles at your refrain. “How about from now on, you assume when I say something—anything—it means I’m sure?”
“But are you…” You catch yourself mid sentence. “…certain?”
Eddie rolls his eyes at you and chuckles as your lips finally quirk into a small smile. “I’ll give you that one,” he says begrudgingly. “But no more.”
You give a reluctant nod and he grins.
“And yes, I’m very certain,” he says. “I bought all these snacks for breakfast. And I found this little basket we can put them in. I thought maybe we could drive out to the lake and read like we used to? And then go to that diner way outside of town? With the great milkshakes?”
Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks again, but now it’s from happiness burgeoning in your chest. “That sounds really nice,” you whisper.
He grins back at you.
“Okay, then. I tell you what…why don’t we table all this for right now? Neither of us is gonna make any moves for the rest of the night. We’re going to get in comfy clothes and watch TV, or smoke, or play cards, or talk…whatever you want. And whenever you’re ready, we can go to bed.”
Reactively, your shoulders stiffen and his eyes go wide.
“No, no, no! I didn’t mean—” He slaps his hand to his forehead and sighs at his own flub. “I meant sleep. I…I really just want to sleep next to you. And wake up with you in the morning. And spend the rest of the day together. Is that okay?”
He gives you those eyes again, round and open and vulnerable. Hopeful. It makes it easy to nod at him with a gentle smile. Because it’s more than okay, it sounds perfect. He smiles back and reaches for your hand. You let him lift it to his lips and his breath is warm as he kisses your fingers.
“I just want you here,” he murmurs to your knuckles.
You bite your lip to stop the Are you sure? already queued up on your tongue. Eddie lifts off the bed and pulls a pair of sweatpants and a clean t-shirt from one of the drawers in his dresser. The fresh smell of his detergent wafts towards your nose and you inhale it deeply.
“I’ll change in the bathroom,” he says. “Just come back to the living room when you’re ready.”
Still smiling as he leans over you with ease, balancing on his fists pressing down into the mattress, he kisses you. It’s not a messy or desperate snog, but not quite a chaste peck either. It’s deep and yearning. Full of wanting, but asks for nothing.
He heads into the hall and his bedroom door clicks as he pulls it shut behind him. When you hear the bathroom door also click closed, you creep out from beneath his sheet and reach for the panties bunched up at the foot of the bed. You strip off the matching bra and stuff the pair into the bottom of your overnight bag. To replace them, you exhume a simple gray pajama set of an oversized shirt and loose, flowy shorts. The light material is cool against your skin, soothing for the first time the existential itchiness that had consumed you all night.
In the living room, Eddie sits on the sofa, comfortable and casual as can be in his soft sweats. There’s not a speck of disappointment or frustration on his handsome face as he flips through the channels. His mouth splits into a grin when he sees you, eyes dancing as he takes you in, just as dazzled by the sight of you in plain pajamas as he was by your lingerie.
He pats the cushion next to him and jerks his chin up to beckon you over. From the TV, the eerie tinkling theme of The Twilight Zone begins to play and you all but scamper over to the couch. He chuckles as you pad across the carpet and nestle into his side, folding your legs under you.
He reaches behind your head to pull down the knit blanket draped over the back of the sofa and proceeds to tuck it securely around you both. “Comfy?” he asks, still smiling down at you. 
You nod and his arm curls securely around your shoulder. It rests there naturally, like it’s the one place in the world it’s always been meant to be. “Thank you, Eddie,” you whisper, stretching your neck to press your lips against his.
“Of course. Anything for you, sweetheart.”
His voice is tender and rumbly and you can feel his chest vibrate with the words as you lay your head against him. The softness of his t-shirt on your cheek and the warmth of his skin you can feel through it fills you with contentment. You mold yourself into his side, already thinking how nice it will be when you inevitably fall asleep right here. Right where you belong. Eddie’s head dips and he rests his cheek on the top of your head as he begins to recite along with the narrator,
“You’re traveling through another dimension. A dimension not only of sight and sound, but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination…”
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Thank you for reading/interacting - love you, mean it (◕‿◕)
tags: @vintagehellfire @mygirlchaos @autumnleagues @valerievortex
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shapedbydesire · 26 days
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I don't normally take part in this sort of thing within the community as it sort of retracts from the reason we are all here; getting off; But I just had to say it is really nice seeing you post again. I didn't quite realise how much you had opened to my eyes to kinks and interests I now carry around with me at all times, I always knew they were there but articulating them without sounding like an outsider or traitor to my sexuality always seemed pretty impossible. Thank you for your amazing work and I hope you have a really lovely day whenever you get this.
