this night together - chapter twelve (j.yh + s.mg)
chapter twelve: home is always home
chapter summary: you were planning to tell them how you felt on saturday, but when things go sideways at the studio you find yourself running home as fast as you can.
warnings: this is the chapter i've been warning about for a long, long time. please read responsibly if you're easily triggered by any of the following topics - guy who can't take no for an answer, aggressive/sexist language, physical and verbal assault, panic/ptsd, physical injury/blood, hospitals, police interaction (mentioned), nightmares/night terrors, self harm (sort of?)
notes: please note, if you're reading this on or around 12.3.23 when i'm posting, i've put up three chapters at once. make sure you don't skip chapter ten and eleven! additional notes under the cut~!
pairings: alpha!yunho x alpha!mingi x omega!reader
genre: smut, a/b/o/omegaverse, angst, fluff, romance, polyamory
word count: 11.6k
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for my readers who aren't that familiar with a/b/o, i'm introducing something in this chapter that you may not have seen before. i wanted to add some context! if you're new to a/b/o, there is something that alphas have often called "alpha tone", "alpha voice", or just "tone". alphas in many depictions have the ability to lower their voice in a particular way that is seen as a strict command to an omega, and it triggers/activates their submission. this is something that can be used negatively or positively, but in this scene will be negative. there's also something called headspace/subspace that you will see referenced, and an omega can be put into headspace/subspace via alpha tone. it is a bit of a dissociative state where the omega can only really hear and understand commands. this can be used negatively or positively as well, but again, definitely not good in this scene. i hope that helps.... and happy/responsible reading!!
You really, really wish today was Saturday and not Thursday. Thursday just means you still have to get through Friday and then all of Saturday morning before your scheduled dinner with Yunho and Mingi and all the things you want to say are practically eating you up inside. But there’s a right way and a wrong way to tell someone you’ve been an idiot and you’re in love with them, and blurting it out in the middle of dance practice isn’t really going to help make this easier.
God, you hope they still want you.
On the plus side, this week has been insane. With the full crew back things are moving at a million miles per hour, and you’ve been in more meetings about what’s coming up next in the past week than the entire time you’ve worked for BB Trippin and KQ.
Your schedule for the next six months is frankly intense. Between preparing for year-end stages and working on the choreography for the newly debuting girl group, you’re juggling conversations about New World’s next comeback and the next round of touring. With the money coming in now there’s an opportunity to take more dancers, and that just means more late nights and early mornings getting everything right.
It’s after your third concept planning meeting of the week that you find two minutes to talk to Wooyoung, his bag already slung over his shoulder as he refills his water bottle.
“So, you’re going?” You ask him vaguely, trying not to tip off anyone else in the vicinity that he’s got a date.��
“Yeah,” He nods, eyes flicking over your shoulder to see if San and Seonghwa are nearby, “I think I’m going to throw up,”
“No, you’re not,” You assure him.
“I might,” He whines, running a hand through his mop of long black hair, “I never know what to say to him,”
“Woo,”
“I know what to say to everyone, y/n,” He lowers his voice, panic evident in his eyes, “but every time Sangie smiles I go fucking blank,”
“Sangie?” Your eyebrow quirks, “Is that what we’re calling him now,”
“Shut up,” Wooyoung blushes.
“Wow,” You prod him softly, “you’re down so bad, it’s been like three days,”
“It’s so bad,” He grimaces, “this is embarrassing,”
“Now you see how I feel,” You smirk, “it’s kind of fun being on this end of things,”
“Please,” He rolls his eyes, “are you telling me you’re not panicking?”
“Oh, no,” You laugh, “I definitely am. It’s just nice to know I’m not alone here,”
“I was never this mean to you,”
You hold his gaze, just blinking, there’s nothing to say to that he doesn’t already know.
“Okay, fine,” He sighs, “but still, feeling like this,”
“Feeling like what?” Seonghwa’s voice shocks you both out of your quiet conversation and you both jump back from each other.
“Jesus,” You breathe, “you scared me,”
Seonghwa smiles, “Sorry,” he shrugs, “everything okay?”
“Perfect,” Wooyoung takes a step back and shakes his head, “totally good,”
Seonghwa’s brows come together in the middle, “You seem like something’s wrong, can I help?”
Wooyoung almost blanches, and you know he’s dreading telling San and Seonghwa about Yeosang, so you jump in to help. “Woo was just helping me figure out Saturday,” You cover and draw Seonghwa’s attention back to you, “you know, figuring out what to say to them,”
“Oh,” Seonghwa nods, but you can see that he doesn’t really buy it, “right,”
“Anyways,” Wooyoung starts walking backwards towards the exterior door, “I have to go, but you know, y/n, call me if you need to talk more later,”
“I will,” You nod, “I definitely will.”
Wooyoung knows that what you mean is that you want detailed date updates, and he almost looks mortified at the idea. He disappears fast, leaving you and Seonghwa relatively alone in the hallway.
“What is up with him this week?” Seonghwa asks, confusion on his face.
“He has a date,” You tell him quietly, “he’s kind of freaking out about it.”
“Oh,” Seonghwa glances towards the door where Wooyoung just disappeared, “that’s not that weird for him,”
“It is if he’s this interested after only a few days,” You say, “but don’t tease him. He’s kind of worked up about the whole thing,”
“Who’s he seeing?” Seonghwa asks.
“He should tell you that,” You beg off the gossip immediately, “just do me a favor and give him a little space to talk to you and San about it,”
“Okay,” He draws out the word, not sure exactly where you’re going.
“He’s nervous about upsetting the delicate balance,” You gesture towards him, referring to the carefully constructed relationship that is Wooyoung, San, and Seonghwa.
“He’s seeing another alpha?” Seonghwa jumps to that conclusion with ease, and you can see how he would get there.
You’re shaking your head before you can stop yourself, “It’s not that,”
That does surprise him, and Seonghwa’s eyes widen a bit, “Oh,”
“Right,” You nod, leading him to the conclusion as close as you can without spelling it out, “my point is, he’s nervous and he’s got a pretty serious crush, and he hasn’t said so but I think he’s scared you and San won’t approve.”
“I would never,” He stumbles over his words, “out of anyone, we would never judge him, he has to know that,”
“Hey,” You reach for Seonghwa, stepping a little closer so your voices stay low in the entryway as you brush your hand down his forearm, “he knows, he’s just panicking a little.”
“Should I talk to him?” Seonghwa asks, his eyes earnest.
“Not yet,” You shake your head, “he’ll figure it out, just don’t push him right now. I’ve never seen him this anxious,”
“I won’t,” He promises, “thank you for telling me,”
“Mhm,”
Seonghwa chews over your words a second and then decides to let it drop. With a sigh he refocuses on work, “Are you staying late?”
“Yeah,” You shrug, “I have some things to catch up on. You?”
“I need to track down San,” He says, “but then after that I’m probably heading out a little early,”
“Nice,” You nod, “still shaking off the jetlag?”
He nods, “Unfortunately,”
Down the hall you watch a few of the dancers gathering up their belongings, and then the door to the back office opens to reveal Yunho and Mingi, sitting close together and studying a computer screen as Jaemin leaves for the day.
“Well,” Your feet are already moving, “then I’ll see you later,”
“Sounds good,” He says, and then he gives you a knowing look, seeing exactly where you’re headed.
Before you know it, you’re moving through the people in the hall and trying desperately to come up with a reason for crashing their tete-a-tete.
“Hey,” You knock softly on the open door, “am I interrupting?”
“No, no,” Yunho smiles when he sees you and your stomach bubbles.
“We’re just watching back practice,” Mingi leans back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes.
“Oh, nice,” You say, and your empty words do little to fill the empty space.
“Do you… need something?” Yunho tries.
“Ah, yeah, sorry,” You scramble internally for something to say, “I’m staying late, but I’m kind of starving, I just didn’t know if you still had stuff stashed?”
“Sure,” He gestures towards the cabinets on the side wall, “whatever you want, help yourself,”
“Great,” You dash towards the cabinets, and you can’t even imagine eating right now with how fluttery your insides have been, but you snag a couple of protein bars anyways.
The silence is brutal. Not like before, not like the tense and uncomfortable angry silences of the past, but it’s still sitting there between you. Part of you wants to shut the door right now and just get it all out there, but again, you know you shouldn’t.
Mingi’s warm, chocolatey scent is richer in here, evident after a hard practice of working up a sweat and being given a chance to permeate with the door closed. You feel your body naturally relaxing at it, so comforting and familiar, and then you get the first pang of Yunho’s warm, summer rain.
You can hardly believe how you convinced yourself that this wasn’t scent sympathy when right here and now it’s so obvious they belong to you. You wonder if they feel it too.
“Are you okay?” Mingi’s voice snaps you out of your sudden daydream staring at the cabinet full of snacks.
“Yeah, yes,” You shut them and step back, “I’m fine, just a little tired.”
“Not sleeping well?” Yunho says, concern all over his features.
“I’m fine,” You wave him off, “just a busy week,”
“You don’t have to stay late,” Mingi offers, “I’m sure whatever you’re working on will still be fine tomorrow,”
“I know,” You nod, “but if I don’t get it out of my system I’ll just be thinking about it all night, you know how it is,”
Mingi nods, “Still, take it easy later,”
“I will,” You promise, and you start to turn towards the door when the words just bubble up out of your throat, “you’re both still free Saturday, right?”
“Yeah,” Mingi answers for them both, “are you?”
“Definitely,” You nod, “I just wanted to make sure, I’m looking forward to it,”
“We could do tomorrow instead,” Yunho offers, “after practice?”
“As long as you don’t have other plans,” Mingi cuts in, “for a Friday night,”
“Tomorrow works,” You jump at the chance, “I’d actually love that, I just didn’t want to crowd you when you’re adjusting to the timezone again,”
“It’s fine,” Mingi brushes that thought off, “I’d rather see you,”
“Yeah,” Yunho nods, “it’ll be good to catch up,”
You smile, “I want to hear all about the trip,”
“The trip,” Mingi says, just repeating your words like he’s weighing them out on his own tongue.
Something about his voice sends a sharp zing up the back of your spine.
Your body feels a little soft, relaxing bit by bit.
Yunho’s eyes flick over you, “Are you sure you need to stay late?”
Something your primal little brain cannot handle right now is the thought of your alphas being protective, not when you’re standing in this room encased by their scents that feel a little too right. Your stomach tightens and you pray that you’re not blushing pink at the flickering thought in your mind of them taking you home.
You need to get out of this room before they realize it.
“I’m good,” You tell him, stepping backwards towards the door, “but thank you, and dinner tomorrow is perfect,”
Mingi says something, you think he’s agreeing, but you’re giving another excuse over your shoulder about how you need to get back to it so you can make it out of this room.
Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as you leave the office and make it down the hall, heading for the studio room you’ve booked for the afternoon. You nearly run into Dahan and Minseok as you cut around the corner, but you apologize quickly and barely give them a second glance as you hide yourself away in one of the dance studios alone.
With the door firmly shut you lean back against the closed door and take a deep breath. These feelings are going to work you into a frenzy if you don’t get them under control. Scent sympathy is rare, an almost perfect match between an alpha and omega that makes every part of a relationship heightened, especially once that initial sympathetic bond is fulfilled with a claim. While they were gone you came to that conclusion slowly, the steady ache in your chest so clearly informed by the lack of them, but now that they’re back and here the realization of it collides into you full-force.
You love them, that’s true. But what’s more is how much you need them, and how much you hope they need you. You can’t let them realize it before you have the chance to say everything you need to say, and if you had stayed in that room a few minutes more they might have felt themselves. With the dinner moved to Friday you just have one more night to get through. One more night, and one more day of work. And then the chips will fall where they may.
With a deep breath you let the hammering of your heart slow and then you focus back on the work ahead. The more you pour yourself into work the faster these 24 hours will go, so you put your head down and get to it.
You work for a long time, probably too long, until your muscles are positively aching and any thoughts of Yunho and Mingi are drowned out by lyrics to the chorus of this song that just keeps looping in your mind as you try different patterns of footwork. Here in this bubble you don’t know who’s still at work, who’s left for the day, what time it is, or if the sun has set yet. You just know your own body and every which way that it moves to this one singular song.
Your hair is hot around your face, sweat clinging to your brow as you finish out the latter half of the choreography that you’re confident with. It’s fast, and includes so much up and down floor work you’re pretty sure you’d be passing out if you weren’t hydrating properly. Focused on your reflection in the mirror you gather your hair up and away and into a knot and then move to find your towel and water bottle.
The door to the studio opens behind you, and you glance back without really seeing who’s popping in, “Hey,”
For a split second it occurs to you that it might be Yunho or Mingi and your stomach flips as you start to turn.
“Hey, y/n,” Minseok’s voice is a bit of a surprise.
“Oh, hey,”
He looks like he’s just stopping by to grab something from the far desk in the corner. You’re honestly surprised that he’s still here, he had looked on his way out earlier when you bumped into him in the hall.
“Are you heading out for the night?” You take a drink of water and catch your breath, leaning against the mirrored wall behind you.
