#i was going to give her a tattoo sleeve | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goldenlikedayl1ght · 6 months

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lover, you should've come over - m. schmidt

a/n: you guys should have seen this one coming! as always i appreciate any likes and reblogs and hope you enjoy :) warnings: suggestive themes, big angst, lots of talk about tattoos and pain and needles, mike having horrible anxiety and commitment issues, reader is mostly gender neutral except for one thing ! tattoo aftercare, hurt/comfort, kissing word count: 3.6k summary: you get a tattoo, and it terrifies mike. mostly because he realizes how much you love him. pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader now playing: lover, you should've come over - jeff buckley "my body turns and yearns/for a sleep that won't ever come/it's never over/my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder."

Penny has done almost all of your tattoos, save for the stick and poke star you gave yourself while you were way too high to be handling that sort of equipment, and a few flash designs you’ve gotten for holidays. And usually, you keep it simple and easy, pitching a design idea and getting a finished stencil a few hours later.

But this time, you go into the shop a few months before you plan to get the tattoo and describe to her what you want. She’s shocked that you want a half sleeve—It’s a big step, she tells you, and it’ll mean sitting for a few hours while she does her work. It’ll be painful, and the design will take a few weeks to get made, because she wants to give you the best possible design.

She does good work. When you visit again in about three weeks, you put down a deposit and make an official date to get it done. October 9th.

You go home that night to your small, but warm home to find your boyfriend trying to make chicken parm. His goal all year has been to learn how to cook, not just to make things out of a box. You know a bit better how to cook, but you let him improve his skills, always providing helpful, gentle critiques.

Abby is worse at being gentle.

She’s brutal with her brother’s cooking, and even though Mike loves your gentle words, he appreciates Abby’s feedback, and just wants her to eat a full plate of food before bed each night.

Tonight, his food smells good. You mentioned about a month ago how you missed your mom’s chicken parm, and since then, he’s been reading and researching different recipes at work. Ever since he quit working at Freddy’s, he’s put down the book of dreams and has picked up cookbooks, working his way up slowly.

You tell him he’ll be making Thanksgiving Dinner in no time. You kiss his jaw when you say that, and later, he returns the favor by placing a kiss to your shoulder.

You go to him, standing in the kitchen, as he squints at the recipe book in front of him. He wears washed blue jeans, an old Foo Fighters tee shirt and a pair of blue fuzzy socks. A towel hangs over his shoulder as he mutters to himself, as he gets ready to put some garlic bread in the oven.

You’re still in your work clothes, though, it’s not as if you’re wearing anything fancy. Just a different pair of jeans, and a tee shirt with your shop’s logo on it. Your hair is messy, and you smell vaguely of dirt. The smell has become comforting to him in his time knowing you.

You step closer to him, a hand resting gently on his shoulder. He relaxes at your touch.

“Hey, Mike.” You say softly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Hey, how was your day?”

“Not too bad. The food smells pretty good.”

“You think so?” His voice is hopeful, especially since he’s trying to live up to your memories of the dish as a kid. It’s his way of thanking you for being so good to him while he’s gotten his shit together.

“Mhm. I’m gonna go wash up and have Abby help me set the table.” You tell him. You kiss his jaw quickly before heading off to the bathroom to scrub the dirt from beneath your fingernails. You wash your face and arms too and begin to realize how domestic this all is.

You never saw yourself having kids, and never thought of yourself dating someone who did.

And you still never think about having kids, but you did find yourself treating Abby as if she is your own. This has nothing to do with how much you adore her brother. Abby is just easy to love. You wonder if anyone’s ever told her that.

When your work boots find themselves at the end of your bed, you change into a muscle tee. You’re awfully fond of them. You find a pair of Mike’s fuzzy socks and slip them on too. You take a moment to stare at your shoulder in the mirror, imagining how it’ll look when ink covers it. Most of your tattoos are on your legs, and for a long time, this arm has been bare of any ink. You’ve been saving it for this project for years.

You go to Abby’s room and knock gently before entering. You find her painting at this aisle you got for her birthday. She’s been working on this painting for a few days now, and it’s turning out quite nice.

“Hey, Abs.” You say softly, and she puts her paintbrush down to give you this big, toothy grin. “Go wash up and help me set the table?” You ask.

“Sure.” She hums and starts to skip along to the bathroom, but you stop her at the door.

“And remember, even if Mike’s food is bad, what do we say?”

“Mm, this food is so good and not horrible at all!”

“Abby.”

She sighs.

“This is unlike anything you’ve made before, and I appreciate the effort?”

“That’s it.” You let her go wash up, and then go to set the table.

When Mike eventually serves dinner, you’re starved. You don’t care if it’s bad, or if it’s burnt, you know you’ll like it because you weren’t able to take a lunch break that day. But it genuinely looks good.

He cuts up Abby’s food and puts the plate in front of her before sitting down and looking to you two for a reaction. You take a bite, and you have to pause.

Did Mike really cook something not just edible, but… good?

Not fine, not decent, really good.

“Mike, this is—”

“Amazing!” Abby gasps, going in for another bite. His cheeks flush.

“You guys don’t have to pretend, it’s alright—”

“No, Mike, we’re not pretending, it’s really good!” You defend, going in for a second bite yourself. “Try it!”

He does, and he even looks shocked at the quality of the food he’s produced. And it sets the mood for the whole dinner, until you eventually blurt out,

“I booked a tattoo appointment for next week.”

“What are you getting?” Mike can’t ever admit this to you, but he adores your tattoos. He thinks the placement of them are all wonderful, even if they’re smaller. He likes to kiss them, to trace his fingers over them, to just admire them in the summer.

“It’s a surprise.” You tell him. Owning your own shop and being your own boss has its perks. You have no worries about people judging you for your half sleeve, deciding that you can just ban them from your shop.

Your conversation drifts off and you focus on other things. When you’re done, you and Mike begin to clean up with him, letting some of the pan soak in the sink. You sit on the counter, drying some of the plates as Mike rinses.

“Thank you for dinner.” You tell him.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Comfortable silence fills the room. “You’re really not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise.” You smile softly. He dries his hand and steps between your legs. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in.

“Tease.” He mumbled, leaning forward, and kissing your shoulder. A hand goes to his hair, your fingers tangling in his locks.

“I’m not teasing, I’m just being a little secretive.” You tell him, playing with his hair. You’re a fan of the scruff he’s been growing out lately.

“Isn’t it gonna hurt?”

“Yeah, but I’ll take breaks and remember to eat.” You tell him. “This isn’t my first tattoo, Mike.”

“I know, baby.” He says softly, “I just get worried—”

“You get worried about me? And yet, when I’m worried about you, you ignore me but—” He cuts you off with a kiss, and your hands land on his jaw, the scruff tickling your face.

• • •

The ink swirls around your shoulder, a moth wrapping around your shoulder and reaching to the top of your arm. Vines wrap around the moth, as flowers bloom in different places. Your birth flower is one of them, as well as your mother’s. You also place Abby and Mike’s around the moth, maybe protecting it. Thorns poke out of some of the vines, and the ink covers your shoulder, and down to just above your elbow.

You got it done on a Saturday afternoon, leaving late enough so Mike could sleep in without having to deal with Abby, but being able to give them some time to relax together.

It takes a few hours, and by the end of it, you’re exhausted. As with all your other tattoos, you’re sore, but this is a new type of sore. You ache for Mike’s hands on you, to hold you and kiss your shoulders, even though he can’t kiss your left shoulder for a few days.

The second skin will remain on your arm for a day or two, and then you’ll have to go through the process of moisturizing your tattoo.

You have Penny take lots of photos of it before you head home, Mike and Abby both waiting in anticipation for you to come home and show them your new ink. You’re excited to show them, since there’s a connection to them in the art.

When you open the door, Abby runs to you and immediately starts to look for the ink in question. She gasps when she sees it, all wrapped up on your arm.

“It’s a moth,” You tell her, “With my favorite plants.” You crouch down to point out different plans in the works. “These are my mom’s birth flowers, they’re carnations.” You tell her, “Do you know what these are?” You point to another flower.

Abby shakes her head, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the fresh, raw flesh of the person she considers to be her caregiver.

“They’re lily of the valley flowers. They’re your birth flower.” You reach out and tuck hair behind her ear. Then, you point to the third flower. “And these? They’re honey suckles. They’re Mike’s birth flower.”

Mike watches your interaction, listening to your explanation of the tattoo. Suddenly, this anxiety pools in his chest. You’ve been living together for a few months, but somehow a symbol of him and Abby being engraved on your skin makes things all too real.

He could cry.

“Did you get the flowers because you’re a flower person?” You grin, knowing she doesn’t remember the title of your job.

“Botanist, you mean? Sort of, but you two mean a lot to me, and I wanted to tribute something to you guys.” You confess.

She grins and turns to look at Mike.

“I wanna be a tattoo artist when I’m older.” Mike is pale with anxiety.

He wants to tell you it looks good, that it’s brilliantly done, but he doesn’t find it in himself. He wants to run, to abandon this relationship at the door, to never speak to you again to avoid the fact that he wants you desperately and thinks he might marry you one day.

He walks off to the bathroom, and he’s unsure if it’s to throw up or to cry.

You’re disappointed, because you wanted him to like it desperately, since this tattoo is now on you forever, and you wanted it to be a tribute to him. It almost hurts you that he doesn’t love it. Or at least pretend to. Instead, his disdain is visible on his face, and you do your best to turn your attention back to Abby.

“Wanna help me make dinner?” You smile softly, and she nods.

“Did your tattoo hurt?” She acts gently.

“Yeah, but with a good artist it goes quickly, and they don’t aim to torture you.” You explain, as you begin to make mac and cheese.

As she sets the table, you turn back to her and ask, “Can you go get Mike for dinner?” She nods and skips along to your bedroom, where Mike sits on the bed, frustrated with himself.

“Mike?” She asks gently. “We’re making mac and cheese.”

“I’m not hungry.” He says softly, and Abby can just tell something isn’t right.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well..”

“Oh…” she suspects this is a lie.

“I’m sorry. Tell them I said sorry.” Tears prick Mike’s eyes. He’s unsure why he’s like this, and why he can’t just admire your tattoo and love you and tell you how much you mean to him. But he can’t. He gets the words out. He wants to love you so badly but something in him demands to not let him be happy.

He lays on the bed and tries to stay quiet as he cries.

• • •

Hours later, you sit at the table anxiously, your hands tapping on the wood, a cold bowl of Mac and Cheese on the table. You decide to get up to clean up dinner, and just as you do, soft steps creep out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area.

Mike stands and stares at the cold dinner that he feels bad for rejecting. He should just tell you what’s bothering him. Instead, his gaze turns and looks at you, doing the dishes.

“You didn’t have to make dinner.”

“You didn’t seem well, and Abby needed to eat.”

This comment sparks a much larger fire in Mike, and he isn’t sure why he’s angered by how much you care about his sister, his world.

“You aren’t her mom, you don’t have any reason to make her dinner or put her to bed—”

“Yeah, Mike, well, You’re not really her dad.” You glare. “I’ve taken care of her for months, fed her, made sure she’s taken care of, I’ve picked her up from school, and now suddenly, you’ve decided I have no right to just care about her? Fuck you, if you don’t love me anymore, then don’t take it out on your sister, talk to me like a god damn grown up and stop acting like a child.” You spit, angrily turning back around to keep doing your dishes so that Mike doesn’t see your red face or your tears.

With your back turned, he can see the moth on your shoulder blade, and he aches to trace the lines of your tattoos, kissing the skin around it. But cotton fills his mouth every time he tries to sew the gap between you two.

And your words strike him. He knows why you might think he doesn’t love you anymore, but he does. He loves you deeply and finds himself enamored with you, and yet he can’t even compliment this tattoo that you have obviously put a ton of time, effort and money into.

“I’m sorry—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“I think we should give each other some space.” The words hit you like a ton of brick, and you’re ready to get on your hands and knees and beg him, beg him to not leave, beg him to forgive you (for what, you don’t know), beg him to touch you, beg him to want you.

“What..?”

“I just think I need some space.” He said softly, leaning against the kitchen doorway. You want to ask if he’s hungry, to kiss away all the sadness in the worry lines of his face.

You nod, bite your tongue. He wants to hold you and tell you he doesn’t mean it.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” You mumble, sighing softly. You also plan to leave early before Mike gets up.

Mike steps towards you, maybe to apologize. You step past him to go get pajamas from your dresser, not letting him grasp onto you. You don’t want him to apologize now. You want him to sit in his regret and you want to sit in your anger.

As you attempt to fall asleep that night, you pray Abby didn’t hear your conversation with him.

Both of you try to drift to sleep and salt streams from your eyes and into your ears.

• • •

A few days pass. Your tattoo starts to heal, and you take the second skin off your shoulder and arm and begin the process of aftercare.

You and Mike exchanged a total of about thirty words over the next few days. Abby noticed your angst towards each other and tried to get the two of you to make up. She figured that Mike was being an idiot, and just needed to apologize.

She was right, but he didn’t want to admit that to his kid sister.

It’s hell. You have to pretend that you don’t want to beg for his forgiveness, but you know that neither of you are blameless. Your pride tells you not to be the first one to cave. His anxiety tells him that you hate him.

When he gets home one afternoon from work, you’re napping in bed. He knows the couch isn’t that comfortable and he’s sure you’re home because you’d mentioned to Abby that you weren’t feeling well. You probably didn’t expect to still be asleep when he got home.

But you’re wearing one of his shirts. He kisses your head and leaves a glass of water and cold medicine on the nightstand, before going to make himself busy somewhere else, as if not to disrupt your rest.

He takes one last glance at you before he leaves.

One night, he comes home from work late. You take it as an opportunity to take a hot shower after putting Abby to bed and taking a few minutes to sit in the bedroom that you missed while sleeping on the couch.

Besides, your bones ached from that uncomfortable couch while you were spoiled, used to Mike’s warm bed.

You barely hear the front door open as you continue your nightly routine. You need to apply lotion to your tattoo, to keep it moisturized as it heals. But you find yourself struggling to reach your shoulder.

Mike watches you from the doorway of the bedroom, biting his lip. The bags around his eyes have grown darker since your fight.

He takes off his boots first, and then strips his top down to an undershirt, then takes off his jeans. If you weren’t so busy, you’d acknowledge how handsome he looked in just his boxers and a gray tee shirt.

The bed dips behind you, as he sits behind you. You stop what you’re doing.

“Give me the lotion.” He says softly, and with a sigh of defeat, maybe even a bit of relief, you hand him the lotion. He squirts some lotion on his hands, then begins to rub it into your skin. You shudder at the contact, and he feels tears in his eyes again. He missed you. “I’m sorry I didn’t say I liked your tattoo. I love it.”

“I’m sorry I said you didn’t love me, and I’m sorry I said you weren’t Abby’s dad.”

“But I’m not—”

“But you are her parent.”

“So are you.”

A silence fills the room.

“What happened on Saturday?”

“I got anxious when I saw Abby and I’s birth flowers on you. Like how much I loved you was just engraved in your skin, and I didn’t know what to do with it. I didn’t mean to push you away, I was just terrified. Terrified that you’re going to leave. Terrified that I won’t be able to protect you.” His voice cracks at the end, and he leans his head against your shoulder that isn’t inked.

Your head turns to kiss his head.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know..” he says softly, but a part of him doesn’t believe it. You and Abby, you’re the only ones who have stayed, the only ones he’s been able to save. He doesn’t know who he is without the two of you. “I’m sorry, I was such a dick.”

“Yeah, but so was I.” You tell him.

“I love your tattoo. I love all of your tattoos. All of them. I love kissing them. I’m desperate for this one to heal so I can kiss this shoulder again.”

“Thank you for helping me with it. It itches like a son of a bitch.” You tell him, a weak smile on your face. Tears stain your shirt.

“Can we go back to normal now? I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you so much.” You turn and wrap your arms around him, the warmth radiating from his body as he holds you close. You wonder if either of you will ever be able to let yourselves be loved.

You hope to let each other try.

You kiss him, salty tears mixing, as you hold him close. He’s careful of your tattoo, not wanting to scratch or hurt you. He’s gentle in a way that betrays him. He desires you in this way that transcends want or need, something that is vital, as if it were breathing.

Yet his hands remain respectful. Gentle. You’re the one that adjusts your position to be over him, as you gently push him back against the bed, kissing him deeper.

He decides he will marry you someday. That maybe the idea of being with you for the rest of his life isn’t scary.

Not when you kiss him like that.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #movie!mike #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's movie #abby schmidt #abby schmidt platonic #mike schmidt angst #hurt/comfort #josh hutcherson

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steddiealltheway · 7 months

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The Danger in Romanticizing (Ao3 Link)

"Steve, I'm serious, you might absolutely hate Eddie."

Steve sighs and relaxes against their couch. This is the third time today that Robin has given him this warning. "I'm not going to terrorize him to the point that Chrissy breaks up with you."

Robin raises her eyebrows at him as if he would seriously do it. "You don't know Eddie though. He's... he's someone you would've hated in high school. He's loud, nerdy, dramatic, and he was in a band."

"Robin, he sounds just like you."

Robin's jaw drops. "Take it back."

Steve laughs, "Come on, he sounds great. I don't know why you and Chrissy think we'll hate each other."

"He was bullied in high school by jocks just like you, but he threw it right back at them," Robin says while pacing. "And Eddie to Chrissy is the equivalent of you to me - her platonic soulmate. If you two don't like each other, then I don't know what we'll do."

Steve stands up and grabs Robin by the shoulders, stopping her pacing. "It's going to be fine. If anything, we'll just make polite small talk any time we see each other. As far as I'm concerned, you like him and he's kind to you, so he's good on my list."

Robin nods but she doesn't look convinced.

"I just can't believe that you two waited a month to introduce us."

Robin sighs and walks away from him, brushing off imaginary dust on their couch and chair. "It'll be easier to explain when you meet him."

"When are they supposed to get here again?"

Robin glances at the clock and goes pale. The doorbell rings and Steve feels a sudden rush of nerves. He doesn't know why he's so nervous to meet this man. He really likes Chrissy, and he can't imagine her being best friends with someone he wouldn't like.

Robin takes a deep breath and looks Steve over for a second sighing as if disappointed in something.

"What?"

"Nothing," Robin says quickly and rushes to the front door. She pauses and looks over her shoulder. "Just please be nice."

Steve gives her a thumbs-up and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, waiting for this mystery man to appear.

The door opens and Steve spots Chrissy first, sporting a very nervous smile, and then the door opens all the way to reveal Eddie.

And holy shit. With all the warnings, it never crossed Steve's mind that the man could be so damn hot. He's wearing a black t-shirt with some band on it that Steve doesn't know but the short sleeves show off a few tattoos that make him curious about how many he may be hiding under the rest of his clothes. He tries not to let his eyes wander for too long, so he doesn't dare stare for any longer, glancing back up at Eddie's face in hopes that he hasn’t been caught.

He feels his heart speed up a little bit as he finds Eddie looking him up and down quickly before shooting him a small smile. And god, he has dimples.

Steve smiles back at him and walks to the front door. He bends down to pull Chrissy into a hug first before pulling away to hold a hand out to Eddie. He takes it, and Steve's eyes catch on his rings quickly. He wonders if the whole tough exterior was built to protect him while simultaneously drawing attention. "Hey, I'm Steve."

"Eddie," he says back. And his damn voice goes straight through him.

"Oh shoot, I forgot to grab something from the store before we got here," Chrissy says. "Robin, will you come with me to get it?"

"I can-" Eddie starts to say, but Robin's already grabbing Chrissy's hand and pulling her out the front door.

It closes loudly and Steve winces at the noise.

Eddie turns to him and awkwardly smiles. "So..."

"So," Steve says, noticing the hesitation coming from Eddie. He wonders... "Can I just come out and ask if you've been getting the same warning that we might hate each other?"

"Yes!" Eddie says and lets out a deep breath. "And did they seriously just leave us alone thinking that?"

"They're lucky if we don't kill each other."

"If? Don't you mean 'when?'" Eddie asks with a teasing smile.

Steve laughs loudly and asks, "Do you want a beer or something?"

"God, I would love a beer."

Steve smiles and walks off to the fridge, grabbing two and gesturing Eddie over to the living room. They both sit on the couch a comfortable distance away from each other, and Steve ignores the itch to move closer. "So, I heard that you were in a band."

"And I heard you were a former jock."

Steve snorts and waggles his fingers at him. "Your worst nightmare."

Eddie dramatically leans away from him with a hand over his heart. "Good heavens, you're absolutely repulsive."

Steve finds himself laughing again. He has no idea why Robin thought he would ever hate this guy.

"So," Eddie says with a small smile, "What are you doing now, former jock? Chrissy hasn’t mentioned you being in any of her classes or hanging around the college, so I’m assuming you don’t go there."

Steve runs a hand through his hair and leans back against the couch. "No, college isn’t for me. I'm working in sales at my dad's company. Specifically, as a car salesman." Eddie immediately cringes and Steve sighs, "Trust me. I know. But I'm absolutely horrible at my job. I can never bullshit someone. If they tell me what they're looking for, I'm giving them exactly that and not some overpriced bullshit."

Eddie raises his eyebrows. "But you're still selling cars, so it sounds like you're doing your job."

"Not the way my dad wants me to," Steve complains.

"So, why don't you do something else?" Eddie asks point blank.

Steve's a little taken aback by the bluntness, but he appreciates it. He shrugs. "I got horrible grades in high school to the point that I couldn't get into even the easiest colleges. Working with my dad just seemed like the only option."

"For a while I was thinking about working at the plant with my uncle because high school was terrible for me. I managed to fail my senior year twice before graduating."

"So, what are you doing now?" Steve asks, curious about what other options there are.

Eddie leans back against the couch and takes a long swig of his beer. Steve tries not to focus on the tendons in his neck as he swallows. "I had this moment after I graduated where I suddenly realized that my creative outlets suddenly vanished. My band had to take a break because everyone but Gareth graduated and Jeff and Grant were going to college, and I could no longer run Hellfire Club which got rid of my Dungeons and Dragons outlet. And for some reason, I was struck with this great idea to write a novel."

He shifts, crossing his legs under himself and looking off in the distance with a sad smile. "I just sat down and wrote and wrote. It's like the words were pouring out of me, and I couldn't stop them. God, I barely slept." He pauses as if he's reliving the moment. "Then, I had this extremely rough draft of this book, and I started calling publishers and I went to the first one who would take me. But they read it and told me it would be better as a children's story."

Steve can't help but interject, "That's just one person's opinion though."

Eddie nods and drinks more of his beer. "Yes, but they offered to actually look at it and publish it once I simplified it."

"Did you do it?"

Eddie nods. "Yeah, and I mean, it brought in a decent amount of money that I've been cruising on, but I don't know. There were so many things I wanted to expand on. I was aiming for a whole book series."

Steve turns to him and sits crisscrossed. "So, what's the children's book about?"

Eddie sighs, "You're going to find it so dumb."

"Try me."

Eddie puts his beer down on the coffee table and leans in to Steve. "So, it takes inspiration from Dungeons and Dragons. And it's about this boy who has never felt like he's fit in. For some reason, he's always been disliked by people or shunned for being different. Then, he comes across this monster, one that he's heard terrifying stories about from all these different adventurers. But instead of attacking it, he tries a different approach and finds that he can befriend the monster, and he ends up naming him Dart and they travel together. And for once he doesn't feel alone."

Steve's jaw drops as Eddie continues to describe the story, feeling frozen in place.

"Then, they come across more creatures, and they find they're all evil because they're always under attack. And yes, some are just pure evil, but it doesn't define the whole species. Then, the story gets really cheesy..." Eddie trails off with a groan. "God, this is embarrassing."

Steve finally finds his voice and continues for him, "Then, he's practically hunted by the town who assumes he's evil because he's with all these monsters which they think he must have some sort of dark control over. But then when an even bigger monster comes and threatens to destroy the whole town, they turn to him for help. The boy becomes a hero, but he goes back with the rest of the monsters who always accepted him for who he was."

Eddie's eyes become considerably wider by the end of Steve's narration. "How do you...?"

Steve grabs his hand and pulls him to his room, opens the door, and goes through the small stack of books on the bottom shelf of his nightstand. He pulls out Eddie's book and holds it up. "You're Eddie Munson?"

Eddie nods, totally bewildered.

"Holy shit," Steve says with a big smile, "Dustin loves this book!"

"Dustin?"

"One of the kids I used to babysit, he's in high school now, but he went on about this book for weeks. He loves Dungeons and Dragons, and as soon as I saw it, I bought it for him. He thought it was some kind of joke because it's a children's book, but he read it and developed so many theories about it. He made all his friends buy it because he thinks it could change the whole universe of Dungeons and Dragons. Shit, you’re like a legend to him."

Eddie's mouth just opens and closes. "I- I don't know what to say."

"Could you possibly meet him sometime? No pressure at all, but he'd love you."

"Yeah! Definitely," Eddie says and excitedly bounces a bit. "God, I've never met a fan before."

"I have to warn you that he may be a bit much, and I don't think he would ever leave you alone after this. But it would make his entire year, maybe even his whole life."

Eddie just smiles widely and nods. "Yeah! Yeah, I mean, I can also be a lot, so I'm ready. Just let me know when."

Steve smiles and shakes his head. "This is so cool. And thank you, really, this means the world to me."

"Same here," Eddie says.

The two let the excitement bubble down a bit, but the smiles don't leave their faces. Eddie glances around though and asks, "No offense, but why is your room so..."

"Empty?" Steve fills in for him. Eddie nods. "Well, my parents didn't really let me decorate my room, and I've just never really known what I wanted to do with my own place. So, I've kind of put it on the back burner. Plus, I spend most of my time in Robin's room or in the living room."

Eddie looks around and shakes his head. "My room is covered in shit. It's like I never have enough wall space or floor space for everything I want."

"I can see why Robin and Chrissy thought we wouldn't like each other," Steve says, sitting on his bed covered in a plain blue comforter and patting the empty space next to him.

Eddie follows the cue and sits down. "That all feels like surface-level bullshit."

"I think they're so blinded by their love for each other that they couldn't think beyond it. I know Robin's scared shitless of messing things up."

"God, so is Chrissy. I swore that even if you were the biggest asshole I was going to pretend to like you. Luckily, you're making it easy."

Steve feels the tips of his ears turning red. "Same here."

Eddie smiles at him, and Steve feels so enamored by him that he can't help but ask, "So, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you seeing anyone?" Steve asks, hoping he doesn’t come off as too forward.

Eddie shrugs and looks down at his hands. "Sort of," he says and looks back at Steve. "I'm bisexual, so it's a little harder for me sometimes."

Bisexual. The label that Steve has personally struggled with for years.

"Shit, don't tell me your biphobic."

Steve snaps out of his mini panic and asks, "What?"

"You practically grimaced when I said bisexual. Or are you someone who is only okay with girls being in relationships but not guys?"

"No! No," Steve insists. He takes a deep breath. He's not sure what it is about Eddie that makes him feel so at ease, but he confesses, "It's just that... I think that I'm also bisexual. I don't know though. I know I've had feelings for guys and felt attraction, but I can't picture myself dating a guy. But I feel so horrible admitting that. Maybe I'm just a coward."

Eddie's expression shifts from guarded to sympathetic quickly. "Who can blame you though? The world sometimes just... sucks. But here's something that kind of blew my mind when learning about bisexuality - you can still have preferences. Like, for me, I have a preference towards men, but I can't deny that some girls I've had feelings for. Even Chrissy once upon a time, but I quickly realized how much better things were platonically. You can always have a preference for women; it doesn't have to be half and half."

It's like something finally clicks in Steve's head. He breathes a sigh of relief. "Where have you been all my life?" he asks somewhat dramatically.

Eddie laughs, "Being kept away by Robin and Chrissy."

Steve smiles and traces their conversation back a bit. He lands on a question and asks, "So, how are you sort of dating someone?"

Eddie groans and runs his hands over his face. "There's this guy I've been somewhat hooking up with at this bar. And he's just perfect, you know?"

"Oh no," Steve says, feeling the familiar phrase wash over him.

"What?"

Steve really looks at Eddie, accessing him fully before declaring, "You're a romanticizer."

Eddie scoffs. "How did you arrive at that conclusion?"

"'He's just perfect,'" Steve mimics him. "It's the dead giveaway. Plus, I am too. It gets me in trouble a lot. But I hate seeing it in other people. Like there's this asshole I work with that my dad loves but I absolutely despise. His name is Collin, and he's constantly bragging about all these women he has practically begging at his feet for his attention and shit. Then, at these work parties, Collin's wife will always just go on about how perfect her husband is. God, it kills me because she's so blind to it all. I would tell her, but my dad would kill me if I did anything that potentially would affect Collin working for him."

Steve sighs and clutches Eddie's book closer to his chest, not noticing until now how he's been unconsciously using it as a source of comfort. "Anyways, I just hate seeing people love blindly."

"I've done the same thing," Eddie admits, "But this time it feels different."

"Ten bucks he sucks."

This startles a laugh out of Eddie, but he sticks his hand out. "You're on." They shake on it quickly. "So, what about you? Are you currently romanticizing anyone?"

Steve smiles sadly. "Not at the moment, but feel free to call me out on it when I do."

"Looking forward to it," Eddie says with a smile. "Now tell me, do you have to wear those awful polos to do sales?"

"I do, but I'll have you know that I actually like those awful polos."

Eddie stands up and gasps, "I'm appalled. Please don't tell me you have more than five in your closet."

"I have way more than five. I actually almost wore one today, but I went with my comfort sweater instead."

Eddie walks slowly toward his closet door. "Is this where the source of disaster is?"

Steve raises his eyebrows and nods.

"May I?" Eddie asks with his hand on the knob.

"Prepare yourself."

Eddie takes a dramatic deep breath to gather himself before swinging the door open dramatically and yelling, "It's worse than I thought!"

"You haven't even looked through it!"