This is an incredibly kind message! Thank you for the sweet words, and I’m so happy I’ve helped you come in touch with your kinks. That’s the beautiful thing about our community; there’s such a wide range of transformation triggers and their unintended results, from guys becoming sweat stained underwear to gay boys becoming straight bros. Everyone has that thing that excites them, and there’s no shame in it!
Have a treat for making me smile this morning:
As you’re reading this you’ll start scratching your chest, feeling the fabric of your shirt rub across forming bristles of hair. You’ll clear your throat, hearing your voice deepen and crack as you do so, suddenly feeling your fingertips scratching a bare chest as your shirt vanishes. Your new curls of body hair are directly beneath your skin. Maybe it should shock you, cause you to panic and look down, but you just feel so good. You grin, enjoying the itch of armpit hairs curling out from your pits, a drip of sweat falling down the side of your torso as your bones pop and crack, skin stretching as your body widens with bulk.
You can smell the musky scent wafting up, a locker room’s worth of sweat and testosterone rushing up your nose, but instead of gagging, you just smirk. Now your fingers are moving from your firm, muscled pecs and traveling to your rank armpits. You scratch them and grunt in satisfaction, not bothered by the slick wetness of the long hairs making your fingers damp and smelly. You’re so proud of your scent, of your size. Your eyes have glazed over reading this, your thoughts feel so tight, so empty, as a red ball cap forms around your head and squeezes on your old personality. Dirty blonde hair that reeks of sweat pushes messily out from beneath the cap, spreading your scent further through the room that changes with old gym clothes and crusty cum rags littering the floor, busty babes touching their breasts and smiling down at you from posters on the wall.
Caught up in the moment, you begin flexing. Your arms are so thick now, a vein running across the surface of a bulging bicep, your grin and your body are both so large. You feel your hips stretch and ache, a pleasurable hurt, like how your balls feel when they’re swollen and you so desperately need to bust a load. You moan, a sound so low and stupid, ignoring the crack of your jaw as your features rearrange, stubble breaking through your chin and your eyebrows becoming thick, aggressive. You reach your callused hand into your sweatpants, wrapping your much longer and thicker fingers around something else that has become much longer and thicker. You throw your head back as you moan, the sensation of your palm rubbing up and down your beer can sized shaft is almost as good as a wet, warm, slick pussy. Your cock instantly twitches in excitement, your suddenly bare feet shooting forward as they stretch and pop, size 13 and hairy and reeking of your foul body odor. You pay it no mind, all of it.
You’ve always been this way, haven’t you? Just a sweaty, horny frat bro. And you’re no longer looking at my page, my horny ramblings, you’re pumping your cock as you watch your favorite lesbian porn. Two beautiful women with their huge breasts smooshed together, their cunts rubbing against one another, smiling at the camera, almost right at you. Their lips are so kissable, their bodies so curvaceous, their pussies so wet and open and empty. You want to fill them with your seed, a breeder’s cock throbbing in your hand, attached to you.
You’re a breeder. You’re a straight man. You’re gonna bust a load all over yourself, and then you’re gonna meet your bros at the gym right after. This is your life now, this is the man you were destined to become, controlled by your cock and your desires and your insatiable appetite to stick your frat bro tongue into wet folds. You’ll never go another day without realizing just how much you love pussy.
Well, almost as much as you love your muscles and your smell and your cocky style. Enjoy knowing that no one will ever look at you and think you’re anything but a pussy hound frat boy ever again.
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JJ maybank 14 pls thank youuu ‘‘I love you and no one can change that.’‘ Maybe his dad comes home and shit go down?
Slowly going through all of my old drafts. I don't remember writing some of them...
Warnings: violence, abuse
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
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A massive downpour decided to hit the island while you and JJ were out. You took shelter under a bus stop, but the sky was showing no signs of the rain stopping soon, forcing you to brave the rain to find a better shelter for the coming hours.
You suggested going to the chateau, but John B. had made it clear that he was spending the day with Sarah and wanted no interruptions. So, reluctantly, JJ took your hand and showed the way to his house.
He was nervous about inviting you over. For starters, his house was a complete dump. There was trash and empty beer cans everywhere, the carpets had not been vacuumed in years, the things his dad broke during his last drunken brawl were still on the floor and his dirty — and clean — clothes were all over his bedroom.