“Soon,” He nods, running a hand through his dark hair and snagging a sweatshirt hanging over the back of the office chair.
“Well,” You smile, “have a good night,”
“You too,” He says as he walks past you, but then his steps slow and you hear him sigh before he turns on his heel, “listen, can I ask you something?”
“Sure,”
“I hope you don’t think this is weird,” He takes a few more steps back towards you, “but I’ve actually been meaning to ask you something for a while now,”
“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise, and suddenly you can see everything in his expression. You know this look. You know the way men get when they finally rip off the bandage and change the equilibrium of a room, the moment they decide they can’t see you as just a friend. What absolutely terrible timing he has.
“I was thinking,” He says, a little pause before the rest and you hope you’re keeping your face nice and neutral, “do you think I could take you out some time?”
“Out?” The word leaves you.
He smiles, “Yeah, out, like a date.”
“I appreciate that,” You shake your head a little, trying to smile and keep things light, “but I don’t think so,”
His lip quirks and his nose scrunches and you suppose that if you were interested you might find this part of him charming, but you’re not, so it isn’t. “Are you seeing someone?” He asks.
“No,” You tell him honestly, “not right now.”
“So, I can’t get you to give me one chance?” He takes a step forwards, gesturing between you both and keeping his gaze hopeful.
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” You shake your head, “we work together.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” He assures you, brushing past the boundary you tried to set with casual indifference, “don’t worry about that.”
“Still,” You shake your head, “but thank you for asking.”
You’re not at all thankful for him asking, but he’s nice enough, and it feels like the polite way to keep the status quo.
“That’s a shame,” He admits, his smile dropping almost entirely, “are you sure I can’t convince you to give me just one chance? I really do like you, y/n,”
“I’m sure,” That should be firm enough.
“I thought we were getting along well,” He cuts off the end of your words, “becoming friends.”
“I thought so too,” You straighten up off the wall behind you, tossing your towel over your shoulder and setting up to walk right out of the studio room if that’s what it would take to end this interaction, “I thought we were friends,”
You can’t help but emphasize the word friends, and you watch the moment his expression drops more, annoyance flicking through his jaw.
“I didn’t think you had such a problem seeing people you worked with,” He says pointedly.
“Excuse me?”
“It’s just that,” He shrugs, nodding towards you, “I didn’t think it bothered you. Considering.”
“Listen,” You lock eyes with him, “let it go. I’m trying to be nice about this, but I can be clearer. I am not interested in going out with you.”
“You don’t have to be rude,”
“Goodnight, Minseok,” You’re not staying for this.
“I’m a good guy,” He says as you start towards the door, “don’t, come on just stay a second,”
You keep walking.
“y/n,” He says, his voice startlingly close behind you, “stay.”
It’s like your legs stop working, an echoing strike of nerves down your spine and you stumble slightly as his hand closes around your wrist.
“Let go of me.” You start to turn towards him, pulling your arm back as you do, but he speaks again.
“Stop.” His voice is so low suddenly, situated smack in the center of his chest, a tenor you’ve never heard from him before. Your legs stop working all together, suddenly feeling like lead.
“Take your hands off me.” You blink hard, your head feeling a little full suddenly.
“I just don’t understand,” He bites, “we’ve been flirting for weeks.”
You can’t find the words to tell him that you being nice isn't flirting, but you’re stunned into silence. You can barely even think of a time when you had a sustained conversation with him where someone else wasn’t present. How could interactions that felt so routine to you feel so significant for him?
“And you’re just… not interested?” He scoffs, “You’re what, twenty-six? Twenty-seven? You’re going to start running out of good offers.”
So many things about Seo Minseok fall into place with just those words. The way that just a few weeks ago he barely looked at you, barely spoke to you. Always spending his attention on the alphas in the room around you, but never you. How when that tide shifted you thought, maybe naively, that he was just shy. But he’s not shy, not in the least. He’s just another alpha in a long line of alphas who look down their noses at omegas until there’s something they want from them.
“That’s really none of your concern,” You shake your head, “now get the fuck off me.”
“Be quiet.” His jaw sets hard.
So does yours.
A thousand thoughts run through your brain like a wildfire eating up a hillside of dry bark but nothing can make it past your lips. The tone of his voice has you rooted to the spot, his instructions not suggestions but strict commands. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard an alpha use tone, but it’s certainly the first time it’s been directed at you. You’ve heard stories, the way the primal omega brain surfaces even when you don’t want it to. You thought it was a bit of an overstatement, but now on the receiving end you can’t control your response to him and fear floods you.
“You talk a lot for an unmated omega,” He looks disappointed.
Something shrinks inside you.
His fingers tighten, his body suddenly closer, “But we can fix that.”
In a breath his hands push you backwards, your back suddenly cold against the mirrored wall of the practice room. Later, much later, you’ll discover that the reason your memory of this moment is patchy is a combination of your omega’s response to alpha tone and full dissociation. You’ll remember little pieces, quick sensations here and there. The same song still looping through the stereo, the sound of his deep inhale with his face pressed against your throat, the sharp pin pricks of his teeth as he seeks out the soft juncture of your neck and shoulder. The way your mind in one heaving breath both screams in rebellion and folds open in acceptance when he successfully locates your gland.
You suddenly can’t hear right, can’t think right. All you know is his teeth. The hot feeling of breath. He smells like burnt, bitter oranges. He’s talking again, saying something that your conscious mind can’t register, but your omega does, and you stretch your neck long to give him the access he needs.
And then you’re under.
You’re dropping before you consciously register your brain entering a new, hazy middle space. It feels like being at the bottom of a deep pool, the sudden, immersive quiet. You understand that someone is talking to you, or around you, but all you can hear is the echoing tenor of an alpha, the words unclear, all cocooned in the water around you.
There’s a bang somewhere but it feels far away, and you feel pin pricks against your throat.
Minseok’s overwhelming acrid scent and heavy pressure against you is gone, the sudden loss of his weight leaving you off balance. You think you’re falling, or maybe you’ve already fallen. The world feels tilted, something hard and cold under your back. You smell something sharp and tangy, and there’s something loud in the room but you can’t understand it. Everything is white, bright and intrusive.
Mingi’s face swims into your vision, and you feel his hands on your cheeks. It takes you a minute to understand anything, but he looks upset, stricken and his cheeks are tinged pink with panicked anger. You want to reach up, soothe his brow and see what’s wrong, but you can’t lift your hand. Don’t move an inch.
“Jesus,” Mingi glances to his side, “he put her in subspace,”
Someone responds, but it’s muffled to your ears.
Mingi’s face darkens entirely, his hands leave you, “I’ll fucking kill him,”
He’s gone. There’s a scuffle to your side, but you can’t turn your head, you want to, you just can’t. Tears bubble in your eyes, emotion pulsing through you and your breath is tight and thready in your throat. A sharp, whining sob bubbles from your lips.
Warm rain swims through you, and Yunho’s there, sliding right into the spot Mingi left. His eyes dart over your face and then he looks to his side, his voice firm, “Calm down or get out of here, do you understand me? You’re scaring her,”
There’s a long beat, noises to your side again but you can’t understand it. Your stomach flips nervously, the place you’re stuck in your head throbbing a sharp spike through your brain.
Yunho’s warm, brown eyes settle back on yours, his face calm and easy, “Can you hear me, y/n?”
You can, but you can’t make your mouth work. Don’t move an inch.
“Can you hear me? y/n?” He asks again, his thumb brushing your cheek, “You’re safe, he’s not going to touch you again,”
The hard feeling of Minseok’s hands on your hips pushing you into the practice room mirror snaps inside you and you release a soft sound.
“You can hear me,” Yunho nods, “come on, wake up,”
“Yunho,” Mingi’s voice is close again, hard and steady, “that’s not going to work,”
“Why?” Yunho looks up to his friend, “she can hear me, she’s okay,”
“She’s in subspace,” Mingi pushes his friend to the side, coming into your eye line, “she’s dropped so far under it’s going to take more than that,”
“W-what do we do?” Yunho’s voice is shaky.
“Let me try something,” Mingi murmurs, and then his eyes lock squarely on yours.
Yunho slips his hand into yours, holding you tightly, but you can’t squeeze him back.
“Omega,” Mingi’s voice is firm, and it’s the clearest thing you’ve heard since sinking under the water, “Come up now.”
Don’t move an inch.
“You need to come up now,” His fingers tighten on your cheek, “listen to me.”
Don’t move an inch.
“Why isn’t this working?” Yunho asks, squeezing your fingers.
“I’m not sure,” Mingi’s voice is low, and then he shifts closer to your face, “y/n. Omega. Listen to me now,”
All you can do is manage to make a quiet, tight noise, and even to your muddled brain you can hear the tenor of distress.
“Come up now,” Mingi repeats, “right now. Listen to me, omega.”
You’re being torn in two, your primal brain fighting you every step of the way.
He swallows hard, his voice dropping low in his chest, “Don’t disobey your alpha,”
Suddenly nothing but his voice exists.
Mingi’s expression is cold, tight and ruthless, his rich tone cuts straight to your core, “When you’re given a directive, you follow it. Now,” He locks his hands on either side of your face and his next words are a pointed and perfectly clear command, “Come. Up.”
The room is so much louder than you thought a moment ago. There’s shouting outside and you vaguely register San’s voice amongst the mix. The music from practice is still on low. Yunho’s leg is bouncing nervously, the athletic fabric making a rhythmic swish with every bob of his knee. You can hear your blood rushing in your ears.
“I’m sorry,” You choke out, the first feeling that floods back into your body is intense shame.
“Oh my god,” Mingi’s expression crumbles and he pulls your limp body into his arms “you’re here? You’re with us?”
“M-Mingi,” Your vision clouds with tears again and every feeling that tried to course through your body while you were in subdrop crashes into you sideways.
“Shh,” He rocks you in his arms, “we’ve got you, we’re right here, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”
A dull throb radiates through your skull and Yunho takes a sharp inhale, “She’s bleeding,”
“What?” Mingi pulls back, his hand searching your body.
“Here,” Yunho brushes the back of your hair, his fingers coming away with a small line of blood, “it’s not too bad,”
“What happened?” You reach for the cut at the back of your head, nervous tears coming up as you try to understand.
“You don’t remember?” Yunho asks.
“I’m,” You swallow hard, “it was practice? Or I was practicing? I had the room booked.”
“Yeah,” Yunho nods and squeezes your hand, “what else?”
The date. The hard set of Minseok’s jaw when you said no. His hands on your hips, his lips on your neck, the soft drag of his teeth and the flat of his tongue over your gland. Your shirt tearing when he hauled you up against the mirrors. Hands everywhere. Hands nowhere. The white ceiling. His voice, harsh and direct in your ears, the alpha tone unmistakable. Submit. Heel. Don’t move an inch.
Your mouth is suddenly hot and watery, and your hands are shaking, “I’m… I’m going to be sick,”
“Shit,” Yunho moves fast, sliding across the floor to grab the wastebasket that sits under the desk, pushing it into your hands.
You wretch instantly, shaking and heaving, losing the contents of your stomach into the plastic bin.
“Okay,” Mingi soothes, gathering up your hair into one hand and holding it away from your face, “you’re okay,”
“He touched me,” Your hands won’t stop shaking, his voice flooding back, and you heave again, “the things he said,”
“Shh,” Yunho shifts closer, rubbing a hand up and down your back, “you’re safe. None of that is true,”
“He talked to me like a dog,” You sob, “and I couldn’t move, he told me not to move and I just let him,”
“No.” Mingi’s voice is harsh and you twitch under his hands, “He used alpha tone on you, he wanted you to stop fighting and he said it in tone until you couldn’t hear anything else. You didn’t let him do anything,”
“I’ve never,” You wretch again, a dry heave with nothing to give and it makes your eyes watery.
“We���re right here,” Yunho murmurs, “you’re safe.”
When you’re sure your stomach will hold, you push the wastebasket away and drop back to the floor, your head throbbing, “I’ve never been in subspace,”
“You’re not there now,” Mingi soothes.
“I don’t remember,” You manage, looking down at your mussed clothes, “it’s so muddled I can’t remember,”
“What can’t you remember?” Yunho asks softly.
You’re pretty sure you’d register it if his attempt at claiming had been successful, if the word attempt should even be in consideration at all, but the end is so fuzzy you just have to know. “Did he… did we?”
“No.” Yunho’s firm, sliding in front of you so he can make you look into his eyes, “absolutely not,”
Your mouth tastes terrible, but it’s the overwhelming bitter smell of him on you that doubles it and makes you want to throw up again even though your stomach is empty.
“All I can smell is him,” You scrub your hands under your eyes to wipe away tears, “I can’t even breathe,”
“Take her,” Mingi says, “I’m getting water,”
Yunho pulls you into his arms, sitting back against the mirrored wall for some support and cradling you to his chest, “Come here, is this okay?”
“Make it go away,” You hold onto his shirt and sigh into his neck, “please, Yunho, please,”
“Just breathe,” He soothes you, “I have you,”
He smooths his thumbs over the glands in your wrists, easing the initial panic inside you, and then gently draws your head back with his hand, “It’s only me,” He murmurs, “you know I’d never hurt you,”
Yunho licks a long stripe up your neck, and instantly your body starts to release, tense muscles unlocking and your fingers falling slack. His scent washes over you, enveloping you tenderly.