"I saw more than two collared shirts," Eddie says in horror. "Steve, I've decided that Robin and Chrissy are absolutely correct, and there's no way I could ever like you."

Steve laughs, but is interrupted by Chrissy and Robin suddenly barging into the room yelling, "What happened?"

Eddie and Steve look at them and laugh.

"We didn't hear you come in," Eddie says.

"We wanted to check the atmosphere as it was, but we heard you say the thing about not liking Steve and we thought..." Chrissy trails off.

Steve finds Robin staring at him while looking worried. "Steve, are you okay?"

Steve frowns. "Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You're holding your comfort book."

Steve flushes red and puts his head in his hands.

"His what?" Chrissy and Eddie ask.

"His comfort book. He reads it or makes me read it whenever he's sick, has a bad day, or misses Dustin."

"Robin," Steve groans, embarrassed by his secret being revealed.

The mattress shifts beside him and Steve glances toward the source, finding Eddie amusedly smiling down at him. "So, you're also a fan."

"Wait, what am I missing?" Robin asks.

"Eddie wrote that book," Chrissy answers and crosses her arms, "But he also tells no one about it."

Robin's jaw drops, but Steve ignores it to smile at Eddie. "Aw, so tell me, why me?"

A small blush appears on Eddie's cheeks. "And why me about your..." he trails off, looking nervously toward Chrissy.

Steve glances at Robin who looks at him, gesturing to explain. "I told him I was bisexual."

Robin's jaw drops again. She and Chrissy exchange a look of bewilderment.

Steve throws an arm around Eddie's shoulders and says, "Looks like you two were very wrong."

"And we're very upset that you kept us away from this beautiful friendship for so long."

"Very upset," Steve agrees.

"Oh god, I think we've created a monster," Robin says.

Chrissy just giggles.

“I don’t know, I kind of like the monsters Eddie creates,” Steve comments.

Eddie laughs and Steve looks at him fondly. He doesn’t think that Robin has ever been so wrong about something because there’s no way Steve could ever dislike Eddie.

Part Two :)

Welcome to my new series! :))) I have so many shenanigans planned. And I’m doing a tag list! Just ask me and you’ll be tagged <3

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie fanfic #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #the danger in romanticizing fic

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shotmrmiller · 5 months

Text

Tormented by a Ghost

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

TW: small mention of smut and simon being kinda mean

TY TO MY BETA FOR MAKING THIS 10X BETTER @c-h-a-r-n-i-k

Tired of living with your family, you decide to move out. There's just one problem— Rent is too costly to afford on your own. You complain about it to your friend, and they tell you that they know someone who's also looking for a roommate and preferably another female. Fantastic!

Your friend gives you her number and ya'll are moving in together by the end of the month. It was great. No nagging parents, no micromanagement, nothing. You loved it. Until your roommate brings her man over. And he's a fucking bully.

You're crawling home from a hard day at work, and you want nothing more than some wine on a quiet night. Unlocking the door, you step into the flat. The lights aren't turned on so you assume your roommate isn't home.

Dumping your bag in your room, you make a beeline towards the kitchen. As you're bent over in the fridge, your roommate's door opens.

"Hey,” you call out, "I'm pourin' myself a glass of wine if you're interested!"

Then an assertive, baritone voice speaks from behind you.

"You must be the roommate."

You give an ear-piercing scream as you jump, whipping around to face him with a hand over your racing heart.

"Fuckin' hell! No, it's okay, I don't need my hearin' er nothin'." he scolds.

"What the fuck! I almost flat-lined with my head in the fridge because of you!"

Then you get a good look at him. This monster of a man is a minimum 6'3, with a black balaclava covering his face, a black long-sleeve shirt, and grey sweats. You tried real hard to not ogle the tattoo that stains his exposed left arm. And the grey sweats, we all know why. Cursed be your fetish for thick forearms and big hands.

He leans his head back, looking down his nose at you.

"I think it'd be an improvement," he says, "You face down, I mean," and your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline as he chuckles.

You don't know who he thinks he is, talking to you—a complete stranger— like that but you aren't about to take his shit.

You sneer. "Fuck you. Yeah, I bet that's the view you get the most. Women willingly turn away to not get a look at your mug. Did my roommate ask you to put that mask on so she could face you during sex?"

He steps forward, his height allowing him to tower over you, and growls out, "You callin' me ugly?"

Smirking, you roll your eyes. Of course.

"I don't see any other reason for you to hide your face. Not that it matters to me— I'm not the one that has to tolerate it."

His eyes squint at you as he retorts, "I'm quite the opposite."

Opening your mouth, you're about to tell him that he can say whatever helps him sleep at night when your roommate calls out to the big brute in front of you.

"Ghost? What's taking so long?" she asks.

You tried and failed miserably to hide your mocking giggle at hearing his name, and he leers at you in response. "Go on, Ghost. You're being called back into the realm of the dead."

As he steps away, he says with contempt, "Dumb little bird doesn't know what she's talking about," before walking over to your roommate, looping his arm around her shoulders and going into her room.

He probably doesn't even know your name and he laid into you like he's hated you his whole life. After pouring yourself a glass of wine, you shake your head and walk towards your bedroom. Freak.

One day, after having your friend with benefits over in the morning for some nice stress relief, you walk him out. And fucking Ghost is sitting on the couch with his arms crossed. You quickly shuffle your friend out the door, face glowing with embarrassment.

Why was he here? Jesus Christ, now he's going to watch you do the walk of shame around the flat. Hopefully, he won't say anything. As you walk away from the door to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, Ghost speaks up.

"Well, that was pathetic."

You hang your head and close your eyes in resignation. Should've known someone as toxic as he wouldn't mind his own goddamn business.

"What now, Ghost?"

He sounds oddly smug as he says, "I've been here for a couple of hours, and I didn't hear anything coming out of your room. Sounds like he doesn't know what to do with a cunt."

Behind gritted teeth, you grind out, "Don't worry about my pussy, bud. You've got yours coming in," and you hold the n as you look at your watch, "30 minutes. Now piss off."

As you stomp away towards your room, the bottle of water all but forgotten, you hear him let out a deep chuckle. He's an asshole. A physically attractive one, sans the face, but still an asshole. You're going to have to get your friend to come over more often if Ghost is going to continue being around with those jacked arms and deliciously tight grey sweats.

Sucking your teeth, you make a mental note to ask your roommate why she gave him a key to your shared flat without asking.

A week later, your roommate has Ghost over and you figure it'd be a good time to get some action yourself. You send him a text and in less than 20 minutes, you're letting him in. Hugging him, you tell him to go to the bedroom. But he's not paying attention to you— he's looking directly behind you.

Turning around to look, it's Ghost. Goddamn it. And this time he's shirtless with his arms crossed and a skull mask on. God fucking damn it. Pulling the arm of your friend, he looks down at you and you tell him to go on, that you'll be there soon.

He nods, walking away with one last look at the phantom leaning against your roommate's door. Exhaling a ragged sigh, you turn back to Ghost.

"Can I help you?"

He shakes his head mutely before responding, "No, lovie, but I can help you." You shake your head at his nonsense.

"No. I'm not doing this with you."

You turn to walk away when he speaks again.

"Yer really gonna let him touch you again? He clearly doesn't know what he's doing— Bedroom's silent as a crypt. Even with those glasses he's got on, he can't find what he should be lookin' for."

Insulted for your friend, you face Ghost with a disbelieving look on your face.

"You're not seriously standing here trying to cockblock me. You—" his audacity has you stammering, "You have no idea what I'm like. Maybe I'm just naturally quiet in bed."

Ghost stares at you for a solid minute before he shrugs and goes back to your roommate.

Unbelievable asshole. Why does he have to look so good shirtless, the berk.

You start noticing that Ghost is there a couple of hours before your roommate gets there and you'd think it's weird if you weren't too busy being distracted by the fact that he's always taunting you one way or the other. And then one day, you question him on it.

"You do know your girlfriend won't be home until the evening? It's barely 3."

Ghost turns his head from the TV to look at you and grunts.

"Not my girlfriend." That's news to you.

"Then why you spendin' so much time over here? You're gonna have me thinkin' you like spending time in my delightful presence." you banter with a teasing smile.

Ghost continues to stare at you and the heated look in his eyes confuses you but then he turns back to the TV.

"I can't stand ya, ya daft bint."

You pretend you don't hear the muted tenderness in his voice.

And on a sunny day, it all comes crashing down. The boys are over again, but this time Ghost is boring holes into the back of your head as you both go into your respective rooms. You're straddling your boy's hips shirtless when you hear your roommate's furious yelling from the other side of the flat and then stomping towards the front door before it slams closed.

After your bedroom door is busted open, the bolt being broken out of the faceplate from the brutal strength behind the force— and you're jumping off the bed and crossing your arms over your exposed chest.

It's Ghost and he's staring directly at your friend on the bed.

"No." He stomps over to grab your friend by his shirt and drags him off the bed and towards the front door before tossing him against it with a nasty-sounding slam.

"Get the fuck out."

Your friend is spluttering when Ghost cuts him off.

"If I see you here again, I'm turnin’ those silly little glasses," and he taps a lens with his finger, "into contacts. Now get the fuck out. I won't repeat myself." And with that, he trips over his own feet running out the door.

You're standing in the living room. eyes are wide in disbelief. What just happened? There's a moment of silence before Ghost breaks it.

"Your roommate won't be coming back today." He walks over to you picks you up to sit you on the kitchen countertop and lifts his mask over his mouth.

"Now. You're going to come on my tongue before I fuck you and personally test out this 'I'm quiet' theory, pet." You look down at him and sigh.

"I think I'm gonna need a new roommate," you lament.

Pulling the gusset of your knickers to the side, he says, "Don't worry your pretty little head over that. I'll be moving in with you. Also, no. You don't have a choice."

He digs his fingers into your thigh and purrs against your skin, “If you find it in you to scream, my real name’s Simon.”

And with the way his usually sharp tongue delicately rubs against your clit, you can't find it in you to argue.

A/N: dreamt of this and it had me in a chokehold.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod

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lemonlover1110 · 6 months

Text

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤

Suguru Getou & Kento Nanami

[Chapter 1] A Very Special Birthday

Story Masterlist - Next Chapter →

Pairing: Suguru Getou x f!Reader x Kento Nanami

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

“Mommy.” There’s someone poking your face over and over again, very early in the morning. It’s a lot of work for you to get your eyes open, but you eventually get them open to find your now three-year-old with a bright smile on her face. Her energy is infectious which causes you to smile as well. You fill up her face with kisses until she stops you, claiming, “Brush your teeth.”

“You could be nicer, Sayuri.” You respond with a chuckle. You stand up from the bed and walk to the bathroom to start your morning. You rush this morning since you want to rush to be by your baby’s side. But when you exit the bathroom, she isn’t in your room. You furrow your brows, but your eyes land on the half open door. You catch the smell of the delicious food, and you immediately know who else is joining you in the apartment.

You walk out of your room to find your daughter pulling the hem of her father’s pants. His back is to you since he’s facing the stove. He doesn’t wear anything special today even though it’s a very special day; just black jeans, and a long black sleeve shirt that’s rolled up to show off his sleeves of tattoos– And because it’s hot since he’s near a stove. You hear Suguru tell her, “Why don’t you wait by the table, princess? I’m scared you’ll get burned if you’re around here.”

“I wanna help.” She says but he’s hearing none of it. And to help out Suguru, you walk over to them and pick her up from the floor. You kiss her face over and over again.

“There’s my sweet birthday girl. How are you, honey?” You ask, and there’s a bright smile on her face. She forgets about the fact that she wants to help out her father, and remembers the fact that it’s her very special day; she’ll forget about it in a couple of minutes, but she gets so very excited when she remembers. “How does it feel to be three?”

“Good.” She answers. Suguru finally gets her breakfast off the stove and cuts it into small pieces for his precious daughter. He opens the fridge and he asks,

“You want whipped cream on your pancakes?” And she almost bursts your eardrums as she yells back a very enthusiastic yes. It’s a very special occasion, of course Suguru is going to spoil his little princess. When the sweet breakfast is ready, he sets it down on the table for her, and you put her down so she can take a seat.

You glance at it, pancakes smothered in syrup with some strawberries and blueberries on top– And of course, the whipped cream the Suguru added. You two watch as she begins to eat, and when she takes her first bite, Suguru says, “I made some pancakes for you too.”

“You better, or else I would’ve kicked you out.” You joke, although he takes the threat seriously. He did use your stove and your ingredients to make the breakfast, the very least he could do is make some for you. You prepare your plate, watching how Suguru takes a seat next to his daughter. You speak up, “Didn’t you make anything for yourself?”

“I had some breakfast with Kumi.” He answers, and your brows raise. You don’t give it much thought though, that’s his girlfriend. You just were expecting him to have breakfast with his daughter, that’s all. At the very least, he sits next to her after making her a delicious plate of food. He focuses his attention on his daughter, laughing as she makes a mess. “Is that good, princess? You seem to enjoy it.”

“Yes.” She answers with her mouth still full of food, which is something that Suguru would usually reprimand her for but he lets it slide this morning. You walk over to the table and take the other seat beside her, quietly beginning to eat.

Suguru watches his greatest gift, a subtle smile on his lips. Her birth wasn’t all that ideal since your pregnancy wasn’t planned at all but she became his whole world when he first listened to her heartbeat. You were friends with Suguru, and after he broke up with his girlfriend, he needed a rebound. You were also having some romantic problems, and it ended up in you seeking comfort in each other. Your relationship (if it can even be called that) ended a couple months after, when he got back with his girlfriend, Kumi. Your friendship practically ended because there was no way you could go back to normal after hooking up, in the end, you had no option but to go back to being friends since you were pregnant.

Your pregnancy was rather… A weird one. When you found out, your first thought was to get an abortion since you weren’t with Suguru, but when you told him the news, the man almost begged you to keep the baby. After much pondering, you decided to keep your daughter and to raise her alongside Suguru, even if you weren’t together. He moved in shortly after, and lived with you for the first two years of her life, moving out recently to be with his on-and-off girlfriend.

Luckily, you have no complaints about them. Kumi is a wonderful figure for your daughter, and while you aren’t friends, you are civil with each other. She has a good reason to not like you, plus, she’s not the easiest woman to get along with.

“What do you want to do today, Sayuri?” You ask. You’ll be having a small birthday party later in the night, but you don’t have anything planned out for the day. She puts her tiny index finger on her chin, tilting her head slightly to the side. She thinks about what she wants to do, she just has so many options.

“I have a very busy day, so I won’t be able to join you.” Suguru answers, and you’re surprised that he booked clients today of all days. The past two birthdays the man refuses to do any tattoos because he wants to spend all day with his daughter. It seems that his priorities slowly shift… He’s been working a lot lately though, and you might have an idea why.

“It’s alright, Kento is joining us.” You respond, and you watch him roll his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He tries to act like it doesn’t bother him, but you know it does. You don’t understand why he’s so hostile with Kento, the pair used to get along well before Sayuri was born, but they seem to butt heads since her birth.

“Doesn’t he have to work?” He asks, and you shake your head in response.

“He asked for the day off.” You tell him, and he scoffs. You can’t help but ask, “Why are you so… Annoyed by it?”

“Sayuri, when you’re done, can you go to your room to change out of your pajamas?” He looks at his daughter, and her brows furrow.

“I haven’t told mommy yet.” She answers, and Suguru sweetly smiles at her.

“You will in a minute, I have to talk to her about something. It’s a surprise.” He lies to lure her away, but she doesn’t easily fall for it. Her ears perk up at the mention of a surprise, which clearly wasn’t Suguru’s best option of words.

“I wanna know.” She says, and Suguru shakes his head. She gives him doe eyes, hoping that’ll help persuade her father since it’s worked in the past. It doesn’t though.

“It’s a surprise. If you know then I won’t be able to give it to you.” Suguru responds, and she has no option but to stand up from her chair and walk to her room. When she tries to slam the door of her room, Suguru speaks up, “Why does he act like he’s her father? Are you two dating or what?”

“If we were dating, it’d be none of your business. We’re just friends anyway, he just wants to be there for her.” You tell him, and of course he rolls his eyes. He doesn’t like that, it’s clear that Kento is trying to be a parental role and Suguru doesn’t like that. Sayuri has one father, that’s all she needs. “She adores Kento anyway.”

“Isn’t he coming to the birthday party? Isn’t that enough?” Suguru replies. You click your tongue, annoyed by his response.

“He took the day off to come with us, the very least I can do is allow him.” You answer, and he stands up from the chair to clean up. You’re not telling Kento to stay home because of the simple fact that Suguru doesn’t like the man– He chose to work today, that’s his own fault.

“I’m Sayuri’s father.” He says, and you chuckle.

“I didn’t say otherwise, Kento is not even my boyfriend.” You stand up as well, grabbing your plate and taking it to the sink as Suguru begins to do the dishes.

“He likes you.” Suguru states, and you let out a sigh. Suguru always had the bad habit of accusing every man that looks your way of liking you. You had serious problems with his jealousy when you were seeing each other.

“I wish. He’d be the perfect step father for Sayuri.” You comment, and he clenches his jaw. He’s about to say something about it, but Sayuri calls your name and you rush to her aid.

“Need help.” She says, and you rush to her side to help her change into the outfit that she picked out. You help her put on the yellow dress and the black leggings, before going to the bathroom to grab her hair products to style her hair. You sit on her bed, and she kneels in front of you so you can brush her hair.

“Did you pick, baby? What do you want to do?” You ask her, hoping it’ll take her mind off the fact that you’re doing her hair. Each of your movements always results in a whine from her, even though you’ve barely touched her hair.

“Playground? Please?” She responds, and you hum in response. You knew she’d land on something similar. You feel Suguru’s eyes on you, staring from the doorway, watching as you do his daughter’s hair.

“What are you doing, Suguru? It’s weird for you to just stare.” You tell him, grabbing one of Sayuri’s bee hair clips and putting it in the front of her hair.

“Just waiting for you to finish, I have to get going soon.” Suguru says, and Sayuri rises from the floor, running to her father. He picks her up from the floor and kisses her cheek. He caresses her cheek, “Happy birthday, princess. I love you.”

“I love you.” She answers, and it makes the man smile from ear to ear.

“I’ll come back with your present, princess. You’re going to love it.” He kisses her cheek again before putting her down on the floor. He waves at you, and before he can go you speak up,

“Are you still showing up to help me set up?” He nods in response. You awkwardly smile at him before waving, and he waves again before walking away.

“Can we go?” Sayuri asks, and you shake your head.

“Girl, I’m still in my pajamas. Wait for me to get ready.” You chuckle, and she sticks out her bottom lip. You stand up and begin to walk out of the room, and she follows behind you. She never leaves you alone, and honestly, you’re glad she doesn’t.

“Mommy, hurry.”

You keep a close eye on Sayuri as she runs around. You often wonder how so much energy resides in such a small body. She’s sweating as she goes down the slide and quickly runs to go up again. She happily does it over and over again, and you almost laugh, knowing that after the second time you’d be too tired to go up the slide again.

So focused, you miss the man that approaches you, until he finally greets you. You put your hand over your heart, spooked by him. He notices and apologizes, and you stand up from the bench. You playfully hit his arm before giving him a side hug.

“How are you, Kento? I didn’t expect you to come so fast.” You take a seat again, and he takes a seat next to you. He searches the playground, and he spots Sayuri quickly. She’s wearing something yellow, it seems to be her favorite color lately.

“I have nothing to do this morning, so of course I came to see my two favorite girls.” He says, and you immediately think of Suguru. He’s plaguing your mind with stupid ideas. Kento simply isn’t very popular with women, so of course you and your daughter are his favorite girls. “How has she been doing today? Does she realize it’s her birthday?”

“She does, had to tell her like three times but now she knows. She’s using it to her advantage too.” You share, and it makes a chuckle escape his lips. He expected nothing less from her, in fact, he’s proud. “She’s expecting a big gift from you.”

“And she will get one. I’ll give it to her at her birthday party.” He assures you. You love the fact that he spoils her, he’s the absolute sweetest with her. Suguru gets jealous over the fact that Kento is trying to become a father figure to your daughter, but you think it’s sweet. Plus, Kento is more of an uncle than a wannabe father. “Did you already eat breakfast?”

“Suguru came over and made us something.” You answer, and his brows raise, surprised. You don’t understand his reaction though, Suguru always shows up for his daughter. Kento should know better than anyone. Then you hear his stomach growl and you chuckle, reaching into your bag to pull out a snack for him, “I expected you of all people to have eaten something.”

“I’ll just get something to eat after this.” He doesn’t take the snack from your hands, assuming that it’s for Sayuri. He doesn’t want to take something that’s supposed to be for your daughter. You insist that he takes the snack, forcing his palm open and putting the bag in his grasp.

“We’re going out to lunch after this, but that’ll take a while. I have other food packed for Sayuri.” You insist, and Kento opens the small bag of chips. You laugh, looking at the other stuff that you have packed. “She’ll be eating baby carrots.”

“Baby carrots? She’s going to hate me.” He responds, almost spitting out the chips in his mouth because of his sudden regret– He then realizes just how fucking gross that is so he continues chewing slowly.

“She likes baby carrots, you’ll be fine. Just hide the bag– She’s coming over now.” You warn him, and he hides the bag behind him. Sayuri’s eyes land on him, and she runs over to him with open arms, causing the man to stand up from his seat and crouch down. He welcomes her warm hug, a smile on his lips.

“I missed you, Nanamin.” It makes Kento hug her tighter, but his grip loosens since he gets scared that he’s hurting her in any way. He comes around a lot, but lately he’s gotten too busy. You’re the one that sees him, Sayuri spends the night with her father and you go out with Kento. But their usual princess movie marathons haven’t been happening, and she can’t remember the last time she played dolls with the man that’s in front of her. He kisses her temple before saying,

“I missed you too, Sayuri. Happy birthday.” He responds, and she thanks him. She walks over to you, and Kento retakes his seat.

“Want my snack.” She tells you, and you reach into your bag to pull out the baby carrots.

“What do you say?” You ask her, and she shrugs.

“I’m hungry.” She answers, and you can only blame Suguru for it. You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

“Please, you say please.” You correct her. You give her the baby carrots, and she quietly begins to munch on them. It makes Kento feel less bad about the fact that he’s eating her bag of chips. He quietly brings it out of hiding, and her eyes light up when she notices it. She extends her small palm out and gives him puppy eyes.

“Can I have some, please?” She puts on her sweetest voice, and she magically remembers the word that seems to slip her mind. Kento isn’t going to refuse. He forgets he’s hungry and how his stomach feels uncomfortable, and he gives her the whole bag of chips. She squeals happily, thinking she has the best uncle in the world, little does she know that the chips are originally hers and he stole them.

“What do you want for lunch?” Kento asks her while she stuffs her mouth. She ends up shrugging, not having anything in mind since the only thing she wants to eat is the chips that she holds in her hand. Your hand goes to her back and rests on it while you look down at her.

“Do you want a burger, baby? You were begging for one last night.” You suggest, and her eyes light up as she looks up at you. She nods her head in response, getting excited at the thought of eating a cheeseburger with fries. “Then we’ll get one.”

“I was just thinking of a burger too. Great minds think alike.” Kento comments, and she hums in response. She finishes her bag of chips and runs back to the playground. Leaving you alone, you talk with Kento about your lives, mostly joking around with each other.

You dress Sayuri in her special outfit, one that she picked out for this very important occasion. She wanted to look like a certain princess that has a yellow dress, a princess that’s become her favorite for the simple fact that the outfit she wears is her favorite color. You have to prepare the place for her birthday party, and while you were expecting Suguru to show up and help you out, he leaves you stranded. Luckily, you can call Kento for backup and he comes running to aid you; with his help, you manage to get the house and everything ready.

“Are you okay?” Kento asks, when he catches you washing some dishes. He cleaned everything up, so he wonders why you’re cleaning everything again. And why you’re doing it so harshly. Waiting for an answer is useless. He grows impatient. “Does this have to do with Suguru?”

“He told me he was going to come here to help. His family, my family, our friends, and some of Sayuri’s daycare friends. And look at him, he’s not here. He’s not answering my calls either.” You say. “He’s a son of a– You know what? Go check on Sayuri. I have to finish this.”

“You sure? I can finish up here and you can get ready…” Kento offers, but you shake your head in response. You’re far from ready, but in order to relax yourself you need to clean up. It’s odd, but it’s the way you relax. “I’ll go check on her then.”

When you finish rewashing the dishes, you look for another chore to redo. But you look at the time, and realize that you do have to start getting ready. You take a moment to check up on Kento and Sayuri, finding them playing with her dolls before you walk to your room. You leave the door open and change your outfit into something that isn’t your rags, and you put on some light makeup. You don’t put in a lot of effort into it but you manage to look cute. Presentable for your guests.

“You look beautiful.” Kento says when he sees you again. The corner of your lips turn upward, and you mutter a thank you. Your daughter tries to force Kento to pay attention to the rag doll that’s in his hands, and she does so best by hitting him with the plush that’s in her hand. You give her a mom look which is enough to scare her; you’re grateful for it because it’s her birthday and you have no intention of raising your voice at her.

“Sorry, Nanamin.” She sticks out her bottom lip, something that always works when she needs to be forgiven. He wraps his arms around her, assuring her that it’s okay. She pulls away and asks you, “When is daddy coming?”

“I don’t know, honey. He should get here soon.” You answer. You wish you could reach the man that’s ignoring your calls. He’ll probably show up around the time guests do so you won’t be able to berate him. Knowing him, he’ll leave before you can even get a word in. You think about calling him again, even though you have a feeling your call will go unanswered for the umpteenth time. You then tell her, “Clean up your toys. People will get here soon.”

“Okay.” She answers, and she takes the rag doll from Kento and begins to put them in her toy box. She leaves her favorite doll on her bed, and then walks to you. You grab her hand and take her to the table that you’ve decorated with her favorite princess. You pick her up and sit her down in the middle of the table.

“Let’s take some photos, baby.” You tell her, and you take out your phone to begin taking pictures of her. She smiles showing her teeth, clearly forcing herself to smile for the camera. It makes you laugh. You call Kento and he’s by your side within seconds. He knows what to do immediately, taking the phone from your hand as you walk over and pose by your baby’s side. Kento comments how good you both look and tells you to say “cheese” before snapping a couple of pictures.

“Your turn, Kento. Stand right next to her.” You take the phone from his hand and he poses next to her. The first picture is awkward, but then Sayuri stretches her arms up, wanting to be picked up. So he does it. The second picture is much cuter, and you swear you’ll print it out and frame it. Sayuri and her uncle Nanamin. It makes you say, “Let me take another picture. You two are so cute.”

You’re so caught up in what you’re doing that you don’t hear the front door open, and when you realize, it’s because Suguru’s voice enrages you, “Aw are taking pictures without me?”

“Let me take another one.” You completely ignore Suguru, deciding that yelling (your way of voicing your feelings at the moment) isn’t the best thing to do right now. You have your daughter that’s right in front of you. Suguru doesn’t like being ignored, if you don’t acknowledge him, neither will Kento. Sayuri only speaks up when Kento puts her on the ground, and that’s when she runs to her father, excited to finally see him again.

“There’s my princess. How are you doing, baby? I hope your day has been amazing.” Suguru kisses her cheeks when he picks her up from the ground. You cross your arms as you watch them, your eyes falling on Kumi who is staring back at you. Disdain in her eyes which makes you roll your eyes. You usually try to disguise your annoyance, but today you’re fed up with her and her boyfriend. You don’t have the energy to be nice to them.

“Kento, come with me to the kitchen, please.” You look at Kento, and he nods in response. He follows after you. He helps you out with what you need to finish up, doing so quietly since he senses you’re annoyed. He watches as you get more irritated as you hear Suguru and Kumi talking to your daughter.

“Surprised you didn’t yell at him.” Kento lowers his voice to talk to you, not wanting anyone to hear. You raise your brows, a sigh leaving your lips.

“Not while Sayuri is there.” You answer. You don’t want to cause a scene yet. The doorbell rings, and you have to take a deep breath. You need a minute to calm down. The man that’s next to you knows you like the back of his hand. He ends up saying,

“I’ll open the door.”

Interacting with everyone at first is hard, but you loosen up and stop paying attention to Suguru around an hour in. You’re celebrating your baby’s third year of life, you shouldn’t let Suguru ruin your night. You manage to ignore him at the beginning of the night, talking to friends and family, as well as paying attention to your daughter.

There comes a moment that you do have to interact with him, and it’s when you have to sing happy birthday to your daughter. Even then, you don’t pay much attention to him. Kento turns off the lights and you light up three small candles before everyone begins to sing to your daughter.

Her eyes glance at the tiny fires in front of her, and she’s too engrossed by it to pay attention to the people that sing to her. Until she hears her name, and she looks up at her father and then at you. You two chuckle, exchanging a look with each other before focusing back on her. When the song comes to an end, Suguru has to remind her, “Blow out the candles, princess.”

When she finally puts her lips together and blows out the candles, and the moment the candles are put out, Kumi steps out of the place which causes Suguru to run after her. Your annoyance is back and worse than before. You usually take pictures with her after the candle is blown out– Either during her birthday, Suguru’s, or yours, it’s your tradition. But he steps out for some reason.

“Where’s Suguru? I want to take some pictures.” Suguru’s mother asks when the lights are turned back on. Sayuri also looks around for her father, but she doesn’t spot him. Luckily, she spots Kento and she extends her hand and reaches out for Kento.

“Nanamin.” She calls out for him, and he runs to be by her side. That’s when you take your customary pictures, even if they aren’t with Suguru. Kento takes his place, and helps Sayuri cut the first slice of the cake. They both hold a knife and Kento sticks it into a corner of the cake. They serve the first slice, and they put it on a paper plate. Kento then gives it to her.

“You can eat it, honey. I’ll finish up here.” Kento tells her, and she gets off the chair that she stands on, walking to the couch to eat her slice of cake. Kento begins to serve everyone a slice, and you’re thankful that he’s by your side because you’re so close to losing it.