And secondly, JJ was worried about his dad being there. He didn’t want you to meet him — ever. But according to the time on his phone, Luke should be at work until late, so it should be safe.
By the time you got to JJ's house, your clothes and hair quickly got drenched. JJ quickly unlocked the fetched towels to dry off. While you waited, you took in the living room, a distinct smell of dampness lingering in the air mixed with the faint odor of alcohol. The furniture was old and worn-out, with stains and cigarette burns marking its surface.
‘’Sorry about the mess," he apologized, glancing around the room and rubbing the back of his head. ‘’Ehh, here.’’ JJ handed you the towels. They were mismatched and had stains on them, but you didn't comment on it. ‘’I’ll get you some dry clothes. You can change in the bathroom.’’ He pointed to the bathroom door at the end of the hallway, and disappeared inside the door right next to it — seemingly his bedroom.
You followed him.
The walls were decorated with surf posters and one of a very lightly dressed woman. You turned your head away from her, trying not to think of many times JJ must’ve jerked off to her. On the opposite wall, JJ was searching through a dresser with opened drawers and clothes spilling out, looking for something clean to give you.
He sniffed a brown-ish tee shirt and put it back down, making you bite back a laugh. ‘’Definitely not that one.’’
‘’I can just wear that hoodie,’’ you said, picking the gray Kildare surfboard hoodie rumpled on his bed. You had worn it a few times at cookouts when the evening air would raise chills on your skin. ‘’You don’t have to go through all of your clothes.’’
JJ shook his head. As much as he would love the sight of you walking around his house in only his hoodie, he didn’t trust himself to not pop a boner. He settled on a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt.
You thanked him and took the clothes to the bathroom to change. The herbal smell of weed lingered on them, which was very JJ.
At your return, the sound of rain hitting the windows had intensified, creating a soothing rhythm that filled the room. JJ had changed out of his wet clothes too, now sporting camo shorts and the grey hoodie that was on his bed. His hair was tousled from being roughly towel-dried, and you couldn’t help yourself, reaching to fix some pieces. He smiled at your touch.
‘’Thanks again for the clothes,’’ you said just as the front door opened and slammed shut, causing JJ’s smile to fall abruptly.
‘’Shit. I think that’s my dad.’’
He knew it was his dad. Who else would walk in and slam the door shut? Why was he home so early?
You heard the sound of a beer sex-pack being put down and JJ tensed, panic filling his blue eyes. ‘’JJ? You home, son?’’ the man called through the house, followed by some grumbling as he cracked a beer open.
‘’Stay here,’’ JJ said quietly, not wanting his dad to hear him talk to somebody.
‘’JJ—’’
He took your shoulders and looked you in the eyes, genuine fear and worry in his. ‘’Promise me you’ll stay here.’’
You nodded in response, sensing the urgency in his voice and the seriousness of the situation. It was evident that JJ was trying to protect you from his dad, and you respected his decision to handle the situation on his own.
He moved away from you, making his way towards the door with cautious steps. He didn’t want to go, but he had to. If he didn’t, Luke might come here and see you and JJ didn’t want to think about the inappropriate things that would come out of his filthy mouth.
You sat on JJ’s bed, hands in your lap as you waited for him to return.
In the living room, you could hear the voices of JJ and his dad. You couldn't make out what they were saying because of the shut door, but the latter’s voice quickly went up in volume. Then, the loud sound of glass shattering erupted from the living room, making your head snap in the direction of the door.
By reflex, you stood and went to the door, worry settling in your guts. Your hand was on the doorknob, but you remembered your promise and stepped back. JJ could handle his drunk dad, right?
Luke’s yells echoed in the house again, followed by a loud thud, and that’s when you decided to take a risk and come out.
You were quiet as you peaked down the hallway, not wishing to catch the older man’s attention. A quiet gasp caught in your throat when seeing JJ pinned up against the wall, Luke’s fist gripping the front of JJ’s hoodie as he continued to yell at him with violence in his words. On the floor beside them, one of the old liquor bottles was in pieces, having fallen and shattered in the commotion.
The floor creaked beneath your feet and you quickly ducked back in JJ’s bedroom. The noise had Luke glancing down the hallway, drawing his eyebrows together when seeing no one. Old houses creak for no reason sometimes, right?
When he turned his head back to his son, JJ headbutted him and managed to push his dad off him before running off to his bedroom. He shut the door so fast it echoed through the house and made the wall rattle. You jumped at the sound and stepped back when you heard Luke come after JJ, banging on his door and causing your heart to race behind your chest. 