“Y-Yunho,” you shudder as he licks another long stripe, moving to suck softly on the fleshy part of your neck that narrowly avoided teeth marks.
“Yes?” He kisses your neck softly, and licks again.
“Thank you for coming for me,” You exhale slowly.
He stills, sinking closer and resting his closed lips on your shoulder. When he breathes in you hear the catch of emotion, “I thought we were too late,”
“I’m okay,” You murmur, and it’s starting to feel true now that he’s washing away Minseok’s scent.
“God,” He sighs into your skin, “when I heard you scream… I’ve never heard anything that terrifying in my life, I’ve never run so fast,”
“Did I scream?” You don’t remember it.
“Bloody murder,” He nods, pulling back to look at your eyes.
“Yunho,” Your eyes flick up towards the open door of the practice studio, “where is he?”
His hands tighten on you, “Probably nursing his broken ribs. The guys have him,”
Your eyes widen, and the realization that he’s still under the same roof has you trembling in his arms, “He’s still here,”
“Not for long,” He murmurs, “we called the police,”
“But,” Your mind is spinning and you feel the weight of him on your chest once more, “what if he comes back?”
“y/n,” Yunho draws your eyes away from the door, “San and Seonghwa have him, and he’s in rough shape. He’s probably focused on trying to breathe, not thinking about you anymore. And even if none of that were true and he did come back,” he says, “I’d put him on the floor faster than you could blink. Mingi and I both would.”
Your muscles start to relax again, “Okay,”
“You are completely safe,”
Mingi reappears a few moments later, bottles of water in hand, and he smiles warmly, “Hey, you,”
“Hey,”
“Feeling a little better?” He asks, settling on the hard practice room floor and passing you an open bottle.
“I don’t know,” You murmur honestly, shifting in Yunho’s arms so that you’re resting on his lap with your back against his chest. You take a long drink of water and sigh.
“Listen,” Mingi smooths a hand across your thigh, “the police are going to want to talk to you. They’ll be here within the hour and then we’ll go to the hospital.”
“Why?” You tense.
“Your head,” He nods.
“It’s stopped bleeding,” Yunho assures you, “but he’s right, you could have a concussion.”
“I don’t have a concussion,”
“I didn’t realize you had a medical degree,” Mingi says, a little edge to his voice.
Hot tears well in your eyes at his tone, and you shrink back into Yunho’s arms. You know rationally he didn’t mean to scare you, he’s just worried about you, but after the day you’ve had you can’t help but shrink back in fear.
“Hey,” Yunho presses his lips to your neck, “it’s alright, Mingi didn’t mean it like that”
Mingi’s eyes blow wide, “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything,”
“I know,” You tip your head to the side to offer more of your throat to Yunho’s soothing touches, “I’m just not myself,”
“It’s okay,” Yunho says again, returning to your neck and peppering kisses across your gland, and something about this should feel intimate and awkward when you haven’t talked to them yet, but all you can feel is safe.
“Really,” Mingi reaches for you, but doesn’t touch you, “I just want you to let us help, and I’m so angry with Minseok I could kill him, but I didn’t mean to put that on you,”
“Mingi,” You take his outstretched hand, “I’m okay, you just startled me, and you’re right anyways. I’ll come to the hospital,”
He sighs in relief.
“After,” Yunho murmurs, “would you - I mean, will you please come home with us tonight?”
It’s strange how much you feel like it is home, despite only spending your heat there, months ago, so long ago now you shouldn’t still feel this preternatural pull.
“I don’t know,” You say, even though your body is begging you to agree, to stay with them and only them.
“I know it’s been different between us,” He murmurs, arms tightening around you, “but you know how I feel. I just don’t want you to be alone tonight, someone should be with you,”
“Someone you feel safe with,” Mingi adds, “if that’s us,”
“It is,” You lock your hand down on Mingi’s, “I’m sorry, this is… of course you’re safe, of course you are. I’m just,”
“Let’s talk about this later,” Mingi smiles, shooting a look at Yunho you can’t quite make sense of, but brushing your fears to the side all the same, “for now, let’s just get you taken care of.”
You shudder out a breath, letting the warmth and safety of their bodies sink into you. You turn into Yunho, resting your cheek on his chest and matching your breath in time to his. Your thoughts spin, bubbling over as threads of the incident come back to your mind and you press your eyes closed before the question slips out, “Why did he do it?”
Yunho wraps his arms around you a little tighter, dropping his lips to your hair, “I don’t know,”
Mingi clears his throat, “He’s about to hit his rut,” he says, “that’s what his excuse was. He said he’s… he kept saying how sorry he was, but,”
Your eyes snap open, “Sorry? He’s sorry?”
“Sorry someone interrupted him, maybe,” Mingi’s voice is hard, his eyes firm and unrelenting, “a rut doesn’t make you do that. Not like that.”
Yunho shakes his head in agreement, “Definitely not,”
You know that, of course you know it, but after seeing Minseok’s black eyes you’re not so sure. You had never felt completely comfortable with him, but in the past you would have chalked that up to personality differences, and in the past few weeks that had all started to change. He was the kind of guy you wouldn’t date, but you wouldn’t worry about bothering you.
You sigh softly, “He didn’t seem like himself,”
“Mm,” Mingi hums, non-committal.
“A rut doesn’t make it impossible to hear the word no,” Yunho says firmly, “you don’t become some mindless animal. What he tried to do… that’s… a rut’s an easy excuse.”
You tense up in his arms, a brief flicker of what could have been. His teeth in your neck, your mind spinning into submission.
“Yunho,” Mingi shakes his head at his best friend, glancing down at you to indicate that it’s not something you can hear right now.
“I’m sorry,” Yunho soothes, holding you closer if it’s at all possible.
Your chest tightens, “Can I… I need to get up,”
His arms relax immediately, hands shifting under your elbows to help support you while Mingi jumps up and offers you his hands to pull you up. Back on your own two feet you waver a minute, but you shake off the dizzy spell and try to get your bearings again. They're waiting on a razor’s edge, hands out and ready to intervene, but you’ve made it clear that for the moment you don’t want to be touched.
A shout from the hall leaves you jumping, but you register Wooyoung’s voice a moment later, “Where is she?”
“The studio,” San’s voice replies, “slow down,”
“Is he in the back office? Give me a fucking minute alone with him,” Wooyoung’s voice is murderous and you smile at how ready your best friend sounds to do battle on your behalf, “I’ll show him what an omega can fucking do,”
“Youngie,” San’s voice is even and warm, keeping things soft, “you need to calm down,”
“Calm down,” He scoffs, his voice getting closer as he travels down the hall and you know he’s almost at the door.
“I hardly think y/n needs,” San starts to say, but then they round the corner.
Wooyoung’s eyes are wild, searching and terrified, and something inside you shatters. San’s words die on his lips when he sees you, and in a startling moment of clarity you rush forwards and into Wooyoung’s arms.
“Shh, shh,” He wraps you up tight, one hand at the back of your head as he rocks you back and forth, “you’re safe, you’re in one piece,”
“Woo,” Tears come fast, and you bury your face in his chest.
“Stupid fucking alphas,” He curses into your shoulder and you can hear his breath hitched and clouded with tears of his own, “acting like they can take whatever they want,”
You’re sure the rest of the room is bristling at that comment but you couldn’t care less.
“You want me to break the rest of his ribs?” He kisses your head, “I’ll make it look like a fucking accident, I swear to God,”
“Woo,” You laugh into his chest, vision blurry with unshed tears, “stop, that’s insane,”
“I am nothing if not a little insane,” Wooyoung squeezes you, “and you and me? We protect each other, right?”
“Always,” You grip the back of his shirt like a lifeline.
The bond between omegas can’t be understood by a single other person in the room, maybe even in the building. You cling to each other in the middle of the studio floor, encased in this moment of shared grief. Of what you are and what that means. He shifts you in his arms so he can look at your face, cupping your tear stained cheeks.
The sight of his own tears makes yours come faster, “What did I do?”
His expression hardens and he shakes his head, sucking in a harsh breath, “Nothing, not a single fucking thing. Do you hear me?”
“Woo,” You want him to let you go. You want him to tug you close again.
He shakes your shoulders hard, and in your periphery you see Mingi take a half step forward as Wooyoung pushes back on your words, “You didn’t do anything. You’re existing, and he tried to take advantage of that. This isn’t your fault, there’s nothing you could have or should have done.”
You open your mouth to say something but he plows forward.
“Alphas take, alright?” He shakes you again, more gently this time, “We’re lucky. You and me, we found good ones, but alphas are programmed to take, and we’re programmed to give. He used it against you. Nothing else.”
Your breath hitches, and you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him cradle you again.
“Shh, shh,” He rubs your back, soothing you again.
“I hate this,” You manage, your face buried in his shoulder.
“I know,” He eases you, “I fucking hate it too,”
You hold each other a little longer until both of your tears start to subside. You stay steady in his grip, his fresh salt and cotton scent lulling you into safety. The buzzing of your brain starts to release, and the fear is still there under your skin but at least for now it’s low and letting you breathe.
Nuzzling into his shoulder you sigh, “What are you doing back here anyways?”
“San called,” He kisses your hair, “I broke several laws getting here,”
You laugh against his collarbone where his oversized t-shirt is pulled down, no doubt from the way your hands grip whatever part of him you can.
He rubs a warm hand up and down your back and when he speaks again it’s not to you, this time he addresses the alphas in the room. He clears his throat softly, head lifting up and away from yours, “So, who busted his nose?”
“Uh,” Yunho makes a small sound behind you, “that would be me,”
“Good,” Wooyoung says, “when she stops crying I’m giving you a handshake,”
You smile against his damp skin and shake your head, “I’m not crying, I’m fine,”
“Sure,” Wooyoung murmurs, but he doesn’t let you go, just strokes your back more until you settle further into him.
“The police will be here soon,” San murmurs, his voice staying relaxed and steady to make sure everything stays level in the room.
“Right,” Wooyoung sighs, “y/n, can I let you go? I don't have to if you’re not ready,”
You nod immediately though, unwinding your arms from him and taking a ginger step back. He gives you a soft smile, and you scrub the last of the tears from your face with the sleeves of your sweatshirt. He gives you a minute to stand steady and then turns to Yunho and Mingi who both look frozen and unsure of what to do or what to say.
“You both got him off her?” He says, matter of fact.
“Yeah,” Mingi’s voice is tight, like he had been choking back tears of his own, and Yunho simply nods.
“Thank you,” Wooyoung tugs Mingi into a hug and squeezes him tight before shifting to Yunho to hug him too, “seriously,”
Once they break apart, you’re left all in a haphazard circle, and you can feel all the eyes on you. It makes you so tired, dizzy, ready to be done and just crawl under a blanket for the rest of the week. In the back of your throat you still taste bitter orange.
“Um,” Your voice comes out a little more scratchy than you want, and you clear your throat, letting everything fade.
“What is it?” Yunho asks gently.
You don’t know how to ask this, how to beg them to keep holding you together so you can just get through existing in this room. You sigh, the deep exhale making you dizzy again, and step towards him, “C-can I,”
He opens his arms immediately, letting you close the space so he doesn’t assume your needs, but as you collide with him again he responds perfectly, scooping you up into his arms and letting you wrap your legs around his waist. He supports you with ease, an arm under your thighs and another situated high on your back.
“Better?” He murmurs, smiling a little as you bury your head in his neck.
You nod into his neck, and then you allow yourself one tiny moment of weakness, listening to your body and what it needs for once over your anxiety. You mumble it into his neck, but he hears you when you say, “Yunho?”
“Yeah, baby?” His voice is so soft, quiet like he’s afraid of what you might say.
You don’t miss the way Wooyoung’s eyebrows go high at the endearment, but you ignore him and focus instead on the man holding you up, together, in one solid piece. You lift your head so he hears you clearly, “Will you please take me home?”
He goes still and turns his head just a little, “Your apartment or,”
“Take me home with you,” You repeat, “I want to go home,”
This will surely just make everything more muddled and foggy between the three of you tomorrow in the cold light of day, but you don’t care. Right now you just want to be home, in whatever form that means.
He exhales low and shaky, “Alright,” he murmurs, kissing your throat softly to help calm your trembling, “I’ve got you, let’s go home,”
A warm wide palm rests on the center of your back, and Mingi leans in close to catch your eyes, “y/n, can you look at me a second?”
You pull your head up from the crook of Yunho’s neck where you’ve just been taking deep steady inhales of wet earth and meet his eyes.
“Hey,” He smiles.
Your eyes dart between him and Wooyoung, who seems suddenly ancy. “What?” You straighten up a little more in Yunho’s arms.
“You can go wherever you want,” He starts off, “but do you want us to take you home, or would you feel more comfortable with Wooyoung? Or… Seonghwa, if… if that would be better for how you’re feeling,”
Yunho tenses a little, his fingers tightening where he holds you, and you can feel him physically holding himself back from saying a single word, from begging you to come with them.