“Thank you.” You mutter to Kento, helping him serve the cake. You finish up, making sure there isn’t a single slice left for Suguru or Kumi, and you take a seat.

Ten minutes later, they’re back inside, and Kumi looks annoyed. Suguru sighs and looks around before he says, “I hope there’s some cake left.”

“There isn’t.” You answer. You make sure to hum the next time you take another bite, wanting to make note of how good the cake is, and how he won’t be having any. Until your daughter gives her plate to her father, putting her hand over her tummy and announcing,

“I’m full.” He happily takes the plate from her. He offers some to his girlfriend, but she shakes her head in response. Her arms are crossed and she tries to make herself go unnoticed. Suguru tries to sit down on the empty spot next to you, which causes you to stand up and practically run elsewhere.

Your anger doesn’t go unnoticed.

Shortly after, people begin to leave one by one. Sayuri wants to open her gifts, but you hold off till almost everyone is gone because you’re scared that she’ll react badly if she opens a gift she doesn’t like. Suguru’s parents are the last to leave, and you’re left with Kento, Suguru, Kumi, and your daughter, of course.

You’re about to pick a random gift to give to her, but Suguru says, “Open mine first!”

He grabs the gift that he wrapped for his baby girl, and he gives it to her. She unwraps it, and her tiny brows furrow. It’s a cute pink stuffed animal… She glares at her father and then says, “I don’t like it.”

“Huh? Kumi told me that it’s what kids want these days. Her niece has one and she loves it.” Suguru says, but that doesn’t change his daughter’s mind. She tosses it to the side, and while you’d lecture her about being grateful for her gift, you’re mad at Suguru. He deserves it for the awful gift.

“Nanamin.” She looks at Kento, and he raises his brows before realizing what she wants. He looks for his gift. He gives it to her, and her eyes light up when she unwraps it and sees a doll that she keeps seeing on TV.

“What do you say, Sayuri?” You say, and she wraps her arms around Kento. He wastes no time in hugging her back.

“Thank you.” She responds, and Kento smiles.

“I’m glad you like it, Sayuri.” Kento replies. You watch Suguru’s face, full of contempt which almost makes you smirk. Maybe some other time you’d worry about his thoughts, how he probably thinks that Kento is trying to take his place. But you hope that’s what he’s thinking now, and hope that he’s seething at the fact that your daughter prefers Kento’s gift over his dumb one.

You continue passing her gifts but none surpass Kento’s. She goes to her room to play with her new toys, while Suguru, Kento, and you clean up the place. Kento and Suguru find themselves alone in the kitchen, and Kento tries his best to ignore the man’s presence. But Suguru clears his throat to get Kento’s attention.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” Suguru comments, making Kento raise his brows in utter confusion. Kento looks around, wondering if Suguru is talking to him.

“And what is that?” Kento asks, putting the plate that he scrubs down in the sink, washing the soap off his hands. He crosses his arms, turning his attention to Suguru. He repeats the question, “What am I trying to do, Suguru?”

“You’re trying to play dad and I don’t like that. She’s my daughter.” Suguru says, making a scoff come from Kento’s lips. Kento isn’t exactly a confrontational man, he usually tends to agree with people that are in the wrong simply to move on past a problem; he doesn’t have the energy to deal with it all. But he can’t keep quiet for some reason.

“Trying to play dad? By what exactly? By being decent to my best friend and her daughter? By getting her daughter a gift she actually wanted?” He questions, and the attitude that comes from Kento’s voice makes his blood boil. How dare Kento talk to him like that? Who does he think he is? “Last time I checked, I’m just being a good friend, and a great uncle to Sayuri. I’m sorry that I act as a better father figure than you.”

“Excuse me?” There’s full offense in Suguru’s voice. Kento isn’t lying– At least not in his eyes. Sure, Suguru has been a great father but lately he’s been putting other matters before his daughter. Luckily for Sayuri, Kento can step in for her father.

“You heard me. Guess who spent most of the day with her? I did.” Kento responds. “I took her to lunch, and I was the one who came here to help set up the party. I’m starting to act more like her father than you.”

“I know you like her mother, but don’t you dare think that you’ll ever be anything like Sayuri’s dad. This is your first and only warning, Nanami.” Suguru sounds threatening, but Kento doesn’t take him seriously; at the very least, he doesn’t care. He won’t push it any further though, so Kento bites his tongue.

“Everything okay here?” You ask as you step into the kitchen. You couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but you knew they were talking even though the men never talk. Suguru is the one that speaks up,

“Why are you mad?”

“Why do you think, Suguru?” You put your hand on your hip. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

He’s about to justify his actions– Not showing up to help set up, ignoring your calls, walking out right after singing happy birthday. He’s a guilty man, but he has to justify himself. And you know he does, and you stop him right on his tracks.

“Don’t. Not in the mood. Help Sayuri clean up her new toys and say goodnight. I can’t stand to look at you any longer.” You refrain from talking about his girlfriend because he’ll get upset, but you can’t stand having her in your house for another minute.

“Yes, ma’am.” Suguru answers, choosing his words carefully because he doesn’t want you to be mad at him. Suguru walks past you and out of the kitchen, and when he’s out of sight you walk to Kento. You kiss his cheek.

“Thank you for tonight, Kento. You’re simply the best.” He turns back to washing dishes because his face warms up, and he doesn’t want you to notice how his cheeks turn pink.

“You don’t have to thank me. I loved helping out.” And you stand still for a moment, watching how he washes your dirty dishes. You couldn’t have asked for a better friend.

#jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen geto #suguru geto #getou suguru #getou #geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk geto #jujutsu kaisen suguru #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #kento x reader #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami fanfic #nanamin #jjk nanami #geto fanfic

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hearts4chriss · 12 days

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Teachers pet.

CollegeProfessor!Matt x CollegeStudent! black fem!

Prompt: in which you have a crush on ur teacher, yet he has a thing for you no matter how wrong it was, and he notices your little movements in class to get his attention, one day it pushes him over the edge and he teaches you a lesson for it, not with a bad grade

“I know I’m young but, my mind is well beyond my years”. - teachers pet by Melanie Martinez

Contains: teasing, loads of suggestive touching, neck sucking, spanking, desk sex!, backshots, m!oral receiving, degrading, dumification, f!oral receiving, mentions of Matt having a huge cock, overstimulation, pet names, HELLA dirty talk, choking, hair pulling, kissing, mentions of reader w fat ass, fantazing like this. HEAVYYY AFTERCARE

a/n: this one’s dirty as hell😭😭

Fuck.

I was in class sitting next to one of my friends trying my very hardest to focus on this lecture of business and finance 2, my teacher Matthew Sturniolo.

He made basically impossible, the all black pants with his sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone. And fuck those tattoos.

The way Matt’s rings would sit on his fingers, I’d desire for them to be on me and inside me.

He was undeniably attractive, and he knows that he is, he’s well aware of the affect he has on me, the same smirk he’d give me as he glanced around the class making sure we payed attention, whenever I was working and he’d whisper “you need any help, sweetheart?” His hot breath on my ear making my thighs close together.

Today was one of those days, I wanted to mess with him as I was well aware of what I could potentially make the 25 year old man feel.

I was in my dorm room with my roommate Anna @worldlxvlys as we were getting ready to head out to class.

I buttoned up my short sleeve white shirt with the red and navy plaid skirt just barely covering my ass as the thin pink material hugged my curves.

I slipped on my thigh length white socks with these stupid dress shoes putting my boho braids in a high ponytail.

I applied my lip gloss and soon enough I was ready to go just waiting for Anna.

“Girl let’s goooo”. I chuckled ushering her to the door and she rolled her eyes following suit.

“Let me guess you have Professor Sturniolo first period”. She nudged me playfully and I nodded

“Duh! That’s why I’m rushing you, so I can see that man”. I bite my finger mimicking a blowjob motion with my hands and she gasped slapping my shoulder as we walked up to the main hall.

Ur actually insane for that. She shook her head at me and I disagreed.

Soon after our chatters I made my way into my class.

The second she walked in I couldn’t help but let my eyes drift to her thighs, the way the thin white stockings cover her brown skin makes my pants tighten.

when she gave me that small smile, her lipgloss coating over her plump lips made me die to feel what they’d feel like on my cock.

When she turned to go to her desk, she bent down grabbing binder. Her skirt rose up making my cheeks turn a cherry shade as the thin pink material hugged the curves of her ass. I tried my hardest not to stare because she’s my student.

Of course she’s 8 minutes early.

I leaned back in my chair tilting my head back letting my mind wander.

oh fuck- you feel so good baby. I moaned as I thrusted deep inside her cunt, her legs shook against my desk as her nails clawed the front begging to cum for a 3rd time.

Please please- mm- let me cum I’ll be such a good girl I promise- she babbles as I lay a harsh smack on her ass and she jolts back against me.

should’ve thought about that before teasing me with that slutty skirt- I gripped her shoulder tightly thrusting harsher and quicker as he jaw dropped only producing whimpers and squeaks

I was stroking myself under the desk as low grunts flowed out my mouth just imagining this scenario.

She’s always do this shit on purpose. She never wore skirts this short unless I was teaching her that day.

Did she think I was clueless?

I’d been waiting for the right moment to bend her over and fuck the shit out of her, teach her her a lesson

The way she’d bite her lip at me as I was trying to teach, it all made sense she wanted to drive me crazy.

I threw my head back against my chair, completely forgetting she was in my class.

“Mr.Sturniolo are you- oh-“ my eyes widen when I turn around meeting him seeing his hand below the desk his cheeks turning a pink shade”

“Fuck just- shit I’m sorry sweetheart I can’t help myself around you-“ he mumbled groaning as his gaze met mine,- a wetness forming between my thighs.

“do you need my help?” I ask, realizing what I said I quickly turned my back and Matt let out a small laugh.

“I do actually, be a good girl for me and suck my cock yeah?” He smirks initiating for me to come over with 2 fingers and my throat tightens as I made my way to his desk.

I approach the side as he slides his chair out being met with his hand around his dick. Which was big.

hell the thickness of it was enough to make me squeeze my thighs together as well as the red tip along with the length. How was that supposed to fit in my mouth?

“What are you waiting for? Been dying to feel those lips on me all fucking semester”. Matt admits biting his bottom lip as I crawl on my hands and knees positing myself in front grabbing the base as he groans tilting his head back

I have his tip a few kitten licks making his hand gravitate towards my hair, the cool rings on my scalp before I started bobbing my head up and down.

“ah shit- feels so fucking good-“. He moaned watching me look so submissive below him, the sight of him alone in all black moaning my name turned me on so much more than It should’ve, and sucking him off was like a dream come true.

“Mmm fuck- ur such a good girl, helping ur professor out yeah?”. Matt shuddered pulling my braids slightly tighter and I nod as best I could before quickly resuming my actions, I had to make him cum in under 8 minutes.

“atta girl, keep going- gonna cum just watching you like this- sucking my cock like a little slut-“. His eyes flutter shut as I lick stripes up his dick, the veins on my tongue felt euphoric as well as hearing him sound like this just from me

“atta girl”, another thing he’d always call me, I wasn’t slow? No way he didn’t have maybe..have a thing for me. His student.

there was absolutely no doubt that I was a teachers pet. There was no other teacher I’d do this for, I’m not even failing his class I have an A-.

I felt him twitch in my throat, occasionally thrusting his hips tugging my hair.

“can i- fuck- fill ur pretty mouth up sweetheart?”. Matt pleads, almost as if the way he’s asking he wants to cum in my throat.

I tapped his thigh signaling he could and with that he came down my throat as I swallowed licking the excess from his dick.

“Was that okay Mr-“ I start off, slightly nervous because all I wanted was to make him feel good resulting in him laughing slightly.

“More than okay, you can call me Matt when I’m not teaching”. He gives me that signature sly smile that drives me up a wall helping me up as he fixed his pants and I began walking back to my seat.

As I watched her walk back, realizing how unbelievably sexy she looked in the skirt, a question filled my mind, biting lip watching her walk away.

“are you gonna behave today?” I said putting my belt back on, smirking slightly to see if she knew what I was talking about.

“What? I always behave”. I sit at my desk tilting my head to the side acting like a clueless puppy and he walks up placing his ringed hands on my desk staring down at me.

“If you consider wearing a skirt that short purposely bending over in front of me and giving me fuck me eyes, is behaving, I think your wrong honey”. He chuckles and my eyes widen as I bite my tongue. That’s was everything I was doing.

“So, if you don’t behave in class today, I might have to teach you a lesson sweetheart, you wouldn’t want that would you?”. His eyes pouring in my soul were captivating, almost immediately when those words left his lips I crossed my legs.

He tapped my shoulder going back to his desk and everyone started filing in the class and I let out a deep breath.

Nia @nicksmainbitch sat next to me and Scoots closer to me.

“Girl what’s tea, what happened?” She sat next to me and I side eyed Matt then opening my mouth showing her my throat and she gasped.

“NO F-“ she yelled before I shushed her seeing how he looked in my direction giving me a small wink making my stomach flutter.

“Ooo y’all nasty, I knew he liked you! Since the first fucking day, he’s been eyefucking you”. Nia whispered the last bit to me and tilted my head.

“Wait wait, how do you know? Tell me!”. I poke her teasingly and she laughs.

“Okay sooo….

August 31st Los Angeles California,

University of Southern California

somehow me and Nia applied for the same school and both got in and majored together in business so here we were roommates and in the same class.

I was pretty focused on my studies, hell I even got offered to Harvard and other ivy leagues guy USC seemed about right for me.

I walked into class immediately meeting eyes with my professor. Matthew Sturniolo.

the following week

I walked in class sitting next to y/n, the one thing I saw this past week was how he looked at her, the way he’d always make sure she was okay, the way he’d constantly pass her desk giving her a smile. No way he didn’t like her….

FASTFORWARD SECOND SEMESTER PRESENT

“Anddd yeah that’s basically what I noticed just within the first week”. She started before Matt let out an obnoxious cough.

“Do I need to separate you two?”. He said leaning on his desk speaking in his normal voice.

I bit my lip making eye contact with him watching his eyes widen.

“No Mr.Sturniolo I’ll stop talking”. I say slowly and nia taps my thigh and I let out a soft giggle looking up seeing Matt’s jaw clench I quickly remembered my punishment Id receive, but was that gonna stop me? Fuck no.

The majority of class consisted of me teasing him, purposely fixing my button down so my tits we’re practically falling out, dropping my pencil so I’d have to bend down, my ass poking out in front of him.

All of this justtt to push him over the edge.

If only I knew what I was in for.

Just as I was about to leave the class being I was the last one he pulled my arm closing the door and locking it.

“Where do you think you’re going?”. Matt tilts his head backing me against the wall the heat between my legs growing.

“You think I couldn’t see what you were doing sweetheart?”. His finger on my chin my eyes meeting his feeling my panties dampen.

“You have no idea what I’m about to do to you…” he smirks gripping my thighs wrapping them around his waist slamming me on his desk making me gasp when his lips come in contact with my neck.

“Matt..”. I sigh deeply tilting my head back as he continues sucking harshly on the soft skin closing my thighs.

Matt let’s put a chuckle as he marked me up, his stubble burning into my skin, the desire in my body growing the more he touched me. Wondering what he would do to me.

“Take this off for me”. He tugs on my shirt and I nodded un doing the buttons, watching how his breath would hitch, revealing my pink lacy bra matching with the panties I had on.

“God- you look so sexy in this”. Matt mumbles his hands groping my tits making me let out a soft moan as he pulled away and I whined before he slapped my thigh and I gasped watching him go down on his knees.

My heart beat picked up as he slid my skirt off and panties revealing my bare pussy directly in his face.

“Ur so fucking wet, did i do this to you sweetheart?” He smirks running two fingers through my folds making me whimper and my lips part slightly.

“I suggest you open that pretty mouth and answer me, because I have all day to fuck the attitude outta you”. He speaks somehow still dominate as he’s on his knees and my stomach flips at his filthy words.

“Yes- you did- it was you” I squirm impatiently and he chuckles.

“that’s more like it”. Matt said lowly before looking me in the eyes licking a stripe up my wetness making me moan out softly squeezing my eyes shut

“such a pretty pussy, can’t wait to see the mess you make”. His hot breath on my core sends vibrations through me as his lips attach make an obnoxious suction noise making me squeal and tug on his hair.

“O-oh god-“ my breathing picks up as I begin to moan without a pause as Matt’s tongue flicks at an inhumane pace, his nose grazing my bud and his stubble against my thighs.

His hands grip my thighs pulling me more onto his face and I shriek gripping Matt’s hair tighter only fueling his ego and desire to go quicker

I was in such a euphoric state, hearing his mouth mix with my wetness, I had lost it when he shook his head in my pussy, he was good

“fuck- oh my god-“. I shudder my chest heaving as I watch him feeling my eyes blur at the pace of Matt’s tongue, not wasting a second or a drop of my arousal as he became pussydrunk off of me.

“Mmm you taste so good..”. Matt’s warm breath against my dripping cunt leaving small kisses making me squeal from the pleasure, not removing his head from between my thighs once.

The sound of her moaning my name above me as I held onto her thighs keeping her upright. She tasted so good almost as if I was meant to do this to her. The way she would squirm in my grasp every time my nose brushed against her clit which was often because I couldn’t get enough of her. Her pussy was perfect and every wrong thought of the student-teacher was completely gone.

I’ve been waiting for this moment for months. My own fucking student whose thighs I was now buried in between.

“shit Matt-“. My eyes flutter shut letting him take over my body my hips occasionally shooting up before Matt pulls them back down holding me in place.

“yes- oh shittt im s-so close”. I moan loudly pulling on his hair tightly feeling my the pit in my stomach become hotter.

“yeah? I want all on my tongue baby, give it to me”. He speaks quickly before resuming thrusting his tongue in and out of me.

“Fuck! I’m c-cumming”. I squeal feeling my body loose control as I squirted all on his tongue and around his mouth as it dripped down his chin.

He laps up every last drop making sure not to waste any.

“Tired already?” He chuckles standing up beginning to unbuckle his belt again and that grabs my attention.

“Wait-what are you doing?” I gasp watching his pants drop followed by his boxers, his hard cock with that similar red tip from earlier, spring out hitting his stomach.

“Oh sweetheart you didn’t think I would keep you back and not fuck you?”. Matt smirks bending me over the desk, his hand holding my head sideways as I shriek and the sudden contact of the cool glass of his desk.

I feel his cool rings come in contact harshly with my ass leaving a stinging feeling along the soft skin.

“Just couldn’t behave today could you, hm?”. He taunts repeating the same action making me jolt, pushing against his cock.

“No? Looks like I’ll have to fuck some sense into you yeah?” Matt smacks my ass again slightly harder me squeal.

“Probably like this don’t you, getting treated like a whore by ur professor. Doesn’t it turn you on?” He grabs my neck making my throat tighten and i whimper at his words.

“That’s not a response sweetheart”. Matt shook his head chuckling whilst keeping that firm grip on my neck.

“I-f-fuck it turns me on-“. I choke out and he releases his grip to run his tip in between my folds, the sticky sound from my previous orgasm and his pre cum mixing caused him to groan out of pleasure.

“Fuck, can’t wait to fuck ur pussy loose”. Matt mumbles before sliding into me halfway and my legs already feel weak, the stretch of him was indescribable.

“I’m only halfway pretty girl, you gotta take all of me I know you can”. He presses a soft kiss to my back before pushing all the way bottoming out.

“matt-fuck p-please-“. I stutter on my words as he’s practically balls deep inside me.

“Please what? Use ur words baby”. He massages my hip.

“Fuck me”. I turn back to look at him, my bottom lip tucked between my teeth was more than enough for him to start moving, not letting me adjust to his large size.

Matt didn’t start off slow, he went right to hard rough thrusts causing his hips to connect with my ass roughly making all sorts of noises come out, hardly any words were formable.

“God you feel so good..been waiting for this”. Matt lets out a deep moan as his hands hold my hips forcing me to take all of him, his tip brushing my g spot making my legs shake and I scream each time.

“Mmph f-fuck..”. I cry out, babbling as he fucks me senseless becoming drunk on his cock.

“Can’t even get a word out? God ur such a slut”. His hands dig into my ass making me squeal gripping the edge of the desk.

Matt’s pace was like he didn’t plan on stopping, he wanted me to feel every thick inch of him, and that this was something I’d never forget.

“Can’t wait to see you full of my cum, gonna fill you up so good”. He grunts gripping my shoulder to snap his hips quicker and my jaw hangs open the only thing coming from are squeals, heavy breaths and moans of his name.

“shit shit- feels s-so good”. I squeak out just above a whisper, the way he was fucking me there was no way I’d be able to walk the next day.

Matt’s deep grunts and moans made my pussy clench around him, fuck I could probably cum in the next minute.

“Fuckk- I love this pussy so fuckin much-“. Matt shudders at the feeling of my walls closing in on his large cock, the pace and pleasure were enough to make me feel like this.

“Please please”. I babble out like a helpless puppy and he chuckles slowing his thrusts and I whine.

“Fuck-no please Matt I-i need to cum”. I whine impatiently and he slaps my ass and I jolt back again feeling the head of his dick abuse my g spot

“you sure? Didn’t seem that way in class”. He chuckles his pace more slow and deep still knocking the wind out of my lunges.

“No! I’m sorry i-I’ll be a good girl I promise just please let cum”. I beg and he rubs my side gently.

I let out a deep sigh to myself, I mean how awful would I be if I didn’t let my favourite student have an orgasm.

“Mm much better”. He mumbles resuming his pace and my head falls forward my stomach tightening again as I feel that knot begin to burst.

“Oh fuck! Yes yes I-I’m cumming-“. I squirm feeling a hot liquid trickle down his cock but yet, he doesn’t stop pounding inside me and I reach back to push his hand away but he grabs both of them placing them behind me.

“M-Matt too much I-I’m sensitive!”. I cry out and he shakes his head with a cocky grin slapping my ass harder than normal.

“Should’ve thought about that before misbehaving huh sweetheart”. Matt mocked me thrusts harshly as my cum coated his cock making a mess on his lower stomach and my ass.

Matt continued his harsh movements as I felt his dick twitch inside me.

“fuck I’m gonna cum inside you yeah? Fill you up with my mmph babies”. He groans not letting up on his pace as I already feel an orgasm approaching me again.

Tears roll down my face from overstimulation as I’m about to cum for a 3rd time today.

“O-oh god Matt-please cum inside me-“. I babble on my words feeling a bit of drool on the corner of my mouth begging him to fill me up with his cum.

“atta girl, cum for me sweetheart, I know you got one more in you”. He pants reaching down to rub my clit, feeling his fingers graze my overstimulated bud and I squeal at the pressure of his fingers.

“f-fuck!”. I scream curling my toes as I felt like I was going to pee but i began squirting all over his cock and lower stomach, Matt thrusted slowly before filling me full of his warm thick liquid.

Matt rested his head on my shoulder stuffing me full of his cum and catching our breath.

He slowly slid out of me. I winced at the loss of him, being he was quite large.

“Fuck-you look so hot like this”. Matt bit his lower lip, his voice raspy and tired as he looked at my abused hole, full of his and my cum leaking out dropping on the floor.

Matt noticed I hadn’t said a word, and my legs shook slightly from the pleasure and whimpers and pants left my mouth as I look like a rag doll, sheen layer of sweat covered my body.

“hey, baby you okay?”. Matt rubbed my shoulder waging for an answer.

“Yeah just- really tired”. I pant and he grabs my waist sitting me on his lap.

“I know, I wore ur ass out didn’t I”. He lets out a breathy chuckle and I slap his chest rolling my eyes.

1 month later

Ever since me and my teacher Matthew sturniolo had sex, we never stopped.

Literally never stopped.

“come on hurry up I have 10 minutes!” He pulls me into his office quickly beginning to unbuckle his belt

and the time after that…

“fuck fuck fuck!”. I threw my head back as he gripped my ass tightly rocking me on his cock as I rode him in his chair

“God you feel so fucking good on top of me sweetheart..”. Matt mumbles into my neck slapping my ass, his cool rings felt electric on my body

Shit I even started sleeping at his house on the weekends.

“morning gorgeous”. Matt yawns pulling me into his grasp again and I giggle pulling him into a kiss.

I was sleeping with, My professor, Mr. Sturniolo,

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#matt sturniolo #hearts4chrissmoots #hearts4chriss #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 1 month

Text

Revolving Around You

Beefy!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your ex, Wanda Maximoff, invites you to her wedding. You have no reason to go, but find a reason to stay.

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, alcohol consumption, and smoking weed

A/N: I really just wanted to write some Natasha fluff and I used the prompt [ wedding ] our muses are sat at the same table at a wedding for a mutual friend

You stared down at the invitation you had received from your long since ex, Wanda Maximoff, she'd be getting married soon. You really didn't talk much with Wanda anymore not since she got together with Vision, but when you did meet up and talk everything was fine.

You weren't expecting this though. Not this soon anyways as you stared down in shock at the lovely scarlet invite to their Spring wedding two months from now. Should you go? She sent the invite so obviously she wants you there, right? You grabbed your phone, scanning the QR code on the invite. It brought you to a page themed in such a way you could only assume it was their wedding theme. You checked off the box to RSVP. You held your breath after hitting send and even once the confirmation came through. Now you had to go through with it.

The ceremony was beautiful. Outside in the blossoming flower fields and apple trees of a rented out pasture. It honestly was a beautiful sight to behold. You'd gone wearing a light blue dress that fell at your mid thigh and a matching pair of open toed heels. Your hair in a half updo of a bun, the rest falling gracefully over your shoulders.

The reception itself was held in a renovated barn on the property. The table you were sitting at you knew no one. Well you didn't know anyone really at the wedding. You knew Wanda, Pietro, Vision, and the parents.

As everyone found their seats a raspy voice called out, “Looks like you're my seat mate for the next however many hours Wanda decides this reception should last.” Your head turned to see a red head, her hair in various braids. She wore a fitting suit that did absolutely nothing to hide all the muscles beneath the fabric. You could see her ear was covered in piercings along with her eyebrow and septum from the profile view you were currently getting. You couldn't help, but stare at the beauty sitting next to you. As you went to respond to the red head, she was shrugging off the suit jacket. The button up and tie she wore were almost the same as your dress. In fact if anyone were to give a quick glance they probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference. She hung the jacket on the chair. Turning towards you and as she rolled up her sleeves, revealing the double sleeves of tattoos on her arms.

“Wow…they're beautiful…” you meant to keep that thought in your head, but it slipped past your lips. A blush adorning your face as you turned away to hide.

“Well thank you pretty girl.” She leaned onto the table, all her attention on you as you downed your drink, suddenly feeling like you couldn't swallow. A chuckle falling past the redhead's lips. “I'm Natasha by the way, what's your name? Though I'll probably stick to calling you pretty girl with a reaction like that.” You looked over to see her smirking, another blush coming to your cheeks.

“Y/N…” you spoke quietly, but Natasha heard and tested it on her tongue,

“Y/N…hmmm I think that's a beautiful name that suits a pretty girl like you.”

A few hours into the reception you and Natasha are talking as if you've known each other your whole lives. Once the dance floor opens up after the first dance, Natasha holds out her hand. “Care to dance, pretty girl?” Her sultry voice finds your ears, sending a shiver through you. You don't speak a word, instead opting to just set your hand in hers. The way her hand held yours felt perfect, it felt right.

Her hand in yours, the other holding your waist as yours sat on her shoulder. She led the dance of you two and everything around you faded away. It was only Natasha. All you wanted to do was lean in and kiss the redhead, but you controlled yourself even though your head was swimming from the alcohol you've been consuming.

“You're, like, really handsome and beautiful.” You blurt out making her chuckle.

“Well pretty girl now that we've both said what we think about each other's appearance maybe we could go on a date outside of this wedding?” She offers cocking the pierced brow at you.

“Where do you live?” you slurred, looking up at her.

“New York.” Your eyes lit up, getting up closer to her face.

“Me too!” She smiled, leading you two outside the reception hall. Grabbing her jacket on the way out, setting it on your shoulders. The air had gotten cold now that the sun was down, but a bonfire was being lit by Vision's brother Tony and Wanda's brother Pietro.

You wanted to go over and get a seat, but Natasha had you against the wall. She wasn't holding you there, but she towered over you as she pulled you closer.

“Are you cold?” She asked in a low voice.

“Only a little. Your jacket is helping and your body heat...” Your voice trails off as you wrap your arms around her waist. You looked up at the redhead who took a hand to your cheek. Her thumb brushing gently over your skin.

“I could warm you up a bit more if you’d like?” You bit the inside of your lip, nodding your head as she pulled you against her, lifting you onto your tip toes as your lips brushed together. “Is this okay?” You didn’t answer verbally as you leaned up further to press your lips into hers. Your hands fisting her shirt and you were sure you wrinkled the fabric, but neither of you could bring yourself to care as you went from a simple kiss to her tongue swiping across your lip asking for entrance. When you opened your mouth for her and her tongue made its way into your mouth you realized she had a tongue piercing too, making you moan into her. She pulled you closer and didn’t pull away until you both were desperate for air.

She looked down at you with a satisfied smile. You knew you probably looked a bit hazy, the alcohol still swimming in your brain. You were normally much more reserved than this, but with everything that was happening you would have let Natasha take you right here in front of everyone and not cared one bit. Instead the two of you shared a handful of slow soft kisses as little whimpers and moans escaped you. It had been too long and you wanted her so badly, but one of your major rules was no sex on the first date and this wasn’t even a first date. This is a first meeting.

After Natasha had her fill with kissing you she pulled out a joint, flicking a lighter to it until you saw the paper start to burn, red glowing as she inhaled. As she exhaled she looked up towards the sky. You watched the cloud of smoke leave her lips, your jaw slack as you watched feeling a dampness pool between your thighs.