When the banging stopped, JJ released a shaky breath and slid down to his floor with his knees pulled to his chest. He cursed repeatedly, pushing his head into his hands.
‘’I should’ve never brought you here.’’
The guilt in his voice made your heart sink. Carefully, you approached JJ and sat down beside him. 
‘’You can leave if you want. There’s a way out through the window. I’m not gonna be mad if you—’’
‘’I’m not leaving,’’ you told him firmly.
JJ slowly lifted his head, a frown appearing on his features. ‘’You should. I would leave my life if I could.’’ He forced a laugh, but all you heard was pain.
You didn't know how long his father's abuse had been going on, but it must've been a while. The thought of someone treating their child so horribly made your heart ache. Now you understand why he was always spending the night at the chateau and why no one ever come to his house. 
You shifted and gently reached for JJ's face, making him look at you. ‘’I’m not leaving,’’ you repeated. ‘’Not today, not tomorrow.’’
He turned his head away and pushed your hand off him, hiding his emotions from you. ‘’You say this now, but you'll get tired of me and my shit.’’
‘’I'm not. I meant it, J. I love you and no one can change that. Not even your shitty home-life.’’ 
OBX taglist: @moralina @eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx  @sweeterheartxamerica  @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife  @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue  @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker  @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage  @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc  @pedrosprincess  @mikaelsonsstuff  @skyesthebomb  @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom  @popeheywardssecretgf  @madelynie  @loverofdrewstarkey  @radiant-whore  @outsider-at-hogwarts
All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3  @Heartsforneteyamsully
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huggybearluvr · 4 months
Text
Holiday Bliss
General Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Previous Part || New Part
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You and Luke sat in your apartment planning out your fall break.
"So we will go to my parents the first Two weeks and then fly to Ohio to see your family, how does that sound," Luke asked.
"sounds perfect," You said as you snuggled closer into his side.
"You cold?" He asked. You nodded.
Luke sat up pulling off his hoodie handing it to you, he grabbed your laptop pulling it open to look up flights for you both.
You slipped his hoodie on snuggling closer again.
"We can do that tomorrow Lu," You said, as you were getting quite tired.
"We head to my parents tomorrow baby, I wanna get all this done now," He said softly, "Head to bed, I'll be in when I am done."
You nodded heading to your bedroom.
Once Luke had finished booking the flight to Ohio he shut the laptop off heading to your bedroom.
As he walked in he saw you were already asleep, he smiled turning the lights off and snuggling up beside you.
"Goodnight," He kissed you forehead and soon drifted off to sleep beside you.
-
You woke up, walking to the kitchen to make coffee. You headed back to the bedroom while it brewed snuggling up with Luke again.
"Good morning," You spoke softly as his eyes fluttered open.
"Morning Baby," He said as he wrapped his arms around you.
"Luke we have to get up," you giggled as he peppered kissing all over your face.
"Five minutes?" He asked softly.
"Babe, I have to pack," you said softly moving away from him," There's coffee in the kitchen."
You walked over to your closet pulling out your suitcase.
Luke walked to the kitchen pouring you both a cup of coffee before starting to make breakfast.
You finished packing your suitcase and took it out the living room.
"Sit, I made breakfast," Luke said as he set a plate infront of you.
"Thank you," You smiled.
-
Luke loaded up the car and you were off to his parents house, it was only about an hour away.
"I'm kinda nervous to meet you family," You said truthfully.
"They are gonna love you, and I'm not just saying that," Luke laughed," My brothers already do since you got them vip passes to the chiefs game."
"I hope your right," You spoke taking his hand.
-
Once you arrived Luke got out taking both your suitcases out of the trunk.
You both walked up to the door, Luke handed you the key.
You opened the door.
"I'm home!" Luke announced.
His family came walking over from the kitchen greeting Luke.
"Oh honey it's so nice to meet you," Lukes mother Ellen said as she pulled you into a hug.
Quinn hugged you as well thank you for the tickets.
"Hey Jack, it's nice to meet you," You smiled.
"You gonna be sassy like you are in your insta replys?" He said laughing as he pulled you into a hug.
"I can be," You laughed pulling away.
"Alright, you two go get situated in Luke rooms," Ellen said," Dinner will be ready in about an hour."
Luke nodded taking both your bags and heading up the stairs.