You’ve made up your mind though, and within a second you’re shaking your head, “No, I want you,”
Yunho relaxes, his lips returning to your throat and you sigh.
“Then you have us,” Mingi assures you.
The sound of the elevators in the hall stop you all cold though, and San holds up his hands, “I’ll go see, it’s probably the police,”
The idea of talking to them suddenly makes you sick, and you’re sure it shows all over your face.
“It’s going to be fine,” Wooyoung jumps back in, “don’t worry, we’ll be there the whole time.”
You need this to be done. You grip down on Yunho’s shoulders, “I want to go home,”
“I know,” Mingi nods.
“Y-Yunho,” You’re scrambling a little in his arms, sudden panic swirling in your gut, and you twist to find his eyes, “please, get me out of here, please take me home,”
You feel it the minute he chooses you over anything else, “Okay, alright,”
“You need to talk to the cops,” Wooyoung shakes his head, trying to reason with you.
You’re trembling in Yunho’s arms and he shakes his head, “She needs to go,”
Mingi senses your heightened emotions too and you feel it when he moves closer, both of them shifting to protect you, “She can do this later,”
“I don’t know that that’s such a good idea,” Wooyoung insists.
“I couldn’t give a fuck,” Yunho grips you tighter, “we’re taking our girl home,”
“Your-” Wooyoung scoffs when he hears the words, “fucking alphas,”
“Who she wants to take her home,” Mingi points out, a distinct edge to his voice.
“Stop arguing,” You beg them, hanging onto Yunho’s shoulders, “please, please,”
“Fuck,” Yunho relaxes, stroking your back, “I’m sorry, of course we won’t, I’m sorry,”
Mingi brushes his hand over the back of your head and Wooyoung gives you an apologetic face, his defensiveness over you is understandable, but he also knows how you feel about these men and you watch him choose to hold his tongue.
A knock on the door brings you all back to the present, San handling the situation with more grace than any of you combined, “The police said that they can speak with you at the hospital and make it brief.”
You exhale heavily and nod against Yunho, “Okay, fine,”
“Are you sure?” Mingi strokes your cheek.
“I just want to be done,”
“Should we stay with you?” Yunho murmurs.
“Please,” You grip his shoulders.
“Alright,” He sighs, “Woo, could you… I’m sorry, can you grab her things? Let’s just try to make this quick for her,”
Wooyoung clears his throat, his eyes never leaving yours, “Yeah, I got it,”
“Uh,” San interrupts as you all try to gather your things, “Yunho, they want to talk to you first, they’re waiting in the back office,”
“Oh,”
“They have some questions,” San explains quietly, “but she she doesn’t need to be there for that,”
“Right,” Yunho nods and then presses a kiss to your hair, “can I put you down, sweetheart?”
Your chest warms.
“No, here,” Mingi cuts in, his hand sweeping over your back and you feel them shift you from Yunho’s arms to his, “come here,”
He settles you against his chest and you wrap around him just the same, soaking in the warm scent of cocoa and cinnamon. You let your eyes drift shut as you rest on his shoulder, “Hey, Mingi,”
“Hey,” He says softly.
“Thank you,” You sigh.
“Mhm,” He rocks you a little as he takes your bags from Wooyoung and slings them over his shoulder, the combined weight of it and you not fazing him at all, “I told you once I’ll always be here, I meant it,”
“I believe you,” You murmur into his throat.
You rest here, Mingi’s thumb rubbing a comforting line over the back of your neck.
“Time to go,” Wooyoung’s voice pipes back in, “there’s a car ready, Yunho will be there in a a few minutes,”
“Alright,” Mingi presses a soft kiss to your hair, “here we go,”
He carries you with ease, and you sink into the steady thump of his heart under your palm that’s keeping you grounded. Over his shoulder you watch Wooyoung walking with you and you see police officers down the hall. The door to the back office swings open and Yunho is leaning against the desk as he speaks with an officer. Seonghwa sits in a chair next to him, his head in his hands, blood coating his knuckles and the sleeves of his shirt. Something pulls in your gut, begging you to go to him, but then you’re outside and all you can feel is Mingi holding you as he ferries you into the car.
“Do you need anything?” He asks as he settles you into the passenger seat
“I don’t know,” You tell him honestly, letting your head drop back against the seat and taking a deep breath, eyes slipping closed.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Wooyoung jumps forward, “keep your eyes open,”
“I’m fine,” You tell him, but you still do what he asks.
“Just in case,” Wooyoung presses, “you shouldn’t fuck with head injuries,”
“He’s right,” Mingi murmurs, crouching next to you just outside the car, “and I’m sure you’re fine, but let’s just be sure, okay?”
“Okay,”
A noise just past the two of them makes you jump.
“It’s just Sannie,” Wooyoung assures you.
You nod and Mingi takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.
“Yunho’s almost done,” San announces, but he hurries to the car and leans in to check you, “doing okay?”
“Yeah,”
“Can you do something for me?” He cups your cheek to bring your eyes up to his.
“Mhm,” You nod again.
“I need you to just focus on us for a minute,” He moves to crouch next to Mingi, and then Wooyoung steps closer too, blocking out some of your peripheral vision.
“Why?” You fight the urge to turn around.
Red and blue lights flash in the car mirrors and you reflexively glance up at the rear view mirror, catching sight of an ambulance, and tension fills your stomach.
San reaches up and catches your face again, “Hey, look at me,”
You pull your eyes away, “Are they here for him?”
“Yes,” San nods.
“Is he badly hurt?” Your mouth feels dry.
There’s a pause and then Wooyoung sighs, “Don’t lie to her,”
Mingi clears his throat softly, “He’s pretty busted up,”
“Good,” You breathe.
San smiles, taking your other hand in his and smoothing his thumb over your knuckles. The sound of the doors catches your attention again, and you resist the urge to turn around once again. San shakes his head a little, “Just keep looking at us,”
“He really picked the wrong person to fuck with,” Wooyoung says, his hand resting warmly on your shoulder.
An image of Seonghwa and his bloody knuckles flashes through your mind and your breath quickens, “Is Hwa okay?”
Mingi’s brows draw together.
“He’s fine,” San assures you immediately.
“I saw blood,” You can’t articulate it exactly, the image is just static in your mind.
“It’s not his blood,” San promises, “we’re all fine, Seonghwa is fine,”
The sound of the ambulance doors swinging shut makes you jump.
“Shh,” Mingi squeezes your hand, “you’re safe, you’re with me,”
Everything in your body feels tense and stretched thin, but Mingi’s hand is solid in yours and you grip down on it, letting it tether you.
You listen as the ambulance pulls away, your muscles unclenching one by one as the sound of the vehicle fades.
“Woo,” You manage, “can you check on Hwa for me? And text me?”
“Yeah,” He assures you, “I got you,”
“Take a deep breath,” Mingi instructs you, “please, for me,”
You take a long inhale and meet his eyes and he nods as you let the breath out low and slow through your nose.
“Again, please,” He nods.
You breathe again, the same steady pace, “I’m tired,”
“It’s the adrenaline wearing off,” Mingi tells you, “but as soon as a doctor says you can sleep, you can rest,”
“Okay,” You nod.
San’s hand disconnects from yours and he starts to stand, “Yunho’s done,”
You twist in your seat to see him, Wooyoung stepping out of the way, and you can see Yunho jogging towards the car, “Everything okay?”
“Mhm,” Mingi keeps himself calm for you.
“That took forever,” He says, “I’m sorry,”
“It didn’t,” You shake your head, “don’t be sorry,”
“You should go,” Wooyoung interrupts, “get her looked at,”
You find your best friend’s eyes, “You’ll text me?”
“Of course I will,” He nods, “but right now just focus on yourself. We’re all okay,”
You nod, and your eyes feel heavy again already. You know they’ll be trying to keep you awake in the car at this rate.
“Let’s go,” Mingi nods, “can I have my hand back for a minute?” He smiles at you.
“Sorry,” You drop his hand, almost embarrassed at the way you’re clinging to him.
“Go,” San ushers Yunho towards the driver’s side, “if you need anything, we’re here,”
Before you know it everyone’s moving and your car door is shut. Yunho slides into the driver’s seat to your left and Mingi moves into the backseat behind you.
You meet Wooyoung’s eyes through the window and he rests a hand over his chest. He mouths a simple message - I love you, okay?
You nod and the car starts to move, but you know he knows you love him too.
Mingi shifts forwards in his seat as Yunho starts to drive, and his long arm reaches around to find your hand again. He laces your fingers together once and this time he doesn’t let go.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Later that night, the warm, rich scent of their apartment almost takes you out at the knees when you finally cross the threshold, so overwhelmingly comforting and enveloping that you want nothing more than to bury yourself inside the feeling for days. Mingi nearly runs into your back when you stop short in the entryway and Yunho’s watching you carefully as he hangs up your jackets.
“What?” Mingi nudges you gently.
There’s a million things to say. Things left unsaid after your last conversation, that fight you wish you could forget. The letter. All the things you were planning on confessing Saturday. The way you want so badly to erase today and just be with them. Every ounce of their soothing physicality after Minseok brings all your emotions up tenfold. Their tenderness almost chokes you. All the things you want to say are stuck in your throat. You need to get your head on straight. You need sleep.
“Hey,” Yunho waves a hand in front of your dazed expression, “are you alright?”
Not really. The hospital was long and awkward, seeing a glimpse of Minseok’s name on a hospital room door even worse, and the police had so many questions that all sounded fairly judgemental. Not to mention the probing questions from the hospital staff about your cycle and if you’re close to pre-heat. As if that matters at all. You settle for something a little less dire though, “I’m fine, sorry, it’s just been a while,”
Yunho’s ears darken to a deep shade of pink and he nods.
“You can sleep in my room,” Mingi offers, “like before. We can stay or not stay, it’s up to you.”
“I’d like to be alone,” You tell them, “if that’s alright,”
“Of course,” Mingi smooths a hand down your arm, “whatever you want.”
“Um,” You sigh heavily, “honestly I’m exhausted. I think I might just shower and sleep as long as you don’t mind,”
Yunho shakes his head, gesturing towards the hall, “Not at all, just… call if you need anything,”
You start back towards the bathroom, your eyes down and away from them, but Mingi calls out, “You remember where everything is?”
There’s no way you could forget, and you call back that you’re fine. You got it. You just need to be alone, alone is good, alone feels safe.
In the shower you scrub your skin raw, spending extra time and attention on your glands even though it makes your skin there puffy and red, pinpricks of blood at the surface of your skin and lilac bruises surrounding every edge. It doesn’t matter how comforting their scents are, nothing is taking away the deep intent of Minseok’s mouth on your neck - and the bitter, burnt citrus smell takes ages to wash away. By the time you finish, you’re about ready to collapse.
Mingi leaves you clothes again, folded neatly on his bed and ready for you. They’re nowhere to be seen, taking your plea for time alone seriously. He’s laid out a clean pair of sleep pants and a t-shirt, both fresh from the wash. The hoodie you had stolen during your heat lies next to it, and it’s a kind gesture, but suddenly you don’t want it. You want nothing.
You toss the hoodie to the side and start to climb into the bed, but that smells so heavily of cinnamon spice that you can’t think straight. You had just gotten used to blissfully smelling nothing after your shower, and so you strip the bed entirely, discarding all of the pillows and blankets and sheets into the farthest corner of the room.
The mattress is bare now, but once you turn the circulating fan off you fix the issue of the cold and his scent washing over you every time you try to close your eyes. You can still sense him, sense them, somewhere in the background, but here on the stripped bed in sterilized clothes with your skin rubbed raw, you can rest.
You drift into sleep this way, your head clear.
It doesn’t stay that way for long.
You’re not sure how long you’re asleep before you wake in abject terror, but it must be at least a couple of hours with the sky outside pitch dark and the apartment completely quiet around you. It’s obvious you’re the only one awake, but your brain can’t quite process it right. All you feel is shaking fear and the echo of hands pressing you into the wall, fingers in your hair yanking your head to the side, teeth grazing against your throat.
You scramble back, only to find the edge of the bed and you collapse off of it, ending up on the wood floor with your head spinning, Mingi’s bedside table lamp crashing down after you, a harsh flash of light pulsing through the room as the bulb breaks and gives one final dying flicker.
The pleading whine that’s caught in your throat sounds like a trapped animal to your ears, the pounding of your heart threatening to break your chest, blood rushing through your ears like a train. You can’t grasp reality, everything feels hazy and disconnected.
The door to your right bangs open, Yunho bleary and confused, but responding to your heightened state of fear within a moment. “Mingi!” He calls over his shoulder, “Mingi, get up right now,”
There’s a faraway faint noise from the other room.
Yunho skids to your side, careful not to touch you as he tries to meet your eyes in the dark, “Sweetheart, it’s just a nightmare.”
Part of you knows that you’re awake, safe and home, and not trapped in subspace with a threatening hand in your hair, but you can’t quite grip back to reality. You stutter out a reply, “I-I can’t breathe,”
“Mingi,” Yunho calls back over his shoulder again, “right now!”