When Pietro came over he handed you a drink and asked if he could take a hit from Natasha who didn't mind as the two caught up. You stood there in awe, downing your drink, as the two went back and forth with the joint and with conversation.

Eventually the three of you made your way over to the bonfire. Wanda sat on Vision's lap as stories were told amongst friends and family. Natasha had sat down and practically mirrored Wanda when she pulled you to sit on her lap. You bit the inside of your lip as she held you against her, carrying on in her conversations. Your eye caught Wanda's, a knowing smirk on her face making you huff and look down.

“What's wrong pretty girl?” You felt Natasha's cheek press against your arm.

“Nothing…” you tried to lie, but she gripped your hip tight. A moan wanting to rip through you. “W-Wanda was looking…” you quietly admitted.

“Didn't the two of you date for a bit?” You nodded in response. “I'm surprised she let you go for someone like him.” Your head turned to face her. “Wanda's my best friend, but I think she's stupid for letting you go.” You felt your whole body go hot and a puddle between your thighs.

“T-thanks Natasha.” You spoke shyly, turning yourself more into her, burying your face against her. The alcohol was wearing off and you were getting tired without more being added into your system.

“Get comfy sweetie. I'm gonna keep talking with my friends.” Natasha's hand found your back, pulling you close. Her other arm hooking around your thighs to hold you there. You smiled against her. You thought this whole thing would be disastrous seeing your ex getting married, but meeting Natasha and getting to spend the whole evening together. Getting to kiss her and her just holding you in her arms. You hadn’t felt this happy or this secure in...you couldn’t even remember how long. You slowly fell asleep against her chest, listening to her heart beat, the sounds of people talking and the bonfire crackling.

#ley speaks #ley writes #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff fluff #beefy!nat #beefy!natasha #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x female

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headkiss · 1 year

Text

give you the moon

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: had you known getting your first tattoo would end up with you being in love with eddie munson, you might have gotten it a lot sooner.

word count: 17.8k

warnings: smut, probably inaccurate descriptions of tattooing processes (i tried my best!), strangers to friends to lovers, fluff

a/n: this one took forever but it’s finally done!!!! i’m sorry for the wait but hopefully u guys like it enough to forgive me :D

༄

You’ve always wanted a tattoo, and you figured now was as good a time as ever. Having just moved to Indianapolis, all by yourself, one change could lead to another.

New city, new apartment, new tattoo.

It may be irresponsible of you, but you settled for the first shop you found, the one closest to where you lived. A short walk away, harder to back out of. You knew you wouldn’t regret getting it, you just had to force yourself to sit through it, to commit.

The wind whips at your cheeks as you make your way to your consultation. You pull your sleeves over your hands and hope that it’ll be warm enough.

Once you’ve made it, the bell above the door rings to signify your entrance. A girl with brown curly hair sits at the front desk, a warm smile on her face. The place has dark floors, walls covered with different sketches that distract you for a moment.

“Hi! How can I help you?” The girl says, drawing your attention back to her. You walk the few steps up to the front desk.

“Hi, um, I’m here for a consultation,” you give her your name and the time of the appointment. “With Eddie.”

She shuffles about for a few seconds before finding what she was looking for, “yep, perfect. I’ll let him know you’re here. I’m Nancy, by the way.”

“Thanks, Nancy.”

She goes to the saloon type doors next to the desk, you watch them swing back and forth. You’re eventually drawn back to the art on the walls, eyes scanning the different styles and images. Your hands fidget with the ends of your sleeves.

A picture of the staff steals your attention next, Nancy standing next to a girl with shorter hair, their hands interlocked. Then, there’s a boy with brown hair and a kind smile. The one who really keeps you looking is the boy with long dark hair, his tattoos the most prominent.

A second later, that same boy is walking through the doors and calling your name.

“Oh, hi. That’s me,” you reply. Then wince at your awkwardness.

“Hi, I’m Eddie,” he gives you a close-mouthed smile, barely there. He’s even prettier in person than he is in that photo. “Follow me.”

He seems distant, sort of cold and you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Your nerves pick up even more.

He ushers you through the saloon doors, then through a room with three tattoo beds that’s filled with the buzzing of the machines and the other people from the picture and their clients. You end up in an office type room, certificates hang on the wall behind the desk.

Eddie takes a seat behind the desk that’s presumably his, papers scattered about and a cup overflowing with pens and pencils sitting atop of it. You stand by the door, shifting on your feet.

“You can have a seat,” he offers, gesturing to the chair facing him. He waits until you’re settled to continue. “So, is this your first tattoo?”

“Yes,” you feel nervous and you’re not sure if it’s the prospect of committing to the tattoo or if it’s the way Eddie’s gaze doesn’t move away from you.

“Well, I’m honored to be your first,” he winks, your heart stumbling at the innuendo. “So, what are we thinking?”

“The moon, on the back of my shoulder,” you pause, but he nods for you to keep going, to give more detail. “I wanted it to be a gibbous moon, almost full but not quite.”

“Alright. Got an idea for size?”

“Uh, kinda small. I think?” You huff, frustrated with your lack of an answer, “sorry I’m not so prepared.”

You stuff your hands under your thighs so that they’ll stop twisting in your lap. You cross your ankles and look down, slightly embarrassed at the way you’re acting in front of him. You were meant to grow in the city, to be better, but so far, not much has changed.

You don’t have friends, your job is slow, and you’re terrible with new people.

“‘S fine,” you think he’s being reassuring. “How’s this sound: we can try some circle stencils on for size now, then we’ll know for your appointment.”

“Okay. Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course. I’ll be right back.”

His exit gives you a couple of minutes to try and sort yourself out, to calm down. You want to be able to do this without the stumbles or hiccups that you’re so used to. You blow out a breath and wait for him to come back.

The way he carries himself confuses you, his almost detached nature making you overthink way too much. Although, he’s not being cruel or unkind, he’s just… you’re not sure if there’s a word to describe it.

He comes back with a couple of stencils, some sort of solution, a disposable razor, and paper towels.

“You’re gonna have to take your sweater off,” he says, setting everything down on the desk. When you don’t move to do so right away, he stares at you, waiting.

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

You slip off your sweater, your tank top underneath riding up ever so slightly with the movement. You pull it back down and set your discarded sweater on the chair behind you.

“Which shoulder?” He asks, putting on a pair of medical gloves and grabbing the razor.

“Here,” you slip the straps of both your shirt and your bra off the shoulder you choose, turning in the seat to face away from him so he’s able to do what he needs to.

He brushes your hair towards the front of your shoulder, clearing the spot he needs. He cleans off the area, then shaves it to make sure the stencil will stick, all in silence. He’s quick to apply it, his hands gentle and his breath hitting your skin in a way that has you shifting.

“Don’t move,” he chides quietly.

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything more until he’s done, “okay. Have a look.”

There’s a mirror on one of the walls, and you walk over to get a good look at the size of the circle. You know it’s only the first one, but you think it’s perfect. It looks right and you’re excited to see it when it’s actually the design you want.

“I want this size,” you say, turning to face him.

“Are you sure? It’s only the first one.”

“I know, but it’s good. I like it.”

“I don’t want you changing your mind, okay?”

“I won’t! I’m sure, promise.”

He sighs, then wipes the stencil away and takes off the gloves with a snap. He takes his seat again as you put your sweater back on, goosebumps prickling your skin.

“When did you wanna book it for?” He asks.

“Whenever you’re free is fine, I’m not picky.” You don’t have anywhere else to be, really.

“You’re not the best at answering questions, huh?”

You think he’s trying to make a joke but all you manage to say is, “no, sorry.”

“You apologize a lot. You don’t have to,” he grabs something that looks like a planner then says, “I have a spot next week, if that works.”

Eddie tells you the specific day and time, and you tell him that it works. He hands you some papers to sign and read and bring back with you for next time. “Nancy will sort out payment and stuff at the desk. That’s it for today.”

“Okay. Thank you so much,” you make your way back to the front quickly, eager to go home and try and forget the entire interaction. He certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, and you didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He was quiet, reserved, and hard to read, but he was good, you knew from the drawings in his office. He was also intriguing; a puzzle you wanted to solve.

You sort out everything with Nancy, who makes you feel a ton better about your consultation. “You look far too worried,” she says.

“I just don’t think he likes me very much.”

“No, trust me, that’s just Eddie. He’ll warm up to you, I’m sure.”

“I hope so. Anyway, thanks, Nancy.”

“See you,” she says as you walk out the door.

That night, you cuddle up and fall asleep thinking about Eddie and his demeanor, his warm hands on your skin.

He couldn’t get you out of his head, and that rarely happened to Eddie. He was used to meaningless things and he can’t remember the last time he felt anything for someone.

Not that he felt anything for you. You’d only met once.

Eddie spent the night after your consultation drawing way too many moons in his sketchbook, staining his hands with ink and pencil.

It’s two days later when you hear from Eddie again.

Your phone rings just as you’re about to shower before bed, the sun long gone though the city stays bright with lights. You hug your robe tighter around yourself and walk to where the phone hangs on the wall.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” an utterance of your name, a tone you recognize. “It’s Eddie… from Corroded Coffin Tattoos.”

“Of course! Hi, Eddie. Was there something wrong?”

“Oh, no. No,” he pauses, you hear him shuffling around on the other line. “I had a cancellation tomorrow and thought you might want the spot?”

You hate that the fact that he thought of you makes your stomach whirl. Of course, he could’ve called countless clients before you, but you like the idea that he dialed your number first better. You twist the phone cord in your fingers.

“That would be great. Thank you so much for thinking of me.”

If only you knew, he thinks. If only you knew how much he really did think of you—it was almost infuriating. How one person could have such an effect on him when he really doesn’t know them at all. He knows that you’re pretty, and you say ‘sorry’ far too much, and you smell really good, that’s all.

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay, see you-”

He hangs up before you can finish. You stare at the phone for a second after putting it back, wondering if that whole exchange truly happened, if you just dreamt up the whole thing. You pinch yourself until it hurts. You’re definitely awake.

You replay the conversation over and over, wondering why he hung up so abruptly, worrying about how you’re going to act tomorrow.

Eddie called you from his office, even though it was well past closing for the shop. He really needs to get himself together. He can’t be thinking so much about his client. About anyone, really. He can’t.

His head is resting in his arms when the door to his office opens. There’s only one person that never knocks and that’s Steve. He looks up and sees him leaning against the doorframe.

“Why are you still here, Steve?”

“Why are you still here?” He retorts.

“Got some stuff to do,” is all Eddie says.

“Your mood doesn’t have anything to do with the girl you just talked to on the phone, does it?”

Of all the people he could have been friends with, Steve was the most unlikely for Eddie, and yet here they are. Coworkers, and close friends. It’s almost annoying how quickly he can tell what exactly the issue is.

“I dunno. She won’t get out of my head,” Eddie shrugs, glancing down at the sketchbook he has opened on his desk, the one filled with drawings of your tattoo. “It’s annoying.”

“That’s a lot of moons, man,” Steve says as he walks closer.

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe this is a good thing. I haven’t seen you with a girlfriend, like, ever.”

“Who said anything about a girlfriend?”

No, if anything, Eddie’s eager to get your appointment over with, to get you out of his head for good.

“Yeah, okay. Can't wait to say ‘I told you so.’ You know it won’t hurt to open up a little, man.”

Steve means well, Eddie knows he does, but the thing is it does hurt him. Or, it used to. He was used to being judged, someone the town saw as a character rather than a human. The best thing he ever did was move away, but that doesn’t mean he left the hurt behind, too.

You show up about fifteen minutes early for the appointment. You gave yourself far too much time, you think, because now you just have to sit and wait and the anticipation is making you more nervous the longer it goes.

The front desk was being manned by a different person today, “hi! I’m Robin, how are you?”

She talks quickly and with enthusiasm, like every word is exciting and important. You like her already.

“Hi, I’m good, thanks. I have an appointment with Eddie,” she nods in confirmation, looking down at the schedule in front of her. “I’m a little early though so… no rush.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, gives us more time to sort out the paperwork and stuff. He’s just finishing up with someone else so it won’t be too long.” She smiles at you.

“Here, I have these from my consultation,” you hand her the pages Eddie had given you to sign. You chew at the inside of your cheek as she reads over them hoping you filled everything out correctly.

“That’s great! I’ll just go tell him you’re here,” she goes through the familiar saloon doors, the buzzing of tattoo guns and light conversations slipping through.

When she comes back she informs you that he’s only going to be a couple more minutes, and instead of telling you to go take a seat, she asks, “first tattoo?”

“Yeah, I’m nervous. Mostly excited,” you give her a small smile, one that makes hers widen.

“Don’t worry! I had to take like five breaks for my first one and now here I am.” It’s then that you finally notice the ink peeking from her long-sleeve shirt, at her wrists, and on one side of her neck. “Eddie’s great, and I’m sure you’ve got great pain tolerance—I can sense it.”

You laugh, she’s somehow managed to make you feel much better in the short time you’ve been talking to her. Eddie walks out, greeted by the sound of your laughter and he almost stops in his tracks. Almost.

“Robin, stop chatting up my clients,” he says.

“I’m just being friendly, Eddie! You should try it out,” she replies.

You can tell it’s in good nature, because he ruffles her hair as he passes and leaves it there. From what you’ve seen so far, the workers here are close; a tight-knit group of people and you admire that friendship, long for it.

“Follow me,” he says. It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you because of your distraction, but when you look up you find him staring at you, waiting.

“Okay,” you trail behind him as he leads you to the bed furthest from the doors, the one tucked away in the back of the room.

“You eat and drink water before coming? I don’t want you passing out on me.”

“Yeah. Yes, I’m good.”

He looks at you like he’s unsure, but moves along anyway. Eddie’s only worried because you’re his client and he has to, no other reason. He can’t be worrying because he thinks you’re pretty and sweet and far too kind. There’s absolutely no way.

“So, I did a couple sketches,” a couple is an understatement. “Have a look and let me know which one you wanna go with.”

You take a look at the five he’s laid out, all as you asked. Gibbous moons, both waxing and waning, some shaded more than others, some simple outlines. The one that catches your eye is a happy medium, fine lines with dotting for shading. It’s beautiful, exactly what you envisioned.

“This one. It’s really good.”

He tips his head down, “thanks. I’ll go get my stuff and we’ll get started.”

He’s not gone for very long, though it’s enough time for you to watch one of the artists at work, the boy with the brown hair. You watched the way he moved the needle, only looking away when Eddie came back and grabbed your attention.

“Gonna do the stencil like before, so you’ll need to move your shirt,” he says, looking down at his station and getting everything ready.

“Would it be easier if I just, uh, take it off?”

That makes his hands hover, paused in his task. He tries to shake it off; he’s seen a ton of people shirtless at the job and he’s never been affected by that, so why should he be now?

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay,” you decide it must be easier without your shirt—less things in the way—so you take it off and try not to worry about it.

Eddie applies the stencil just as he did a couple days ago. Gentle, precise hands that you’ll feel the ghost of for hours after your appointment, you’re sure. His head bent close as he pushes the edges down so you can feel him breathing, catch his scent for a moment.

When he’s done, he holds up a wide handheld mirror for you to get a look at it without having to walk all the way to the mirror on the opposite side of the room.

Again, you’re impressed by his drawing, and seeing it on your skin makes you realize that you’ll carry a part of Eddie forever after this. His linework, his trace.

“So,” he prompts you to speak as your thoughts have taken you away, “what do you think?”

“It’s great. Really.”

“You’re sure that’s where you want it?”

He double checks every single detail. That you’ve picked the one you want, that it’s the right size, that you really want to do this. He does so until you’re laying on your stomach on the bed, positioned so he can work comfortably at your side.

“Okay, I’m gonna do a small line, just so you see how it feels,” he warns you, and you tense in anticipation. “Relax.”

“Sorry. ‘M just nervous.”

“You’ll be fine, I’m sure.”

He manages to ease you with very few words.

The sound of the tattoo gun sounds louder when it’s so close, more daunting, but you’re eager to get started only to get rid of the anticipation. He draws a short line after giving you a quiet warning of, “here we go.”

It’s not nearly as bad as you’d expected. A scratch, a small sting, but it’s manageable.

“You okay?” He checks.

“Yeah, it’s not that bad.”

“Told you you’d be fine,” he says so softly you almost miss it.

Your head is turned to the side where he sits, and you can see him in your peripheral vision as he works. His legs clad in dark, ripped denim, the tattoos peeking through. The sleeves of his shirt rolled up to show his forearms. You shut your eyes and try to stop staring.

He works quietly, though you can sometimes hear him humming along to whatever song is playing. You don’t try to make conversation because you don’t want to be a distraction.

It doesn’t take too long before he gets to the shading, telling you, “some people find this part a bit more painful. So you know.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He’s right, it is more painful and you find it harder to keep yourself occupied by looking around. You find it harder to ignore the feeling of the needle.

Eddie notices. He doesn’t know how, but he notices. Maybe it’s the way your eyes are squeezed shut at certain points, the hand of the arm furthest from him bunched in a fist. He decides he wants to ease the process for you in any way he can.

“So, why the moon?” He asks.

“Huh?”

“Why’d you choose the moon?”

“Oh, sorry,” you don’t see him shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I’ve always loved it, how it has a cycle. The way it looks in the sky. Just, everything. Looking at it was a way of reminding myself I’m alive, kind of. ‘Cause I can still see it. I guess I chose this one to remind myself that even if it’s not whole now, it will be eventually.”

He wants to pick at your brain more, because he thinks it must be a beautiful place to be able to describe things the way you just did. You talk like it means a lot to you and the fact that you shared it with him so openly when you’ve been so quiet isn’t lost on him.

“That’s really…wow.”

“Sorry. I kinda rambled there.”

“No, no. I’ve just never looked at it that way.”

He asks you more questions after that, trying his best to keep your mind off of the needle and on the conversation. He asks how long you’ve been in the city, then, why you moved, and you give him honest answers for all of it.

Not long at all. Because I needed to get out, to be somewhere nobody knows me.

That made him think of Hawkins, of every person there who called him a freak, who looked at him like one. He needed to get out, too.

“Alright, you’re all done, just gotta wrap it up for you,” he says, putting the gun down and wiping over your skin one more time. “Do you wanna have a look first?”

“Please,” you nod.

He likes the way the word sounds coming out of your mouth—he gives himself a mental slap for that.

You sit up and he holds the mirror just as he did before. You can't help but gasp when you see it, exactly what you pictured. He did such a good job that you resist the urge to hug him for it.

“Eddie, it’s beautiful.”

So are you, he thinks.

“I’m glad you like it,” is what he says.

“I love it. Seriously, thank you.”

“It’s my job. Let me wrap it and then you’re good to go.”

He does, carefully and with the same gentle hands that have become far too familiar by now. When he’s done, he takes off his gloves with a snap, and hands you a pamphlet and some cleaning products to use at home.

“Thanks again, Eddie. You’re really good,” you say, putting your shirt back on.

“No problem,” he flashes you a small smile, one you’ll hold onto. “Um, here’s the card for the shop. You know, in case you need anything. Just ask for me, okay?”

“I will, thank you,” you take the card from him, your fingers brush his as you do. The name of the shop is written on it in bold, sharp letters: Corroded Coffin Tattoos. Underneath it, the phone number.

You’re led back through the saloon doors and met with both Robin and Nancy by the desk. They’re talking with wide smiles and rosy cheeks, their hands tangled loosely.

“I don’t pay you two to flirt,” Eddie says, retreating back where the two of you just came from.

Robin slips away, presumably done with her shift at the desk now that Nancy’s back. She gave you a kind goodbye, and makes sure that you promise if you ever want another tattoo to go back there.

“How was it?” Nancy asks you.

“Good! I’m really happy with it.”

“That’s what we like to hear! Eddie’s great. He gave me my first tattoo, too. Robin was mad for ages and then made sure she gave me the next one,” she grins. “Anyway, let’s get you taken care of.”

You pay for the tattoo, and then, you’re off.

It’s times like now that you wish you had someone to talk to, because you’re having way too many thoughts about your tattoo artist that you might never see again and you need to know if you’re reading into things too much. You need to know if his hands linger longer than they need to on other clients, if you imagined the way his eyes stayed on you, too.

You settle for overthinking on your walk home instead.

You didn’t think you’d end up using the card Eddie gave you. Not unless you were calling to book another tattoo, but here you were, leaning on the wall by your phone and dialing the number.

It was just a quick question, really, but you were still nervous. You’d only gotten the tattoo yesterday and already you were calling.

You’d realized when reading the aftercare instructions he gave you, that you didn’t have any unscented, gentle lotion like it called for, and you wanted to know if he had any suggestions for what works best. You tried going to the pharmacy, but the options were overwhelming.

You ended up buying something anyway because of how long you spent there. A useless magazine that was the closest thing to you when you noticed how some of the employees were looking at you. Some girl reading way too many lotion labels.

Yeah, definitely embarrassing, and definitely something you won’t let yourself live down.

The phone doesn’t ring for long before someone picks up, “Corroded Coffin Tattoos, Nancy speaking.”

“Hi Nancy,” you tell her your name.

“Hey! How can I help you?”

“Um, Eddie told me to call and ask for him if I had any questions,” you explain. “I was wondering if he’s available for a minute?”

“He did?” She sounds surprised.

“Um. Yeah.”

“Huh. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead. I’ll put you on hold and let him know, okay?”

“‘Kay. Thanks, Nancy.”

Desperately, you try not to overthink what she said. That he doesn’t usually get his clients to talk to him for things as minor as this. Why would he want you to, then? You don’t know why every little thing he does sends your mind into a whirlwind of ‘why’s and ‘what does this mean’s.

It’s maybe two minutes—silence filled by your thoughts—before the phone is picked up again.

“Hello?”

You can tell that it’s Eddie.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you but I just had a quick question for you.”

Eddie knows it’s you; he’s not expecting a call from anyone else. Not that he was expecting yours, it’s just that you’re the only client he’s even told to ask for him. He tries to cover that up by saying, “who’s this?”

“Oh, guess I should’ve said. Sorry,” you remind him of your name, as if he could forget it.

“Don’t be sorry. What’s your question?”

He’s quick to get to the point, and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s eager to help, or if it’s that he’s eager to get the conversation over with. Nancy’s words replay in your head. Usually he makes one of us deal with calls instead.

“I noticed that for aftercare, it says to use gentle lotion,” he hums along, urging you to continue. “I wasn’t sure what exactly that meant and I even went to the pharmacy but I didn’t know which one was good-”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off. “I’ve got some here at the shop. Do you have time today to come pick it up?”

“Yeah! Yes, that’s great. Thanks so much, I promise I’ll get out of your hair after this.”

He doesn’t like the way that sits with him. He doesn’t want you out of his hair. He wants to see you again, he’s realized, and it’s almost too much for him to handle. The way he feels about you is brand new for him—never felt before. He wants to know everything about you.

“‘Course. See you soon, then.”

“Bye, Eddie.”

He hangs up.

You leave a bit after that. Not too soon, because you didn’t want to make it seem like you didn’t have other things to do, even though you didn’t. You’ve memorized the walk to the store at this point, and it doesn’t take you long to get there. You’re greeted by Nancy once again, only in person this time.

“Welcome back,” she says.

“Hi,” you smile at her, you hope it doesn’t look like a nervous grimace. “Um, Eddie told me to come here to pick something up.”

“Right, okay,” she stands, heading in the direction of his office, pausing to say, “he must really like you.”

Great. Some more material for you to analyze about Eddie and how he acts with you. It’s odd to have someone on your mind so constantly, to try and make sense of it. He has something about him that pulls you in, and you’re not sure how, or why, but you let yourself be pulled.

His hair is tied in a low bun when you see him, his bangs and stray strands of hair make it look messy, like he hasn’t had the time to redo it. And yet, he had the time to speak to you on the phone and now.

“Moon girl,” he says, lips turned up just enough to be noticeable.

“Eddie, hi,” your hands twist themselves into the sleeves of your knitted sweater. “Thank you for taking time for me, I know it was a dumb question.”

“It wasn’t. I’m glad you care enough to make sure you’re using the right things,” he says. He holds out the lotion, “speaking of.”

“Perfect. How much do I owe?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He probably shouldn’t make a habit of giving things away for free to girls he thinks are pretty and that confuse him way too much. For you, though, he’ll make an exception. It’s not like anybody else is driving him nuts like you are, anyway.

“No, you’ve done so much already. Please let me pay.”

“It’s fine, I promise that one bottle of lotion won’t hurt me.” But this possibly being the last time I see you might, he thinks.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he confirms. “I’ll see you around then.”

“Bye, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Bye, moon girl.”

You look down at your feet as he walks away, letting your hair curtain your face. You really shouldn’t be feeling so giddy because of a fucking bottle of lotion and a new nickname, but you are.

“Holy shit,” Robin’s voice comes from the front desk. You hadn’t noticed, but she must’ve walked out at some point during your quick interaction with Eddie.

You curse yourself and try to hide the smile that threatens to spread across your face. “Hey, Robin.”

“Well hello,” she’s looking at you like she knows something you don’t, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t know how you did it but he’s never acted like that with any client. Like, ever.”

You don’t say anything, biting the inside of your lip to distract from the butterflies in your stomach.

“And, I’m so glad you’re here,” she changes the subject, thankfully. “Because Eddie mentioned you’re new to the city and god knows I could use friends who don’t work here and I wanted to know if you wanted to come for drinks sometime?”

Eddie spoke about you? Robin wants to be your friend? You can’t wrap your head around either of those things. It’s been so long since you’ve hung out with someone who wasn’t family. And even then, it was tiring, not fun.

You realize she’s still waiting for an answer when she clears her throat.

“Sorry, um. Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Yay!” She cheers. “What’s your number? I’ll call you next time there’s plans.”

You write it down on a scrap piece of paper for her, and she beams at you when she takes it.

“Eddie‘s gonna be thanking me for this one later,” she teases. “I think we’ll be great friends.”

You look at her smile, at her crooked tie that rests atop an oversized button up. You think she might be right about that.

As soon as you leave Robin and Nancy go to Eddie’s office. An intervention of sorts. They walk in without knocking (the door was open anyway) and stand in front of him with some look.

He’s pretty sure he knows why they’re both staring at him with knowing smiles, but he tries to ignore them and busy himself with some sketches.

Robin’s not having it, so she sits in the chair across from Eddie, kicking her feet up onto his desk.

“What do you want?” He sighs.

“Um, hello? Are we not gonna pretend that you weren’t flirting with her in your own, weird, Eddie way?” Robin starts.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come on,” Nancy joins the conversation, on Robin’s side as always. “You’ve never told a client to ask for you, or given them free stuff.”

“Yeah! And, you were all ‘see you around, moon girl, hey let me stare at you and then not do anything about it,’” Robin lowers her voice, imitating him very inaccurately.

“I don’t know. She was nice, that’s all.”

“Nice enough to break your little rule of being mister nonchalant. I think you like her,” she’s right, but Eddie doesn’t even want to admit that to himself, let alone his friends.

He doesn’t say anything, shifting in his seat. He knows they both mean well, but he doesn’t know what to think and an ambush isn’t necessarily helping that. The pit in his stomach he’s had since he realized he might never see you again hasn't lessened, and the memory of your perfume or the feeling of your skin hasn’t faded.

So, maybe you did have an effect on him, but it doesn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter in the first place because he wouldn’t let it.

“Look, Eddie, we’re not trying to make you admit anything,” Nancy says, “we just noticed that you acted differently with her. Steve did, too, I’m sure. And it was a good different. You seemed less guarded, I guess.”

“What she said!” Robin adds.

“Yeah, thanks guys, but it’s nothing, okay?”

They share a look, one that Eddie doesn’t understand but he’s gotten used to their silent communications over time. He scratches at the back of his neck, nervous about what they’re thinking.

“Anyway, I got her number,” Robin says, holding the small paper you wrote on for Eddie to see.

He grabs it, staring at your handwriting and the small heart you added next to your name. He fights a smile at the sight of it, cute and lopsided and though he doesn’t know you well, it’s very you.

He clears his throat, handing the paper back. “I’ve got her number on file already.”

“It’s not for you! It’s for me and Nance. We’re gonna be friends,” she grins, proud.

“We’re probably gonna invite her next time we go out, and wanted you to know. Just in case you care,” Nancy says, explaining.

Just in case you care.

He does care, he thinks. He cares way too much for someone he’s met three times and knows very little about. He knows you’re pretty, you apologize a ton, you fidget with your hands when you’re nervous, and you like the moon.

He knows that he cares what you think about him, and that when you called the tattoo he gave you beautiful, it meant more to him than most compliments do. ‘Cause it was you who said it. It’s too much for him.

Maybe he’ll skip out on the next outing.

“That’s nice,” he settles for.

“She’s new to the city and she’s cool. Don’t you think, Eddie?” Robin asks.

He swipes her boot-clad feet from his desk in response.

“We just don’t want you to hold yourself back, that’s all. You never go on dates or anything, even though you’ve had many chances,” Nancy says, softer now that she sees Eddie’s mind is full.

“Thanks for caring, you guys, seriously. But I’m fine. I like being single.”

“So, just be friends with her, then,” Robin suggests.

Her and Nancy leave him alone after that, his mind a bigger mess than before and it’s completely surrounding you. He doesn’t understand how someone could make him rethink everything like he is.

I like being single, he’d said.

And yet, when he imagines going on a date with you, giving you flowers, complimenting your dress or your hair, he’s not sure how true that statement is.

Your days drag by. You work in a small café, and whenever you’re not there, you’re either wasting away hours in your apartment or taking aimless walks. It’s a never-ending cycle, a carousel spinning round and round.

The only eventful thing that happened to you (other than your new tattoo) was accidentally spilling coffee all over yourself at work and having to stick out the rest of your shift in wet clothes. Not necessarily something you want to remember.

You’re beginning to lose hope that Robin will ever use your number.

It shocks you when your phone finally rings. You try to convince yourself it’s telemarketers, a wrong number, anything not to get your hopes up. Lucky for you, it actually is Robin.