You followed Luke and entered the bedroom on the left side of the hall. You looked around taking the blue walls littered with hockey posters.
You smiled, "You really love hockey don't you."
Luke smiled," I do."
Luke opened both your bags unpacking them into the drawers and closet.
"After dinner, were going to go to this ice cream parlor down the street," Luke said sitting beside you on the bed," We go every year when the whole families together."
"That sounds great," You smiled, placing a kiss to his lips.
-
After dinner you all piled into Ellens SUV and began driving to the ice cream parlor.
"Oh y/n when we get back, i'll pull out the photo albums for you!"
"I would love that!" you responded.
"I don't think you have to do that mom," Luke argued.
"No, no I wanna see your cute little baby pictures," You teased poking his cheek.
You all soon arrived at the parlor ordering your ice cream and sitting at a small picnic bench.
You and Luke ended up trading ice creams almost right away as you both tried new flavors and didn't like them.
-
Once you all got back Jim started a fire outside so that you could all sit around the fire and enjoy your time together. Luke grabbed a blanket knowing you get cold easily.
"Here babe," He said handing you the blanket. He sat on the couch, as you sat beside him cuddling up with him covering you both with the blanket.
You sat with the photo album in your lap looking at all the pictures of Luke.
"You look so cute in this one," You said pointing at a picture of him in little skates trying to keep up with his older brothers.
As it got later the rest of the family had gone inside, you and Luke agreeing to stay outside until the fire dies down.
"y/n?"
"hmmm?"
"I love you."
You turned to look at him shocked at his words.
"I love you too," You smiled.
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thetarttfuldickhead · 9 months
Text
”Who’s this then?” she asks, as if she doesn’t know, and only to hear the excitement in Jamie’s voice as he tells her all about Roy Kent.
She’s a City girl through and through and it is a little jarring to see different colours up on her wall, but that’s what being a parent is all about, isn’t it? Loving someone enough to love what they love, even if it turns out to be the captain of bloody Chelsea. 
--- 
Posters come and go, there are girls and footballers and other girls and other footballers and then others still, but Roy Kent stays where he is, slap bang in the middle and staring right at her with those weirdly intense eyes whenever she gets in the room to hoover.
Needs to relax a bit, that one, she thinks, more than once. For all the pictures and clips Jamie has shown her, she’s never seen Kent smile. Plays like a god, though, one of those vengeful ones, so she guesses she can see the attraction.
---
It’s obvious that Jamie’s not happy, and she’s not either, what with having him move down all the way to London to play for AFC Richmond of all teams. Still, she supposed a loan make sense, get him more minutes and bit of experience.
“Didn’t Roy Kent move there after he quit Chelsea?” she asks, and is pleased with the way Jamie’s eyes light up a little at that. “You’ll get to play together now.”
---
“He’s a nasty bastard. Right fucking bitter about not being as good as he was, yeah?”
She doesn’t hear much more about Roy Kent after that, not for another year or so. Doesn’t hear much from Jamie at all, really, not even after he returns to Manchester. When he does stop by – for Christmas, for her birthday – he talks about just about anything but football. Doesn’t mention fighting Kent on the pitch, doesn’t say a word about calling him a knob on national television.
Doesn’t take the poster down either, though, she notices when he’s gone.
---
“Jamie Tartt is a muppet and I hope he dies of the incurable condition of being a little bitch,” Roy Kent says and she’s already halfway out the sofa when Simon’s hand on her arm holds her back.
“If Jamie wants it down he’ll take it down,” her husband tells her.
---
She sees her son crouching, defeated, on Wembley grass, and her heart breaks for him. Two days later he’s outside her door and in her arms and he’s talking like he hasn’t talked to her since he was loaned to Richmond and her heart breaks for him all over again.
She can’t wish she had never gotten with his wanker of a father, for how can she, when she got Jamie out if? Still, there’s no stopping her from wishing James falls down a sewer and drowns in shit, gagging on it as he goes.
“And I’m just standing there, like I couldn’t move or something, right, but then Roy walks over and I though he was going to fucking punch me, but he just hugged me, like really tight, and I fucking bawled my eyes out. Dead embarrassing, it was, but… made me feel safe, too. Made me think of you.”
She stops flipping the poster off, after that
---
“So Roy offered to train me, special,” Jamie says, and she thinks it sounds a bit like torture personally, the things Kent is apparently having him do in the middle of the bloody night, but Jamie’s nothing but enthusiasm and barely contained pride so she’s happy for him.