“Please,” you whimper, part of your brain still lodged in the nightmare, “I can’t breathe,” Your hands cling onto the edge of the rug.
Mingi stumbles into the room now, half asleep but forced into consciousness and he’s shaking himself, catching up quickly, “What’s going on?”
You hear him, but your body is stuck remembering and you feel like there’s a weight on your chest, pressing you down harder, “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” you stutter.
“Sweetheart,” Yunho comes closer now, his body curling around you carefully with his face directly at your side, “it’s a nightmare, you’re safe.” His arms loop around you gently, but stay open in case you need to move.
“I can’t,” you shake your head, images swimming before you.
“You’re not there,” he tells you, “we’re home, you’re with us, me and Mingi,”
You wheeze, trying to regulate your breath.
“Get a light,” Yunho pleads suddenly to the dark room, and you can hear scrambling, “she can’t see where she is, get a light on.”
Mingi trips over the discarded lamp on the floor, and fumbles back to the lightswitch on the wall near the door, searching for it with his hands but reluctant to tear his eyes away from you. Suddenly the room floods with the overhead light, a stark fluorescent glow, and the black spots across your vision start to clear.
“I have you, I have you,” Yunho repeats, holding you to him.
Your hand searches blindly for Mingi on the other side of you and he collapses next to you both, taking your hand and moving in to cradle you from the opposite side, “Baby,” he murmurs, “look around, look where you are,”
Yunho’s hand on your thigh grounds you, and then Mingi softly touches your jaw to draw your gaze to him, “Look at me,”
Your eyes flick up. He looks tired, exhausted even, his hair a wayward haystack. You blink hard, “What happened to you?”
“To me?” Mingi’s brow furrows and he glances up past you to Yunho.
“You need sleep,” You manage.
Mingi laughs sharply and cups your cheeks, “I’ll sleep later. Can you tell me where you are?”
“Your place,” You manage, and you feel the nightmare receding back into your mind inch by precious inch, your breath steadying out.
“Yeah,” He sighs, “Yeah, that’s right,”
“I’m home with you,” You repeat, your fingers sinking into the plush rug beneath you.
Yunho swallows hard, fixated on the way you’ve called their apartment home, not their home, for the third time tonight. You watch the flicker of recognition in his eyes, but he lets it pass and so do you.
Tears well up in your eyes again and you sigh, “I’m sorry about your lamp,”
“What?” Mingi’s brow furrows, “Who cares about that?”
“Still,” You manage, “I’m such a mess right now,”
“If you weren’t a mess I’d be more worried,” Yunho takes your hand in his, squeezing your fingers, “and you can take all the time you need to be a mess, we’re here.”
You slump forwards onto his shoulder, “I’m… so tired,”
“Let’s get you back to bed,” Yunho soothes, his voice soft.
You nod, letting them both ease you up to your feet, but when they turn to the bed Mingi makes a soft, confused noise, “Where?”
“Oh,” You gesture towards the corner where all his bedding is wrapped up in a ball, “I’m sorry I was just… it was too much,”
Mingi’s jaw tightens, the muscles in his neck jumping as he swallows hard, and you know he’s holding down so much anger, that someone could have scared you enough that any alpha’s scent became overwhelming, that your fear might extend even to them.
“Okay,” Yunho cuts in easily, “whatever you want,”
He eases you back onto the mattress, but the idea that they might be gone again strikes a deep lance of panic through your stomach and you grasp his arm, “Don’t go,”
“Are you sure?” He murmurs.
“Please,” You insist, tugging his arm again.
He eases down beside you, and Mingi crosses to the opposite side of the bed so he can follow suit, sidling up to your back but careful not to touch you until you make it clear that you want him to. You fold your arm underneath your head and rest yourself down, and when your hair shifts off your neck you hear Yunho’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of your tender gland.
“Baby, what,” He reaches for you, fingertips hovering, “sweetheart, what did you do?”
“I’m fine,” You murmur but when you feel fingers gently coast over the raw skin you hiss sharply in pain and both their hands pull back.
“y/n,” Mingi’s voice is low, shaky, and he scoops up your arm to check your wrists, finding them as swollen and bruised, “oh my god,”
“I know,” You murmur, letting your eyes drift shut.
“This is not okay,” Mingi sounds pained, “you can’t hurt yourself like this,”
“I’m okay, I promise,”
“We could have helped,” Yunho insists, “we could have scented you again, both of us, or called Seonghwa, or something, anything,”
“Seonghwa?” You start, but Mingi cuts you off as he pushes your hair further to the side to see more of your neck.
He makes a tight noise with his tongue against his teeth, “These look tender, Yunho’s right,”
“You scented me plenty,” You shake your head, letting your hair fall back into place, “but I promise, I’m okay,”
Mingi wraps his arms around you from behind, tucking you close to his chest and dropping his head onto yours, “You’re scaring me,” he confesses into your hair.
“I know,” You murmur, “but I wasn’t trying to hurt myself,”
“And now?” Yunho asks softly.
“I’m a little better,” You pull him closer, “I was overwhelmed earlier and… even you both I didn’t want, but now? I feel safer, clearer,”
Yunho kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger as you all get your emotions back in check, “Okay,”
“Can we stay just like this?” You nuzzle into him, pulling Mingi in closer behind you until you’re snuggled up so tight you might overheat .
“I’ll be wherever you want,” Mingi wraps his hand around yours and tucks them into your chest.
Yunho murmurs his agreement softly and you nod, letting their heat soak into your body and releasing your tense muscles bit by bit. You were supposed to tell them how you felt already, you need to get it out in the open before things get too blurry again, but right now you have to let it go.
Silence stretches between the three of you, their breathing even and low, and you’re not sure if they’re asleep or awake when you make your quiet plea in the dark but in a whisper you beg them to never, ever let you go again. At least for tonight, they hold you fast.
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a/n: i know the game and fight were like two weeks ago but i couldn’t stop thinking about it lol. just a fun little thing - enjoy! (and literally as i go to post this, bb gets added back to the skills comp as he should’ve been in the first place so go defend your fastest skater title, mat😘)
word count: 4.5k
tw: oral (m recieving), cursing, chicago blackhawks slander, dirty talk
summary: after mat’s fight during the blackhawks game, you’re both worked up with extra energy to get out of your systems
“Fuck you!” You jump to your feet, screaming, adrenaline rushing through your veins. “Go fuck yourself!” Your stomach turns watching Mat fight, but you also can’t ignore the throb between your legs.
Unconcerned with the fact that you’re solidly in enemy territory, your shouting gets louder and louder. Your heart pounds in your chest as you watch Mat scrap with Chicago’s number 43. Mat shifts and drops Blackwell to the ice, the refs and the other players skating over quickly.
“That’s right,” you crow, the people around you starting to boo. “Get fucking wrecked!”
Mat skates off, helmet gone, hair flattened to his head and jersey half off. He scowls and tugs the jersey back over his head and you pump your fists in the air. “That’s my man!” You jump up and down, flipping off a few Chicago fans that are shouting at you.
“Girl,” Alexa, Noah’s girlfriend, tugs at the hem of your vintage Islanders sweatshirt, laughing, “you’re going to get us killed. Sit down!”
You drop back down into your seat and shoot her a grin, “what a way to go out though!” You laugh and take a sip of your beer, turning in your seat when a Chicago fan a few seats down leans over to shout at you.
“Real classy behavior, lady,” he sneers and you flip him off with a bright smile.
“God, where to even start with the classy as hell Chicago Blackhawks organization?” You tap at your lower lip thoughtfully. “Patrick Kane? Jonathan Towes? Corey Perry? So many options to choose from.”
“Gonna bring up shit that doesn’t mean anything?” The man snaps.
You lean halfway out of your seat, getting a little louder, “your team sucks ass from top to bottom.”
“Suck my dick, bitch.”
Alexa coughs into her drink and you shrug at the man, shouting, “at least I’m supporting a team that hasn’t been sued twice for covering up sexual assault.”
“Oh my god,” Alexa mutters, covering her face.
“Fuck off, bitch,” a second man, sitting next to the first, shouts at you.
With a little three fingered wave at the men, you turn back to the ice, settling into your seat. “Oh, I love when men can only think to call me a bitch in the face of actual facts,” you sigh, heartbeat still pounding from Mat’s fight and the confrontation.
A few Chicago fans in the general vicinity are looking at you, booing and flipping you off. You return the gestures happily, with a sarcastic smile on your face.
“You’re batshit insane,” Alexa says, looking impressed and a little awed. “I’m terrified of you.”
You knock her shoulder with yours and tease, “as long as you love me more than you’re terrified of me.”
“Jury’s still out,” she snorts.
The game ends in tragic fashion during overtime, but you’re still so proud of Mat, buzzing with energy to see him when he gets back to the hotel. You and Alexa had booked a room in the same hotel the boys were staying at, spontaneously deciding to take the trip to see the boys play since neither of you had been to Chicago. The team flies back to Long Island tomorrow afternoon and your flight leaves just a few hours later, so you’ve got a few hours with Mat tonight before you have to go back to your own rooms, knowing he’ll have left packing to the last possible second.
Alexa’s lounging on her bed, scrolling through her phone, when there’s a knock on the door. You jump up from your spot on your bed and rush to the door, yanking it open and nearly knocking Noah out of the way in your hurry to jump into Mat’s arms. He laughs and catches you easily, wrapping his arms around your lower back as your legs hook around his waist.
“First career fight?” You grin at him, peppering his face with kisses. “So fucking hot, baby.”
“Y’know,” Noah comments dryly from behind you, “I had assists on two of our goals.”
You turn your head and grin at him, “you want a kiss too?” Mat’s hands grope at your ass, pulling you tighter over the growing bulge in his jeans. You wriggle happily over him, enjoying the low groan that vibrates against your shoulder.
“Not from you,” Noah laughs, dropping a kiss to the top of Alexa’s head. She snuggles up against his side and laughs a little.
“Let’s get out of here,” she says, “before these two forget they’re not alone.” Shooting you a wink, she grabs Noah’s hand and drags him out of the room, the door falling shut behind them.
“Thank god,” Mat huffs, leaning his forehead against your collarbone. You kiss the top of his head, rubbing your fingertips into his scalp. “I’ve been waiting to see you all night.”
“Well you’ve got me for the next few hours, completely uninterrupted,” you reply, holding onto him like a koala. “Let me see your face, I need to make sure no damage was done.”
Mat pulls away from you, grinning that crooked grin you love so much. He looks a little tired, but the only damage from the fight is a cut on the bridge of his nose and a little cut on his forehead. Not nearly as bad as you were thinking. “Do I pass inspection?” He teases, bouncing you a little in his arms.
You hum, “you’ll do,” before kissing the tip of his nose and then slanting your lips over his. Mat deepens the kiss, licking over your lower lip so your mouth will fall open. You groan into his mouth, grinding your hips down over his erection. The kiss is a little frantic, all teeth and tongue, and you’re out of breath when you break apart. “Put me down, I wanna reward you,” you pant, unhooking your legs from around his waist and letting them fall to the floor.
“What?” Mat’s mouth is back on yours, arms still wrapped tightly around your back, your chest pressed to his. You wiggle against him, grinding your hips over his, more than happy to feel him harden under you.
“Wanna - mmmph-“ your words are muffled by Mat’s mouth, captured by his lips and tongue. You pull back with a huge effort, palms flat on his shoulders for leverage. “Wanna suck you off,” you murmur, Mat’s hands trailing up the back of your shirt, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip and tugging at it.
“Yeah?” Mat asks, eyelids heavy over his eyes. He shifts and wedges his leg in between yours, pressing his muscled thigh right up against your throbbing cunt. You whine and your hips move over his leg, the seam of your jeans pressed exactly where you need it. “Wanna suck my dick, baby? What if I wanna watch you get off on my thigh?”
“C’mon, Mat,” your voice comes out breathy, “been wanting to suck you off since you fought. I’ve been soaked thinking about it.” You grind over his thigh as you plead, knowing you’ve won the upper hand when Mat’s fingers dip below the waistband of your jeans to squeeze your ass.
He sucks a mark into the skin behind your ear and you sigh. “Me fighting got you all hot and bothered?” He asks the question against your skin, brushing his nose against your earlobe and you nod.
“Beyond fucking hot, Mat,” you scratch your nails against the nape of his neck. “Glad I got to see it.”
You wiggle again and a little whine forms in the back of your throat. Mat’s mouth curls into a smile against your neck. “Love it when you beg,” he says, a little hoarse. “My girl is begging to suck my cock, what’s fucking better than that?”
“Actually letting me suck your cock,” you gasp, Mat’s fingers digging harder into the flesh of your ass. “Let me, Mat, c’mon.”
He finally shifts his leg, planting his feet solidly, and you grin, breaking from his grip and falling to your knees in front of him. You’re eye level with the bulge behind the fly of his jeans and you grin up at him wickedly. You run your fingertips lightly over his zipper and feel his cock throbbing through the denim. “Can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” you smirk, fingers working at the button and zipper, pushing at the denim until you can trace your index finger over the imprint of his dick through the fabric of his briefs.