“Hello?” Is your automatic word when you pick up.

“Hi! Listen, I’m so sorry it took so long to call,” she doesn’t have to say it to know it’s her. Robin has a very distinct way of speaking; rushed and animated. “So, I actually lost the paper. Silly me! But, then I found it and I had to convince the others to want to go out. Anyway, you wanna come?”

“Hi, Robin. That’s okay,” you find yourself smiling. Your first real one in a while. “When?”

“Oh! I forgot to say. Tonight?”

“I can do that,” you try to sound excited, you hope she can tell.

“Perfect! Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll tell you the place.”

You reach for your notepad and pen and do your best not to drop the phone in the process. Somehow, you manage.

“Yep, ready.”

She rambles off an address, a meeting time, and then, “shit. Boss is coming, better act like I’m working. Bye!”

She hangs up, and you know who she means when she says ‘boss.’

You’ve been trying your best not to think of Eddie, but it’s easier said than done. You constantly think you see him in crowds that pass by. A head of long, curly hair here, a worn leather jacket there. It’s confusing and almost embarrassing.

This boy who you barely know, taking up so much space in your life.

You’re reminded that you’ll most likely be seeing him tonight, as long as you’re right in assuming that by ‘the others,’ Robin meant her coworkers. The thought makes you nervous, makes your stomach do things you aren’t used to.

Despite the time you had between the phone call and when you had to leave, you’re in a hurry to get ready. Picking your outfit was the hardest part, because you’d never been to the place before. You decided on a dress that was simple enough, a denim jacket that you’d probably end up taking off (you get warm when you drink), and your trusty Doc Martens.

Your makeup is a little messy, but you don’t have enough time to fix it so you act like the smudged eyeliner was purposefully done. Your hair was left down.

Walking through the doors of the bar, you’re a couple minutes late and a little out of breath from your rushing. You look around in search of a familiar face when waving catches your eye.

It’s Robin, who’s waving the most obviously, her arm swinging back and forth until Nancy pulls it down and says something to her. Probably telling her you’ve seen them and she can stop. It’s sweet.

You make your way through the crowd towards the booth they’d secured. The boy, who’s introduced to you as Steve, is sitting in the corner on one side, Robin and Nancy on the other. Eddie’s absence is noted, and you guess you must’ve looked confused because Robin spoke up and said, “he’s just in the bathroom.”

She beckons you to sit with her and Nancy, and you fall into conversation easily. Even Steve is easy to talk to and you’ve only just learned his name. Sometimes you worry you’re intruding in their group, an outsider. In a way, you are, because you don’t work with them nor have you been friends with any of them for a long time, but they have yet to make you feel that way.

It’s a far cry from the friends (or lack thereof) you had back home, in the best way possible.

When Eddie comes back, the first thing he sees is you. He’s shocked. Not because you’re there—he was well aware of you being invited—but because you look like you belong with his friends. You fit right in, and you aren’t even trying. Then, he notices your dress and he wishes he could ignore the feeling he gets.

He’s painfully aware of how pretty you are, and when you look over, as if feeling his eyes on you, you give him a small smile and wave. He walks over and slides into the booth next to Steve as casually as possible.

“You look nice,” he says. It’s the best he can come up with.

“Thank you.”

The two of you are too busy looking at each other and trying to figure out what to say when the others share some kind of look. Knowing.

Your nerves pickup when Eddie’s around and you scold yourself for it. You have no business feeling anything towards him, and yet, his very simple compliment will be the root of your daydreams for days to come.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” you think you need one. “What’s everyone else want?”

“I’ll help you bring them,” Robin says.

You both stand, and everyone tells you what they want. You make your way to the bar and wait your turn. The feelings you have towards Eddie are confusing, and you’re not exactly sure what they even are. Intrigue, attraction, tension. Whatever it is, it’s unfamiliar.

Robin leans on the bar beside you, noticing you looking towards Eddie before even you do. When you pry your eyes away, she’s smirking at you.

“He likes you, you know?”

“Who, Eddie?” You ask even though you know that’s who she’s talking about. “No, he doesn’t. I actually think he dislikes me.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding. I’ve never seen him act like he does around you, and I’ve known him a really long time. Seriously.”

“He’s just being nice,” that’s all it is, you’re convincing her as well as yourself.

“Please. I know he’s hard to read and seems kind of closed-off, but he’s warmer towards you than most people. He barely even talks to clients, usually.”

Everything she’s saying, you can tell she thinks is true, but if you let yourself think it, too, you’d be absolutely fucked. Your mind would go wild with scenarios and imagining what could happen. You’re doing enough of that as is.

“I don’t know, Robin.”

“You’ll see, trust me.”

Unbeknownst to you, a very similar conversation is happening back at the table. Steve and Nancy are trying to knock some sense into Eddie, to get him to realize it’s okay to let someone else in. He denies it all just as you did, his head a mess.

He realizes that you’re not his client anymore, you’re here as a possible friend, and it scares him. There’s no guise to hide under with his urge to care for you.

When you and Robin return with the drinks, you’re the one who hands Eddie his, and when his fingers brush against yours, just barely, he feels them tingle even after the contact ends.

You loosen up a little bit as the night goes on, and you do end up taking your jacket off. The spaghetti straps of your dress leave your tattoo exposed, and Eddie can’t help but look at it. He’s always proud of his work, but seeing it on you is different for him. He likes that his mark is on you.

Nancy and Robin leave first, walking out leaned into each other. The rest of you follow shortly after, Steve slipping out after a quick goodbye. When you stand, you stumble slightly. Eddie catches you, a hand wrapped around your upper arm.

“Let me walk you home,” he says, his hand trailing down your arm lightly before he pulls away completely.

“That’s okay, Eddie. Really.”

You put your jacket back on and struggle to find one of the sleeves, your arm reaching back awkwardly. Once again, Eddie’s quick to help you, pulling your jacket over and guiding your arm to the right spot. You thank him quietly.

“C’mon, it’s dark out.”

“You’re not gonna let me say no, are you?”

He shakes his head, that small smile you so rarely see making an appearance.

The walk is quiet for a bit, the chilled air of the night nipping at your skin, your arms pulling your jacket tight to your chest. He falls into step next to you easily, pace matching yours so he stays right next to you.

He can tell you’re cold, and he resists the urge to throw an arm over your shoulders and pull you closer to warm you up. It’d be weird, he thinks. You barely know him and he’s sure you’d much rather be walking with one of the girls right now than with him.

“Sorry for, like, intruding in your friend group.”

Though you haven’t felt like an outsider, you do feel bad about worming your way into their group that seemed to have stayed the same for so long. You feel bad for the change you caused, the shift.

“What? You’re not,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, moon girl. I am.”

He knows he might not be the most welcoming person, but he doesn’t mind having you around, really. What he minds is the confusion that comes along with it, which isn’t your fault at all. That’s on him.

“Okay. Thanks for letting me come, then.”

“I think Robin would have smacked me if I didn’t. Besides, you’re nice to have around.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the few drinks or if it’s just a fluke, but the bit of honesty slips out of him with ease. Eddie’s not a trusting person, he’s been through too much for that, but he has never once felt like you were judging him.

The rest of the walk to your apartment is filled with light conversation and small, awkward silences. Having him next to you does make you feel safer, though. You never know what could happen.

He walks you all the way up to your door. You pull out your keys and fiddle with them, your hand shakes when you try to insert it into the lock. You miss a couple of times and feel the embarrassment scorch you. You don’t know if it’s the cold, or the drinks, or if it’s him making your hands unstable. Maybe it’s all of the above.

Yet again, Eddie helps you. He comes up behind you, his chest hovering over your back, close enough to feel the heat of his body, not close enough to touch.

“Here, sweetheart” he wraps his hand around yours and guides the key into the slot, the pet name slipping out without him noticing.

You do notice, though. He says it so softly, and you think it’s your favorite word that’s come out of his mouth so far. It has your heartbeat picking up, a steady thump in your chest.

“Thanks,” you breathe out.

You turn around, leaving the key in the door for now. He’s much closer than you were expecting and he doesn’t back away. Your back against your door, your nose almost touching his.

Then, something shifts, and he’s leaning in and kissing you.

It takes you a second to get over your initial shock, but you recover quickly, winding your arms around his neck and kissing him back. He makes a sound against your mouth when you do, pressing you further into the door. He has a thigh between yours, his hands holding your waist tightly.

He kisses you like he means it, and you forget about everything else. You forget that this Eddie is the same one who puzzles you so much, that not long ago you were convinced that you’d never see him again. And yet, he’s here, kissing you sick in your hallway.

He sucks at your bottom lip, pulling away and letting it snap back into place, opening his eyes to look at you for a second, then he dives back in. Soon enough, he’s licking along the seam of your lips to open you up, and his tongue has your knees weak.

When you whimper into his mouth, he tenses.

He’s snapped back into reality, realizing that he just made out with you against your door. He pulls away, pushing his fingers into his hair. There’s a sudden change, though this one feels much worse than the one where he kissed you.

There are too many things in his head. Thinking he shouldn’t be doing this or that you’ll hate him for it. You’re about to open your mouth and ask him what’s wrong when he speaks first.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he steps back until he’s against the wall opposite from you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Eddie-”

“No, shit. I’m sorry. Good night.”

He’s walking away before you can say anything else. You stand frozen for what could be minutes before finally letting yourself into your apartment. Closing and locking the door behind you, you lean your forehead against the wood and wonder what the fuck just happened.

You’re not sure what you did wrong to make him have to leave so suddenly, and you know it’ll torment you constantly. Replaying in the back of your mind. The worst part is, you were ready to invite him inside, to let him do whatever he wanted with you. He was gone before you could even get there.

Eddie feels awful for leaving the way he did, and he thinks about turning around and knocking on your door the whole way home. He never does, though. He’s sure you don’t want to see him.

You both have a fitful sleep that night. Blocks away, both tossing and turning in bed with that kiss plaguing your minds.

Robin and Nancy’s calls grow more frequent over the following couple of weeks, and in turn, so do your encounters with Eddie. You’ve become closer, would like to say you’ve become friends, even. Though, nothing like the kiss that the two of you choose to ignore happens again.

You chalked it up to his tipsiness, he tries to forget it altogether.

It’s not because it was bad, or unwanted. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Eddie’s so used to kissing meaning absolutely nothing, leading to more every single time. Your kiss, though, was completely different. It made him feel more than he knew he was capable of.

He’s surprised that you have yet to say something about it, especially considering the way that he left. It’s a two way street; he doesn’t bring it up at all, either.

He wants to. He wants to be able to explain himself to you, to tell you why he had to pull himself away so quickly. Only, he’s not sure how. He doesn’t know how to explain the way he finds himself drawn to you, the reason he kissed you, or the feeling that runs through him every time you lock eyes. If he can’t even make sense of it himself, how is he supposed to make sense of it to you?

He can’t even bring himself to tell anyone about it because he knows, as much as they try, it won’t help.

Tonight, you’re all piled on the couches in Steve’s apartment (it’s the nicest one) eating pizza straight from the box and chatting. It’s nice to be a part of a true friend group. You’ve never had anything like it before.

“Eddie, you left your guitar here, you know?” Steve says.

He plays guitar? Fuck.

“Shit, yeah. I did.”

“You know what that means,” Robin draws out the last word, shimmying her shoulders.

“No. Absolutely not,” Eddie shakes his head.

“Please! Serenade us, Eddie.”

They go back and forth for a bit and your gaze switches between the two of them like you’re watching a game of ping pong.

“I’d like to hear you play,” you pitch in.

Robin—of course—wears a smirk. She’s been trying to get the two of you together since she saw how you interacted, and she knows Eddie won’t say no to you. He couldn’t if he tried.

“Really?” Eddie asks softly.

“Yeah. I didn’t know you played,” you shift in your seat, “I’d love to hear it. If you want.”

He fiddles with his guitar pick necklace, which you catch. Maybe that should’ve been a dead giveaway that he’s a musician, but you’d never noticed it before, usually hidden by the collar of his shirt.

Eddie’s not usually a nervous person, but the prospect of you listening to him play has him feeling that way. He’s never worried so much about how someone looks at him, or what they might think. With you, he worries because he wants to impress you, he’s realized.

“Yeah, okay. Just for you, I’ll go grab it.”

Just for you. You turn your face away to try and hide how it affects you.

He asks Steve where he left it, and goes off to retrieve it. You watch him walk away until he disappears behind a corner. There’s something about him that pulls you in, something you wish you could figure out. You know you like him, it’s quite obvious, but it’s the kind that has thoughts of him crowding your mind and that has you overthinking every word.

“You guys are paining me, I hope you know,” Robin says.

“We’re just friends. Seriously.”

“Are you sure about that?” Steve adds on. Nancy tends to just observe when the topic of you and Eddie is brought up. She’s a rational person, and she’s trying to let it work itself out naturally. Though, she’s sure it will work out eventually. Hopefully sooner than later.

Eddie comes back before you can manage a reply, holding an acoustic guitar decorated with messy, white, painted-on lettering that says ‘this machine slays dragons.’

He sits down and tunes the guitar first, focused on his task. It gives you a chance to look at him closely, lets you get away with it because the others are watching him, too. Waiting for him to start to play. When he does, you’re transfixed.

Your eyes don’t stray from him at all throughout the song he plays. His fingers move with so much ease, his rings catching the light. It’s no surprise that he’s talented with his hands, just look at the art he creates on people’s bodies everyday. But, this is another layer to it, a piece of him that made you want to see more. Made you want to collect every jigsaw piece until you had the whole image.

You think you could listen to him play for hours on end and never get tired of his strumming. Yeah, you really do like him.

When he finishes, everyone gives him a round of applause, and he hopes his hair does enough to cover up the blush that blooms on his cheeks. He looks to you first, and you’re beaming, looking at him like he’s just done something groundbreaking.

“That was amazing, Eddie,” you say.

“It’s nothing special,” he replies.

“It is. You’re really talented,” you sound so sincere it squeezes his heart in a fist. “Double talented, actually.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

He lets it slip again, and you soak it up. Eddie tries to avoid the looks from his friends, especially after the pet name. Surely, they’re all wearing smug smiles and plotting ways to talk him into giving whatever the thing between the two of you is a go.

He sets the guitar aside, clearing his throat amidst the awkward silence. You look at your lap and frown at the run in your tights that you just noticed, avoiding being the first to say anything.

Every new detail you learn about Eddie only makes you like him more. You’re still not sure if he even considers you a friend, but you certainly consider him one. You would ask but decide to save yourself the stress of having to bring it up. The worst part is, the idea of him not liking you hurts more than you’d like to admit.

The silence is eventually broken, and the floodgates of conversation have opened back up. You and Eddie both let out a breath of relief, synchronized in secrecy.

When you get up to leave, Eddie suddenly has the urge to go, too, and he offers to take you home. Much like the time before, he doesn’t let you decline the offer. He’s just being nice, you think to yourself, he would do it for anyone.

This time, he drove, and he opens the passenger door for you when you reach his car. It smells like him inside, sandalwood, something sweet, the underlying smokiness of cigarettes that you don’t mind when it comes to him. He has a pair of dice hanging from his mirror, though they’re twenty-sided instead of your average six.

“You’ll have to give me directions back to yours,” he says, starting the car. “I remember the area, but…”

Yes, he remembers the area all too well. It’s where he lingered after he sprung a kiss on you and then walked away. It’s where he jerked himself around mentally trying to decide whether he should go back to you or just go home.

“Don’t worry, I can be your map.”

The drive is silent save for the music humming through the speakers and your occasional instructions on which turns to take. It isn’t awkward, you don’t think. It’s comfortable in the way that you don’t feel the need to fill it.

One of Eddie’s hands reaches out and lightly tugs on your skirt, “this looks really nice on you.”

He pulls it away after he says it and you wish he didn’t.

“Oh,” you look down at the fabric, something you’ve owned for years, worn when you can’t figure anything else out. It’s never been anything special, but now, you feel like it might be. “Thank you.”

Eddie feels inclined to compliment you all of the time, he’s learned, but he often lets them float in his head rather than say them to you.

He parks on the street by your apartment complex soon after, but you don’t get out right away. You unbuckle your seatbelt and place a hand on the door, but he stops you.

The sight of your building has him thinking about the night you kissed for what feels like the thousandth time. He wants to kiss you again and he clenches his fists to ground himself. If you’re any bit as torn up about it as him, he wants to know. He also wants to try and explain himself to you, even if he still isn’t sure how.

“Hey. About that night,” he doesn’t have to specify. You know exactly what he’s talking about. Your hand lets go of the door handle, settling in your lap. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

“You are?”

You don’t want him to be sorry, or to feel bad about it. You only want to know what you did to scare him off the way you did. You also want him to kiss you again.

“Um, yeah. I shouldn’t have just sprung onto you like that.”

“Why did you?” Is what you say next.

“I dunno. You just looked so pretty, and I had the urge. The drinks gave me the strength to do it, I guess.”

He hadn’t been drunk, not one bit, but he doesn’t want to use the alternate explanation just yet. He doesn’t want to say ‘I kissed you because you confuse me more than anyone else. Because I’ve never felt so bent out of shape because of one person. Because you were looking at me like you wanted me to, and I can’t say no to you.’

He could, but he doesn’t want to.

“You think I’m pretty?”

He nods, almost ashamed about it.

“I think you’re pretty, too, Eddie,” his eyes lock onto yours, “and I’m not sorry you kissed me at all.”

“What?”

“I liked kissing you. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come inside before you left.”

You don’t know where your candidness is coming from, but you can’t stop yourself anymore. You’ve wondered and wondered what could’ve happened that night had he stayed, and by the way his gaze flicks down to your lips, you think you might find out.

The car suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker, when he asks, “does that offer still stand?”

You nod, he shuts off the car. You both get out, walking up to your place in a sort of haze. Neither of you know what will come from any of this, you’re going in blind and it’s as exciting as it is nerve-wracking.

Things slow down once you’re inside. It’s as if a fog has cleared and now, you’re both painfully aware of everything you’re doing, or saying. His eyes flit around your apartment in silence, looking at your bookshelf, noting the lack of personal photos.

You cut in before he can comment on your place, “can I get you anything? Water, or…”

When he responds, it’s not to your question. Instead, he asks you one: “how’s your tattoo healing?”

He’s been curious about how you’re feeling with it ever since he caught glimpses of it that night at the bar. You pause by your small kitchen island, looking him over before you can manage to reply.

“Oh. Good, I think,” you shrug a shoulder, “I don’t know enough about tattoos but it hasn’t bothered me much.”

“I can look at it, if you want.”

“Are you sure?”

You say it as if he would be going through lots of trouble to do so, when in reality he’s using it as an excuse to get his hands on you. Tattoos are familiar, not foreign the way his feelings for you are. It’s an excuse to ease himself into whatever this is.

“‘Course I am, let me see.”

“Okay. Light’s better in the bathroom.”

He follows you into your bathroom, and you wish you’d taken into account how small it is because you’re forced to be close to him and it’s making you nervous. The anticipation and unknown a flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Shirt off,” he says, his voice smooth.

You listen, because it’s hard not to when he sounds the way he does. You turn to face the mirror and peel your shirt away, tossing it to the ground when you do. You’re suddenly very aware that your bra isn’t the nicest you own, and your instinct is to cover it with your arms.

Eddie stops you, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror, his hands wrapping around your wrists gently, pulling them down. “Don’t you dare. You’re beautiful.”

He looks away after he says it, but you can tell he means it. It’s in the way he makes sure you’re looking at him when he speaks, the way he squeezes your wrists reassuringly before letting them go.

For a second, he forgot why you’re even in the position you are. He forgets that he’s meant to be looking at your tattoo until you say, “how is it?”

“Right, yeah,” he looks it over, and he’s satisfied to see that it looks exactly how it should at this stage. “Really good, actually. You’re doing a great job.”

The compliment warms your insides.

“Thank you.”

“Want me to clean it for you?”

“Sure, thanks.”

He does, disinfecting it first, after finding your products on your counter. He’s gentle as usual, his hands a welcome feeling. Then, he applies the layer of lotion slowly, almost like he’s trying to tease you. It’s working.

His hands trail down your arms when he’s done, his head dipping down to press a kiss on the top of your shoulder. The first one is soft, a barely-there push of his lips against your skin. The next is a bit firmer, his confidence growing with each one.

They trail over the curve of your shoulder, his hands still running their paths up and down your arms, raising goosebumps in their wake, his chunky rings cold. He kisses his way up your neck, your head lulling to the side to grant him more access and your eyes fluttering shut.

Everything he does is filing you up more and more and he’s barely even begun.

“Eddie,” you sigh when he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

He has no idea what’s come over him, but there’s no hiding the effect you have over him anymore. As soon as he got his hands on you, even just to clean your tattoo, he knew he’d be addicted.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yes, it’s- feels nice.”

You would be overthinking if you weren’t so distracted by the feeling of his lips on your skin. And when he uses a hand to tilt your face towards his and kisses you, you’re not sure there’s a single thought left in your head.

There’s something about him that makes everything more intense. You feel like all of your senses are captured by him and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The smell of his cologne, the taste on his tongue, the feeling of his hands on you and his long hair tickling your skin. All of it.

Eddie pulls away to let the both of you breathe only when it’s absolutely necessary. He’s drunk on every kiss he gets from you and he doesn’t mind one bit. He wonders what you’re like in bed, what sounds you’d make for him, and he can’t stop himself from asking, “can I fuck you?”

The words are spoken between heavy breaths, puffed out against your lips.

“Yes. Please.”

Please, you say. As if you would even have to beg him. You have no idea what you’re doing to him and it only makes him want you more. He pushes his hips against your ass, letting you feel how hard he is and you whimper, you fucking whimper and he’s so gone.

He pushes you down to bed over the counter with a hand on the center of your back, and you obey easily. You’re practically squirming with want, the dampness in your panties growing with every move he makes.

Then, he flips your skirt up, his hands running over the tights that cover you before ripping them in the middle.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he says.

He keeps a hand on your back, though its drifted much lower, and the other sneaks its way between your legs, cupping you over your underwear before pressing his fingers against you. You can't help but moan at the feeling.

“Soaking already, sweetheart?” He taunts.

“Eddie, come on.”

“What is it?”

“You’re teasing me,” you huff out, your cheek pressed against your cool countertop.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

He hooks his fingers in the fabric covering you, pulling it aside and going right back to his teasing. His fingers run up and down your slit, dipping into where you’re wet only to pull away and circle your clit; just enough to give you a taste, to have you wanting more.

He’s winding you up and up and up and you think you might pass out if he doesn’t make you come soon.

“Eddie.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got you.”

It’s then that he pushes one finger in, his rings that still sit around his fingers only add to the intensity. He works a second one in quickly, your cunt sucking him in and he can’t even imagine how good it’ll feel when he gets to fuck you for real.

He’s quick to learn what you like, what makes you pulse around his fingers or moan a little louder. You had no clue that things could ever feel this good and when his thumb finds your clit, you’re absolutely done for.

Your breaths come out hot, bits of condensation gathering on the counter, “fuck. Oh my god.”

“Feel good?” He asks even though he knows damn well it does—your reactions are telling enough. He picks up the pace, his fingers pressing against that spot that has your knees going weak. He wraps his unoccupied arm around your waist to hold you up.

“So, so good, Eddie. Gonna come.”

“Go on, all over my hand, sweetness. Then I’ll fill you right up, how’s that sound?”

Your response is caught in your throat, a whine bubbling out instead.

“Quicker you come, the quicker I’ll give it to you,” he tacks on.

The thought of him fucking you after this drives you nuts because if just his fingers feel this good, you can’t even imagine what his cock will be like. Your orgasm washes over you, eyes rolling back.

He works you through it, steadily slowing down and easing away to give you a break. He pulls his fingers away, chuckling at the noise you make when he does, and sucks them clean. Then, softly, he’s leaning down and kissing his way up your spine.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“You okay?”

“More than okay. You’re really good.”

“‘M not done yet, babe.”

He stands back up, but he pulls you along with him so you're no longer resting on the counter. Hands on your hips spin you to face him, and as soon as you do he surges forward to kiss you. It’s quick, like he’s making sure it’s still okay to keep going.

His touch trails up to the band of your bra—which is askew, but still on. “Can I take this off?”

You nod, but he waits for a verbal confirmation before unclasping it and pulling it away from your chest. It joins your shirt on the ground.

You’re suddenly very aware that you’re half-naked and he isn’t. You tug on his shirt, eager to even the score, “you too.”

“Well, it’s only fair, isn’t it?”

He peels his shirt over his head, and you realize that you’ve yet to see his tattoos so closely. You reach out, tracing them lightly with your fingertips. First, the bats that adorn his forearm, working your way up to his shoulder, then down his chest. He lets you, happy to have your hands on him.

While you’re occupied with his tattoos, he looks you over, free to stare without worrying if you’ll notice. His eyes travel across your face, the slope of your nose, the shape of your lips. They go down your neck, a canvas he plans to leave his mark on, and down to your chest that’s now bare.

The sight is enough to remind him of how hard he is, straining against his jeans. He kisses you again, heavier this time, and lets his hands cup your tits, squeezing and thumbing over your nipples. You moan into the kiss and he can’t control himself any longer.

He lifts you up to sit on the counter, close enough to the edge that you’re forced to wrap your legs around him.

“You still want this?” He asks.

Your hands go to his jeans, popping the button open and lowering his zipper slowly, “yeah, Eddie. I want this. I want you.”

I want you. Eddie doesn’t know why the words make his heart go all fluttery, why they make him look at you like you’ve put the stars in the sky just for him. He kisses you all over again.

You fit your hand between his jeans and his boxers, and you gasp into the kiss when you feel just how big he is. He’s wide, and you know the stretch of him will be a kind of burn that hurts so good. You stroke him over his boxers first, but quickly grow impatient to see him.

You tuck your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them and his jeans down enough to free him. You pull back only to be able to look at him properly, leaning your forehead against Eddie’s bare shoulder, your bottom lip bitten between your teeth because he’s pretty everywhere.

He kisses the side of your head, tender in the midst of the heat of it all.

You think, despite his initial distance, Eddie’s one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. He shows it in the small things he does. Offering to take you home, the gentleness of his hands, his constant checking in on you to make sure this is what you wanted.

Yeah, you like him a whole lot.

Your hand wraps around his cock, jerking him slowly at first. A tease, he thinks. And then you pick up your pace just a bit and he thinks he might come before he even gets to be inside you and as much as he would love to see your hand covered in him, it’s not what he wants right now.

He’s never wanted anyone like he does you and he knows that information will have him overthinking later, but right now, it just makes him desperate to have you.

“Fuck,” he grabs a hold of your wrist, “as good as this feels, sweetheart, you gotta stop or I’ll come and this’ll be cut short. You don’t want that do you?”

He tips your chin up with his free hand, pecks your lips quickly before giving you the chance to respond.

“No. Want you to fuck me,” you say.

“Dirty girl.”

He reaches for a condom in one of your drawers when you tell him where to find them. When you bought them, you were almost embarrassed, because what were you expecting? Certainly not this.

He’s back on you before you really feel his absence, running his hands up your thighs, under your skirt, and tearing the hole he’d already made wider.

“You want me to stop, you tell me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Pushing your legs apart further to make room for him, he reaches down to paint himself up and down your slit, pushing himself in only when he’s teased the both of you sufficiently.

It’s a welcome stretch, one that’s better than anything you’ve ever felt in situations like this and you wonder why you didn’t move away sooner, if this is what it led to.

Eddie leans forward, resting his hands on the counter on either side of you, close enough that his arms brush against you. His face is close to yours but he doesn’t kiss you, no, he breathes the air you do, swallowing any sound you make.

His first couple of thrusts are tentative, slow, but when you wrap your arms around his neck and speak a quiet, ‘faster, please,’ he dives right in.

Somehow, he manages to know just what you need, and he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you still as he moves harder, quicker. Both of you are still half dressed, your clothes in disarray and his are pushed to his knees. You’re both so wrapped up in want and it shows.

“Fuck me,” you whine as he hits that spot inside you, like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“Thought that’s what I was doing, sweets.”

“Eddie.”

“I know, baby. You’re doing so good.”

He knows your orgasm is creeping up on you, he can feel it in the way you pulse around him, squeeze him tighter, bury your face in his neck so that your moans are pushed into his skin.

If he could, he thinks he’d get the sound of them permanently etched into his mind.

“Taking it so well. You wanna come, sweet girl?”

You nod against his skin, “yes. Yes, can I?”

He snakes a hand down to rub your clit, to push you over that edge and says, “let go. Give it to me.”

It’s like his words were what you were waiting for, the breaking point to let you finish. It’s enough to make your moans get caught in your throat and your eyes squeeze shut, seeing stars.

“Oh my god,” you choke out.

“That’s it,” he works you through it, and only when he’s sure that you’re on the comedown does he let himself finish, too.

He pulls your head from his neck with a hand cupping the back of yours, kissing you to really seal the deal, coming with a grunt into your mouth.

When he’s spent, he rests his forehead against yours, running his hands up and down your back soothingly, “you okay?”

“Mmm. Amazing,” you reply, dazed with a fucked out smile on your face. “Why’re you good at everything?”

He chuckles, kissing your cheek before pulling out, “maybe I’m just good at them with you.”

Discarding the condom and pulling his boxers back up—removing his jeans completely—he then finds a small towel and wets it in the sink. Meanwhile, you take off the rest of your outfit, figuring he’s seen enough already. He cleans you up first, delicate hands and a soft apology when you wince from the sensitivity.

He picks you up when he’s done, your legs wrapped around his waist and your head dropped against his shoulder. It feels natural, he thinks, to take care of you the way he would a lover. You feel like you belong there, in his hold, and he knows that you’ve changed him in a way.

His reluctance to get into any kind of relationship seems to have flown out the window now.

The door across the hall is the first he tries, and he guessed correctly when he finds your bedroom on the other side of the door.