---
She knows that other parents might have been surprised to see their son befriend and then bring home people whose pictures he still has on his wall, but their sons are not Jamie, are they?
Roy Kent proves far less domineering than she might have suspected. Doesn’t shout once, is polite about Simon’s baking, and tells her he loves her before he leaves. Definitively has some issues, but seems a nice enough lad for all of that.
--- 
Simon drives them down to London for Jamie’s 26:th birtday and it’s only the third time she’s ever been to his Richmond home. As she exits the car, Roy Kent exits Jamie’s front door and pauses at the sight of her.
“Hey,” he says, and it’s a bit endearing, the way he sounds unsure, like he doesn’t know what to make of her or how to act around her.
No need for any of that, though.
“There he is,” she exclaims, adding, “I’m going to hug you now,” before doing just that.
His body is solid and hard and held so fucking stiff, but after just a moment – surprisingly quickly, really – he relaxes into the embrace, like maybe it’s one he’s been wanting for a very long time. He holds her tight and she lets him and she can see what Jamie means about him being a great hugger.  
Eventually, she gently pulls back a little, so she can smile up at him as she says, “Thank you.”
Off his furrowed brow, she continues, “For what you’ve done for our Jamie. I know it’s meant a lot to him, you training him and being his friend and everything.” 
“Oh. Jamie’s told you about that, has he?”
And she must raise her eyebrows at that, kindly but incredulously. “Of course he has, love. Never shuts up about you, does he?”
As it turns out, Roy Kent does know how to smile after all.
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mytheoristavenue · 29 days
Text
LF Creature x Reader - Mutal Comfort
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Summary: You owed Lisa a favor, but you never expected she'd make you pay it back in the form of babysitting her undead boytoy while she goes to a party.
Warnings: rushed/not proofread, bisexual!reader, reader has an unreciprocated crush on Lisa, angst, fem!reader
"Lisa, I never agreed to this!" You shouted at your best friend as she hurried over to crawl back out of your window.
"I promise I'll make it up," she waved you off, sliding the glass panel up. "It's just for the night, I swear. I'll be back before school."
With that she was gone, hearing no other protests. You stood with your back flattened against the wall, frightened gaze never leaving the thing on the other side of your bedroom.
You were the only person who knew of Creature's presence, being Lisa's very best friend for life or whatever. You'd do anything for her but babysitting her undead little pet was definitely stretching boundaries.
You felt some guilt for your terror, after all, he did look incredibly somber, shrinking into the opposite corner. Maybe he felt bad for scaring you?
"S-Soo...uh," you started, pushing off the wall but only by mere centimeters. "Y-You...Lisa's new boyfriend?" The thing seemed rigid at the thought and reluctantly shook his head. "Let me guess, you wanna be?" You prodded, inching closer still. Another timid nod. The two of you had that in common, apparently.
"You and me both," you sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed. Creature eyed you skeptically, still in the corner but not as glued to the wall as before. "Don't look at me like that, I don't mean I want to be her boyfriend." You paused, wondering if his expression was caused by the thought of you being gay or wanting to be a male, or maybe he was jealous at the thought of competition. "But, I don't know, being girlfriends might be nice..."
By this time, he'd inched close enough to sit on the other side of the bed, still as far away on it as possible, though. You took this as a sign to continue. "It's just that, me and Lis have been besties since like- kindergarten. I even convinced my parents to move her with her after her mom died and it feels like all she does is blow me off now," you ranted. "Like, before the incident, we'd have these long talks about the future, and we were always in each other's but now...I don't know anymore..."
An anguished moan was his only response as he drew his discolored hand to his chest. "Sorry," you said dropping your head. "I know you've gotta be hurting too listening to her ramble on about-" You brought your hands to your cheeks and batted your lashes, making your voice an octave higher to imitate your crush. "Micheal Trent!" He nodded, rolling his eyes slightly. "Y'know, I really don't know what she sees in him? Dude's a class A poser. He pretends to be into all that dark music and poetry but it's literally just to look cool and mysterious so all the preppy girls will fall in love with him."
While you ranted, Creature studied your room, noting how different it was from Lisa's. She had string lights, drawings, and moody posters all over her walls, while yours were tidy and well-organized with framed photos and prints of paintings that matched the color scheme of the walls. Eventually, you caught onto his staring and fell quiet prompting him to glance back to you.