“Fuck!” Mat’s hips buck forward and he grabs at your hair with one hand, tangling his fingers in the strands. His cock twitches behind the fabric and you push his jeans and briefs halfway down his thighs, freeing his cock so it bobs up towards his stomach. You lean up on your knees to press a kiss to the head of his cock and Mat groans, grip on your hair tightening. “Baby, babe, please, don’t tease me,” he babbles, hips thrusting minutely.
“It’s a reward,” you grin up at him, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock and squeezing slightly, “for fighting. Going to take my time with you.”
Your hand strokes him slowly, palm rubbing against his tip, gathering pre-cum and smearing it down his shaft. His cock throbs in your hand, in time with the way your clit throbs as you touch him. You shift on your knees, pressing the heel of your foot in between your legs and Mat doesn’t miss the movement.
“Going to get off just by touching my dick?” He teases, widening his stance and leaning his upper back against the wall. You hum, focused on getting him fully hard. It doesn’t take much work and within seconds, he’s like hot steel in your hand.
“We’ll just have to see,” you murmur, leaning in and taking the head of his cock into your mouth. A strangled moan leaves Mat’s lips and his hips start to thrust, forcing you to press both of your hands against his hips to keep him in place. You hum around him and swirl your tongue over his slit, enjoying the way he’s babbling your name over your head. He groans, the noise choking off as you take him deeper into your mouth, keeping your lips wrapped tightly around him.
Your nails rake over his skin, fingers sliding over the ridge of bone and then the smooth skin of his lower stomach, until you’re able to rub your fingertips through the light trail of hair under his belly button. You wrap one hand around the base of his cock and take him deeper, swallowing and enjoying the way Mat’s cock bobs in your mouth.
“Baby, come on,” Mat mumbles, “gotta go deeper. Let me fuck your throat. Wanna feel you swallow me.”
You look up at him with wide eyes, tears hovering at your waterline from the stretch of your jaw, and blink innocently at him. Your throat relaxes and he grins, looking a little dazed, when he realizes you’re giving him permission. His other hand comes up to cradle your face, releasing your hair with the other hand so he can hold your face in place while he thrusts his hips forward, sliding his cock deeper down your throat with each movement. The head of his cock bumps against the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat, slides against your tongue with his erratic thrusts.
Saliva drips down your chin, tears rolling down your cheeks. Mascara streaks down your face, stinging your eyes a little.
Mat’s head is dropped back as he rolls his hips, his mouth running constantly. You’re not even sure what he’s saying at this point, too focused on keeping your throat relaxed and not gagging around his thick length. Your hands grip at his ass, nails digging into his skin and he hisses, practically whining when you swallow and your throat tightens around his cock.
“Fuck, fuck. Jesus Christ, fuck me,” he groans. “Love how you look with my dick in your mouth, look so pretty.”
You moan around him, lifting up a little on your knees and leaning in, deep throating him until your nose is pressed against his skin, your chin tucked up against his balls. His scent - a little bit soapy, a little bit sweaty - invades your senses and you feel your panties dampen further. You shake your head a little, brushing the tip of your nose against his skin and Mat’s fingers tighten on your face, thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones.
“Gonna come, baby, gotta -“ he mutters, choking off. He leans his hips back a little, trying to pull out of your mouth, but you hold onto his ass, pulling him closer to your face. Mat grunts, his balls tightening under your chin before he comes down your throat, hot and thick.
You swallow for what feels like forever, Mat’s cock still thick and hard in your mouth. He finally pulls back and you drop down to sit on your heels, wiping at your mouth. Saliva and cum make your chin and hands sticky, but you grin cheekily up at your boyfriend. He looks wrecked, jaw slack and eyes nearly closed.
“Didn’t manage to come just from sucking you off,” you rasp, throat sore and voice hoarse. You reach up to gently stroke over his cock and he leans his hips forward, pushing into your grip.
“Bet that sweet pussy of yours is soaked for me, huh?” Mat says, reaching out to wrap his hands around your biceps and haul you to your feel, your hand falling away from his cock. With his grip on your arms, Mat crushes you to his chest, kissing you sloppily. His cock presses against your stomach, half-hard, and you press against it, making Mat groan into your mouth before he sucks on your tongue.
You hum against his mouth, melting against Mat’s chest. Your clit throbs and you clench around nothing, desperate for a little friction. “Mat,” you gasp his name a little and he knows exactly what you want. His hands slide up your arms and wrap gently around your neck and the back of your head, keeping your face close to his so he can kiss you while walking you backwards to the bed.
“Gonna fuck you so good, baby,” he murmurs into your mouth. You can feel his body vibrating with adrenaline and once the backs of your knees hit the mattress, Mat pulls back to quickly get rid of his clothes, kicking the fabric in all different directions with a a hungry look in his eyes that makes you giggle. Mat grins down at you and leans over your body, pressing his bare chest against your clothed one. “Regular post-game energy has nothing on post-fight energy,” he promises, nipping at your pulse point.
You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist and roll your hips, pressing your cunt against his cock. “I can’t wait to find out,” you murmur, arching your back when his hands slide up your shirt to grope at your tits.
Just about an hour later, you roll off of Mat’s chest, sweating and panting like you’ve just run a marathon. “Fuck,” you breathe, thighs sticky and trembling.
Mat turns his head and gives you a lazy smirk, “told you.”
You kick a little at his ankle, shifting and shaking your head at the way your core is clenching around nothing, the feeling of Mat’s cock stuffed inside of you still present. “You need to get into fights more often,” you mumble, watching him wince as he pulls the used condom off of his dick. He twists a knot into the latex and rolls off the other side of the bed to pad into the bathroom. You blatantly stare at his ass, wolf-whistling when he bends slightly to toss the condom.
“I’m feeling very objectified,” Mat teases you, standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. He tries to keep a straight face, but can’t help his lips from turning up at the corners. You drag your gaze over his body, from the top of his head, over his bare chest complete with chain resting against his collarbone, down to his dick hanging between his legs, and back up.
“Mmm,” you hum, still flat on your back, still shaking slightly. “It’s not my fault you’re so objectifiable. Maybe if you were uglier…”
You trail off into a shriek, body jostling when Mat pounces on the bed, covering your body with his and planting sloppy, wet kisses on every inch of your skin he can reach. “Nooo, stop! Oh my god, you know I’m ticklish,” you shriek-giggle, pushing at Mat’s shoulders, trying to wiggle out from under him. He keeps you caged in with his arms and legs, laughing.
“Gonna keep objectifying me, Squeaks?” He asks, marking you up with hickies across your neck and chest.
“Yessss,” you laugh, pressing your chest into his face. “It’s my favorite hobby.” You hook your leg around his hip and dig your heel into the muscle of his ass, getting him to thrust his pelvis forward, bumping against your clit. A spark of pleasure lights up your nerves.
“Cool,” he laughs, flicking his tongue over your nipple. “You can keep doing it after we get some food, I’m starving.” He bites at the underside of your breast and rolls off of you again, leaving you cold in the middle of the bed.
“What?” You sit up, watching him reach for his pants and dig his phone out of the pocket.
“We had like one slice of shitty Chicago pizza after the game,” Mat explains. “And then we rolled around in bed for an hour. I’m starving, babe.”
You’re about to complain, but as soon as you open your mouth, your stomach growls and Mat smirks at you. You huff, “okay, yeah. Let’s order some dinner.”
He turns back to his phone, tapping away at UberEats, and you flop back against the pillows, grabbing for your own phone where it rests on the bedside table. Once you’re settled, you rest your feet in Mat’s lap, his left hand landing on your ankle and thumb tracing an arc over your instep. You wiggle your toes and he pinches lightly at your skin. “What do you want?”
“Mozzarella sticks,” you say absently, gaze flickering onto your lock screen. It’s covered in notifications - the girls’ group chat, Twitter, Instagram, TikTok. What the hell is going on?
Another message comes in from Sydney, making your phone vibrate in your hand. Since you don’t have a password on your phone, you can see her message on the screen: she’s going to be banned from the arena 😂
Who’s going to be banned from the arena?
You tap open the group chat and scroll back to the top where the messages started half an hour ago. Holly sent a Twitter link followed by: our girl! 😂
A sinking feeling forms in your stomach, but you tap on the link, unsurprised when it opens up to a video. A video of you, just a few hours earlier, yelling at the game.
“Oh man,” you groan, watching yourself - filmed from an unflattering angle, of course - jumping and cheering for Mat, before turning and snapping at the Blackhawks fan.
“No mozzarella sticks?” Mat asks, mistaking what you had said as directed at him. He’s still scrolling through UberEats.
“No, um, yes,” you shake your head, looking up. “I do still want mozzarella sticks, but…”
You tap on the hashtag and start scrolling through Tweets, even as texts from the girls continue to roll in. The video is everywhere - Spittin’ Chiclets, B/R Open Ice, Barstool Sports. Fuck, even Frankie’s retweeted it, adding his typical all-caps word vomit captions: GOTTA GO THROUGH THE ISLAND OUR FANS ARE GREATER THAN ANYONE ELSE ANS READY TO GIVE YOU A VERBAL BITCH SLAP LOVE YOU LADY B
You roll your eyes at his caption, pulling the notification screen down and checking to see if he texted you too. He did - a string of cry-laughing emojis and clapping emojis.
“But what?” Mat finally drops his phone to the mattress and leans back on an elbow to look at you. “What are you looking at?”
You squint at him. “Have you not gotten any texts or notifications?” You ask, surprised that the guys’ group chat isn’t blowing up.
“Probably,” Mat shrugs, “my phone’s been on do not disturb since before my nap this afternoon. I wasn’t really thinking about looking. Why?”
You flip your phone around, showing him the screen. Mat squints at it, watching the video play for a few seconds before he lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Is that you, Squeaks?”
“Yep,” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I, um, got a little heated when you fought. Is Lou going to kill me?”
Mat’s got your phone in his hand now, scrolling through the Tweets and laughing. “No way, you don’t work for him. I don’t think he knows what Twitter is anyway.” He keeps scrolling. “Oh shit!”
“What?” You lunge forward and snatch at your phone. Mat pulls it back and clicks his tongue at you.
“Jeez, you gonna yell at me now too?” He jokes before reading the caption of a Tweet. “Listen to this ‘trashy Long Island fan berates Blackhawks fan.’ Babe, you freaked on the wrong fanbase.”
“I’m trashy?” You yelp indignantly. “Me? They’re the fans that are supporting an organization FULL of sexual abusers! Give me my phone, I want to defend myself.”
“No way!” Mat holds your phone in the air away from you. “Why expose yourself to more shit?”
“Because I’m not the one in the wrong here,” you grumble. “What are the guys saying? Does anyone know who I am? I mean, I wasn’t quiet about cheering for you.”
With your phone still in his hand, Mat picks up his own and taps over to the messages. “Oh, damn. Almost fifty texts from the guys.” He chuckles as he scrolls through them, reading you off the best ones. “Bo says to suit up for next game, we could use your passion. Dobber says two minutes in the box for unsportsmanlike conduct. Ah, nice, Frankie says pizzas are on him next time we’re at Borrelli’s.”
“Pizzas are always on Frankie,” you grumble, draping yourself over Mat’s back to read his phone screen over his shoulder. The guys are mostly sending more videos from different angles and chirping you. While Mat’s distracted by the group chat, you snatch your phone back, returning to Twitter where the fans have figured out your connection to Mat - it’s not like your relationship is a secret, your Twitter is public and your Instagram switches back and forth between public and private when you’re starting to feel overwhelmed - but you don’t love that you’re getting this kind of attention.
You really should’ve controlled yourself better. But you didn’t and now you’re scrolling through hundreds of Tweets that are calling you Long Island trash. There are others mixed in that are supporting you, cheering you on for being a loyal fan and girlfriend, but jeez. The Chicago fans really are kind of nasty.
“Stop looking at that,” Mat plucks the phone from your hands when he sees your forehead crease and wrinkle over your nose. “Are we gonna have to delete your account like Dobber?”
“No,” you huff, chest flushing with emotion. “I just…I should’ve been a little more controlled, but I got so worked up!”
Mat cups your cheek and grins at you, “I like when you’re worked up. It’ll blow over in a few days, but for now, it’s really fucking cool that my girlfriend is so passionate about me fighting.”
You wrinkle your nose up at him and he laughs again, “seriously, don’t worry about it.” He frowns a little. “Fans’ll be talking about our game again by tomorrow. We’re fucking it all up.”
Pressing your cheek against Mat’s shoulder blade, you wrap your arms around his waist. “I’m sorry, Mat. I know you guys are working so hard, things will turn around soon, I’m sure.” You press a kiss to his skin, blowing a little raspberry. “Want your trashy Long Island girlfriend to give you another blowjob?”
That draws a laugh from Mat, exactly what you wanted to do, and he reaches back to rub his fingers over your scalp, massaging gently. He waves his phone in the air, “think you can do it before dinner gets here?”
A challenge.
You grin against his back, hands sliding down his stomach to wrap around the base of his cock. He jolts in your grip, stomach muscles bunching. “Place the order and we’ll see,” you mumble against his back, kissing and biting at his shoulder. His arm moves and you can see over his shoulder that he’s pressing the order button.