He lays you down on your bed, and you pull the blankets up over yourself, lazily. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at Eddie the same way, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s not because of the sex, though it was notably the best you’ve ever had and you’ll undoubtedly think about it constantly. It’s because you have feelings for him. Real, true, romantic feelings that run far too deep for you to ignore.

He goes to leave, but you catch his wrist, “you can stay.”

“What?”

“I want you to stay with me. If you want to,” you say.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

He doesn't even hesitate, and he tries not to think about what that means for this thing he knows is blooming between you, its petals unfurling slow and steady. He slips into bed beside you, welcoming you when you snuggle into his side.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Night, moon girl.”

You’re both fucked, literally and figuratively.

You wake up the most well-rested you’ve felt in a while. Flipping onto your back, you stretch out, and it’s only then that you feel the emptiness on the other side of the bed.

For a moment, you’d almost forgotten Eddie had been there in the first place. Then, you remembered you were, in fact, naked. The slight ache between your legs was enough to have last night coming back to you in a rush.

You wonder if maybe Eddie had to leave for work, but you don’t find a note or any indication of his departure. Instead, you hear the clanking of pans and plates coming from the kitchen.

You throw on a fresh pair of underwear and one of your oversized sleep shirts that sits at the top of your thighs. You’re still groggy, mind slower with sleep, but you’re awake enough to hear Eddie humming when you open your bedroom door and step out into the hall.

There he is, standing by your stove, cooking breakfast. You rub your eyes to make sure you’re not dreaming. Or seeing things.

He moves around like he’s been using your kitchen for ages, and his presence warms the space that you’ve had such a hard time getting used to. You recognize the song he’s humming to be the one he played on the guitar. The corners of your mouth lift up.

“Eddie?” You call quietly, careful not to startle him while his back is turned to you.

“Oh,” he faces you, frying pan in his hand, “morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

“I’m making us breakfast, I hope that’s okay.”

Is he kidding? It’s the most okay thing anyone’s done for you in a long time and you don’t know whether you want to cry or kiss him. He’s unlike anyone you’ve known, and you can’t believe how different he is now compared to when you first met.

His guard was up, short responses and little emotion. It’s a stark contrast to now, to the way he stands clad only in his boxers and his shirt from the night before, flipping a pancake like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You don’t know how he could even keep the saccharine boy hidden, it seems to ooze out of him now.

“It’s- Eddie, this is really sweet.”

The tips of his ears go pink.

He doesn’t know what possessed him to cook for you, or why the sincerity in your appreciation makes him blush. All he knows is that he thought it would be nice to make you smile, and that there’s something in his chest that seems to expand when you do.

“I hope you like pancakes,” he says.

That morning is the moment you realize you’re falling in love with Eddie Munson.

It’s been weeks since that night, that morning. Somehow, rather than put distance between the two of you, you and Eddie have grown closer. You think he’s one of the best friends you’ve ever had, even though you haven’t known him very long.

You’re not falling in love with him anymore. No, you’re deep in it now.

Of course, Robin was able to draw it out of you, and after all of her assuring you that there’s absolutely no way Eddie doesn’t feel the same, you still can't let yourself believe her. You’ll bever come back from it if you find out he doesn’t when you’ve built up your expectations.

So, you keep them low. He’s your friend, that’s all it’ll ever be and you know it. Or, at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself every time you catch yourself getting a little too lost in him.

You’re meant to be meeting the gang at the tattoo shop and then head somewhere for drinks all together. Because you’re not only close with Eddie now, you’ve found yourself friends that are real and true. Sometimes you find yourself wondering what your life would’ve been like had you been in high school alongside them. You think it would have been much, much better, but you have them now and that’s what matters.

You knock on the door when you get there, the shop already closed and locked up. You’re quickly greeted with Robin’s grinning face on the other side of the glass. She lets you in and wraps you in a brief hug.

“I think you should start working here just so I don’t have to miss you at all in between plans,” she says, stepping back and locking the door again.

“We both know I don’t have the skills for that, but I missed you, too, Robin.”

“Not as much as you missed me, I hope,” is how Eddie chooses to announce his presence.

“Hi, Eddie.”

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Robin scoffs at him, “can you not steal my thunder for once, please.”

“I’m not allowed to say hi to my friend?”

He looks at you when he says friend, like he’s sharing a secret. Only, you have no idea what it might be.

“Whatever. I have to go get Nance since she went home to change,” she gathers her stuff from the desk. Then, she points to you and says, “I better get a very detailed life update later.”

“You know you will,” you say.

“‘Kay, see you soon!”

She leaves after that, and Eddie’s gaze is already fixed on you when you turn towards him.

“C’mere,” he nods towards the doors that lead to the back room, where the station he tattooed you at is all set up.

“What’s this?”

“I want you to give me a tattoo.”

Your eyes widen, “sorry?”

“I’m serious. Doesn’t have to be big, it can be a dot if you want,” he gently nudges your chin with his finger, closing your mouth where it was dropped in surprise. “I wanna teach you.”

Your friendship isn’t the only thing that’s grown since that night. Eddie’s become more touchy with you, too. An arm slung over your shoulders, a hand on your thigh or the nape of your neck. Though this touch is small, it doesn’t fail to leave a lasting effect where it was placed, a warmth, like a drop of sunlight. It almost distracts you from what he’s asking.

“Eddie, I can’t. I’ll mess it up.”

“Babe, I’ve got loads of tattoos. Trust me, it’ll be fine,” he moves his hand to your shoulder, gives it a squeeze. “Plus, you’ve got a great teacher.”

It takes a bit longer for him to convince you, but he succeeds in the end. It’s hard to say no to someone you’re in love with, especially if that someone has really good puppy dog eyes.

Before you really even process it, he’s on the tattoo bed, a pant leg rolled up, shaving a small patch for you to use as your canvas. He does all of the prepping necessary, and even goes as far as to put the gloves on for you.

He explains it all slowly, repeats whatever you ask him to, and promises to guide you through it all. You’re incredibly nervous—who wouldn’t be?

“Relax. You’re gonna be a natural, I know it.”

“How do you know that?”

“You’ve got good hands, sweetheart,” he drops one of his eyelids in a wink.

The flirting is something else that’s become more frequent. You think he’s flirting, that is. He doesn’t act the same way with the rest of the group and you know that, but you also need to not get your hopes up. Still, the butterflies come alive.

You draw your stencil, settling on a very simple rendition of the sun. A small circle with short lines as its rays. It’s fitting for him, you think. As much as he seems like midnight on the outside, that boy is dripping in sunshine.

It also goes with the one he gave you, but that’s just a bonus.

Once it’s applied and you’re sat on the stool, in position to begin, he explains it all over again. He knows you’re nervous, but he isn’t at all. He’s excited to have you do this, to wear a piece of you on his skin.

His hand wraps around yours on the tattoo gun for the first line, guiding you so that you can get the feel of it. He lets you take over after that, assuring you that there’s nothing you could mess up enough to have him dislike it, as long as you’re the one doing it.

As he watches you work, your tongue poking out between your lips in focus, he feels his chest swell. He’s never liked anyone the way he does you, and he’s never let someone untrained tattoo him, that’s for sure. There’s something in him that seems to brighten when you’re around, and he doesn’t know how to put it into words.

He wishes he could pluck the moon out of the sky and hold it in his hand, only to be able to give it to you. Since he can’t do that, he hopes his heart will do good enough. He loves you, that he knows, he just can’t bring himself to say the words out loud.

He’s warmed up to you quicker than ever, so much so that the people around him have noticed. That means something and he knows it.

“I think I’m done,” you say after a bit.

“Yeah? Let’s see this work of art then.”

He sits up, bends closer to his leg to get a look at your handiwork. He’s silent at first and it makes you nervous.

“What do you think?”

“It’s perfect,” he says.

You know it’s far from perfect. The lines aren’t even, nor are they all straight. But he says it like he means it, believes it, so you let yourself smile at that.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m super sure.”

He wouldn’t have ever picked out the sun for himself, but knowing that you would has his walls crumbling even more—if that’s even possible with you.

He does the cleaning and the wrapping, and you’re happy to observe. Just as he’s finishing up, Robin and Nancy walk in, Steve not far behind.

“I leave you guys for not even an hour, and now you have a tattoo?” Robin says, though she doesn’t even sound surprised.

Eddie thinks his feelings swell and grow every single time he sees you, and he thinks they might just boil over and pour out of him before he even gets to figure out what to say. That won’t do. You deserve more than that.

You deserve to be taken on a date, to be appreciated and taken care of properly, and that’s what he needs to do. The only problem is, he has no idea how to go about it all.

There’s only one person he can think of who will know exactly what to do. The expert in dating; Steve. Eddie calls him into his office.

“What’s up, boss?” Steve says, leaning against the doorway the way he always does.

“Close the door, would you?”

“Shit. Am I in trouble? I may have spilled some ink the other day but you can barely even see it, swears.”

Eddie shakes his head, making note to take a look around his station later. He’s used to Steve’s clumsiness, though, it’s part of the reason he wanted dark floors in the shop.

“No. That’s not- I need your help.”

“Oh. Okay, hit me.”

“I want to ask her out. I just don’t really know, um, where to take her or whatever.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to say your name for Steve to know who he’s talking about. He’s painfully aware that he’s been quite obvious with his affections, especially ever since the night you had sex. He’s always itching to have his hands on you in some way, stealing you away from other conversations, all of it.

That night was like a wake up call for him, a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. He knew there was something about you before that, but it became concrete.

He’d never felt so connected to someone, nor had he been so eager to take care of them afterwards. Hell, he’s never even slept in the same bed as his hookups. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s slept over at all. Then, there was you, asking him to stay and he couldn’t say no to you. He didn’t want to, either.

“You know her better than I do, man. But, flowers, you gotta do. They love that. Do you know her favorites?”

Eddie shakes his head.

“That’s fine. Get a good mix. Other than that, you should just be honest, that’s what Robin always tells me,” he shrugs. “Why don’t you just call her now?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Come on! She’s gonna say yes. She gives you those lovey-dovey eyes all the time.”

“Okay, that’s enough. Out.”

“Not even a thank you?”

“Thanks, Steve. Bye.”

Steve rolls his eyes as he leaves Eddie’s office, shutting the door behind him again. He, along with Nancy and Robin, knows that you and Eddie will end up together, it’s obvious to everyone except you two, they only want to help it along.

Eddie really hopes that their pestering will be worth it in the end. That you’ll feel the same.

He stares at the phone sitting on his desk for what feels like ages before he musters up the courage to actually call you. He had your file open on his desk, your number written out on one of the forms. He finally picks up the phone and dials it.

Luckily, you weren’t at work. You’d been thinking of Eddie more and more each day it seemed. How he looked at you, the secret smiles that he saved just for you, the way he touched you, the way he felt-

The phone ringing cuts off your train of thought. You walk over and pick it up, prepared for it to be Robin or Nancy since they’re the only ones that ever call you besides your boss. The voice on the other line is neither of them.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart. It’s Eddie.”

As close as you’ve gotten, for some reason, no phone numbers have been exchanged. You wish they had been, because hearing his voice crackle through the phone is a much nicer sound than most.

“Eddie, hi. How’d you get my number?”

He twists one of his rings around with his thumb. He’s glad you can’t actually see him, because you’d surely be able to tell that he’s nervous.

“It’s on file in the shop. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I like talking to you,” you say, soft and sincere. “What’s up?”

“I, uh,” he shakes his head, trying to figure out exactly what to say. “Are you busy tonight?”

“No, I’m not. Do you guys want to do something?”

“Not exactly,” he says.

Your heart beats quicker in your chest, because you think he’s about to ask you out, maybe. If not that, then at least ask you to do something with just him, which is close enough for you to consider it a win. You smile like an idiot.

He clears his throat and continues, “I wanted to know if you’d want to go out… with me.”

It’s happening, you think. Something is shifting as you speak, the feelings you’ve tried to suppress for so long are itching to come out.

“Like a date?” You ask. Just to be sure.

“Yeah, moon girl. Like a date.”

“I’d really, really like that, Eddie.”

He thinks you can probably hear the smile in his voice when he says, “yeah? Me too.”

He tells you he’ll pick you up, to wear whatever you like, not to worry about being over or underdressed, ‘you’ll look pretty either way, trust me,’ he’d said.

When you hang up, you’re trying not to jump around and squeal like a thirteen year old. It’s difficult to contain your excitement, your nerves, your hope. It feels as if a door is opening. A door to more nights like that night, more mornings with shared breakfast, more kissing, more than friends. More, more, more.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s wondering how he’ll get through the rest of the work day when his head is filled with the promise of seeing you.

After much debating on what to wear, no thanks to Eddie’s sweet yet vague instructions, the buzzer sounds in your apartment. You make your way over, one shoe on, the other in your hand. You press the button and speak.

“Hello?”

“Hey, moon girl.”

“Eddie,” he only said three words and you’re already smiling. “Come on up.”

You rush to get your other shoe on, luckily finishing up just as he knocks on your door. There’s a moment where you’re almost expecting someone else to be on the other side, to have been dreaming the whole date up. Luckily, it’s real.

Eddie stands in the hall, pretty as ever. His hair is in its usual mess of waves and curls, his classic leather jacket and denim vest duo are on, and in his hand, a bouquet of flowers.

He notices you looking at them and holds them out, “these are for you.”

“This is really nice, Eddie. Thank you.”

You take them from him, holding them up to your nose to smell them (and also to hide how wide your grin is). He stands by the door, a ball of nerves, and watches you put them into a big cup, because you never had a reason to buy a vase until now. He decides next time, he’ll deliver the flowers in a vase just so you have one.

He holds your hand on the way down, opens the car door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before closing it, he tells you in at least three different ways how beautiful you look during the car ride alone, and he drives with a hand resting on your thigh, your fingers toying with his rings.

He’s an absolute dream.

He takes you to a small restaurant, fancy enough for a date—though you think being with Eddie, no matter where, would be enough for you—but casual enough that you aren’t too worried about the people around you being judgemental. You sit in a booth and instead of across, Eddie sits beside you. He keeps a hand on your thigh during your meal, too.

In his car once more, you’re sitting in the parking lot with music playing through the speakers. Eddie hasn’t made a move to start driving you yet, and you haven’t even thought about going home. You haven’t ever been on an official date before, but if you had, you’d say with absolute certainty that this is the best one.

You sit sideways in the passenger seat so you can look at him, and Eddie’s head is turned toward you, his cheek against the headrest.

“Have you had a girlfriend before?” You ask.

You don’t know why the thought comes out of your mouth. You’d been thinking it, though. Robin’s always hinting at how different he is with you, at the fact that Eddie’s never brought a girl he’s liked around his friends. You’re curious.

“No, I haven’t. Why do you seem surprised?”

“It’s just, you’re really good at this.”

“At what, sweetheart?”

“Like, going on a date. And… other stuff, too.”

He shifts in his seat, resting an elbow on the center console and leaning closer to you. Much, much closer. Your noses are almost touching and you can see the way his eyelashes frame his eyes.

He nudges his nose against yours, “what stuff?”

You know he’s teasing you, trying to make you give him more detail because it’ll make you go all shy or embarrassed. To him, it’s cute, and he’s been trying not to kiss you all night. He was going to wait until he dropped you off like a proper gentleman, but he figures making it through dinner is good enough.

“Eddie,” you draw his name out, almost whining.

“Tell me. Come on, please? You can’t just bring it up and not share.”

The hand of his that isn’t resting between you comes up to push your hair over your shoulder, then slides around to hold the back of your neck loosely.

“God, okay. Um, you’re a good kisser. Like, really good,” he leans in and pecks you for that, pulling away just enough to let you keep talking, your lips still brushing against his. “And, I love your hands.”

“My hands?”

“They’re very talented. You know, ‘cause you’re an artist, and all.”

He huffs and shakes his head. Enough of the teasing, he leans in and kisses you deeper this time. Your hands move and grip the sides of his jacket, holding him close to you.

You kiss, and kiss, and kiss, and it’s enough to have you panting and warm all over. His hand squeezes your neck gently before he pulls away, his lips slick with spit, swollen and darker from your kiss. You’re sure yours don’t look much different.

Eddie drops his forehead against yours, takes both of your hands in his, “do you want to go home?”

You shake your head.

“Can I show you my place, then?”

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

He’s not saying it to get you in his bed, though there’s no doubt that would be a bonus, but he doesn’t want this date to end. There’s also a part of him that wants to see you in his apartment, let you into more of his life.

He’s only ever been to yours, and he doesn’t have the whole group over at his, so you’ve never seen it. He thinks, if he’s really going to give this a shot, he might as well let another wall crumble down for you.

The drive there is fairly quick, and yet again, his hand finds your thigh. This time, though, he lets his fingers hold on, rather than just rest in your lap. You like it a lot.

Eddie’s apartment isn’t what you expect. You thought it’d be decorated like the shop: dark colors, black and white art, hints of red. His place is much warmer, much homier. It suits him perfectly.

He has a huge record collection, a whole wall of his living room dedicated to the shelves and the player itself. He also has a shelf for his books. Some more worn than others, letting you know which are his favorites of the bunch.

You trail your fingers along the spines, admiring his collection. He lets you, standing not too far away, enjoying how you look in his space.

His bathroom is much like yours, small and plain, but it’s tidy save for some products of his strewn about the counter. His bedroom is so obviously his that it makes you smile. From the rings and other jewelry sitting atop his dresser, to his dark gray bedding, to the guitars that are displayed proudly, to the desk pushed into a corner with pages upon pages spread about.

You gravitate towards that desk without a second thought.

There’s something so intimate about seeing his art station in his home, much different to his office at the shop. Here, he can let it be a mess, and can draw whatever he pleases.

“Is it okay if I look at these?” You ask.

“‘Course,” he says. He walks up behind you, lets his hands hold your sides loosely and rests his chin on your shoulder. You revel in the warmth of his chest against your back.

You pick up some of the loose pages, looking at the different pieces. Skulls and flowers and landscapes and so much more. He can do it all, you think. You can see so much detail, the strokes of his pencil, and it’s clear how much talent he has.

“These are all beautiful, Eddie.”

He turns his head to peck your cheek, “thank you, sweetheart.”

You reach for a worn sketchbook next, the cover peeling at the edges and the pages nearly full. It flips open to where it seems to have been used the most, the spine broken. What you see makes you gasp quietly, but Eddie’s close enough to hear it.

Covering the pages are drawings of the moon. Over and over again he drew them. Some are big, taking up an entire page, and some are scrawled into corners and empty spaces, like he couldn’t stop adding them. All of these drawings for your tattoo, and he’d only shown you a few.

“It’s weird, right?” Eddie says, hiding his face in your neck.

If he’s honest, he forgot that sketchbook was even there. He couldn’t forget about the drawings you found—you’d taken up so much of his thoughts after meeting that he couldn’t stop drawing the fucking moon for you. There are so many and he’s embarrassed by it, because he really was screwed after the first day even when he refused to see it.

“No, it’s- these are all for me?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout you, so I drew these,” he speaks into your skin. “I was trying to avoid my feelings for you, but clearly, that didn’t work. You wouldn’t get out of my head and I had no idea why.”

You turn in his hold, leaving the sketchbook open on his desk. You look at him, the way his cheeks are pink at your finding of his drawings, the way his eyes flick between yours.

“I love them. Every single one,” I love you. “I thought about you a lot, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. So much. You made me nervous at first,” you admit, your hands fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

“I’m not used to, um, opening up to people and all. I’ve never even been in a relationship,” his hands come up and grab yours, like he needs the comfort. “You make me want to try, though.”

You have to say it. There’s no way you can’t, not when he’s looking at you with those eyes filled with something.

“I love you, Eddie,” his eyes widen, he freezes. “You don’t have to say it back or anything, I just really needed to tell you. You’re the first sense of comfort I’ve found since I moved, and I don’t think I would have felt at home without you and I love you.”

No matter how scared he is to be with you, because he wants to be someone worth being with and he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he can’t ignore the fact that he loves you right back. And he hasn’t said those words to many people in his life.

It’s big for him, so big that he’s stumbling over his words but he tries anyway.

“Oh my god,” he kisses your knuckles, “I love you, sweetheart. My moon girl, fuck, I love you, too. I’ve never done this before, but there’s nobody else I’d want. Nobody.”

You feel so many things at once. Relief and happiness and a thousand fireworks in your gut and in your heart. You grab his face with your hands and drag him down to kiss you.

It’s broken by your smiles, your teeth bumping into each other but neither of you care one bit. He holds your wrists gently, returns your kiss with ease. He’s delicate with his touch, so, so perfect with his lips on yours.

He only pulls away to ask, “will you be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

You nod vehemently, “been yours since you kissed me the first time. Probably even before that.”

You’re not worried about the ‘told you so’s you’re sure to get from your friends, or what happens next because you know whatever it is, Eddie’s gonna be there.

“Think you had me the minute you started talking ‘bout the moon.” He just didn’t know it yet.

༄

if you enjoyed, please leave a reblog or let me know what you thought! it helps loads more than you think <3

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macfrog · 9 months

Text

rack 'em

the girlies watched triple frontier last week and it was the single most inspiring thing i have ever seen so here’s a lil frankie fic to cleanse my mind. dedicated to my babies @gracieispunk (who put this concept in my head for the wee laddies), @hellishjoel & @strang3lov3 🤍

pairing: bbf!frankie morales x f!reader

summary: when your parents ask you to housesit for them, you take the opportunity to spend some quality time back in your hometown, hanging with your older brother and...getting reacquainted with his best friend

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader is santiago's younger sister, she and frankie do not get along, teasing & touching, dubcon (reader is a little drunk, frankie is not), oral sex (f receiving), alcohol consumption, quick mention of dr*gs, cursing, frankie's a bit of a dick but reader gives as good as she gets

word count: 6.1k (cause apparently i don’t know how to write short fics 🤪)

main masterlist

When you were four, a new family moved in across the street. Nobody knew them – your mom spent two straight days trying to scoop for information. Who they were, where they’d moved from, what was with the banged-up Ford pickup they drove. Nobody knew a thing.

You didn’t take much interest, being four years old – two months shy of your fifth birthday, by the way – and too invested in whatever politics a woman of your age finds herself wrapped up in, but you noticed one key thing about them.

The mom had tattoos.

Two full sleeves. Colorful ones, too. A bright red heart on her shoulder, a green snake wrapped around her forearm – among others. It was fucking cool, alright? No matter how much your mom whispered to Ms. Teller over the fence about them.

One night, when you were supposed to be in bed, you snuck out of your room and crossed the landing to your brother’s. Santiago and his friends were all staying at Tom’s, and you knew that in his desk he had permanent markers. You clicked the door open, as quiet as you could, and crept over his matted carpet to the drawer. You took one Sharpie, and spent the night adding snakes and hearts and whatever else came to mind to your Barbies’ arms, legs, faces, necks.

They looked fucking awesome. Just like that mom across the street.

But somehow or other – and I’m not blaming anyone – the next morning, a drawing appeared on the bathroom wall. In Sharpie. Your mom hit the roof.

As soon as Santi got home, she dragged him by the ear into the bathroom and pointed a trembling finger at the drawing. You forget what it was – it’s been years, and you were never much of an artist.

His plea of innocence helped him none; she knew he owned Sharpies, knew he sucked just as bad as you did at drawing, and he was grounded for three whole weeks. No soccer practice, no TV, no PlayStation. Which, at thirteen, is basically a stint in Rikers.

Your brother, though…he was always better than your mom at reading your mind. He saw the guilt on your face plain as the black marker behind the toilet tank. He cornered you in your bedroom as soon as she went back downstairs, and established three key rules going forward.

One: do not enter his room ever again.

Two: no touching his stuff.

And three: anytime he took the fall for you, you owed him. Big time.

You’ve followed the rules ever since. You barely knew what the inside of his room looked like, growing up. But it worked, ‘cause ever since the Sharpie incident of ’99, you two remained closer than most siblings with an eight-year age gap.

So, now, two days into a two-week stay back in your hometown to housesit while your parents head off on a cruise to celebrate their anniversary, you’re in the car with him. Listening to music, bitching about your mom, arguing over the best Cola flavor.

It’s like old times.

“She said, How’s my baby girl?” you yell over Stevie Nicks’s voice, reading from your phone.“And when I said I’m fine, she said, No, I meant the dog. Is she fucking serious?”

Santiago’s head tilts back with laughter, dark curls nudging against the headrest. He’s driving you to Lucky’s, a local sports bar he and his buddies frequent. He promised when he picked you up at the airport he’d take you out, get you drunk, and he was holding to it.

You pull your legs down off the dash as he turns into the parking lot, pulling in right under the white fluorescent sign, four-leaf clover flashing under it.

“She’s looking forward to seeing you when they get back,” he tells you, switching the engine off.

“Oh, yeah? That why she didn’t even hang around to see me before they left?”

He hands you a smug grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Can’t have it all, big shot. You move a thousand miles away, you forfeit your chance of being the favorite.”

You swing your door open and hop out, chasing him around the car to follow him inside. “You say that like I was ever in the fucking running.”

He snorts, pushing the door open, and a loud cheer roars through the bar. You blush as you follow your brother across the room to two tables full of familiar faces.

“Hey, baby.” Your best friend’s arms pull you in, her gold hoop earrings cold against your cheek. She smells like rose and cedarwood.

“Mal,” you hum, smiling as she pulls away.

“My mom said your parents only just made it on board,” she says, detaching strands of her long, black hair from the cuff of your jacket. “Said they had a flat tire and had to race to get to the boat.”

Your head jerks back. “She never told me any of that. Just asked how Ange was.”

Mal snorts.

“Hey, lil Santi!”

You glance over your shoulder to watch as Benny Miller stalks over, almost shoving some old guy off his feet, arms wide open, wide grin spread across his lips. His brother, Will, follows behind, and gives your shoulder a loving slap when Benny pulls you in for a hug.

“How’s Boston treatin’ ya?”

“Good,” you reply. “How’s…MMA treating you?”

“Good!” he echoes, eyebrows almost reaching his hairline.

It’s kinda part of the deal that your older brother’s friends become brothers in their own right to you, especially when you’re as young and easily-influenced as you were. They used to use you in their elaborate plans – send you in as a distraction while they filled their pockets with food at parties, or use your smaller stature to their advantage when attempting to break into places they shouldn’t.

By the time you were old enough to follow their orders, they were well into their teens. Which is basically grown-up, as far as six-year-old you was concerned. They were always allowed to do things you’re still not sure your mom would permit you to do at twenty-eight, like disappear all day without checking in, or come home black and blue after an organized street brawl with the boys from the other side of the neighborhood.

But there was no denying they cared about you. Will, Benny, and Tom, at least. They showed their affection by ruffling your hair as they passed, or sneaking you candy under the table even after your mom had told you you’d had enough. They’d christened you ‘lil Santi’, a name that – despite the embarrassment it always casts over you anytime you hear it – still sticks to this day.

Your brother’s friends were family to him, and, by extension, family to you.

Well. All but one.

Frankie Morales – nickname Catfish: long-time best buddy of your big brother, and long-time fucking asshole. There isn’t one thing on Earth that you two see eye to eye on, except for that very fact: he hates you almost as much as you hate him.

Always have, always will.

He’s in trouble almost regularly for drug-related stuff you don’t bother asking Santiago about. You don’t need to hear details to know he’s a pain in the ass. He’s been antagonizing you for as long as you’ve known him – where the others ruffled your hair, he’d shove into your shoulder as he passed, sending you – and whatever you were holding – flying. Any attempt you made at conversation with any one of them resulted in an argument between you and Frankie.

You hated him. Fucking hated him.

And tonight, you almost think yourself lucky. Almost go over to thank Santi for not inviting him, when you notice the silhouette of his baseball cap and that denim button up hunched over in a bar stool, and your eyes narrow.

You can’t help yourself. It’s been a years-long feud. And you’re old enough to take him on now. So, you stride over.

“You here to poison my drink?”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. Already exasperated just by the sight of you.

“I bet you cheered the loudest when I walked in.”

He shrugs. “Cheered when your brother gave me fifty bucks to show face.”

Your upper lip curls. When the bartender notices you standing, elbows propped on the bar, he leans over.

“Beer, please.” Your smile twists into a grimace when you catch Frankie watching you. “What are you doing here? You have to be the person least excited to see me home.”

“I told you,” he says, lifting the bottle to his lips, “I’m bein’ paid.”

“Alright, so what do I gotta pay you to make you leave?”

Frankie scoffs, opens his mouth to answer what you’re sure is a comment laced with just as much venom, when Will’s strong arms slap down on each of your shoulders.

“We buyin’ our favorite veterinary nurse a drink, Francisco?”

You take your beer from Nick’s outstretched hand, sliding him the cash in return, and hold it up to Will in reply. “I’m good, thanks. Wouldn’t wanna eat into that fifty bucks, Catfish,” you mutter, turning to wander off.

You weave in and out of bodies, making your way to the opposite side of the bar where the pool tables sit. Doused in the warm strip light over the green felt, Santi chalks his cue ready to play against Mal, who’s already lining up her shot.

You hop up on a stool right next to the table, glancing back over to the bar where Frankie sits, now turned to face your direction. His elbow sits on the wooden surface, head turns from the football game showing behind the bar, over to you. And when he sees you looking, turns back to the TV screen, cool expression never changing.

“You done?” Mal asks Santiago, feeding the cue through her ring-decorated fingers.

He nods, tossing the chalk back over to you. “Better get your purse out, Bennett. Lotta sober people in here, all gonna want a free drink once you lose.”

“As if,” she breathes, and breaks the rack.

Somewhere throughout the game – a grueling and controversial one, by all accounts – Frankie makes his way over, following Will. You’re thankful when he plants himself on the other side of the table, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other around a bottle of beer. Though the light only comes up to his chest, right where the last button is done up, you notice him looking. Every fucking glance.

It pisses you off. Not the glancing. The way it makes you feel having him watch you. Wherever it comes from, you swallow it down with one big gulp of alcohol.