"Didn't mean to fly off the handle, my bad." you muttered, standing up with a sigh. "Anyways, what do you like to do? Got any hobbies?" He stood up with you, wandering over to a keyboard that had collected dust in the corner. Curiously, he stuck a key and cringed at the sound it made. You joined him, explaining it. "That's just my old keyboard. I used to play piano as a kid but when we moved here we couldn't take my piano with us, so my dad got me this. It's kinda like an electric piano, only it's portable. Don't really like it though, too synthy for my taste."
Creature sat down in front of it, fumbling with the buttons on the control board while trying out the keys after each adjustment. Finally, he seemed to have found a setting he liked. "I'm guessing you play?" you cocked a brow. You couldn't have predicted how the cocky smirk then tossed you would make you feel. Following that, he threaded his finders together before pushing them out, cracking his knuckles before dramatically slamming down on the keys.
"Holy shit," you breathed, listening to the classical tune that filled your room. Needless to say, he played beautifully and was incredibly talented. At one point, he even glanced up at you with another shit-eating grin, showcasing the fact that he knew the positions by memory and didn't even need to look.
"You're amazing!" you explained when the song was finished, placing your hands on either shoulder and rocking him gently. "I've never seen that much musical skill from one person! What, were you like a professional pianist in your first life or something?"
To your surprise, he actually nodded. "Jesus christ man, I've never even heard that song before, did you write that?" He nodded again, and again, you were flabbergasted. "I bet you had an extraordinarily hard life." You muttered without thinking. "Art like that only comes out of suffering." As he nodded yet again, this time more bashfully, the two of you shared a moment of silence.
"I'm sorry, that was rude," you realized, glancing away. This time, Creature shook his head, an uncharacteristically peachy hand guiding your face back toward his as he stepped closer. For a moment, you waited to see what wisdom he had to offer, before remembering that no words would come as he stared at you, only able to offer a comforting gaze. "I wish you could talk," you whispered as he pulled you into his chest without you even realizing it. "But then again, maybe it's better you can't." you retorted to yourself bitterly. "I've had enough people tell me to cheer up because life gets better."
Creature stiffened, pushing you to hold you at arm's length, shaking his head again. "You think you got something better?" you asked, rhetorically.
Sensing your irritation, he resigned himself to giving up on communication for now. Taking matters into his own hands, he pressed a palm to his heart, a sign for you to trust him. Gently, he guided you back to your bed, pushing you down onto it. Awkwardly, Creature untucked the quilt from the bed a threw it over you, signalling for you to lay down, before tucking you in. You reluctantly followed his instruction, laying down on your side, tears welling in your eyes from all the overwhelming emotion bubbling inside you. You then watched as he made his way over to your desk, seeming to write something on a sheet of notebook paper Following this, he laid the note at your feet as he took a seat in front of the keyboard again.
You couldn't deny that you were beginning to feel drowsy after the soft music he played filled the room. This song was nothing like the first one. It was sweet and serene, unlike the dark and dramatic one he'd first played- with that cocky grin that made you feel so conflicted.
On the cusp of needing to rest your eyes, you remembered the note he'd left for you, briefly sitting up to reach it before laying back down, holding it up in the air to read what it said as he played your consciousness out.
"The sun does not ever reappear if the rain never stops. To live happily is to find solace in any weather. With the right balance, the flowers will begin to bloom. I hope to one day see a lush garden in you, darling."
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ediewentmissing · 1 year
Text
repost of this eddie smut (you know the drill, kiddos. fuck off) 18+
You and Eddie are enemies. Rivals of the highest order. And you have been ever since you joined Hawkins “Hell Hole" High. It was constant competition between you two; always fighting over Dustin’s attention and who owned more band posters. Eddie disliked you straight off the bat. Right the moment he saw you. Not necessarily because you were a bad person, but just because you could get away with being different.
All Eddie's life, he had been teased, bullied, and judged because of the way he looked, the way he dressed, and the way he acted. But somehow you were a mirror image of him, and you weren't treated the same way that he had been all this time. In fact, all the boys fell to their knees the first day you came to school. You were invited with open arms to sit with every clique; with the basketballers, science nerds, band, and even the partiers. But not at the Hellfire table. God only knows why they accepted you; you looked and sounded even more metal than he did.
You were Eddie. So why the hell were you the one getting special treatment?
Fortunately, with envy, comes mind-blowing sex.
-
The water was the perfect temperature. Finally. After about a minute of turning the nobs, you could safely get into the shower without simmering your hair off or turning to an icicle. You had just finished your swim at the pool and you were taking a shower in the change rooms, without your swimming suit on of course, because what's the point of showering if you have clothes on?