“Time starts now,” Mat teases, leaning back against you and giving you more access for your hands to stroke him.
You just barely manage to bring Mat to his finish before his phone chimes with the delivery notification, but it’s intensely satisfying to watch him yank on the hotel robe and slippers with his face and chest all flushed before he runs down to the lobby. You take the time that he’s gone to clean yourself up, showering quickly before getting into your lounge pants. By the time you eat and hang out for a bit, Mat’s going to have to go back to his own room, so you’re trying to curb the temptation to go another round.
Your phone is still going crazy with notifications and when you open Instagram, you notice that Mat’s shared a story. Immediately suspicious, you tap on his little circle, groaning when you see the video of you shouting. He must’ve shared it while he was in the elevator, the fucking menace.
Underneath the reshared video, Mat added his own comment: my favorite trashy long islander 👊🏻💪🏻😂
You swipe up and tap out a reply: i hate you
“Love you too, Oscar,” Mat’s voice echoes through the room. You look up and there he is, carrying the bag of takeout.
“Oscar?”
“Like the Grouch? You know, because he lives in a trash can,” Mat’s grin is shit-eating, “and you’re trashy.”
You fling a pillow at him and he ducks, cracking up. “I’m sorry!” He chokes out, not sorry at all. “But it’s hilarious. Video gets funnier the more you watch and some of those people on Twitter really are quick with the comments.”
“I’m never coming to another game again, Mathew,” you inform him, faux-snootily. He hands you over the foil tin of mozzarella sticks.
“Yeah you are,” he presses a kiss to your temple. “You’d never forgive yourself if you missed me fight again.” He wiggles his eyebrows and takes a bite out of one of your mozzarella sticks.
He’s right and he knows it.
“I’m going to have to private my insta again,” you comment on a sigh, looking down at the notifications piling up.
“You’re gonna be old news in a day or two,” Mat replies. “Something else will happen at a different game and hockey twitter will move on.”
By the time you land in New York the next afternoon, Mat’s right. You’re old news because the team’s fired Lane and hired Patrick Roy as their new coach.
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It’s finally Summer Exchange time bbs!@steddieonmywaywardson I hope I did your prompts justice :)
Part 1/2 🖤 part 2 here
Corroded Coffin Tattoo gets a new client that shakes up their summer.
Read on ao3 • Rated E • eventual steddie, platonic stobin, Corroded Coffin bros, Chrissy/Argyle mentioned, modern era, no UD, everyone ends up in Cali, slow burn (for me), inadvisable tattooing procedures, smut in part 2
Many thanks to the invaluable @fuctacles for fact checking and betaing my overzealous imagination and @lawrencebshoggoth for always hyping me up and dealing with my annoying self 🖤
Eddie looked down at his iPad calendar with a sigh. Three mainstream boring designs back to back. They paid the rent but he wished he could get to a point where he was tattooing what he actually wanted.
But then there was a consultation with a new client. Steve Harrington had met Argyle at a pool party and had apparently got drunk enough to show off his ‘wicked scars.’ Argyle immediately suggested Eddie to tattoo over them.
Getting the first message from a random Instagram asking about his availability and experience in covering scars had shocked him until the person explained. Scrolling through the stranger’s posts had been even more confusing. In most of his pictures he was either wrapped around a very cute — but obviously very gay — girl, or she was tagged as the photographer of the picture. Her page was much of the same, better edited pictures of them from the same day.
They’d gone back and forth with ideas (and banter) for almost a week in his Instagram DMs before Steve made the appointment. Had actually called the shop (no one did that) and asked about Eddie’s schedule. Argyle looked at him like he had three heads when he asked him to transfer the call to his office.
On the phone, Steve had been a bit more professional but somehow warm and friendly even talking about mundane things like his work schedule and Eddie found himself not wanting to hang up. Steve had asked specifically about one of Eddie’s favorite pieces, an eerie take on a harpy with disintegrating wings and an eagle skull for a face. Before he knew it, Eddie was pacing and waving his arms excitedly asking about what he had liked about it and what they could incorporate into Steve’s vision. Jeff had propped himself in his doorway with a knowing look until he got up and shut the door.
As he was cleaning up his station after the girl with the birds over her collarbone finally left, he froze in his tracks when a familiar face walked through the front door, sunlight catching all the highlights in his hair and turning his eyes more green than brown. His Instagram had not done him justice.
He quickly tried to pull his attention back to gathering up paper towels and rewrapping his gear. Get a hold of yourself, Munson. It’s just a normal consult. With a fucking beautiful male model-looking asshole (he wasn’t an asshole though) who he’d soon be getting to put his own work on and touch-
“Eddie! Steve is here,” Argyle thankfully turned his back to their lobby to smirk at him. All the guys had been teasing him this week after Eddie drunkenly gushed about him and the tattoo he’d soon get to do on him.
“Thanks, Argyle,” he huffed. “Give me a second.”
He quickly went to the bathroom to wash his hands and stare at himself in the mirror. “Be cool, dork. It’s a consult. Try to be fucking normal,” he hissed at his reflection. With a sigh, he went back out to face the music.
Suddenly he was in his tiny office in the back of the shop, overwhelmed by the delicious cologne or whatever it was that made Steve Harrington smell so fucking good.
Eddie poked at his iPad for a long moment like he’d never seen it before, feeling the weight of Steve’s eyes on him but refusing to look up. With a low frustrated noise, Eddie finally found the file he needed and almost threw the tablet into Steve’s lap.
“Uh. So th-this is what I’ve been messing around with. You know, since we talked. But we can change anything you don’t like! Whatever you want-“ he forced himself to stop talking as he finally allowed himself to look at Steve’s face.
“Wow, Eddie. This is, like, a lot different than I thought it would be.”
He felt his shoulders sag. Of course it sucked. No one liked his creepy creatures enough to have them on their bodies forever. He should just-
“Hey, no, that’s not what I meant.” Steve put his hand on his arm and Eddie looked up at him. “It’s awesome. Even better than I imagined. Can you tell me about it?”
Steve looked at him like no one else ever had when he’d shown them his work, actually interested and excited in way that made Eddie’s already fast heart stutter against his ribs.
“I-it’s, you know, you said you wanted a mermaid sea creature type thing. No tentacles,” he chuckled. Steve had been very adamant about that in their conversation, only giving Eddie that strict stipulation. That and no nudity, since he taught swimming lessons to kids and didn’t want to be paranoid about covering it.
Steve huffed a laugh but shuddered. Eddie let himself relax further.
“It’s essentially a creepy mermaid,” he said, reaching over to zoom into the drawing. “At first I was thinking sirens, you know, luring boats to their death, but they’re actually half birds and not underwater. This way we can play around with the tail or hair or bubbles or waves or whatever to cover anything we need to.”
Steve stared unblinkingly at his drawing with wide eyes. “It’s perfect. I love how dark and ominous it is. That’s really what I like about your art, Eds. It has so much raw emotion in it. She looks otherworldly and so sad.”
Eddie sucked in a breath at both the nickname and the compliment. No one had ever grasped the intricacies of his art, usually shrugging it off as horror or fantasy.
“Y-yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Thanks. Really. That’s- yeah,” he shook his head in disbelief. Steve fucking Harrington.
Far too soon, his watch buzzed, reminding him of his next appointment in thirty minutes. How had they’d been talking for half an hour already?
“Oh, well, I- um,” Eddie stuttered. He had never felt like this around any other clients, any other person really. “Can you, uh, show me where this is going?” He tried to smile normally.
“Yeah!” Steve grinned and stood, reaching for his belt.
Eddie jumped up too, the iPad on his lap dropping to the floor. Kneeling down to reach it, Eddie found himself looking up and making eye contact with Steve as he unzipped his jeans. “Wait, uh! Jeez man, I can like, step out, or-“
But Steve shrugged with a small laugh, toeing his shoes off so he could slide his pants down his long legs. “You’re going to see it all anyways, right? I’m not shy. Most of the tristate area has seen me in a Speedo, dude.”
Eddie winced, just now remembering why he wanted an underwater tattoo, his stories from his time as the captain of his college swimming team. Don’t picture it right now, freak.
He forced himself to stand while averting his eyes, somehow kneeling at this Greek god’s feet as he took his pants off hadn't already melted his brain but it was close.
The picture Steve had sent of his scars was just skin, and Eddie hadn’t known where it was. Should probably have asked, in hindsight. As Steve pulled the bottom of his tight boxer briefs up to show the back of his thigh, Eddie was glad Steve was turned away from him as his eyes trailed down the muscular thighs to the incredible calves. Somehow even his socked feet were attractive.
“Uh huh. Okay, um. How about you sit on the bed- on the couch! I have to- I’m gunna, you know, grab something.”
He ran out of his office and almost knocked over Gareth at the printer.
“Woah dude, are you okay?”
Eddie nodded as he scrubbed his hands over his face. “If I pass out, don’t let Steve do CPR, okay?”
There was a snickering laugh from behind him and he groaned.
“You don’t do CPR if the person is still breathing, buddy,” Steve supplied helpfully from his office doorway, still in just his boxers. Eddie wanted to dissolve into the floor.
Gareth handed him a bottle of water with a smirk and Eddie snatched a roll of tracing paper from beside the printer. “Thanks so much, Gare,” he grumbled.
“Don’t mention it.”
Steve thankfully didn’t bring up his awkwardness as he traced the back of his thigh on the paper, trying to get the overall shape and size they’d be going for.
“Oh, would it be possible to do like, something up higher?”
Eddie swallowed. “Up… higher?”
Steve did look back this time, making Eddie quickly try to settle his eyes somewhere innocent as Steve pulled the leg of his boxer briefs even higher, onto the perfectly pert cheek where there was another line of scarring.
“To cover this?”
“Sure.” He looked up into Steve’s big round eyes and got lost for a second. He would’ve agreed to anything in that moment, truthfully. Eddie would’ve tattooed his entire body if given the chance. “Um, hold it up there for another minute?” He directed as he grabbed the roll of tracing paper and tore off a longer strip.
Somehow he sunk into some professionalism he didn’t know he possessed as he used the sharpie to outline this very attractive man’s very expansive ass cheek and thigh.
He did leave the room afterwards to go back to the bathroom, throwing his long hair up into a messy knot to get it off his sweaty neck and splashed water on his face.
Exchanging pleasantries and telling Steve (with his pants on) that he’d send over some examples in the next week or so, he got through his hour unscathed.
At the bar with the boys that night, Gareth dramatically recreated his embarrassing moment outside his office. Eddie took the ribbing, downing his drink with a cringe as Drew shoved his shoulder.
“Just think, soon you’ll be tattooing the hottie’s ass for hours,” he laughed.
For some reason (a very good reason), he hadn’t allowed that part to solidify in his mind, and suddenly he had the image of Steve sprawled out under him as he tried to keep his hand steady to not fuck up his tattoo because he was staring at his ass.
“I’m fucked,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands and trying to ignore the ruckus the others made at his misfortune.
Eddie had never been this nervous or had such detailed discussions with a client about their tattoo before. Steve seemed genuinely interested in any and all lore associated with the tattoo and his work in general, shockingly even asking about some that were way back in Eddie’s instagram.
Before he knew it, Steve was sitting in the lobby again and Eddie tried to ignore everyone as he finished up a Roman Numeral date and sent his client to go look in the mirror.
Then it was Steve’s turn and his big eyes were staring into his.
His stencil was all prepared; Eddie had kept it safe in a special spot in his work station and had found himself staring at it between appointments.
“Hey Eds, ready to rock and roll?”
Eddie couldn’t help the wide grin that split his face as Steve approached him, Argyle helpfully sending him back to his station.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he mumbled, turning to start gathering his supplies.
In one of their (many) conversations in the time since the consultation, Eddie had advised Steve to come to this appointment in loose fitting shorts so they could just roll or pin up what they needed to get out of the way.
The short basketball shorts were not exactly what he had expected, but Eddie tore his eyes away from the way they hugged his ass and went to grab the stencil from its Important Spot.
His heart beating out of his chest while he meticulously shaved Steve’s butt cheek and thigh should’ve clued him in to how much this appointment was going to test him.
The voice of reason in his head (which annoyingly sounded like Uncle Wayne) was adamant that he be professional. Keep your head down and get to work.
That was easier said than done, however.
At first, Steve joked around with him, sprawled across his padded table with his arms pillowed under his chin. They both kept waiting for the next crazy song Argyle would put on, as he tended to jump from unheard of indie to hippie chique to instrumental video game soundtracks.
He’d explained this would most likely hurt worse than his previous tattoos, tattooing over scar tissue was a bitch. Steve had waved him off.
“Fuuuuck,” Steve whined the first time he traced the needle over the scarring on his upper thigh.
“Not too late to back out,” Eddie chuckled, knowing it would have the opposite effect.
“No way man,” he’d huffed before quickly rearranging himself on the table, gripping the corner harshly. “Keep going.”
Steve was definitely not the first attractive person he’d had on his tattoo bench, but for some reason all of his little noises and gasps and curses were sinking directly into his soul.