The game ends in a questionable loss. This side of the table swears the white skimmed off of Mal’s final solid when Santi hit it, right before it potted the black. The other side objected, claimed it was a clean shot ‘n you all know it. A winner wasn’t officially announced, but, being that Mallory Bennett is a force of nature where her competitive nature is concerned, Santiago was forced to buy the loser’s round.

She saunters up to you with her free whiskey in her hand, silver jewelry clinking off of the cold glass.

“Proud of yourself?” you ask, smirking.

She hands you your third beer of the night, sweeping her silky hair out of her face. “It hit it, alright? I saw it move.”

“Was that before or after you nudged the table?”

Mal holds a finger to her lips. You swat her hand away and the pair of you giggle, leaning into each other like schoolgirls whispering secrets in the playground.

“You know something,” Santiago materializes over Mal’s shoulder, shaking his head, “if you gotta cheat to beat me, I’ll give you the win.”

“Oh, get out,” you throw back. “Don’t blame her for your bad aim. Ms. Teller could’ve hit that shot and she’s got cataracts in both eyes.”

Your brother nods at you, tongue in his cheek. “Alright, smartass. Grab a cue.”

You scoff. Look around the room, shaking your head. The crowd has dispersed a little, folks have turned back to the TV screens, shifted focus back to the alcohol in their glasses. And then you look back to Santiago, holding his arms out.

“Alright. Fuck it.”

You hop down and snatch the second cue, wandering around the table while he racks the balls. He lifts the triangle, rolls the white over to you, and tells you to break.

The multicolored balls scatter in a fleet, two stripes tumble into pockets, and you stand back to survey your options. There’s a third stripe close to a pocket on the right, so you wander around to your left and turn.

“’scuse me,” you mutter, nudging Frankie’s stomach with the bottom of your cue.

He shoots you a dead-eyed stare, and takes one step back. And then his eyes drop, and you feel like you could slap him.

But you’re three – almost four – beers deep, and there are heads turning to watch how this plays out, and you can feel the bassline of the music rippling up from the soles of your feet all through your body, and you can feel the heat of his stare on the backs of your thighs, right where the hem of your dress sits.

Suddenly, slapping isn’t what you want to do to him.

Your head turns back to the pool table and you bend over, drawing the cue back between almost shaking fingers, and slam it into the white. It fires into the red striped ball, which hits the corner of the cushion, millimeters away from falling into the pocket.

You sigh, straightening up and waiting for your brother to begin his taunting, but it never comes. Instead, he fishes into his pocket for his phone, tapping the screen and holding it to his ear.

“Yep?” There’s a pause, Santiago’s face sours, and then he glances around the bar. “Right now? Really? No, it’s just…” He sighs. “Alright. I’ll be there. Just…I’m coming. I’m coming.”

He hangs up the phone and curses under his breath, then turns back to you, answering the question on your expression with: “One of our informants just got himself killed. I gotta go.”

“You haven’t even taken a shot yet,” you huff, taking his cue when he holds it out.

“I’ll make it up to you, hermana, promise. How are you gonna get home?”

You shrug. Mumble an, “I dunno.”

His eyes scan the room, passing over Will – already worse for wear, leaning shakily against a nearby table slurring to a group of strangers, then to Benny – stumbling out of the bar door with some girl on his arm, and finally land on the figure behind you, sliding a bowl of peanuts across the table to himself.

“Morales,” Santiago calls, and you throw the cues down on the felt.

“No, no way,” but your brother is already pushing past you to get to his friend. “Pope, no fucking w–”

Frankie turns, handful of nuts, cheek full and chewing.

“I gotta go, trouble at work. Can you do me a favor, man, ‘n make sure she gets home alright?”

“No,” you repeat. “He is not taking me home.”

“Baby,” Santi pleads, “just go with him, please?”

“I’ll walk. It’s, like, a twenty-minute walk.”

“No way. Mom would kill me.”

“Well, then, we just don’t tell her. Pope, please.”

He ignores you. “You are not walking home after dark. No.”

“Probably be safer than in the truck with him.”

Frankie’s head stops flitting between the two of you and his glare settles on yours. “Fuck you,” he spits, shaking his head.

“Right back at you,” you reply, insincere smile on your lips.

Santiago puts his palms together and holds them out to you. “Look, just – please. Just this once. I’ll owe you one.”

He doesn’t owe you one often. Makes a point of deliberately trying not to owe you one. This is an interesting offer. You sigh, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. You better fucking pay me back, though!”

“You got it,” he says, patting your shoulder. “Thanks, man,” he whispers to Frankie as he passes, slipping through the crowd toward the exit.

You and Frankie are left, two feet apart, filled with silence and resentment.

“You looking for someone else to hand your ass to you, lil Santi?” he asks, tossing another handful of peanuts into his mouth.

“You’re funny.” You hand him a smile, which drops the second he looks at it.

But when you turn back to the table and lift the cues, you hand one to him. Push it into his chest, shoot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“One game. And only ‘cause I need a sub.”

He dusts his hands together, shrugs. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You stalk back over to Mal, who’s giggling into her glass. “You two are unbelievable.”

“Don’t.” You hold your hand up, taking another swig of beer as Frankie lines up.

On his first shot, he pots that same red you were trying to hit before. His eyes lift only for a second, but you catch the cocky look he throws you and screw your face up.

“Fucking…ass,” you whisper.

Frankie’s shoulders jump, his teeth take his bottom lip. He’s laughing to himself when he takes his next shot, and pots another stripe. And then he stands up straight, holds his hands out.

“Just tell me when.”

“When what?”

“To start going easy on you.”

Fuck off. Fuck off, fuck you, fuck this. Fuck!

One more ball potted and finally, fucking finally, he misses a shot. It’s an impossible shot, anyway, there’s no way in hell he was gonna make it, but that’s not what matters. What matters is the way you twirl your cue in your fingers, then lift it and wander around the table, squeezing between Frankie and the wooden edge to get to your shot.

Your ass brushes past his jeans, and when you turn your head to whisper a sarcastic Sorry, he fucking growls. Low, almost inaudible. But just enough for you to notice, and enough for you to keep pissing him off.

The buzz you’re getting from antagonizing him this much must awaken some sort of billiards skillset you never knew you fucking had, because you pocket four balls in quick succession. Red, then green, then blue, and purple. There’s one ball between you when Frankie rounds the table, eyes scanning the felt for the next best shot he can take.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you mutter as he passes by you, on his third lap of the table.

He tsks. “Impatient,” he replies, shoulder brushing yours heavily. You feel the rough denim of his jeans graze your thighs, the weight of him against your backside for the second time. You push back, leaning into him as he moves past, then leans over, slinks his cue between his fingers, and takes his shot.

The yellow sails into the nearest pocket like there’s a magnet pulling it. The purple does the exact same – he barely has to tap it with the tip of the cue and it’s dropping in atop its predecessor.

Frankie turns, shimmying a little up the table, hip nudging yours out of the way. “Move,” he mumbles, shutting one eye to aim for the black. “Come on…” he breathes, and then shoots.

It bounces off of the opposite side of the table, thudding off of the cushion before it’s rolling toward the pocket and dropping in with a plunk.

He stands, fixing his baseball cap, and leans the cue against the table. “Good game, loser,” he says, ruffling your hair as he passes you.

“What age are you?” you sneer as he wanders back off to his beer, waiting for him on the table next to his bowl of peanuts.

Will wraps an unsteady arm around your shoulder as Frankie tips his bottle against his lips. He’s swaying, dragging you left and right with him as if you’re on a boat.

“He’s…he’s always been the best outta us all,” Will slurs, using his bottle to point at Frankie. “’s why he’s such a good pilot. Good aim.”

You sigh, pushing his heavy arm off yourself and slip back over to Mal, who hands you a sad smile and fixes your hair.

“It was a good attempt,” she says.

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, tossing your bottle up and draining the last of it onto your tongue. “I need another drink.”

You cross the room, suddenly less blurry and tilted, more boring and flat, and lean over the bar. “Nick,” you call, and he twists around, “grab me another–”

“It’s alright, Nick,” a voice yells over your shoulder, “I think she’s good.”

You spin around and it’s that stupid fucking baseball cap and the stupid denim button up again.

“What, I’m not allowed to drink now?”

Frankie’s head cocks. “You don’t think you’ve had enough?”

“I’ve had three. Three beers. The fuck is your problem?”

He tuts, glances left and right, and then back to you. “I think I should get you home.”

“I think you should mind your business.”

“Are you this fucking difficult with everyone when you’re drunk?”

“Nope,” you beam at him, “just you.”

He lets go of the grip he has on your arm and starts backing away. “I’m leaving, baby,” he tells you, nodding goodbye to Nick. “You’re either coming, or Pope’s gonna hear all about it.”

You ball your fists, watching the door swing closed behind him. Your feet stay rooted to the ground, eyes flitting from the parking lot over to Mal, who lifts her arms in a question. You shake your head in response, and her shoulders drop.

Sorry, you mouth, beginning to walk off in Frankie’s footsteps.

Mal blows you a kiss, winks once, and then salutes you goodbye. You shoulder out of the bar.

The ride back to your parents’ place is silent, except for the dull drone of whatever fucking music Frankie has choking out of his radio. You watch your hometown pass by, never taking your eyes off of the blurry streetlights or passing mailboxes, refusing to turn your head further than the middle of the windscreen at him.

He’s humming along to the song, jaw swinging as he chews on gum, arm hanging out of his open window. Everything he does is so fucking irritating, like a constant buzzing in your ear, an eyelash stuck in your eye, the feeling of stepping on a wet floor in socks.

So why, every time you do sneak a glance of him out of your peripheral, does the sight of those focused brown eyes, the strands of gray in his beard, the way his curls flick under the brim of his cap – why does it all stir something inside of you?

Frankie pulls up across the street from your house, white wood a milky blue in the moonlight. You unbuckle your seatbelt and let the strap whip off of your body, rattling against the interior of the truck. The most you’re willing to offer him is a nod of the head in thanks, which he returns, and your fingers hook around the door latch.

“Hey, mind if I come in ‘n use your bathroom?” he asks.

You pause. “Uh, yeah. I mind. No.”

“Come on, baby, I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

You scoff, ignoring him and slip down out of the truck. The door slams closed and you wander over to your parents’ drive, hearing a second slam as you cross the street.

“Uh, where do you think you’re going?”

“If your mom knew you weren’t letting me use her bathroom, she’d kill you, ‘n you know it.”

“My mom doesn’t know you like I know you, asshole,” you retort, but he’s still following you to the front door. “Just – alright. Do me a favor and disinfect it once you’re done. I don’t need them coming home to piss all over the floor.”

“You think my aim’s that bad? Just schooled you in a game of pool.”

You sigh, refusing to rise, and open the door. There’s the gentle scuffing of claws on the wooden flooring, trotting nearer and nearer in the dark hallway, and then the weight of your childhood dog shoves into your body.

“Hi, Angie. Hi, girl,” you whisper, scratching the dog’s white fur, her front paws against your tummy.

She jumps down when Frankie slips in behind you, wandering over with her tail swinging back and forth. He crouches down and holds his hand out, cooing, “Hi, baby,” as she nuzzles against his palm.

“She likes most folks who come by,” you utter, hanging your coat over the banister. “Don’t think you’re special.”

“She always loved me most,” he says, still fussing over the pup, “didn’t you, girl? Yeah, yeah you did.”

You roll your eyes and wander upstairs, leaving Frankie to find the bathroom, use it, and fuck off on his own.

It’s been almost eight years since you last lived here, but your room still looks oddly similar. Same bedframe, different sheets. Same wallpaper, only not covered in posters of your favorite bands. Same shelves, too, just that they hold stuff like vases and seashells and other random ornaments your mom’s picked up, rather than a collection of your favorite movies or framed photos of you and your friends.

You pull your dress over your shoulders and kick your boots off, grabbing a tee from your bag to sleep in. The Nirvana logo lies loose across your chest, the hem dancing along the line of your panties.

As you kneel on the mattress, tossing the million and one fucking pillows your mom has stacked down to the foot of the bed, you hear the door creak open.

“Damn,” Frankie mutters, glancing around the room, “haven’t been in here since I was, what, seventeen?”

“Weren’t welcome then, still not welcome now.”

“You still got that Black Eyed Peas poster rolled up somewhere?” He’s walking in, boots scuffing along the wooden floor.

“Are you lost?”

He looks over to you, stood by the bed, t-shirt barely reaching your thighs. “You know something, you ‘n your brother are so fucking different, it amazes me you’re related.”

“I imagine there’s a lot that amazes you, dumbass.”

He scoffs. There’s a hint of genuine humor in it. Like he’s impressed. And then his eyes scan down your body, lingering on the bare skin of your legs, shifting up to the pink cotton of your panties. They shoot back up when you speak again.

“Seriously, dude. What are you still doing here?”

Frankie turns to the dresser by the window, adorned with framed pictures of you and Santi as kids. “Making sure you get home alright, like Pope told me to.”

“Well,” you shrug, “I’m home, ‘n I’m alright. So…”

He picks up a silver frame; inside, faded by the sun and years that have passed, lives a photograph of you and your brother. He’s on his BMX bike, wide, toothless grin, and you’re behind him, standing on the pegs and gripping onto his t-shirt sleeves as you battle not to fall off.

Frankie laughs a little, turning the frame to show you. “You were always so fuckin’ annoying, you know that?” And then, with a shake of his head as he sets the frame back down, “Still are.”

You cock your head, throwing your hands up with an infuriated sigh. “If I’m so annoying, then why are you still here?”

The look he gives when he turns back around answers that question for you, in a way that his words never could. Never would, to be honest. He’d never admit the thoughts running through his head right now, same as you won’t admit that, likewise, they’re running through yours.

It’d be fucking weird. It’d be wrong, hooking up with his best friend’s little sister. Santi only asked him to get you home safe, not follow you inside, walk straight into your bedroom, look at you the way he’s looking at you right now, silhouetted by the streetlight shining through your still-open shades.

So then, why can’t he walk away?

You make to step forward, and Frankie’s already moving. He meets you halfway, stood on some fancy-looking rug your mom probably spent too much money on, his arms instantly finding your waist underneath your short tee.

“You fuckin’ piss me off, you know that?”

“I know,” you breathe, bottom lip brushing against his, “I know.”

He pushes you backward, sends you stumbling across the floor on your toes until the back of your calves hit the mattress and you fall, dragging him down on top of you. You knock the baseball cap from his head and run your hands through his brown curls, pulling him nearer as his hands begin to move north under the worn cotton of your shirt.

His rough hands cup your breasts, kneading and pinching your nipples as his lips fall to your neck, sucking a bruise into your soft skin.

“Frankie,” you breathe, “what the fuck are we–?”

“Shut up,” he whispers back, teeth grazing over your collarbone. He’s moving down, kissing over your tee as he goes, until he’s kneeling on the floor, your legs dangling off the bed either side of his body.

You push yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he presses fleeting kisses to the insides of your thighs, making his way closer and closer to your center, covering ground painfully slow.

“Would you – just – fucking – get there?” you ask, head tilting back with a groan.

“Always so fucking impatient,” he mutters, pulling your legs further apart. “Makes sense, though,” he whispers, finger hooking around your underwear, “already so wet.”

“Dick,” you hiss, laying back flat on the bed.

Frankie holds the lace off of your core and then dips his jaw, lips lightly ghosting across your folds. You hum with a mixture of pleasure and annoyance, ready to buck your hips up to him if it’ll just make him move faster.

But you don’t have to wait a second longer. He licks one broad stripe up your center, pressing one chaste kiss to your clit before his tongue dips where you need him most. Your legs go to clamp shut, stopped by his shoulders.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan, hand coming down to knot your fingers in his hair.

He hums against your pussy, tongue lapping inside you, nose at the perfect angle for you to rut your clit against.

“Fuck…” you repeat, and he fucking laughs against you. “Quit it,” you hiss, and he lifts his head.

Your eyes shoot open, finding his. Alarmed meeting cool.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “I’ll quit it.”

“Don’t you fucking– Frankie.”

“Your words, baby.” He shrugs, eyes flitting down to your cunt, soaked under his touch.

“I didn’t mean it,” you moan. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

He looks back up. The corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a grin. Some devilish grin, thick with arrogance.

“I’m an asshole,” he echoes, elastic of your panties shifting up to his knuckles.

He watches your cunt as he does it. Runs two fingers between your folds, coating them in your arousal, dipping them deeper until they’re at your entrance.

Your head hits the bed heavily, your body writhing over the white sheets as he pushes closer and closer. His free hand comes up and pushes down on your tummy, holding you steady to the mattress, then –

“I’m the asshole.”

He inserts his fingers, curled, thick, stretching you out over his hand as he pushes in deep. A gasp passes through your lips, exchanging itself for a throaty moan when Frankie begins fucking you on his hand, lowering his lips to your clit again.

His wrist pumps in and out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud, palm pushing harder into your stomach to keep you from upsetting his rhythm with how badly you want to move around.

Your fingers lock a vice grip around his hair, your hips the only part of your body he’ll let you move. You establish a pace of your own, fucking up to meet his fingers, grinding yourself on his wet tongue.

“I’m close,” you pant, Nirvana logo distorted in ruffles at the base of your neck. “So fucking close, Frankie.”

And he can feel it. Feel you tightening around his hand, feel the rhythm of your hips start to miss beats, move clockwise instead of up and down. He can hear as your mouth stops rounding the words, fading into slurs and breaths and moans instead of coherent language.

“F-Frankie,” you cry out, and it’s like music to his ears. “’m there, I’m–”

“On my mouth, baby,” he mutters, withdrawing his fingers and replacing them with his lips again, tongue pushing inside you as you fall apart all over him.

Your back lifts from the bed, fists ball around his hair, pushing his face even harder against your cunt as you ride out your high. You’re moaning his name over and over, echoing off the walls of your little room, escaping out the door and swirling around the hallway.

If you could hear yourself, or cared enough to try, you’d feel fucking embarrassed at what you’re doing – coming apart under Frankie’s touch. It’s Frankie.

The same Frankie you started an argument with one Fourth of July over which was better: ketchup or mustard; the two of you spitting insults over the striped tablecloth, obscene hand gestures being thrown up over plates of burgers.

The same Frankie who’d found out it was you who drew on the wall, and from that day on used it as leverage anytime you set a foot out of line. Used it to shut you up, anytime you so much as thought about talking back, or ratting on the boys.

You’re supposed to hate him. Ask anyone – Santi, Mal, your parents. They’ll all say the same. Like cat and dog.

And yet, here you are. Begging him not to stop, keep his hands and his mouth on you; gasping for breath when he eventually lifts away from you and you collapse back into the bed.

You glance down from under heavy lids, watching as he kisses your thighs again, slowly bringing you back to the room. His chin’s glistening, covered in your cum, beard soaked in you.

You slowly sit up, holding yourself steady with two palms pushed into the mattress. Frankie readjusts your underwear and sits back on his heels, running a hand down his chin and wiping himself clean.

“That was…” you pant, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

He just nods, breathing heavy himself. “Yeah.”

“I gotta…I gotta let…Ange out,” you say, words swaddled by your breath.

Frankie nods again. “I should go.”

You stand at the same time, straightening up face to face. His right side is lit warmly by your bedside lamp, the brown of his eye reflecting a tiny yellow orb back at you; the left side is darker, flecks of hair lit in the pale light from the street, face dark and unreadable. Like he’s two different people, split down the middle now, a before and after.

You’re staring at one another, mapping every inch of the other’s face. Learning it, like it’s new. Like you’ve never really seen each other until right now.

And then he’s turning, picking his hat up from the floor in one swooping motion, and walking out of your bedroom. A deep sigh passes your lips as he goes, relief mixed with satisfaction. And then you follow.

Angie circles him when his boots thud down from the bottom step. He bends to give her more attention, waiting for you to softly pad down alongside him. The dog trots off toward the kitchen, and he turns to you.

He’s back to his unphased self, jaw circling around the gum that he’s still fucking chewing. “Two drinks you owe me, now, lil Santi.”

You cock your head. “Hm?”

“One for showing your ass at pool, ‘n another for that.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Morales.”

He snorts, wandering off down the hall. You spin on your heel and follow the sound of Ange scraping the back door, throwing a glance over your shoulder.

Frankie meets your eye, and like a reflex, the pair of you toss the finger to one another. He laughs, stepping out onto the porch.

“Anytime you feel like losing again, you know where I am, baby.”

----------

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#frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #bbf!frankie #bbf!frankie morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #enemies to lovers #frankie morales enemies to lovers

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leejihoonownsmyheart · 9 months

Text

Tattoo (M)

Happy Cheol day- I’m still not actually here 🫡

Summary:

Your ridiculously hot coworker gets a new tattoo

Please god have mercy and do not let any of my coworkers find out I wrote this because it is based in reality but I swear to god I am not actually attracted to Devon he just has the coolest fucking tattoo and I don’t care if Seungcheol isn’t a weeb I needed him to be for two seconds

I’m not joking I should be fired for writing this. Not only because I literally based it off of my coworker but also because I fucking spelled out our rule system and abused the punishment system. If my coworkers read this? Got to the points part. Jesus christ I really would be fired.

Tags: Inked!Cheol, coworkers au, y/n refers to Cheol a lot as a loser but is he?, 7.9k

Warnings: Dubious consent, impact play, omg dacryphilia?? Did I finally join the ranks?, y/n is a brat (can’t relate), lots of swearing like all y/n does is swear, kinda dom!Cheol, hint of jealousy, no protection, creampie, blowjob, cunnilingus, fingering

The first thing that you noticed about Choi Seungcheol Thursday at work was his fucking tattoo.

Jesus christ, you had been so strong when it came to him. Fighting every single day not to be into the fucking man.

If you were honest, really fucking honest, you would be able to say that you had been into Seungcheol since day one. Since he had walked up to you a little bit more comfortably than everyone else. Since you two had been introduced on the day of his orientation because Riley thought you two would get along.

She was right, how had she been right? How could she have possibly known simply from his interview that you two would get along? Because she had. You remembered her walking up to you after his interview, as one of the most attractive men you had ever seen was walking out the door, and she said, “You are going to love Choi Seungcheol if he starts working here.”

But regardless of that. Despite the fact that your fate had been drawn out for you like the pages of a coloring book you had remained in denial. Fighting not to find him attractive, because his silly little anime interest had left your coworker Jordan reminding you that you weren’t exactly his type one day when he had spent a straight hour with you giving you advice on working out and literally inviting you to the gym with him.

A Thursday was not the day that you should come into work and see the hints of a freshly drawn tattoo peeking out from underneath your coworker's shirt. And at 3:00pm stuck on register with said coworker you shouldn’t be taking sneaky glances at his arms, trying to see the tattoo better. And for goodness sake the first thirty minutes of your shift when you had wandered close enough to him that you could see the Aquaphor shining on his bicep was too fucking early to have these fucking feelings.

Being turned on at work was a literal fucking sin but that tattoo was the coolest fucking thing you had ever seen in your life.

“Have you noticed anything different about me?” Seungcheol asked, his eyebrows raising excitedly as the guest near him wandered away from the counter. You willed yourself to remain casual as a small smile crossed your lips.

“You got a new tattoo,” you said softly, playing right into his hands. He smiled, that characteristic one you were so used to seeing on his face when he was so excited about something that he just couldn’t keep it to himself. You loved the way he seemed to literally buzz with energy about things like this. Lived for the fact that he was so unashamed to love something so much.

“So, you did notice,” he said pleasantly. He turned his body a little to show you his arm, but most of the tattoo was hidden under the sleeve of his shirt. You could only see the edge of lightning bolts, but you suspected that the tattoo went further up his arm. Maybe onto his shoulder.

Fuck, you so desperately needed to see where that tattoo led.

You had seen Seungcheol shirtless before, and if you were completely honest? He literally looked like he was sculpted by a god. You knew that it was because he put a lot of work into his time at the gym, and that his dedication was unmatched but despite that it had still confused all of your coworkers.

Seungcheol looked so scrawny in his work uniform! Everyone had been surprised when Nicki hissed: “Have you seen the pictures of Seungcheol on his instagram?” And then you had seen the images of him and he looked like a literal adonis.

“Do you want to know how much it cost?” Seungcheol asked you and for once that smile was doing way too fucking much for you. You really, really needed to look away from him. You instead, squinted at the lines on his arm.

“Hmm.”

“Oh, you should guess,” Seungcheol said, running off of your curiosity. You pressed your lips together, mind going to the tattoo your friend had gotten on her arm. A star, some words, 75$.

“Uh...” Your mind was trying to gauge how long the tattoo was. It wasn’t very thick, the lines were admittedly detailed but couldn’t have been that much more expensive...

But then again it was long. All around the expanse of his arm.

“200,” you murmured. Seungcheol’s lips flitted up.

“Higher.”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“300?”

“Higher.”

“No way,” you said with a laugh. “400?”

He only smiled harder. You sucked in a gasp, shaking your head.

“There’s no way it’s more than 400,” you insisted. He laughed too.

“500.”

“500,” you gasped. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s not my most expensive.” You felt like your eyes bulged at his words, and you didn’t even have to express your surprise. “One of mine was only 250, but the other one was 1000... That one I was overcharged for.”

Your mind was racing to account for this new information. 1000 dollars for a tattoo? You had forgotten just how expensive tattoos were.

Your attention strayed back to Seungcheol’s tattoo and you swallowed hard, still itching to see where it reached. You shook the thoughts out of your head when a: “Hi welcome in.” rang through the store signaling that a guest had walked in.

You tried to shake thoughts of Seungcheol and his tattoo out of your head by busying yourself with your work. Luckily for you, today Seungcheol was working basically in a completely different area than you so there wasn’t much to be distracted by.

Regardless, of that, when you went to the office to get a drink and Seungcheol was standing just outside of it cleaning something your attention caught Seungcheol’s tattoo again.

You noticed that there was a thicker part of the tattoo that you hadn’t noticed yet. Your eyes narrowed.

“Hey... What’s that?”

Seungcheol instantly knew what you were talking about. He hummed glancing at his arm as if he could see it himself, even though you knew it was out of his eyesight.

“That’s one of my other tattoo’s,” he replied. “It’s an anime tattoo. Can you guess what anime?”

Your mind ran through shows that you knew.

“Is it a mainstream one?” You asked him. “Old?”

Seungcheol hummed and nodded, his smile growing over his lips again.

“Is it Naruto?” You asked. You didn’t know why you thought that you could see the rest of the tattoo in your mind when you had never actually seen it, but you couldn’t help but think it was a signa.

“No,” he replied his voice riddled in amusement.

“Uhm, One Piece?”

Another shake of his head and you felt your face starting to warm as you tried to picture his tattoo in your mind. You ducked into the office, your mind still racing. You picked up your cup and when you turned down Seungcheol was standing just outside of the office so that you could see him. Your escape plan completely evaporating with only a few steps from him.

“Is it My Hero?”

“No,” Seungcheol said. “I’ll give you a hint. The person’s powers have to do with lightning.”

You thought for sure that had to be My Hero, but you also knew that Seungcheol had no reason to lie to you over that. You stared at Seungcheol, letting your confusion show on your face.

“You don’t know?” He asked, and to be fair he did sound genuinely surprised. You shook your head, pulling your cup closer to your chest. Honestly feeling a bit embarrassed (shy?) that you didn’t know the anime he was talking about.

“It’s Hunter x Hunter,” he explained.

You honestly did feel stupid. Hunter x Hunter had flicked in and out of your mind so fast it hadn’t really been a consideration.

“Oh,” you breathed.

“You’ve never seen Hunter x Hunter?”

A smile was painted over your lips and you shook your head quietly. You turned your body away from Seungcheol slightly so that you could drink your drink without feeling too self-conscious. But Seungcheol was persistent, he peaked around your body a little.

“I’m surprised. It’s after one of the characters. He has lightning powers.”

You gave Seungcheol another pressed smile, giving up on drinking your drink without him looking at you.

“It really is such a cool tattoo,” you said softly. You put your cup down and shot him one last smile before rushing back up to the front.

You were lucky that day really. He left early that day, and without his presence you were able to mostly move past thoughts of Seungcheol and his tattoo... Stupid attractive Seungcheol with his stupid perfect face and his biceps that you had never thought of before but now were the only thing on your mind-

Cold shower. You couldn’t bring yourself to touch yourself to thoughts of Seungcheol. Not your coworker Choi Seungcheol. Not your friend. Not the dorky guy from work that everyone loved. No, instead you opted for a very, very cold shower and an abnormally early bedtime.

You were naïve, really. Thinking that a ten o’clock bedtime would be enough to get you over your sudden infatuation with Seungcheol... (And that tattoo. That damned tattoo that made you see him as more than just some guy you worked with).

“Your total is 10.69...”

You weren’t an idiot. The man at the counter in front of you had been taking sneaky glances towards you the entire time that you two had been interacting. You knew that he was flirting with you... And to be completely honest you were very aware of the fact that you were flirting back.

You had no regrets really. He was attractive. Ridiculously so, and you couldn’t help but preen under the attention of someone so pretty.

“You’ve got to tell me what you’re doing after this,” the boy drawled. “The weather is supposed to be perfect.”

You hummed, eyes flickering up from his card as the machine beeped at him to pull it out.

“I don’t have any plans,” you replied, your voice light. Playing to the fact that you knew he liked you. Playing to the fact that you knew he wanted you to flirt back. If not for the purpose of actually asking you out at least for the purpose of the thrill.

“Someone as pretty as you?” He asked, and he leaned forward, body slightly bent over the counter. “All alone for the weekend? And I’m supposed to just let that slide?”

You could feel someone staring at you and you honestly just thought that it was a coworker who had just walked in for their shift. You ignored it.

“What would someone like you do?” You asked, eyebrow quirking up ever-so-slightly. “Surely, you have plans for the weekend.”

The gaze on your neck didn’t disappear, so you took a quick glance behind you.