“Your swimming skills are tragic." Eddie's voice startles you, and you turn around to see him with his signature cocky smirk, leaning against the wall of the shower cubicle, avoiding the water. You don't bother to cover yourself up. He's seen you naked plenty of times before. His eyes greedily trail down your body. His boner is prominent in his swimming trunks.
"This is the ladies' room, Eds. I know you may look like a girl, with your hair an' all,” You gesture with your hand towards his head, “but you aren't one. Now get out, would ya?" He stands still, the smirk faltering the slightest, tilting his head to one side, "And it's not like you can swim, anyway. I've seen you,” You chuckle, “You look like a drowning rat."
He pushes you against the wall of the shower by your shoulders and pins you there, one hand beside your head, the other down by your waist. The steam and water were making his hair wet and his body shine, glow even. He leans in towards you, not close enough to be kissing, but pretty damn close. The water falls off of his hair and around you like a curtain, closing you in so you couldn't look at anything other than him and his body.
"Hate that dirty mouth of yours," He says, low and deep, and you look down so he doesn't see you blush, "Just shut up." You drag your finger down a tattoo that was strewn on his chest, tracing the perimeter with your nail.
"Hm," You look up at him smugly, "Make me."
He chuckles in a taunting way, shaking his head, "Luckily for me, you can't talk when your mouth is full. You gonna let me stuff your throat with my cock, sweets?”
-
You get on your knees, holding Eddie's bare thigh in one hand, as the other hovers over his member. Throbbing, wet (double wet considering the water coming from the shower head), and fucking thick.
You lick a stripe up from the bottom of his shaft to his weeping slit and he groans with pleasure. His hand braces against the wall, the other tangles in your soggy hair. Your head dips down and you stuff as much of him into your as you possibly can without suffocating, hollowing your cheeks out. You bob your head, setting a hard rhythm and leaving him no time to prepare.
"Fuck." His brows are knitted. Your nose brushes the bush of curls at his base and his tip reaches the back of your mouth. He guides himself deeper down your throat by pushing your head down, and you gag, which makes him moan.
You swirl your tongue around the head in your mouth, spit drooling down the sides of your lips.
"Shit, wait," He moans, "Gotta- Fuck- Need t’stop." He doesn't want to finish this fast. But you want him to. He tries to pull himself out of your mouth, but you shove your head down lower and gag again and he groans.
"Hey, you deaf?" His voice is grave and intimidating, but you insist on playing the back-and-forth game: Who was going to ultimately be more dominant?
Eddie really wants it to be him.
He tugs you off of his dick roughly and pulls you up by your shoulders. You pout sarcastically before he throws your leg up over his shoulder blade and bites the inside of your thigh. You inhale sharply and try to wriggle out of his firm hold, but he keeps you there.
"Eddie. Quit being a dick. Let me go."
"Nice try." He rolls his eyes, not looking at you, but at your cunt as you’re spread wide open for him. He runs a finger downwards through your slick folds and you whimper, shutting your eyes. He brings his finger up to your face.
"Look how soaked you are. Poor pussy wants attention, doesn't she?" He places his fingertip back down at your entrance, bottoming out with his finger suddenly and you moan, tilting your head back against the cold shower wall.
“The safe word is ‘Fuck me harder’.” He grins at your blissed expression. He thrusts into you rapidly, staring at your hole engulfing his finger.
'Eddie! Shit! Hang on!" You're desperate to get your superiority back, so you lightly tug on his dick. He slaps your hand and grabs both of your wrists, pulling them above your head so that you're completely at his mercy. Heat is gushing into your stomach and you realise you're close to the edge.
He scoffs at your face, scrunching up with arousal and vexation and he shoves another finger inside you, "What's wrong? Gonna cum already, slut?"
"N-No." You lie, moaning frantically. He moves his thumb to rub your clit as fast as possible and he finger-fucks you faster. Your eyes roll back into your head and everything is pure rhapsody.
You make a particularly loud moan and he replies with, 'Yeah? You like that?"
Your built-up tension finally snaps and you climax. You contract tightly around his fingers and he watches, cherishing your classic fucked-out face. He wishes he could take a photo of you and show the whole school what a whore you were - to humiliate you. It would probably do you good.
He thrusts his fingers slower and stops working your bud.
After you come down from your high, he smirks at you devilishly, "You definitely liked that."
“Rack off, Munson.”
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