“Ready for a break?” Eddie asked when he’d almost finished with the outline. He hoped Steve would let them both take a breather. He desperately needed a cigarette and maybe a quick wank in the bathroom.
“I’m good. I think it’s- ah- it’s definitely getting easier,” Steve lied.
“The shading and color is going to be worse,” Eddie warned. “And we haven’t really, um, migrated north.”
Steve hissed, digging his fists into his eyes adorably. “Oh shit, you’re right. That’s going to suck, isn’t it?”
Eddie nodded solemnly, forgetting Steve wouldn’t be able to see. “Sure is, Stevie.” Not sure where the nickname had come from, he quickly forged ahead. “You don’t need to, I mean, how many people are really seeing it?”
Steve laughed sharply, Eddie pulling the tattoo gun away quickly. “Sorry. You don’t think I’m getting any, huh?”
Eddie felt his cheeks redden. “Th-that’s not what I meant! I’m sure you’re, like, you know, getting lots!”
Steve laughed harder and louder, a bit hysterically. “Oh, now you think I’m a slut?”
Eddie looked around for help but everyone was pointedly not looking at them.
“Oh my god, your face, Eds,” Steve gasped out, up on his elbow now to laugh at him. “I’m messing with you.” He continued laughing, but slowing down now. “Ahh, you are right though. A lot less people are seeing the goods lately. I’m not parading around in speedos anymore, at least.”
Eddie’s brain helpfully shut down at that thought so he didn’t keep putting his foot in his mouth.
“Are we at the break time?” Steve asked when he realized they were both just staring at each other.
“Yeah? Yeah! We can- whatever you want! Let me just-uh,“ he made himself stop making a fool of himself as he wiped a paper towel across the ink.
Eddie helpfully pointed Steve to the restroom first and he slunk to his office.
Jeff poked his head in, a wide grin on his face. “Having fun, Tedster?”
“Shuddup,” he grumbled, aggressively opening drawers in his desk, shoving things around.
“Did you leave your dignity in your desk somewhere?” Jeff teased.
Eddie groaned, then held up a battered pack of cigarettes triumphantly.
“Jeez, that bad, huh? You haven’t had nicotine since-“
Eddie held up a hand. “Nuh uh. Give me this, please, just, lay off. I’m-“
“A mess. I’ve never seen you like this with a client, man. All stammery and heart eyes. ‘Whatever you want, Stevie.’ What was that?”
Eddie shushed him loudly. The place was not huge. “Alright, alright. I don’t know what’s happening, okay? But I gotta get through it so if I can just self medicate in peace, please?”
The first pull of smoke into his lungs was amazing, leaning against the front wall of the shop, sunshine beating down on him. He felt like maybe he could survive this.
Until Steve was again laid out on his table, a cocky little smile on his face. Eddie tried to ignore it and the insane urge to ask him if he’d heard what Jeff had been saying, instead meticulously setting up his tray with ink pots and everything he needed.
“Ready, hot shot?” Came out of his mouth, snarky.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Steve sassed back, making Eddie laugh and breaking this bubble of uncertainty.
Steve had come back from their break without complaint, so it appeared he hadn’t had an issue with anything he heard or anything Eddie had done.
“Oh my god,” Steve gasped as the first swipe of color went on. “You weren’t kidding.”
It was then that Eddie realized he hadn’t done anything to settle his other problem. When he went back to the tray for more ink, he tried to surreptitiously readjust his pants and twisted away from Steve’s line of sight.
Steve’s noises were almost constant high needy noises now. In addition, Eddie was forced to settle his hand basically on Steve’s ass to complete the waves and bubbles above the mermaid. He decided to just keep going, no reason to switch spots to have to go back. Eventually he’d be tattooing and having to run his hand over and over the pert cheek. Don’t think about that.
“C-can we stop?” Steve panted.
Eddie froze.
“Sure. You okay?” He instantly searched his face. Had he been so in the zone that he hadn’t realized Steve was really struggling? Could he have been that deep in his own head that he hadn’t checked in with his client? “I’m so sorry- we-“
Steve sucked in several deep breaths, repositioning now that Eddie had stopped tattooing. Shifting onto his side to face him. “I’m okay. Just- a lot, uh, happening.”
Eddie quickly stood to grab Steve a bottle of water, pulling off his black rubber gloves on his way.
“No worries, we can chill, take a break, cut it short. Whatever we need to do,” Eddie rattled off quickly as he passed him the bottle.
Steve gulped half of the water then shook his head. “I think I just need a minute. Got kinda intense, I dunno.” He shook his head, hunching up his shoulders, looking small and overwhelmed in a way that made Eddie want to reach out for him. Keep him safe.
“Hey. No big. I warned you this would be a lot. I’m really sorry for not checking in.” He dropped down onto his stool, and he watched as Steve sort of curled into himself more. But there wasn’t much he could hide in his little shorts. “Oh. Um. That’s normal, too. Bodies are weird.” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but he could feel his cheeks warm.
Steve groaned and covered his face. “Oh my god,” he breathed.
They sat in silence for a long moment. Then Eddie had an idea.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Steve seemed even more anxious when he returned to his station, almost shaking as he bit into a cuticle and ran his other hand through his hair.
“You’re okay. Do you trust me?” The heavy question hung in the air between them. “I mean-“
“Yes.”
Eddie’s heart stopped then ratcheted even faster against his ribs. He grinned down at this gorgeous man on his table.
“Put these on. They should fit.”
His black sweatpants were a bit short on Steve, his ass and thighs taking up more room than his own. But it would work, and they hid more than his thin shorts.
Now that he was decent, Eddie gestured for Steve to follow him.
“Argyle, we’re taking a break. Gunna go see Chris.”
“You got it. Tell her I said hey,” Argyle called from his corner, not raising his eyes from the guy he was piercing.
Outside, Eddie watched Steve become more and more relaxed as they walked to the end of the block.
“Chris?” He finally asked, cocking his head adorably. Like a puppy.
Eddie grinned. “You’ll see.”
Inside the brightly colored ice cream shop, Steve almost ran excitedly to the front counter just as Chrissy came from the back, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Cunningham? You’re Chris?”
“Oh my god!” She shrieked. “Harrington? What are you doing here?”
Eddie looked between them, shocked. Chrissy had come around the counter to launch herself into Steve’s arms, hugging him tight and squealing as he spun her around.
This wasn’t how Eddie had expected this to go. “Uhh?”
Chrissy thankfully caught his deer in headlights expression and let go, laughing. “Eddie! Where’d you dig this one up from?”
“He found me! Sorta. Argyle found him,” he snorted. “I’m doing a piece for him.”
Chrissy beamed at him, nodding. “Ahh, that explains it. C’mon you two, sit down. What can I tempt you with, Steve?”
While Steve downed a milkshake and Eddie massacred a banana split, Eddie learned that Steve and Chrissy had gone to school together back in Indiana. Somehow both of them had bounced around before ending up in California. Steve explained he’d always wanted to live near the ocean.
Chrissy asked about the tattoo he was getting, and Eddie watched enraptured as Steve took the question, excitedly detailing the dark mermaid.
“It’s to cover up some scarring on my leg,” he explained.
“Ohhh yeah, from your-“
Steve suddenly leaned over the table to cover Chrissy’s mouth. Eddie burst out laughing, unsure what was happening, but watched Chrissy and Steve have a silent conversation through raised eyebrows.
“Ewww!” Steve pulled his hand back and wiped it on his (Eddie’s) pant leg. “She licked me!”
“Not surprised. Chris is a hardass.” He shot her a wide grin as she glared at him and flipped him off. “She plays dirty.”
“Eddie doesn’t know about your accident?”
“Chrissy, I’m begging you,” Steve wailed dramatically.
Smirking, she took a small sip from her own milkshake, eying the both of them.
“I have no idea what’s going on,” Eddie chuckled. “But we need to get going if we’re trying to wrap up the rest of your tattoo today.”
Steve agreed and they both hugged Chrissy, Steve grabbing her number to make plans for lunch another day.
Shaking his head to himself, Eddie chuckled as they walked back down the road, “That was unexpected.”
“You aren’t kidding. What a small world, huh?”
“Maybe it’s a sign. Just so you know, her and Argyle have been in like an on again, off again thing for a while. But-“
Steve shuddered. “Nah man, she’s like my little sister. That’s not a problem.”
Eddie held the tattoo shop door open for Steve who smirked at him.
Feeling bad that he hadn’t thought of it before, he sent Steve to his station and went to grab the black canvas partition to put in front of them, separating them from the rest of the shop. Hopefully it helped Steve relax and not feel as anxious.
“Better?” Eddie asked.
Steve nodded a few times, then slid out of his (Eddie’s) sweatpants. Eddie turned his back to get his stuff organized again while Steve got himself situated on the table.
“C-can you… uh, pull your shorts up?” Eddie winced at his stuttering question. Again he was struck with the realization that he was never this unprofessional and simpering with any other client.
But Steve reached a hand back to uncover his leg and butt to him, pretty much tucking the extra fabric between his cheeks. Eddie swallowed.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime,” Steve sassed in response.
Eddie snorted. At least he was feeling better.
He got back in the zone, shading and coloring in but making sure he kept checking in this time.
“Good?” He huffed as he wiped the paper towel across the scarred area on his butt.
“So good,” Steve groaned and Eddie barked a laugh.
“Need a break?”
“No, just get the worst bits over with, will you?”
Eddie chuckled and went over the scar again with the tattoo gun, seeing Steve clench his fist in his periphery.
He tried his best to quickly go over the scarred skin, to limit the amount of pain he was putting Steve through.
Until he gasped and Eddie pulled back, instantly stopping and tracking across his face.
“Sorry. I’m okay. I dunno. Maybe more nerve endings there or something,” he rambled, wide eyed and looking pale.
“Almost done, I promise. You need your water?”
Steve nodded shakily and Eddie handed the now surely lukewarm bottle over, watching as Steve downed it, his Adam’s apple bobbing attractively.
Eddie stood to go grab a cold water for both of them and impulsively picked up some wrapped cookies they kept around for everyone. Definitely not to bide his time while Steve got himself together, and definitely not because it was crumbling Eddie’s already dwindling self control. Absolutely not. He was a goddamn professional.
Steve was propped on his side again, but he didn’t look as nervous or shaken as last time.
“Oooh, a milkshake and then a cookie? You know something about my sweet tooth, Eds?”
The nickname caught him off guard, as did the shit eating grin and the new twinkle in his eye.
Eddie giggled, coughed, then managed a lower laugh. “Ah, I can’t say that I do, but it helps to keep your sugar up. Or just something to keep your mind off the pain.”
Steve groaned goodnaturedly, getting himself back into position on the table, propping himself on an elbow to munch on the cookie.
Eddie focused on shading around and over the scars first, making sympathetic noises at Steve’s whines and gasps. This may be the most trying session of his career. Could he put ‘good under pressure, ex: attractive client whimpering’ on his resume?
He powered through the rest of the shading, making sure he kept an eye on Steve but trying his best to tune out his (sexy) noises and didn’t really pay any attention to what was coming out of his mouth.
“Fucking hell, Eddie,” Steve panted as he tried to gently wipe off all the mess and clean him up. He clenched his jaw to keep himself from commenting or moaning along with him.
Eddie insisted he wear his sweatpants home.
After everyone had cleaned up from their last client, Eddie suddenly looked up and had everyone’s eyes on him.
“Uhh?”
“Dude. What was that?” Drew was closest.
Gareth chimed in with a smirk, “That was Steve,” dragging his name out like they were in middle school.
Eddie groaned. He could feel his cheeks heating up and he did not want to be ridiculed any further.
“Oh, Bredward, it was disgusting.” Jeff came over and threw himself dramatically across Eddie’s chair. “You two were over here giggling at each other like kindergarteners. And I’ve never heard you gushing over a client like that.”
Eddie opened his mouth to argue but the rest of the guys decided to pipe up to give examples.
“Doing such a good job, almost done, I promise.”
“A bit more. You can do it. C’mon.”
“I’ve got you, Stevie.”
“That’s it, deep breaths for me.”
“I didn’t!”
“You did!” Gareth nodded and Eddie grimaced.
“He took him on a date down to Chrissy’s halfway through!” Argyle supplied.
The rest of the guys stopped and turned to Eddie, who just made a face and nodded shortly in silent confirmation of this ridiculousness. There was an uproar of gasps and groans, making Eddie drop down onto his stool, groaning himself and throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling while they continued.
Jeff seemed to sober first. “What the fuck, man?”
“I don’t know. I- um, got a little carried away. I guess.”
“You guess,” Gareth huffed. “I felt like I was listening to a 900 number next to me. You know these cubicle walls aren’t soundproof, right? I had to tell my client you guys were dating because she was concerned.”
“What?”
“Bro, he was over here sounding like a pornstar and you were just as bad. I couldn’t tell her the truth!”
Eddie covered his face finally. He knew it had been too much, but hearing it from his friends made it all seem worse. Had Steve been uncomfortable with him? He hadn’t said anything. Eddie probably royally fucked this up for himself.
“Shit.”
@steddiesummerexchange
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