Your eyes caught Seungcheol’s.

Your gaze widened a bit and you quickly turned your attention back to the person in front of you. You tried your best to regain your composure, but suddenly you felt guilty. Like you shouldn’t be talking to the person in front of you like this.

“Maybe I do,” he said. “Maybe you could too.”

You could feel Seungcheol’s presence over your shoulder, and you suddenly felt the urge to turn away from the guy in front of you.

“I...” You weren’t holey sure how to get out of this situation. “I hope you have a good day.”

That teasing smile was still on the strangers lips, he was clearly liking the act you were putting on. He nodded slightly.

“You too.”

The minute the man was out of earshot, you tried to busy yourself stocking something but you felt Seungcheol’s chest brush your elbow. You turned back over your shoulder to look at him, a shy smile flickering across your lips.

“Hey,” you mumbled softly. Your fingers pressed into the counter, and while Seungcheol had a smile on his face you could see something else hidden beneath his eyes.

“You know that guy?” His tone was a little bit more constricted than you were used to.

“I was just being friendly.”

Not entirely true, and you both knew it. Seungcheol hummed, and nodded his eyes darting to the other end of the room.

Suddenly, you remembered the little piece of art that Seungcheol had recently bestowed upon himself. Your own gaze flickered down to Seungcheol’s bicep, the trails of ink make your mouth run dry.

Fuck, yesterday’s shift hadn’t been a wild wet dream about your innocent coworker after all.

Working with Seungcheol had never been quiet really. You two, as aforementioned, had been bonded in a way since the day that you two first met. It wasn’t really anything serious. You weren’t his closest friend at work. You really hung out outside of work but at work he was always talking to you.

He would ask to be put on positions next to you so that he could tell you about his interests and ask you about yours. He was so silly in that way. Always went out of his way to say hi to you. Always treated you like you were besties, with his sometimes lingering gaze and that look in his eyes as if he constantly wanted to say more.

And now? You were the one who was pushing the boundaries of your friendship. You were the one staring too long. The one who was letting your interactions drag a little bit longer than maybe they should.

“Have you seen Seungcheol’s tattoo?” You asked on break as if it hadn’t been the topic of everyone ever since he got it. Your coworker broke out into a small smile.

“It’s amazing,” she mumbled, leaning forward on the table. “Have you seen the whole thing?”

Your eyes were wide.

“Have you?” You asked. She laughed slightly, shaking her head.

“No, but what I wouldn’t give...”

“How far do you think it reaches?” You asked, and your fingers traced subcnociously over where you thought that tattoo might stretch over his body. “Over his shoulder blade? Onto his clavicle?”

“Do you want to see?”

Your eyes grew wide at the sound of Seungcheol’s oh so distinct voice. You pressed your lips tightly together, and glanced over at the man who was suddenly in the break room. You gave him a thin smile as if you hadn’t been caught rather openly fascinating (was it enough to be lusting?) over the tattoo that you knew wasn’t supposed to be leaving you soaked.

“You’ll show?” Your coworker asked. Seungcheol glanced at you and then joined you at the table. He pulled out his phone, seeming to take his time as he scrolled through it trying to find what you only assumed was photographic evidence of the ink on his arm.

After a few seconds that felt like hours Seungcheol turned his phone to your coworker, the screen out of your view.

“Oh my god.” You didn’t want to seem too interested. You fought the urge to crain your neck and look. “Oh my god. You’re hiding all of that under your shirt?”

Seungcheol’s laugh only made you want to see it more. He was so cocky, thriving under the attention she was giving. She leaned forward, the tips of her fingers brushing the bottom of his phone as if to see the photo better.

“That was money well spent Seungie.”

Seungie.

You had known that she was closer to Seungcheol than you. You had always known that. The two of them practically hung out every week.

So... Why did that stupid nicknmae make you bite down on your tongue?

Seungie. It wasn’t even a good nickname. It was reminiscent of that of first year high schoolers thinking their week long fling was something that would turn into a lifelong marriage.

You forced a larger smile on your lips to hide the tight feeling of something you could only truly identify as jealousy down into the pit of your stomach. You were being stupid. You hoped to god that neither of them could sense the energy change from you.

The two continued to talk, and Seungcheol kept that photo just out of your line of sight. You were too stubborn to lean forward and look at it. Too stubborn to just admit how badly you wanted to see this stupid boy without a shirt on.

You just wanted to see that tattoo. Really, just the tattoo.

“You should come over,” Seungcheol suggested as he tucked his phone away, your coworker disappearing out of the break room door. You let your eyebrows raise at the question.

“Why?”

“I’ve been wanting you to watch something with me,” Seungcheol replied. “And I think you want something from me too.”

You really ought to fake it better. You both had the same little smile across your lips. The ones that you always used with one another.

It was such a simple invite. Innocent. But then again it was always innocent between you and Seungcheol, wasn’t it? You two held the sort of banter that you always loved to have with people. Pure chemistry. The ability to easily fire back at one another, never a dull moment in the conversation, always harboring interest for whatever you two were talking about.

You nodded because, of course you did.

Seungcheol’s apartment was different than you had imagined.

He was a geek, wasn’t he? Always bragging about his room and how amazing it was. His you should come see someday’s had always felt like empty invitations. But now you were here. It was different. Good different.

Seungcheol turned on a show that he had spoken to you about many times before. A show you had always assured him you would watch. A show you never actually did turn on.

The characters began to dance across the screen, and you let your gaze focus on it. You two were silent for a little. He was wandering around his room and you were pretending like you didn’t desperately need him to take his shirt off.

“You really haven’t seen this show,” Seungcheol said, and you let your attention turn to him. He was leaning against his dresser, watching you intently. You pretended like you two hadn’t had this conversation a million times before.

“I haven’t,” you agreed.

“So hard to believe,” he breathed. He shook his head slightly, his hair brushing the tips of his ears. You turned your attention back to the television. Seungcheol rummaged around for a little longer before finally he took a seat next to you on his bed.

He kept a distance between you two.

You risked a glance at him, your eyes going to his arm, to that stupid tattoo that was still hidden beneath his stupid shirt.

“Come here,” Seungcheol mumbled softly. You scooted closer to him, your eyes focused on his tattoo. “You want to see it?”

You nodded, still not looking at him.

“If that’s okay.”

He breathed a laugh.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

You glanced at Seungcheol, eyebrows furrowing.

“I don’t have any tattoos.”

He just hummed his response, and with one hand dragged his shirt off over his head.

Finally.

To your delight, the tattoo was equally just as amazing as you had imagined, and more amazing than you had imagined. The black bolts of lightning inched up his bicep, up onto his shoulder. One of the bolts spreading across his clavicle. You felt your mouth gape stupidly as you looked at him, show completely forgotten in the background.

“You can touch it if you want.”

You didn’t need prompting more. You reached forward, fingers lightly running across the lightning streaks. As you did, Seungcheol leaned forward, his hand placed directly between your thighs. You didn’t pay too much attention, but his hot breath on your neck was sending heat right through your core.

“I would have thought you would be disinterested in my tattoo by now,” Seungcheol whispered, as his spoke his fingers inched forward, his thumb begginning to rub small circles into your thigh.

You swallowed hard, eyes flickering to Seungcheol.

“Nu-uh,” you murmured. “I hadn’t gotten to see it yet.”

You felt yourself inching closer to Seungcheol, silently urging his hand forward. Seungcheol got the idea and pressed his thumb over your clit through your panties. You bit down on your lip to prevent a whine from leaving your lips, and instead focused back on his tattoo, running your fingers up the length of it to where it spread over his clavicle.

His fingers pushed against your underwear, so that it was just slightly pressed inside of you, and then he began to rub up and down between your folds.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he mumbled. “It really took me getting a tattoo to get your attention, huh? 500 dollars later and you were finally looking at me the way I wanted you to.”

The confession caught you off guard but as you went to question him his fingers were dipping beneath your underwear. “So wet,” he breathed, so quietly that you knew it wasn’t for you.

He pressed two of his fingers into you and this time you couldn’t hold back the whimper that left your lips. Seungcheol’s response was immediate, a quiet shushing that just made you need his touch anymore.

“It’s okay, y/n,” he said softly. “Are you going to be good for me?”

A whine bubbled up in your throat and you nodded sharply. He practically purred in your ear.

“Then just hold on, won’t you?” He asked softly. You nodded again, your fingers tightening a little around Seungcheol’s bicep. Normally, you weren’t one so quick to silence... Or obedience for that matter, but your skin was burning. You couldn’t imagine doing anything but listen to him in this moment.

Seungcheol’s fingers dipped deep inside of you, his fingers curling once he was buried to his knuckles. You couldn’t help the way that your head fell forward, your nose brushing the nape of his neck.

“You sound so pretty for me,” Seungcheol mumbled, making you only just then realize that this whole time you had been letting the tiniest whimpers leave your lips. You pressed your lips closed tightly, tilting your head so that your lips brushed his neck. “No, no.”

Seungcheol’s head tilted down, his lips brushing your forehead.

“You don’t get to hide your little moans from me,” he mumbled. He set a slow, lazy pace really, of fucking his fingers in and out of you. His thumb brushed your clit, and you bit down hard on your tongue, determined to not humiliate yourself even more.

You had come here to watch a show with him... To see his tattoo and now you were being fingered on his bed and to be completely honest the embarrassment was dulled by the pleasure running through your body.

No matter how deep Seungcheol drove his fingers into you, it didn’t feel like nearly enough. Seungcheol’s fingers stilled deep inside of you, and you ignored it, thinking that it was just a passing tease. Seconds passed. A minute.

“S-Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol hummed, his lips fluttering across your forehead. You tried not to look at him. You fought it in yourself not to wriggle your hips in desperation.

“Seungcheol,” you pressed, your tone bordering upon begging. A small laugh vibrated through Seungcheol’s body. He pulled his fingers out of you and then pushed them back in. Surprisingly fast, surprisingly deep. You mewled, your head falling back a little.

Seungcheol’s head dipped down, and his lips brushed yours.

“How far are you going to let this go?” He asked you. “You gonna cum around my fingers?”

You pressed forward, chasing Seungcheol’s lips but he pulled away. Stupid smile spread on his lips. Stupid lips pressed to your cheek.

“I’m n-not gonna-” Your words faltered. Your body burning. You tilted your head up so that Seungcheol’s lips trailed down your cheek, across your jawline, and down to your neck. His lips pressed into a small kiss.

“You want a third?” Had his voice always been so hypnotic? You nodded, too eagerly. His lips brushed up and down your neck as you moved. “I need to hear your words. You’re so quiet when I’ve got my fingers fucking you open.”

“Fuck,” you whined, but you refused to give in.

“That’s not a very good word,” Seungcheol chastised. “What would they say if we were at work right now, hm?”

You were silent, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip.

“Now, now,” his voice came, and his fingers stopped. “I asked you a question yeah? Aren’t you my superior? Why don’t you remind me of the rules.”

Oh god, that shouldn’t be so hot.

“It’s a point,” you whispered back. Seungcheol hummed again.

“And how many points before our first punishment?”

A shiver ran through your body.

“Six.”

“Let’s hope you don’t get to that point.”

Seungcheol pushed a third finger into you, and it sent a slight burn through your body. Seungcheol groaned as he pushed his fingers into you, no doubt feeling how tight you were squeezing him.

“Baby-” Oh god. “If you’re squeezing my fingers like that... I don’t really know that I’ll be able to fit.”

You swallowed and lifted your head, your gaze meeting Seungcheol’s. Your mouth was still closed tight. You were still trying so hard to be quiet. But your eyes were wide, your curiosity at his words were undeniable.

“Which do you want more?” He asked you softly. You refused to answer. “You really need to learn to use your words. Your pretty little cunt is sobbing for attention, but those eyes are begging me to take my clothes off.”

Your fingers splayed over Seungcheol’s bicep, your eyes going back to the dark lines etched over him.

“Clothes off,” you breathed.

“Good choice,” he purred.

He pulled his fingers from you and got to his feet so smoothly that it wasn’t like he was moving at all. You let out a vocal protest towards the loss of him, but it only made him laugh at your expense.

“There’s your voice,” he teased. You could see your wetness glistening on Seungcheol’s fingers as his fingers hooked on the waistband of his pants. He pulled them down, and then almost immediately after, his boxers were dropped to the ground.

You slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the strangled moan that left your lips.

Never in your six months of working with Choi Seungcheol had you imagined that he would be fucking hung, and yet here you were looking at his (pardon the lack of imaginative description) monster energy drink sized cock in both girth and length.

You had never been with anyone with a cock as big as his... You had never seen a cock as big as his.

You hadn’t even known that a dick his size was even real.

“I’m getting a bit self-conscious,” Seungcheol said, his voice dragging you back to reality. Your face reddened but you didn’t move your hand from your mouth. Seungcheol didn’t seem to care, not really. He walked over to you, his fingers balling in your shirt. “What do you want?”

You knew what you wanted from Seungcheol now more than you ever had before.

“I want you,” you whispered back. Seungcheol’s eyes glinted.

“I like it went you use your words,” he slurred. You let your hands fall lax at your sides, giving Seungcheol the room to pull your shirt over your head. Given the opportunity Seungcheol was fast with his hands. Your shirt and bra were tossed aside to the floor in moments, and you were helping him wiggle you out of your underwear immediately after.

You were hoping that sense of urgency would continue, but just as soon as your clothes were off to the side, Seungcheol was trapping you between his arms, staring down at you with an expression on his face that made you wiggle. His eyes flitted down your body, and as he inspected you one of his hands came between your thighs. He tapped your inner thigh.

“Let me see,” he mumbled. You obediently let your legs spread, and Seungcheol took that as an opportunity to slide down your body, the pads of his hands pressed even further at your inner thighs and his gaze fully settled between your legs.

A whine was ripped from your body, and it made Seungcheol’s eyes flutter closed for a brief second. But then, his eyes were open again.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Seungcheol said, his breath making you clamp around absolutely fucking nothing like a common whore. “Is this all for me?”

His thumb grazed between the folds of your pussy, and he spread you out so that he could see you better.

“’s fucking embarrassing,” you murmured out. Seungcheol raised an eyebrow in your direction.

“Two points.”

You let your head fall back into the pillow.

“Embarrassing,” you reasserted.

“It’s not embarrassing,” Seungcheol denied. You felt something brush between your folds and you glanced down in time to see the tip of Seungcheol’s nose raising his tongue darting over you. Another groan from him. “It’s only natural to make such a mess when someone is touching you like this. And you like it when I touch you like this don’t you?”

You nodded, and he pressed a kiss to your core.

“Words.”

“Yes,” you cried out, desperate for more. This time you felt his laugh vibrating through your core. He was messy down there, like he was in his own little world. He lapped at your pussy like it was water, literally fucking animalistic. His fingers dug into your thighs as he pressed your legs wide open for him. Pressing so hard that you felt like you were going to break.

Seungcheol didn’t care for that. He didn’t seem worried at all that he would break you. Instead, he was lost between your thighs. A glance down at him in between your little moans and you could see that his face was slick with wetness.

“You’re making such a mess,” Seungcheol mumbled into you as if it was your fault that you were like this. “Getting yourself all over my face. All over my bed...”

You wiggled under his touch.

“It’s not fair,” you whined. “You get to touch me all you want... I w-want to touch you.”

“Is that so?”

He didn’t have any right to be so cocky.

“Want to taste your dick,” you admitted, your words betraying the fact that your thoughts were just about as reliable as Nick Carraway’s words in the Great Gatsby.

He did have the right to be so cocky. At this point you didn’t think you would be able to do anything before getting his cock pressed into you. Whether in your mouth, or your pussy? You didn’t care. Just needed his cock to be somewhere inside of you.

“Seungcheol,” you pressed, annoyance vibrating through your body. Seungcheol hummed against you. Fucking bratty. You lowered your hand to his hair, tugging him off you sharply. He looked up at you, his eyes dark despite the general amusement riddled there. “Want to taste your dick.”

Seungcheol slapped your thigh, making you cry out in surprise and loosen your grip in his hair.

“Not very nice,” he chided. “You better put your money where your mouth is.”

Seungcheol pulled off of the bed, dragging you to the edge with him by a single hand on your thigh. When you got to the edge you pushed yourself off the bed, your knees hitting the ground.

You wrapped both of your hands around Seungcheol’s dick. You gave him an experimental tug, dragging your hands all the way up to the tip of his cock. You let your thumb flicker over his slit, teasing it until precum dampened it.

You pressed forward, your tongue darting to his tip, tasting the salty liquid.

Unlike you, Seungcheol wasn’t trying to stay quiet. A breathy moan escaped his lips, and he reached forward, both of his hands scooping your head in his hands. He pressed your head forward, slowly easing your mouth onto him.

You let your lips give way to girth of his dick as he pushed your head forward, your fingers tightening on his hips in anticipation.

“Your mouth is so warm,” Seungcheol mumbled softly. You let your gaze raise up to Seungcheol, and he was peering down at you from under his pretty long lashes. You gagged a little around Seungcheol’s dick and his movements came to a hault. You struggled to catch your breath, grasp tightening again but not pushing him off.

Seungcheol’s fingers stroked your head until finally you caught your breath and you pressed yourself forward without any prompting from him and he got the idea quickly. He started to guide your mouth down on his dick, not pausing again until his cock was buried completely in your mouth.

You let a whine vibrate your whole body. Seungcheol smiled down at you, one of his hands sliding down your face to brush the corner of your stretched out lips.

“You look so pretty with my cock down your pretty little throat.”

The veiled praise went right to your already soaked core, but Seungcheol was so blissed out that he didn’t even care. He began to ease himself out of you, taking his fucking time, pulling you all the way to his tip and then pressing you all the way back down until your nose was pressed to his lower abdomen.

Seungcheol started to press a faster pace. He wasn’t rough by any means, his grip on you was surprisingly gentle, and he was clearly in no rush at all. Not to cum, not to fuck you, not for anything. He was living in the moment, just grateful to have his dick down your throat.

Were you a whore for that making you so much wetter? The thought that he really was practically just using you. You were patient with him at first, but soon you weren’t able to keep that to yourself anymore. You whined and wiggled against him, patting his thigh until he released his grip on you.

“I can’t fucking wait anymore,” you bit out. Seungcheol raised an amused eyebrow.

“That’s three points,” he warned. Your eyes narrowed at him, which just made him laugh.

“Get on the bed if you need my cock that badly,” he murmured. “But I’m warning you. You’re sounding a little slutty when you talk like that.”

You didn’t care, a moan ripped from your mouth, and you scrambled up onto the bed. Seungcheol followed after you, a small push of the shoulder pressing you back onto his comforter. You wriggled underneath him, your eyes closing as you waited for him to move, to do something.

“Shit,” Seungcheol mumbled. Your eyes fluttered open, and you looked at him. He was staring at you, a pained look in his eyes and a hand stroking his cock.

“Did you bring a condom?” He asked you. Your lips pressed into a thin line, and you shook your head. Seungcheol gave you an apologetic smile. “I guess I’ll just have to make you cum a different way.”

A panicked feeling ripped through your body. You desperately didn’t want him to pull away. Not when he was so close to fucking you. You suddenly wrapped your legs around Seungcheol waist, pulling him closer to you, his tip dipping unintentionally into you.

You both let out matching moans.

“Need you to fuck me,” you mumbled, your face burning.

“Baby-” Seungcheol sounded wrecked. “I don’t have a condom.”

You were doing your best to avoid looking at Seungcheol.

“I don’t care.” Your voice was shaky, and even though you weren’t looking at him you could see the stupid cocky expression that had now appeared on his face.

“Yeah?” You were silent, but you tried to roll your hips down on Seungcheol to push him further into you. Seungcheol stilled you fast by digging his fingers into your hips- So deep that you were sure it was going to leave bruises.

“You want me to fuck you raw?”

You nodded, mouth still shut.

“I want to hear you say it,” Seungcheol pressed. You thought normally you would play against Seungcheol more. You thought maybe you would make him push you to say it more. But the tip of his cock still inside of you was making you so fucking desperate you really couldn’t hold back.

“I want you to fuck me raw.”

Seungcheol pushed fully into you without much more argument. You cried out at the thrust, wrapping your arms around Seungcheol’s neck, dragging him closer to you.

“You’re not doing very good baby,” he cooed. “Letting my pressure you into saying bad words? Begging someone to fuck you raw? So dirty... Shameless.”

He laughed against you but it was mixed in a loud moan.

“That’s another point. You’re at four.”

Before you could fight him back on it he began to slowly drag his cock out of you, pulling himself all the way out to the tip. You didn’t care about staying quiet anymore. You whined loudly

“Guess what baby?” Seungcheol whispered. Your hands slipped into his hair, fingers pulling at his strands.

“Close, fucking close,” you babbled, completely ignoring him. Seungcheol dipped his head, his lips brushing your ear.

“You hit six points.”

In seconds you were empty. Your eyes shot open and you pulled Seungcheol’s head up by his hair so that you could look him in the eyes. You must have looked fucked stupid under him. Your eyes wide and glazed over and your mouth gaping as you silently begged him to put his cock back inside of you. You two were quiet for a few seconds. Simply panting next to one another.

“Seungcheol fucking put-”

Seungcheol’s hand darted to your chin, and his fingers pressed into your cheek, forcing you to stop talking.

“What should your punishment be, hm?” He teased lightly. “Should I just get myself off and come all over you? Make you sit there covered in it?”

You tried to shake your head, but Seungcheol’s grip was tight- You were locked in one spot.

“Please,” you breathed. “Please Cheol. I need you to fuck me so badly. I need to come.”

Speaking with his fingers pressed into your cheeks was painful in a way that just spiraled down to your core, leaving you just that much more turned on and desperate for him to fuck you again.

“I could make you come,” he replied. His fingers darted down to your clit. He pressed down on you and began to rub your clit in firm circles. You threw your head back, shaking your head.

“No, no, no,” you protested. “Need to come with you inside of me.”

“But if I give you what you want then you’ll never learn,” Seungcheol teased.

“No!” You blurted, feeling pleasure coil through your body. You were fighting back against your own orgasm harder than you ever had before. “I’ll learn, I’ll learn.”

“No, you won’t,” he chided. “You had so many chances before punishment, and you didn’t learn then.”

You were co close. You didn’t even want to come at the moment and yet you were so fucking close.

Seungcheol pulled his fingers away from you and again you had your orgasm ripped away from you. Tears sprouted at the edge of your eyes and Seungcheol slapped your innerthigh.

“You’re going over my legs,” he mumbled. He pulled you to the edge of the bed, and dragged you over his legs. You whined and buried your face into the comforter.

“Fu-” Before you could get the whole word out Seungcheol’s hand came down hard on your ass. You cried out, a mixture of pleasure and pain running through your body.

“Why don’t you count for me?” He asked. You whined, shaking your head. Seungcheol hummed. “Unless, you’re not into this?”

His tone turned to a lighter one. For once he wasn’t teasing you.

Fuck.

“O-One,” you murmured. Seungcheol hummed again, and his hand came down on you again. “Two.”

Seungcheol’s hand ran over the curve of your ass, and two of his fingers dipped into your pussy. At this angle there was a slight burn despite the fact that not long ago something much bigger had been inside of you.

He pulled his fingers out again and suddenly slapped your ass.

Your whole body jolted.

“Th-three.”

“See? Isn’t it more fun when you listen?” Seungcheol asked you. “You could have come by now. Could have come around my cock just the way that you wanted to but no you had to be bad and break the same rules that you have to enforce everyday at work.”

“We’re not at work,” you protested, and Seungcheol slapped your ass again. You gritted your teeth together. “F-Four.”

“So mouthy,” Seungcheol tutted. “But you’re almost done.”

“Almost done,” you repeated, mimicking his tone in a way that you knew was in no way accurate. Your tone high and your body wiggling underneath him. His fingers slipped into your pussy again, spreading lazily.

“Isn’t this what you always complain about to the other managers at work?” Seungcheol asked. “People who can’t do something as simple as follow the rules...?” A whimper ripped from your lips. “If I didn’t know any better I would say that you enjoy getting punished. You like me being in control for once.”

You shook your body out in frustration, lightly biting down on the back of your hand and screaming into it.

“You’re wrong-” Seungcheol hit your ass again. And you bit down on your bottom lip to try and keep yourself from counting that hit. A hum of disapproval left Seungcheol’s mouth.

“If you don’t count you just get more,” he warned. As if to prove it his hand came down on you again. “And I’m not scared to turn your ass dark red. You look so fucking pretty over my knees like this.”

“F-Five and six,” you bit out suddenly, shaking your head desperately. “Please Cheol, I really, really need your cock.”

“No,” Seungcheol turned down. “You still have one more. That’s what you get for missing a count.”

More tears ran down your cheeks and you shook your head.

“I re-really need you,” you whined out. He hit you again. “Six.”

Seungcheol’s fingers threaded in your hair and he pulled you up. You dragged one of your legs over his legs. Seungcheol’s hands ran up your sides, and then he tightened his grip on your hips. He lifted you and then sunk you back down on his cock.

At this angle you literally felt like you were being split open on his cock, your whole body shook and you dropped your face into the crook of his neck.

“I-I-” You wanted to curse so badly. “Seung- Seungcheol.”

“I really hope that you don’t act out again,” Seungcheol mumbled. “Because I’m tired of waiting for you to come on my cock.”

You moaned loudly into Seungcheol’s skin. He raised you up again by your hips and slammed you back down on his cock. Your hands darted to Seungcheol’s shoulders and your fingers dug into him.

“You’re just s-so b-big,” you managed to get out. One of his hands raised to your chin and he tilted your head up.

“Ride me,” he mumbled. You nodded, your eyes darting to his lips.

“Kiss me,” you replied.

Seungcheol’s lips pressed to yours and you began to ease yourself up on Seungcheol’s cock. The stimulation of his cock and the burn on your ass from getting punished was just making you that much weaker. You couldn’t help the way that you were literally crying against his lips.

His hand raised to your cheeks, and his thumb swiped the tears across your cheeks. He broke of the kiss. “You need it badly don’t you?” He whispered. “Need me to take over again?”

You let your forehead fall against his. You didn’t really want to admit it but before you could voice that Seungcheol’s free hand pressed to your clit.

“Be good,” he warned. You nodded quickly.

“Pl-Please,” you breathed. “I need you to take over.”

Seungcheol grabbed your hips and began to raise and drop you on his cock. It didn’t really matter how long Seungcheol fucked you like that really. You were coming undone under him after only a few drops. You pressed your lips forward so that Seungcheol was kissing you again as he fucked you hard. With each drop he was forcing his hips up deeper inside of you.

Your whole body shook against Seungcheol’s and you went limp in Seungcheol’s hands. He still forced his cock in and out of you through your orgasm but even as you were blissed out you knew what you needed.

“Ch-Cheol,” you whimpered. “N-Need your cum. Inside.”

Your voice was weak but his wasn’t much better.

“Y/n-”

“Please.”

He didn’t make you beg anymore. You cried out as you felt Seungcheol’s cum spurting deep into your already sensitive pussy. Your whole body burned against Seungcheol and you shook your head against him.

“Oh fu-” You caught yourself and quickly shut your mouth. He laughed, exhaustion thrumming through his body.

“I told you that you wouldn’t learn unless you were punished.”

Seungcheol pulled you off of him, letting you roll over onto his bed. You whined, and shoved your face back into his sheets.

“Cheol your stupid tattoo is so cool,” you groaned. He laughed.

“You know, I really like it when you call me that,” he said softly. You felt him fall next to you on the bed, his fingers lightly brushing against your back.

“Yeah? More than Seungie?”

You wanted to hit yourself.

“Are you jealous?” He asked you with a laugh. You rolled over, letting your fingers twitch against his.

“I’m not jealous,” you denied. He grabbed your hand and tugged you closer to his body.

“Yes, you are,” he asserted. You grumbled, but turned into him anyways, wrapping your arms around his body and burying your face into his chest.

“No more than you are,” you retorted. “Can’t even chat with guests around you.”

Seungcheol hummed, but his lack of vocal disagreement just proved to you that you were right.

“What tattoo should I get next?” Seungcheol asked after a few minutes of silence. You looked up at him, pressing your lips together.

“Why are you asking me?” You murmured. His lips quirked up into a smile.

“So that I can drive you crazy wanting to see that one too.”

“Guess, what I heard.”

You looked up at your coworker, giving her a raised eyebrow, a bit annoyed that she was disrupting you while you were stocking but she didn’t seem to care really. She just leaned back on the counter.

“Seungcheol got another new tattoo.”

You looked back at what you were stocking, only so that she would not see the pained look on your face at the news. He had been mentioning that he really was going to get one. Every time he fucked you asking you where you thought the next one should be. Making you touch the places on his body that you wanted them to be. Teasing you with the fact that you were completely fucking obsessed with him.

“That’s...” Were you breathing easily? “Cool.”

“So cool,” she replied. “Everyone wants to see it but he’s refusing to show it to anyone yet, or even tell us what he got.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the news.

“Really?” You asked. “Why?”

“He said that his girlfriend gets to see it first.”

Girlfriend. You thought back over the last time you had seen Seungcheol. Two nights ago, his cock buried deep inside of you.

“I’m getting the new tattoo tomorrow,” he mumbled into your neck.

“I want to see it first.”

A laugh left his lips.

“Yeah? You think I’m yours or something?”

You hadn’t really meant your answer.

“Aren’t you?”

You pressed down the urge to smile, and instead rolled your eyes.

“What idiot would date stupid Choi Seungcheol?”

Your hand slipped and a bucket started to fall to the ground. Before you could do anything someone caught it and your eyes flickered up, gaze meeting Seungcheol’s. His voice dropped so quiet that you knew that no one but the two of you could hear it.

“An idiot whose ass is going to be red tonight.”

Your face blazed and excitement coiled through the pit of your stomach, but you hid it behind a coy smile.

“That’s going to be a point.”

You were just glad the next day no one asked you why you were walking funny.

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